WOW. I can't thank you enough for all of your kind reviews. My schedule is crazy with full time work and full time school, and yet because of you all and your kind words I made the time to continue. THANK YOU.

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"Hi, this is Sam. I'm not here right now but if you leave me a message I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Dean all but growled. Normally he thought that Sam's voicemail was annoyingly bland, but now it was down right infuriating. What the hell was going on?

"Sammy, where in God's name are you? I've driven from the library to the hotel three times and you're nowhere to be found. After that message you left me, I'm more than a little worried about what mess little Samantha has gotten herself into this time." The teasing words that Dean had tried for fell flat, because he wasn't in the mood to joke right now, or to do anything but find Sammy. "Listen, I know you're probably pissed at me about earlier, and I get it, that's fine, but I swear, Samuel Winchester, if you are pulling some sort of prank, I'll kill you myself. Just…call me, alright?"

Dean slammed the phone shut, then whipped the Impala into a space in the library's parking lot. As driving had done no good, and leaving no less than ten messages on his brother's voicemail had done no good, he was going to have to travel on foot. Perhaps if he retraced Sam's steps he'd find some sort of clue as to where his brother had gone. He didn't even bother to lock up his 'baby,' because looking for his kid brother was far more important to him now than any car, even THE car.

"Sammy!" He called, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Fuck it's cold." A sobering thought came to him just then—if he was cold after just stepping out of his warm car, how had Sam felt waiting and then walking in this freaking tundra? Feeling like a candidate for world's worst brother, he worked his way through the snow. At first he saw nothing, but then he all but stumbled over a dirty, ragged flannel shirt, the type that you might expect some sort of broke bum to wear, half hidden in the snow. Even before he had fully picked it up he could smell the stench of sulfur radiating from it. "Son of a bitch…" Hidden under the flannel shirt was a patch of red snow, and no doubt there was more under the thick snow on either side of where the shirt had been. His Sammy was hurt, bleeding somewhere with a fucking demon as his kidnapper, and Dean had no idea where to even begin. "Saaaaammy!" His cry was sheer anguish. He didn't care if he woke someone, he didn't care that his brother likely wasn't anywhere near enough to hear him. It wasn't a cry that expected a response, instead it was a release of all of the guilt and pain and sheer terror that he had for his brother.

Hands shaking, Dean pulled out his phone again, dialing the familiar number. "Hi, Bobby, I need your help."

--

What was it, Bobby Singer wondered, about the Winchester boys and their ability to find trouble. You couldn't leave them alone for an afternoon without one of them finding some way to risk his neck, or both. Sam could even manage to get himself kidnapped on the way back from the library, and that took some talent.

He sighed, turning up the radio on his truck as he raced closer to the town two states over where Dean was. He had left the boy with explicit instructions to wait for him at the hotel, though no doubt the oldest Winchester would ignore them entirely and keep poking his head around until he got himself tied up in the trouble as well. Why did the boys never listen to him? Obviously John had never taught them to do things the normal way. Normal children went to school, and to camp on summer vacation. Normal kids didn't go looking for demons, they ran away from the things that go bump in the night. Normal kids were not what John raised his sons to be, and though it hurt like hell sometimes, Bobby loved the Winchester boys as his own sons, just as they were.

As he got closer to Dean's location, the snow got thicker and thicker, making it fairly treacherous to drive through in places. Unphased, he pulled out his phone, calling Sam's number. He knew that it wouldn't do any good, that whoever had taken Sam wouldn't be foolish enough to let him hold his phone and chat, but there was something to be said for just trying, because right now all that he could do was push harder on the gas pedal and keep trying to reach Sam. Poor kid was likely going to have a million frantic voicemails on his phone—if he was alive to care about such things. He'd never admit it to Dean, but he worried that one day the brother's luck would run out. Something was bound to happen that all the trying in the world couldn't fix someday. He could only pray this wasn't the day.

He coughed, blinking away the suspicious wetness in his eyes, and then started talking to the voicemail. "Sam, it's me…."

--

"Cold…" The word was moaned before Sam was even really awake enough to realize that he was speaking, and evidentially it amused his kidnapper.

"Rise and shine, Sammy boy, rise and shine."

Sam moaned, trying to stand but the ropes tying him to the chair prevented much movement. Opening his eyes a slit, he looked at the man. In the scant light of the small shed they were in he looked even more menacing, and his dark eyes looked even more dead. The demon was playing with his phone, chuckling darkly every so often.

"You really have to listen to this one…" he said, putting the phone on speaker as he pressed the voicemail button. "It's not as touching as the one where your brother cried like a little girl, but close." Sam swallowed deeply. He knew that Dean hadn't cried on the phone, his brother was far too busy being macho to do that, but he was likely worried. He was about to say something when the message began to play.

"Sam, it's me…" Sam swallowed the lump in his throat as he heard Bobby's voice. God this was bad if Dean had called in Bobby. "Where the hell are you, you idjet? Your brother's a basket case looking for you. I know you're not bull headed enough to try to do something like this as a prank, but I need you to give us some sort of sign, Sam. You have to find a way to leave us something to go on." Sam shuddered when he heard Bobby sigh, knowing how deeply this was affecting him and no doubt Dean. "I know you probably won't even get to hear this, but there's always a chance…take care of yourself, boy. I'll see you soon."

"Ever the optimist." Sam jumped at the demon's unexpected voice, as he had almost forgotten he wasn't alone when he heard Bobby's voice. "He thinks he'll be getting you back, isn't that sweet? I love it how old men can be so hopeful at times, almost gives you a bit of hope for things doesn't it?" Though he tried to scoot the chair back as the demon approached, there was little he could do, and the way that he was fidgeting and trying to move upset the balance of the cheap, flimsy thing and a moment later he was laying gasping on his back, with all of his weight and the damned chair resting on one of his bound hands. It hurt, and the damned black eyed creature laughed. "But he won't be getting you back, Sam, nor will Dean…not in one piece anyway."

Bored with his sick games for the time being, the demon flipped out the light in the small metal shed and walked out the door. He had big plans for Sam Winchester, big plans indeed, but first he intended to treat his human body to a warm night's sleep and a mug of warm cocoa. It was damned cold in that shed after all, and though he was immune to human sicknesses and discomfort, that wasn't to say that he didn't enjoy human luxuries from time to time. Yes, this was going to be a very rewarding experience.

Walking to the small house and stepping over the now deceased human residents with as little care as one would use to step over a squashed insect, he pulled out Sam's phone, scrolling down the contact list until he found Dean's number. It rang only once before a very nervous man answered.

"Sammy? Sam?" The demon listened as the young man's voice grew more tense, pleading, then treatening and then with a pleased laugh he closed the phone.

This was going to be even more rewarding than he thought.