A Supernatural Quickie: Chapter 29;

Rachel drove the Impala down the dark road, trying to focus on the little things like the way the drying blood on her hands made the wheel sticky, how the bandage of Dean's shirt over her wrist pressed tighter when she flexed her hand back…anything other then how silent Sam and Dean were being in the backseat.

"Sam, I really think we should take you to a hospital," she said again as they approached the turn off into town. She knew better then to argue with Dean—he would just stubbornly maintain that it was "just a scratch" until he bled to death.

"I'm okay, it's really not that deep," Sam answered, doing a fine impression of his brother.

Rachel sighed, arguing with a Winchester was really like banging your head against a wall, she could already feel the headache developing. She slowed down, doing the speed limit through town and looking for a motel…taking note of where the hospital and pharmacy were just in case.

She pulled off as a double story motel came into view, the sign blinking "vacancy" and parked the car around the side of the building.

"Here," Dean said reaching forwards and handing her a credit card, trying not to wince with the motion. Rachel nodded, pocketing it and grabbing her bag before giving them one last look in the rear view mirror—they were both a little too obviously bloody to go walking around.

"Be right back," she promised, stepping out of the car and hurrying towards the motel office, it's brightly lit windows spilling light out onto the sidewalk, an old pop and ice machine beside the door.

She jumped as bell rang over the door as she walked in, an old man moving slowly from the other room at the sound.

"Evening miss, need a room for the night?"

"Yes please," she answered, trying to force a smile but feeling it not quite reach her eyes.

He looked up as she passed the credit card to him across the counter, raising bushy eyebrows in concern at the sight of the dirt on her jeans and under her nails.

"You wouldn't be traveling alone, would you miss?" he asked in concern.

"No," she laughed, tossing her hair back and trying not to guiltily hide her hands. "My husband's out at the car, we had a bit of car trouble on the highway," she stumbled more with saying the first part out loud then the lie. She remembered that it was easier to lie if it was as close to the truth as possible and continued; "and with it getting dark and all we thought it would be better to stop for the night instead of pushing our luck to get home."

"There's a local guy who's pretty good with cars," the man offered, filling out the paperwork. "He should be off-duty now, but he owes me a favour, I could give him a call if you want?"

"No thanks," Rachel said, fingers playing with the pen until he gave her the keys and the receipt to sign—she looked down at the signature on the back of the card, feeling her eyes trace the lines and curves while her hand followed their lead. "My husband's a mechanic, I'm sure we'll be fixed up by morning."

"Okay then, I'm around if you need anything," he said watching after her while she left, moving quickly down the sidewalk in front of the rooms. Maybe it was the late night, making his old eyes see shadows where there weren't any, but for some reason it seemed greyer around the young woman as she made her way back to their car, as if the light was shying away from her. He shrugged it off, blaming the lateness of the hour and a long day and walked off to the back room and his tv program.

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"What was that back there Dean?" Sam asked, shifting in the backseat to try and find a comfortable angle for his shoulder. The wound really wasn't that deep, it hadn't been a throwing knife that the demon had tossed at him, but it sure bled a lot.

"I don't' know Sammy," Dean answered, his eyes never once leaving Rachel while she walked to the office, waiting inside visible in the light, the windows left open to the night.

"How did we even get out of there alive? And what did Rachel do to that demon?"

Dean shook his head, eyes still locked on Rachel's form…but he didn't look concerned or anxious, or any of the emotions that Sam was sure could be construed from his own face…Dean looked almost suspicious.

"Wait, and you think she does know?" Sam scoffed, trying his best to fool his brother. "She doesn't even remember hell, how's she supposed to know what happened?"

"I know she does," Dean answered, looking out the window. "I know she remembers all the answers."

Sam thought frantically as Rachel came back to the car, using the keys to open the trunk and pull out a bag before walking and opening the motel door, the key shaking in her hand as she tried twice before it swung open.

"Dean, don't do this," Sam pleaded quietly as they got out of the car, not sure how much more Rachel—or himself could take tonight, and Dean trying to push her for answers wasn't exactly the making for a relaxing evening.

"What?" Dean asked, turning to look at his brother for the first time.

"Just don't freak out okay?"

"Don't freak out?" Dean mimicked his voice getting louder, "I find out she remembers everything, everything Sammy—me, our life, hell, and you're telling me not to freak out?!" he slammed the door in anger, the sound loud in the night.

"Wait…why aren't you freaking out?" Dean asked, growing more suspicious by the moment.

"You knew, didn't you?" he accused coming around the front of the car, reaching out and grabbing his brother by the shirt not even caring if he was gentle of the wound underneath and pushing him against the wall.

"You knew all this time and didn't say a word, not a peep. I'm your brother man! How could you do that?" Dean yelled, uncaring now about keeping quiet.

"Because I asked him not to," Rachel said, her hand curling around his arm and pulling him gently back so Sam could breathe. "He's bleeding Dean," she said quietly, drawing his attention back to the stain spreading on Sam's shirt and the moistness between his fingers. Dean let her draw him back, hand laying gently over the slash in his shirt so that he felt the softness of her skin against his. Rachel reached out, pulling Sam between them and inside the motel room, pausing with the door open to see if Dean followed.

He stormed into the room, sitting angry on the farthest bed and trying to remember that these were the people he loved most in the world…who had been lying to him for days. He gritted his teeth and picked a point on the wall to stare at so the wallpaper wouldn't make him dizzy.

Rachel closed her eyes for a second, leaning against the oak dresser that was pushed up against the wall by the door. She felt Sam watching her and so took a deep breath, unzipping the bag and pulling out a small first aid kit, waving him to the nearer bed and passing him a pair of scissors to cut off his shirt.

Sam sat feeling the cold air from the air conditioner blowing over his bare chest, watching while Rachel knelt down in front of him, splashing alcohol onto a cloth and wiping the blood off his shoulder, her fingers carefully but expertly probing at the edges of the wound.

"Not too bad," she whispered, pulling the edges of skin close together, laying a bit of tape over the middle of keep it in place while she threaded the needle. "I suppose that's the good thing about knives," she murmured, handing him an aspirin. "They leave nice straight edges, you might not even have that much of a scar."

"Awe, what no sexy scar stories to tell the ladies?" he asked to make her smile.

"Shut up," she replied trying to hide a smirk, and then he concentrated on doing just that while she dipped the needed through his skin, making the first knot of what he was sure would be many. He took a long drink out of the whiskey flash that his brother tossed him, swallowing the aspirin and nodding, accepting Dean's particular brand of apology.

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Rachel sat back on her heels, looking over her handiwork; not the best, but then she was a little out of practice. The stitches were straight, pulled tight and neat at the beginning and if they gaped a little towards the end, well… she was going to blame Sam for being so fidgety.

"There we go, peachy keen jellybean," she said before she could think, handing him a square Band-Aid and standing up, only catching herself when she saw the pained look flash across Dean's face before he looked away.

It was what she used to say to Johnny or Mare when they'd been little and had fallen down and skinned their knee, blowing a kiss onto the wound to take away the pain. Damn, why didn't she think sometimes….

Sam looked awkwardly back and forth between Rachel and Dean, both frozen on opposite sides of the room from each other. The silence stretched to an uncomfortable point, the only noise being the groan of the mattress springs as Sam shifted uncomfortably.

"Well…I think I'll go for a little walk," he said casually getting up and pulling on a clean shirt, grabbing his jacket. "Maybe scout around a bit," he flashed Dean a look on his way out the door—don't do anything stupid, it said, and then he was gone.

Leaving them alone to talk, which was exactly the last thing that either of them wanted.