ColorfulMess needs some exam stress relief - here it is! Thanks to everyone following this and to my awesome editors. Now we're going where many of you have been asking to go - totally AU.

Chapter Nine: Broken Pasts and Winchester Intentions

(AU Replacement for Ep Something Wicked)

Dean woke up and knew something was wrong. The room was too quiet, too still. He expected to see daylight coming through open curtains but the room was still dark, curtains closed.

Sam was definitely not here, and he apparently hadn't just gone for food. The glaring absence of the laptop on the motel room table was the biggest clue, unless Sam required the internet in order to pick up breakfast. A piece of paper on the nightstand caught his attention. Dean leaned against the headboard to snag the page.

Sam's almost illegible scrawl ran across the page. It was a moment before Dean could decipher it.

'Back in a couple of days. Had an errand to run. Don't worry. Sammy.'

Don't worry? Was he freaking kidding? Dean reached for his cell, intending to give Sam the chewing-out of his life, when he realized how Sam had signed the note. Sammy. Sam hated being called Sammy. Hated it. Now he signed things that way?

Dean scanned the note again. He felt a dark sense of foreboding fall on him. He called Sam's cell. No answer. Just like Dad. Yeah, that crap was genetic.

Dean sat staring at the wall for at least ten minutes before resolving to find Sam, by any means necessary. Whatever Sam was up to couldn't be good, not if he didn't want any witnesses. Sam wasn't wanted for anything yet, he could still go back to school some day, have that normal life. Unless he screwed it up now.

He needed a computer with internet access. The motel office probably had one. After a ten minute conversation, and the exchange of fifty bucks (the friggin' crook), Dean had command of the motel's computer. He accessed the website of the company Sam had cell phone service through. Next he called customer service.

"I need to activate the gps on, uh, my son's phone." Dean rattled off Sam's cell number.

"I'm sorry, but we need proper authorization for that," the woman's voice replied.

Dean ground his teeth. A parent calling wasn't authorization enough? "You see, Sammy snuck out to go to a concert, and I just have to find him."

"Boys will be boys," she said. "What kind of concert?"

He stared blankly at the far wall. What the hell kind of music did kids listen to these days? "Hannah Montana." Oh, please don't let that get back to Sam!

"That girl is way too popular," the woman said. "You know it's all going to go to her head. She does have more talent than her father, though."

"And she's a helluva lot cuter," Dean added. He mentally kicked himself for getting off-topic. "Look, Sammy is," is – is – is what? Something serious! "a diabetic. And if he doesn't get his medicine on time… Look, I'm going out of my mind here." That wasn't a lie. "Please? I'm begging you. I just have to find him."

He heard a sigh from the other end. "Probably get fired," the woman mumbled. "Do you have internet access?"

"Yeah. I'm on your website now," he replied, trying to keep the excitement and relief out of his voice.

"I'm activating it now." There was a pause. "Looks like he's in Ohio. Can you see that?"

Dean's heart sunk as he realized where Sam had to be headed. His hometown. Shit. "Yeah, I see it," he said softly.

"Hell of a way to go for a Hannah Montana concert," she said.

"Sammy's a little obsessive," he replied, hearing the tightness in his voice. "Look, thanks. I really appreciate it." Dean hung up the phone. "Oh, shit."

"Your son?" the desk clerk asked with a knowing smile. "You look good for your age."

Dean shot him a nasty look. "Thanks for the computer. I'm checking out."

The clerk shrugged. "None of my business anyway."

You got that right, Dean thought. He checked out. After packing the car and hitting the road, he wondered just how much research Sam had done on him. Sam didn't go off half-cocked. He always had a plan. Was Sam after Ella, or that bastard who beat him up over ten years ago? Knowing Sam, it would probably be both. Shit.

--

Sam hoped Dean wouldn't think he just took off again. Last time they had been yelling and screaming at each other and things had just escalated. Yeah, okay, so technically he had just taken off. Granted. But this time Sam planned on coming back. He had told Dean to stay put, that he would only be a couple of days.

