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Chapter Five

Dean sped down the small quiet rode. He didn't know exactly what his next move was going to be, but he knew finding Sam needed to be done, now. He couldn't stand the fact that he didn't know if Sam was hurt, or if he was… he didn't want to think about the other possibility. Dean knew one person who probably did know; that bitch of a motel cashier, Tabby. If she knew, then his rule of not hitting a woman might waver a bit.

Dean reached the motel and parked his car hastily before he jumped out of the driver's seat hurriedly. All the emotions that had built up over the past few hours were wearing his nerves thin. He was anxious right now. The thought of Tabby possibly having the answers to his brother's disappearance overwhelmed his mind. He was elated, but at the same time he didn't want to get his hopes up. What if she didn't know, or if she wasn't there? Those potential hindrances kind of put a damper on the whole 'big brother to the rescue' initiative.

Dean flew through the front door of the motel's check in station. His eyes darted around the room madly for the blonde haired woman. Much to his disappointment, she wasn't there. Instead a fat balding man was sitting behind the counter.

"Can I help you?" the oversized man said dully.

Dean smiled in disgust, "I am looking for Tabby. I left something here and she said—."

The fat man rudely cut Dean off. "She's not here. It's her day off. Come back tomorrow," he said, clearly paying no mind to Dean's presence as he flipped through a nudie magazine.

Dean raised a questioning brow and stared at the man with revulsion. The man's weight problem, his lack of hair, and his taste in magazines, didn't quite scream "Hey come over here and let me take your daughter out on a hot date." Dean shook his head. No, this man appearance really shouted, "Hey look at me, I ended up on America's Most Wanted for molestation." This guy was sickening.

Dean needed answers, though. So, he would just have to force the contents of his stomach back down and continue his interrogation. "So, do you know where she lives? Cause I really need—."

The man interjected rudely again, "No. And it is not like I would give it to you," he paused and looked up at Dean. The man snorted and then shook his head. "You could be some kind of stalker, for all I know."

Dean stepped backed in disbelief. This man, this guy, thought he could be a stalker? Dean smiled comically. This man, who would more than likely to try a cheap pick up line and then slip a roofy in your drink, questioned his motives? No way.

Dean turned and exited the motel. He paused at the driver's side door, "If Sam were here, man, those puppy dog eyes would have gotten the answers out of that guy, and maybe one of those magazines," Dean said aloud, but paused. He hadn't meant to say that out loud, and the realization that his brother wasn't there hit him hard. He felt the anger rise again at the thought of what someone could be doing to his brother. He jumped in the Impala and decided to check out his next lead – Catherine. He had known, back when he'd first gone to see her, that she wasn't telling the truth, and he should've questioned her right there, but he hadn't. Well, now he had hit a dead end again, and she wasn't squirming away from his grasp this time.

Dean reached the diner in less than a minute. He walked through the glass doors and spotted his target. Catherine was attending to a young man sitting at the booth directly next to where he was standing. The elderly woman hadn't registered Dean's presence yet. Dean waited semi-patiently for the woman to finish her conversation with the customers.

She spotted Dean as soon as she turned away from the customer. She stared at him for a moment, and then walked casually over to him. Dean watched her rigid movements; she was nervous.

She gently put her hand on the eldest hunters shoulder, and then whispered in his ear, "Meet me in the alley in two minutes. Be discreet."

Dean stood in the alley apprehensively. The cold air started blowing through his sandy blond, spiked hair. The chill nipped at the top of his earlobes, painfully too. The red glow tracing the top of ears was proof of the cold's taunting attacks. Dean kicked the tiny gravel pebbles across the ground. While he was standing there waiting for Catherine to come out, he couldn't help but think about Sammy. Dean was standing in the back of an alley, in his blue pea-coat, waiting for some lady, but what was Sammy doing? Was he okay?

