By the time they actually reached the station, Sam felt tired and wrung out, his head filled with cotton batting, any adrenaline rush long gone. He allowed himself to be led from the car into the institutional gray station, flinching from the too bright glare of the fluorescent lights overhead. The booking officer was a small, blonde woman, attractive in a tight lipped stern sort of way. She asked an endless series of questions and Sam let the lies roll off his tongue.

She fingerprinted him, took his picture, and collected his belongings before finally, thank you Jesus, letting him make a call. He was actually due two phone calls, one to his parent and one to a lawyer but he knew better than to call Dad, no matter how badly Sam needed him. Dad called you when he could. Hard experience had brought that lesson home. But Sam only needed one call. He just needed to let Dean know there was trouble and his brother would come to charm Sam out of this. So he dialed Dean's number and hoped his brother had not gone back to pick up where he left off with Candy Apple.

"Sam?" On the second ring, Dean's voice came through the line strong and clear, wary but without the underlying tension Sam had heard earlier. "I thought I said to hurry up. It's been almost an hour and a half."

"Hey Dean," Sam said. "I know I'm late but I'm in a little trouble and I need you to come get me."

"Where are you? Are you all right?" Dean's voice sharpened with concern and Sam could hear the faint jingle of keys.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm at the police station. They picked me up for breaking curfew."

"Curfew?" Dean echoed as if the word made no sense. "Manhattan has a curfew? What the hell, Sam?"

Sam shrugged, knowing Dean couldn't see and felt a smile tug at his lips. It felt good to share the absurdity of the situation. Officer Murray seemed disinclined to find the craziness in the whole thing. "Yeah, I know. That's what I said."

The line hummed with silence for a moment and then Sam heard him snort out a laugh. "Dude, you got arrested for breaking curfew. Only you. Man, you are such a boy scout."

Sam's smile turned wry and he shook his head. Leave it to Dean to find something in the situation to give Sam crap over. "Yeah, Dean, it's really hilarious from where you're standing. Funny how it isn't quite as amusing from this side of things. And just remember, you have to come and get me. They won't let me leave until you do."

"Yeah, I got that," Dean replied, still chuckling. "Just hold on. I'll be there in five."

It was more like four. Sam counted.

There was barely time for him to tell Officer Murray no, he did not want to call a lawyer, that Dean would handle everything, and to flush with embarrassment when his stomach growled so loudly that Elizabeth, the intake clerk, heard it from across the room. Sam sat slouched in a green molded plastic chair right next to Officer Murray's desk, still handcuffed, and listened to the sound of computer keys rattling.

Daniel Murray seemed like a decent sort of guy and Sam really wanted to tell him that the scared straight stuff was unlikely to do much good in this case Sam was already thoroughly convinced he didn't want to spend his days using soap on a rope and living in a five by five room with another guy, though fear had very little to do with the decision. Sam wasn't afraid of much of anything human other than losing his father or brother. But he decided there was no point in bringing it up. If keeping Sam handcuffed made Officer Murray feel better, Sam could live with it.

His stomach growled again, loudly, and Sam pressed a hand to his midsection, convinced his stomach was in the process of literally digesting itself. Next time he'd go home for the damned spaghettiOs. He'd been hungry plenty of times before when Dad had been late and the money ran out and he should have remembered you never pass up an opportunity to eat.

Officer Murray looked up, faintly irritated. "Just settle down, Sam. It's going to take time for your family to get here so you may as well relax. I'm almost done with your paperwork so we'll be able to get you moved to someplace a little more comfortable soon."

"I'm comfortable here, but go ahead." Sam murmured shrugging indifferently. He was looking forward to the chance to harass Dean about being late. It was almost disappointing to be at four minutes, fifteen seconds when the deep, throaty growl of the Impala's engine drifted into the station. He straightened and glanced at the door expectantly. He just have to console himself with a can of spaghettiOs, maybe two.

