Oh where, Oh where has your big brother gone?

Disclaimer: as per chapter 1

Author's note: I woke up with this new chapter running through my head and a temperature now not sure, if they are related but I had to get it down before the flu bugs revolt and send me back to bed...

CHAPTER FOUR:

Sam dropped on the bed exhausted, he hadn't heard a word from his father yet, so he decided to ignore the note and start searching for Dean. Frustrating doesn't even cover how he felt by the end of the day. The locals all acted as though he was the one who was a criminal or a bad guy treating him with contempt.

No one had seen or heard anything the morning Dean disappeared; it was like he had never existed. Scrubbing at his eyes, he let out an audible sigh and checked his voice mail once more, but still no word from his father.

Not like he was surprised by that or anything, their father had ignored or was unable to give up his hunting to come to his sons when they had needed him before, so why should now be any different.

The ringing of his phone made him jump; easy Sam you're starting to lose it, the thought rang through his mind as he stifled a yawn and answered the frantic ringing.

'Sam here.'

'Tsk, tsk Samuel you had to go against instructions didn't you.' A voice mocked him, 'remember what was going to happen to you if you started searching for your brother.'

'Who are you? Where's Dean?' Sam demanded hating the sound of panic rising in his voice.

'He is here with me, we are getting ... hmm let's just say that we're getting to know each other a lot better.'

'If you hurt him I swear ...'

'Ah Samuel when will you learn, anyway who says it will be Dean to suffer this time.' The voice laughed before disconnecting the call.

Furious Sam threw his phone against the wall, watching it land and bounce on Dean's empty bed. Luckily, it didn't shatter when it hit the wall.

Angry with himself for being too obvious with his search, Sam paced the room while he waited for the coffee pot to boil. One small thing to be thankful for, the room they got had a small kitchenette in it complete with coffee pot and other utensils. Nice to be able to make his coffee rather than have to go out and buy more.

Sipping the fragrant fluid he sighed feeling a bit better and sat back down at the laptop, the face kept popping into his thoughts with the fangs dripping blood and the whole works, trying to keep his mind occupied he started to search the archives for any photos or pictures that resembled that face.

Sam blinked and tried to focus on the screen in front of him but it was useless, he must be more tired than he realised, managing to stand he stumbled to the bed and fell face down onto the pillows, his long legs dangled from the edge, but he was already deep asleep, in a heavy dreamless state.

Harsh light made him blink and sit up groggily, his head thumped and his throat felt like sandpaper.

'Sam Winchester?' A gruff voice demanded.

Sam could smell rancid breath so close, the stench of stale tobacco and alcohol mixed together with some unidentifiable food. 'What the?' Sam blinked again and tried to focus on the face floating in front of him, 'fuck man get outta my face.' He ground out as he desperately tried to work out what was going on.

'Samuel Winchester?' The man demanded again.

'Yeah, what about it?'

'Samuel Winchester you are under arrest for murder.'

'What the fuck are you on about? Who are you?'

'I am Sheriff Ralph Jolley and you are under arrest for the murder of Dean Winchester.'

'Look is this some sort of joke?' Sam demanded, 'coz it's not very funny.'

Rough hands grabbed Sam from behind and forced him up and against the closest wall, slamming his cheek onto the roughcast surface. His cheek stinging and bleeding brought Sam to full consciousness, the coffee, fuck the coffee they must have drugged it. Wait a minute what did he say about Dean?

'Look, I have no idea on what you are on about.' Sam snarled trying to push himself away from the wall, but he found his hands handcuffed behind his back making it impossible for him to move them. Hands grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around until he was staring down into the red-rimmed eyes of the sheriff. 'Dean's missing, how could I kill him?'

'Then mister smart-mouth how do you explain this.' The sheriff stepped back and showed Sam, Dean's bed; the sheets ripped and covered with blood, Dean's bloodstained T-shirt and jeans laid discarded next to the bed on the floor. One of their hunting knives lay on the pillows - the blade bloodstained.

'I don't understand.' Sam whispered, shaking his head he tried to clear his thoughts, the coffee, must have been the coffee, suddenly the room started to pitch and spin and his stomach somersaulted and contracted, 'gonna be ...' He didn't finish his sentence as he retched and vomited all over the lower legs and shoes of sheriff Ralph Jolley.

