Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just playing with them for a while.
Summary: While investigating the mysterious disappearances of several hikers, Sam and Dean are caught up in a town's dark secret that will leave them both struggling to survive. Set mid-season 2.
A/N: Well, after writing and re-writing this chapter multiple times, I finally decided to just accept it for what it is and post it. Hopefully it will not disappoint. All you h/c fans out there…this chapter is for you.
Thanks again to TicTak and Guest for your anonymous reviews. I greatly appreciate the support!
Chapter 7
"Sammy!"
Dean's cry was swallowed by the howling winds and driving rain of the storm. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to help calm him, he scooted closer to his brother's still form. His fingers were shaking slightly as he placed them against the side of Sam's neck, searching for a pulse. He breathed out a small sigh of relief as he found one, but quickly frowned when he realized the beat against his fingertips was far too fast and erratic.
Grinding his teeth, he felt a wave of anger at himself for not taking the time to find out exactly how serious his brother's injuries really were. Obviously Sam had pushed himself beyond the limits of his endurance, and Dean couldn't help but feel guilty that he had leaned so heavily on him. It was his job to take care of Sam, not the other way around.
"Sam?" he leaned close to his brother's face, his fingers tapping gently against Sam's cheek. He was somewhat surprised to find his brother's skin was warm to the touch despite the cool rain that had completely drenched them both. Frowning, Dean lay the back of his hand across Sam's forehead, confirming his suspicion that his brother was running a fever. He called Sam's name a few more times…went so far as to give his brother's shoulders a firm shake…but Sam showed no sign of waking.
Wiping rain from his face, Dean pushed aside his growing apprehension and forced his mind to focus on the problem at hand. He needed to figure out the extent of Sam's injuries, but the inky darkness and steady rain would make the task a difficult one. He glanced around him, searching the darkness for a thick clump of brush or an especially leafy tree that might offer them at least a modicum of shelter.
A bright flash of lightning revealed the steep outline of a tall ridge off to his right. In the brief blaze of light, Dean saw a jagged rock outcropping protruding from the hillside near the base of the ridge. It wasn't much, but the position of the ridge would protect them from the wind while the jutting rock might provide at least some form of cover from the pouring rain. Of course, getting Sam over to the ridge would be no easy feat. Carrying his brother was out of the question, which meant he would have to drag him, and hope that by doing so he would not be aggravating any unseen wounds.
Taking a deep breath to help gather what little strength remained him, he looped his wrists beneath Sam's armpits and forced himself to his feet, dragging Sam's upper body up with him. His brother's head fell limply backwards, knocking against Dean's bandaged torso, causing Dean to grunt at the sudden flare of pain. The position he held Sam did not enable him to straighten fully, and he had to breathe deeply through his nose as he fought to ignore the sharp fingers of fire piercing through his abdomen. He couldn't stop the wave of trembling that swept through him, the combination of pain and cold making his limbs feel like jelly, and for a brief moment he wondered if he would be able to do this…to drag Sam's deadweight the twenty or so yards to the rocky outcropping.
"Get it together, Winchester." Dean growled to himself, closing his eyes and steeling his resolve. Sam had come and rescued him when Dean had all but given up hope, and now that it was his turn to help his brother there was no way in hell he was going to give up before he had even started.
Using his memory and the occasional flash of lightening to guide him, he slowly made his way toward the ridge, shuffling awkwardly backward and dragging Sam behind him while he tried not to trip over any rocks or roots. If he went down, he was not at all certain he would be able to get back up again.
As he drew closer to the rocky outcropping, another flare of lightening revealed a small alcove nestled back underneath the protruding rock. The alcove was narrow, but deep, and Dean marveled at their good fortune even as he carefully maneuvered Sam's limp form back into the small enclosure. In his bent over position he barely fit, his back brushing against the stone ceiling above him, but the sudden absence of rain and wind made the tiny nook seem warm and inviting.
