Thank you everyone for the reviews. I appreciate every single one of them. If you hang on this will all be explained soon. I hope I am not boring you. Enjoy!

Chapter Six

"Sit down, Dean," Katz said, as one of his admirers scooted over, making room for the eldest hunter.

Dean sat down on the plush black leather cushion, and propped his elbows up on the table. "So," Dean said loudly. His voice didn't have to battle the music quite as much over here, but he still needed to speak a little louder for anything he bellowed out to be audible. It seemed as if the VIP room was tucked away deep enough into its own posh crevice that it blocked out some of the music's sound waves. "I thought that you said that Ria… whatever his name is ran this joint."

"He does," Katz stated simply, and then lifted up his glass, taking a sip of the glasses clear contents. He set his drink down, and looked up at Dean smiling.

"Then why did the bartender say you were the owner?" Dean asked inquisitively.

"I am."

"Okay," Dean said, smiling mockingly.

"You asked me if I ran the place, well; I don't. Ritsuka does. I do however own the club. Next time choose your wording a little more carefully, and then you wouldn't have to ask me next time. The answer would be clear," Katz said bluntly.

Katz was wearing the same clothes that he had on earlier that day. Dean could see the lint on Katz's black jacket. The blue neon lights illuminating the glass wall behind him, made the lint stand out on the black cloth. The same effect a black light has when revealing the invisible. Black lights seemed to have that effect, revealing the invisible to the naked eye. Dean noticed the small earring sparkle as Katz turned his head, but he couldn't get a good look at the tiny pendant. The Asian man's hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. The blue lights made the man's fine black hair, shimmer with a blue glow.

"Oh, got it," Dean scoffed, offended by the man's bluntness. "Thanks for the speech, Confucius, but next time maybe you should just say that you owned it, and then this conversation would never had happened." This man had already managed to irritate Dean, with one sentence.

"So, what brings you to my club, Dean?" Katz said, emphasizing on the 'my' in the question. Obviously trying to push Dean's buttons and it was working.

Dean's nerves were already on edge. He didn't need some smart assed man pushing him further. He wanted to punch the man right now, just to relieve some of the pent up tension that was bottled up in his body. Dean forced himself to remain collected; he had too, for Sammy. If Dean went into every situation guns blazing, he would never get the answers that he needed.

"I'm looking for my brother," Dean said, noting that one of the girls had inched her way over towards him. Dean scooted over a little bit further, away from her. He didn't need this kind of a distraction right now, a woman, a hot woman, and a willing woman at that, inching closer to him, no way. Dean moved over a few more inches in the opposite direction of her for added protection.

"Brother?" Katz asked. "Well unless your brother is adopted, I doubt you will find him here. If you haven't noticed everyone's skin color here is a shade darker then yours, Dean."

This was going nowhere. Dean needed answers, and Catherine said they were here, but where? Dean honestly didn't know. He thought that maybe checking with the owner, who seemed like a reputable man this morning, would rule out some of the lingering possibilities. Dean was hitting another dead end, and fast. Maybe after he finished up this fruitless conversation he would search the place.

The music had changed. The Japanese techno that filled the air was replaced with hip-hop music, again not in English. Dean looked at the crowd of people dancing. He stared at the men and women in the club. Their sweat glittered bodies were rubbing up against each other provocatively. The club was dimly lit. The only lights that brightened the enormous wooden dance floor were several blue spotlights.

Dean was about to respond, but something else caught his eye. Katz reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He pulled a thin cigarette out, and placed the filtered end in his mouth. He reached into his pocket once more, and pulled out a small box of matches. He lit the match and held the flame in front of his cigarette, puffing a few times before the nicotine filled stick ignited at the end. Dean stared as Katz took a few puffs and then picked up his drink.

