It was close to three o'clock in the morning when Dean pulled the Impala up outside of Sam's building. He knew which window was his brother's and looked up to see that the lights were still on. The kid must have waited up for them. His brother better damned well be okay up there. It chilled Dean to know something could possibly be after his little brother.

"And let the games begin," Dean mumbled as he shifted the car into park, shut the engine off, and pulled the keys from the ignition. He leaned over and retrieved his Colt from the glove box, never going anywhere without it. As he opened the door and got out of the car, he hid the weapon in the inner pocket of his jacket. Dean opened the back door and grabbed a small duffel that held his essentials…holy water, salt, shotgun, silver knife, extra rounds, things of that nature.

His dad was still at the truck putting some things together into a duffel of his own. Both men had their specific tools of the trade. There hadn't been time to pack when they hurried onto the road from Truckee. Neither could be sure about what they were going to run into once they got upstairs.

"So, Dad, what do you think? Any ideas?" Dean asked as he hefted his bag onto his shoulder and walked over to the truck. He glanced up to Sam's window, but didn't see any movement. His brother was more than likely dozing on the couch. It was pretty late.

John zipped his bag closed and shut the tailgate to his truck, locking away his stash of weapons. "I don't have a lot to go on, Dean. It could be a spirit, elemental – something like an imp, puck, or pixie – or a shadow cat or dog. Those are just a few things. Who the hell knows? Demons are the only other thing that would even come close. We need to be ready for anything." (John didn't even want to think about it being a demon. Shit.) "Hell, these colleges are just one big overpriced frat party. And it's Friday night. Your brother may have had one too many and could have just imagined something was after him."

Dean ignored his father's last comment. He wouldn't say anything, but Sam did sound like he might have been a few sheets to the wind when he spoke to him earlier, but one word his dad had said stood out like his brother in a crowd of midgets. "Demon? Like what killed Mom? I thought they weren't that common." After all the years hunting with his father, they had never encountered one that he could recall.

"Unfortunately, I've heard they've been lurking around a lot more lately. Just last week, Bobby Singer and Pastor Jim took one down in Nebraska, sent the thing back to hell where it belongs. But yeah, I wouldn't worry too much about that. If anything, my best guess is a spirit. They're a dime a dozen."

"Yeah, okay." Dean had no reason to question his father. "Let's just get up there and talk to Sam." The younger Winchester turned and walked across the street to Sam's building. He could hear his father at his heels.

The main entrance had one of those new combination-style locks; both men knew the code. It was just one of those things; passwords and combinations weren't kept secret between the Winchesters. Knowing them could mean the difference between life and death. Dean quickly punched the number in and turned the handle once he heard the lock release. He kept his hand inside his jacket and fingered his gun, ready to use it if needed.

Both men were quiet and at attention as they went up the stairs. The stairwell was well lit; there was hardly a shadow anywhere. It looked clear. When they got to the top of the flight, John took point. He looked back at Dean and he signaled for his son to remain quiet. Dean nodded.

John turned the knob and pushed the door open. The long corridor beyond was empty except for a trash barrel at each end. The building was old, but the interior was fairly new, up to Stanford's standards. The owners kept with the industrial look. The walls were brick and the silver ductwork was exposed up in the open ceiling above. The hallway floor was a dark, multi-colored tile, mostly in neutral earth tones. It was a pretty nice place. Dean had been here before, but this was John's first time. But even so, he knew Sam's dorm was the third door on the right, second from the far end. He started walking toward it and Dean followed closed behind.

When they got to Sam's door, they found that it wasn't completely closed. Dean took a breath as he eyed the unclosed entryway and quickly pressed his back to the wall, drawing his gun. John mirrored him on the other side of the door. They looked at each other and Dean nodded, knowing his father would insist on going through first.

John slowly reached over and pushed the door open. There were the remains of a salt line at the threshold, but that's all there was. The line had been broken. The elder hunter let his eyes take in the scene.