He dragged Sam to the very back of the alcove, lowering him as gently as possible to the rocky ground before collapsing to his knees beside him, his hands clasped loosely across his belly as he fought to catch his breath. Rain water ran in steady rivulets down his face from his hair, and his clothes were soaked through and plastered against his body, adding to the bone deep chill that had settled over him. His earlier trembling had progressed to violent shudders that racked his whole frame, the deep tremors only adding to his pain and fatigue, and he found his mind wandering the edges of consciousness. He wanted nothing more than to lay his head down on the rocky ground and drift into oblivion, and only the sure knowledge that his brother needed him kept him from giving in and letting the darkness claim him.
Taking a few moments to steady himself, Dean finally straightened from his hunched position and turned back to his brother. He reached out to check Sam's pulse once more, groping in the darkness until he found the artery in his brother's neck, relieved to find that Sam's heart was no longer racing at such a frantic pace. His brother's skin also seemed slightly less hot, and Dean suspected the cold rain was helping to lower his fever. As good as that seemed on the surface, Dean worried that the chill might put his brother into shock
Blinking in the near total darkness, he began gently patting down Sam's form in search of the flashlight his brother had mentioned having earlier. Sam's pockets were bulging with a mishmash of items, and it took him a few seconds of searching before he was finally able to locate the flashlight. Pulling it free, he quickly flipped it on, feeling an immediate sense of relief as the darkness was replaced by a soft golden light that filled the tiny confines of their shelter with a warm glow. He felt a momentary flash of apprehension that the light might reveal their position to any pursuers, but in the end his need outweighed any potential risk. He couldn't take care of Sam if he couldn't see.
Standing the flashlight upright on a flat patch of ground near Sam's head, Dean did a quick scan of the items he had pulled from his brother's pockets, taking special note of the first aid kit, half-crushed water bottle, and two pocket knives. Without thought he reached out and grabbed one of the knives, stuffing it down into the inside edge of his boot before replacing the second knife in Sam's pant pocket.
His eyes traveled up his brother's lanky form…searching for any obvious signs of injury…before coming to rest on his brother's face. Perhaps it was the lighting, but Sam's features looked far too pale, and Dean couldn't resist reaching out and slapping his brother's cheek lightly with his palm, calling Sam's name softly in the hope of some response. Just as before, however, his brother remained resolutely still and unmoving, and Dean finally gave up with a small sigh.
Moving his hands down to Sam's chest he unzipped his brother's sodden jacket, pushing it open to reveal the tattered remains of Sam's blue button up dress shirt. Knowing his fingers were far too numb with cold to deal with the buttons, Dean reached out and grabbed the sodden cloth of the shirt and gave a single, sharp yank, tearing the thin material easily and sending buttons scattering. Pushing the torn shirt aside, Dean winced as the myriad of scrapes and bruises covering his brother's torso were revealed. Running his hand lightly over the discolored flesh over Sam's left ribcage, he found himself wondering how his brother had come by such injuries. He was relieved to find no obvious signs of broken ribs, but knew the bruising had to have caused Sam significant discomfort, especially lugging Dean's heavy weight around.
Once he was satisfied that all the injuries to Sam's chest and ribs were superfluous, he began a more thorough search. He noticed dark stains on the right side of his brother's shirt and knew immediately it was blood. He began working Sam's right arm free of the jacket, pausing when his brother let out a breathless moan. He studied Sam's face for any sign his brother was coming around, but Sam remained frustratingly still, his eyes stubbornly closed.
Shaking his head, Dean finished pulling his brother's arm from the jacket, knowing immediately that he had found what he was looking for. The long sleeve of his brother's shirt was completely saturated in blood, as was the makeshift bandage his brother had tied around his upper arm. Narrowing his eyes, Dean began working to loosen the knot holding the bandage in place, noting the slow seepage of blood from beneath the cloth. He growled out a low curse as he gently pulled the bandage away, revealing the ugly wound digging deep into his brother's bicep. He could feel the heat radiating from the injury and didn't like the look of the red and swollen flesh on either side of the deep gash. With the pressure of the bandage removed, the slow seepage of blood was beginning to increase, and Dean knew he needed to move quickly to keep his brother from losing more blood than he already had.
