I have to apologize, I've been lazy with the review replies this week. A fault confessed is half redressed, right? Stay tuned for replies, pals!


Chapter 04


"There are six black vans registered in this county...you sure about the Arizona plates, right?"

"I am but that doesn't mean they weren't using fake plates." Dean looked out of the window, rubbing the back of his neck. He considered it as an improvement that he had been able to stay upright on his two feet for more then five minutes. The whole lying around thing just wasn't raising his mood, even if he still felt like crap.

Brewster nodded dejectedly. "I'll let Jerry check the owners anyway. Maybe they made the mistake of using the real ones and we'll find them."

"Sounds like a plan. Thanks."

"You're up for something to eat?"

He turned away from the window, smiling at the Sheriff. "No. I'm good."

"When's the last time you had something to chew on?"

Dean realized that he had indeed to think about that. Food hadn't been his main worry during the last hours. The pure though of food caused his stomach to churn. "I don't know. But I'm not hungry, so I guess it doesn't matter."

"It does. You have to regain some strength."

"I'm strong enough. Besides, I'm sure I won't be able to keep anything, so it's okay, really."

She looked at him for mere seconds. "Okay then. Can't force you, can I." Then she turned her attention back to the computer monitor. She didn't look pissed or sad, still Dean felt bad for her. Geez, when had he become such a dick?

"Look, I'm sorry…", he started, "I don't mean to sound harsh or rude. I'm just worried and…I can't handle a not-functioning body very well. You can ask my brother, I'm the worst patient ever."

She looked up at him, presenting him an understanding smile before she turned the computer monitor towards him. "What do you think about our motel?" she asked, nodding at the website showed on the screen, "It's small, it's the only one in town and it's quite nice. Plus, if I'll book it you may be in for a bargain price."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Sheriff's discount?"

"You could say so."

It took Sheriff Brewster less than five minutes to get a room for Dean. From the way she had chatted with the manager they knew each other. Gotta love small towns, right? At least Dean's complaints about empty vending machines or itching mattresses would be taken seriously for once.

Hanging up, she clapped her hands together, "Okay, room's ready and waiting for you. How about I drive you there? You could lay down properly, get some rest."

God, he felt like a teenager without a driver's license. "I can drive myself, I just need a car…"

"I won't let you drive anywhere in your condition, don't even think about it. You look as if you are about to keel over any second and as I have to protect my citizens as well as you I won't take that risk."

"What about Sam?"

"We're looking for him. And the van. And the Chevy. You gave us a very good description of those men who took your brother. We're working on it, Dean."

Dean slumped his shoulders, the feeling of helplessness causing his blood to boil. He was reluctant, had no intentions to rest while someone else was looking for his brother. It was his job. It was him who had to get his shit together, no matter how blurry his vision was, how bad his head hurt or how painfully his knee was throbbing.

On the other hand Sheriff Brewster seemed to take this 'case' very serious. And he had to admit that he trusted her.

Dean watched her while she read something on the monitor and made notes on a sheet of paper beside her. He had seen many cops in his life, but never had a uniform felt so out of place and at the same time alluring.

Annie had this almost doll-like appearance – she was petite and graceful, had those bright eyes and with the long afro-like curls she certainly aroused every men's protective instinct. Dean couldn't help but think of Nicole Kidman's first movie, 'BMX Bandits'. Only that Annie would most likely kick his ass for the thought alone. From her looks she would fit into a Kindergarten or a floral shop. But her demeanor and tough bearing screamed guns and hoodlums.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked softly, his exhausted gaze resting on her.

She glanced up at him. "Because I'm the Sheriff. It's my job."

"Yeah, but…maybe I shouldn't say this now but…" Dan chuckled, running a hand over his face, "I do have my experiences with different types of state authority, trust me. And I never met a Sheriff who booked me a room in a motel and would have gladly ordered me something to eat."

She paused, seemed to contemplate his words. Then she put the pen aside. "Let's say I feel responsible for you", she finally answered, "And I want to help you find your brother."

"Responsible for me?" Dean huffed out a laugh. "Last time I checked I'm of legal age."

"Well…you sure as hell don't behave like it." She laughed, a heart-warming, refreshing laugh, one that seemed to slightly crack the tough exterior. Grabbing her car keys she got up. "Come on, let's get you out of here."


