Disclaimer/Summary/Rating/etc – see first few chapters.

Where the Beauty Ends

Chapter Four

Eight hours. It had been eight hours since Sam had realized Dean was gone, and the glowing red numbers on the digital clock seemed to mock him with each minute that passed. 12:31 AM... he's gone, taken from just down the block, and you didn't even know... 12:32 AM... he could be hurt, badly... 12:33 AM... he could be sitting in a pool of his own blood right now, and you wouldn't even know it... 12:34 AM he could be dead -

Sam dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to rub away the drowsiness that had suddenly started to creep up on him. There had to be something to help him - a clue... anything. He'd called Dean's phone seventeen times since the first time when he saw the ambulance at the library, the little flame of hope flickering out each time as soon as the voicemail clicked on. This is Dean Winchester. I can't be reached right now, but leave me a message and I'll get back to you.

"C'mon Sam," the youngest Winchester muttered to himself as he perched on the end of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. There had to be something he was missing, a similarity between the victims. His stomach dropped at that word - victim. Dean was a victim. Whatever was doing this had taken him, and his brother was a victim.

Get a grip Sammy, he could hear Dean chiding in his head. If Dean were here, he'd be scolding him for letting his emotions take over. This was just another hunt, another case, another baddie that needed to be taken down. But Dean wasn't here... that was the problem.

Sam glanced at the clock once more. 12:39 AM.

They'd questioned all the witnesses, and had nothing. Zip. Zero. Nada. They had absolutely no leads, nothing to go on except for that damned knife that still sat on the scratched fake-wood coffee table. There was nothing anywhere about that stupid symbol carved on the hilt - not in Dad's journal, not on the internet. Nothing. For all Sam knew, it could just be a fake to throw them off the trail.

Sam didn't know he had fallen asleep until he was jerked awake hours later by a dream that he had already forgotten by the time he opened his eyes. Sunlight filtered in through the blinds of the window and that goddamn clock now read 6:53 AM. It'd been more than twelve hours, and every second that Sam sat there, doing nothing, Dean could be inching closer and closer to death.

Bolting off the bed, Sam realized he was still dressed from the day before, shoes and all. The still open laptop emitted a slight glow from across the room as the screensaver jutted across the screen, and the lamp on the nightstand table was still glowing yellow. Sam rubbed a hand over his face, trying to physically wipe away the just-waking-up muddle. He was itching for a shower, but knew that there was no time. He needed to find Dean. If he's alive, his subconscious taunted.

"He is alive," Sam muttered aloud, standing up and making his way to the bathroom to splash a bit of cold water over his face. He has to be.

Sam made his way towards the library down the street, the last place Dean had been. The Impala was still parked outside, even though Dean could have easily walked the short distance the day before. Wherever his brother was, he still had the keys with him, and Sam knew Dean would personally mutilate him if he even attempted to hotwire his baby. So Sam was forced to go on foot down the sidewalk, slowing his pace as he neared the building. Yellow police tape had been put up, and one cop car was parked outside, but with no officer in sight. Scoffing slightly at how simple it was, Sam stepped over the barriers set up, walking inside.

Sunlight came in through the windows in the front, but it was still slightly dark inside. It looked like a normal run-of-the-mill library, except for the empty silence... and the large puddle of blood by the front counter. Sam tried to ignore the dark stain, keeping his mind focused on finding Dean. He paced up and down every isle, but everything looked normal, in order, like nothing had happened. But as he turned the corner into the next row, Sam froze, his eyes drawn to the ground. Dean's cell phone lay open on the floor.

Rushing forward, Sam picked it up, pressing a button to make the dark screen illuminate itself, and he saw with dismay that it was open to the phonebook, the name Sam highlighted. Dean had been in the process of calling him when he had been taken by... whatever - whoever - was doing this. 18 Missed Calls flashed across the screen (all his own, he knew) and Sam flipped the phone shut, shoving it into his pocket. Dean had been going to call him - had he found something? Sam's eyes were drawn to the large book sitting on the table next to him, the cursive writing on the cover reading Creatures of Modern Folklore. Dean must have been desperate to be looking through this - but if he was calling Sam, he must have found something in it. Was the answer to everything in this book?

Sam pulled the book closer, flipping to the table of contents and letting his eyes roam the page. Druids, Fairies, Nymphs, Phoenixes, Sirens, Vampires, Wendigos, there were hundreds of creatures listed, some that Sam had never even heard of, and it could be any of them. Or none of them. Maybe Dean had just been calling to check in with Sam. Maybe he hadn't found anything.

Flopping into a chair by the table, Sam dropped his elbows onto the tabletop, lacing his fingers and leaning his forehead onto his fists in a thinking posture. He went over the facts in his head. Small town, four missing men... five, he reminded himself. Dean had been the fifth. Five missing men, with varying age, backgrounds, none of them were related in any way. The witnesses knew nothing, and as far as they knew, no gruesome murders had taken place in the town, ever, so vengeful spirit could most likely be taken off the list. There had been no records of any paranormal activity, or any sort of disappearances before now, so it couldn't be a curse. None of the men's bodies had actually been found, though, so it was possible that they weren't dead... yet.

A sudden thought struck Sam - what if this wasn't supernatural at all?... what if it was just some crazy, kidnapping person?

Keeping that thought in the back of his mind, Sam pulled the large book towards him once more, plucking a small piece of paper and pencil out of the container that all libraries kept for writing down notes or locations of books. His gut feeling was telling him that the answer was somewhere in this book.

