See Chapter One for summary, author's notes, etc

Unchartered Waters

2.

The sun was setting in a blaze of scarlet and orange hues when Caitlin drove slowly into the parking lot of the aptly named Sunset Inn. The lot was barely half-full, and she had no trouble locating the black Impala. Seeing the car brought a sting of sadness – her father would have given a lot for a car like that. She pulled up beside it, killed the engine and sat for a moment, gathering her thoughts and wondering what kind of reception she was going to get.

Out of habit, she glanced in the visor's mirror to check her appearance. She had long ago objectively labeled herself as, "not unattractive, but nothing to set the world alight". Deep blue eyes, set slightly too wide apart in a heart-shaped face, framed by that unruly chestnut hair, the bane of her life. She knew she could look positively pretty when she made an effort, but now, with her lips thinned and brow knotted in a worried frown, was not one of those times.

Caitlin grinned wryly at her momentary vanity. How she looked was hardly of any concern right now.

She got out of the car, grabbed her overnight bag from the backseat and walked up to room 25. A light shone faintly through a small gap in the drawn curtains. She took a deep breath and knocked resolutely. Eyes idly scanning the faded, peeling red paint on the door, she reflected that if this was the Winchesters' typical choice of accommodation, their taste left a lot to be desired.

She was preparing to knock again more loudly when the door opened a few inches and a tousled head poked out.

"Yes?"

Caitlin looked up at the man before her. "Up" was the operative word. Her first thought was that Jo hadn't been exaggerating his height. He must be at least 6' 4, towering over her own modest 5' 6. Her second thought was that Jo had neglected to mention that he was pretty darned cute, even with untidy dark bangs hanging down into his eyes and his features screwed up in a scowl. The third thought was that he had lied about not being hurt, judging from the bruise on his jaw and the gash on his forehead that must be the source of the dried blood gluing his hair to one side of his face.

"Sam, right?" she said.

His expression now neutral, he said, "I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong room."

"We spoke on the phone earlier. I'm Ellen Harvelle's niece, Caitlin."

His brow furrowed even more, creasing easily into deep lines that she sensed were no strangers to his face. "What? You… What are you doing here?"

Well, she hadn't expected a warm welcome, had she? "Ellen sent me." She held up the journal. "This is my uncle's journal. She thought there might be something in there that might help."

His eyes widened and she silently cursed her ill-chosen words as she saw the sudden flicker of hope reflected there. "I'm sorry, there's nothing about a cure, or anything," she explained hastily. "Ellen thought if you knew what to expect… it might help…" she floundered to a halt helplessly as the hope in his eyes fade into disappointment.

"Oh. Okay, thanks." He opened the door a little wider and held out a hand. She put the journal into it.

"Well, thanks again," he said after a moment's awkward silence, and began to close the door.

This was her chance to walk away. He didn't want her here – why would he? She was a total stranger. But he looked somehow lost and scared, and she hated to think of him alone for the next twenty hours, helplessly watching his brother suffer.

She grabbed his arm. "Hey, hold on a minute."

Sam looked at her impatiently. "Look, I'm grateful to you for driving out here, but there's nothing else you can do. I don't need any help."

She cocked her head. "You sure about that? Sam, I know it's your brother who's in trouble, but you don't look too good yourself – that looks like a nasty cut, and it needs cleaning. And I wouldn't be surprised if you have a concussion. I get that you don't want a stranger here, but how do you think you're going to look after your brother if you can't look after yourself? What if you pass out or something?"

Sam blinked, and she realized she hadn't stopped to take a breath. Well, good. Maybe she could talk him into submission.

"Look, just let me in for a few minutes. The least I can do is look at that cut for you, and then if you want me to leave, I will. Plus," she added honestly, "I've been driving for two hours, and I really need to use the bathroom."

Sam snapped abruptly out of his daze and ran a hand through his hair, carefully avoiding the gash, but wincing slightly anyway. He mustered a polite smile with obvious difficulty. "Sorry, I don't mean to be rude. Come in." He stood aside, gesturing her in. "Look, it's best if you don't stay too long, okay? I don't think Dean will be comfortable with a stranger around. No offense."

"None taken," she said as she walked past him into the dimly lit room.

A typical cheap-rate motel room, it had two queen beds pushed close together, separated only by a small bedside table. The only other furniture consisted of a TV mounted on a bracket high up on the wall. A door in that wall presumably led to the bathroom, and in the corner a battered microwave and a grimy-looking coffeemaker stood side by side on a narrow counter.

She didn't spend much time taking in her surroundings, her attention immediately drawn to the man lying on the bed nearest the door. "How's he doing?"

Sam's gaze went immediately to his brother. He glanced back at her with worried eyes, the furrow returning. "Not good," he said, keeping his voice low. "The venom's beginning to take hold. He won't admit it, but I can tell he's in a lot of pain already, and it's only been four hours."