Reaching for the first aid kit, Dean popped open the lid and impatiently ruffled through the contents, quickly pulling out the gauze pad and roll of medical tape. Pressing the gauze down firmly across the seeping gash, he quickly began wrapping the tape around his brother's arm, not bothering to pause this time when his brother moaned and instinctively tried to flinch away.
"Sorry, Sammy," he whispered, working as quickly as he could, his hands soon made slick with his brother's blood. "It looks like you've been leaking for a while, and we can't afford for you to lose much more juice." He kept his voice soft and calm, hoping that in some way it might make its way through to Sam's subconscious and offer some sort of comfort. "You need a lot more help than I can give you right now, but it's going to have to do until we can get you somewhere safe. Just hang in there for me, okay buddy?"
Sam groaned in response, his head beginning to toss restlessly from side to side. Dean hurriedly finished securing the gauze pad, then reached out and cupped the back of Sam's neck, his thumb leaving a bloody smear across his brother's jaw. "Easy there, kiddo," he murmured, watching as Sam's eyelashes began to flutter as he fought his way toward consciousness. "Just take it easy."
With a final moan Sam's lids slid open, revealing eyes clouded with pain and confusion. His gaze locked on Dean, and he blinked several times in an obvious attempt to collect his bearings. His throat worked as he swallowed hard. "I feel like crap," he finally grated out, his voice sounding raspy and hoarse.
Dean grinned down at him, feeling a deep sense of relief at having his brother awake once more. "You should see how you look," he replied cheekily in a shaky attempt at humor. He quickly laid a restraining hand on Sam's shoulder when his brother looked as though he was going to attempt to sit up. "Just lie still for a minute and catch your breath," he urged, quickly turning serious as he took in Sam's pale skin and fever bright eyes.
"What happened?" Sam asked blearily, rolling his head from side to side and peering at his surroundings in confusion.
"You passed out on me, dude," Dean replied simply, tightening his grip slightly on the back of Sam's neck before pulling his hand free.
"I did?" Sam asked, his face screwed up in a small frown as he fought to remember. His expression suddenly turned to one of concern as he ran a critical eye up and down Dean's hunched form. "Did I take you down with me?" he asked worriedly.
"Had a face to face meeting with the ground," Dean confirmed lightly, subconsciously trying to straighten under his brother's scrutiny. The small movement sent a spike of pain through his midsection, causing his breath to catch in his throat. While taking care of Sam he had been able to focus on something besides his own pain, but now it rose up with an intensity that stole his breath and drained his face of all color.
Sam winced, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh. "I'm sorry, man."
Dean frowned, tightening his grip on Sam's shoulder, relieved when his brother immediately reopened his eyes and looked at him. "Don't do that," he muttered worriedly. "And don't you dare apologize to me for passing out, either. If anything, I'm the one who should be sorry. If you hadn't been half carrying my sorry ass, you probably never would have collapsed in the first place."
Sam shook his head, the lines between his brows drawing together in a frown. "You were hurt, Dean…" he began defensively, but Dean cut him off.
"So were you," he stated firmly, "and I should have done my job and found exactly how bad."
Sam let out a tired sigh, shaking his head in resignation. "You know I'm a big boy now, Dean, right? It's not always your job to look out for me, you know. I can look after myself."
Dean merely raised one eyebrow, giving his brother's prone form a very pointed look. Sam let out a frustrated growl and began pushing himself upright, his features set in defiant determination.
Dean was half tempted to let his stubborn brother do it on his own…if only to prove a point…but Sam's low hiss of pain cause him to throw that plan out the window as he reached forward to brace his brother, easing him back into a sitting position against the rocks at the back of the small alcove. Once he was upright, Sam glanced down at the torn remains of his shirt, his eyebrows climbing in surprise. He craned his neck to one side to peer down at his bandaged arm, then cast Dean a quick, appreciative glance. "How long was I out?" he asked quietly, his former frustration replaced by weariness.
