Looks Like Loss

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Chapter Four

Sam held very still. He usually tried to hold very still when he had a gun pointed at him.

The pressure of the gun held against his back abruptly left and he heard the man back away slowly. Sam didn't turn around, however, since he was still holding his sawed-off shotgun and didn't know how the man would react to it. At the same instant, the soldier, the woman and the campfire all flickered once and disappeared. Must be dawn, Sam thought absently.

"All right... You two... Turn around real slow. I'd better not see a twitch out of either one of you."

They both turned very slowly to see a fiftyish looking man wearing a police uniform. He had a huge flashlight in one hand and a gun in the other, still aimed at them.

"Are you boys really this stupid?"

"Is that a rhetorical question or are you expecting an outright denial?" Dean asked.

"I guess that answers my question," the officer stated. He took another step back from them and put his gun away. "You two ghostbusters wandering around in the middle of my crime scene in the middle of the night... yeah, I'm gonna go with dumb as a box of rocks..."

"How do you..."

"Son, did I say you could talk?" the officer said, his voice barely a growl.

"No, sir," Dean replied, his tone clipped. Sam could see him responding to the man's authority, which was interesting in and of itself. Something in the man's tone must remind him of their dad. Thinking about their father was so painful though, it was like a physical ache and Sam pushed the thought aside.

"I know who you are because I'm the Sheriff. You're not from here. You two drove into town in the most conspicuous vehicle I can think of and you both look like you haven't seen an iron in years. You think every nosy woman in this town didn't call me to tell me you were here?"

"Sir, we're just trying to help. We..."

Another glare from the Sheriff stopped him. "Your jaw is moving again, son."

Dean shifted from one foot to the other, much as he had when he was a little boy being taken to task.

"Now," the Sheriff said, looking from one of them to the other. "I'm not seeing the completely illegal weapons you boys are holding. Cause if I saw them, I would have to arrest you. And if I arrested you, I'd have to keep you here in town. And do you know where I don't want you?"

"In your town," Sam said with a sigh.

"I see we've found the brains of this operation," the Sheriff nodded. "See if you can do something about your pal there."

"Lost cause," Sam snorted. "I've been trying for years."

"Hey! Where do you…"

"Son, your lips are flapping," the Sheriff said. "Until you get some more sense, knock it off."

Dean stopped talking though Sam could tell he was about ready to explode. Sam also had the distinct impression the Sheriff was enjoying baiting his brother.

"Now... I know who you are, and what you came here to do..."

"My brother was serious, sir," Sam said putting all the sincerity he could into his voice. "We're not here to cause you problems. We just want to help."

"I don't care," the officer said plainly. "You thought you could come into my town, do a little mumbo jumbo dance and make a few dollars off these people. Well, they're my people and I don't like it. You don't get to be Sheriff in this town and not know how to deal with," he paused momentarily, "special problems like this. We've been dealing with them since before you were born."

"You know about the ghosts?" Dean asked, his voice awestruck.

"Unless we've been having a civil war reenactment in this yard for the past two months," the man said wryly. "Now, I'm going to walk you boys to your car," he stepped to the side for them to walk ahead of him. "I'm going to wait for you to get in it and then I'm going to escort you to the county line."

"Our stuff," Dean said. "It's in the house."

"I'll mail it to you." The Sheriff gestured for them to get moving.

Dean led the way, biting his tongue, Sam knew. They had no idea how far from the house they had come in the darkness, but the sun was coming up now and they could dimly see their surroundings.

It took several minutes to walk back through the heavy trees and undergrowth, finally coming to what looked like a path leading up to the house. They stepped out onto the lawn to find the sun was shining brightly. It just hadn't been able to make its way through the jungle-like trees.

Dean led the way around the house to the road where the car was still parked. Sam could hear him mumbling under his breath and was not looking forward to the tirade he knew was coming once they were out of earshot of the Sheriff. Sam's head was pounding like he wouldn't have believed possible and he was now sweaty and bug-bitten. All he wanted was a shower, a truckload of aspirin and some peace and quiet.

