Finding a way out of this one was going to be a problem, and Jake felt panicky. He didn't remember exactly when he'd made the decision to rob the night clerk at the seedy motel, but he had a vague recollection of the look on the man's face when he'd pulled out the gun. And then the guy had tried to be a hero, and the gun went off, and there was blood all over the desk, and Jake still didn't have any money. All he had now was overwhelming panic rising in his throat and the memory of an asshole judge telling him that the next time he screwed up, he was going down for the count.

Jake wasn't afraid of much, but prison terrified him. He'd visited his father at Riker's off and on for years, until his stepmother had decided a teenager was more trouble than she felt like dealing with. She'd given him $50 and a one-way bus ticket to Minneapolis with strict instructions to never come back.

That was three years and a trail of petty crimes ago, and not much really bothered him anymore. Even the idea that he'd just murdered an unarmed man didn't really concern him. What did concern him was the fear of getting caught and tossed in prison. He'd do anything he had to do, hurt anyone who got in his way, to avoid ending up like his father - locked away and forgotten forever.

And it was this thought that rocketed through his mind when he came up behind the rangy kid standing at the ice machine. He didn't really have any plan in his mind to take a hostage, but when the kid turned unexpectedly and nearly ran right into him, he pulled his gun and shoved it into the boy's side.

Damn. The kid felt like he was on fire.

"Take me to your room." Jake growled at the startled boy. He saw his eyes grow wide and heard the clatter of the ice bucket as it fell from the boy's hand. "Who's in there with you?"

The boy stammered, "My-my dad and-and older brother."

"Damn!" Jake muttered, realizing suddenly that he'd make a mistake, but it was too late to turn back now. "Right," he snarled and propelled the boy to the room he said was his. "In we go."

Jake held the boy in front of himself like a shield as they entered the room, and was surprised by the lack of movement. It took him only a moment to realize no one else was there, and he grinned. "Dad and big bro, hunh?" He tormented. "You're a fucking liar, kid." He kicked the door shut behind them, locked it, and shoved the kid onto the nearest bed. He made a quick check of the bathroom and then relaxed. He tucked his gun back into the waistband of his pants and stood grinning at the boy who looked like he was about to faint at any minute.

"You sick or something? What's your name, anyway?" He asked, moving to peer out the closed blinds.

No answer.

"Listen, kid. Don't piss me the fuck off, okay? I just killed a guy, and I got nothing to lose, you get it? So when I ask you a question, you answer me."

Silence.

"Really?" Jake snarled ominously, advancing toward the terrified figure still huddled on the bed in the same position he'd tossed him. "You really want to go this route?" He pulled out his gun and held it to the boy's temple.

"Do I need to ask again?" He cocked it.

"Sam."

"Sam what?"

"Winchester."

"How old are you, Winchester?"

A pause ..."Fifteen."

Jake laughed. "Boy, you ain't no fifteen. Stop lying. Liars piss me off." He smacked the boy lightly in the head with the weapon. "How old are you, really? What? Ten?"

Sam's eyes flared. "I'm twelve."

"You're twelve." Jake snickered. "So where are Daddy and big bro? Hunh? They coming back soon?"

Nothing.

Jake swore. "Well, if you ain't gonna talk to me then there's no reason to keep you around, right?" And he drew back a fist and punched the boy square in the face, knocking him off the bed and onto the floor where he lay motionless.

"Damn, I hate kids." He grumbled as he flopped the boy into the one chair in the room and tore a sheet into sturdy strips. He tied the boy's hands to the arms and his feet to the legs, and fashioned a third strip into a gag. He tied it tightly around the boy's mouth, wrapping it several times - mummy-like. Then he added a blindfold for extra security.

He was doing a recon of the room and helping himself to the wad of cash he'd just found stuffed under a mattress when the kid's cell phone rang. Jake let it ring out and then listened to the message from someone named Dean.

"Hey Sammy. Pick up your phone, why don't ya? Dad and me are winding it up here, and we'll be heading back that way shortly. So you can look for us in about three hours, okay? You better be in the can, kid, cause I'm calling back as soon as I hang up, and you better answer. Got it? Otherwise, I'm sending 911."

Jake felt the panic rising again. The kid sounded like he was joking, but what if he wasn't? He experienced a moment of blind terror, and then the phone began ringing again. Without pausing to think it through, he picked up.

"Sammy?"

Silence.

"Sam, you okay?"

"Yeah, uh, Sam can't come to the phone right now."

Silence.

"Who the fuck is this?"

Jake sensed sudden fear in the other boy's voice, and it felt amazing.

"Name's Jake."

"What the hell are you doing on my brother's phone?"

"Well, he's a little … tied up right now. Can I take a message?"

Silence.

"Listen to me, you fucker. You better put Sam on the phone right now, or I'm gonna come rip your damn lungs out."

"But you're … three hours away, Dean."

An intake of breath from the other end of the line.

"A lot can happen in three hours, Dean."

"Listen, you fucker, if you even think of …"

But Jake cut him off. "I will if you send 911." He bargained. "See, I kind of did a stupid thing, and I killed a guy and then I needed a place to hide, and then suddenly there was Sammy Winchester standing at the ice machine like a gift from God. So I thought I'd just hole up with him for a day or two while I thought things through. You know, Dean. Just until I think up a plan. Sam's fine for now - well, sort of - but he won't be if you send anyone to this room. Got it?"

Jake could just feel the fear emanating in waves from the phone. "What do you mean, sort of?" Dean breathed.

"Well, Sam, being 12 years old and all - he kind of copped a shitty attitude, and I had to give him an adjustment, you know? He's also burning hotter than a furnace - hence the ice machine, I guess. I hope he doesn't combust before you make it back."

"What did you do, you fucker?"

Jake laughed. "Relax, Dean. He'll be conscious again by the time you and Daddy get back. Well - unless he gives me more shit. Then I can't be responsible."

"I am going to end you, you son of a bitch." Dean growled. "If you put one hand on my brother, I will end you. You got that?"

"Oops." Jake replied. "Too late. Bye Dean. See you in three."