Note: For the purposes of this story, Bobby's junk yard is in Texas. Since Jim Beaver is from Texas, I figure this fits with Bobby's accent. As far as I can find, the show's never actually said where he lives.

Chapter 29

Dean stood still.

That's all he did. He didn't jump out the window after his brother. He didn't turn and race down the stairs. He hardly even breathed for awhile.

He just stood still. And silently panicked.

He couldn't think of any words – not even curse words. The best he could do was 'no': 'This just … no. No. It … no.'

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, hear the blood rushing in his ears. His face was all prickly, and his skin on his neck seemed to be choking him. And hot. He just felt hot all over.

He couldn't think of what he was supposed to be doing. He was pretty sure that jumping out the window after Sammy wasn't a good idea, though he couldn't for the life of him think of why. And turning to run down the stairs would mean taking his eyes off the corner Sam had just disappeared around – which he couldn't begin to imagine doing.

So he just stood still.

A groan behind him was the first thing that managed to filter through the fuzz surrounding him. Reluctantly, he dragged his eyes away from the hole that used to be a window and looked around.

It took a second for him to place the man pushing himself up off the floor.

'Oh yeah,' his mind eventually supplied. 'The desk manager.' The one who had brought the demon to them.

Dean didn't move to help him up.

The boy's mouth moved, but Dean couldn't really hear him over the white noise in his head. Couldn't have come up with appropriate answers, anyway. So he just stared. Eventually the boy gave up and backed out of the room, eyes as wide as saucers. Dean couldn't muster up even a little concern that he might tell someone what happened or go get help. When he left, Dean turned back to the window.

Or he started to. But mid turn, he saw something else that managed to break through.

Jess.

She was sitting in about the same place she had fallen earlier, legs drawn up to her chest and an expression that looked as blank as Dean felt on her face.

She didn't seem to be blinking.

Dean swallowed hard and walked slowly over to her.

"Jess?" he whispered.

It didn't get any response, so he crouched down and tried to get in her sight line.

"Jess?" he repeated.

Her eyes slowly tracked to his, but she still didn't blink them. He wished she would – the uninterrupted view of the terror there was too much.

"Jess?" he tried again.

Then she blinked, and he wished she hadn't. The tears were there when she opened her eyes.

"Sam," she sobbed.

Dean just nodded his agreement, still unable to string thoughts – much less, words – together coherently.

"I don't …" she started, sounding bewildered.

Dean nodded again.

Jess's gaze slid past him to the broken window. The reflection of the broken glass in her eyes seemed appropriate. "What do we do?" she whispered.

And suddenly Dean wasn't numb anymore. Suddenly every nerve in his body was thrumming with pent up energy, and he couldn't believe that he was still sitting there.

He shot up.

"Stay here," he commanded, probably unnecessarily. Jess didn't look like she had it in her to move any time soon.

Then he was running out the door, through the hall, down the stairs and out into the parking lot below their rooms. Despite the dark, it couldn't have been easier to find the trail – just look for the big pile of bloody broken glass and follow the red smears down the street. But, somewhat unsurprisingly, it didn't take him far. Just after rounding the corner where he'd last seen Sam, it stopped.

Now that Dean's mental facilities were functioning again, he was able to reason that the demon had probably decided four wheels would be more efficient than two feet. And he wanted to kick himself for taking so long to get out there – then again, no, kicking was far too gentle. It would make a big difference to know what kind of car Sam was in.

But he didn't know. And he didn't have anymore time to waste thinking about it.

Jess's question rang in his mind: What do we do?

Dean closed his eyes and tried to come up with an answer. His instincts said run and fight the thing that took his brother – but where? And for that matter, how? The thing that took his brother was in his brother. And it was IT. The thing they'd spent more than two decades hunting. The thing that killed his mother.

It was too much. His mind was about one thought away from overloading.

