Tipping the Scales

By Floralia

DISCLAIMER: still the same.

Hmmm, it's possible this chapter would have been more effective if you hadn't already seen Sam's version of his day, because then you would be discovering things along with Dean and not be able to second guess his train of thought, but it's too late for that now. And the last chapter could hardly have been slotted in after this one.

Chapter Ten

Numerous things became obvious the instant Dean stepped through the door. He could hear the sound of the bath running. He almost slipped on the saturated carpet the second his feet crossed the threshold. There was a thin layer of standing water covering the entire room. Damp unwashed motel carpet was among the most unpleasant scents Dean had ever experienced.

And Sam was gone.

Apart from the water the room looked untouched. Was no different from when they had left it. It was only later that Dean would notice some of the subtle differences – a partially overturned lamp, the bloodstained taps. These were initially invisible in the face of that one other glaring fact.

Sam was gone.

He'd been here, because who the hell else would have set the bath running? Who the hell else would have left their shoes in the middle of the floor, damp now and poignantly alone in the empty room?

"Sam!" he called out, struggling through the squelching carpet, through the dread that was slowly consuming him. The bathroom door was open and light played out from within. "Sam!" Louder this time but he didn't know why. The last thing Dean expected was an answer.

Easing himself around the door he entered the bathroom. He turned off the water, the sudden silence only highlighting the thing the room lacked. For the first time in his life Dean was actually praying he had walked in and found Sam unconscious on the bathroom floor, because anything was preferable to this. To the simply not being here.

The water problem dealt with as best as he could for the time being Dean found himself pacing the room. He had absolutely no clue what to do next. The immediate urge was to run back out into the parking lot and start screaming Sam's name until he got a response of some kind, but it wouldn't be the one he wanted. The amount of water that was in the room meant Sam had not been here for some time. Which meant he was a lot further away than Dean could shout for him.

He was taking deep breaths, trying to think, trying not to concentrate on the scent of carpet that was assaulting him with every inhale. There was no sign of a struggle, which meant either Sam had gone willingly, or whatever altercation had taken place, had taken place outside the room. Or perhaps Sam had simply fled.

But if he could have, he would have alerted Dean that there was something wrong.

He tried calling but there was no answer. The phone didn't even ring; he just got an automated message telling him the cell he was calling was out of range, which was ridiculous because unless he'd hopped on a jet he could not have got far.

It was that thought that got Dean moving again. He could not have got far. But every second he stood here debating with himself was another second in which his brother's trail went cold.

Sam was not here, so he turned his attention instead to outside.

The door did not look forced and the protective measures he'd placed the night before were mostly still in place. Those that hadn't dissolved, adding to the smell. But like Sam had said, he doubted Kane would have been stopped by a line of salt. Or by a locked door for that matter if he'd wanted in.

The car park was almost deserted. Dean paced it but there was nothing to see. No skid marks, no sign of a struggle, no bloodstains (thank god) but no clue at all, intentional or otherwise, as to where Sam could have gone.

The motel was low tech. There was no security. No CCTV. Hardly any other guests. They had no neighbours. So Dean went to the one person who could have possibly seen or heard that there was anything wrong.

The motel owner seemed surprised to hear that Sam was not in their room. He'd seen him go in less than an hour before, and while he hadn't exactly been spying, he hadn't noticed him leave. On the plus side Dean could now begin to establish some kind of a timeline, know what kind of a head start he was up against. But the news that Sam had not been walking well, had looked to be limping, was not something he could take as well. Nor the fact there had apparently been no car, no figures, no noises out of the ordinary. Because while Kane might have the occasional trick up his sleeve he was still a man, and he needed to believe it was Kane that had taken his brother, because the alternative did not bare thinking about.

If Kane had Sam; if a straight trade was what he'd had in mind then Dean had seven, no six, hours to track them down. Sam had done it. Sam had done it while he was in a much less capable state than Dean was in now.

Back in the room he called directory enquiries, then called the library in town. He wanted as much information about his brother's day as he could acquire. Sam had been out of the library by two. He had been alone the entire time. But it had taken him almost two hours to get back to the motel.

And sitting on Dean's bed was part of the reason why.

He hadn't noticed it at first. He's already come to terms with the fact it was Sam's bed he checked, never his own, and it had never occurred to him that he might need to. But there, laid carefully on top of the covers in a parody of lifefullness, was Sam's jacket. The one he had been wearing the last time Dean had seen him.

