"I'm sorry, say that again?" Sam stared at the little old lady who was damn lucky she was safely behind a wire cage that he couldn't reach around or through. "What the hell do you mean, he isn't here?"

"Now see here, young man, there is no need to use such foul language." she scolded. "Manners are sorely lacking among today's youth."

"I just left Somersville, they told me the Sheriff left nearly three hours ago to bring him here." his jaw ached so badly from gritting his teeth from so long, he was sure he was going to need to see a dentist. His whole body was tense from stress and frustration. When he finally got his hands on the son-of-a-bitch he referred to as brother, he was going to kick his freaking ass. "It's a twenty-minute drive."

"And?" she prompted.

"And I want to know where he is!"

"How would I know?" she puffed. "See here, young man…I don't appreciate being addressed with that tone…."

Oh, Grama was going down.

"Can I help you?" a man appeared in the booth behind Grama-with-an-attitude.

"I'm looking for my brother. He was arrested in Somersville and here by the Sheriff."

"Would that be Dean?"

"Yeah." he was no longer in any mood to be polite or patient. He wanted his brother, their car and this county in their rearview mirror.

"Yeah, well, you'll have to look elsewhere for him." the man said. "The Sheriff was forced off the road two miles out-of-town." the look he leveled on Sam was full of suspicion and doubt. "And only the Sheriff made it to town."

"You're saying he was in an accident?" his mind was determined to play with him. He should be focused on any possible injuries his brother may have suffered in a car accident and all he could think about was Rumpelstiltskin.

How Rumpel had become so angry he'd pounded the ground with his foot so violently, he'd buried himself up to his chest. He now understood how rage could drive a person to such an action. "God, please, tell me you didn't have him taken to Memorial County Hospital in Somersville." he groaned. He couldn't go back there, he wouldn't, not tonight, Dean would just have to stay there until morning.

"I'm saying the Sheriff, for whatever reason, lost control of his car, drove off the road and when he came too, your brother was gone."

"Gone? As in….gone?" Sam's eyes grew wide. "How could he be gone?" chances were Dean had picked the lock on the cuffs while the Sheriff had been unconscious and gotten out of the car. Sam wasn't worried the Sheriff was injured, Dean wouldn't have done the man any harm, nor would he have left an injured man in a wrecked car without first calling for help and reporting the accident.

"Good question, seeing as he was cuffed with his hands behind his back and chained to the backseat of a police car."

"Cuffed? Chained?" he repeated. "For What? He didn't do anything!" okay, so Dean hadn't escaped the car on his own. Not even a Winchester could pick the lock on handcuffs with their wrists locked together behind their backs.

"He was under arrest and in police custody. It's standard procedure when transporting a prisoner."

"Where's the Sheriff?" Sam demanded. His anger was out and had taken control. He wanted his brother and he was sick and tired of being one step behind, arriving late and being thwarted by every crazy ass person in this messed up county.

"Being looked at by Doc Myers." the man frowned in disapproval. "Maybe you should take a walk and calm down. Come back when you have settled yourself some."

"I don't need to settle myself down. I am calm!" the pitch in his voice and the force he spit the words out belied his statement. "Where is the Sheriff?"

"Now see here, young man." Grama was on her feet and all 4'2 of her was in Sam's face. Somehow, she'd come out of the caged booth and was standing in front of him. "You do not come in here and talk like that." her finger waggled. Even with her hand raised, her fingertips reached his chest. "You do not come in here and treat us with such disrespect."

"YOU LOST MY BROTHER!" Sam roared, picking Grama up by her shoulders, her little feet kicking until he set her down several feet away from him. No one was going to get in his face, not when his brother was missing. "You had him in cuffs and you LOST him! I want an explanation how that happened and what is being done about it? Was he hurt? How bad was the car damaged? What did the Sheriff see or hear? Someone took my brother from that car and someone had better already be doing something about it! Who's looking for him? He sure as hell didn't escape on his own!"

"Here now, pipe down!" a man came into the room holding a blue ice pack to his forehead. "I'm Sheriff Dobbin, you must be Sammy." he held his hand out, letting it drop when Sam refused to shake it. "Damn me, you ain't so little." he looked Sam up and down, taking note of the fury that twisted his features. "Now, no need to get all worked up. Dean never said you had such an unsettled disposition. Claimed you were some gentle giant and questioned how you came to be born into the family being so mild-mannered and all."

"Where is my brother?" each word might as well have been a punch. Grama wisely retreated to the protection of her caged booth where she continued to glare at him.

"I don't rightly know." the Sheriff put a desk between him and the irate giant. "We have men out looking for him."

"I want to see the car."

"Why?"

"YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW IF HE WAS HURT!" Sam exclaimed. "Someone had to have helped him get out of that car!"

"Someone did and I can assure you, we will find whoever it was."

"When?"

"I was forced off the road son, that accident was staged. Your brother didn't escape, he was rescued."

"RESCUED?!" he barked out a harsh laugh. There was no one who knew who they were that would attempt a rescue. "By who? He doesn't know anyone in this godforsaken town."

"We thought by you." the Sheriff said. "Now be on your way and let us do our jobs. Leave your cell number and we'll contact you when we have some information for you."

***000***

Sam sat in his stolen car in the parking lot of the county court-house. He was beyond the ability to cope. He couldn't think or speak or move. All he could do was sit and stare at the steering wheel. He couldn't even pull himself together enough to start the car and turn the heat on.

He'd never had such a night in his entire life. He'd been amused, annoyed, irritated, angry, scared and frustrated. Now he was feeling hopeless and lost. He'd come to town with plans to retrieve his brother and head back to the cabin in Montana where they could lie low for a couple of days and regroup.

He hadn't expected any of the obstacles that had been in his way. Whacked out motel clerks and hot babes in snow boots he could easily handle. Bartenders and pesky nurses and stupid deputies were routine in his life. Rescues from unknown persons who planned a detailed jailbreak were not something he was emotionally equipped to deal with.

What the hell was he supposed to do next? How was he supposed to find his brother now? He thumped his head against the steering wheel. All he could think to do, was examine the wrecked police car and visit the site of the accident. It wasn't much, but it was a start and he needed to do something.

He gave himself a shake and reached a hand into his pocket for the car keys. His fingers curled around his cell phone and he pulled it out along with the keys. The message light was blinking and when he checked the display, he had three missed calls, all from Dean and one voicemail.

He laughed, maniacal, uncontrollable laughter. He couldn't stop. All this time spent chasing his brother from one location to the next, dealing with the oddball citizens of the most fucked up county he'd ever set foot in and all along, all he'd had to do was check his own voicemail.

Turning the engine over, he dialed voicemail and listened to the message.