It only took a few seconds from the time the car engine stopped for Dean to push through the glass double doors. He moved with the easy grace of a hunter that drew Elizabeth's full attention. Sam knew Dean would use that advantage to its fullest as soon as he actually saw her, but for now, his attention was completely taken over by Sam. His gaze flickered over Sam, a comprehensive, head to toe assessment, looking for blood, bruises, and broken bones. Sam shook his head, a tiny imperceptible motion that only Dean saw because only Dean was looking for it. And only Sam saw that the reassurance was enough to ease the lines of tension bracketing Dean's mouth and to make his shoulders relax slightly. Good. Now Dean could focus all his attention on getting Sam cut loose quickly. But Dean didn't refocus his attention. Instead, he ran his gaze back over Sam, slower this time, cataloging things Sam couldn't see, until he fixed on the still fastened handcuffs on Sam's wrists. Dean's eyes darkened a little and his jaw tightened.

The whole exchange was over in seconds. Dean flashed Elizabeth a brilliant, million watt smile leaned over the counter on his forearms. "Hello there, Officer Calder. I'm here to pick up my kid brother."

Elizabeth tilted her head to the side and smoothed a hand over the sleek twist of her hair. "What's his name?" She asked, her voice considerably warmer than it had been when she'd been talking to Sam.

Sam made a face. As if there were so many kids here to choose from that she had to ask. Officer Murray looked up from his computer screen with a scowl, eyes narrowed dangerously. Dean was a master at lying and charming women and Sam figured that the minute Dean turned his smile on Elizabeth, the end would be in sight. It might have played out that way had it actually been her decision.

"Sam Winchester. Over there." Dean inclined his head to where Sam was sitting.

"Right," Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, took in Officer Murray's dark expression and ducked her head back to her computer. "Here...let me get the file together and you can talk to the arresting officer."

"I'd much rather talk to you," Dean said, his voice dropping low and leaning in a little. Sam didn't need to see her face to know she'd be blushing. "So I couldn't help noticing the cuffs are still on him. Is really that necessary? I mean, Sam didn't resist arrest or anything, did he?"

"I'm not sure," Elizabeth stammered, confused and clearly flustered, and Officer Murray took pity on her. Either that or he was feeling as queasy as Sam was with way she was melting under the force of Dean's charm. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if she'd not had an audience.

Officer Murray stood and crossed to Elizabeth's desk. "It's okay, Officer Calder. I'll take it from here."

Elizabeth turned to him, stepped back, and nodded, pale except for the hectic flush in her cheeks.

"Good evening, Mr - ?" Officer Murray said to Dean, letting his words rise towards the end in a question.

"Winchester," Dean said, straightening. "Just like his."

"Right. Well, why don't you come on back and we'll discuss Sam's case?"

Dean's brows rose. "His case?" He said carefully. "I didn't realize it was serious enough to warrant a case. I mean, I thought you picked him up for a curfew violation?"

Officer Murray nodded. "We did but it's a little more complicated than that. Let's go back to an interview room and we'll talk."

Dean shrugged and made his way through the small door in the half wall that separated the waiting room from the officer's desks. "What about the handcuffs? Are those really necessary?"

"Not strictly, no," Murray conceded. "It's just that we're a little shorthanded tonight and I wasn't sure we could run him down if he decided to bolt. Come on, Sam. Let's go talk."

Obediently, Sam got to his feet, eyes on the floor and allowed himself to be guided by a hand on his elbow.

"You think Sam is a flight risk?" Dean asked, incredulous. "You've got him figured all wrong, officer. Sam's the original Dudley Do Right. If he was doing anything illegal, you can bet it was because he didn't know it."

As they reached the interview room, Sam shot his brother quelling glance, wishing he would just shut up. He got the feeling Daniel Murray didn't like him very much and liked Dean even less.

He sat in the chair indicated by Murray and Dean settled down next to him. Murray unlocked the cuffs and tucked both handcuffs and keys into his pocket. Sam muttered a thank you and rubbed his wrists reflexively.

"I see this isn't the first time Sam has been in police custody though it doesn't look like any of the charges were ever serious. Were you aware of your brother's nocturnal exploits?" Murray asked, flipping the chart open the chart in front of him.

Dean leaned back in his chair and regarded the officer with a measured gaze. "You mean did I know Sammy was going to head off for a midnight walk tonight? No. I didn't. Of course, since it's only happened the one time and neither of us were aware it was illegal, I'm not sure it warrants all this."

"If it were only this, you would probably be right," Murray conceded. "But I believe your brother is guilty of more than just a curfew violation. I think he was trespassing with intent to commit vandalism at the very least. I also believe he ran from duly appointed officers of the law. I told him I could help him if he leveled with me but so far he's not been very cooperative."

