Chapter four

Sleep eluded him. Sam got up and again looked his brother over. Dean still seemed restful, and there was still no spike in his slight fever. He dug out a pair of flannel pants and a fresh shirt, and he wrestled off the sticky, bloody jeans and damp shirt in exchange for the clean, dry things. Dean didn't wake, but he seemed a bit more comfortable. Sam ran some hot water in the sink, sprinkled on some beef tenderizer powder and got the jeans soaking. He was, by now, an expert at getting bloodstains out. He sat in silence, waiting for Bobby to come.

Bobby. Thank god for him. Sam's world was so hard, and so far removed from what he had planned and envisioned for himself. He would have found it nearly impossible to navigate these times, when the roles were reversed and it was he who was responsible for Dean's welfare, without the help and support of their old family ally. He'd learned early on not to rely on Dad. But Dean was always there; defending, providing...supporting. Sam had ultimately escaped to school just to shrug off what felt to him like a suffocating mantle of control, but he was realizing daily now that it wasn't about control, it was about protection. And it was these times, when it was Dean who needed his protection rather than the other way around, that he felt his most vulnerable, and his most useless. But Bobby always found a way to fill the gaps.

He wished he had asked Bobby to pick up some things he could heat up for Dean. The current incarnation of 'home-sweet-home' had no cooking facilities, but it did have a kettle. He could make cuppa-soup, or broth, or tea, at least.

God he hated all of this. Their lives at this time were so hardscrabble and violent, sordid, even. It was everything from his youth that he'd fled. And nobody ever appreciated their efforts. They were ridding the world, one-by-one, of the filth that threatened it, and all they ever got in return was hardship and pain. Especially Dean. He walked into his own tragedies with his eyes wide open, but lately, fate seemed to throw even more at him, as if testing to see just what he could bear. It wasn't fair. Sometimes he wished he had more of Dean's single-minded conviction that what they were doing was always right. It sure as hell would help.

An eternity later, Sam heard a rumble in front of the motel room. He peeked through the drawn curtains and was relieved to see that it was Bobby. He opened the door just as the older man was poised to knock.

"Hey, Sam." Bobby greeted.

Sam's eyes radiated his relief. "Thanks for coming, Bobby."

Bobby patted his shoulder and entered, dropping a bulging paper grocery bag on the counter. It was loaded with kettle-friendly food items. Sam glanced at it, and was nearly overwhelmed with the intensity of his appreciation. Bobby, as always, understood.

"He asleep?" Bobby asked quietly, gesturing toward the occupied bed.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Just a little hot, nothing scary so far. And he's been with-it, when he's awake."

"Good." Bobby pulled a chair over and leaned over Dean's bed. He touched his forehead, whispered something, and pulled back the covers to check the damage. When he was satisfied that the wounds seemed pink and healthy enough, he tucked the blankets back and turned his attention to Sam. "Ok. For starters; did you have any supper?"

Sam shook his head.

Bobby proceeded to unwrap some subs that he'd picked up. Sam accepted one gratefully; he was starving. He and Bobby sat, eating in silence, and sharing a six pack. The food and alcohol did a world of good for Sam's frayed nerves. When they were filled, the discussion turned to damage control.

"I have a Ranger on the truck for you. Not too bad; it's sound, not overly rusty so it won't draw any attention. It won't out-run anything, though; so you can't drive as if you were in the Impala."

Sam nodded. "Anything, thanks. I really appreciate it."

"I'll get out to the car in a bit; cross yer fingers that it's there still. If it's safe we can load her up, and get the stuff you stashed in the straw. The sooner the better."

Sam agreed. He wanted the Impala to be safe for Dean's sake. If it was discovered by the law and impounded, they might as well consider it written off, and he knew the effect that would have on his brother.

"Sam, what are you gonna do now? Where are you headed?" Bobby asked.

"Guess we'll stick around here for a few days 'til Dean can travel; then just hit the road until we have some decent mileage between us and this place. I still can't figure out why this happened, Bobby; none of it's logical. But we don't have the luxury of hanging around trying to figure it out…we just need to get the hell away."

"Amen. Just keep moving for a day or two until the heat's behind you. Then you can hole up somewhere and get strong again. But wait for a day or two before he moves, ok? You and I both know how he is, and we'll just have to save him from himself while he's to weak to bitch. When he can get up by himself you should hit the road."

Sam nodded his agreement. "Yeah, that's about what I had in mind."

When they were done they got ready to retrieve the car. Sam felt very uncomfortable with leaving Dean behind, but there was no way around it. Bobby dropped the loaner truck from the tow-bed while he checked on Dean. He was hoping to find him awake, but Dean was still out of it. He shook him gently.

"Dean? Dean, can you hear me?"

Dean grimaced and turned his head away from the annoyance, but Sam persisted. When he was sure Dean was cognizant he got him more water and told him their plans.