The dorm was smaller than most of the motels they called home on a regular basis. More or less, it was one large room with a kitchen area off to the right, a sitting area, and a sleeping area just beyond that. Off to the side of Sam's bed was a desk in front of a window with Sam's laptop and a stack of books sitting on it. A door was off to the left which was more than likely the bathroom. It wasn't much, but John was happy to see Sam looked like he was doing okay for himself. Nothing looked amiss except for the fact that he didn't see Sam. "Stay here," he whispered to Dean as he stepped through the door.

Dean jumped a couple of minutes later when he heard the gruff voice of his father call his name. Giving one last look down the hall, he turned and entered the room.

"He's gone." John was standing in the kitchen, his expression grim. "Fuck!" he yelled, slamming an open palm on the small kitchen table, not caring who he might wake up.

"Dad, maybe he just went to see Jess or something. He might have been worried about her. He was pretty scared on the phone." As Dean said it, he knew Sam would never do that, not when there was a chance something was after him. And his dad called him on it.

"Don't lie to yourself, Dean. You know that's not what's going on. Sam would know to stay put." John's mouth was pinched in a tight line. He was going to find the son of a bitch who had his son. "His stove was on, too, and," he gestured to the frozen pizza still sitting on the counter, "that was left out. Looks like he wasn't planning on going anywhere."

Dean's brow furrowed. "Have you tried calling him?" He reached into his pocket, pulling his cell phone out.

"No, not yet."

Dean was already dialing before his father answered the question. He pressed the phone to his ear and waited. Several rings later, Sam's voice came on the line… "Hi, this is Sam. Leave a message."

"Dude, where are you? Dad and I are at your dorm. Call me as soon as you get this." Dean hung up. He wasn't really expecting an answer. Sam would never leave his door open like that. It pissed him off knowing that some thing probably had his brother out there. Sam was a tough kid, but he was out of practice…and unarmed. "Shit, Dad. He's out there somewhere."

"We'll find him, Son." John was poking through some of Sam's things, looking for some clue as to what may have taken his youngest.

Dean leafed through the mail that was sitting on a small table next to the couch. It was nothing more than junk. He looked up at his dad. "I'm gonna check with the others in the building, see if they saw or heard anything."

"Yeah, okay. I'm going to look around here a little more to see if I can find anything. If I'm not here when you get back, I'll be outside checking things out."

Dean was barely out in the hall when he heard his dad call out to be careful. Sure. He wasn't the one who had to watch it. It was whatever took Sammy that was going to have to watch its sorry ass. A few steps down the hall, Dean pounded on the first door he came to. "Hey, in there, open up!"

When Sam woke up, he found that he wasn't in his bed. As a matter of fact, he wasn't even in his dorm. What the hell? It looked like he was in one of those storage units people rented when they couldn't figure out how to dump all those material possessions that seemed to collect over the years. Three walls were half concrete and half sheetrock and the wall in front of him had one of those rollaway doors.

His nose crinkled at a familiar smell. He sniffed the air. Blood. That's what it was. He looked down at himself and saw that his hands, arms, and portions of his clothing were covered in thick, sticky crimson. His eyes widened and he stood up quickly from the cold concrete floor. "Jesus Christ!" What the fuck was going on? Sam mentally inventoried his body. Nothing felt wrong. It wasn't his blood. The last thing he remembered was turning on the stove to make a pizza.

He looked around the room, checked out his options. The space was empty of anything but himself. There was no way out except for the rolling door. Sam walked over to it and bent low to grasp the handle. It wasn't a surprise that it didn't budge. He looked up at the pulley mechanism over his head and sighed. The ceiling was roughly eight feet high. There was no way he could reach it.

Sam resorted to pounding on the door and calling for help.

Twenty minutes later, Dean found himself banging the door to the last dorm. It was the twelfth dorm in the building. A young man with spiky, blond hair answered it.

"Dude, what's up with all the racket? The building better be on fire." He yawned and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He frowned when he looked up at Dean. The man in front of him was intimidating, standing several inches taller than himself with broad shoulders and a hard look on his face. "Who are you?" he asked as he took a cautious step back, keeping his hand on the door.

