so, yeah, another new chappy...Sam is still drug-crazed and Dean is still trying to figure out what to do to save him...hope everyone enjoys...remember, reviews are golden!! bambers;)
Chapter Five
Bobby pulled his old, beat-up truck into the parking lot of the Barringer's Inn, noticed Dean's Impala with Sammy sitting behind the wheel, and parked well away from it. Sam appeared as if he were asleep, leaning against the doorframe, his head resting on the window.
Scrubbing his hand across his bearded face, Bobby looked from the youngest Winchester to the motel, shook his head, and then his gaze settled on Dean. Dean's brows were drawn close together, lips pressed tight against his teeth as he stared pensively at Sam.
"I'm sure the girl's okay, Dean," Bobby said, to break the awkward silence now besieging the small cab of the truck. "Sam would never knowingly hurt anyone."
Dean gave a curt nod as he continued to look at his brother.
"I'll go take a look around inside, make sure — "
"No, I'll do it," came Dean's stoic reply.
"Dean." Bobby placed a reassuring hand on the young hunter's shoulder. "I'm sure there's nothin' to see, besides — "
"Said I'd do it." Shrugging off Bobby's hand, Dean leapt out of the car. He turned back and bobbed his head toward the Impala. "He leaves, make sure you follow him."
Bobby pulled his cap low over his brow, hunkering down in the seat. "Gotcha."
Dean strode down the walkway in front of the inn, peering into each window, searching for any signs that might've been left behind by a struggle. So never thought of myself as the Peeping-Tom type. He paused at one window, tilting his head to the side, raising a brow, a quizzical expression on his face as he stared at a man and woman tangled in a strange sexual position. Huh, never thought of doing that before. The woman glanced up at Dean, smiling and licking her full sensuous lips. He nodded to her, grinning, and she winked at him. Yeah, like this is so not awkward.
Making a hasty retreat, Dean found a door someone had left slightly ajar. From inside, he could hear the muffled sound of someone moaning. Okay, crying is good, crying means she's alive.
He glanced in the room, and saw an overturned table and chairs. Next, Dean noticed a broken lamp lying on ground beside a tall dresser, shattered glass scattered across the floor. His gaze settled on his brother's bloody hunting knife sticking out from the wall just beyond the bed. Damn it, Sammy. What the hell did you do?
Slowly, Dean made his way around the bed and found the trembling woman, scrunched up in the corner, wrists and ankles tightly bound, a gag in her mouth. Blood dripped from a deep gash on the side of her face. More blood, trailed down her upper arm and soaked into her t-shirt and jeans, from a deep knife wound. Her right eye was tinged purple, a small cut beneath it.
He glanced back to where he knew his brother was, the muscle in his cheek jerking as he clenched his teeth, and then he looked back at the girl. We're so freakin' screwed.
Dean knelt beside the terrified woman, and she shied away from him, more tears spilling from her eyes.
"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you," he said in a soft, coaxing voice.
He removed the gag from her mouth, and saw her lower lip was swollen and split. Dean quickly untied her wrists and ankles, checking her over to make sure she wasn't hurt anywhere else.
"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked, not really sure he wanted to know the answer.
She looked up at him, eyes wide with fear. "Sam — he seemed so sweet. I mean when we . . . it was — " She lowered her head, and continued to quietly sob. Wincing, she touched her bruised cheek, and drew a shuddering breath. "And then he changed, talkin' crazy about demons and callin' me a wendigo . . . God, I don't even know what that is — and then he attacked me." She brushed away a stray tear slipping down her cheek. Looking up at Dean, her dark blue eyes searched his for an understanding. "Why — why would he want to hurt me?"
Dean raked his fingers through his scruffy hair, not knowing exactly what to say to her. "Don't think he meant to hurt you. S-Sam's— " His voice broke when he said his brother's name. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. "He's not normally like this. An' it would tear him apart if he knew he hurt you." Dean knew she wouldn't believe him, but he had to say it anyway.
"You're his brother, aren't you?" She drew her bended knees up closer to her chest, hugging her arms around them. "You're Dean?"
"Yeah," he said, quietly.
Dean rose to stand, and yanked Sam's knife out of the wall, and noticing her flinch, he quickly pocketed it. He strode to the bathroom, grabbed a towel off the towel rack and started wiping down anything his brother might've touched while staying there. When he was finished, Dean snatched a second towel, wet it down, and brought it out to the injured girl.
