Dean pulled his face off the cold wood of the table as he was woken up by a noise outside. He rolled his neck around, trying to get the kink out from sleeping on such a weird angle. Another noise came outside, and Dean looked up sleepily. "…Sam?" He stood up sluggishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand and cursing the fact that he fell asleep like that. As usual, he had been waiting for his stupid brother to come home after their stupid fight went stupidly wrong. He thought that it would be better to wait up untill Sam got back. They either had to finish the fight or make up, but Dean must have fallen asleep waiting for the big oaf to come home. Kicking a newspaper out of his way, Dean stopped to take a swig off his coffee, and was disappointed to find it cold. He looked to the door. Sam still hadn't come in. Maybe he forgot his key.

"You keep forgetting your key, and your going to get into trouble someday when I don't let you in," Dean said loudly through the door as he undid the deadbolt and threw open the door to –

Nothing. Sam wasn't there.

Wha…

Stepping out of the door a few steps, Dean almost expected his brother to jump out of the bushes shouting "Surprise!" But he knew Sam wouldn't do that. And Dean's hunter-senses told him that something wasn't right. "S-Sam?" He tried to repress a flare of panic that erupted in his gut. God no… Not again. Not again. Dean tried to laugh at himself, saying that Sam was fine. It's just the wind Dean. Sam's still out. He'll be back soon. He… He will. He will Dean. Dean, despite his best efforts, couldn't be convinced. "Sam?" Something just wasn't right. "Sam!" Dean hesitated, taking a few steps behind him, and stepped on something that he hadn't noticed in front of his hotel door. Slowly, he bent down to pick it up. It was a brown envelope, marked clearly with a stamp and Dean's footprint across the middle. He stared at it a minute, confused. It was marked in big scrawled writing:

- To: Mr. Dean Winchester.

Above that, in a blurred stamp, it read:

- Name:Dean Winchester

- DOB:January 24th, 1979

- POB:Lawrence, Kansas

- Residence: 67' Chevy Impala (License Plate CNK 80Q3)

- Phone Number: 1-866-907-3235.

- Height:6' 1"

- Weight:175 lbs.

- Hair:Brown

- Eyes:Brown

Living Relatives: Samuel Winchester

-From: Ms. Jane Walberg

-Returning Address: Unlisted.

What the hell? Dean flipped the envelope over a couple times, brushing off his footprint to get a better look at the numbers. How does this chick know all this stuff? He looked again. His real phone number, his birthday, address, personal information, family ties, his car, they were all listed. Hell, his height was written on the cover of an envelope! And how did this Jane woman know his knew license plate number? This is just getting weirder and weirder by the second… Dean looked around again, getting the sudden feeling that he was being watched. And even worse, feeling that he was being watched and still unable to talk to his brother about it. Get home Sammy… Dean stepped back through the doorway, bolting the door behind him. He shut the blinds, dimmed the lights, and loaded his shotgun, sticking his 45' rifle in his back waistband. Then, after that, he sat down at the table to read the mysterious envelope. He read the cover a few more times, stumped, and finally slid his finger into the paper and ripped it open. He pulled out a long sheet of paper, formal style just like the envelope. He unfolded it carefully, frowning. It read:

Dean Winchester,

Your brother Samuel had paid me the honor of his company from the dates of January 20th henceforth, and shall be notifying you the second we wish him to return from our party. All preparation of his expected visit has been made. Your brother is quite entertaining, a real treat, and a pleasure to see. I concur that his visit will be long and well appreciated by the both of us, and as such I apologize for allowing his stay without your permission. You will be contacted in a few days as to the status of our party, and I'm sure you will have many entertaining stories to hear. Do not worry a bit; your brother is in good hands. If either of our current situations change, you will be notified immediately. Your brother is a very interesting person to be around, and not a hair on his pretty little head will be harmed when I return him to you. Sam sends you his greetings.

Sincerely and with much gratitude,

Ms. Jane Walberg.

PS, As to the truthfulness of this note, I had a fleeting suspicion that you would doubt my intentions. I included inside this envelope a token of my sincerity. Two days from now, at midnight, you will wait for me at the corner of 5th and second. Be alone and you will get to see your brother. I am a woman of my word.

Dean read the letter again, more confused then ever. What the hell! He paused on certain phrases, unsure of what the woman was trying to get at, but eventually his eyes settled on the last line. "I had a fleeting suspicion that you would doubt my intentions. I included inside this envelope a token of my sincerity." A token as in… as in what? Almost afraid to find out, Dean hesitated before setting the letter aside. Grabbing the envelope with both hands, he turned it upside down. Nothing fell out. Unsatisfied still, he stuck a hand inside, feeling along the crease until his fingers brushed a piece of something that had been stuck in the very back corner. Pulling it out slowly, he frowned. It was a picture. He took a deep breath, turning it to face him, and couldn't help catching his breath in his throat at the sight of his little brother, bound and gagged, on a table. His face was pale but calm, and from the chest-and-up view Dean got he couldn't see any wounds on Sam at all. His face, actually, looked surprisingly calm. As if he was asleep. Dean frowned. "Not a hair on his pretty little head will be harmed when I return him to you." What the hell was she going to do to his brother?!

Looking again at the picture, Dean ran a hand through his stubbly hair, biting his lip. Just a few minutes ago he had been worried about what the outcome of the fight would be, and now he had much worse things to worry about. Sam…