Dean shrugged. "About a half hour or so," he replied simply, twisting the cap off of the smashed water bottle and handing it to his brother. He took a couple of the aspirin packets from the first-aid kit, popping several into his mouth and dry-swallowing them before handing the remainder over to Sam.
Sam took the proffered pills with a tired nod of thanks, downing them with two small swallows from the bottle before trying to hand the water back to Dean. Dean shook his head and pressed the bottle back toward his brother.
"You need to drink more than that, Sam," he ordered firmly. "You've lost a lot of blood and your body needs the fluid. Not to mention you have a pretty good fever going right now. Drink the rest of it if you think your stomach can manage it."
Sam frowned. "What about you?" he asked, even as he obediently raised the bottle back up to his lips and took another, deeper swallow.
Dean shook his head, shifting until he was sitting next to his brother, his back against the rock wall, his shoulder brushing Sam's. "I think I just about drowned myself on rain water. I'm good for now."
Sam glanced about the small enclosure curiously. "How did you find this place, anyway?" he asked wonderingly, looking past Dean at the driving rain still pouring down right outside their rocky cubbyhole.
Dean shrugged, letting his head fall back against the rock, his right hand curling protectively across his belly. "Stumbled across it, really." He muttered. "Just dumb luck, I guess."
Sam grunted, taking another deep pull from the water bottle. "Well, I guess we're about due some luck," he answered simply. Dean didn't reply, but he could feel his brother's eyes on him, and he was not at all surprised when Sam spoke again, his voice filled with forced nonchalance. "So…how are you doing?"
Dean rolled his eyes in Sam's direction without moving his head. "I'm fine, Sam," he replied quietly, the lie coming easily.
Sam didn't look convinced. His eyes darted to the first-aid kit. "Maybe I should take a look at that cut…" he began.
Dean flung his arm out, stopping Sam as his brother began to lean forward to reach for the kit. "Leave it, Sam," he ordered sharply. "Trust me, there is nothing in that little bag that can help me."
Sam frowned, his face immediately taking on the expression he used when he was determined to get his way, his chin jutting forward slightly and his eyes narrowed. Dean groaned inwardly, knowing that his brother could put John Winchester to shame when it came to stubbornness. "Dean," Sam argued, his voice taking on the tone of someone attempting to reason with a particularly obstinate child, "you should really let me take a look at it…make sure you haven't pulled any stitches or anything."
Dean grunted, turning to face his brother full on for the first time. "No stitches, Sam" he stated simply, leveling his brother with his most firm look. "They burned the cut closed. The bandage is holding fine, and there is no reason to mess with it here, so drop it already."
Sam's startled look quickly turned to one of horror, his eyes darting down to Dean's torso, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "God, Dean…"
Dean sighed and turned away again, his flash of annoyance fading as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling even more drained, if that was possible. The last thing he needed was Sam worrying about him, when it was his brother slowly bleeding to death. He decided to steer the conversation in a different direction.
"So tell me what happened to you?" he asked curiously. "You look like you went one too many rounds with a grizzly bear."
Sam didn't answer right away, and Dean didn't need to look at him to know that his brother was debating whether or not he should allow the redirect. Finally Sam let out a small sigh, relaxing back against the stone at his back, and Dean felt some of his own tension draining away.
"After I met with the sheriff," Sam began simply, "he offered to take me out to show me a trail where one of the hikers disappeared. When we got there, he tried to kill me." Sam fiddled with the thin plastic of the water bottle, before tipping the container up and emptying the last of its contents in a single gulp. Lowering the empty bottle he added, "lucky for me, he wasn't that good of an aim and merely grazed me."
Dean sucked in a deep breath, his eyes closing as a wave of anger swept over him at the mental image his brother's words invoked. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to feel the Sheriff's thick neck between his hands. The truth that his brother could have very easily been killed while Dean was none the wiser left him feeling sick. He was just beginning to realize exactly how close this hunt had been to being the end for both of them.
