Battle of the Bulge

Summary: Sam and Dean are trapped on a farm with some unusual residents…

Ok, that was as close as we're gonna get to anything serious… This is supposed to be a lighthearted romp. So, on with the show.

Chapter Five

"You ok, Sammy?" Dean stumbled closer and painfully knelt beside him. "Sam?"

"Dean?" Sam groaned and rolled over onto his side, one hand against his chest. "Felt like she was trying to burn a hole through to China."

Dean pushed the shotgun Sam had fallen on out of the way and then urged his brother back flat on the ground so he could look at him. Sam's shirt was ragged like it had been eaten through and Dean could already see a stark red handprint outlined against Sam's skin underneath.

"Is it spreading?" Dean asked.

Sam remained still for several seconds taking inventory. His breathing was fast, but finally he shook his head. "I don't think so."

"You gonna tell me if it does?"

His eyes met Dean's. "Are you?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Would Stallone whine about a few burns or would he go do something about it?"

Sam's breath hitched as he sat up. "Tell me you did not just compare yourself to Rambo."

Dean snorted though he was still looking Sam up and down. "Dude, you know I hate camping. But you better not have messed up M… my shotgun," he warned.

"The gun's fine," Sam declared in semi-amused exasperation. "It nearly gouged a hole in me from the other side, but glad your priorities are straight."

"Hey," Dean said indignantly, "she's a valuable member of the team."

"She's got the stomach, smarts and stamina for the job?" Sam eyed him. "Nice alliteration by the way."

Dean grinned. "Thought it was kinda poetic myself. Now, please tell me you know where the body is," he said.

"Septic tank."

"Tommy stashed her in the septic tank?"

Sam nodded.

Dean twisted up his face in disgust. "Well, that gives a whole new meaning to putting up with Tommy's crap. How long's she been dead, you think?"

"He's been married to Annie for a couple of years," Sam offered. "Would've been some time before then too."

"There'd be almost nothing left of her," Dean said thoughtfully. "Pretty ingenious really."

Sam turned a glare on him. "Dean, when you're through being impressed with his corpse disposal technique, we really ought to go keep Clara from killing him."

"Can't say as how I'm overly motivated to protect the guy."

"Well, you should be," Sam shot back. "We gotta do something before your burns start spreading again. Dean, she was trying to hurt me, but she's identifying with you. 'Washing' it off is only stopping it temporarily. You two are connected."

"The septic tank." Dean had a sudden revolting thought. "They're not really burns. The stuff in the septic tank… It ate her. Dude, I'm being digested."

"You didn't answer me before, by the way. Is it still spreading?" Sam asked.

Tell the truth or lie. Sam would just be pissed if he found out later. It had moved all the way up Dean's arm, spread across his back and chest and down his other arm. It was working its way down his back now and up his neck into his hair. "A little. I can deal."

"I'd believe you better if you didn't look like death warmed over," Sam accused.

Dean let out a pained laugh. "Look who's talking."

Sam narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Not funny."

"Just shut up and give me my shotgun." Dean grinned evilly. "I'm downtrodden and need to protect my snot-nosed, unappreciative brother like I've been brainwashed to do. Feel free to disown me for it."

Sam released a still annoyed huff of air. "You should be so lucky. No way you're getting rid of me 'til after I save your sorry deal-making ass." Sam doubtfully held Marigold out toward Dean. "You sure you can hold her?"

"The day I can't shoot because of a cow bite is the day I retire. And the fact that I just had to say that… Dude, our lives are so screwed up."

Sam got up first, groaning as the movement pulled at the wound on his chest. He then grabbed Dean's arm, the one that hadn't been bitten, and hauled him to his feet. Dean gasped and Sam instantly released him, realizing the burns had spread to the other arm.

"A little, huh?" Sam said reproachfully.

Dean had to close his eyes and concentrate on breathing for several seconds or he knew he was going to pass out. His whole body, every nerve ending, was lit up like a Christmas tree. He could barely think it was so fierce.

