A/N - I know I only just updated this - what can I say? I'm on a roll today. Don't expect updates this quickly normally :)
Well, I sure remember this motel room. Sam thought it would be best to come back here once the doctor discharged me, with a prescription for about a thousand painkillers and a stern warning to take things easy for the next few days. Apparently my head is no longer cause for concern and my ribs aren't broken, just severely bruised although there is a hairline crack on one of them. Which would explain the excruciating pain every time I take a deep a breath. My arm can come out of plaster in eight weeks. I can live with that I guess, although Sam already seems to be planning some horrific physio for me after that. He swears blind that without it I'll be as useful as a Care Bear on holiday. He always was prone to exaggeration.
He's gone out for food and I'm glad of the opportunity to be alone for a bit. Leaving the hospital was a bit of a blur. The drive here even more so. Travelling back I caught glimpses of places that hover on the edges of my mind. I know we were at the bar down the road. I know the dirt track about two miles out has been travelled recently. And I know where Millie died. If only I could remember how.
Bits are coming back to me and as I recline on the bed, switching through a hundred crappy TV channels, I reflect on how permanent Millie had seemed. I really can't for the life of me figure out how it all went so wrong.
The knock at the door is completely unexpected and throws me for a loop. Sam has keys and as far as I know, we're not anticipating visitors. It takes me far longer than I would like to get my feet under me and I thank Sam's foresight for leaving my gun on the nightstand. Once it's resting reassuringly in my hand I hobble my way over to the door and squint through the peephole.
There's some guy standing there, looking about as nervous as I feel. I wonder if I know him and if I actually need the gun. He doesn't look like he's a real threat, not even with the condition I'm in right now. I reckon I've got about four inches on him and about 25lbs of pure muscle. I think it's fair to say this guy's a bit of a weed. I can't see any concealed weapons from where I'm standing so I decide to open the door. I'm not stupid though and I keep my gun ready.
"Yeah?" Always a good opener I find, raising my eyebrows at him. He turns shifty blue eyes on me and I wonder if my instincts have let me down.
"Dean?" Okay, so he knows who I am. I find myself looking past him for Sam. Something about him is making me uneasy and the fact I'm having to lean on the door to stay upright isn't helping. I nod slowly, encouraging him to go on. Bizarrely his face crumbles into a façade of relief.
"Oh my god. I heard it got you but I didn't know…" he trails off and it just leaves me wishing, again, that I knew what 'it' is … or was. He shifts his gaze into the room, scanning it nervously. "Is Sam here?" he asks.
I know by all the rules of etiquette that I should be opening the door wide and inviting him to come in, sit awhile and wait for Sam. But I can't. I don't even know his name and that's unsettling for me. He knows I've been hurt, he knows my name, he knows Sam but I don't know anything!
"No." Maybe, on reflection I shouldn't have let on that I'm alone. I'm not exactly playing at the top of my game today and the subtle shift in his eyes is worrying. He smiles and he seems more confident all of a sudden.
"Millie asked me to come by," he states and alarm bells are going off in my head like there's no tomorrow. Millie's dead. Sam told me so and Sam wouldn't lie to me. Would he? Who the hell is this guy? Before I know it, he's pushed past me into the room and my gun is up at pointed directly at his head. I'm pretty proud of the way I can maintain this air of complete control. I'm praying for Sam to get back here fast though because I don't know how long I can keep the gun steady, or even up. He raises his hands and looks at me in amazement.
"Woah. Dean. Calm down, buddy. It's only me." The fear in his voice almost makes me reconsider. Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe he doesn't know Millie's dead. Maybe if my head would stop pounding I could make more sense of all this.
"Millie's gone." I can't stop myself from blurting out, hating how desperately I want him to deny it, to tell me Sammy got it wrong.
"I know." He's silently furious. I can see it now plain as day and I really, really need Sam to get back here. My gun feels like it weighs a hundred pounds and I wouldn't admit it to anyone but I'm feeling a little scared here. I'm reevaluating my initial assessment of this guy, and damn but I wish I had a name for him. He may be shorter than me but what I originally took as being weedy is actually wiry, which I know can be like tackling fire and ice. And that confidence of his? Funny that didn't come on till he found out that Sammy isn't here.
