AN: Another kind of short one, but more will be revealed! And at least one chapter will be posted tomorrow since I spent a lot of time driving today, which means I had time to lay it out in my head but not type it up.

Shazza: More details, but maybe not the ones you're waiting for…yet!

Lena: You shouldn't have looked it up…it's all kind of wrong, isn't it? I have no idea where I learned it, but when I was little, I thought Johnny cooked up his neighbors, too, not understanding that "neighbors" is possessive. I happy to both creep you out and give you warm fuzzies in the same chapter! The boys aren't together enough in this fic, which means I'll probably write a completely gratuitous end chapter of pure schmoop. Not sorry. LOL. BTW, didn't I write a whole ending chapter just for you to get your share of schmoop once? Maybe Uncanny Valley?

Atlasina7: Thanks for reading and commenting! I may have a thing about cliffhangers, but I do add to stories fairly quickly, so forgive me. LOL

Blondie: I love how bloodthirsty you are! (I'm only teasing.) But, yeah, it's pretty stupid to go after Sam. Obviously, Allen never read the books or watched the show, so he's a moron. *snicker*

Stormy: Aw, thanks! Your comments had me laughing so much! Don't hate me too much after the end of this chapter. (For the cliffie…and lack of sausages…)

Dean made it back to the station in six minutes flat. He burst through the door with enough speed to startle Lacey. "What's the matter Dean – uh, agent?"

"Where is Deputy Morrow?"

"He only came in for a couple hours. He – "

"He said he wanted to take his bereavement leave," interrupted the sheriff, coming in from the back. He studied Dean's expression. "Why, what's wrong?"

Despite his urgency, Dean knew better than to say anything accusing about a cop without proof. "My partner texted he was checking out a lead with Deputy Morrow, and now I can't get in touch with either of them. And Sam's a stickler for staying in touch." Dean canted his head. "Bereavement leave? Now?" Clyde had been found over two weeks earlier, and his memorial service had already taken place.

"He didn't take it earlier, but I guess you never know when grief will hit you. Do you know something I should know, Agent?" Rob's eyes narrowed.

"I don't know anything," Dean admitted. "But I know my partner. He must have thought there was something up, and he wouldn't go radio silent."

"See if you can get Allen on the radio," Rob directed Lacey. He pulled out his cell phone as she did, but they weren't able to reach the deputy by either means.

Rob ducked into his office and came back out strapping on his gun. "Let's check out his house in case our killer is working his way through families. If there's nothing there, we'll come back to town and find out if anyone saw which way they went."

Dean thought he'd probably do those things in the opposite order. And he really didn't want anyone with him chasing after a supernatural threat, not even a cop with as much experience as Rob. "We?"

"My man is out there, too," Rob set his jaw. "Besides, you want to go out without backup, looking for a killer that may have taken a cop and an FBI agent?"

Dean didn't want to take the time to argue. He knew he didn't look happy, but all he said was, "I'll drive."

Allen's house turned out to be an isolated, unloved mansion. It wasn't quite decrepit, but it was headed that way. It must have been beautiful once, but probably not for a generation or so. "Ancestral home," Rob explained quietly. "Clyde hated the place – never lived there after he moved out to get married, even when his folks died. Allen took it over as soon as he came back from college, though I think he only uses the bottom floor."

Rob nodded at Dean, who stepped forward and knocked on the door. He was about to call out when he sensed the man freezing behind him. "Something's moving in the shed," Rob hissed.

Dean pulled his gun slowly and walked silently, Rob again covering his back. The shed was in worse shape than the house, with peeling paint and rusty nails, but it was still solid. Dean nudged the door open with the tip of his gun, wishing he were here at night, and with his brother at his back. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride snarked a voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Sam. That immediately brought to mind Bobby's version: if wishes were horses, we'd be overrun by the hay-eaters.

Amusement fled as the interior of the shed was revealed. The floor had dark, rusty stains around honest-to-God manacles attached by chains to posts sunk deep into a cement floor. More chains were coiled in the corner, and a rudimentary table was covered in rusty tools that still looked sharp and dangerous. To complete the nightmare picture, there was a meathook hanging in one corner and a single, bare bulb overhead. But for better or worse, there was nothing alive inside. Nothing bigger than a mouse, anyway, if the droppings in the corners were any indication.

Rob made a soft exclamation behind him as Dean stepped cautiously inside. The entire shed was visible from the door, but it was dark enough that Dean wanted to make sure. Rob's flashlight suddenly flicked to the far-left corner and Dean heard a quick, sharply drawn breath. His eyes darted to the spot.

Something hard and heavy hit Dean on the back of the head. It pushed him into that twilight stage of consciousness where he could think but couldn't connect with his body. He was being moved, manhandled, gun pulled from his unresisting grip.

Never let go of your weapon, son. Sorry, Dad.

There were sounds he should recognize, and he tried to fight, but he couldn't quite get his eyes open, so his kicks and punches were blind and uncoordinated. A fist hit his jaw and everything greyed out again. He thought wrong backup. Not Sammy. But the sheriff didn't take Sammy, did he? Are all the cops bad, even the sexy one? And then, clever move to draw my eyes away from the blow.

A voice filtered in. Still not Sammy. God, where was Sammy?

"…stupid. And he was always so arrogant. He thought he was the only one who heard her. The only one who fed her. And he'd not even smart about it. Leaving bodies to be found. And starting with the person he hates most in this world." He's monologuing while frisking me. Freak.

Unaware of Dean's derogatory thoughts, Rob continued his soliloquy. "Allen's a moron, but he did take care of your partner. Too bad I won't find him – and shoot him – until after he kills you too. I'll still be the hero. Small town sheriff who stopped a serial killer."

"T'k too much," slurred Dean.

The sheriff chuckled a little. "Awake already? You're one touch SOB, I'll give you that. I hope that other guy isn't really your brother, because I'm pretty sure Al already fed him to Great-grandma Aggie and her pet devil. But don't worry. You'll be unconscious when I drag you down there because I don't quite trust you to go down without a fight."

Rob. Sheriff. Dean remembered, trying to follow everything through a haze of pain. He opened his eyes as Rob emptied Dean's ankle holster, shaking his head in admiration or maybe disgust. "Y're a Morrow," Dean put together. Things were still fuzzy, but his anger was coming back. Whether or not they were working together, somebody had Sam, and he was in danger.

"My mom's side. We're a big family. And you just proved me right – you know too much for me to just redirect you. Sit tight, agent. I'll be back." He patted Dean's knee almost jovially, and Dean decided he detested the whole family.

"K'll you." He would. As soon as he could see straight. Nobody got to pretend to be a good guy, pretend to help find Sam, then ambush Dean. And nobody in the whole damn world got to talk about Sam dying. Talk about. Because he wasn't dead.

Rob didn't respond to the threat. He didn't even close the door all the way, and it took Dean a second to realize why. Both wrists were manacled to the floor.