If there had ever been any doubt that Sam had not been alone in the room, this dispelled it. There was simply no way Sam would have placed it there. Arranged it so neatly. That the thought would ever have occurred to him, and it took Dean by surprise how much the sight of it hurt. How horribly empty it looked with no-one to fill it.

He didn't want to touch it at first, didn't want to break the illusion. And as soon as he picked it up it was obvious how badly it was marked and torn. The bloodstained gashed in his brother's shoulder, the crumpled stains. The signs of a struggle that up until then had been lacking. He had known Kane was still here and he had left his brother alone. Sam had told him it would be okay, would not have let him go if he didn't genuinely believe that, because everything about his demeanour this morning had told Dean he really didn't want to have to encounter Kane again before it was necessary. So what had happened for Sam to have read the situation so wrong? What had happened in the space of the three hours they had been apart that would have caused Kane to rethink the whole 'leaving each other alone' truce?

Dean had called Bobby.

Dean closed his eyes, allowed himself one moment to let the fear wash over him. The failure. He had done nothing useful with this day. He had bended to the will of strangers, and he had led Kane to them and stood aside.

One moment to feel it, the overwhelming panic, but then he pushed it away. He held his brother's jacket in his hands, he rubbed his blood between his fingers, held his warmth, absorbed it, took the strength of it into himself. His hatred of Kane, his need to put this right were stronger for now than his sense of failure, the fear of what his brother was facing. This would be the last moment of weakness Dean would allow himself until Sam was safe within his grasp, because now more than ever his brother needed him to be strong.

He put the jacket gently back onto the bed and took in the rest of the room. If that had been here and he hadn't seen it, what else was the room concealing? He searched it thoroughly for every clue. It was only then that he saw the bloody fingerprints in the bathroom. On the taps by the sink, at the side of the bath. The streaks of it on a wash cloth where Sam had obviously tried to wipe himself down.

Sam had been hurt before he'd got back to the room. He'd removed his shoes and his jacket and started to run a bath. Dean didn't know why that affected him as much as it did, but perhaps it was the simple fact that Sam had believed himself safe.

And he had been taken from the security he had sought. Hurt and bleeding with no shoes, then even if he had run he would not have got far.

Sam's phone had fallen out of his jacket pocked when Dean had placed it back on the bed. Its surface was broken. Was smeared with bloody finger prints. His lifeline. His link to Sam. The one thing that enabled him to keep watch from afar, and it had failed him. He knew that Sam had held this in his hands after whatever had happened to him. If it could talk to him it could tell him of his brother's pain and fear. But it hadn't worked. At probably the moment when Sam had needed it the most, it hadn't worked.

He was starting to feel overwhelmed again, and he blamed the sudden onset of nausea on the wet carpet smell. There was nothing for him here. He needed to get out of this room. He needed to know more about his brother's day. Retrace his steps. Try and make sense of what had happened to him. Finding out what was happening now might have been more useful but Dean still wasn't ready to contemplate that and function, and this wasn't a matter of simple logic. Dean needed to know. But also, if someone had seen him, seen anything suspicious, if someone had caught even a glimpse of Kane, he needed to know where. If someone could tell him what car he was using then tracking him would be so much easier. Not that Dean would be able to sneak up on Kane; the merchant knew exactly where he was.

But before he could do any of those things he needed a car. Kane had planned this well.

He was loathed to have to ask, to spread this problem onto anyone else, to accept that maybe he couldn't do this without aid, but this was more important than his pride.

In all the years that he had owned this motel, Dean didn't think anyone had ever stumbled through his doors worried and breathless and asking to borrow his car. If he hadn't seen Kane for himself, hadn't been suspicious of the other man's demeanour, then he would probably have refused, especially after having learnt that Dean's definition of causing no trouble had not included flooding out their room. But Dean was obviously barely concealing his distress, and Sam had been limping, and on taking one look at the room and the blood stained towels it was all Dean could do to get him not to call the police then and there. Dean was tempted to let him, but against Kane there was not much they could do.

He was able to contain his frustration and take the drive into town slow, checking the roadside for any signs of a struggle. He parked by the library and went in, but Sam had left no clue for him inside. No hint that he suspected he was being followed.

He set off from there on foot, following the route Sam would have taken.

