"Hello?" Sam asked, hesitantly.

"Hi Sammy. How are you?" An unfamiliar voice replied softly.

"..Who is this?"

"I'm your new best friend, Pete." The voice stated as matter-of-factly.

"Pete? I don't know anyone named Pete." Sam replied, confused.

"Handsome Deanie does," Pete said darkly. "He knows me quite well."

"What? Dean? You know my brother?" Sam asked instantly, curious as his insides twisted with renewed hope...and burning worry.

"Yes, little Sammy. We were talking about you just a minute ago."

There was silence and then Pete calmly spoke, "He really loves you...but do you love him?"

"If you touch one hair on my brother I'll-" Sam began furiously, but was cut off.

"Oh, c'mon, Sammy. That was a very nasty thought you just had right there. I do believe you were a nice little boy," Pete mocked darkly.

Sam bit his lip to keep from screaming into the phone, "What do you want?"

There came no reply, just static.

"My brother's very sick. He needs medical attention and drugs for his heart. Please..." Sam begged, near tears, "What do you want?"

"Aw, little Sammy's afraid of the dark and wants his teddy bear back," Pete laughed into the phone.

Sam was feeling sick, this conversation was going nowhere. How did he even know Dean was still alive?

"I want to talk to Dean. I want to know that he's okay," Sam said, trying to hold back the threatening tears and sound strong.

"Oh, I'm afraid I can't do that. Deanie boy is taking a nap right now...we played a lot earlier." Pete's childish mocking tone echoed in Sam's pounding ears. It was as if a child had Dean for ransom and Sam was completely at his mercy. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.

"What did you do to him?! Leave him alone!" Sam yelled into the phone, losing his temper. Again, no answer came from the other end of the phone, this lack of communication didn't help Sam's anger, but he was desperate now, "I'll do what you want but leave my brother alone!"

"Now we're talking," Pete's voice lightened immensely. "It's very simple. You have something I want and I have something you want. How do you feel about an exchange?"

"But.. I don't have anything..." Sam said, trying to think.

"Sam, Sam, SAM. Think a bit harder." Pete went quiet for a moment, giving Sam a chance to think. "Okay, lets play a game. I'm thinking about something that starts with CO and ends with LT..."

"The colt? But I don't have it," Sam said quickly, unable to stop himself. He was worried even more, now that he had nothing to bargain with, now that Pete knew as well. "My father took it when he left and I don't know where he is now."

"Sammy, you are so boring! Think harder about this exchange and I'll call you back." Click

Unable to get a word out before the dial tone, Sam sat in the nearest chair, feeling extremely sick. He felt light headed from the held back tears and his throat burned from yelling. Emotionally exhausted, he laid his head on his knees and stuck his hands in his hair, holding his head.

Sam was overwhelmed. This was too much for him. Too much for his torn and tattered heart. His mother's death, a normal childhood stolen from him, any chance at a normal life, dying with his girlfriend, his Dad getting possessed by the thing that's tormented his family his whole life, The Demon in their Dads body torturing Dean, the crash, Dean in a coma, Dad leaving for the second time, Dean kidnapped without medical attention...and it was all his fault. All of it.

He was the cause of everything bad that'd happened to his family. All because he was weak, because he wasn't normal, because a demon wants his soul and the fact that the Demon doesn't care what he has to do to get it.

With all this, Sam was paralyzed. He couldn't think, he couldn't even move. So...he cried. His hands found their way from his dizzy head to his clammy, tense face, were he let the bitter tears freely fall from his sore, burning eyes into his empty hands.

Soon Sam's moment of guilt stricken grief was interrupted by the helpful nurse from earlier that day.

"Sam?" The nurse approached him, concerned, "What happened, sweetie?"

"I found my brother," Sam half lied, gathering composure and gaining control of his emotions. "He's with a friend of ours."

"Stupid brother you have. Why didn't he call you?" The nurse replied, a little repulsed by Deans actions, or lack thereof.

"My brother's not stupid. He was just too tired to call me," snapped Sam.

"Okay, okay," the nurse said, surrendering. "I'll tell the guards you've found your brother."

Sam was done crying. He was angry now. Angry with himself for being so stupid, so pathetic. He couldn't help Dean by crying and now was a critical, if not THE most critical time Dean needed him. Dean needed the smart Sam, not the sissy, weak, pathetic boy that had been crying his valuable time away sitting there.

Think, Sam, think! Sam knocked his head with his plaster cast. Think man!

Sam took a deep breath, stood up and then fell again, back into the chair, as hopeless as ever. But, in that moment of pure hopelessness, came a loud military voice screaming in his mind.