Which, of course, is when it suddenly decided to remember that he'd left Jessica alone. About half an hour after Sam had apparently had a vision of her burning on the ceiling. Sure the demon seemed to be gone, but …

He turned and sprinted back the way he came. And almost collapsed with relief when he found her exactly where he left her, still looking wholly stunned, but otherwise unharmed.

Still, they'd stayed there too long. Even if the demon didn't come back, that broken window was going to be noticed once the sun came up. They needed to be long gone by then.

Dean crossed the room to where Jess was huddled, crouched down in front of her again and put what he hoped were steadying hands on her shoulders.

"Jess?" he said in the surest voice he could manage. "Jess, we need to go. I need you to finish packing. Can you do that?"

Her eyes met his on the first try that time, but they were still distant and uncomprehending.

"Jess, I know you're scared, but we've got to get out of here, OK?"

She gave a small nod, but he wasn't sure that it wasn't just an automatic response to his OK.

"Jess?"

"Yeah." It was more of an exhalation than an actual word, but Dean decided it would do. He got to his feet and then bent down to pull her to hers. She was shivering.

"OK. I'm just going to go and get my bag out of the other room. I'll only be a second. Why don't you finished getting dressed and pack up anything that's left. OK?"

Another shaky nod.

Dean walked slowly out of the room checking back over his shoulder a few times. Jess seemed to be moving in the direction of some discarded jeans, and he hoped that meant she wasn't as out of it as she seemed.

After he'd collected his bag, he decided to give her a minute to finish dressing. He slumped against the wall and screwed his eyes shut.

Shit. What was he going to do about her? He couldn't bring her along – Sam would kill him. And he couldn't just put her on a bus – again, Sam would kill him. Besides, neither was safe. But what other option was there?

Dammit, why couldn't he come up with a single plan?

He needed help.

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket, hoping against hope that he'd somehow missed a call somewhere in all the … whatever you would call it when your brother is kidnapped by a demon. But no. Nothing.

He checked to see that Jess was still packing, flipped it open and speed dialed his dad's number.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

"This is John Winchester. I can't answer right now. If you need help, leave a message."

Dean bit back a growl.

"Dad. Answer your damn phone. It's got Sammy. The demon. It came to the hotel and took him. And it said to give you a message – something about not playing with guns. What does that mean? Where are you? I need you to be here. Call me. Now."

Down in the car a few minutes later, Dean was still trying to think of what to do. He needed somewhere to go. Somewhere Jessica would be reasonably safe. Pastor Jim's would have been his first choice, but Blue Earth was a good 1,200 miles away. There was Caleb, but last he heard, Caleb was in Lincoln – about 900 miles away. It was too far. He didn't know what direction the demon went, so he didn't want to go a long way in the wrong one.

Unfortunately, Albuquerque was in the middle of nowhere. The whole freakin' state of New Mexico was in the middle of no where.

Except.

Bobby. Bobby was in Amarillo. Amarillo was only four hours away. Three if he hurried. It was still farther than he would have liked, but if worst came to worst, he could probably even cut it down to two. And Bobby could take care of Jess.

If he would. Bobby and John hadn't parted on the best of terms, if Dean remembered correctly. Still. It would have to do.

He turned to Jess.

"Jess? Can you do something for me?"

She nodded, eyes still wide but a little less distant.

"Here. Take my phone. I want you to call speed dial No. 1 every five minutes. It's my dad's number. He'll know what to do, but he's not answering his phone. Just keep calling, OK? I want to talk to him as soon as he does answer. Can you do that?"

"Yeah," she said. She seemed relieved to have a job. She immediately started dialing. Dean noticed that she didn't bother waiting the five minutes before trying again. She was even leaving voice mails.

"Mr. Winchester, this is Jessica Moore," she said, earnestly polite even in a crisis. "Sam's fiancée. I'm with Dean, and we need you to call us. Please. It's very important."

He started the engine.

"Mr. Winchester, it's Jessica Moore again. Please call us. I'm on Dean's cell phone."

Now he had three hours to come up with a plan.

"Mr. Winchester …"