Caitlin took a few hesitant steps closer and stopped beside the bed. Dean Winchester lay on his back, covered to his waist by a sheet. A large bandage covered his ribs on the left side, and his arms were clasped tightly around his middle. His eyes were closed and his jaw set, breath coming in short pants.

She thought back to her cousin's less than flattering description of this man. "Dean Winchester is an arrogant, stubborn, chauvinist pig who only cares about his brother and his stupid car," had been Jo's actual words, if she remembered correctly.

Thinking that Jo was protesting too much, she'd asked teasingly, "Is he hot?" and choked back a laugh when Jo replied, with a poor attempt at nonchalance, "I guess. He's really not my type." That had told Caitlin everything she needed to know.

She had been expecting an older version of Sam, but one look at Dean showed her that the two were nothing alike, physically at least. Where Sam's hair was long and untidy, Dean's was lighter and cut almost military short. She cast her photographer's eye over the straight nose, full lips and well-defined jaw peppered with day-old stubble. Strong features, but tempered by long, dark lashes that would be the envy of any woman and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks. She let out a slow breath. Even pale and with pain lines marring the smooth contours of his face, this was one incredibly good-looking man, and she felt something ignite inside in response.

Dean shifted, muttered something incoherent and opened his eyes.

Sam moved past her and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Hey, man, how are you doing?"

Dean didn't answer, but turned his head, and Caitlin found a pair of startling green eyes fixed on her. Intense eyes. Beautiful eyes. She watched their expression change from suspicion to confusion to a frank admiration that made her blush.

He glanced back at Sam and raised an eyebrow. "Something you want to tell me, Sammy?"

His voice was deep, a little gravelly and beyond sexy.

"This is Caitlin, Ellen's niece," Sam explained. "Ellen sent her with Bill's journal – it has some information about parnocks. She isn't staying."

Slightly reeling from the effect Dean's physical presence had wrought on her, Caitlin pulled herself together and smiled tentatively at the patient. "I can leave, if you want me to," she said softly, "but Sam looks pretty tired, and I thought maybe he could use some help."

Dean's eyes flicked from her to Sam and back again. "He's hurt."

"I think it looks worse than it is. I'm going to help him clean up, and I'll make sure he looks after himself, okay?"

Dean's gaze remained fixed on her for a long moment, and she felt the flush deepen under the intense scrutiny. Then his lip quirked. "She's a way prettier nurse than you, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Can't argue with you there. Dean, you need to try and get some rest, okay?"

For a moment Dean looked like he'd argue, then his brow furrowed. He rolled onto his side, curled up and closed his eyes.

Sam moved away from the bed, gesturing for Caitlin to follow him, and then turned to her with a faint smile.

"What?"

"You've only just set eyes on my brother, and already you know which buttons to push," Sam said softly.

"Not difficult," she said, lowering her voice to match his. "I've been told you two are close and that Dean's a stubborn jerk."

Sam grinned. "Who told you that?"

She hesitated, not wanting to break Jo's confidence.

Sam snorted. "Jo, right? I bet that's not all she told you."

Caitlin smiled back. "Yes, it was Jo, and yes, she might have said a bit more. Look, why don't you get the first-aid kit out while I use the bathroom? Then I'll patch up that cut for you."

She didn't wait for a reply, heading for the bathroom and firmly closing the door behind her. She used the toilet, washed her hands then splashed some water on her face and ran her fingers quickly through her hair in a futile attempt to bring it to order.

Then she paused, caught by a sudden moment of panic.

She'd known for a long time about the kind of life her aunt and cousin led, but to her, in the safety of her home in Boston, the stories of ghosts and monsters had seemed a little unreal. Staying at the Roadhouse had brought it all closer, but even so, she hadn't yet come face to face with the harsh realities of this life. Until now.

She'd come to the Roadhouse to get away from her problems in Boston and to put some distance between herself and the city – and Toby in particular. She'd planned to take the time she needed to think through what she really wanted to do with her life, and then move on. She certainly hadn't intended to get involved in the strange world of hunting - that was her aunt's life, not hers.

In the car on the way up, she'd promised herself that she'd help in any way she could, but keep her distance emotionally. Her resolve had weakened the moment Sam had opened the door and she'd witnessed the anguish in his eyes. It had disappeared altogether the second she'd laid eyes on his brother and felt that irrational but powerful pull of attraction.

She shook herself impatiently. What she felt was irrelevant. This wasn't about her. The brothers needed her help, and that was what she was going to give.

Caitlin took a couple of deep breaths and then stepped out of the bathroom to find that Sam hadn't moved from his position on the edge of Dean's bed. He had the journal open in his hands.

"Sam?"

He looked up. He was pale, and his throat was working. "Have you read this?"

Caitlin shook her head. "I didn't have time before I left. Ellen told me a bit." She hesitated. "Is it… is it bad?"

"Yeah," Sam said shortly. "It's bad."

Caitlin searched for something comforting to say, but came up blank. She watched him run a hand through his hair and wince, reminding her that she needed to check him out. "Let's get that cut cleaned. "We'll use the bathroom. It'll be easier there."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not leaving him."

