AN: This is a fairly short chapter, since it got really long and I divided it in half, which is also why I'm posting two today. After I pooped out the first chapter in like half an hour way too late at night, it occurred to me that this sort of thing has been done a lot on the show and in fanfic, and I almost abandoned it. But I was recently reminded that formulaic doesn't have to equal bad – and there's a reason certain subgenres are popular. So I'm sticking with it. Shouldn't be too long, and hopefully a reader of three enjoy it.

Dean had called his brother three times before he actually started to get worried. "Home for supper, huh?" It was nearly 9pm, and Dean was getting hungry. There were any number of things that could have delayed Sam, but it was just weird that he wasn't answering his phone. Dean tried Sam's backup phone and it went immediately to voicemail. He tried the third, and it rang from its charging port in the hub. Grumbling about getting Sam microchipped like a prize poodle, Dean called up the GPS information for Sam's main phone. He frowned at it. It was stationary, in a nothing town about an hour's drive away. It was about twenty miles north of the route Sam would have taken home from Lincoln.

"Is something wrong?" asked Cas from the doorway. He still looked pale and sickly, and leaned uncharacteristically on the door frame.

"Sam ran an errand to Lincoln and I expected him back by now."

Cas nodded. "He told me he was going."

"He's not answering and his phone isn't where it should be. I'd figure it got stolen or something, but he didn't answer his backup either. And…"

"And with something watching you both lately, you're concerned."

Dean nodded, unhappy, but not sure just how worried he should be yet. "He called at 4:30 saying he was leaving Lincoln. Even with the way he drives, even with a stop or two, he should have been home a couple of hours ago."

Dean expected Cas to offer some bland encouragement about how Sam would be there soon and was caught off guard when instead, the angel said, "You should head for where his phone is and keep trying to call him. I can stay here and let you know if he arrives."

Dean studied his ailing friend for a moment. He knew Cas was feeling physically awfully, and also feeling useless and helpless. "That's a good idea. Would you see if you can get in touch with some of our contacts in Lincoln so I can hit the road right away?"

As Dean had hoped, Cas perked up at the thought of being able to help. "Yes, I can do that. Do you have a list?"

So a few minutes later, Dean was on the road, seeking out his absent brother. Just for the hell of it, he dialed Sam's phone again, and was shocked when someone answered.

"Hello?"

"Sam?"

"Yeah?" he sounded tired and more than a little annoyed.

And that immediately pushed Dean from getting worried to pissed off. "What the hell, man? I thought you'd be back by 7. And then you don't answer any of your phones – "

"Look, man, you have the wrong number."

"Not funny, Sam. What are you doing, anyway? You – "

He was cut off yet again. "Seriously, man. Wrong number." The line went dead.

Dean was so angry it took three tries to order his phone to call back. This time, he started in even before the other man could do more than connect. "Sam, so help me – "

"Stop calling me. I'm not the person you're trying to reach."

Dean stared at his phone for a moment, tempted to throw it out the window. "That little bitch hung up on me again." After a breath, he told his phone to call again, but this time it went straight to voicemail. He was ready to hang up when he realized the voicemail message was wrong and waited, listening:

Hey, you've reached Sam. Leave a message, or if you're calling on business, try my work number or my brother Robin. Thanks!

My brother…Robin? What the actual hell? Dean kept driving, his mind clicking through possibilities. He considered, and discarded, the idea that it wasn't Sam who had answered. He'd know that voice anywhere. He threw out the thought that Sam was screwing with him almost as fast. Sam had been all but hovering lately, hating to be separated from Dean longer than a few hours since the Mark was gone. And he was guilt-ridden about The Darkness and only slightly less obsessed with finding her than he'd been with curing the Mark in the first place. Besides, there hadn't been a hint of laughter in his voice, just honest-sounding annoyance.

So, option three, which he really hated; someone or something was screwing with him, and worse, screwing with Sammy. Telling his phone to call Cas, he drove faster.

Cas confirmed that even if Sam had ingested, inhaled, injected or otherwise been exposed to manticore venom it wouldn't have caused hallucinations, just paralysis. He certainly wouldn't be lucid enough to answer the phone, much less speak clearly. Cas promised to try to reach the supplier by phone to see if he'd noticed anything odd and find out if Sam had bought anything else, though Dean knew from experience that Herm rarely answered the phone. Tossing his phone on the seat next to him, Dean thought about the sensation they'd had of being watched and cursed their complacency in separating. What could be doing this to Sam?

Trickster? Fairy? Angel? Too many options, and none of them good.

He arrived at the upscale little subdivision around 11:30, too early for a break-in, so he briefly scouted the area. The houses in the subdivision had one of four or five different floor plans, and the one in question was white and unremarkable, with all the shades pulled shut and no information to be had. Dean wrinkled his nose at the perfect, cookie cutter lawns. It was much easier to break into houses in crappier neighborhoods. Still, he'd figure it out, but it galled him to have to wait.

Hang on, Sammy. I'm coming. And after I rescue you, I'm kicking your ass.