Dean's gaze fixed intently on the cigarette. The music in the background fading out as he concentrated on the Asian man's lips. Dean couldn't hear anything now; except for the soft thud from the music's bass rattling in his eardrums. His focus zoomed in on the lit cigarette. Dean watched, as if it was in slow motion, as Katz put the object into his mouth, and sucked in the smoke from the filter. Katz exhaled and a white cloud of smoke rolled through the air. The moisture in the air suspended the smoke, capturing it in its damp-filled grasp. His vision sharpened until he could see the small cracked creases in Katz's thin rose-colored lips. The Asian man was talking, but Dean couldn't hear anything, he was too busy focusing on the small details of the lit cancer stick. At the bottom of the white cigarette, were three metallic green lines. Dean's eyes widened in shock

Son of a bitch!

Anger flared up inside of Dean. His insides ignited with a force so strong, and so hot, that nothing could extinguish it – it was rage. He knew now. Everything made sense. The pieces of the puzzle locked together tightly. Catherine was right. Dean would find his answers here, and it was sitting right in front of him. The realization of the situation fueled his fury, his ignited rage cindering his inner core. Katz was behind the whole thing. Those stupid death wielding, tar-filled sticks were proof – Katz had kidnapped Sam.

Dean didn't stop to think that maybe Katz's brand of cigarettes were mere coincidence. No, he didn't think that at all. The only thought that passed through his mind was that this man was the one responsible for his brother's abduction. Call it intuition if you will, but he just knew it down to the soles of his feet. And that that last thought would be the deciding factor in his next course of action.

Surging up to his feet in one controlled motion Dean punched Katz.

Dean staggered back a little after the full effects of the impact started to course through his hand. It hurt. He had punched the man hard on his cheek. Dean's fist had connected with Katz's cheekbone. Turning the man's skin bright red from the force of the blow. Noticing a thin line of blood trickling down the side of Katz's mouth, Dean smiled in satisfaction.

Katz wiped the blood off his face with a napkin that had been lying on the table. He glared at Dean, and smirked, "Care to tell me what that was about?"

"Where the hell is my brother you fuc—"

"Dean, there is no need for obscenities. This is a reputable business I run—own," Katz corrected, but he did so mockingly. "I don't have your brother. I have clearly stated that."

"You are a lying bastard," Dean said, his hand balled up into a fist, ready to strike again.

"See you soon, Dean," Katz said callously.

Dean stared at the man utterly dumbfounded. Understanding came to him all to well once two strong arms grabbed his arms, and started to drag him out of the club. Katz stood up, and stopped the men. Dean glared at him with pure hatred. This man was responsible, he knew it. Dean struggled against the two security guards, but couldn't break their hold.

"Toss him out the back door. It is fitting. That is where we throw out our trash," Katz sneered, and then shook his head.

"Funny, the only trash I see here, is standing right in front of me," Dean said comically. He knew his come back was weak, but his brain was so frazzled from the adrenaline and the constant thoughts of Sammy, that he couldn't comprehend a good come back, let alone say one that was coherent enough.

When Katz shook his head from side to side, Dean saw it, the pendant dangling from Katz's ear. It was a small silver circle with lines woven in and out from the center, and at the meeting point of the lines was a little red stone. Dean knew immediately – it was the symbol.

The two body guards pushed Dean through a set of double doors. They let go of him as soon as they passed through the entrance way. The man on the right pulled out a gun and pointed the black pistol at Dean. Dean lifted up his hands in a surrendering manner.

"Whoa, take it easy fellas," Dean said.

One of the guards pushed Dean towards the backdoor. "Move," he ordered.

Sam groggily opened his eyes. He wished he hadn't, though. As soon as his mind released the last lingering thought of his slumber educed state, the pain returned. His stomach still throbbed with an everlasting ache. Sam was sure it was that last cut that the Asian man had administered. God, it hurt. He was also cold, very cold. The damp basement was no place to be when your body was open to the elements on a freezing concrete stone slab. Sam's arms were still covered, though. The man had sliced down the middle of his sweatshirt and undershirt, but they still covered his arms, they were never fully removed. His stomach was the only thing exposed, and the chill that was brushing over his blood soaked torso, was making the young hunter shiver.

