AN: thanks so much for all the reviews!!!! keep 'em coming, you know they make an author's day!
oh, and disclaimer: i don't own anything Supernatural, blah, blah blah...ENJOY!!
But I'm still here, giving blood, keeping faith. And i'm still right here.
I'm gonna wait it out.
If there were no rewards to reap,
loving embrace to see me through,
this tedious path I've chosen here,
I certainly would've walked away by now.
"The Patient"- Tool
It was 22 hours since Sam heard the most disturbing message of his life. 20 hours since the Red Bull pulled it's overtime shift. Sam stayed up the entire night, searching everything he could think of, his frustration once again mounting. So far, he checked the caller ID on Dean's phone, examined and researched the knife to the most minute detail, found the poem online, and called the gas station. The call came from one of those pay-as-you-go cell phones, the number impossible to trace. It was bought in Reading, in cash. The knife was clean of prints, serrated, and it's serial number of no avail. Sam ran it through licensing websites, but as most of their own weapons, it wasn't registered. So...hunter. Sam thought grimly, well, I guess with Wyoming, the Winchesters are the latest headlines. Sam hunched over the table, surrounded by empty cans. The only time he left the room was to pick up the energy drinks from the corner store. That was 20 hours ago. Ignoring the rumble of his stomach and he tremor in his hands from the caffeine, Sam looked over the poem for the fiftieth time. He found it online, but of course, no leads. The guy who wrote it was just a fatalist who wanted to find the deeper meanings in his writings. Sam gave a sardonic chuckle when Dondiego pointed out that his goal in life was to be a pain in the ass, reminding Sam forcibly of Dean. With that sobering thought, the feeling of utter hopelessness returned. An entire day of searching and he was no closer to finding his brother than he was in the beginning. Sam pushed away from the table, feeling the computer had let him down. He put his elbows on his legs and bent his head.
"Ah, hey God. Please, find Dean, bring him home to me. We're finally done with Dad's mission, let him come back to me, help me find him. I know..." Sam swallowed, unsure how to continue, "I know he should be dead, that I should be dead. BUt I can't help but feel that we're needed." He chuckled, "Besides, you know Dean, he'll be standing at the pearly gates, demanding his full year. Just help, please God."
Knock. Sam jumped as a knock came from the door. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, wincing as he realized how grimy he must be.
He opened the door to find the girl from the mini-mart. She smiled brightly, a videocassette clutched to her chest.
"Hey!" She was as bubbly as ever, "Joe told me to bring the security feed over here ASAP. But he didn't say it was you! How ya doing? Enjoy your M&Ms?"
Sam stood in shock. Confined to the dingy motel room, her vivacity was over powering, "Uh, yeah, that's me, thanks." He reached for the tape.
She still clutched at it, "Are you a cop? An FBI agent? Is the store under investigation?" She didn't looked scared, only excited.
"Look, uhh-"
"Betsy." She supplied quickly.
"Betsy, I'm sorry, I can't tell you," Sam rubbed his face, "It's a long story."
"Well-" She looked expectantly at him
"Sam"
"Well Sam, considering I took the day off to get this to you, and that I have plenty of-"
"Look!" The ever-present frustration welled unintentionally, "it's none of your business!" Sam made to snatch the tape again
"Hey," she said softly, demeanor changing to quiet concern almost immediately, "don't take it out on me. You look terrible. Whatever it is, I'm sorry." She held out the tape, "hope it works out. If you need anything else, let me know, okay?"
He took the tape and she turned to go. Guilt washing away any traces of aggravation, Sam stopped hi with a hand on her arm. "I'm sorry Betsy, I didn't mean to..."
She smiled, "I know you didn't. Don't worry about it."
"Someone took my brother." Sam sighed, "I need to find him before..." He choked on the words.
Betsy turned back, horrified. "What? Why didn't you say anything yesterday? Today? Called the cops?"
Sam shook his head, broad shoulders now slumped, "We're not exactly law abiding citizens, or so they think."
The flash of fear that crossed her face was quickly replaced with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Well, you don't seem ax murderish, are you bank robbers? Con men? Have a bad case of serial public lewdness?" She added hopefully, regaining her zesty air.
Sam snorted, "No, my brother was framed for murder."
"Oh." Betsy registered shock, "Well. that's...well, let's find him!" She grinned up at Sam.