"Taken out by a cow." The tone was light, but Dean opened his eyes to see Sam watching him intently. He was also staying within arms' reach in case Dean decided standing was optional. "Not exactly gonna get you an honorable mention in Hunter's Weekly."

Dean knew Sam was giving him time, though they both knew they didn't have any to waste.

"It's not a cow, smart ass." Dean's mouth quirked up on one side. "It's a mini-moo. Didn't they teach you anything in school?"

Sam went to the door and peeked out. "You ready?"

"We have any idea how to take care of Clara?" Dean asked, working to straighten up.

"No."

"Ok," he waved for Sam to take the lead, "Glad we cleared that up."

Sam listened for Dean's faltering steps. He knew the burns were spreading again. The only way to stop it was to stop Clara and it needed to be fast. He could feel the impression of her hand against his chest, five distinct fingers of blistering agony. He could only imagine what Dean was having to push through to stay upright.

As they moved past, the animals paid almost no attention. They were all standing in line, facing the house, intent on whatever was happening inside. Sam had the feeling they were going to let Clara and her opposable thumbs take care of the source of all their problems.

As they approached the back door, they could hear Tommy shouting. "What do you mean you're leaving?" he bellowed. "You ungrateful cow! I've put up with your whining, sniveling…"

"You killed your wife, Tommy!" Annie shouted back. "You killed her! You think I could stay here after that?"

Sam hurried through the back door and looked around the room. Sure enough, Tommy was no longer standing behind the salt line. He was in the middle of the room glaring at his wife.

"Tommy, get your ass in the corner," Dean barked. The man took one look at Dean's shotgun and decided to comply. Sam chose not to inform Tommy that Dean had it clamped in his hand that tightly to keep from dropping it.

"Have either of you seen Clara?" Sam asked. They both shook their heads. Sam walked to the bag he'd brought in from the car and pulled out a large canister of salt. He quickly spread lines in front of the doors and the windows over the sink, completely sealing off the kitchen. He heard Dean let out a relieved breath. Sam turned in time to see him sink into a chair.

"You were right," Dean said. "Really should have done that earlier."

"Better?"

Dean nodded. "Instead of a 'my face is on fire' feeling, it's sort of a 'my ass is chapped' feeling."

"Okey dokey," Sam said. "Thanks for the update."

All four of them looked up, hearing noise coming from one of the other rooms. It sounded like someone tossing furniture around.

"Where is it?" they heard Clara shriek. "What did you do with it? I know you didn't get rid of it!"

"What's she looking for?" Sam demanded.

"I have no idea," Tommy answered nervously.

Abruptly the noise stopped. "Don't worry," Dean assured them. "She can't cross the salt lines."

Clara appeared in the doorway behind Dean. She was holding a small short-barreled pistol, but it wasn't like anything Sam had ever seen. The tiny gun looked like it held one shotgun shell.

"You were so proud when you found it," Clara snarled. "A miniature gun, but with a big bang."

Tommy's face twisted in anger and hatred. "Clara, you fat…"

She fired. The gun kicked like a mule in her hand. Had she been alive it would have hurt like her hand was broken, but Clara only smiled triumphantly as her husband slammed into the wall behind him and slumped to the floor. Dean hadn't even had time to turn.

"I heard you call the septic man yesterday. You thought he'd come and haul the last of the evidence away with no one any the wiser," she said to the gasping, dying man on the floor. Clara let the gun clatter to the ground. "But I'm wiser. The sadder, but wiser girl. Goodbye, Tommy."

Tommy took one final rattling gasp and fell silent. At the same instant Clara faded and was gone.

"So, uh…" Dean cleared his throat, sounding almost embarrassed. "I guess I was wrong about her not crossing the salt lines."

Annie screamed and fell to the floor in a dead faint.

In case you were curious, a gun like that does exist and firing it hurts like a… well it hurts a lot. We'll wrap it all up tomorrow…