"Do you know Sam Winchester?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Saw him earlier when I got home. He was heading out." The man combed his fingers through his rumpled hair. "He okay?" He looked over Dean's shoulder, out into the hall.

"That's what I'm trying to find out. Did he say where he was going?"

"Wait a minute. Hold on. Who are you and why should I tell you anything?" He got over his initial intimidation and stared hard at the man in front of him. Sam was a couple years younger than him and was a good kid. He wasn't going to just go directing any harm his way.

Dean would have laughed if the situation wasn't so pressing. The guy was in baby blue silk boxers and was half his size, hardly a threat. "I'm his brother, Dean. And he's gone missing."

The man looked Dean over one more time, deciding on whether or not he believed him. Something about the man seemed honest though. "Oh, well, alright then. He did mention you a few times. I'm Phil." He scratched at his bare chest. "Have you checked with his girlfriend? Those two are attached at the hip. Siamese twin-like."

"Jessica? I would, but I don't know where she lives and I don't have her number."

"Come on in." Phil turned and headed into his dorm, expecting Dean to follow. "Just give me a second. I'll get it for you."

Dean walked a couple feet into the room and waited. The place was pretty much like Sam's, although Phil had more of a modern taste in furnishings. Where Sam probably scavenged much of what he had, this guy looked like he had some money. Most of the furniture appeared to be new and he had some high-tech electronics covering shelves along one wall. "Did he say anything to you when you saw him?"

Phil was in his kitchen thumbing through the contact list on his phone. "No. He seemed a bit pre-occupied. I said hi, but he just shouldered past me without saying a word. Ah, here it is." He started writing Jessica's address and phone number on a sticky note for Dean. "But yeah, I thought it was pretty weird. He's a real talker. Don't take offense, but sometimes you just can't get him to turn off." Phil smiled.

"Yep, that's my brother alright." A quick smile flashed on Dean's face as he took the small yellow piece of paper from the man and looked at it. "Well, I appreciate your help." He turned to leave.

"Sure. I hope you find him. He's a good guy…helped a few of us when we needed it. Let me know if you need any help. I can get a few people together in the morning if needed."

Dean was already half into the hallway. He looked at Phil and saw the sincerity in his blue eyes. Sam appeared to have made a few good friends here. "Thanks," he said as he walked off. He dialed Jessica's number as he headed back up the stairs to Sam's place.

The phone rang and a sleepy voice answered. "Hello?"

Dean didn't want to alarm the girl, so he decided to keep the details to a minimum. "Is this Jessica Moore?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"It's Dean Winchester, Sam's brother."

"Oh, hey, Dean. So you are real! I was starting to think that maybe Sam had made you up."

Dean grimaced. Maybe he should have tried to be more involved with Sam over the last couple of years. "Look, sorry to bother you this late, but have you heard from Sam?"

"Well, we were at a party earlier, but he decided to leave early. They're just not his thing, you know? He said he was going home. We were going to meet up later today."

"So you haven't heard from him since he left?" Another damn dead end.

"No. Why are you asking me all of this? Is he alright?" She was starting to sound nervous.

"I don't know. I'll have to get back to you on that. But if he calls, please tell him to call me."

"Um, no problem. If I hear anything, I'll call you. Your number's on my caller I.D." There was a pause before she continued, "You'll let me know if he's not okay? Please. If something's happened to him…" She broke off and Dean could hear her voice crack.

"Hey, don't worry yet. My dad and I are on it. I'm sure he's fine." Dean hated lying to the girl, but what was he going to do? "One of us will call you, probably Sammy and I'm sure he'll explain everything to you. Thanks for your help."

They said their goodbyes and by then Dean was back at Sam's dorm.

Sam's hands hurt from banging on the metal door. There was no answer. Really, who hung out in a storage facility during the wee hours of the morning? He looked at his watch. It was almost four in the morning. He had somehow lost almost four hours. And whose blood was on him? That concerned him more than anything, aside from the big gap in his memory.