"What? You can't help-"
"Oh yes, I can! It is my day off, I can do whatever I please." She bumped her way past him into the room, "Besides, I know who you are!"
"What?" Sam stopped, thinking she somehow knew his abilities.
"You're on the run from the law!" She looked around, "geez, you men are such pigs!" She began picking up Sam's litter, pausing on a piece of paper.
"Hey! Don't-!" Sam tried stopping her from reading it.
She stepped back from his reach, color draining from her face. She slumped onto one of their beds, "Oh god, you found this?" She looked up, tears welling.
Sam flopped into his chair opposite her, despair clawing its way up through his body. He sighed, "Yup. Found it on Dean's seat, held in place with that." He pointed out the knife, eying it wearily.
She looked sick, "Oh Sam, I'm so sorry!"
"Yeah, so, I gotta find him..." Sam trailed off, drowning in thoughts of what could happen.
Betsy shook herself. "Well, no use wallowing here! We've got the tape, let's check it out."
"Sure," Sam realized he didn't close the door. He stood and made to do so, but a newspaper caught his eye on the stoop. He automatically bent to pick it up and threw it on the table. Betsy put the tape in the VCR.
"Let's see...you came in at about 4pm..." She fast-forwarded until the Impala pulled up.
"That's us." Sam interjected.
The watched as first Dean, then Sam slammed the doors and stormed in opposite directions.
"Can't hardly tell you're brothers." Betsy rolled her eyes.
Distracted, Sam responded automatically, "So we've been told." He leaned forward, staring hard at Dean. The mix of emotions hit like a steam roller. But he couldn't look away, he would miss something. "Dammit," he added softly, as Dean walked off screen, anger twisting his features. "Dean, what the hell?"
Sam gasped and Betsy uttered a soft scream as Dean attempted to run back to the car, but was grabbed by someone. Or something, thought Sam. They leaned forward, horror masking both faces as two pairs of legs entered the screen. Dean's boots came up and pushed the second body off and into the camera. A man of about 6 feet crouched as the fight entered the screen; Dean was likewise crouched. The man rushed and they grappled, Dean yelling. Sam recalled the phone call, dreading the next moment. The attacker yanked a nozzle from the pump and bashed it into Dean's head, dropping the elder Winchester.
Sam flinched, and unable to move, they watched as the man nodded to someone off screen and picked up Dean. He threw the lifeless body over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, walking towards the person off camera.
"Son of a Bitch!" Sam held his head in his hands. Misery, horror, and a hopeless aggravation engulfed him for what seemed like the thousandth time.
A gentle hand was on Sam's back, Betsy having to reach nearly her entire arm to him. "Hey, we'll find him. We got a look at the guy, right? We just need to find him, find out what this sicko wants, get Dean back, okay?" She hugged him.
Not expecting it, Sam returned the hug, "Yeah, you're right, let's-" He looked around, lost for the first time. Times like this, Dean would know what to do.
"God, you look dead on your feet." Betsy stopped, "Uh, sorry, bad wording...anyway, you need food. Why don't you take a break, sleep or something? While I get us some food, kay?"
"What, No! We can't waste time!" Sam stood.
She gently pushed him back down, "You can't save Dean if you don't eat or sleep."
"But they may kill-" he stopped, the idea too appalling.
"Hey, no!" She grabbed his face, forcing Sam to look her in the eye. Her clear blue eyes locked onto his desperate weary ones. "Not to be blunt, but if they wanted him dead, that guy would've just killed Dean in the parking lot."
Sam sighed, tiredness seeping through his defenses. "You're right. Okay, we can break, but only for a short one!"
She smiled and kissed his forehead, more of a motherly gesture than anything, "How 'bout a pizza?"
Sam nodded and she moved to the door.
"And no work! Rest!" Betsy demanded as she left.
Sam sighed again, and reached for the newspaper. It's not technically work, he reasoned. He skimmed the pages, not really seeing what was printed. He couldn't stop thinking and theorizing about the man and his brother. But as he came to the obituaries, Sam nearly retched.
Dean Winchester, 27, died
today of asphyxiation at
approximately 8:50 pm. He
Leaves behind brother Sam,
hunters by trade. He was a
good hunter, merely caught in
the crossfire, emotions clouding
him. He is buried in the Gethsmane
Cemetery, may he rest in peace.
