Sam is looking at me as if he's expecting my head to explode, or something. It's not and I want to reassure him of that but I'm still confused as to what I'm supposed to be doing with this latest snippet of information he's deigned to share with me. A bridle. No, not a bridle, the bridle. As if it's one of a kind. Which I suppose it must be.
I'm still more interested in Millie though. I can't get her out of my head. Every so often I think I catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye. I haven't told Sam because he's got enough to worry about. I don't want him hovering over me any more than he already is. In my muddled mind I'm beginning to wonder if she's haunting me. Did I screw up so badly that she's back for revenge? I need to know what happened to her and it's not coming back to me. I'm just going to have to hope Sam wants to share this too.
"Sam. Furst said it was my fault. Millie. What happened to her?" I'm almost reluctant to ask and, by the look on his face, he's reluctant to answer. It's too late now though, the question is out there. No taking it back now even though in the pit of my stomach I'm already dreading the answer.
"He was wrong, Dean. It wasn't your fault. We couldn't stop it. God knows we tried." He sits back and rubs his hand over his face with a soul deep sigh. But he doesn't answer the question, I notice.
"What wasn't my fault, Sam? I don't remember. I need to remember." I'm getting frustrated here and Sam's reticence to tell me anything isn't helping this foreboding feeling growing in my gut.
He gets up and crosses the room. He's nervous, and that makes me nervous. He can tell me it's not my fault all he wants but his body language is screaming otherwise. It's like he can't bring himself to look at me and that scares me more than anything else.
"Please, Sam," I can't believe I'm having to resort to pleading with him like a six year old after some extra cookies. His whole posture has changed. His shoulders have slumped and his head is down. He's got his back to me and I don't like it. "Sam, tell me. I can take it." Bravado might do the trick, might succeed where pitiful begging failed.
"Dean," he's hesitant but it's a start. "I think you should give it a while, see if your memory comes back by itself. Prompting you might make things worse."
No, no, no. This can't be good. He's not going to tell me. How could telling me possibly make things worse? I can't believe this. He's got to tell me.
"No, Sam. You have to tell me. Maybe if you tell me all the other stuff will come back too? I need to remember, Sam. I didn't know about Furst and look where that got me." I'm appealing to his guilt complex now and I know it. It's underhand but I'll take what I can get. That got him. He lifts his head and looks me right in the eye. And it's a good job I'm already sitting down because that look could fell Samson at 90 paces. Suddenly I don't think I'm in such a rush to find out what went down but there's no stopping Sam now.
"Fine. I'll tell you, but you're not gonna like it," a deep sigh, "just remember – it wasn't your fault." The more he says that, the less I believe him. All I can think is 'I killed her, I killed her'. There's a buzzing in my ears and I think it's the sound of my heart pumping the blood through my veins. Sam moves nearer to me and sits on the bed opposite me.
"Millie called us on Tuesday evening…"
"Wait. What day is it today?" How have I managed to get this far without even knowing what day of the week it is?
"It's Thursday, Dean." Crap, I've lost quite a bit of time somewhere. I don't remember Tuesday at all. Or Monday come to that. I must have taken longer to process that than I realized because Sam's looking worried again.
"Maybe we should leave this."
I shake my head, a little too vigorously if I'm honest. "No, I can do this Sam." He raises his eyebrows doubtingly but carries on anyway.
"So, she called Tuesday evening, said things had got worse and could we get over there early…"
"Early? Early for what?"
"Dean." He's looking a little exasperated and I'm sorry, Sammy, but there's so much I don't remember and you're confusing me a little here. "If you're gonna keep interrupting this is going to take all night."
"Sorry." I have the grace to look apologetic. The guy is doing me a favour, after all. I'm just going to have to sit tight and hope it all makes sense at the end.
"We headed out about six. She was waiting for us. She said Furst had been back and he wasn't taking no for an answer. That just pissed you off and before either of us could stop you, you'd gone. We guessed you'd gone to have it out with him."
"He was down by the brook." It hits me like a strong left hook. I'd been so mad at the guy for trying to take advantage of Millie that I'd stormed off, leaving my brother to calm her down. God, was I really that hung up on her? Sam's mouth turns up at the corners in a sad smile.
"Yeah, he was. And that's where we found you. Both of you." He stops and I think he's stalling for time. He rises from the bed and makes his way to the bathroom. My head is reeling from a sudden flood of memory and I barely notice him vanish. Next thing I know there's a glass of water on the nightstand and he's pushing some pills into my hand. He rests his hand on my forehead and I'm too distracted to do anything about it.
"I think I remember, Sammy." I whisper. And I think I really do this time.
We get to Millie's in record time. I know that she wouldn't have called unless she was really upset about something. She's a strong woman and she doesn't take the damsel in distress role lightly. As we roll up to her home she's waiting for us, the dying sunlight surrounding her like an angel. I need to concentrate on the issue at hand though, there'll be time for mutual admiration later. I hold on to that thought as Sam and I get out of the car.
She steps forward and plants a chaste kiss on Sam's cheek before smiling at me and giving me a not so chaste kiss. Sam looks away, smirking, before heading round to the trunk to get whatever he thinks we'll need tonight. Millie stops him though.
"It's not that sort of problem." she tells us and I look at her properly for the first time this evening. I'm worried to see the slight tremble in her hands and the quaver in her voice. Turns out that son of a bitch landlord of hers has been hassling her again. Sometimes a guy needs to know when to back off, that sometimes 'no' really does mean 'no'.