C´MON SOLDIER, YOUR BROTHER NEEDS YOU! YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN HELP HIM. C´MON YOU WUSS! STAND UP!

And like a man who's just had a gun shoved to his back, Sam stood.

NOW SOLDIER, YOU HAVE TO GO TO DEAN´S ROOM, RETRIEVE ALL HIS STUFF, GET ALL HIS NEEDED DRUGS AND THEN GO TO YOUR HOTEL ROOM. C´MON! GET TO IT!

He didn't know how long he had until 'Pete' called back, so he ran. Sam ran and ran, all along the corridor.. With each stride his mind became clearer, and he could think and act again. With each step all his doubts left him, with each step one single thought became stronger and stronger, like an obsession: rescue Dean.

Dean needs you. He's in pain because of you. He's been kidnapped because of you. You did all of this to him, but now...you are his last hope.

Shortly, Sam entered Dean's room and put all his things in a small bag, next he went in search of Dean's doctor.

Once found, Sam lied to the doctor, telling him about a friend that had a private clinic and how it offered to do Dean's rehab. But, they needed to know what kinds of drugs Dean was taking and needed a few samples of each as well.

To Sam's good fortune and great relief, the doctor explained to him about the seven different types of drugs Dean was currently taking, three for his heart, two antibiotics and two more that Sam couldn't remember what they were for (thankfully the bottles he was given had labels on them) and of course, the inhalers for Dean's extremely damaged lungs.

Sam wrote it all down (just in case) in Dean's journal, gathered his paper work, said his thanks and good-byes, and quickly made his way back to his hotel room.

Almost as soon as Sam walked in the door, he got sick. He rushed to the bathroom and threw up. As he sat there, still feeling rather nauseous from the recent events, he heard the thundering voice again...

C´MON SOLDIER! DON´T THROW UP! SOLDIERS DO WHAT THEY HAVE TO DO WITHOUT THINKING AND WITHOUT FEELING. YOU MUST FIGHT YOUR FEELINGS. YOU DON´T NEED A HEART NOW, YOU ONLY NEED YOUR BRAIN AND GUTS.

Sam left the bathroom, throwing his heart in the toilet, and choking down whatever else it was he didn't get the chance to get out.

He dropped on the side of the bed, picked up the room phone, and dialed.

Ring, ring..

A voice began to speak...

"This is John Winchester's cell. If you need me, leave a message after the beep...As for my sons, I have only one now. One really let me down, and I have no use for him anymore. Good-bye Sam. click

The voice mail ended.

Sam sat there, stunned, in shock. But this was something to think about later, with Dean by his side. OR, even better; John Winchester is dead now for you Sam, concentrate on Dean, he's your only family now.

Sam shook it off and picked up the phone again, dialed, and it rang.

Unfortunately, even though Bobby picked up, he told Sam he was up in Alaska on a hunting trip. He said the regular "Sorry I can't help you, I'm always here though" spiel, but that still left Sam right where he'd started, in desperation.

He grabbed their dad's, now Dean's, journal and called every seemingly suitable, appropriate number in it he could find. Nothing. No one, not ONE person could help him.

Sam stood abruptly, frustrated, aggravated and lost. He strained his aching head to think. Think, that's what he had to do, and he couldn't do it for the life of him. He couldn't think...not even for the life of Dean.

In his agonizing circles around the room, the voice started again.

SOLDIER, DON´T GIVE UP. IF A FELLOW NEEDS HELP WE MUST HELP! WE DON´T LEAVE OTHER SOLDIERS BEHIND!

Then, it dawned on him. He rushed to the phone and quickly dialed.

"Hello?"

"Hi, M-Missouri?" Sam stuttered.

"Well, hi, sugar." Missouri's voice beamed over the phone.

Sam half smiled, relieved to hear her cheerful from his call. "Uh, I...I was wondering if you could help me..."

"Oooh, honey, you know I can't meddle. And I can't pull things out of thin air."

"But I haven't-" Sam started, confused.

"Sam, I'm a psychic, remember?"

Sam didn't say anything for a moment, he felt kind of stupid, and if Missouri would have been there, she would have seen Sam's bright red cheeks and the roll of his eyes.

"Well, you know everything that's happened now, and no doubt you've heard about dad..."

"Yes..." Missouri replied solemnly. "Sometimes I just can't understand that man.." She said thoughtfully, but more to herself then to Sam.

Sam tried to ignore the last part and continued, "And Dean...I need to find him, but I-"

"Sam, I've told you, I can't pull things out of thin air. And I certainly don't have the Colt. I haven't spoken with your father since the time you boys came home to visit, and he most certainly hasn't spoken to me," Missouri said sadly.