Blinking his sleep-crusted eyes open, Sam wondered what exactly had woken him up. Or rather, what had happened that he had managed to fall asleep in the first place.

A few pale rays of sunlight had found their way through the masked windows, indicating that he had indeed slept for a few hours, because last time he had been aware it had been pitch black, night closing in.

With a groan, Sam tried to roll onto his back, succeeding only halfway-through before his shackled hands stopped him, forcing him back into the fetal position he had obviously spent the night in.

After the demon…Eric…had been killed and dragged out of the room, Kane had ordered to get Sam into a more comfortable position for the night. 'More comfortable' had turned out to be a dirty mattress on the ground, Sam's hands both shackled in front of him and chained to a steel lug attached to the floorboards. While the new position on the floor had been a blessing for Sam at first, it had been as nasty and painful with every passing hour, his right side protesting and demanding a change, movement, anything.

The physical pain was bearable, though. With him being alone, rumination started. Memories assaulted him once more. Being shackled or hit or forced to hold a position for too long wasn't torturous.

Thinking was.

Relieving Dean's death over and over again. Images in Sam's mind mingling, hell hounds and bullets, a living room and the desert, demons and hunters, the same expression on Dean's face – wide mossy-green eyes, staring up, staring at him until staring no more.

Whenever Sam had drifted into something that had nothing to do with a peaceful slumber, Dean's voice had pulled him back, had kicked him awake in the most agonizing way, only to repeat the game over and over again.

Sam had tried to call for Ruby, again and again, with his mind at first, with his voice later. Had whispered her name, had begged her for help, because he was done. His powers weren't enough to get him out of this, his will to go on wasn't either.

Darkness caused the body to release melatonin. Melatonin caused fear, sadness and desperation. Being a hunter, being used to work in the dark, Sam should know. He had always felt the pull of despair at night. But he had never given in, because he always knew why everything felt a little more sinister at night.

Eventually, he had cried himself into sleep. It would explain his burning, swollen eyes. And why he was feeling as if he hadn't slept at all.

Pulling himself upright, struggling with the shackles and his long limbs, Sam leaned against the wall and watched the dust dancing in the streaks of sunlight. His stomach growled angrily, reminding him that he was living off water since he was held captive here.

Tentative, shuffling steps sounded from outside and Sam shifted, turning his attention to the door. Great, what was next?

When the door opened, Sam didn't recognize the person entering the room as it was still too dark and the man's face was turned away from him. However, when he approached him, carrying a brown, greasy paper bag, Sam looked straight into his face.

And saw red.

"You…", he spat, clenching his jaw to the point where it hurt, fists balled to murder weapons, every muscle tense, poised to strike.

The man stopped his approach abruptly and took a small step backwards again.

"You really have the guts to come near me", Sam hissed, his voice dripping with venom, "One step closer and I'm going to rip your fucking head off."

A muscle jumped in the kid's jaw and he looked down to the floor, starting to knead the paper bag. "This is breakfast", he offered softly, "Kane thought you might be hungry."

Sam's eyes darted to the bag briefly before his heated glare jumped back at Stevie. "I think I'll pass, thank you very much. Now get the hell out."

Stevie kept staring at the floorboards and nodded while Sam shot daggers into his direction. Normally he wouldn't treat someone like this. Normally he'd get all protective when it came to kids, children, innocents.

But this kid wasn't innocent. Little Stevie could consider himself fortunate that Sam was in chains.

Reluctant to move, the other man remained on his spot, gripping the bag like a lifeline.

"I didn't mean to do what I did."

The soft spoken words hit Sam like a thunderbolt. He blinked, disbelief and anger causing him to freeze.

"Excuse me?" he whispered.

"I never wanted to kill your brother."

Again, Sam felt the familiar sting of tears in his already burning eyes, but he blinked them away. A lump formed itself in his throat, he had the feeling he'd suffocate. What, was the kid messing with him now? What did he want to say?

"Maybe…" the Winchester snarled, his mind reeling, "just maybe…the next time you're aiming a fucking gun at somebody's head…maybe you should keep telling yourself just that. Because that's what happens if you pull a trigger. Somebody dies."