It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for, and he really wished he had not. He had known Sam had been hurt, had seen evidence of that in their room, but standing in the spot where it had happened, breathing it in…

He could see it all too clearly. He had seen his fair share of this kind of scene, he could piece together the events behind it with a clarity he wished he never had, because it was Sam this had happened to. Sam's drink that had rolled from his hand, shattered fragments of his brother's phone screen that were lying nearby, and he knew Sam had been taken by surprise. Had probably not even had a chance to defend himself before it had begun.

He found a pool of blood at the base of the fence that froze him; he had not expected there to be so much; but any of Sam's blood spilt was too much. The colour of it burned his eyes and he had to look away, to blink back the pressure building behind them that was threatening at last to overflow.

He could see the scraps of fabric still clinging to the tufts of wire, the explanation behind the cuts in his brother's clothes, behind the blood that smeared the metal.

He had seen this before. Not far from here and earlier this same day. The whole scene was almost identical to the site of the attack he'd been viewing after he'd left Sam in the café. Only this one had no yellow tape or crawling police officers. This one had not been interrupted. Sam had been alone.

He had seen what his thing had done to Melissa when it had been allowed free reign. He had seen what it had done to the man this morning when it had been interrupted, and he had felt for himself the power behind each blow.

But Sam had made it back. He had walked back to the motel unaided. He had somehow got away, he had been hobbling, but he had been able to stand. Able to tend to himself, and Dean had to cling on to that fact for all he was worth because the blood and the memory of those bruises and that hospital were just too much to take in.

He asked around but no-one had seen or heard anything. He hadn't expected that they would have. Hadn't believed for a moment that anyone could have witnessed the state Sam was no doubt in and allowed him to wander away unaided. Would not have driven him to the hospital on sight, straight to where Dean was unintentionally waiting.

But maybe there had been a witness. What if Kane had seen? What if he had known? What if he had seen a chance that was too good to pass up on, to approach Sam while he was at his most vulnerable, while there was less chance he would have been able to fight back?

If that was true then Dean hated Kane with a passion he would never have believed possible, because not only had he not lifted a finger to help, but he had allowed Sam to make it back to the security of their room before approaching him. Had given him those first few blissful moments of peace, to let his guard down even further in the belief that he was finally safe.

He didn't care what Sam had told him, what Bobby's contacts alleged. What Kane himself had tried to have Dean believe… there was no honour in that. And maybe it would be for that, more than any other reason, that Dean would not only not rest until he had Sam safely back within his reach, but until he had watched Kane die. And if Dean had anything to do with it, and he sincerely hoped that he did, then it would not be easy and it would not be quick, and it would make what Kane had threatened to have Sam endure look like mercy.

By the time Dean made it back to the car his fists were clenched so tight his nails were drawing blood.

How had Kane got Sam from their room to wherever they had gone without any sign of a struggle? Sam was trashed yes, but he would not simply have gone with him; his distaste for what the merchant had already done had made that perfectly clear. That was the part of this – besides its entirety – that bothered Dean the most. Because it made no sense. It was impossible.

But there had been no sulphur in their room, despite the carpets smell. Sam had had no vision, given no warning.

That Dean knew of.

His mind flashed again to the one thing he had never been given an adequate answer for. Why his brother had been in the shower at one in the morning. Why he had suddenly been so tired and so pale. Why he had been so unstable, so drained.

If Sam had been given advanced warning of this, he would not have kept it to himself. Yes, with the spirit and then Kane and Sam's exhaustion and their argument and communication breakdown he would no doubt have been reluctant to pile one more thing on their expanding pile of problems.

But the demon? To conceal the fact the demon was here, was coming for him... there was no way he would have sat back and allowed that to take place.

Right?

Sam's jacket had been laid out with care. Whoever had done this had had time. They could have cleaned the room up. The water would have washed away any subtle signs (and scents, but he would not think about that). Kane had overpowered Dean twice before he'd even had time to acknowledge they were fighting. If he had wanted to take Sam, all the determination in the world would not have stood in his way.

As for getting Sam out… the reception might overlook the front of the motel and the parking lot, but the guy couldn't have been watching every second of the day. And if Kane had parked in the back lot out of sight, then…

Oh, Dean was so stupid.

He was back in the car and heading back to the motel, swinging round into the back lot out of sight. They had a window at the rear of their room that opened onto the back courtyard. As much as he hated the idea of Sam being manhandled out of a window and into a waiting car, Dean never thought he would live to see the day that this was more preferable than the alternative.

