Dean cruised to a gentle stop next to the farmhouse and did a quick recon for an old blue Mustang. Not finding his target, he stepped from the Impala and stretched. That had been one hell of a drive, and he was stiff all over.

He'd just started for the door when two men approached from the direction of the garage. Dean's hunter instincts pegged them instantly as father and son, which would make them Ron and Danny. He stepped forward to catch the older man in a handshake and was stunned to find himself suddenly wrapped up in a hug.

"Dean." The older man thumped him on the back twice and stepped back, "It's an honor to finally meet you, son." He smiled gently.

The younger man was flat-out grinning as he stepped forward, hand extended. "It's good to finally put a face with the name." He agreed.

Dean felt dazed, "Good to meet you," he offered, moving into the handshake.

He looked around briefly and swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, "So," he cleared his throat. "Sam around?"

The merriment in both men's eyes doused instantly, making the hair stand up on the back of Dean's neck. Ron clapped him on the shoulder, "Let's go in the house." He suggested. "That's where the beer is."

Dean pulled back, eyes narrowing, "I'm fine right here." He warned. "Where's my brother?"

The two exchanged a look before Danny spoke up, "We don't know where he is, Dean." He admitted.

Dean stared. "What do you mean you don't know where he is? Did we not just have a conversation less than 24 hours ago?"

"We did," Danny said evenly, meeting Dean's stare head-on. "Dad and I felt it was best to get you here safely before dropping the bomb. Sam's been missing for about a week."

Dean took a step back, ignoring the sudden hole in his gut. "Missing how?"

Ron shook his head, "Just … missing. No car, no Sam, no explanation. He just didn't come down one morning, and we haven't heard anything since. The local sheriff has the task force out looking, but they've come up with squat so far."

"There's a task force for Sam?"

"Here's the thing," Ron started. "There's been some … stuff … going on one town over. That's what the task force is about." He looked up at Dean hauntingly, "We're afraid Sam may have stumbled into something."

Danny cleared his throat, "They think … they think it might be a serial killer. Seven people have died, about eight more missing. Sammy … Sammy's on the MIA list." He looked away, swallowing hard.

Dean tried hard to breathe, "What makes you think he didn't just take off?"

The two exchanged another look. "Sam wouldn't just leave without telling one of us. Not with all this going on. Plus, all his stuff is still in his room."

Dean tried to hide his surprise, "He lives here?"

Danny nodded, "Over the garage."

"Show me." Dean demanded.

Ron hesitated for only a moment before fishing keys out of his jeans pocket. "You go look. Take your time." He wrestled a single key off the bunch, and handed it to Dean. He gestured toward the barn. "Room at the top of the stairs. We'll be inside. Sheriff's supposed to call anytime now with an update." He clapped Dean on the shoulder a final time before turning and making his way up the steps.

Danny offered Dean a final, sad smile before turning to follow his father into the house.

Dean worried the spare key in his hand as he made his way across the yard and into the sudden shadows of the garage. He stopped and looked around, searching for signs that his brother had ever been here, but there was nothing that halted him in his tracks and screamed, "Sam." Locating the dusty set of steps in the back, he climbed them slowly, suddenly hesitant to invade the space that his brother had carved out for himself so nicely.

But the thought of where Sam might be right now and of the trouble that he could be in made him brave. He slipped the key in the lock and swung the door wide.

Just like the room in Kankakee, Sam's sanctuary over Ritter's Garage was neat and well-cared for, and Dean caught a whiff of the same lemon-scented cleaner emanating from the kitchen. A quick once-over revealed a simple comfortable couch and a recliner grouped around a coffee table littered with books, and Dean smiled. Stepping forward, he read titles on car maintenance, classic poetry, and several paperbacks with jackets that claimed to be hot off the bestseller lists. There were empty longnecks – Dean's brand - in the small trashcan beside the couch, and Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Sammy, you son-of-a-bitch. You're not old enough to drink."

A quick survey of the fridge and cupboards revealed more beer, bagged deli meats, and frozen pizzas. The vegetable bins in Sam's refrigerator were crammed to the hilt with fresh produce – most of it greens that Dean wouldn't be able to name had his life depended on it. They were beginning to wilt though, and Dean realized, with a pang, that Sam hadn't had the opportunity to turn them into his beloved salads before they went bad.

Dean turned from his study of Sam's appliances and found himself face-to-face with his brother's old laptop. It sat atop a scattered mess of newspapers, and Dean was just reaching down to leaf through them when his cell phone lit up. He glanced at the number and flipped it open.

"Whaddaya got, Bobby?"

"Well hello to you too, Dean." The older man grunted.

Dean smiled, "I found Sam's apartment."

Silence.

"But no Sam, I'm guessing?"

"How'd you know?" Dean perused the paper that was tossed haphazardly atop the pile.

Bobby sighed, "Listen, kid. I just emailed you a video file. You near a computer?"

Dean sat down in front of Sam's laptop and flipped it open. "Yeah, I got Sam's right here," he said, signing into his email.

"Well listen … "

Dean paused, "Yeah?"

"It's gonna be hard to look at."

Dean felt his stomach flip-flop. "What the hell, Bobby? Is it Sam?"

"It's Sam."

Dean's fingers flew over the keys and opened the video file in question. He was silent as it began to play, and Bobby could tell the exact moment that Dean's blood began to boil.

"What the fuck am I looking at here, Bobby?" Dean exploded. "Is that a fucking djinn hauling my brother across a fucking parking lot by his fucking feet?"

"Did that fucker just neck-stomp Sam!"

"Calm down, Dean." Bobby tried to placate the furious man across the phone line.

"That sonofabitch is dead! I will END that ugly motherfucker!"