Sam was already up and in the bathroom before he realized he must have inadvertently fallen asleep earlier. Damn. He wiped at his face, all thought of sleep gone as he cursed at himself under his breath. His neck was stiff and he massaged it as he went about his business.
He'd meant to stay awake. He'd meant to find out for certain whether Dean was leaving at night. Going up and down the river in the muggy heat must have taken more out of him than he thought, however. He hadn't crashed this hard in months. So much for keeping an eye on his brother.
Splashing some water on his face, Sam then glanced at his features in the mirror, barely able to see his reflection by the nightlight on the cheap hairdryer unit on the wall. He didn't look so hot. He barely recognized the guy staring back. When did he start looking so damn serious all the time? No wonder Dean teased him constantly about it. But had there really been a time when didn't feel and look like this?
Yes – during college and Jessica, when he'd been so busy studying there was no room to remember his odd upbringing, his fallout with his father, the pall that always seemed to hang over his family, outsiders to everyone and everything.
He leaned over the sink bringing his face closer to the mirror, wondering if that guy was anywhere inside him anymore. He'd started to hope back then, started to think there was something more to life than hunting, danger, fear. After two years he'd finally reached a plateau where while not totally fitting in with all the eager preppy guys and clueless others, he knew how to navigate among them, how to connect.
And Jess, Jess had been such a beacon, such a healing influence on his soul. He'd looked at rings, rings of all things! He'd started thinking about the future, about making his own family. What a fool he'd been. Such things were never meant for the likes of him. And he kept being reminded of it over and over again -- Jessica, Madison, Ava. He was cursed.
With a grimace he pushed away from the sink and strode out of the bathroom.
He stopped just outside the doorway and glanced at the bed there. He could see lumps, but there wasn't enough light for him to make them out clearly. Dean was there though. He'd worried for nothing. Maybe his brother was in bed last night too. He'd been so sure though at the time. There was the dirt he found in the bed the day before too. And Dean's fainting episode. He had the vaguest notion something was going on, just no idea what, and he'd learned to listen to these hunches. Too many times they'd proven true, whether he liked what they said or not.
But his brother was right – he'd been way touchy since they hit Dallas. Vague notion or not, he was overreacting left and right. He hadn't missed Dean's worried glances when his brother thought he wasn't paying attention. He needed to take things down a notch.
Sam walked to his own bed and pulled his covers back to get in, his gaze drifting across to the other bed again. Instead of going ahead and getting in, he just stood there, motionless, listening. Aside from the occasional hum of the air conditioner, and the numbers flipping on the old electric alarm clock, he heard nothing else. There were no sounds of breathing, no movement at all from the other side of the room. The place in the middle of his shoulders that liked to drill into his back when something wasn't right did so now with a vengeance.
Dropping the covers, Sam went around the bed and reached for the light.
Staring only at his brother's bed, he turned the switch.
The lumps turned into pillows tucked beneath blankets. Dean was gone.
"Dammit!" He flipped the covers looking for he knew not what. Had the pillows gotten tucked that way by accident, or did Dean do this deliberately to make him think he was still there?
His gaze scanned the room in a hurry and a number of details screamed into his awareness. Dean's silver ring and beaded bracelet were on the nightstand. His brother never took those off. The black shorts and t-shirt he went to bed in were folded neatly beside them. What the hell? His cell phone was still in the charger. The car keys sat beside them. This was too pat, too neat.
Bile rose in Sam's throat, his stomach clenching in fear. Where was his brother? Where had he gone? And he had no clothes on? What was going on?!
Shoving the questions as far back as he could, Sam rushed to get dressed. He pulled the automatic from beneath his pillow and double checked the clip was full before tucking it into the small of his back.
He snatched a flashlight from one of their bags and snagging the room and car keys headed for the door.
Yanking it open, he felt the coolness of the last of the night caress his cheek. The moon was a day or two from Last Quarter, but there were enough lights on at the motel for him to see by. The Impala was still neatly tucked into its parking space.
