A/N - Thanks again, everyone, for the reviews. Here's a short chapter (really the first half of 7, but I've broken it up) in case I can't update tomorrow. I just can't stand weekend-long cliffhangers, although this one's kind of cliff-like in its own way. Ah well, help and some answers are coming soon.
"Dean? Dean!" Sam dropped everything he was carrying and rushed to his brother, kneeling beside him and feeling for a pulse. He released a relieved sigh when he felt one, steady but more rapid than normal. All Sam knew for sure was that they had to get out of there fast--the thing that had been chasing them ("Dean, it had been chasing Dean," an inner voice screamed at him) had abruptly stopped just before they reached the car, and Sam didn't know why, or when, or even whether it would return.
Leaping up, he dashed to the Impala, popping the trunk and retrieving three blankets. He spread one on the backseat and then began the torturous process of dragging his unconscious brother to the car, hoisting him in, and getting him settled. Once Dean was in the backseat, Sam paused to survey the situation. Blood was everywhere, despite Sam's best efforts. "Sorry about the upholstery, Dean," Sam whispered, covering his brother with the second blanket. The third blanket went over the driver's seat, and the bloodstained duffel bag and its contents went on the passenger side floorboard.
Turning the key in the ignition, Sam adjusted the rearview mirror to get a view of his brother. The moonlight turned the streaks of blood on Dean's face black, making the unmarked skin seem even paler. As he brought his eyes back to the road, Sam caught a glimpse of his own face in the mirror. "Carrie" was an understatement. Sam looked like he had just presided over a chainsaw massacre. He grimaced at his reflection, feeling the way the drying blood pulled at his skin. A trip to the hospital was out of the question, so Sam whipped the car around and headed back to their motel as quickly as he possibly could without drawing undue attention. There would be no way to explain their current condition to the cops without landing in jail. Hell, Sam doubted even Dean would be able to lie his way out of this one.
Sam's luck held, as the motel parking lot was completely deserted. All the younger Winchester could think of was getting as much distance between them and Charleston as quickly as possible. He parked in front of their room and got Dean out of the car, hoisting him into a fireman's carry and staggering directly to the bathroom. The first order of business was to get his brother cleaned up, and see if there were any other injuries.
Sam had hoped that Dean would stir as he was put into the bathtub and the spray of warm water hit him, but he never moved. His breathing was even and his pulse was steady, but his skin had taken on a grayish tone. After removing Dean's bloodstained clothes--his leather jacket was a total loss and Sam would probably never hear the end of it if ("When," Sam corrected himself) Dean woke up--Sam realized that aside from what would be some nasty bruising on the back and a bump on the head, Dean hadn't suffered any major injuries from their ordeal.
So what was wrong with Dean? What had been causing the headaches, and why had Dean been attacked by that thing at the plantation? It wasn't Abigail, Sam knew that for sure. But he hadn't been able to sense it until after Abigail was bound, which worried him. Whatever it was knew how to hide, and it was evil. And it apparently wanted to kill his big brother.
Sam finished getting himself cleaned up, then wrapped their bloody clothes in several thicknesses of trash bags and tossed them in the trunk. He'd dump them in a dumpster in another town. He packed the car with the rest of their meager belongings and stole the motel's blankets to replace the ones he'd ruined earlier. Then he got Dean back into the backseat and covered him with a fresh blanket. As he climbed into the driver's seat, Sam realized that he had no idea where to go. Suddenly, Sam heard the faint sound of Dean's cellphone ringing. It was in the trunk, Sam remembered, getting out and hurrying to the back of the car. By the time he located the phone, the ringing had stopped, but Sam thumbed the menu anyway, then gasped at what he saw.
It was another set of anonymous coordinates. For the first time since he had rejoined his brother on the road, Sam felt real fear.