"Here." He pressed the towel to the side of her head. "You've got a pretty nasty cut there. It'll probably need stitches . . . uh, afraid I don't know your name?"
"It's Chelsea," she said. Taking the towel from him, she gingerly dabbed the wet cloth against the knife wound to her upper arm, and winced. "You need to call the police."
Without taking the time to acknowledge what she'd said, Dean began wiping down everything in the room. Dean righted the table and chairs and then gathered up all the broken pieces of glass and the broken lamp, and set them on the bed. He made a thorough search of the room, looking for anything that belonged to Sam to take with him when he left.
"What do you think you're doing?" Chelsea asked incredulously.
Dean ignored her, snatching his brother's leather wristband off the bedside table, along with the hoodie he found underneath the bed.
Chelsea stood on shaky legs, threw the towel on the ground and headed for Dean. She grabbed his arm just as he was about to take all the sheets and blankets off the bed to burn later. Fierce anger warred with fear in her dark blue eyes. "I asked you, what the hell you think you're doing?"
"What I always do — I'm protecting my brother." Dean shrugged free from her grasp and gathered the bedding into a pile.
Chelsea stared at Dean, slack-jawed. "Your brother deserves to go to jail. He could've killed me."
"I don't expect you to understand, and I don't really have time to explain." Dean strode to the entrance of the motel room, carrying everything he'd found in the room that might incriminate Sam, and hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. I owe her something, some sort of explanation. "Look, my brother . . . Sammy . . . well, there's something wrong with him. He would never hurt you on purpose. You have to believe me."
She pensively bit at her lower lip, and grimaced. Chelsea ran her tongue over it, then touched her lip with trembling fingers, a frown creasing her forehead. "If that's true, he needs help. You need to turn him over to the police before he hurts someone else or kills them."
"He won't do that."
"How can you be so sure?" she challenged, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.
"Because he's my brother — my responsibility, and no one knows him like I do."
"I'm not gonna let him get away with this." She glared at Dean, angrily wiping away the blood trailing down her cheek. "I'm callin' the police so they can lock you both up."
"You can try, darlin, but they'll never find us. That's a promise." Dean strode out the door, slamming it behind him.
Dean stalked to Bobby's truck, opened the door, and threw all the stuff he'd taken from the room onto the front seat.
Quickly glancing at the pile cluttering his seat, Bobby fixed a worried gaze on Dean. "Was
she — "
"She'll be okay. Can't really get into it now cause I think we're gonna have company soon," Dean said evasively as he shut the truck door. Heading for his car, Dean called back over his shoulder, "We'll meet you later at the salvage yard."
Bobby hesitated for a second, staring at Dean, and then started his engine. "All right, Dean. You be careful, and take care of Sam. You hear me?"
"Yeah, I will."
"See you back at my place." Bobby looked at him one last time and then drove away.
Dean stared at his brother laying passed out against the doorframe, dried blood on his flannel shirt. Sam appeared much paler and thinner then the last time Dean had seen him. Sam twitched convulsively, his eyeballs darting back and forth relentlessly beneath closed lids. And even in his sleep, Sam grimaced, crying out in pain as he moved into a more comfortable position.
How am I supposed to help you, Sammy? Frowning, Dean scrubbed his hand across his face, as he continued to look at his brother. Christ, I have no idea how to break someone of a drug habit.
Hearing the sound of sirens in the distance, Dean quickly opened the driver's side door, careful to catch Sam before he fell out of the Impala. Dean nudged Sam awake.
"Hey there, Sunshine, better move over and let me drive before you end up the cell mate of some guy named Big Jake, who happens to take a real liking to you."
Sam blinked hard, frantically covering his face with his arm and moaning softly. "Oh God, it's too bright. It's burning me . . . make it go away."
Frowning, Dean nudged Sam a little harder on the shoulder. "Come on, Sammy move over, we really gotta get out of here."
Sam looked at Dean, eyes wild and fearful, body trembling. "Wh-who are you." He jerked his head from side to side, then turned to look behind him. He glanced back at Dean. "What did they do with my brother, Sammy?"
Dean stared at his brother in disbelief. Okay, so totally unexpected. "Who are you?" he asked, already surmising the answer.