"Give me the keys, Dean."

"What? Why?" Dean nearly snarled.

"Cause if I let you drive, we'll be doing eighty by the time we hit the city limits and you'll get us a ticket."

"I'd listen to him," the Sheriff said coolly. "He's the only one in this outfit that has a lick of sense, I'm thinking."

Dean angrily took the keys out of his pocket and threw them. Sam barely caught the keys and he glared at his brother. Dean ignored him, however, and stepped off the curb into the street, but nearly stumbled, stifling a sharp cry.

"Dean?" Sam asked uncertainly. His brother's face was suddenly strained, but carefully blanked of emotion. He saw Dean rub his thigh as he'd seen him do several times since the night before.

"It's nothing," Dean said, pursing his lips. "Must've pulled a muscle last night."

"You sure?"

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" The sheriff had moved to his patrol car, parked directly behind them.

Sam just glanced at Dean who ignored them both. He walked around the front of the car, his limp suddenly very pronounced, and got into the car, slamming the door behind him.

"No problem," Sam said to the officer. "We're leaving."

The Sheriff looked at him suspiciously, but nodded and got in his car. He was serious about following them to the county line, Sam guessed. He looked into the car to see Dean was scowling, his eyes staring at nothing in particular.

Sam got into the driver's seat and angrily slammed the door as Dean had done. "What's got into you?"

"Just go," Dean said through clenched teeth. "Idiot cop... Serve him right if he gets killed."

Sam shook his head and started the car. Normally the sound itself was soothing to his brother, but for some reason, it only seemed to exacerbate Dean's anger. Sam heard a sharp hitch in his breathing and watched as his brother dug his fingers into the leg that was bothering him.

With a touch of uneasiness, Sam put the car in gear and pulled out into the roadway. He heard Dean make an odd choking sound and took a quick glance at him out of the corner of his eye.

"You ok?"

"I..." he looked out the window, purposely not allowing Sam to see his face.

"Dean?" Sam turned off the road the house was on and pulled out onto the main street to head out of town.

"I'm not sure."

"What do you mean you're not sure?"

Dean had half turned back to him and Sam could see that sweat had popped out on his brother's forehead. His entire body was tense, as if he was guarding against the car's jostling.

Sam continued to drive, keeping one eye on the road and the other on Dean who was looking worse by the second, until finally he bent over and wrapped his arms protectively around his leg.

"STOP!" Dean screamed.

Sam nearly drove off the road at the sudden outburst. He slammed on the brakes and jerked the car to the side of the road.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"Just go back," Dean bit out, still hunched over, grasping his leg. "Worse... getting worse the farther you go."

"Dean, I..."

"What are you two doing now?" the Sheriff said, appearing at the driver side window.

Sam barely looked at him, trying to decide whether to ignore the cop and run for it or to ignore the cop and take Dean right back to the house. Dean whimpered, curling into himself. Sam put a hand against his back, clueless as to how to help him or soothe him.

"Dean, tell me what's wrong," he pleaded.

The Sheriff bent down farther to look into the vehicle. He took one look at Dean and said, "Follow me. I'll take you to the hospital."

Left with no other choice, Sam complied. He turned the car around to head back the way they had come. Almost immediately, Dean sighed. The farther Sam drove back into town, the better Dean's breathing became. It slowed, steadied, but Dean was still hunched over, protecting his leg.

The sheriff had his lights on and the trip to the tiny hospital only took a few minutes. There were employees waiting outside the ER entrance when they arrived and Sam supposed the Sheriff had radioed ahead. In only a few seconds, Dean was hustled inside, still clutching at his injured limb.