Dean reached over and put his hand on Sam's neck, exactly where Sam had known he would, and squeezed gently. "Sammy? What's the story?"

Sam shrugged but not hard enough to dislodge Dean's hand, which he found he actually wanted there, and recounted his story. He was seriously beginning to wish he'd just taken the trespassing/concealed weapon hit because he couldn't be certain he'd covered his tracks well enough to throw Officer Murray off. Small town cop or not, Daniel Murray was proving to be more perceptive than Sam liked. He threw a of code word into the explanation so Dean would know everything was not quite as it seemed and to be ready for a possible storm of trouble later.

Dean squeezed his neck again in acknowledgement before letting his hand fall away and turning his attention back to Murray. "So did you actually see Sam trespassing? I mean he says he didn't and if you didn't actually see him..."

"I saw someone climb over the Talbot's fence," Murray corrected. "And the someone looked a lot like Sam, all the way down to the missing coat. I told the kid to stop but he took off and I chased him. I stayed in the area to canvas it on foot after my suspect slipped away and ran across Sam."

"That's pretty circumstantial evidence. I thought you had to do more than just have suspicions."

Murray inclined his head. "For adults we do. For minors, the suspicion is enough. So unless Sam has some great revelations to share, I'm going to keep him here until I have a chance to look at the area."

Sam's heart skipped a beat and his gaze flew to Murray's face. This was not going according to plan. "You're keeping me here?" He asked carefully. "I can't go with my brother?"

Officer Murray returned Sam's gaze levelly. "That's about it. Aside from the potential charges, your brother is not your parent or guardian and I can't release you to anyone but your legal guardian."

"This is bullshit," Dean snapped through clenched teeth, slapping his palms flat on the table.

"No bullshit," Murray said mildly. "Just the legal system."

"But I thought - " Sam started then broke off. He'd been told to call his dad and a lawyer. His choice had been to call Dean.

Murray waited a beat then said "I would suggest you get in touch with Sam's legal guardian and bring him or her back in the morning. We should know by eight or nine if we're going to charge him with anything else."

Sam felt his stomach twist and clench. He was seriously screwed. There was no telling where Dad was or how long it would take Dean to track him down. "There -" his voice caught and he had to clear his throat to continue. "There's no way I can go with Dean? I mean in the morning? It has to be my dad?"

Murray nodded. "I'm afraid so. Unless your brother brings us power of attorney papers or legal guardianship papers."

Sam slumped down in his chair. "What about school?" He finally asked softly

Murray's brow arched at the question. "What about it?"

Sam shrugged. "It's just that I'll have to miss class."

Murray shrugged back, clearly not understanding the issue, and Dean cut in. "Can I have a few minutes alone with Sam?"

"Of course," Murray nodded and stood, gathering the papers back into the folder. "You can have five minutes gentlemen and then we need to get Sam settled."

Dean nodded and waited for the officer to leave, one hand resting on Sam's arm. Frustrated, Sam fought the urge to shake it off as the door closed with a soft click. "Jesus, Sammy, what is wrong with these people? They find a kid breaking curfew and they call in the frigging swat team."

"They're just doing their jobs," Sam murmured tiredly, rubbing his hands over his face. "I don't know what they're looking for or what they think I've done but I guess I'm staying here tonight."

"Look, I will get you out of here, man, I swear it. I just - I'll bring dad back with me in the morning and we'll spring you. It's only for one night - you won't even have to miss much school."

Sam shot him a sidelong glance. "Really? Think you'll be able to track Dad down that fast?"

"Yeah, he's supposed to be back tonight."

Sam snorted. "Right, well, I won't hold my breath."

"Sam..." Dean exhaled sharply and his tone went hard.. "If he isn't at the motel by the time I get back, I'll track him down. I promise I will get you out of here."

"Yeah, sure." Sam felt the fight draining out of him. He was too tired and too hungry to get into this now. He didn't believe Dad would show up in the morning, but it didn't matter. What mattered right now was that Sam had called and Dean had come. "Listen, Dean, thanks for coming. I'm sorry - "

Dean waved a hand to cut him off. "Dude, You already owe me plenty for Candy. Don't make it any worse."

Sam let out a soft, involuntary laugh. "Only you could find a girl named Candy Apple in the middle of nowhere Kansas."