Of course, it would have been too easy for there to have been any proof of this. Dean only wished he got the chance to admit to his brother how badly he wanted to find his bloodstained handprint on their window frame. Some sign that Sam had been aware of what was happening around him, thinking clearly enough or had enough faith to have wanted to leave Dean some clue.

Retracing his brother's steps had left him with no leads, and only five hours in which to find Sam alive. If he couldn't use Sam's trail to work out where they had gone, then he would have to follow Kane's, and that would potentially be a lot more hard work. But there was one other thing he needed more, and he hated that it was true. But Sam had done the same thing. Sam had been strong enough to know that he couldn't do this alone. Dean had met Kane and had spoken to him, but he had absolutely no idea how the merchant's mind worked. How he operated. He needed the knowledge of someone who did. He needed to pick up the phone and admit that he hadn't been able to keep his little brother safe by himself for even three weeks.

"Twice in one day, this is a dubious pleasure."

"Hi Bobby... it's Sam…"

"What, does he have some kind of psychic link going on or something, the damn thing's fine. Learnt its lesson about not climbing on the scrap heap, finally, but… oh, just put him on."

"Bobby…"

"Seriously. He hasn't had a chance to pester me in a while. Let me reassure him that while it may be acting as though it's dying, it's just a scratch… You hear that? Quit your whining, you're fine…"

"Bobby…I"

"No, it'll be easier. Just put him on."

"I can't"

"But…"

"Bobby, I can't."

"What happened?"

"Sam's gone." And oh God if saying it out loud didn't make it so much more horribly real.

"What do you mean..?"

"I mean he's gone Bobby!" Shit. Did he really have to make him say it twice? Dean breathed deep and exhaled. This wasn't Bobby's fault. And lashing out wasn't at all helpful. "Sorry. I just… He's gone Bobby, and I don't…" he closed his eyes, trying to block out the mocking empty room, the visual proof of his failure.

Sam had called with a list of information he wanted to know, Bobby had told him as much. Dean didn't want information so much as someone to tell him what to do. He was the one that had lost Sam in the first place, and getting him back was much too important a task to be left in his incapable hands.

"Tell me what happened."

He just had, Sam was gone. What more was there to say?

"Dean. You need to tell me exactly what happened." His tone was slow and deliberate, providing the calm that Dean couldn't feel himself, that would be lacking in him until he got his brother back. But as long as that voice was on the line, as long as he could grip the cool solid force of his phone beneath his fingers, then he could borrow some of the other man's composure. Drown out some of the screaming horror inside himself, focus more clearly on what he needed to do. And he understood more clearly now Sam's own gratitude towards their friend, because he might just set him on his path with the strength to succeed.

He was on a timescale, but Bobby was right. He needed to know everything. Most of it Dean was not particularly keen to admit to, but besides the odd sigh of frustration Bobby knew better than to interrupt. To waste time questioning the decisions they had made. There would be time for that later, but right now the 'what' was more important than the 'why'.

"Kane's been here for a while; he has to have been staying in the area." Dean mused out loud. "If he's got any sense after last time he'll get the hell out of here while he can, because he has to know I'm gonna come after him." And that was another one of the most horrible realisations Dean had ever had to share out loud. He knew as clearly as he knew Sam was not in this room that his brother was no-longer in this town. No-longer in the surrounding area. Was even now probably moving further away from him. And if that was true then Dean was already out of time. With at least two hours head start there was simply no way he would be able to catch up with them in time. Unless…

"You gave Sam a list of hideouts. Locations where Kane had been sighted, known to operate from. Are any of those...?"

"Dean… You're in the wrong state. Kane doesn't have any known bases there, any allies or associates, any sightings at all because… Dean, he shouldn't even be there. He shouldn't even be alive. He's been a creature of habit his entire career but this… There's no precedent. Dean…"

"Don't say it." It was a whisper but it stopped the other man in his tracks, the sheer weight of it. The pain it carried. But Bobby would never have said it. Never have voiced out loud what they were both thinking. Kane had been invisible for the last three months. The only way anyone would see him was if he wanted to be found. And it didn't take a genius to figure out that as long as he had Sam, or pretty much for the rest of time, Dean would be the last person Kane wanted to give away his location to.