That painful twist, those scurrying butterflies that one gets in their stomach when nervous, well, his butterflies weren't just flying around. No, his were flying around his stomach blind, hitting the sides of him, each fluttering wing brushing against him with a tickle. Dean couldn't shake this feeling. The damn winged stomach creatures just wouldn't die!

Dean turned around as soon as he heard the rusty squeaking of a metal door. He saw Catherine walk out of the diner's side entrance. She was still wearing her aqua-blue dress uniform and white apron. The woman reached into her front apron pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Dean paid special attention to the brand she was smoking. The filter on her brand of cigarettes was wrapped in white-speckled tan paper, whereas the ones that were scattered all over the alley were just plain white ones, with three green stripes wrapped around the filters top. She wasn't the mysterious kidnapper after all, but that didn't mean she didn't have answers.

The older woman puffed on her cigarette and blew out a long cloud of smoke. Her teeth were chattering together as she spoke, "Damn, it's cold out here." She pulled her arms close to her chest and hugged them to her.

"Do you know who has Sam?" Dean said, jumping right in with his interrogation.

Catherine looked around edgily and then simply nodded her head. Before Dean could ask the women who, her smoke-scratched, English accented voice filled the air, "I can't say. I am sorry. They will know. I can talk later, but not now."

Dean Winchester did the one thing he rarely did. He begged, "Please. I need to know. Sam could be—"

"Trust me angel, your brother is fine. He might be hurting, but he isn't dead—"

"Dead!" Dean screamed disdainfully, "How can you just stand there—'

Dean didn't have time to finish, before he felt a warm hand pressed against his mouth, hushing him. Catherine's hand was placed firmly over Dean's lips. He could smell the peppermint oil the woman was wearing. The scent was intoxicating at first, but now it was starting to nauseate him.

Catherine stared at Dean with warning eyes. "Shh. Please. They will hear us. If you want to find him alive, trust me. Be quiet," she said quietly, her cigarette dangling loosely from her mouth as she spoke.

She held her hand in place as she continued, "He will know, and in reality he probably already does, but you have to understand I want to tell you. I just can't right now, here in the open. If I do, then finding Sam won't matter, they'll kill him before you find him," Catherine reached into her apron with her free hand and pulled out a small crinkled piece of paper. She crumbled the paper up into a tiny ball and then placed it into Dean's palm, closing his hand around the little ball.

She removed her hand, and then placed her cigarette in-between her fingers, "That will help. If you don't find the answers you are searching for, flip it over."

Catherine dropped her cigarette and stomped out the burning red ash with her black penny-loafers. She walked towards the door, and then paused, looking back at Dean. "Something that might help is to watch out for the symbol."

"Symbol?" Dean asked, confused.

"You'll know"

"Catherine. Do you ever smoke anything other then the ones you do? Maybe switch it up a bit?" Dean asked.

"No. Those butts there are menthol. Can't stand them. I am a full tarred red's kind of gal," she said as she waved goodbye, and then disappeared into the diner.

Dean walked out of the alley, and headed towards the Impala. He paused when he reached his car, and stared at the piece of paper. He smoothed it out and looked at the writing. On the front side of the paper the words: Naitokurabu ba – the nightclub – was written on it. He flipped the paper over. The other side had an address written on it, and a phone number.

Dean sighed heavily and looked up at the blue sky and white clouds that were now a shade darker. The sun had disappeared; well, almost. The top of its bright head was still peaking out above the horizon, watching the city slow down and tuck themselves back into their houses. As each day ends, the sun leaves the world a beautiful present: a mix of colors splashed throughout the sky. Purples and reds, even oranges, were a symbol of the burning star's removal from the sky. Every morning when it rose, it displayed the same wonderful colors. The reds and the purples returned every night and morning. What a beautiful present to give. Yes, the sun was a kind star.

Now that night had almost fallen, Dean decided that it was time to pay the nightclub another visit. Parking his car was more of a daunting task than he had thought it would be, though. The quiet, nobody walks around at night town, was bursting with life right now. Dean ended up parking the Impala in the grass, with the other thirty cars that had decided that it was easier to park there than wait for an empty parking space.

