Normally, Sam's first option was to get a rental car, because unlike his brother he was never as comfortable stealing a car when he could rent one, but there were multiple problems with that course of action, he didn't have a credit card, he didn't have cash, and he couldn't call a taxi to get to the rental place because he didn't have anything to pay the taxi driver with. And that left him with the course of action that he always felt was unsavory but that worked in a pinch: it was what his brother and father had taught him all of those years ago, and much to his chagrin actually perfected, they taught him to find the nearest car and boost it, drive it to wherever he needed to go, gas it up and leave it there no worse for wear, but that was out as well. People in this neighborhood would know him, and they would notice if their neighbor was stealing their car.
And Sam didn't have time to walk far enough to find a neighborhood where the likelihood of the people knowing his alter ego was less. Frustrated Sam threw the leather coat he had slipped into in order to convince his mother that he was the right Sam onto the couch, it was smothering him, he couldn't breathe. Hands firmly planted on his hips he surveyed his surroundings trying to figure something out.
"Come on Sam. Think! How do you get to this motel? How do you break in without anyone suspecting that you are doing something illegal?" he paced and ran his hands through his hair. The cell phone on the counter caught his eye every time he paced back and forth, and finally on the tenth pass, he snatched it and began scrolling through his contacts, most of which were labeled for work purposes with things such as: "Agent" "Manager" "Emily—Essentials Galleries" No one he felt that the man from this universe would call and ask for help bailing his brother out of some hellacious situation. He finally scrolled to the bottom of the list hoping that there would be someone that he could call and there was one name: "John W".
"Must be Dad." Sam said and on impulse he hit speed dial. Because if he thought about it he wouldn't have been able to dial the number, the thought of hearing John's voice one last time had been a wish of Sam's since his father's passing, and had he had time to think about it he would have panicked over what he was going to say to the man who had left Sam with so much left unsaid between the two of them.
"Sam?" Came the response.
"Dad?" Immediate tears burned the backs of Sam's eyes and he had to fight to control his voice and tears. This was not his real father, not the father that had sacrificed his own soul to save Dean's, something that Sam would ever forget and would always be grateful for—despite the subsequent events in his life, this was not the father who had forced them into hunting, the father that had introduced them to Bobby, and this was not the man who had made Dean grow up too fast and become Sam's protector at the cost of his own happiness. "Dad. Are you still looking for Dean?"
"Yeah. I just called your mother. I was just about to head back. I'm out of ideas." John sounded tired and if Sam didn't know better he thought he detected a tinge of fear to the normally unflappable voice of his father.
"I need your help."
"What?" John sounded surprised.
"I think I have a lead on Dean, I just need some wheels."
"What happened to your truck?"
"Mom didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"That my truck and money and credit cards were stolen."
"Are you okay Sam?" There was genuine worry in the man's voice.
"I'm fine Dad. But I need a car."
"I'll drive you."
"I'll be right there Sam." And the phone disconnected. Sam smacked the cell phone to his forehead. He didn't want his father to come with him. Sam was fairly certain that with the theft of his truck and money the people that were holding Dean had their money, but Sam was almost positive that it didn't mean that Dean was okay. And just in case he was right, he didn't want his father to get mixed up in this, whatever it was.
Dean heard Sam's truck pull up outside of the warehouse where he being held captive, and his eyes went wider if that was possible. Sam wasn't supposed to end up here, he was supposed to meet these guys at in the alleyway, and give them the money, and they promised to let him go. This wasn't part of the deal.
Dean started getting antsy in his restraints, and managed to freshen up the cuts that circled his wrists from the zip tie restraints that had been placed on them hours ago. He heard footsteps and the man next to him who had been pointing a gun at his head walked towards the entrance, and looked out the window and must have seen what he deemed friendly faces and opened the heavy sliding door. The men who had left earlier to retrieve the money from Sam entered, alone, no Sam. Dean breathed a sigh of relief; the men must have taken a truck that sounded like Sam's. That had to be it that had to be the most logical reason. It wasn't like Sam had the corner market on trucks. Other people owned trucks, even scary men like these.
"Your brother didn't bring all of the money." The head honcho, who Dean knew was named Holt, said as he squatted down in front of Dean. Panic blazed through Dean and just as he was about to pull against his restraints again Holt backhanded him across the face, causing Dean to bite his tongue and cheek at the same time, which in turn caused a river of blood to flow out of his mouth.
"Jimmy, show Dean here what we do to people who don't pay up." Jimmy came forward and pulled out his cell phone, he punched a few buttons and turned the display to face Dean. Dean watched as Sam gave them as much cash as he had, gave them the keys to his truck, and pleaded with them to give him until morning and he would give them the rest of the money. He pleaded with them to just not hurt his brother. That he would get the money for them. They didn't let Sam get out the last beg for time when someone raised a gun and shot Sam three times in the chest. Dean heard a long, loud, echoing shout of no, and it took him some time to realize that the sound came out of his own mouth.
Dean shook and looked at Holt. "You killed Sammy?" he asked. "He didn't do anything. He would have given you the money."
Holt stood up and gave a satisfactory grin. "No, Dean. You killed your brother. Remember that as you sit here tonight." Holt and Jimmy turned and left the warehouse the same way they had come. The heavy door was put back into place and Dean trembled-Sammy was dead.