Nearly three hours later, Sam had made progress. His eyes stung from reading the small text in such dim light, his hand cramped from clutching the tiny pencil much too tightly, and his shoulders burned from hunching over the book. It was a large, complicated book, organized by the origin of the myth, and Sam had decided to assume that whatever creature was doing this was most likely some sort of woman. It made sense, since all the victims were male. So he started at page one, and simply went though the book, all hundreds of pages, noting on his paper any creature that might be behind this.

Gwyllions, Gorgons, Maski-mon-gwe-zo-os, Sirens, Harpies, P-skig-demo-os, Pak-zin-skwa... he had nearly thirty written down, many of them a part of Native American culture, or in strange languages that he could barely pronounce... or both.

Sam leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his long unruly hair and glancing at his watch. It was a little past ten in the morning, and he wondered idly when he had last eaten. Right on cue, his stomach gave a loud rumble, and he realized the only thing he had consumed in the past twenty four hours had been a small breakfast the morning before of junk food he had bought from the vending machines outside their motel.

Need to keep going, his brain screamed at him. No time to eat. But Sam had hardly eaten at all in the past days, and he could hear Dean in his head, telling him to take a break. Besides, Sam needed a chance to look over what he had written down. Ten minutes. He would go into Harry's Diner, get a quick cup of coffee, then get back to looking for Dean. Finding Dean. A ten minute break wouldn't hurt. And while he was in there, he could question the locals. Maybe there was something he had missed.

Deciding to take a quick stop at the diner, Sam pocketed the piece of paper and quickly snuck back out of the library, though there was still no one on watch. The walk down Main Street to the diner took less than fifteen minutes, and the familiar bell dinged over his head as he entered. A few people sat at the counter, and glanced over their shoulders briefly to look at them, then turned back to their meals. Sam ignored them, seating himself at a booth, feeling uncomfortable at the empty seat across from him that was normally occupied by Dean.

Is this how Dean felt when Sam had been taken by the Benders? This complete and utter feeling of loss? Of hopelessness? No, of course not, he reasoned with himself. Dean was Dean - he was always strong, the protector, never vulnerable or afraid. He was invincible.

"Sam, right?" chimed a voice, and Sam snapped up, looking at his waitress, the blond from a couple days ago... Allison. She grinned at the look of recognition in his eyes.

"Yeah," he said after a split second. "How are you?"

"I'm just fine, thank you," Allison chirped cheerfully, then her eyes flickered to the empty booth across from him. "Where's your friend?"

"Dean?" Sam's mind raced to come up with an excuse. "He's still back at the motel, sleeping."

"Not a morning person, huh?" she said with a slight chuckle, and Sam forced a smile, "Can I just get a coffee? Black?" Dean always drank his coffee black.

"Sure thing," she responded. "Be right back with that for ya."

As soon as she walked away, hips slightly swaying back and forth as she moved, Sam leaned back against the seat, letting out an exhale of air. He didn't understand how the men could just vanish, without a trace. It didn't make sense. Allison appeared moments later, coffee pot in hand.

"So, have you heard anything about the disappearances?" Sam asked suddenly as she poured him a cup. Allison's eyes flashed, and she nearly spilled the coffee in surprise as she straightened up. "What do you mean?"

Sam looked up at her, trying to look sincere. "Dean and I, we're reporters... we write stories about crimes happening in rural towns, it's a small paper in Lawrence, Kansas. We saw that there were men disappearing here, in the papers it said." Allison was still just staring at him, so he continued. "We were just wondering if you had heard anything about it."

Allison gave her head a shake, a frown evident on her lips. "Sorry, I don't know anything about it. I heard that a couple men had gone missin', didn't know who or anything. I don't really know too many folks around here, so I don't know too much about what goes on."

"Ah," Sam said, trying to hide the disappointment from his voice. "Well, thanks anyway." The blond gave a nod, walking away.

Sam nudged his cup, feeling the warmth of the liquid through the ceramic mug, not really wanting it anymore. Sighing, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket, leaving a few bills on the table, and left the diner, feeling utterly dejected.

Without warning, a sharp pain suddenly struck his head, right between the eyes. "Ah," Sam blurted softly, wincing and raising a hand to rub at his forehead. The flash of pain came again, his vision blurring slightly and he knew a vision was on its way. Grasping the brick wall for support, Sam stumbled into the alleyway next to the diner before falling to his knees and grabbing at his head as images flashed across his eyes.

It's outside, but dark - must be night... a figure makes its way down the sidewalk... it's tall, and rounding a corner, Sam can see that it's a man... he looks to be in his mid-thirties, and a wedding band is wrapped around his ring finger, hair dark and graying
slightly...music suddenly fills the area, wrapping itself around Sam and weaving through his head, clogging his ears and making time move too slowly… it's a soft, slow melody, and the man feels it too, because he suddenly turns around to see the source of the beautiful melody, and it's a woman, blond hair framing her face… Allison… it's Allison, and the man moves towards her quickly, grabbing her and mashing his face against hers in a kiss… deep, passionate…, Allison pushes him away – her hand morphs into a claw, her nails sharp and long as her eyes flash with fire, her perfect, straight teeth becoming sharp, like fangs…

Sam came to with a gasp, his hands falling away from his head as he blinked in the sunlight. It was Allison, the waitress from the diner of which Sam was leaning against right now. Moments ago he had smiled at her, she had given him coffee, asked where Dean was, while all the while it had been her that had his brother, all the other men. And she was going to take another victim tonight.

Narrowing his eyes, Sam pushed himself into an upright position, ignoring the throb of his head in a post-vision headache. He was going to get Dean back.