Suddenly, Sam heard shuffling on the other side of the door. He backed away from it not knowing who or what it could be. An electronic buzzer signaled that the door was going to open and then the pulleys started spinning. The door lifted and Sam saw two pairs of feet, then legs as more of his captors were revealed.

He decided to make a run for it before the door was all the way up. Whoever the two men were, it was like running into a concrete wall. Neither budged and his arms were caught in vise-like grips. Sam was thrown down onto his back, his breath knocked momentarily from him.

Sam groaned as he lay there and looked up at the men as they approached and stood over him. One was big and burly, biker-like. Tattoos covered his arms and he was dressed in work boots, black jeans, and a t-shirt showing the logo of some local bar, Sam assumed. His dark hair was cropped short and his face was covered in several days' worth of stubble. The other wasn't near as big. He had wavy red hair and freckles and was of a lanky build, more like Sam, but maybe just shy of six feet. He was dressed in jeans and a button down shirt, your typical college-type. The only thing the two had in common was their eyes; they were shiny pools of black. It was nothing Sam had ever seen before. What the hell were they?

"So, Samuel Winchester…," biker guy started with a knowing smile. "Are you ready for another romp in the park? We certainly had some fun earlier." The man eyed Sam's blood-stained hands and clothing.

"Whatever you are, you are so dead. When my father and brother find you-" Sam cried out and curled into a protective ball as the big man kicked him hard in the ribs.

"No one's gonna find you." He leered at Sam. "You're ours until we decide otherwise. And you're gonna do whatever we want you to do until then." Both men looked at each other and laughed. "It don't seem like you know what we are and I think it's better we keep it that way."

Sam pushed back and tried to scoot up against one of the walls. He felt his cell phone dig into his leg. How could he be so dumb? As soon as he was alone again, he'd make a call to either Dean or his dad.

Sam's mouth fell open in shock and he hugged the wall tighter as the lanky man's head fell back and a thick cloud of black smoke poured out of his mouth and into the air. The body dropped to the floor next to Sam. The man wasn't dead; he could see that he was still breathing. But Sam's gaze returned to the thing floating near the ceiling. Biker dude was still smiling, un-phased by what was going on. Sam glanced back down as the young man started to move and opened his eyes.

The smoke highly resembled the shadow Sam had seen earlier when he was returning to his dorm. Whatever these things were, they had somehow knocked him out and kidnapped him. He had to admit to himself, he was scared. He didn't want that thing in him and Sam did all he could; he made another dash for the open door.

He didn't quite make it as the smoke shifted quickly and made its way right toward him. Sam screamed as it invaded his mouth, his lungs…his body. He knew no more after that.

Dean opened the fridge to see if there was anything to eat. He was getting hungry. Finding a plate of cold fried chicken from a local fast food joint, he took it out and sniffed it, lifting an eyebrow. It seemed okay, so he grabbed a beer, too, and brought it over to the table. He sat down and began to dig in. A hunter had to eat after all. Dean knew that more than most. He'd be of no help to Sam if he was too light-headed from lack of food.

He had just finished giving his dad the info he got from Phil and Jessica. It wasn't much, but it was enough for them to assume something had gotten to Sam, or rather into Sam. John was positive Sam had been possessed by a spirit from what Phil had told Dean.

"So what's our next course of action?" Dean asked, chewing on a piece of chicken. He swallowed it and took a swig of beer.

John was pacing the living room area. He was deep in thought. "We're going to have to wait."

"What? You mean we're just gonna sit here-"

"Dean, we have nothing to go on right now." He looked over at his son. Dean looked more than worn down; dark circles were under his eyes and his normally vibrant eyes were dull. "When you're done with that, you need to get some rest. That swamp thing took a lot out of you. I'll keep an eye on things. We'll figure something out in the morning."

Dean couldn't argue. He was exhausted, having not had any real sleep yet, especially after yesterday's hunt and his ankle was still killing him; his body ached all over. "Yes, sir." He ate the rest of his cold food in silence.