And of course, they weren't out of the woods yet…both literally and figuratively.
"How did you escape," he asked as soon as he could trust his voice.
Sam glanced at him, obviously picking up on Dean's tension. His eyes looked tired, but one corner of his mouth turned up in a wry grin. "I jumped off the side of a mountain," he answered dryly.
Dean's eyes widened, his mouth falling open slightly. "You did what?!" he gasped.
Sam let out a short laugh. "Well, 'fell' might be a better choice of words than 'jumped'." He shrugged. "It seemed like the best option at the time, and it kept me from getting a bullet through this," he raised his hand and tapped the side of his head.
Dean recalled the scratches and bruises covering his brother's body, nodding slowly as things started to make sense. "You'd better tell me what happened," he ordered. "Start from the beginning…when you left me to go meet with the Sheriff. Don't leave anything out."
"Yes, sir," Sam grumbled.
Dean gave him a direct look, and with a small shake of his head, Sam began speaking, telling Dean everything that had happened to him from the moment they had separated at the hotel two mornings ago. Dean listened intently, staying quiet for the most part, inwardly wincing at the numerous near-escapes his brother was describing. When Sam finally finished his story with his accidental discovery of the camp and witnessing Dean's final fight in the arena, the rain was beginning to slacken slightly…the flashes of lightning and grumbling thunder moving off into the distance.
"So what about you?" Sam prodded when he had finished, turning to stare at Dean curiously in the dim light cast from the flashlight. "How did you wind up playing gladiator out at that camp?"
Dean let out a long sigh, rubbing one hand down across his face, feeling a flash of annoyance at the rough growth of stubble across his chin. "Ty got to me about the same time the sheriff got you," he admitted ruefully. He told Sam everything…about being knocked out, waking up in the back of Ty's truck at the camp, his escape attempt and subsequent recapture, and discovering the whereabouts of the missing hikers.
Sam listened to his story with growing incredulity on his face, and when Dean reached the part about Ty revealing his plans to force the prisoners to fight each other to the death for the entertainment of his clients, he broke in with an angry exclamation. "You have got to be kidding me!"
"Yeah, that was my reaction too," Dean replied, "but believe me, it's true."
Sam looked away, shaking his head as he attempted to process what Dean had told him. Dean could practically see the wheels turning in his brother's head as he pieced together the new information with the snippets of conversation he had overheard.
"So the poor bastards down by the river…" Sam finally asked, his voice low, his eyes shadowed.
"The losers from round one," Dean supplied quietly, his stomach clenching painfully.
Sam turned back to face him, his expression sickened. "So why did Ty go after you?"
Dean shrugged slightly, turning his gaze away from Sam to study the rain still falling outside the small enclosure. "Apparently one of his prisoners died on him right before the fights were supposed to go down and he needed a substitute. I was his lucky choice…" he cut off abruptly, suddenly finding he had no desire to go on.
He blinked, as once again his mind was filled with the image of Ben lying bleeding and dying in the middle of the arena, his eyes full of fear and desperation as he choked on his own blood. The image caused the pain in his stomach to double, and he had to swallow hard to fight down the sudden urge to throw up. He could sense Sam watching him, but he refused to meet his brother's eyes, afraid that Sam would read the guilt in his expression. He knew Sam was smart…it wouldn't take his brother long to realize what he had done…but Dean couldn't help but worry what Sam might think of him once he did. He dreaded the inevitable questions he knew would be coming.
He felt Sam shift beside him, the barely audible flow of breath as his brother let out a soft sigh. The silence stretched on for few heartbeats before Sam finally spoke. "So, what do we do now?"
It wasn't the question Dean had been expecting, and his eyes flew to Sam's face in startled surprise. Sam returned his gaze steadily, the gentle sympathy and understanding in his eyes causing a lump to rise in the back of Dean's throat. Swallowing hard, Dean quickly turned his gaze back out to the rain, fighting to gain control of his ragged emotions.