"Not nowhere, Sammy, Junction City, Kansas. She's coming to the university as soon as she gets enough money saved."

"You get her number?" Sam asked, not really caring but wanting to hold onto the moment. Dean grinned, dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"Sealed with a kiss," he said, brandishing the lipsticked smeared slip with a flourish.

Sam grinned back. "Then I guess I don't really owe you jack. You got her number, give her a call. I'm sure she'd be happy to start right back up where you left off."

Dean opened his mouth to explain exactly why Sam was wrong but Officer Murray came back at about that time and he turned it into asking if Sam needed anything. Sam considered asking for food, a book, and a shaker of salt but decided against it. The only thing he really wanted was to be out of there and that wasn't something Dean could give him.

He felt an unreasonable pang of loss when his brother's back disappeared through the door. He knew with unshakable certainty that Dean would be back unless some bad-ass demon ganked him and even then he would still probably come back as a freaking ghost. Sam tried not to think about that possibility too often. He wondered if they were any closer to figuring out what they were even hunting. Dad said he'd found demon spore but Dad was so obsessed he could find demon spore in a bathtub that had been used by a demon five centuries ago.

He followed Officer Murray to the holding cell and stood in the middle of the room until the door clicked shut and he was alone for the first time in hours. The room was constructed of featureless cinder block walls painted a dim shade of pale yellow with a stainless steel slab bolted to the wall, covered by a thin mattress, a small stainless steel sink, and a toilet. There was no desk or anywhere to sit other than the bed. Classy accommodations. Surprisingly, it was not the worst place he'd ever slept but it was on the top ten list.

Sam blew out a breath and settled on the bed, shifting until his back was against the wall. He didn't think he'd sleep because sleeping without salt lines and wards made him twitchy. If he was going to die, he wanted to see the supernatural bastard coming. Of course it might be better to try to sleep because then he could forget his clawing hunger and quit thinking about how angry Dad was likely to be at having been pulled off the hunt to take care of a Sam problem.

He started doing Latin conjugations in his head again. Something about the exercise was almost meditative. Amo, amabam, amabo, amazi, amaveram, amavero...amem, amarem, amaverim...he conjugated carefully until the words ran together into a smeary mess in his head.

He had no idea how much time had passed, an hour, maybe two but the stiffness in his legs told him it was more than minutes. The click of the lock on the door made him sit up a little straighter and he blinked, surprised to see Officer Murray sticking his head around the door.

"Well this is a surprise," Sam murmured, unsure what to make of the man's reappearance. "I thought we were pretty well done until morning? Later morning, I mean."

"We are," Murray agreed then tossed a crumpled paper bag on the bed. Sam's stomach jolted as he looked down at the distinctive golden arches staring back at him, his brain registering the unbelievably good aromas emanating from bag. But he still didn't understand. He looked up towards the officer for some explanation but the door was already closing.

"Wait...what is this?" he called.

Murray stuck his head back through the door and shot him a sardonic look. "It's food. Just eat something, would you? Your stomach is so loud I can hear it all the way up at my desk."

Sam managed to get out a soft "Thanks," before the door shut on his voice, thrown off balance by the kindness.

He couldn't remember the last time a meal had tasted quite so good even though it was just a Big Mac and fries. He took small bites, savoring the taste of each one before swallowing. He had no idea what had prompted the man to do it but it reinforced his initial assessment of Daniel Murray as a good man.

After he ate, Sam settled back on the bed to wait for something to happen. Time passed at a crawl. Turned out that the worst part of being locked up was the everlasting boredom. It was even worse than the tedium of the long hours he'd logged and the thousands of miles he'd clocked in the backseat of the Impala and he'd not thought anything could be more boring than that. He shifted on the thin mattress, trying futilely to find a more comfortable position and let his mind drift.

He supposed it made no sense for Dad to come back to spring him from jail and not just because he'd be a dick about it. The screw up was Sam's fault and further was completely human in nature. Dad had taught them to be self-sufficient and creative, whatever his motivations had been for doing so, and Sam knew he and Dean could handle this. He counted dots on the ceiling and sifted through possible options for getting out. Forged papers seemed most likely. Dad didn't seem to be in a big hurry to get out of Manhattan, particularly since they still didn't know exactly what was going on and that meant however Dean managed to get him out would have to at least appear legal and stand up under scrutiny. At least for a while.