He lifted his head slightly, but immediately regretted doing so. His head ached with a blinding pain that was shooting through his brain. He set his head back down, and tried to assess his current situation. The headache, the body aches, and the chills – he had a fever. Sam felt as if his head was going to explode, like there were tiny little metal beads ricocheting inside his head, but only bouncing around in the small space in-between his brain and his skull. So each time one of the beads hit its mark inside of his head, it spiked with tremendous pain, and pressure.

The body aches he could deal with. They were most likely a combination from the various gashes on his body, and his body's feverish state. He couldn't stop shivering, though. He wanted someone to wrap him up in a warm fuzzy blanket, and keep his body heat enclosed in the warm comforts of the cloth, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. His teeth were chattering too, clicking together uncontrollably. He could hear it in his head, as his bottom molars collided with his upper ones. The annoying clatter of his teeth was adding on to the pile up in his brain, making his headache even more unbearable.

Sam could hear the bass from the music upstairs rattling the ceiling above him. He could make out the tonal pattern, but it sounded muffled. He listened intently, as someone's body hit the door at the top of the stairs with a loud thud. Something was going on upstairs. Maybe someone was here to save him? Sam was hoping, and he would cling onto that hope. He was sick, tortured, and just wanted a damn blanket.

He heard someone, a man, yelling at another person. He couldn't make out the words, not yet. His brain was still foggy from the fever, and the pain, but he concentrated. He closed his eyes, and focused his hearing on the commotion that was going on upstairs.

"I said, move!" Sam heard it. Someone was yelling at someone. The man's voice was still barely audible, but at least he heard it.

"Whoa, I said take it easy fellas. I am moving. Back off!"

Sam knew that voice. That was the voice that usually comforted him when he had a fever, the voice of the man that had practically raised him, the voice of the person that had protected him for over twenty years – Dean! Dean was upstairs!

Sam's heart started beating rapidly, each vigorous thump warming the inside of his body. He had to yell out to Dean, let him know he was down here. Sam opened his parched lips and spoke, "Dean."

His heart rate increased, he could barely speak. What he had just said was nothing but a whisper. He squeezed his hands together out of frustration, and tried again. "Dean," again, it was a horse whisper.

Sam was starting to panic. He hadn't heard his brother again. What if Dean left? What if Dean left him down here? Sam was determined to call out to his brother.

"Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean," Each time his brothers name passed his dry lips it strengthened in volume.

"Is this the way you treat all of your customers? Talk about bad service," Dean said, as his voice was carried through the small wooden door, making it harder for Sam to hear, but he at least heard it.

Dean was still here! He had to try again. Sam swallowed hard, and took in a deep breath, and then yelled with all the strength he could muster, "Dean!"

Sam's plea carried through the basement and up the stairs. It made its way to the hallway where the two goons were, but slammed into the metal door as it was closing.

Sam knew. As soon as he heard the loud thud of the door upstairs closing, he knew. Dean was gone, and Dean hadn't heard him. He felt so useless right now. The door at the top of the stairs opened and light flooded into the dark basement. A chill trickled down the young hunter's spine when he saw who it was - Katz.

Dean was pushed through the back door, and landed on his back. The two goons laughed at him, and then slammed the metal door shut. Dean stood up and brushed the dirt and gravel off of his clothes. He sighed dejectedly and headed back for the Impala.

He reached his car, he opened the door long enough to slide inside. Dean leaned his back into the seat, the leather upholstery squeaking when the older hunter shifted his weight. He pulled out the small white piece of paper Catherine had given him, and flipped it over. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed the number that was written on the crinkled sheet, and waited. A woman answered, and instantly Dean recognized who it was.

"Catherine," Dean said into the receiver. "I need your help."