FOUR

"So, personal effects," the officer said, tossing a plastic bag across the wooden table. "The young lady here claims her Paul had a gun, shooting wildly at some animal in the room. Is this the gun?" he asked, tapping the plastic bag.

Rosalea looked at it.

"No. I told you, it had white on it."

"It's nickel," Sam interrupted. "He carries a gun – he has a license for it," he added quickly. "It's a Colt 1911 semi-automatic, nickel-plated."

The officer – Mason – just looked at him.

"And could you confirm the nature of your involvement with Mr Rodgers?" he asked mildly.

"We're…" Sam sighed, torn. "We're brothers."

Mason snorted with amusement. "Brothers? Really? Is that how you two look so alike?" he added sarcastically. Sam didn't trust himself to answer, it seemed, biting his tongue and looking at the gun rather than him. "I'd like to believe you, I really would. Only, you were with him in the motel room for barely an hour before you left. And then once you were gone, he went down to reception and made repeated use of the young lady here–"

"You obnoxious bastard!" Rosalea spat at him. He sat back, folding his arms and smiling slightly.

"Awww… You really like him, don't you, miss? And what about you, Mr Kirke? Do you like him too? Enough to come back, find out he was… enjoying someone else's affections, shall we say, and then took him out to the road? Scraped him up like some animal attack, then shot him?"

"Shot him?" Sam interrupted. "I thought that man died from his injuries?"

"He was shot, Mr Kirke, at point blank range, through the heart. We're identifying the bullet now. If it matches this Taurus handgun we found in the glovebox of Mr Rodgers' car, or the other weapon found at the scene, then we have to assume our missing Mr Rodgers killed that man out there."

"What? You went through his car?" Sam gasped in alarm.

"We took the liberty of checking inside for more weapons," he said.

"So… you found this gun?" Sam asked mildly, his eyes flicking to the weapon in the plastic bag.

"We did, Mr Kirke. Quite a nifty little Taurus, as I said. It's been processed, now we're just waiting to see who fired it last."

"Wow, you guys are a regular CSI outfit," Rosalea said sarcastically. "Are we done now? Can we go? Seeing as you have nothing to pin on us at the moment."

"At the moment," Mason nodded. "At the moment. But don't leave town. And if this mysterious Mr Rodgers should appear, or try to contact you, I'd expect you to tell me," he said with a polite smile.

"If he appears…" Rosalea closed her eyes, letting her head drop slightly. Sam put a hand out on hers, and she smiled at him. "I'll be very happy to see him," she allowed.

"I'd pay to see that," Mason said to himself, and Rosalea looked back at him.

"You'd pay to see a monkey scratch its ass," she pointed out maliciously, then got up. "Come on Simon, let's go."

She pulled Sam out behind her, and they walked out of the station quickly. They walked down the steps and Sam pulled her to a stop, looking out over the street and the park beyond. He sighed and she turned to look at him.

"What?" she asked quietly. "At least he's alive somewhere."

"He could be anywhere, Rosalea. Anywhere. And… why hasn't he tried to call me?" He looked at her, then away again. "This is my fault. We argued and I took off for the weekend – and the next thing I know, he's missing and people think he's dead."

"Yeah," she said suddenly, pinning him with an accusing look. "Who was that man in the morgue?"

"I have no idea," he sighed. "But my heart nearly stopped when I saw him," he admitted. She smiled slightly.

"Right. Well we need to regroup and come up with a plan to find him," she said, pulling on his arm this time, leading him across the road. They entered the park and found a bench, sitting down slowly. "Ooh look – hot dogs," she said brightly, bouncing up again and walking over to the vendor.

Sam sighed, sat forwards, and rubbed his hands over his eyes. He looked around the park, watching the people go about their business. He spotted a family, sitting on a bench. A father and a mother, trying to hold onto two small boys. Sam watched, fascinated, as the younger boy poked at his brother's side. He squirmed and nearly dropped his hot dog, then turned on the younger boy. But instead of starting a fight, he simply poked his tongue out at him. The younger one giggled and then they both laughed, sitting down together and sharing the ketchup between them.

Sam smiled uneasily, then looked away to stop himself from comparing himself to them too much. He heard the breeze rustle the bushes behind him and looked up as Rosalea came back. She sat next to him and handed him a hot dog.

"No, I'm good," he managed.

"No you're not. Eat it," she commanded. "Come on Sammy, you didn't get to be this tall by avoiding hot dogs," she smiled.

He looked at her sharply. "It's Sam," he said quietly. "No-one's allowed to call me Sammy."

"Oh. Sorry," she shrugged. "Anyway, look, eat it before it gets cold."

He took it and bit into it slowly. She sat back, eating hers, and it was quiet for some minutes. They watched the park, the bushes rustling gently behind them occasionally. She finished her hot dog and looked at him.

"Oh look, you've got it down your shirt," she tutted. "Honestly. How old are you meant to be?" she teased, taking one of her tissues and wiping his front.

"Sorry. There was too much ketchup," he said, his mind automatically flashing back to the two small boys and their hot dogs.

"You can never have too much ketchup," she grinned.

"Now you sound like my brother," he allowed.