Eventually, staring at the ceiling bled into a restless sleep. He hadn't intended to drift off and hadn't thought he would but boredom and the let down from the stress of the evening weighted his lids down until he couldn't keep them open any longer. .

He had made it to the water tower and almost safety, crouched in the long grass by the side of the endless ribbon of black that stretched out in both directions. He was being hunted and his heart thrilled with the chase. Every sense felt unnaturally heightened, the softness of animal skin brushing against his thighs, the weight of his headgear pressing down on his scalp, the sharp smell of smoke on the night air, the almost painful glare of light from the city below, and the acrid tang of anticipation on his tongue. The fools had allowed him to reach the forest and the welcoming shelter of the trees. He held perfectly still until he was sure he was alone but for the owl flying overhead and the fox hidden in the brush fifteen feet from him then he jumped over the fence in one smooth motion and loped across open field, acknowledging a frisson of unease the exposure generated. It was only for a few seconds though and then he was there, at the treeline ducking into the sheltering cover.

He pulled himself into the branches, feeling the night and the forest close over him like a friend. Now the hunted could become the hunter. He sharpened his hearing and sniffed at the air, closing his eyes to better focus. They were coming...coming across the black ribbon of road and over the fence, two of them, spread apart, seeking but aimlessly, without purpose. He smiled, palming his knife, running his finger over the edge of the blade. They were his now, his prey.

He curled his fingers into a fist, feeling the bite of his claws digging into his palms and breathed very slowly, waiting for them to come to him. He could see it all unfold in his mind. The man would walk under his tree and he would drop down upon the man's back and slice his throat open. The second one would be even easier, only he would not kill that one. That one he would take back.

He caught the scent of more hunters on the air but they were much too far away to interfere with his plans. Closer the prey came, and closer still, until he could make out individual features in the moonlight. His heart slammed hard in his chest, shock making him tremble. He knew that face...he knew him...it was his brother...his prey was his brother. Confused, he hesitated, knife hilt slippery in his suddenly damp palm, but then he shook himself free. It was an illusion, undoubtedly cast by the prey. He coiled his muscles, preparing to leap...

A loud crash from somewhere beyond the door followed by a string of curses jolted Sam out of his sleep. He came abruptly and completely awake, soaked in sweat and gasping for air, blood pounding in his ears. Jesus...what the hell was that all about? The images from the dream were shockingly vivid in his mind, the moonlight streaming down through the fall leaves casting dappled patterns on the ground, the cool bite of the wind on his face, the hunger and excitement that had been building in his stomach as the hunt drew towards a crashing end. And he'd been hunting Dad and Dean. Hunting them. Yeah, they'd been hunting him first but he'd turned it around on them and had been about to kill Dean, to slit his throat with a really sharp knife and there was some seriously messed up Freudian crap going on in his head to be dreaming about stuff like that.

Sam sat up and swung shaky legs over the edge of the bed, pushed to his feet and crossed to the small sink to splash water on his face. That was one of the worst nightmares he'd had in years. He'd wanted to do it so badly in the dream, wanted the kill with a fervor he could still taste. He swore viciously, slammed his hand flat against the wall, leaning over the sink as water dripped off his face into the basin. Dark images ran through his head getting sharper, coming into clearer focus, and pure physical sensations crawled over his skin and coiled in his belly.

He shook his head to clear it but a growing thought in the back of his mind made him push away from the sink and stumble backward until his knees hit the edge of the bunk and gave way. He dropped his head into his hands, fighting a bone deep, satisfied certainty that someone had died at the other end of the sharp little knife he'd been holding. And the last person he'd seen had been Dean but...God, not Dean. Please, not Dean.

Sam shook his head again, trying to separate what was real from what his seriously disturbed subconscious had created. However screwed up it was to be dreaming about killing your brother, Sam was sure it was better than actually doing it and better too than being so mental you couldn't distinguish dream from reality. And that's what he got for sleeping unprotected in a place like this.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, barely aware of the click of the lock turning, of his door opening, or of the fact that he was no longer alone.

"Sam? Are you all right?"

Sam knew the voice, recognized it from somewhere. There was command laced through the sharp tones, command and enough force to lock his reality back into the cell. He looked up, into Officer Murray's haggard face and concerned eyes and nodded once.