"Dean." Sam answered, glaring at Dean as if it should be obvious. "They took him . . . locked him away in the dark . . . stole his mind away." Sam grabbed Dean's hand, holding onto it in a death grip. "Th-think he's dying — and I can't find him."
"Who took him, De— " Dean hesitated, and quickly corrected himself. "Sammy?"
"Don't know. Thought they might be aliens — they . . . they probe you. You know that, right?" Sam's grip tightened uncomfortably on Dean's hand. "Make you dance with them . . . it's horrible."
Dean nearly choked on a laugh, then saw his brother was absolutely serious, and his expression turned grim. "Naw, don't think it was aliens, think we stopped their invasion on Independence Day. Really rather awesome, spaceships crashing to the ground, Captain Steve Hiller blowing up the mothership."
"Think we could find this guy, Steve . . . maybe he could help find Sammy?" Sam asked, a new-found look of hope, on his haggard face.
Oh, freakin' great, now he wants to find a fictional character to help him save himself. Could this day get any worse?
"Look, I'm not supposed to tell anyone this, top-secret government stuff you understand, but I'm Steve Hiller. I've been sent to bring you back to headquarters so we can devise a plan to save Sammy." Yeah, this lie is so gonna backfire on me. "Remember this is all hush-hush so just call me, Will Smith."
"Oh, so totally cool. You think the purple men took him, Will?" Sam slid over to the passenger's side and Dean got behind the wheel and slammed the door.
"Yeah, our thoughts exactly." Dean turned the key in the ignition, revved the engine, and peeled out of the parking lot. "Either, little purple men or it's a plot devised by Sasquatch to overtake the world."
"Oh God, I forgot all about Sasquatch." Sam's eyes widened with dread. "Think he might be involved?"
Christ, he's totally outta his freakin' mind. Bobby better be workin on a plan how to fix this. "Never can tell, that creature is a damn tricky bastard." Dean rolled his eyes, raking his free hand through his hair. "Can't discuss it any further till we get to headquarters. Colonel Klink will fill you in on all the details." Dean took a sidelong glance at his brother, then returned his attention to the road. "Why don't you get some sleep, it's gonna be a long drive."
"Yeah thanks, Will."
Sam leaned against the doorframe, and closed his eyes. Within a few minutes, he was snoring softly, the tense worried expression, easing from his face.
Dean looked at his brother again. God, he actually thinks he's Dean and I'm Will Smith. He shook his head in disgust, hands tightening around the wheel in a white-knuckled grip. What the hell are those drugs doing to you, Sammy?
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chelsea stood at the window and watched as the black car peeled out of the motel parking lot, with tires screeching. She let go of the curtain, turned and crossed the room, snatched her purse off the dresser, and headed for the door.
She swung to look at the room now devoid of any signs of a struggle, and shook her head. I can't believe he'd help Sam, coverup a crime.
Chelsea left, slamming the door behind her, and strode down the walkway to another room. Knocking loudlyshe waited for someone to answer. Within a few moments, a bare-chested man opened the door, a look of shocked surprise on his face as he took in her battered appearance.
Tilting her head to the side, Chelsea glanced at a blonde-haired woman, lying naked on the bed with her throat sliced open, blood spilling out onto the white sheets, and smiled.
"You gonna let me in, Damon?"
Damon's dark brown eyes scrutinized her briefly, and then he moved aside and let her in. Striding past him, Chelsea plunked down on the bed beside the dead woman, and raked her fingers through the deep, slashing wound on the girl's neck.
"Why is it that you always get to have all the fun, while I'm stuck playing the innocent victim?" she asked, licking the blood from her fingers.
Ignoring her comment, Damon asked, "So did Dean do what I thought he would?"
"Do you mean in regards to these?" Chelsea ran her hand across the bruises and gashes on her face and arms and they disappeared. "Yeah, he did exactly as you thought he would." She chuckled. "Damn, he even took the sheets."
"And he believed Sam really hurt you?"
"You should've seen the look on Dean's face." Chelsea stood, walked to Damon, and caressed his bearded cheek. "I swear, I had a hard time not laughing."
"Good."
"So what are your plans, Damon?"
Damon cupped her face in his hand, and kissed her on the lips. "I think it's time we visited Sam's dreams, because no bad deed should ever go unpunished."
Independence Day-- written by Dean Devlin and Roland Emmerich--release date July 3rd, 1996