"He has to have been staying somewhere in the area. And he has to have a car. Both of these things can be traced." Dean needed to believe there was a practical lead he could be following. Needed to believe that if he was to see out the day. "I'm gonna hit every motel, campsite, lodging house, anything in the area he could conceivably have been using as a base. I'm guessing Kane wouldn't rough it unless there was any other alternative. I'll hit them and see but I'm gonna need a list of every building within an hour's radius of this place that's been rented within the last two weeks. I'm not just going to sit here and do nothing. This guy is a human being. He eats, he sleeps and he buys gas, and if he's done any of those things in the last week I want to know about it."

"Dean, tell me where you're staying."

"No. Bobby, I need you to do this."

"No, you need another pair of eyes and ears on the ground. And as for your list Dean, seriously, what do you think I've been doing all day. And I'm not the only one looking into this. Kane's made a lot of people feel plenty stupid by keeping off the radar for so long. Some of these guys have had their eye on his for years. If he's getting his stuff up and running again they know what to look for. If there's something to see I promise you they'll see it."

He was not the only one looking. Dean held onto that fact like it was the most beautiful sound his ears had ever heard, repeated it to himself over and over in the face of every failure. Every motel that did not have any record that Kane had been there, anyone that matched his description. After a couple of attempts Dean's brain kicked in enough to remember the police ID in his wallet that allowed him to stop beating about the bush and just demand the information he wanted, but Bobby had said it himself; there was nothing remarkable in Kane's appearance at all. Dean had sat opposite him, had taken his money, and had never suspected a thing. And even if he had been screaming his presence from the rooftops, with the number of people passing through in the past week, the amount of bustle and trouble each venue had seen, the chances of anyone remembering one man were slim.

A few of the motels has CCTV and he confiscated every video he could find, but even as he did so he knew it was pointless. There were hours of footage to scan through, and his brother quite simply did not have hours left.

Finding Kane's car became Dean's priority, because if he knew what Kane had been driving, could tell what garage he'd stopped at last, use the traffic cameras to work out what direction out of town he had gone… that was the best method Dean had of narrowing the search area from 'the entire world' to a particular corner of it. But no-one had seen Kane or his car, even their own motel guy had never seen a vehicle, and a search on that scale would require more manpower or contacts than Dean could fake.

It was dark by the time Dean made it back to the motel. He'd left the window open and the room had started to air out but the floor was still damp. The owner had tried to move him into another room but Dean wouldn't go. He couldn't. This was the last place he knew for sure that Sam had been. The only connection to his brother that Dean had left.

He only headed back to the motel because it was too dark now to hunt for clues; too late for people to remain helpful when he woke them up. Not that that mattered to him. But it was too late to read the map, to read his own notes. The night had dropped cold and his fingers were beginning to numb.

And he had hit every room and gas station he could find.

There were three emails waiting for him on the computer, all from people Dean had never heard of. Bobby had clearly been delegating, and they were sending information through as and when they acquired it. It might be late, but he couldn't just sit here and do nothing. He would rest for just a minute, wait until the room stopped spinning, and then he would head out again.

How had Sam done this? How had Sam been able to focus on anything other than the ticking clock in the corner of their room, or the colour of his brother's blood on the concrete?

His seven hours were up. He had counted down the final one in the Impala while making his way between two especially flee-ridden motels. There was every possibility right now that Sam was already dead. Had died screaming, scared, and alone just like Kane had promised, hour ago now. But Dean couldn't believe it. He wouldn't let himself. And the urgency to find Sam was no less now than it had been when he had stepped into their motel room to be greeted by only empty air and the sound of water flowing. Sam was alive. Dean would surely feel it if he wasn't.

He was sitting on his bed again and Sam's jacket had somehow made it onto his knee. A breeze played in through the still open window and he shivered despite the layers he was wearing. He wondered if Sam was cold, wherever he was. Wondered how much pain he was in from the spirit's attack. If Kane would care, or had already added to it by now.

He wondered briefly how he was possibly going to live with this, knowing that he was a double failure; that there had been two evils lurking in this place and he had let Sam fall prey to them both. He wondered how he would be able to look Bobby in the eye when he got here. How he would ever be able to look Sam in the eye again. How he could ever again offer the assurance that he was safe. That as long as Dean was near, nothing could touch him.

But if he didn't find Sam soon then Dean wouldn't have to live with it. He would not survive that loss again.

He set the jacket aside with a gentleness he still wished that he'd displayed more often with its owner, copied down the information he had been sent, and headed out the door. He would not return until his every new lead had been checked, because if he sat here much longer, if he allowed himself to be still, then he would be no more use to anyone at all.

TBC