"Yes, sir. I'm fine," Sam said raggedly. He wasn't really but what else could he say? He wasn't in a good place to be dealing with anyone right now, his nerves raw and unsteady, adrenaline making him shaky but he didn't have much choice. He hoped maybe Officer Murray would chalk it up to him freaking out about being locked up for the night. He kind of liked that idea, thought it might give him some leverage should he need it.

Murray frowned, eyes narrowed in appraisal. "You don't look like you slept very well."

Sam choked out a soft laugh, feeling his defenses sliding with glacial slowness into place over raw nerves, replacing the jangling wrongess of his dream. Now wasn't that the understatement? "Doesn't look like you slept at all," he countered nodding at Murray's rumpled uniform.

Murray smiled tiredly, ran a hand over his face, and conceded the point. "It was a busy night."

"Running down curfew breaking kids?" Sam suggested sardonically. It looked like last night really taken something out of the officer and Sam didn't think the exhaustion was all about him.

The question drew a laugh from Murray. "It's a little more complicated than that, which is part of the reason we're going to let you go now. I sent some officers out to check the area around the Talbot's early this morning and they didn't find anything out of place. Though I have to tell you that if I didn't have other things that need my attention I'd probably try to hold you for a while longer because my gut tells me you aren't giving me the straight story."

"I don't know what you thought you'd find. I wasn't doing anything wrong," Sam shrugged. "I mean, other than breaking curfew, which I totally didn't know about. I was just out walking, trying to clear my head."

"Yeah, I know. That's what you said last night," Murray sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "All right then. If you don't have anything else to tell me, we'd better get going. Your dad's here to pick you up."

Sam felt his heart skip with the shock of Murray's words. Dad? Dad was here, at the station? He stared at the officer blankly for a long moment with no idea how to even process the thought. Had Dean been on the level when he said Dad would be back to the motel last night? Maybe he hadn't just been trying to make Sam feel better. Maybe Dad hadn't yet caught the trail of whatever they were hunting and disappeared into parts unknown...or maybe Dad was tracking it and had followed it back to Manhattan. Sam let the implications of that alarming thought wash over him, feeling a mixture of warmth and dread.

"My Dad is here?" He asked carefully, trying not to reveal his shock.

Murray nodded. "He showed up with your brother about fifteen minutes ago." He regarded Sam for a long moment before reaching for the door. "You know, you seem like a nice kid, Sam, so I'm going to give you a piece of advice A lot of strange stuff has been going on around here lately and no one seems to be able to figure it out. Stay inside at night and keep your nose clean. I don't want to see you in here again and I don't want to have to come looking for you. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Sam nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry for any problems I may have caused. I won't break curfew again."

Murray chuckled. "See that you don't. And if I tell you to stop, don't run."

Sam ducked his head to hide his grin. "Yeah, of course."

"All right then. Let's get you out of here."

He followed Officer Murray down the hall, hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders hunched, head bowed, wondering what the hell he was going to say to Dad. He supposed he would probably have to tell him everything, including the fact that he'd lost the knife Bobby had given him. It was unlikely to be a surprise that Sam had done something else stupid and irresponsible; it seemed like that was his life these days...and it wasn't like Dad would really want to hear what Sam had to say anyway. He would have already made his mind up about everything and it would be just a matter of how Sam had disappointed him this time. Sam had learned to be realistic about it, however much he wanted it to be different.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting to see when he crossed the threshold but he almost missed a step when he saw Bobby standing in the waiting room with Dean, his faded jeans, ratty ski vest and baseball cap as familiar as the scowl on his scruffy bearded face. Relief and guilt and euphoria flooded through him in equal measures. No Dad to deal with, only Bobby and Bobby would be gruff and sarcastic but he would understand.

The paperwork and transfer of Sam from police custody to Bobby's custody was efficient and easy. Dean stood by with a half smirk that quickly bloomed into a full on smug grin. He rocked back on his heels, hands tucked neatly in his back pockets. Clearly he thought he'd pulled off something special and maybe he had. He did at least have the grace to wait until they were out of the station to slap Sam on the back. "Told you I'd get you out this morning."

Sam snorted, shaking his hand away. "You told me you'd bring Dad back. Bobby's not Dad. Not that I'm not grateful that you came or anything," he added quickly, shooting Bobby a quick, apologetic glance.

