Thanks to my lovely reviewers! It's been over a year now without posting on this place and I'd forgotten just how much I missed them! Now, on with the story and another two for you tonight because I'm feeling all generous!

Chapter Two.

To Dean's surprise there had been more than one member of the cleaning staff, a mother-daughter team from Mexico as it turned out and a fact that surprised him only due to the state of the place. He'd thought his and Sam's room was bad, but as he'd paced the corridors looking for signs of life, he'd started to realise that they had in fact lucked out.

The mother was a no-go area, the sort of woman that made an angry bull elephant look docile and with enough years behind her to know when a man young enough to be her son was flirting with her in exchange for some good will. She was having none of it, and had Dean been able to speak the same language, he was pretty sure he'd have left the conversation a lot worse off.

The daughter however was different, slim, attractive and not yet old enough to have inherited her mother's caution when it came to the opposite sex. In fact, as he'd spoken to her Dean had slowly come to the realisation that the girl probably wasn't even old enough to have a full-time job, but since she wasn't a real prospect for conquest – even he had some sexual morals – he'd ramped up his sweet talk until she was practically agreeing to replace their carpet herself. Nice kid.

He had returned to their room to find that Sam had done as asked and packed up all their things, probably with the type of anal precision that meant Dean had no need to double check. All the same he found himself collecting up some of the wood chips and candy wrappers before tossing a handful of dollars onto the table, suddenly feeling guilty about piling so much cleaning on such a young girl's shoulders.

The Impala had been standing out in the car park, rain-spotted bodywork gleaming bright enough under the neon signs to make Dean smile. In a life so full of blood, mud and dust, it still amazed him that he could own something so beautiful and more than that, keep it that way – most of the time. Stepping off the kerb towards it, he had barely had time to register the pick-up that came barrelling round the corner towards him, practically tipping onto two wheels in its haste.

"Jeez - ,"

He'd watched it career past not more than an inch away, screeching off onto the road without even pausing to take in what little on-coming traffic there was. Dean had shaken his head, brushing down his jacket as if to smooth his ruffled feathers. People were freaks in these parts. He'd been glad they were leaving.

Sam however, was not inside the Impala, not tapping his fingers across the dash nor browsing his computer as Dean had expected. Pulling the collar of his coat up about his neck as the rain began to pound down heavily, Dean had turned to head for the diner, assuming his brother had taken refuge inside. As he had rounded the car however, he'd noticed the bag of food spilt across the floor and the keys dangling from the door. It was a sight that had made his stomach lurch and realisation dawn.

"Shit!"

That was not just a speeding truck driven by some local drunk. That was a getaway vehicle, and it was getting away with…

Turning on his heel, Dean had run for the diner, hoping against hope that the dropped food was just the result of Sam's clumsiness – the keys being left in the door he could kill him for later – and that his younger brother was safely installed at the counter, ordering another round.

He wasn't. As Dean had burst through the doors with such a bang that it made the few customers seated at the tables jump, he knew instantly that Sam was not there. No confused-looking face, no hesitant query. Sam was in that damn truck. He knew it.

"Hey man? You want another?" the young server had asked, his face lighting up at the sight of their best customer. Dean hadn't responded, he hadn't had time. Darting back across the car park, he'd instead flung himself into the seat of the Impala, starting up the engine and feeling the car begin to shudder underneath him as it roared into life. Zeppelin burst onto the stereo only to be quickly flipped off. He needed to concentrate. Spinning the car onto the highway with the same recklessness as the truck, Dean had headed off fast, knowing that the truck had time on its side. If it had already turned off it would make tracking it near impossible…unless…

With one hand gripped white-knuckle to the wheel, Dean had felt about frantically for the cell buried in the pocket of his jeans.

"Come on damn it!" he'd yelled to himself in frustration, finally pulling it loose and tapping in a familiar number, "Ash?"

"Dean, hey man, how you - ,"

There had been no time for pleasantries.

"I need you to trace Sam's cell."

"Huh?"

"Can you do it or not?"

"Well, yeah. But why don't you just phone the main - ,"

"I haven't got time, I need it fast!" Silence had greeted him on the other end, occasionally punctuated by the tap of what Dean had assumed was a keyboard, "Ash?"

"Keep going straight."

"Huh?"

"You're following them all right."

"How the hell do you know that?"

Ash had snorted across the connection, clearly amused by Dean's underestimation of his brilliance.

"Sam's isn't the only phone with GPS."

"Am I closing in on them?"

"Well…they're going pretty fast,"

He'd floored it instantly.

"How about now?"

"Better."

"Stay on the line Ash. They so much as change lanes I want to know about it."

As it had turned out, they hadn't changed lanes. Not even once, keeping straight although driving with a speed that Dean had assumed virtually impossible in a battered pick-up, particularly since despite thrashing the Impala to within an inch of her life, he'd never once caught sight of them.

The trace on Sam's cell had led them halfway through the night, to the outskirts of a pleasant but typically backwater town and straight to a ditch by the side of the road.

Dean had climbed out of the Impala with more than a little trepidation, glancing around at the wide-open expanses of field that shouldered the road on either side. It was quiet, remote, untravelled, the perfect place to dump a…he couldn't bring himself to think it. Swallowing, he'd taken one step closer to the channel and cautiously looked in. No body. Just the phone.

"Damn!"

"You got him?"

"No."

"No?"

"They ditched the cell."

"Shit…" Ash had paused, aware that from that moment on, he was pretty much useless. He was all about the technology. Legwork, getting answers and looking for needles in a haystack? That was the Winchester's department, "I'm sorry Dean."

"Yeah."

"Call me if you need anything," Ash had offered in consolation, "Or Ellen. You know we're all rooting for you."

"Thanks Ash," Dean had replied, not really meaning it. Sincerity was hard for him to come by at the best of times, in that moment it was virtually impossible. He'd hung up instantly.

Further down the ditch, besides the phone, Sam's wallet and jacket had been dumped too, clearly from a moving vehicle although mercifully each item was free from the bloodstains that Dean had dreaded yet half-expected to see. That had to be a good sign – if there was such a thing.

Sliding into the front seat of the Impala, clutching his brother's things almost like force alone might bring him back, Dean had dropped back against the headrest, contemplating his next move. He had to think logically – treat it like any other case. That was the rule. The problem was that if there was one thing this whole mess was not then it was any other case. Still, he needed to be logical and since the things had been dumped on the outskirts of town, then that seemed like a reasonable place to start, which meant he needed a base and an alias.

Slamming shut the door, Dean had fired the car into life once more, determination lacing his face.

"Hang on in there Sam."

First he was going to find his brother and get him back in one piece. Then he was going to make sure that whoever took him never messed with the Winchesters again.

He was going to make damn sure.