His phone went off. Crap, it was Dean. Didn't his brother usually sleep in later? Sam waited, resisting the impulse to answer. Finally it rolled to voicemail. He waited, tense, for the ringing to start again and was almost disappointed when it didn't. So. This was what it felt like to be Dad.

--

Ella answered the insistent knock at the door. A tall young man, so big he barely fit in her apartment doorway, smiled politely at her. He seemed like one of those nice young men who would throw his coat over a mud puddle and help little old ladies cross the street.

"Yes?" Please let him have moved in next door.

"Are you Ella?" he asked.

"How did you know my name?" she asked, taking a step back. "Do I know you?"

He stepped into her apartment, without being asked. Ella stumbled back a few steps. The young man did not look angry, or dangerous, just curious. "Nice place you have, Ella."

He closed the door. Dark brown eyes with tiny flecks of green stared at her. They hardened as she watched. "I'm Sam. Nice to finally meet you."

"Do I know you?" she asked again, her mind searching for the name Sam. Why did that sound familiar?

"Sorry we couldn't make it to the funeral, but I guess Tom wasn't that great a friend." He shrugged as he took a step forward. "But I've really been looking forward to meeting you."

Sam. She placed it now. "You were the one who answered Jerry's phone, weren't you?" She didn't like the look on his face now. He appeared less and less of a Boy Scout the closer he came. He bordered on downright scary right now, maybe serial killer territory. But Jerry was one of the sweetest boys she knew, he wouldn't hang around with a serial killer. Would he?

He nodded, his long hair bouncing briefly in front of those cold eyes.

"Who are you?" she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest.

Sam took another step closer. Ella was backed against the couch, she had no place else to go. The young man's voice was almost a growl when he next spoke. "His brother."

--

Ella's phone rang. Sam tried to move between her and the phone; she hadn't answered any of his questions yet. She was pretty swift for an older woman, though. Adrenaline could do that for you. He knew he could be pretty intimidating, having used his size to his advantage since he was a teen.

She dove for the cordless phone. With phone in hand, Ella rushed around the kitchen counter to answer it. It put her in a smaller room without an exit except past him, but she did have contact with the outside world.

"Help!" she screamed into the phone. "A man just broke into my apartment!"

Sam paused, considering his options. Really, it depended on who was on the other end of the line. She listened for a moment before holding the phone out with a shaking hand. "It's for you," she said weakly.

Oh, shit.

Oh. Shit!

Sam clenched his jaw as he accepted the phone. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Hello?"

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean's voice blasted into his ear. Sam winced. "I freaking told you to leave Ella alone!"

Sam chewed his lower lip for a moment. "You said not to chew her out. I'm not." He glared at her, though. Just because he wasn't allowed to tell her exactly what he thought of her, in a tone that would no doubt make Dad proud, didn't mean he wouldn't let how he felt about her show. Besides, he still had questions.

"So what the hell are you doing there?" Dean demanded.

"How'd you know I was here?" Sam asked as he continued to glare.

"I'm a freaking mind reader. Answer the god-damned question!" Dean snapped.

Sam winced again. "I have a couple of questions, that's all," he assured big brother.

"I thought I answered all of your questions, Sam!" Dean was starting to sound a little panicked. A panicked Dean was not to be trifled with.

"You did, Dean," Sam replied in his most soothing voice. "But I have some questions you can't answer. She can."

"Sam!"

Sam shook his head as he pulled the phone away from his ear. "Sorry, Dean. I'm going to get my answers." He hung up and Ella's eyes widened comically big.

"Go sit down," he ordered, motioning to the couch.

Her eyes filled with tears which spilled down her overly made-up cheeks. Her hands wrung compulsively as they began to shake.

"Now," he growled.

She jumped at the tone, racing over to the couch like a rodent or cockroach caught in the light. Sam clenched his jaw again. He wasn't sure how much of a head start he had on Dean, but it was pretty clear his brother would be arriving at some point. He needed to get his answers, and hopefully to leave, before then. Dean would just stop him. Sam had no intention of being stopped.