A few long moments passed before he felt steady enough to answer Sam's question. "I say we rest here a few more minutes, give this rain a chance to move on, and then get the hell out of here…put as much distance between ourselves and the camp as possible."
"You think they're looking for us yet?" Sam asked worriedly, running a hand through his wet hair and glancing out into the rainy night.
Dean shrugged. "Maybe. Hopefully this storm has slowed them down…helped cover our tracks. But you can be sure they will be out combing the woods looking for us as soon as it clears up. I'd prefer to be long gone before then." Dean thought of Rocky and unconsciously flexed his sore shoulder, remembering all too clearly the feel of the dog's teeth sinking into the flesh of his arm even as the animal's heavy weight had slammed him to the ground. He couldn't even imagine the type of damage Rocky could do to Sam's already injured body, but he had no intention of letting that happen.
"In that case, I say we get started now," Sam suggested, cautiously maneuvering his wounded arm back into the sleeve of his jacket and re-zipping it closed. "It's not like we aren't already soaked…a little more rain isn't going to make much difference."
Dean nodded slowly, but couldn't help his worried frown as he watched Sam's slow and painful movements. "Are you sure you're up for it?" he asked quietly.
Sam gave him a pointed look. "Not much choice, Dean," he answered dryly. "You said it yourself…we need to get out of here."
Dean nodded reluctantly, but reached out a hand and stopped Sam as his brother moved to rise. "I have no idea where we are, Sam," he admitted quietly, trying and failing to keep the deep worry he felt out of his voice. It was a simple statement, but he knew his brother would understand the weight behind it. Neither of them were in any condition to wander aimlessly through the wilderness.
Sam looked startled for a moment at Dean's confession, but then his features relaxed into a tired smile. "It's okay, Dean," he murmured softly, "I know which way we need to go."
Dean arched his brows in surprise. "You do?" he asked, taken off guard by his brother's calm statement.
Sam shrugged. "Sure. Do you see that?" He pointed a finger out into the wet night.
Dean looked in the direction his brother was indicating. All he could see was rain and darkness, and he was about to turn and tell his brother as much when a brief flash of red caught his eyes. Squinting through the rain he stared hard at the spot, wondering if he was imagining things. A moment later, however, the flash came again, and then a few seconds after that, again.
"What the hell…" he muttered, peering intently at the blinking red light.
"It's a cell phone tower," Sam explained wearily. "They put the flashing lights on the top to warn low flying aircraft that they're there. I noticed it a few minutes earlier."
"Okay…" Dean began, unsure where his brother was going with this.
"I saw the tower the other night when we drove into town," Sam explained, reaching out and gathering the various items Dean had taken from his pockets earlier and replacing them. "It was up on a hill overlooking Denton. All we have to do is head in the direction of that red light, and we should be able to find the town."
Dean stared at Sam in wonder. He was constantly amazed at how much his brother noticed things. Sam was constantly watching and observing everything that went on around him. This wasn't the first time his attention to such small details had gotten them out of a tricky situation, and Dean wasn't above giving credit where credit was due. "Way to go, geekboy," he praised, giving his brother his most impressed look.
Sam merely rolled his eyes in response. "So we get back to town…then what?" he asked.
Dean shrugged. "We find a place to lay low…take care of our injuries. We can figure out what to do about Ty and Rawly after we recover some of our strength."
"You know they will be looking for us, Dean" Sam replied slowly. "We have no idea who all is involved in this…who we can trust.
Dean nodded. "I know, which means we trust no one. Where did you leave the Impala?"
Sam winced. "At the Sheriff's office…they probably have it impounded by now."
Dean swore, though there was not much force behind it. He had already suspected as much. Sheriff Rawly would undoubtedly have the car under surveillance, which meant getting to the medical kit and weapons hidden in the trunk would be no easy task.
"Let's just worry about getting to town for now, alright," he suggested, grabbing the flashlight and biting his lip as he drew his legs beneath him and prepared himself for the painful task of crawling free of their small shelter .
