Chapter Four

Sam sighed as he opened the door to the motel. His head was pounding. It had started back at the abandoned house, but it hadn't really bothered him until they got to the bar. Now it almost felt like a migraine.

He dug through the duffel bag that sat on a chair in the corner and grabbed the bottle of Tylenol. Dry swallowing two pills, Sam plopped onto his bed and closed his eyes. It didn't take long before he drifted off to sleep.

He was woken by the sound of his cell going off. Drowsily he fished it out of his pocket. All signs of sleep left him when he glanced at the caller ID.

"Hey, Ellen," Sam said a little apprehensively into the receiver. He had a feeling he knew what this call was about, and he wasn't looking forward to the older woman's tirade.

"Hey, Sam, how ya doin?"

"I'm great, Ellen. What's up?"

"Don't suppose you've seen my girl around?"

Sam hesitated. He didn't want to get in the middle of their fight. Jo was going back as soon as her car was fixed. He could just tell Ellen…

"Don't you dare lie to me, boy," Ellen threatened. She obviously knew what Sam's hesitation meant.

"Yeah, she's here with us. We found her on a hunt earlier today," Sam admitted with a sigh.

"Is she alright?" Sam was surprised to hear how scared the usually stoic woman suddenly sounded.

"Yeah, she's fine, don't worry. She's got a little car trouble, but she said she'll go home as soon as that's sorted out."

Ellen's sigh of relief was audible through the phone. "Thank god. Can you do me a favor and make sure she gets back here safe? I really messed up this time, and I've got to set things straight."

"Of course."

"Thanks, Sam. Take care of yourself and your brother."

"You too," Sam hung up and closed his eyes. His head was still pounding as badly as it had been last night.

He was thinking about going back to sleep when he glanced over at the bedside clock. It lazily blinked 7:18 He hadn't realized he had slept that long.

Sitting up, he tiredly grabbed a change of clothes and went to the bathroom. After a quick shower, he walked back into the room, toweling his hair dry. Looking around the room for the bottle of Tylenol, he noticed that the other bed was still made. Dean had never returned from the bar.

Frowning, Sam walked over to his phone. There were no messages from his brother, which was odd, since Dean almost always made sure Sam knew where he was. Even if he was with a girl, he usually sent a text letting him know he wouldn't be back that night. It was a precaution born of their dangerous lifestyle.

He tried calling his brother's number. There was no answer. A knot of dread starting to form in Sam's stomach, he dialed Jo's number. Again no answer. This wasn't boding well.

Sam left the room and walked a few doors down to the room Jo had rented. He pounded on the door several times, calling her name, but no one came to the door. This wasn't boding well at all.

Sam rushed over to the Impala, hoping they were still at the bar but doubting they were. He cursed when he dropped the keys. He hadn't realized his hands were shaking.

As he bent to pick up the fallen item, he noticed an ominous shadow fall over him. Instinctively he tucked his head under and rolled to the side. A loud crash sounded moments later from where his head just was.

He rolled into a crouch and looked at his assailant. It was a big guy, easily 300 pounds, and all muscle. Noticing the broken glass scattered at his feet, Sam groaned inwardly. Dean's going to kill me.

Sam's focus shifted to the large man in front of him as the crowbar was swung at his head. He lost his balance as he scrambled backwards, and wasn't quite able to avoid the next assault. The metal bar nicked his shoulder, not hard enough to draw blood but definitely hard enough to leave a nasty bruise. Sam rolled forward as the brute took another swing. He caught the man by surprise as he ducked the bar and awkwardly tackled him to the ground. He wrestled with him for a moment, trying to get the bar from the man, but it was no use. The guy was hell of a lot stronger than he looked, which was saying something. Sam was tossed backwards, flying through the air until his back and head collided with the side of the Impala. The air rushed out of the hunter at the impact, his headache intensifying tenfold.

Sam sat there dazed for a moment as the other man lumbered to his feet. When the brute had finally stood up, he looked at Sam and smiled menacingly, lofting the crowbar up.

"Christo!" Sam yelled quickly, hoping to figure out if this guy was possessed our not. When the man remained unaffected and continued moving towards him, Sam yanked his gun out from the band of his jeans. He hated shooting civilians, even stupid asshats like this one, but he didn't see much other choice. The guy was physically stronger than him, and he had a weapon.

Sam took careful aim, then pulled the trigger just as the man brought the bar back for another blow. The bullet flew true. The guy toppled over, dropping the crowbar and gripping his injured leg as he howled in pain. The man might be an asshat, but that didn't mean he deserved to die.

Quickly, Sam grabbed the crowbar and swung it at the injured man's head, knocking him out. He shouldn't be able to cause any more trouble.

Sam was just about to get into the Impala when he heard a noise behind him. Cursing, he spun around, gun ready, and found himself face to face with an elderly maid. She looked terrified, her eyes wide and her shoulders trembling, tears streaming down her pale face.

Putting the gun away, he held up his hands in a non-threatening gesture. He knew he needed to go and find Dean and Jo, but he couldn't just leave her like this.

"Hey, it's ok, I'm not going to hurt you," Sam said gently as he slowly walked towards her. She backed away a little, so Sam stopped his advance.

"You, you hurt him," the woman whimpered.

"It was self-defense. He attacked me," Sam defended.

"You hurt him," the woman repeated. Sam suddenly noticed she had a cell phone in her shaking hand. She was calling the police. That was the last thing he needed.

"He'll be ok, look, I'm not robbing him, there's no need to call the cops," Sam desperately tried to reason with her. The woman backed away from him faster, starting to dial a number.

Shit. Not wanting to get caught by the cops, Sam quickly ran back into the room he and Dean shared, threw their meager belongings into bags, and then ran back out to the parking lot. Tossing the bags into the trunk, Sam dove into the driver's seat and revved up the engine, tires squealing as he wheeled out of the parking lot. After the ordeal with the shape shifter in St. Louis, Dean was a wanted felon; having the cops finding his belongings at the scene of an apparent mugging was not ideal. That woman probably had told the police a description of him. He needed to find his brother and get the hell out of Dodge before the law caught up with them.