Bobby shook his head and grunted as he stalked to the Impala. "You wanna tell me what's gotten into you? Running off, not answering your danged phone, getting picked up by the police. You possessed or something?"

Chastened, Sam ducked his head as he slid into the backseat. "I'm sorry. It was really all just a bunch of weird mishaps." He relayed the story on the trip back to the motel, squirming when he got to the part about having to ditch the knife and fervently assuring his adopted uncle "I'll get it back, Bobby. I swear I will."

Bobby wasn't even remotely concerned. "Forget it," he growled. "It's just a knife."

Dean shot him a sidelong glance. "Thought it was an old knife...like really old?"

"Still just a knife," Bobby replied with a glower that shut Dean right up.

When they reached the motel, Bobby stayed to drink a couple of beers and talk over the case. Dean pulled out a map and sketched the pattern of disappearances that had led them to Manhattan, marveling at how Dad had put it all together. Sam tried to tune out the shop talk but he had no homework left to do and that made it difficult to not listen.

He was still famished so he headed to the kitchen to pop open an can of spaghettiOs. The food he'd rejected the night before sounded like nothing less than manna at the moment. As he peeled the lid off, the incredible smell of the tomato sauce hit him. It made him dizzy and it made his stomach cramp

"I thought maybe we were looking for a werewolf," Dean explained.

Bobby shook his head. "Werewolves don't hide their kill. If you were looking for a werewolf you'd be sifting through bodies, not looking for them. "

"That's what Dad said. So I tried Wendigo and he said we wouldn't find a Wendigo in the middle of the city. But .there are still a million things it could be. I mean missing people the four directions aren't very helpful right? Lots of the things use the four directions, sometimes north, south, east, west, other times the elements. It could be anything from Sumerian to witchcraft to some old nature religion."

Sam opened the fridge, thinking to scam another of Dean's sodas just to piss him off. Dean wouldn't take Sam down with Bobby here, which made the endeavor all the more appealing. When he opened the door, he stopped and blinked several times, unable to believe he had the right refrigerator. He stared, shook his head and stared some more before finally turning his gaze to Dean. Sam didn't say anything, just arched his brows in question, which earned him a single digit salute from Dean. Sam looked at the fully laden fridge and back and Dean until his brother broke off his conversation and shook his head in exasperation.

"Bobby insisted that fifteen year olds need more than spaghettiOs and Lucky Charms and beer. I told him I was a shining example of how that turns out but he wasn't impressed."

Sam looked at Bobby in awe. "Holy crap, Bobby, this is - " Words failed him. Bobby shifted and scowled fiercely.

"It ain't that big of a deal," he muttered. "Dean just needed to get his head out of his ass."

Dean snapped a semi-wounded "Hey!" in protest, while Sam snorted a laugh from inside the fridge. Oh God there was even fresh milk. Unbelievable. He emerged with lunch meat, cheese, bread and more precariously balanced in his arms and set out to make a massive sandwich.

"Anyway," Dean continued, glaring at Sam, "then we got a break. One of the four sites let slip some information about a possible cannibal connection. They found a thigh bone that showed clear signs of being heated and of tooth marks, so I guess our monster was looking for a manwich."

"Did the DNA match any of the missing people?" Bobby asked thoughtfully, tapping the map with his fingertips.

"Don't know," Dean conceded. "They haven't gotten the test results yet but we did find that same MO at two of the other three sites."

"So why here?" Bobby asked.

"It's the exact center of the disappearances and they've had two people go missing from this area - three after last night. Dad thought that might be significant," Dean shrugged. "The longer we're here, the more certain we are that this is the focus of whatever is going on. Dad picked up the trail of something a couple of days ago at the southern site and followed it back up here. We were so close to catching it up by the water tower - "

Sam made an unconscious noise, turning to stare at his brother, the half mayonnaised bread forgotten in his hand. "You were hunting last night?" he asked softly, stomach suddenly knotted.

A shadow of guilt passed over Dean's face and he glanced down at the map. "Yeah. I told you Dad was coming back last night. He called me and said he had a line on whatever we were hunting, asked me to meet him by the water tower as back up. We followed it for maybe a mile or so but then we lost its trail."

"You never actually saw it?" Bobby leaned forward, eyes sharp on Dean's face but Dean shook his head.