"It wasn't too much, it was just… ample," she continued, amused.

"There's only one time I like the word 'ample', and that's when it's followed by the word 'cleavage'," said a gruff voice from behind them. They paused, hearing a sniff. "Or… 'opportunity', especially when you're in a bar," it added.

Sam's eyes widened and he stared at Rosalea.

"Dean?" he dared.

"Well it ain't a talking bush, Sammy," he replied irritably.

"What are you doing in a bush?" he demanded, turning to look at the shrubbery behind the bench.

"Trying not to be spotted by the Doughnut Department across the street," he hissed, and Sam turned away again abruptly.

"Well… are you alright?" he ventured. "We've just been ID-ing your corpse, man. Except it wasn't you."

"I noticed. That poor dude got in the way. He was all raked up before I could stop it. He was seriously cut up, howling in pain, the works – had to shoot him," he allowed.

Rosalea leaned against the backrest of the bench, clearing her throat.

"Dean?" she asked quietly.

"Hey Rosalea," he replied, sounding pleased, and the bush rustled.

"Yeah. Question," she said.

"Shoot."

"Are um… Well most of your clothes are still in the sealed-off crime scene," she pointed out. "Are you naked in that bush?"

"You wish," he said, a grin in his voice, and Sam's eyes rolled, he couldn't help them. "Although I am freezing my ass off out here. Sam, we need fresh supplies from the car, man. And we need to find that animal thing before it rakes anyone else into small pieces."

"What are you talking about?" Rosalea interrupted. "You're wanted for credit card fraud and now they think you killed that guy they found on the road, Dean – Dean – I-don't-know-your-surname!" she protested.

"Well I did commit credit card fraud, and I did shoot the guy dead, so yeah, I suppose I'm pretty screwed," he admitted, but he sounded far from upset about it. "Don't worry about it, Rosalea Euphagenia Crow," he added cheekily, and she gasped and turned in the seat.

"You said you'd never tell anyone my middle name!" she hissed at the greenery.

"Do me a favour, don't talk to the bushes," Dean said quickly, and she turned back to look at Sam. "Anyway, Sammy? Get the Impala – we need a safe place to meet up so I don't get arrested. There was a gym building a while back, we'll go there. Rosalea, we need food."

"You cheeky shit," she scoffed indignantly, "we're going to need more than just food."

Sam drove the Impala out of the car park, Rosalea sitting in the passenger seat. She looked the inside over slowly.

"I love these old cars," she smiled, sliding a hand over the window block.

"You're not the only one," Sam muttered. She leaned forward and opened the glovebox, pulling out small items.

"Oh my god, are these tapes?" she asked, reading the spines.

"Do you see a CD player in here anywhere?" he replied with a smile. "He loves his tapes."

"Ooh, Motorhead," she muttered, fishing some more. "Lynyrd Skynyrd? Bet he's got some great classic stuff in here," she added enthusiastically, rifling through the tapes. Sam sighed, shaking his head in incredulity. "Screaming Trees? AC/DC and… AC/DC and… AC/DC… Kansas? Bad Company? Pity he doesn't have any Metallica," she added.

"He does, he plays it all – oh. We ah… kinda lost that tape," he admitted quietly. She smiled at him.

"You mean it snapped? These old chromium oxide things'll do that," she said fondly. Sam looked at her, then back at the road.

"So look, Rosalea… You don't have to come along, you know. I can sort out my brother. You can go back to work," he offered.

"What? Leave him out there with just his boots?" she scoffed. "Hardly. I kinda feel responsible, I mean… you two did stay in my motel room. And I did kinda make a mess of things between you two."

"How's that?" he asked, confused.

"Well… You two were in a bad mood before you even walked in. Then I think me being there just made things worse," she said quietly.

"Really, Rosalea, don't worry about it. We already trying not to kill each other before we stopped at 'your' motel," he smiled. "It's just… We're on the road together, all the time, and sometimes you just want to smack the guy upside the head, you know? For all those stupid little things he does that wind you up. We were just at one of those places where we were bad company for anyone, let alone someone already wound up."

"I know," she nodded. "This is why I haven't seen my sister in three years."

Sam frowned, watching the road. "Three years?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I think about calling her, just to say hi, but… If I called, she wouldn't pick up the phone." She looked out of the window suddenly, and Sam sighed.

"You know… Me and my brother were like that once," he said lightly. "Maybe later you could call her and just say hi, like… no strings. Then one day maybe she'll call you back, just to say hi," he offered.

"Yeah. Maybe," she said faintly.

"Here we are," Sam said, slowing the Impala and pulling to the kerb. He looked up and down the street, making sure no other cars appeared to be following them. He waited for a gap in the traffic, then U-turned across two lanes, pulling into the sports ground's car park.

"Why here?" she asked.

"Cos its full of people," he shrugged. He brought the car to a stop and got out, waiting for her to do the same.

They walked in through the front doors, following the signs to the changing rooms. Rosalea moved to follow Sam, but he stopped.

"Ah… it's the men's?" he pointed out, gesturing to the sign.

"Yeah right. Like I've never seen the inside of a gym locker before," she snorted, walking on past him.