Ten minutes later, Dean cleaned up from his meal and shrugged his jacket off his shoulders, draping it over the back of the couch, but not before taking his gun out. He snagged one of Sam's pillows from the bed and dropped down onto the couch. (He would feel too guilty getting comfy in Sam's bed while his brother was who knows where.) Before he lay down, Dean placed his Colt under the pillow; he felt safer with it there. Only then did he swing his legs up to get comfortable, propping his right foot up on the arm of the couch, finally closing his eyes.

"Wake me if anything comes up," he said to his dad as he dropped off.

Sam saw brief flashes of things, almost as if the entity was allowing him to see. It wasn't pretty either. What he saw made him wish the thing would have just kept him in the dark.

More blood. It was warm this time. And the body it belonged to was beneath him, struggling, as he straddled it. No! he screamed out in his mind. But no words came from his mouth. He had no control of his body as the thing continued to torture the man under him. The poor person cried out, but because his teeth were all broken, as well as probably every other bone in his face, he could no longer form words.

"Please, stop." Sam begged.

"What, you don't like this? But it's so much fun. Just wait until you see the things we can do together." The creature sneered, twisting Sam's normally handsome face into something evil. He pulled a sharp blade out from somewhere and held it up to the man's neck. "What do you think? He'd sure look pretty with a cut right here." The knife traced along the man's neck, leaving a fine line of red in its wake. The man whimpered.

"Leave him alone. I'll…I'll do anything you want. Just don't kill him."

"Oh, you have no leverage, Sam. You're already going to do anything I want." He chuckled.

With a sudden movement, the blade flashed and blood spurted out onto Sam's hands. Sam cried out. Oh, God, no… How many people had this being killed while in control of his body? I'm so sorry, Sam said to the now still man beneath him.

"Oh, get over it, Sam. This is nothing." He stood up. "This is just a test drive. I'm deciding on whether or not I'm going to keep you for an extended period of time. Maybe we'll go check on your family soon."

"No! You stay away from them!"

"You know what? I'm tired of your whining. Go take a nap."

And like that, Sam was shoved back down again. He was in the dark prison of his mind with no clue what this thing was using him for.

Dean woke to a gentle shake of his shoulder. He opened his eyes and saw his father standing over him. His dad looked disturbed. "What?" Dean asked as he quickly sat up. "Is it Sammy?"

Sam's small thirteen inch TV was on and Dean saw a reporter talking. Behind her, there were several police cars and what appeared to be a crime scene unit scouring the area. "Dad?" He looked up at the man.

"I don't know, Son, but we need to get there. It's not too far from here."

Dean tugged his boots on and pulled his jacket off the back of the couch. He grabbed his gun and was ready to go. John handed him a coffee from somewhere.

"Did you sleep at all?" Dean inquired of the man as he took a sip of the dark, scalding beverage.

John ignored Dean's question. His more immediate concern was getting to the crime scene before the authorities cleaned it up. "Let's go, Dean. There won't be much time before they move the body and disturb the evidence." He opened the door and headed out into the hallway. "We'll take the Impala. I'll drive."

John pulled up near the crime scene. "Stay here while I check this out. I want you to rest up that ankle. I can see it's still bothering you." He got out of the car before Dean could protest and was gone.

Dean watched as John approached an officer and flashed a badge. Without question, the man lifted the yellow caution tape and let him through. Dean slouched down in the seat and waited. It would be a little while before his dad got back.

He looked around at the curious onlookers. The murder had stirred up quite a few of the locals, even at this early hour. Dean's gaze narrowed in on a man in the crowd. He thought he saw a smile pass over the guy's face. Now that wasn't normal, Dean thought. He was just about ready to get out of the car when the driver's side door opened and his dad got back in. "Dad, there's someone-" When he looked back at the crowd, the man was gone. "Shit," he muttered.

"What is it?"

"There was someone in the crowd." Dean continued to comb the onlookers with his eyes, but couldn't find the man again. "He's gone now, but he looked more than a little suspicious. He was smiling."

At that, John ducked his head so he could see out the passenger window, too.

"He's gone, Dad." The younger Winchester looked back over to his father. "So what'd you find out there?"