'You little shit ... you puked on me.' The sheriff yelled angrily his face mottling red and white with anger. 'looks like he's resisting arrest boys.'

'Yes Sir.' Before Sam knew it he was thrown down onto the floor as fists and feet rained down at him, pummelling him wherever they could with punches and kicks. Sam managed to roll onto his back and bring his knees up until he could lash out with a blinding double kick, he grunted with satisfaction when he heard one of his attackers yelp in pain, his feet had found their target.

Acting on the stunned pause in the assault, he rolled to his left and managed to pull himself up on his knees when a hard blow landed across the back of his neck, quickly followed by blackness and numbness.

A small crowd gathered outside the motel curiously watching the arrest of a so-called murder suspect. A few gasped in horror and disgust as they watched the sheriff and deputies drag out a badly beaten young man, handcuffed and unable to defend himself he was bloodied and bruised, one eye already swollen shut.

'What's going on?' A man asked as he pushed his way through the growing crowd.

'Sheriff got a young man for murdering his brother.' An older woman turned and stared at the scruffy looking man, with tired looking eyes and an unkempt beard. 'Poor young thing, even if he is guilty there's no need to treat him like that.'

'Sammy?' The man whispered as he finally got a good look at the prisoner as the deputies pushed him into the backseat of their car.

'Do you know him?' The woman asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, 'do I know you?'

'Don't think so.' John Winchester mumbled absently, why did I have to finish the job, why did I make the boys wait yet again?The pangs of self-recrimination and guilt drowned out everything else, as he watched, he saw Sam's head lift slightly, and blink up at him.

'John ... John Winchester?' The woman exclaimed, 'I knew that I would remember eventually.'

'Sorry?' John blinked and looked at the woman as recognition hit him, 'Margaret Cassidy right?'

'Yes it is, how long has it been John, nearly fifteen years isn't it?'

'Something like that ... listen Margaret do you know what happened here?'

'Only what I told you that young man has been accused of murdering his ... oh my God John he isn't one of your boys is he?'

'Sam.' John answered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper, 'something's not right Margaret.'

'Look John come on back to my place, you look like you need to sit down.' Margaret patted his arm gently and led him away from the shocking scene, 'we can work this out over a coffee or perhaps something a wee bit stronger.'

Sam groaned and tried to move, his entire being ached to the core, he couldn't open his left eye, and his lower lip felt like it was twice its size. Gasping with pain, he held his ribs as he managed to sit up. They had worked him over professionally that was for sure; if he didn't ache with pain in one spot, it was because that area was numb.

'Ah nice to see you awake.' Sheriff Jolley smirked, standing just outside the cell. 'Thought there for a minute that my boys might have roughed you up too much.'

'Thanks for the concern.' Sam spat out, all he could taste was blood and bile. 'Could I get a drink of water?'

'Let me think on that ... hmm I guess I had better we don't want to be accused of mistreating our star prisoner.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Ah brother killer? Gonna make the headlines this will.'

'I didn't kill my brother.'

'You sure of that? Coz let's see the evidence says otherwise.'

'It was planted. I've been set up and Dean's not dead.' Sam limped closer to the sheriff, 'have you got a body?'

'No, but we have his blood soaked clothes, a knife with your fingerprints on it and your brother's blood all over the blade.'

'But no body? So how can you arrest me?'

'You see, you were sloppy Sammy my boy, we have a witness to the murder, we have someone who saw you do it.'

'They're lying.'

'Ah that's right, you're not guilty are you?' The older man mocked him, 'well I have a feeling that they judge and jury will see it differently.'

'I didn't kill Dean.' Sam roared as he pushed himself up against the bars, a frantic look in his good eye, 'Dean is not dead!'

'Sit down and shut up, until you decide to confess ... the county prosecutor will be here in the morning, so I suggest you get some rest, and think about copping a plea ... we have the death penalty in this state.'

'I did not kill Dean!' Sam roared, his voice breaking with pent up emotions, 'Dean is not dead, he can't be!'

'Why? Where is he? Tell us what you did with him and it will go better for you.'

'I can't tell you what I don't know.' Sam limped back to the narrow bunk and sat down dejectedly, 'I've been set-up, Dean went missing, and the guys who have him threatened me if I didn't do what they wanted. They're the ones who set me up.'

'That will get you the death penalty Sammy boy.'

'My name is Sam not Sammy.'

TBC