C'mon Sam. Where are you? I need you here.
I'm trying to back up out through the door without making it obvious when he's right up in my face and his hand is wrapped round my wrist, forcing my hand back in unnatural ways. The gun drops from my lifeless fingers and his other hand is round my throat before I can blink. My back hits the wall with an unnecessary force. I can't help but choke out a groan. He's a hell of a lot stronger than he looks. His face is so close to mine that I can feel his hot breath on my neck as he leans his mouth to my ear.
"You were right," he hisses. "Millie is dead. And you know why?"
No, no I don't and nobody will tell me. But this isn't quite how I wanted to find out. I try to wrench my arm out of his grasp but he's got a good grip. He tightens his grasp and I can feel the bones in my wrist grating together. I grit my teeth to stop from crying out.
"Because of you. Because of you and your damned brother. And now I have to live without her. Do you have any idea how that feels?"
Oh god, I've been ambushed by a spurned lover. Or at least I that's the vibe I'm getting from him. I thought I had a thing going with Millie. Or did I get that wrong too? When this is over I'll find the time to be confused about it but for now I need to get him off me. I'd really like at least one functioning hand and he's cutting off too much air to my system. Things are getting a bit fuzzy round the edges. I'm waving my cast around but it weighs so much my arm is just flopping around uselessly, like a floundering fish.
Just as I think I'm going to lose this battle, and how embarrassing would that be, the pressure is gone from my throat and my wrist is released. I slide inelegantly down the wall, gasping for breath, eyes closed and rubbing my neck with my good hand, although that term is fairly relative at the moment. Through the buzzing in my ears I just catch Sam's voice and the sound of someone being forcibly ejected from the room, followed by the door slamming.
Then Sam is down on the floor with me, prizing my fingers away from my throat and probing the skin gently. I slap his hand away weakly, instantly regretting it when my wrists protests.
"Dude, personal space."
"Dean, what the hell were you thinking, opening the door to him?" Sam's worried, and a little bit pissed – at me.
"He looked harmless?" I offer. I know it's a feeble excuse but I really didn't think he was going to turn. "I didn't know who he was." Sam sits back on his haunches, taking my chin in his hand, turning my head left and right. Just watch the neck there, Sammy, it's a bit tender. He's obviously satisfied because he sighs and pushes himself to his feet. I go to follow suit but he pushes me back down.
"Stay there a minute." He's gone less than two minutes and when he returns he's got an icepack which he expertly wraps round my wrist. Then he grasps my elbow and pulls me to my feet. Propelling me gently forward till we reach the bed, Sam's muttering under his breath. I hate when he does that. It normally means I've done something irritating or stupid. I'm guessing stupid. He lowers me down till I'm sitting on the edge of the bed and stands over me, like he's on guard.
"Are you seriously telling me you didn't remember him?" I just grace him with a look. I'd normally go for sarcasm at this point but my throat feels like I've swallowed a thousand razor blades and I'd rather forgo the effort. Sam sighs, sitting down opposite me. "That was Richard Furst." And still, nothing. No good looking at me like that, Sam, if the face meant nothing to me why is a name going to change all that? "He was Millie's landlord."
Oh, landlord. Not a spurned lover then. So what was with the tortured widower act then? C'mon Sam, give me something more. I raise my head and give him a quizzical look.
"What's he got against me then?" I rasp out. A glass of water magically appears in my hand and I nod gratefully at my brother, who looks like he's about to launch into the retelling of War and Peace. Gotta tell you now, Sammy, I'm only up for the abridged version today.
"He was in love with Millie. Thought he stood a good chance with her until we turned up. I overheard him mouthing off about you to Jed a couple of days ago." Okay, so I was right first time, spurned lover wannabe.
"Jed, huh?" I rifle through the fragments of memory that are coming back in dribs and drabs. "Big guy? Needs a haircut? And a bath?" Sam nods in confirmation. Things are looking up – I'm remembering stuff. Sam coughs, as though wondering whether I'm in any state to take any more bad news. He decides that I am.
"Furst had the bridle." is all he says, and I know, just know, that that's real significant.