Nobody treats a woman like that when Dean Winchester is around and suddenly I'm not thinking straight. I automatically check that I've got my trusty gun tucked in my waistband and I'm back in the car before Sam or Millie have the opportunity to stop me. Because I know they would, if they could. Sam knows me well enough to know what I'm planning.
I head straight to Furst's place, not trying to hide my approach. He has some questions that I need answered. I'm not going to be subtle here. I stalk up to the door and pound my fist on it, loud enough to wake the dead. There's some shuffling inside and I can hear voices, urgently discussing 'putting it away somewhere safe' before the door is flung open.
Jed Barrow is towering over me, meat cleaver held menacingly in his right hand. If I were any less of a man, or had more sense about me, I'd be worried by that , but it's not him my business is with. I've come across him once or twice and he doesn't really feature in my consciousness.
"Where's Furst?" I don't beat about the bush. I have things to say to that man that can't wait. Jed looks furtive and shifts the meat cleaver from hand to hand in a way I suppose is meant to be menacing but actually just looks silly. I raise an eyebrow at him, letting him know that he doesn't intimidate me.
"Why?" he's trying to play coy and I can't be bothered with games.
"None of your business, Jed. It's a personal matter. Now, where is he?" I can almost see the cogs turning in Jed's brain. He's slowly deciding whether it's worth getting into a fight over. I know the instant he's made his decision.
"Find him yourself." and the door slams shut.
I don't know when I closed my eyes but when I open them again Sam is sitting next to me on the bed. He's got his hand resting on the small of back and its presence is reassuring and familiar. I realize that my hand has curled into a fist and the rough blanket I've been sitting on is twisted between my fingers. The water on the nightstand has been replaced with a shot glass containing a good measure of whisky. I untangle my hand and down it in one. The liquid hits the back of my mouth like an explosion and burns its way down my throat. I let my hand fall between my legs and Sam gently removes the glass before I drop it.
"You okay?" he asks, softly.
"I'm good," I turn to face him. "Just remembering, that's all." He nods sagely, and turns away from me.
"Maybe we should eat," he suggests, waving at the bags sitting forgotten on the table. It's probably disgustingly cold and congealed by now but I suddenly feel hunger pangs, I haven't eaten since before I left the hospital. Which means Sammy hasn't eaten either. Probably not a good move to have had that whisky but I needed it. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
"Yeah, maybe." It's a halfhearted reply but Sam takes it at face value. Giving me a patronizing pat on the shoulder, he rises stiffly and I wonder how long he's been sitting there. I watch him cross the room and notice for the first time that he looks tired and defeated. I'm thinking that this hunt has screwed us both somehow.
When he turns back to me his face is a blank slate. He hands me a bag containing a cold pizza and a flat soda. The drink is fairly redundant now that the whisky is out but the pizza, past its best as it is, is surprisingly welcome. I'm expecting him to ask what I've remembered so far but he doesn't. He settles back down, opposite me this time, and makes a show of getting his own food out.
We eat in silence, refilling our shot glasses enough times that by the time we're finished eating, the world has softened round the edges. Sam quietly collects the trash accumulated round us and throws it in the waste bin. The light is dimming outside and it's getting colder in here. I wonder if I can get an extra layer on by myself or whether I'm going to have to rely on Sam to help, and suffer the inevitable mothering that will come with it. Apparently, he's a mind reader because he's turning up the heating in here. Any minute now he's going to tell me to go to bed like a good little boy. If he tries that I'm gonna slap him, injured hand or not.
"Dean," here it comes. Then nothing. Sam's trailed off into silence.
"What?" He looks at me, studies me intently till I think I'm going to have to look away. Then he shakes his head and looks away.
"Nothing. Doesn't matter." He turns away and heads to the small bathroom. I can't help but wonder if I'm going to manage that little task by myself but, hell, I'm a Winchester. I've overcome greater obstacles. Once he's gone I settle back on the cheap motel mattress and my eyes close slowly.
Furst isn't hard to track. He didn't know I was coming after him and he's made no attempt to hide. I find him at the bottom of the steep hillside, beside the brook skirting the edge of his property and Millie's. He may be a man of the countryside but he's not the most observant of men. I'm nearly upon him before he notices me there. When he does look up I don't think it was me he was expecting.
"Have you brought it with you?" he starts, before he's realized I'm not whoever he thought I was. I'm bunching my fists. He straightens out, eyes hardening to an ice blue. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demands belligerently. "Get off my property." There's a shovel in his hand and somewhere in the back of mind I file that interesting little piece of information. Why do you need a shovel by a river?
"You and I need to clear up a few little things." I tell him and my voice sounds sickly sweet even to my own ears.
"I got nothing to talk to you about. I thought you knew better than to come back here." I advance on him slowly and I'm gratified to see him backing away from me. His words may be tough but it's all bravado, skin deep at best.
"I think otherwise." I love how menacing I can sound when I want. The only person who can see through it these days is Sam. Furst looks over my shoulder and I almost turn but Dad trained me better than that. Oldest trick in the book that is, no way I'm going to fall for it. He's nervous now though and that makes him unpredictable, dangerous. I take one more step forward and he swallows audibly.
Then he does something I'm really not prepared for. He turns and runs towards the water, screaming at the top of his voice. For a split second, I don't know what to do. He's not stopping and he's in the river before I can move. The water starts to foam around him and I pull up short of the water's edge, watching him with horror. He doesn't seem worried about the activity in front of him but I feel the apprehension building in my chest. I drop to my knees and yell at the top of my voice.
"Furst! Get out of there. It's not safe!" and it's not. Really, really not. I don't like guy and thirty seconds ago I was ready to blow his head off myself but nobody deserves this.