Sam sat, hit by a wave of sadness, then refocused. "Have you...do you know anything about.." Sam couldn't say his brothers name, it had become too hard. Every time he tried, it was as if it got stuck in his throat, but thankfully, he didn't have to say it.

"Dean?" Missouri asked, innocently.

"Ya.." Sam swallowed his emotions.

"He is alive."

Sam let go of the breath he'd been hanging on to and ran a hand through his hair, feeling relieved. But that was soon taken back.

"He's alive, but honey..." Missouri paused, afraid to go on, Sam listened intently as Missouri continued. "I..I've seen a lot of pain."

Sam hushed his screams and bit his lip, a wave of adrenaline washed over him. No! He thought.

"I need to know where he is Missouri," Sam said urgently. "Where is he?"

"I don't...I can't tell you..." Missouri said sadly...

"What?" Sam asked, surprised. "Why not?"

"Honey, you must be strong now. Know that even in the darkness we can find the road to the light...But we need to have hope and faith in our hearts." Missouri's words were firm, not to mention confusing to Sam, but some how, still comforting. He didn't give any indication to Missouri about that part though, he just got frustrated and sarcastic with her.

"Pretty...but that doesn't help!" Sam's voice boomed. "I don't understand Missouri."

"Not now," Missouri said calmly, ignoring Sam's frustrated outburst, "But you will. Remember them for the future. You'll understand then."

Sam let out a exasperated sigh, "Ok, thanks, you reeeaaally helped a lot." He answered sarcastically, and started to hang up but heard her loud voice and snapped it back to his ear.

"Don't you take that tone with me young man! Don't you dare. You asked me for help and I gave what I could," Missouri reprimanded Sam furiously. "You must remember Dean. Dean is your future." She calmed down as she finished.

"Of course he is, he's my present and my past too." Sam said, calming down.

"No Sammy, your present isn't Dean, I'm afraid."

"Again, what are you talking about?' Sam asked, temper rising again. This was getting ridiculous.

"I must sound like an old loon just singing to the wind, but remember them, Sam." Missouri pleaded, "Please keep faith and hope in your heart and all will change. Bye sugar."

Missouri hung up before Sam had a chance to respond again, and he didn't understand a damn thing she said. How was this going to help? Then he remembered the last thing she said...something about faith and hope in his heart. Then he remembered his heart, the one he threw up in the toilet, the one he flushed and vowed not to use. He was already off to a rocky start.

Sam didn't understand a single word of what Missouri had told him. That rubbish didn't have any logic, or make any sense what-so-ever. Why? Why did it always have to be in the future? Why did it always have to be so friggin' hard.

The youngest lay down on his bed, hopeless, helpless, utterly lost, and totally confused. Everything was so quiet. Even the military voice had subsided, or at least lay dormant for now. One might even say he missed it because he was completely alone now, and without an object to bargain with for Dean, Sam was overwhelmed by his thoughts.

In that moment of stinging silence Sam remembered what his father had done when Meg wanted the colt, he got a fake one. Sam could do that, he could buy a fake colt and...wait, his dad got captured and was beaten mercilessly after they found out it wasn't real. Thinking twice Sam decided against it.

Perhaps the book on demonology that Bobby gave them could be traded to...no, that would be stupid. Giving a clearly evil person the book on demons, yes that's it, Sam, give them ULTIMATE power over evil.

Bravo.

Ring!

Sam's cell phone went off, startling the focused Winchester. He picked it up, hesitant.

"Hello?" Sam's unsteady voice echoed in the static phone.

"Hi, Sammy boy, how are you? Even better, how's my colt?" Pete's sarcastic tone shot through Sam's cell. "You do have it...don't you?"

Sam closed his eyes, feeling a wave of bitter sickness wash over him. "No..." Trying to buy time and think, Sam corrected himself, "Not yet."

"I'm disappointed in you, Sammy. Dean will be too. Especially now that the pain killers are wearing off."

"I said not yet!" Sam repeated, almost shouting. "A friend is getting it for me." Sam lied. "Please, I'll give it to you, but leave my brother alone."

"But then you'd never listen to me, would you Sammy?" Pete asked, knowing perfectly well that it was true. Dean was Sam's reason to listen to him, and he wasn't about to just leave a helpless hostage alone when he was getting what he wanted because the hostage WAS helpless, oh no, that'd just be silly.

Sam ignored this question, but knew, with a heavy heart, that both of them knew it was true. There was silence for a moment, while Sam sat and thought, he wanted his proof now.