Dean was on foot, without the car. Sam glanced first one way then the other, trying to decide which way to look for him first.
A loud cough froze him in mid step. It wasn't the fact there was someone out there that stopped him, but how loud the cough was. Loud enough to reverberate at least the length of the parking lot.
The cough sounded again and seemed closer, to his right.
Sam toggled the flashlight on and shone it in that direction. The light reflected from a pair of green and gold eyes, dressed in black.
He swallowed hard and tried to stand perfectly still, the light still draped over the unexpected figure. It was some kind of jungle cat, black and large. Its honed muscles rippled as it sauntered out from between two cars, its gaze locked on him. He could feel the eyes trying to pierce him, paralyze him where he stood. A low growl vibrated in the air. Sam slowly started to worm his hand toward the gun tucked in the small of his back.
He frowned as the angle of light revealed a spotted pattern beneath the black fur. This was a jaguar. Didn't he hear something about someone having seen one in the city? He'd thought they tended to shun human inhabited areas. What the heck was it doing here?
The beast carefully drew closer.
Then for no reason Sam could discern, the cat tilted its head sideways and all the antagonism seemed suddenly to go out of its stance.
Next thing he knew, the jaguar was in front of him, butting him at the hip gently with its head. He stumbled backwards at the almost two hundred pound caress. Sam retrieved his hand from his back, leaving the gun in place. Slowly, trying hard not to do anything sudden, he reached forward to let the jaguar sniff his hand. The large cat licked it with its rough tongue. With growing wonder, Sam then moved his hand to scratch it behind the ears. It rubbed its head against him in earnest.
Wondering what the heck he was going to do with this cat now that he had it, he noticed there was something tied around its neck. With a tightness in his chest, he recognized it as the weird demon head pendant his brother always wore. The blood drained from his face. "Dean, my god, is that you?"
The jaguar butted its head against him again.
The hand with the flashlight drooped and its rays fell on the cat's flank. The light glinted off a trickle of blood running down the jaguar's leg. "You're hurt?"
Not quite believing what he was doing, Sam knelt. His heart slammed in his chest, as he hoped that this thing that might be his brother, wouldn't decide he'd make a nice snack. He tried to look at the wound but didn't feel confident enough to try and touch it. "How about we go inside? I can try to treat your leg there? Heck, you probably don't even understand me, do you, Dean?"
The jaguar dragged its tongue over his cheek, scraping it like sandpaper, then butted him with its head again, pitching him back on his bum.
"Okay, okay. We'll go inside." Scrambling to his feet as the bunting got a little more insistent, Sam staggered back to the motel room door. With not quite steady hands, he put the key in the lock and opened it.
The jaguar slipped inside and Sam followed, but not before he sent a nervous glance about the parking lot trying to spot if anyone else had seen any part of this weird drama. He closed the door and put his back against it, not entirely sure what he should do next.
The jaguar limped to Dean's bed and jumped up on it as if it owned the place. Sam supposed that at the moment, it did.
With a yawn that showed rows of wickedly sharp teeth, the jaguar splayed itself out over the bed and licked at its wound before staring in Sam's direction as if waiting to see what he would do next. Its large tail thumped rhythmically against the bed as if marking time.
Moistening dry lips, Sam forced himself away from the door and toward the bed.
The jaguar laid its head down and closed its eyes.
In a sudden flash of inspiration, Sam pulled out his cell phone and took a picture. No way was he going to believe this later without proof. He was finding it difficult to keep his breathing steady, let alone believe what he was seeing, and it was right there in front of him. Could this thing from the wild truly be his brother? It shouldn't be possible. Yet every instinct in him insisted this was Dean. He'd changed into something else, just like Madison. And that had been a very very bad thing. If this was anything like lycanthropy, what the hell was he going to do about it? And would he have a choice?