Jake was losing it, and Sam was terrified.

Not twenty minutes after Jake had hung up on Dean, the motel lot lit up with police cars, lights blazing. Jake had taken one glance out the window at the three cruisers lined up outside the office and backed away, mumbling incoherently. He'd dug Sam's knife out from the grocery bag and paced back and forth, waving it erratically about. He alternately cupped his head with his hands and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

"I can't go to prison. I can't. I can't go. I can't." He turned to plead with Sam who was still tied down tight. "Why are they here, Mark? Why? What did you tell them?" He stopped to crouch in front of Sam then and shake him by both arms.

"You hear me? What did you say?"

Sam just shook his head, terrified. He couldn't speak anyway – not with the damned washcloth wedged solid between his teeth.

"You know I didn't mean it. You know that! I'm your brother, for God's sake! Why Sammy, why?"

The fact that Jake switched alternately between calling him Mark and calling him Sammy was the scariest damned thing Sam had ever witnessed, and he was sure the man was insane – crazier than a freaking soup sandwich – Dean would say. And that thought caused a rumble of hysterical laughter to start, only to be silenced by the obstruction in his throat.

If Sam had experienced doubts about the man's marbles before, he had all the proof he needed now, and he began sawing at his restraints in earnest again, twisting his wrists every way from Sunday, hoping to find that one spot where Jake hadn't tied him down tight.

But it was no use. Sam was screwed. He was thoroughly immobilized while a madman with a razor-sharp knife and a vendetta paced above him. Suddenly Sam wasn't so sure he would still be alive when Dean got there. Suddenly, he had the sinking feeling that this damned armchair was going to be his coffin, and the horrible, damp motel room with the ugly orange carpet and stained bedspreads the last things he ever saw.

Damn, this sucked.

And when the determined knock sounded on the motel room door, Jake shot into the bathroom and closed and locked the door soundlessly, leaving Sam alone to face whatever was coming across the threshold.

Through a tiny crack in the worn curtains, Sam could see the policeman standing on the stoop, and he tried everything he could to attract his attention, but he was generally helpless. After a few moments, the man simply turned and walked away. He trudged the seven or eight steps down to the next door and knocked in the same way. When the door opened, Sam heard voices – something about a HAZMAT leak nearby and a forced evacuation. Sam could see snippets of panicked guests as they fled past the window, carrying only the most essential of belongings.

He cursed behind the gag. And then he screamed in frustration. Help had been so close again, and again it had eluded him. As the cruisers pulled away, and Sam realized he was alone in the deserted motel with just Jake the Crazy Train and his trusted knife, Dicer, he cried at the unfairness of it all.

Jake emerged then, grinning from ear to ear, still clutching the knife in one fist. "Mark, they're gone! They weren't even here for us! What are the odds?" He happily moved to the bed closest to the door and flopped weightlessly down, arms akimbo. "Thank God. Thank God they left when they did." He grinned over at Sam. "I almost died there for a minute."

Sam stared blankly.

"What's the matter, man?" Jake sat up, looking at Sam closely. "You still feeling bad, buddy?" He moved over and placed the back of his hand across Sam's forehead. "Oh, damn." He looked suddenly forlorn, "You're burning up, Mark. Why didn't you say something?" He looked down at the washcloth then and giggled, "Oh, that's right. You couldn't." He pulled the offensive object out and tossed it on the floor.

"Well, it looks like we're all alone here for a while, so I'll go see if I can't scare up something to help. There was a little convenience store up in the office, and I'm sure I saw some aspirin packets at least. You wait here." He added, grinning down at Sam like he'd just said the funniest thing ever. "I'll be right back, little brother." And he swiped the washcloth up from the foul floor and stuffed it ruthlessly back in Sam's mouth before closing and locking the door behind him.