"Don't be such a girl, Florence," said a muffled voice from the bed. "What d'you think's gonna happen?"

Caitlin cocked an eyebrow. "You heard your brother. It won't take long. You can leave the door open, if you like."

She couldn't hold back a grin at the indignant snort from the bed. Dean rolled over again. "Sammy, you think I like looking at a freakin' monster-movie extra every time I open my eyes?"

Caitlin smiled at the words, even as she noted Dean's jaw tighten and a spasm of pain cross his face.

Sam narrowed his eyes and looked like he was going to argue, then sighed. "Okay, I get the message." He got to his feet with obvious reluctance, picked up the first-aid kit, then followed Caitlin into the bathroom with a quick backward glance at the bed.

She noted that he was a little unsteady on his feet and pointed him toward the toilet seat. "Sit down there," she ordered brusquely.

Obediently, Sam sat down and Caitlin perched on the edge of the bath across from him, trying to remember the most common symptoms of concussion. "Sam, did you lose consciousness at all?"

"No."

"Are you seeing double?"

"No."

"Nauseous?"

Sam sighed. "No."

"Do you have a headache?"

"Yes. But I don't have concussion, Caitlin."

She raised an eyebrow. "How do you know? You have a headache and you were dizzy a minute ago. They're both symptoms."

"Of course I have a headache! But I've been concussed before, and I can tell the difference, okay?"

Caitlin wasn't convinced, but she'd let it go for now and keep a close eye on him. "Well, you can't mess around with concussion, so you tell me the minute you get any symptoms."

"Yes, ma'am." The words were slightly mocking and she caught a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just, there's no doubt you're Ellen's niece."

Caitlin took a washcloth and poured some antiseptic over it. "This'll sting a bit. Why do you say that?"

"You're just as bossy as she… oww!"

"Sorry," Caitlin said sweetly. "I need to make sure it's clean." She cleaned the cut thoroughly, then sat back to admire her handiwork. "It's not as bad as it looked with all the blood. I don't think you need stitches."

"Good, because there's no time for stitches."

"Okay. I'll just put a bandage on." She fished around in the first-aid kit, noting that it was a lot more comprehensive than your average one and wondering how often they had cause to use it. Sam's eyes kept straying to the other room. "Why don't you tell me what happened?" she asked, wanting to keep his mind occupied.

Sam sighed. "We were hunting a parnock. You know what that is?"

"It's some kind of monster, right?"

"Good enough. We trapped it, and Dean shot it through the heart – that's the only way to kill it. Easy, job done. But we didn't know there were two of them." His jaw tightened. "The second one was hidden in a tree above us. It leapt down at me, but Dean saw it and pushed me out of the way. By the time I got to my feet he was on the ground and it had clawed him, drawn blood."

"Did you kill it?"

"Yeah." He paused, catching his lower lip between his teeth, expression a mixture of worry and frustration. "We'd done the research, made sure we were prepared. Everything said they hunt alone."

"That's what Ellen said." Caitlin firmly pushed the bandage down and secured it with some adhesive strips. "And this parnock – its venom can…" She trailed off, reluctant to say the word.

"Kill," Sam finished for her. "Soon as I saw the blood, I knew…" He broke off, voice choking.

"All done," Caitlin said quietly into the sudden silence.

"Thanks." Sam cleared his throat and sheepishly looked at her. "Look, C… Call…"

"Caitlin."

"Caitlin. Right. I'm sorry you got dragged into this. You should go home. I can take it from here."

He stood up and swayed alarmingly.

She jumped up, reaching out to steady him. "Whoa, Sam, sit back down, okay?"

Sam fell rather than sat down. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm okay."

"No, you're not. You need some rest."

"I'm fine."

If Dean was supposed to be the stubborn one, Sam was doing a great job of following in his footsteps. She bit back a stab of irritation – cut the guy some slack, Caitlin, his brother's dying over there. "Yes, you can. Look, you've read the journal. What does it say about the symptoms?"

"It says they'll get worse as time goes on, but—"

"And that's when Dean will need you most," she interrupted. "I can guarantee that if you don't get some sleep now, you're going to fall on your face in a few hours. What good's that going to be to your brother?"

Sam set his jaw, face set in a determined expression, but he couldn't disguise the fear and desperation he was feeling. He looked vulnerable and a little lost and her heart went out to him. She softened her voice and put a hand on his arm. "I know you want to be with him. I'm just asking you to rest for a while. I'll stay and watch him every minute, I promise, and I'll wake you if I need to. Then I'll leave, if you want me to. Deal?"

After a moment, Sam swallowed and nodded. He stood up again, more carefully this time, and Caitlin followed him back into the bedroom. Sam paused beside Dean's bed for a moment and looked down at his brother. Then he eased himself carefully onto the other bed.

"You'll wake me if anything changes?"

"Go to sleep, Sam."

Despite his earlier protestations, Sam was asleep in moments.