Disclaimer: As always, I own neither Sam nor Dean or anything else except my own creative ideas. Of course, what I own and what I like to think I own are two totally different things. Well, this story you're about to read is a sequel to "Full Moon or Blue Moon". Unlike that story, you have to know what's going on to understand this one. Enjoy!

Vengeful Minds

Dean sat on the cold concrete ground of his cell, his back to the molding wall. He stared at the clock on the wall, noticing how every passing second was like a stab to his gut. The dripping of some greenish substance from the ceiling was monotonous and seemed to serve as another reminder of how much time he had spent in this hellhole. It was almost noon and he had no way of knowing what Sam and Henry were doing, where they were, or even if they were okay. He put his hands together and rubbed his forehead with his thumbs, trying to relieve some of the pressure that was forming above his eyes.

Dean's sentencing was in one hour. He assumed the worst. The crap he had- well, the crap that damn impersonator had done still haunted him. Even though he was labeled dead when they last checked the system, that doesn't mean they didn't still recognize his face. Surely they had already passed off his supposed death as a phony and were bringing up more charges as a result. He just hoped Sam could get to him somehow… He just wanted to know they were okay and that Sam had a plan on how to kill the werewolf before midnight.

Alalalalala

As Dean contemplated his fate, Henry was propped up lazily in the bed, a cold rag on his sweaty forehead. Sam peered at the thermometer and sighed. 102 degrees. Wonderful, Sam thought to himself. Sam sat in a nearby chair and rubbed his eyes.

"Sam, really, I'm fine." Henry blurted out. He wasn't about to let Sam baby him. Dean needed their help and if things weren't already bad enough, there was a werewolf still on the loose. He needed to keep Sam as focused as possible, and he couldn't do that by making him worry.

"I already feel better." Henry prompted, sitting up a little. He really felt terrible. His head felt like it was in an oven, his hands stung like salt on a fresh wound, and his body felt weak and wobbly like Jell-O; but that wasn't going to stop him.

Sam looked at Henry, half with empathy, half with sternness. He didn't know what to do. He was torn between taking Henry to a doctor and taking the case on his own, and keeping Henry with him where it was safe. Before Sam even had time to react, Henry planted his feet on the ground with as much conviction as he could muster, and stated:

"Look, we need a plan. Then, we need to get to Dean and tell him about it. Then, we need to find a way to get Dean out of jail so we can carry out our plan. None of that can be done without me. You're wanted too. Not as much as Dean, granted, but enough where you can't waltz into a jail to talk to him. I can."

"Henry, you're sick." Sam said, not strong or willful enough to argue.

"It doesn't' matter! The case comes first. You said that!… Dean said that! After we kill the werewolf, you can bring me to the doctor, okay?" Henry said, feeling suddenly weak and lightheaded.

Sam turned his body to face his laptop with a sigh. Henry smiled and lay back down, satisfied he had won the argument. Sam scrolled down through the list of women named Katrina in the city; too many. Sam had come to the conclusion he really would need Henry's help at one point or another. As hard as it would be for him to deprive Henry of a professional doctor, there were more risks bringing him to one.

"Fine. But if you get even a little bit worse." Sam warned. Henry rolled his eyes.

"Ya, ya, you worry wart."

Sam smiled as he narrowed the search down to the town in which the killings had occurred… Bingo. There were three Katrina's. The key word being were. Now only one remained. Even though the victims before the last two didn't follow the pattern, Sam had a feeling it didn't matter. Maybe the werewolves were just on a killing spree before and the one werewolf that remained had a purpose to his madness. It made sense. The werewolves were killing in mass numbers because they had to for survival. Now that there was only one left, a pattern in the killings was a lot easier to find.

"Katrina Martel." Sam said to himself, almost as one who is in a dream.

"Huh?" Henry moaned, half asleep. One arm was slung over his eyes, blocking out the light that seemed to beat down on his burning skin.

"Katrina Martel is the next victim. We need to get her before the werewolf does." Sam explained. Henry was lost. He sat up with a look of confusion on his face.

"This has to do with the papers Dean left for us, doesnt' it?" Henry asked, putting two and two together.

"I'll explain on the way, come on." Sam said.

"Wait! What about Dean?" Henry asked, afraid Sam might have forgotten about his brother in his fear for an innocent life.

"That's another part of the 'along the way' thing."

Alalalalala