The night's air was cool, colder then it had been all week. He could smell the snow forming in the clouds. It hadn't snowed since they had been here, but the crisp dryness in the air was telling him it was about to. He walked through the parking lot, trying to make it into the club. There were about fifty people walking towards the club next to him, but the funny thing Dean had noticed was that his white skin was the only white skin. Dean's tan but still white complexion was mixed in with about fifty olive toned Asians. He was definitely the minority.

There was a line at the front of the building, but not too long. Dean hopped in behind the rest of the people and waited to get in. Those damned butterflies had returned. He was so anxious. Catherine said he might find the answers here, and God, he hoped so.

While waiting in line he could hear the loud thumping from inside the club. The music was loud, but one thing that he had noticed right away was that it wasn't in English. The music was all in Japanese, or Korean, Dean didn't know. It all sounded the same to him anyway.

Dean cupped his hands in front of his face and blew into them. His warm breath was comforting for a few minutes, until it cooled off; then his hands were numb again. There were about five or six people ahead of him now. He was almost there. The red carpet he was standing on, and the red velvet rope that snaked down the carpet beside him, made him feel a little out of place. Dean snorted and thought, "The damn velvet separator makes me feel out of place? Geez, Dean, I thought it would be the fact that out of like a hundred people you are the only non rice eating person here." After a few more minutes passed, he was finally at the door. The slim, and very attractive, ticket attendant gave him a very questionable look.

Dean raised an eyebrow flirtatiously, and then held up one finger, "One ticket."

Her accent was hard to decipher as she spoke, "Seven dollar."

Dean cocked his head to the side and nodded in realization. He pulled his wallet out and handed her seven wrinkled ones. He flipped his wallet closed and grabbed his ticket from her before he pushed his way through the mess of people that were just standing by the entrance, gabbing about something. He made it in. Now, to find the owner of this night club.

He made his way to the bar and waited impatiently as the bartender helped someone. Dean watched the man pour a clear liquid into a small white disc, and then hand it to another lady. It was the same liquid Katz had offered him the other day – Sake. Dean thought about trying it, but decided he needed his mind clear, not tampered with. Slow Japanese techno music roared through the air as Dean tried to get the attendant's help. He waved his hands around, trying to draw the man's attention toward him, with no success. Finally the worker noticed him and headed over to him. The man screamed at the top of his lungs when he spoke, "Nani ni nasaimasu ka?"

Dean looked at the man, stunned and confused. The man picked up on Dean's bewilderment and said, this time in English, "What will you have?"

"Oh, nothing," Dean yelled back; his voice was vocally battling the blaring music. It was a war. Who would overpower who? "Who is the owner?"

Dean had obviously won the audible war because the man had heard him, and replied back, "Him," pointing over to the corner of the nightclub.

Dean followed the direction of the man's pointed finger with his gaze and his eyes widened. There, sitting in the corner of the nightclub, in the posh VIP section Dean had noticed earlier, was Katz. Dean starred at the man. Why had he lied? The only way to find out was to go talk to him.

Dean walked over towards the refined Asian man he had met previously that day. He had to push past the sweaty dancing bodies of all the club goers, but he made it. He felt something sticky on his right hand and looked down at it, noticing that glitter was now smeared there. The little sparkles reflected the clubs blinking, blue lights above, creating a shimmering dance of color on his hand.

Dean continued towards Katz's booth. Katz was surrounded by three women, all very gorgeous, and all three of them gushing over him. One of the girls had her hair pulled up in pigtails, while the other two wore there hair down. All three of them were dressed in skimpy club outfits. They, too, were all Asian. Dean looked around; he seriously was the only Caucasian in the whole building.

Katz noticed the flickering shadow on the table, and looked up. "Dean, nice of you to come."