"My car? Bobby's taking it?"

"Yeah, Dean, for safe-keeping. It's too well known right now; all the cops will be looking for it. Bobby brought a truck for us to use for a while; I'm going with him to load the Impala, ok? We'll be back in an hour, are you ok for that time?"

Dean nodded and closed his eyes. "Yeah. But watch-out, Sammy; just be careful."

Sam smiled a little. "I promise."

The two men left the motel room, Sam making sure the door was locked.

Officer Laura Brennen watched them leave. She was pleased, she didn't want the complication of the brother. If she had to take him too it could end up a circus, and she'd be forced to bring her quarry in officially, which was the last thing she wanted. She had no real quarrel with the younger one; for all she knew he may not even know what the other had done. She'd waited patiently for hours, after Daddy had said that this was where they would be hiding. Now, finally, she was rewarded by his departure, and her quarry was alone. Now, at last, she knew she had him.

And Daddy was never wrong.

Ever since she prayed, and her Dad had been miraculously returned to her; she listened to his wise and knowing words. Sometimes it was just words spoken softly in her head, soothing, instructing. And sometimes he was right there beside her, just as she remembered. His tufts of grey hair, charming and unruly. His twinkling eyes. His warm smile. Oh, how she'd missed him... She didn't know how it was possible, but she didn't care. She knew that it was real. And together they were going to make Karin's killer pay. Officer Brennen drove out from behind her screen of trees into the parking lot. She took a deep breath to centre herself, then got out, drawing her gun, and holding a pry bar in her other hand. She glanced around to assure herself that there was no one watching, and then tested the knob. It was locked, as she expected it would be. She slid the flat edge of the pry bar between the door and the jamb, and forced it up. The wooden edge splintered and door popped open easily, the lock old, and cheap.

Dean was almost asleep again. When she saw him, she very nearly succumbed to her hatred. She pointed her gun at his head, her finger easing down on the trigger, and only Daddy's soothing whisper kept her from killing him in his bed. He reminded her that she had more satisfying plans laid.

Her voice woke him. He groaned at the disturbance again and turned toward it's source, expecting Sam. But his bleary eyes registered a uniform and a gun instead.. It took a few seconds for that to sink in, he was hardly in top form. But when it did, he sat up in startled shock, and swore at the painful motion, and then again at the unwelcome reality standing in front of him.

"Dean Winchester." She didn't say it as a question, but rather as a satisfied statement. She stepped forward and stood over him, her shining gun unwavering in her hand.

He stared at her for a moment, frozen in position, fighting the creeping blackness at the periphery of his vision. Then he dropped back against his pillow, throwing an arm across his eyes with a groan of defeat. He was alone and defenseless, and somehow, impossibly, miserably; it was her. The trigger-happy cop from the gas station.

"Get up!" she snarled.

"I can't." he growled back, "Thanks to you-"

She kicked his bed for emphasis and hissed; "I'm not asking!"

Dean glared at her, but he pushed himself upright again, slowly sitting up and gingerly dropping his feet over the bedside. He sat still, breathing heavily, and holding his side. Pain made him angry and reckless. "Great, it's Officer Annie Oakley. Why'd you pull the trigger so damned fast back there? Did you miss that lecture at the academy? You know, I might have wanted to surrender if you gave me half a chance, you bitch!" he spat. He was hurting, and saw no need to temper his anger; she had him anyway.

"Shut up!" she barked. "Stand up, over there by the wall."

He knew he probably could, if he had to, but she didn't have to know it. He made his motions deliberately slow, stalling in the hope that Sam would return.

She saw through it. "Do you think I'm stupid? Move! And keep your filthy hands up!" She gestured at him impatiently with the pistol.

He swore bitterly and stood up, too abruptly for either of their comfort. He wobbled, but she stepped back slightly and tensed; her aim wavering momentarily. It wasn't lost on him, and desperate and doomed, he made a wild attempt to grab her weapon. But he was too slow, too weak; his timing hopelessly off. She dodged him easily and brought the butt of the gun down hard against his temple, and he dropped like a stone.

She shouted at him again, and kicked his unresisting body sharply. He didn't react, and she was satisfied that he wasn't faking. It simplified the rest. He was a dead weight, hard to move, but at least he wasn't a threat any more. She handcuffed his wrists together behind his back and dragged his limp weight out the door, and hauled him with difficulty into the back of the squad car. Back in the driver's seat, she turned around, and watched him with palpable hatred. He was still; ashen, and helpless. She realized that she was nearly hyperventilating, and she worked to calm down. This was it, the moment she'd craved for so long, ever since that awful day.. She had him now, in her grasp. He'd held Karin for six torturous days. She would return that favour. She closed her eyes for a moment, relishing her triumph.

Daddy whispered his approval, and she smiled broadly.