"No, we never saw it. We saw some pretty clear signs of its passage but..." he shrugged helplessly. "but we must have walked right past it. By the time we'd figured that out it was too late and a guy was dead. I have no idea what the cops were looking for or why they were there."

"Did you look up?" The words slipped free without any real thought, Sam's voice still very quiet, weighted down by the wave dread climbing up his throat.

"Up?" Dean frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Did you look up?"

"No, we were tracking something on the ground" Dean said with a frown. "Why would we look up?"

Sam turned back to the counter, dimly aware that his fingers were clenched white knuckled on the edge. He took a deep breath and deliberately released his grip. There was literally no reason to think that what Dean and Dad were hunting had any connection to what he'd dreamed last night. It was a stupid thought, an insane thought, one he pushed away.

"Never mind. I was up by the water tower last night and saw the trees. I just wondered if whatever it was you were hunting maybe took to the trees."

Sam picked up the knife and smeared mayonnaise onto the other half of his sandwich, ignoring the trembling in his hands. He couldn't quite figure out why he was so unsettled. Nightmares happened all the time to people and given his general proximity to nasty creatures of all kinds, it was no wonder he occasionally had a bad dream.

He licked a smear of mayo off his finger and proceeded to assemble his sandwich in carefully stacked layers. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that the creature could have dream walking capability. They'd seen stuff like that before, though not in the context this creature's actions had taken. It was just that there was no reason for it to connect with Sam in particular. He wasn't an active part of this hunt, had done no research and tracked no leads. If anyone was going to be hit with a dream walking vision the logical targets would be Dad and Dean. It was just...disturbing.

"Have you found anything special about the area?" Bobby asked after a moment.

"Madison, the girl who was here yesterday said there are rumors about blood sacrifices being performed in the orchard," Sam found himself offering, though he didn't really think there was anything to it. "But it's probably a load of bullshit. She said that people don't disappear around sacrifice time but it might be worth checking out."

Dean shook his head. "No, there's nothing off about the orchard. We checked that first thing. Lots of old world crap associated with orchards."

Bobby ran his fingers over the map, tracing the circle made by the four disappearances. "There might be something in the ley lines," he murmured. "But I'm not familiar enough with that stuff to be sure."

Sam carefully cut his sandwich in half, placing both towering pieces on a plate before carrying sandwich and milk into the room where Bobby and Dean sat bent over the map. He cleared a space on the low coffee table for his things and settled down on the couch beside Dean.

"Jesus, Sam, have enough to eat there?"

"Maybe...I'll let you know," Sam replied, unmoved. "So you going to stay for a while, Bobby? Cause the food is a lot better with you around and it sounds like Dad and Dean could use you. We've been here a whole week and they still have no idea what they're hunting yet."

Dean smacked the back of his head lightly. "Yeah, well, I don't see you pitching in anywhere. If you've got some great idea, I'm open."

Bobby glanced up and shook his head. "Sorry, Sam. I got someone to cover phones for the day but I'm on the rest of the week. And I want to check the ley lines around this area. Maybe there's something special about this place that will point us in the right direction."

Sam's stomach sank. He'd really been hoping Bobby would stay for a week or two. "Yeah, I get it. I just wish you could stay for a while."

"Thanks for coming, man," Dean said in a low voice. "I mean, I really appreciate it - we really appreciate it."

Bobby grunted, uncomfortable with gratitude. "You boys stay out of trouble for a while, you hear? I'm too old to drive all night like that too often. And don't go off half cocked hunting after something when we don't know what we're dealing with."

Sam frowned. He hadn't thought about how far Sioux Falls was or how Bobby had gotten to Manhattan. "Maybe you should sleep a couple hours before you head back. You won't be much good to anyone dead."

Bobby just brushed the suggestion off. He had things to do, monsters to track, phones to answer. Sam understood. He didn't like it, but he understood. He ate his sandwich slowly as Bobby gathered his things. Somehow it didn't taste nearly as good as it had just a few minutes earlier. He left half of it on the plate, knowing Dean would finish it as soon as he thought Sam wasn't looking. In a low voice, Bobby asked Dean how he was set for money, nodding when Dean flashed a cocky grin.

It was still morning when Bobby drove away and Sam stared down the street for a long time after his tail lights disappeared, feeling vaguely empty. He stood in the doorway, shivering in the cool fall air, until Dean shouted something about letting out all the heat.