"They don't have much. It was a young man, early twenties. He was beaten, and then had his throat slashed. There wasn't much there for evidence…no security cameras, no witnesses. He was found by a jogger this morning."

"Well, that sorta sucks for him. Any reason to think this involves Sam?"

John was silent for a while. This was the M.O. of the demon Bobby and Jim recently took down. If Sam was taken by a demon… He closed his eyes. Oh, Mary, I'm so sorry. His youngest son, possessed by a demon and forced to kill. This was his worst nightmare.

"Dad?"

John was jolted from his internal thoughts. "Sorry, Dean. Tired, you know." He rubbed his face and looked out the window to the scene in front of them. Not wanting to scare Dean, he lied. "I don't know yet. It's hard to say."

"Let's grab a bite to eat and get you back to the dorm for some sleep. I'll do some research and see if I can find anything. I ought to be able to get into Sam's laptop."

"Yeah. That sounds like a good plan," John said tiredly.

Sam came to. He was lying on his back in the storage unit and he was alone again. His mind was stressed, but well-rested. His body, on the other hand, felt as if it was running on empty.

Murder. The word stuck in his mind. Someone's death was on his hands and Sam couldn't get that out of his head. He had killed someone. "You fuckers!" Sam yelled out into the silence.

He was by no means innocent. He'd killed many things – creatures, beasts, you name it – but he'd never killed a person. No matter how evil a person was, hunters didn't kill people. But he had now done just that. From what he surmised, he had killed at least two people. Sam started shaking. Yeah, California no longer had the death penalty, but the idea of spending life in prison scared him. But what it kept coming back to was that someone had died at his hands. Maybe he deserved life.

Sam backed up into the corner and bent his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his head on his knees. He tried to get his breathing under control, his heart rate, too. Sam had to calm himself down. He had to last this out until his family found him.

There was a sound from outside the door and Sam lifted his head. He groaned. Not again. The buzzer went off and the door lifted. There was just one man there this time: "Big & Burly" as Sam called him in his mind.

"How'd you sleep? Ready for another run?" the man asked as he came into the unit and stopped just mere feet in front of Sam.

Sam didn't give the man the satisfaction of acknowledging him.

"Oh, you're gonna be defiant now, are you?" Big & Burly landed an open palm against the side of Sam's head, snapping the hunter's head back. "Look at me when I talk to you, you little shit!" When the young man didn't obey, he reached down and lifted Sam by his collar, slamming him against the wall. "I will kill you. You're expendable. Don't think you're not," he growled.

"I'd rather die than be your damn puppet," Sam spat at the man.

The man's eyes went dark; the inky black returned. He grasped Sam's hair and pulled his head back, exposing the smooth expanse of his throat. The point of a knife suddenly pricked at Sam's skin and he swallowed. "Do it," Sam dared him.

"Oh, no. That would be too easy." Instead, the man moved the knife lower to Sam's abdomen, tucking it up under his shirt. He pressed the tip in until Sam's eyes widened and he gasped. "Feels good, don't it?" He slowly dragged the knife along, cutting a bloody line into Sam's side.

"Guh…" Sam cried out. He couldn't move. The man had him pinned to the wall with more than just his body. There was some power there, pressing him back. His arms were stuck to the wall as well as his legs. He watched as the man brought the knife back up and licked the blood from it. Sam cringed.

"Mmm… You taste good. Maybe I'll make a habit out of this." Big & Burly eyed the young Winchester.

Sam remained glued to the wall. He struggled futilely, but there was no give. "Screw you!"

The creature smiled at Sam's insolence. With a thought, he snapped Sam's head back into the wall with a satisfying crack. The hunter went silent and slumped in the demonic hold. "Maybe later." He turned and left the room. Sam dropped to the floor behind him.

There were big plans for Sam Winchester. The Winchesters were a bane to the supernatural and they were too well-respected by the hunter community. If they could take down a few hunters with this meatsuit, maybe they could taint that feared name, knock it down a few pegs…maybe even erase it from this world before it did more damage.