The Sheriff drove away, apparently having better things to do. Murders and whatnot. Sam parked the car and hurried inside, completely baffled. Dean's leg had been badly injured twice in the past year, the same leg as rotten luck would have it. Both times had required hospitalization. Dean being Dean, he had checking himself out early against doctor's orders, but nevertheless, he had healed as well as a young, strong man could. Or so Sam had thought. Dean had been careful not to strain himself unnecessarily at first, but recently it hadn't even been an issue.

It was a tiny hospital. The entire ER was made up of a waiting room and two small treatment rooms consisting of a partition and drapes that could be pulled across the front.

Dean was lying on a gurney in the first room, where the drapes were partially closed. From the waiting room, Sam watched as a doctor walked into the room and immediately stopped in the doorway. He stayed there immobile for just a second, long enough for Sam to notice the odd hesitation, and then turned back and motioned for a nurse. They passed several furtive words back and forth, then the nurse nodded and walked back the other way out of Sam's line of sight.

Sam grit his teeth when he heard a stifled cry of pain come from inside the small treatment room. His hands were white knuckled where he was holding onto the chair's arms and Sam fought not to jump out of the chair and order the doctor to get his butt in the room and help his brother.

The nurse came hustling back and then she and the doctor disappeared inside the room, pulling the drape across the front and blocking them all from view.

Sam fidgeted nervously, finally standing and pacing back and forth until he thought he would wear a rut in the floor. He's spent too many days and nights doing exactly this, and he imagined Dean could say the same. It never got any easier though.

He heard several more sounds from inside the room, and cringed, hardly able to bear to hear his brother hurting so badly. Finally after what felt like ages, watching the nurse come and go countless times, watching the doctor come and go several times, even watching Dean being wheeled out once and then brought back, the doctor reappeared and motioned toward him.

Sam bolted out of his seat, wanting to see his brother like he'd wanted few things in his life. The doctor pulled the curtain back and to his surprise Sam saw Dean, fully dressed, sitting up on the gurney. He looked beyond exhausted, every muscle tense. His face was tight, but carefully blank and Sam frowned fiercely knowing his brother was still in pain.

"Dean, are you ok?" Sam asked softly. His heart clenched painfully when Dean only nodded. He couldn't speak to give a denial. Not good. Dean not talking was like rain refusing to fall.

"What wrong with him? Why is his leg hurting so much?" Sam addressed the doctor rather than pressing Dean for answers.

"Nothing, as far as we can tell," the doctor answered. And that idea clearly annoyed him. "You can take your brother home. We've given him some pain medication, but other than that there's not much we can do."

"You're going to release him and you don't know what's wrong?" Sam asked angrily.

"I've already discussed this with your brother," the doctor said testily. "The x-rays are fine... there are no clotting problems... no blockages… We're still waiting on some results from the lab, but the results we already have show no problems. We would like to admit him so we can do more extensive testing, but your brother won't allow it." The doctor didn't look amused about that either.

"Dean, please," Sam said turning back to his brother. "Let them keep you. You need help."

Dean kept his mouth firmly closed, but shook his head in the negative. He was looking at Sam though, as if trying to say something. 'Trust me,' those eyes said.

"Dean…" Sam worriedly shook his head.

"I have to get out of here," Dean finally said through clenched teeth. "Back to the house."

"You're staying at Ravenwood?" the doctor asked and Sam nodded, hoping the Sheriff didn't try to run them off again. "All right. I'll call you there as soon as I have the results from the rest of the tests... If I find anything... odd... I want you to bring your brother back here as fast as you can."

Sam could hear the real worry in the doctor's tone. "Why? What do you think it is?"

The doctor brushed a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't know... all the tests have come back negative and there's no sign of necrosis... no sign of infection or swelling even... No…"

"Tell him, doc," Dean ordered.

The doctor looked up, as if he'd momentarily let his mind wander away from them. "It's just... when I first came in..."

"I saw you hesitate in the doorway," Sam said.

"When I walked in... The smell..." the doctor frowned. "I could have sworn it was gangrene."

See? No cliffhanger… Thought I'd be nice today… No promises about tomorrow though!