Stevie didn't move, stood like a stuffed dummy, fidgeting with the bag's edges. "I never wanted to kill anyone." His voice was calm and quiet, holding a slight tremor. He was struggling with his emotions just like Sam did. "Guess I had bad company. Pulled me onto a slippery slope and I just couldn't hold on to something. I'm sorry. What I did…I don't know if I'll ever get over it. I've shot a man. I've ruined your life. And mine, too. The only thing I can do now is standing here in front of you and ask for your forgiveness."

Sam stared at the boy. Took in his pale, haggard appearance. He looked like some student he could have had met in Stanford, maybe a bit rough around the edges, but with the right age and the good looks to have a lot of fun and success on a campus. There was a golden chain around his neck, a trinket dangling from it, looking like a helix of some kind. A gift from a girlfriend? A gift from his granny?

Maybe in another life. Maybe in another dimension, with Sam being a student, too. With Dean being a mechanic. And with mom and dad being there, living their own life with the kids out of the house. With the supernatural being what it was supposed to be – a lore, a story, a bad dream, non-existent. Or at least an issue someone else would take care off.

He looked up at Stevie, held the kid's gaze. Slowly, he shook his head. "I won't forgive you, Stevie", he said through gritted teeth, "I can't."

Stevie looked to the floor again, nodding dejectedly. "Okay. I guess that's fair enough." He swallowed and started to toe a nail sticking out of the floor.

Both men fell silent. Sam pulled one hand up as far as he could and rubbed his eyes, the rattling of the chains deafening. He didn't know what to think anymore. He had said the truth. He couldn't forgive. Just why was it so hard? Why was it so hard to hate that kid, standing in front of him with glistening eyes, apologizing, obviously searching for help?

"I didn't burn him, you know."

Sam's head shot up. "What?"

"I couldn't. I know, I disobeyed an order and if Kane finds out, I don't know what he's going to do to me but…" Stevie met Sam's eyes again. "I left him where…where he…you know. I'm sure someone has found him by now and…I don't know if you have family out there but if you have, police might find them and they'll take care of…well…a proper burial. All that."

Frozen in shock, Sam stared at him, utter disbelief scattering his thoughts and emotions into all directions like billiard object balls after the rack's being broken.

Dean was still…Dean. No pile of ash. Not lost completely. There was a chance, right? If Dean's body was still intact…somehow, the thought was kinda soothing. But then, what if no one had found him? If the vultures had been faster? If he was still lying out there, surrounded by…No. Nono. Police. If someone found Dean, police would be involved. Would they find traces? Was it possible they could find him? Family. Would they find Bobby? God. And what if demons found him first? Possess his brother's body? Was its even possible, did demons possess dead bodies? What if Dean would return? A vengeful spirit. Oblivious to the fact that he was dead.

Sam's mind was racing, not able to process the news, his heart still trying to decide whether it was a good or a bad thing that Dean's body…Dean…hadn't been burned…

He looked up at Stevie once more. "What about the smell…Kane said you smelled like…"

The kid shrugged. "I knew he would notice. I burned a roadkill." His gaze fell on the greasy bag in his hands. "I'll leave this here with you. Maybe you'll get hungry after all."

Sam watched him step forward, bending over a few inches away from him, putting the bag on the floor. When Stevie started to retreat, he sprung to action.

He swung one of his long legs, literally swiped Stevie off his feet in one graceful movement. The kid cried out in surprise and landed hard on his side with a thunderous thump. Before the fallen man could regain some composure, Sam gripped the collar of Stevie's jacket and pulled him close, the chains just long enough for him to act.

The fight was short-lived. A gun shot caused Sam and Stevie to freeze. At the door stood Kane, flanked by three other men, his weapon aimed at the ceiling.

"The next one won't be a warning shot", he rumbled, "let him go, Sam."

Sam hesitated, but finally let go of Stevie who frantically scrambled away from him. The Winchester balled his fists.

"Why wait?" he growled, "Do it, come on."

"Oh, I wouldn't kill you, you know that. But a bullet through your knee or your ear lobe is certainly not very comfortable." Kane regarded Stevie with a scornful glare. "Get out of here, moron."

Stevie did what he was told and slipped past Kane like a kicked puppy, followed by the other men. Kane watched Sam for a moment longer, adding a "TskTskTsk" and a shake of his head. He then holstered his gun and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Sam deflated and let himself drop back against the wall. He loosened his balled fists and inspected the golden chain with the shiny helix which rested now in the palm of his right hand.


To be continued...