I wrote this for my beta after 'Time Is On My Side' aired. It's a little outside of my usual, but I like where it landed so I've decided to post.
Good news- it's already written! There are six chapters and I'll be posting one a week for the next six weeks.
Also- for those of you who haven't totally given up on 'Energies and Ice Cream' - it too is finished and I will be posting the final four chapters immediately following the conclusion of this story (Starting June 30th).
Thanks! Hope you like it =D
When Things Go Missing
Sam woke up face down on the cold tile floor. His body ached, but not as much as his head. The smell of chloroform still lingered on his face. He pulled at his arms but found them bound behind his back, both at the biceps and wrists. His legs also, bound at the ankles and thighs. He groaned and rolled himself over. The bathroom was large and impersonal, a hotel bathroom, nicer than he was used to. Sam struggled to pull his phone out of his pocket. He flipped it open, hit 'send', then dropped it to the floor and shimmied along the tiles until the device was at his face. His brother's voice answered immediately.
"Sammy?" It was a welcome sound, yet still much louder than he would have liked.
"Dean," he said, keeping his voice quiet.
"Sam! Where are you?"
"Dean, shut up. I'm in trouble. I a--" Sam tried to get a better look around.
"I'm in a bathroom- a hotel- white tile floor."
"What are you- locked in?"
"Tied up-- I--"
"Are you hurt?"
"I don't know," Sam admitted groggily.
"Sam look around- find something that lets me know where the hell you are- more than a tile floor."
Dean sat in the Impala waiting for a response. It was only a brief silence, but his mind spun through the last several hours, through the last several weeks. It was a solid lead, one they had been tracking from town to town, always arriving just too late; death after death, each mimicking a classic urban legend. Whether supernatural in nature, or sick human nature, it was still unclear, but after weeks of work they had finally gotten a lead which predicted the next legend and location. Dean quickly offered himself up as bait while designating Sam as back up. He dressed the part: business suit, out of towner. He entered the bar casually and sat alone waiting for someone to approach him. Nobody did. Sam watched from a less social part of the bar, but when the whole thing seemed a bust, Dean's phone rang. He answered it, trying not to glance over at the caller.
"Dean," Sam began, "he's not coming."
"Give it another hour."
"They had last call. No one can even buy you a drink."
"Fine. Give me twenty minutes. I'll finish my beer and keep an eye on things."
"Fine. I'm gonna wait in the car." And that was it. By the time he had finished his beer and walked to the Impala, Sam was gone. Now he sat impatiently awaiting any information Sam could feed him.
"Sam?" He prompted. There was no response, but as he listened more closely, he made out faint talking. He heard movement accompanied by his brother's muffled yell, then a stranger's voice spoke into the phone.
"Lake Jordan Inn, room 23." The call went dead.