"How do I know you're not lying? I want to know Dean's alive." Sam said, calming his bubbling anger.

" 'Kay, hang on."

Sam heard Pete leave the phone's speaker, then, he heard another sound. A scream, it was pure agony, and it was Dean. It echoed into the phone, and took hold of Sam's heart like a hand had just wrenched it from his chest and twisted it. Dean was so close, yet so far away.

More screams and cries of pain emitted from Sam's phone into his ear. All he could think about was that it was his fault. His own fault that this was happening to his older brother. He couldn't take it anymore.

"Stop! Stop it!" Sam screamed into the phone, furiously.

The screams stopped. "But, Sammy," Pete cooed mockingly, "you wanted to know your brother was alive."

Sam fell silent and bit his lip harshly as he tried to hold back his tears and gain composure again.

"If you want to see your dear brother alive, bring the colt to this address: 17 Park Avenue, the garage. You have till 9 o'clock." Click

Sam screamed at the top of his lungs, making his hotel neighbors yell back at him. He calmed down, after throwing a few things across the room, and checked the time: 7 o'clock. It was that late already. He had two hours to find the Colt and be at the garage. But where was it? Where was his...ex-father? He couldn't even begin to look, there was no time. Sam sighed, frustrated and then decided his last, and only option was to buy a fake colt.

Sam knew it wasn't a brilliant plan, and it would probably get him in serious shit, but that's all fate had dealt him, and he had to play his hand.

The youngest Winchester pulled out a brown bag that had been hidden under his bed, and started collecting different weapons. It was a relief that after the crash, the police didn't know about the secret compartment in the trunk, and Sam was able to retrieve all their undamaged, usable weapons before it was sent to a scrap metal disposal. As for the box of fake ID's, a call to Bobby and they mysteriously disappeared from the police's evidence storage room.

Sam grabbed a knife, a shot gun, and a few other essentials, put his jacket on and went outside to get a cab.

Half an hour later, Sam stood outside an antique shop, regaining control over his heart rate and prepared himself for what it was he had to do.

He took a long deep breath and mentally repeated, Dean needs you, Dean needs you...

He hated to do it, he hated to think of the scars he'd leave people, but it needed to be done. Sam placed a black mask over his head, took out the gun, and went in.

Screams would have been heard had anyone been around, but to Sam's luck, no one came. He didn't have enough money to buy a 'real' fake colt, so he asked as politely as a robber could.

Fifteen minutes to nine Sam arrived outside the garage on 17 Park Avenue, with the fake colt, breathing heavily behind a tree as he tried to come up with a plan if 'Pete' should fail on his part of the bargain.

Then the voice began to shout again:

SOLDIER! YOU ARE A SCREW UP! YOU DON´T KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE INSIDE, WHERE YOUR BROTHER IS, EVEN IF HE'S STILL ALIVE. HOW DO YOU PLAN TO GET HIM OUT OF THERE WITH A FAKE COLT?!

It stopped suddenly when Sam heard footsteps.

"Sammy?" A voice asked.

Sam stepped out from behind the tree, bracing himself.

"Ah, it IS you, Sammy boy." A man of about 30 spoke, continued to walk closer with an eerie smile on his face. "You came early."

"Are you Pete?" Sam asked firmly.

"Why yes, yes I am," Pete nodded as his smile widened. "Nice to finally meet you."

Sam sneered, he was tense and his temper was rising again. "I wish I could say the same thing." Sam replied sarcastically.

"Ouch," Pete placed a hand over his heart, sarcastically, "That hurt."

"Where is my brother?"

"Oh, hush now, Sam. Don't worry so much, he's in good hands." Pete smiled wickedly.

Sam's anger took over and got the best of him. He lashed out and grabbed Pete, his broken arm in Pete's torso, while the other held a knife to Pete's neck.

"Where..is..my brother?" Sam asked again.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy." Pete said, giving Sam a disappointed look, "Don't be stupid. You know the possessed aren't afraid of knives."

With a quick movement Pete hit Sam, who fell to the pavement with blood on his lips.

"Sam..." Pete bent over him, "Where is the Colt? And I don't mean that pathetic, rusted, old piece of junk you brought. The real one, where is it?"

"I've told you, my..." Sam hesitated to say it, "father has it." Sam restated, brushing the blood of his lips and pushed back tears.

Pete saw the pain he was in, "Awww, Sammy boy, don't cry. I'm gonna tell you a little secret." Pete knelt down real close to Sam's ear, "I didn't want the colt...I wanted you."