Sam towered over her, doing his damnest to look as intimidating as his father. Even though he knew, without a doubt, that Dad would never hurt him, the man could still scare the crap out of him.

"Where were you when your boyfriend beat Dean up bad enough to put him in the hospital for three weeks?" he demanded.

"What?" she gasped. "He did it to someone else?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. "Jerry," he corrected himself, opening his eyes. "Where were you when he beat up Jerry?"

She bit her lower lip, eyes darting around the room like she wanted to escape. Sam kicked the couch, just to get her attention. "Where. Were. You?"

"At work," she breathed. "When I came home," her eyes darted away again, "I found him."

Sam narrowed his gaze on her. He leaned in close, so she couldn't possibly misunderstand him. "I really don't like it when people lie to me. Try again."

She swallowed hard, all color draining from her face. "I tried to stop him," she whispered. "I did. I even threatened to call the police."

"Did you do it?" he demanded, planting his hands on the back of the couch, one on each side of her. "Did you call the police?"

She leaned away from him, her back pressing hard into the couch. Tears spilled down her face. "No," she whispered. A sob escaped. "No!"

As Ella collapsed into a sobbing mess, Sam straightened up. Good. That was the very least that she deserved. He'd like to continue and turn her into a bigger psychological mess than she already was, but he was on a tight schedule now.

"Where is he?" he asked quietly, his voice drowned out by her sobs. Without raising his voice, he used the tone Dad had drilled into him from a young age. Few people could ignore it. "Where. Is. He?"

She breathed heavily, trying to regain control. Ella shook her head. "You…you don't want that. He's trouble."

Sam could not help the cold smile that crept on to his face. "As a matter of fact, I'm looking for that exact kind of trouble. And you're going to help me find it. I need a name. I need an address." He leaned in close again, causing her to shrink away. "And I need it now." Because Dean could show up any second.

She stuttered some more, made excuses, but Sam got his name. John Hanes. Jonathan Quincy Hanes. He always hated the name Quincy. John Quincy Adams was his least favorite president. All she had was an old address, a couple of years old. It would have to do. Sam drove his stolen car to the nearest internet hotspot, one of those yuppie bakeries. He didn't even have to pay to use the internet. Nice.

In less than twenty minutes, he had what could well be a current address. Beautiful. Sam pulled out of the parking lot. The asshole's apartment was close.

His cell went off. Sam knew it would be Dean without looking. After it rolled over to voicemail, he wondered if he should have answered. It started ringing again. Dean was a persistent bastard. It was one of the things Sam admired about him.

"Don't get mad," he said by way of greeting.

"Get mad?" Dean growled. "I'm way past getting mad, Sam. What the hell did you say to her? She's a freaking mess!"

"Not my fault she has issues, Dean. I just asked two questions. She answered them. I left. That was it," he assured his brother.

"Yeah, right," Dean snapped. "I can imagine how you asked them. I was on the road with Dad for two years, Sam!"

Sam grinned at being compared with Dad, especially in interrogation techniques. "I'll take that as a compliment."

A snort came through the phone. "Yeah, you would. So? Did you find him?"

"Don't know yet," Sam admitted. "Why don't you go grab us a motel room? I'll meet you for a few beers later."

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean hissed. "Don't do this!"

"Why not, Dean?" Sam asked, trying to sound reasonable. "You would." With that, he hung up.

He pressed his speed dial to call Dad. "Got him?" Dad answered on the first damn ring. Yes!

"Maybe. I have an address. Don't know for sure that it's current, but it's our best bet," Sam replied.

"Give it to me, I'll meet you there. I'm about an hour out," Dad replied.

Sam grinned. It had been a while since he and Dad worked a case together, just the two of them. Already it felt a little odd without Dean, but Dean would never go for this and they both knew it. He rattled off the address and directions from memory, knowing Dad wouldn't need to write any of it down.