Sam looked worried, but he gave Dean a tight nod, and together they crept from beneath the rock ledge and back out into the wet night. Once they were free, they wearily pushed themselves to their feet, Dean's hand reaching out to grasp his brother's good arm…partly to help steady Sam and partly to keep his own balance. He couldn't stop the groan that slipped past his gritted teeth as he straightened, and his eyes slid shut as he fought against the pulsing pain flaring across his abdomen. He felt Sam's hand close about his upper arm, offering silent support until Dean could finally regain control.
After a few moments of just breathing, Dean opened his eyes and regarded his brother. Sam was watching him concernedly, his chin tucked low and his shoulders bowed slightly against the rain. His face was still too pale, the bruises and scrapes marring his features standing out in sharp contrast in the dim light of the flashlight. There was an air of weary resignation to Sam's demeanor, and he looked utterly exhausted, his eyes blinking far too slowly, his lips parted slightly as he breathed in and out. His mouth was pulled into a taut line as he fought against his own pain, and his eyes lacked their normal sparkling luster. Dean had always been able to read his brother pretty well, and he could tell now that Sam was near the end of his rope.
Surprisingly, the sight of his brother looking so weak seemed to fuel Dean with new strength, and he found himself straightening slightly, pushing his pain to the back of his mind. He was determined to get Sam out of this mess, and he wasn't going to let anything keep him from accomplishing that. Reaching out he grabbed Sam's good shoulder with his hand, forcing his brother to look at him.
"Together, Sam," he growled fiercely, willing some of his strength into his brother through the contact. "We'll do this together, alright?"
Sam stared back at him, and after a moment his eyes seemed to lose some of their dullness. "Alright," he whispered back, his voice barely audible. "Together."
Ty stared down into the empty hole that should have housed his prisoner, ignoring the rain soaking through his clothes and dripping down his face. He was not a man given to fits of rage, but at the moment the control he had on his anger was tenuous at best. He wanted to hit something, anything, to help alleviate the growing sense of frustration and fury building within him.
He glanced up as Sheriff Rawly joined him beside the empty pit, the man's shoulder's hunched down beneath his jacket, the rain sluing off the brim of his hat. "The rain has helped put out the last of the fire," he reported without preamble. "We lost three tents, and another has pretty heavy damage."
Ty gave a tight nod, his gaze drifting to the shadowy tree line. "And our guests?"
Rawly shrugged. "Now that all the excitement is over, most of them are turning in. There are a few diehards still drinking at the pavilion, but I expect they'll throw in the towel pretty soon."
"And they know nothing of this?" Ty questioned warily, indicating the empty hole in the ground at his feet.
Rawly shook his head. "I've warned our men to keep it quiet, just like you ordered."
Ty breathed a silent sigh of relief, his hands tightening into fists at his side. "Make sure it stays that way," he growled, watching as a flashlight bobbed towards him from the edge of the trees. A moment later Jenson appeared through the rain, Rocky on a leash at his side, both man and dog looking thoroughly wet and miserable. Ty could tell from the look on Jenson's face that the report wasn't going to be good, but he waited for his old friend to speak anyway.
"Damn rain," Jenson muttered as he came to a stop in front of Ty and Rawly. "It's washed away any trail he might have left. Couldn't find any tracks, either.
Ty swore. He had already suspected this would be the case, but the news was still unwelcome. His chances of finding Dean before morning had just plummeted.
"You still think he had help breaking out?" Rawly asked, staring down into the empty pit as though it would hold the answer to his question.
Ty cast him a cold glare. "He was locked in a hole in the ground," he growled irritably. "There is no way he could have gotten out on his own."
Rawly flinched slightly at Ty's tone, his expression becoming defensive. "I know you think it was his brother, Ty, but I'm telling you, I don't think so. We left him injured and wandering the wilderness miles from here. It's impossible!"
Ty let out a small huff of laughter completely devoid of amusement. "If his brother is anything like he is, then impossible isn't the right word to describe it. The fire back at camp was no accident. It was set on purpose and meant to be a distraction. It was his brother alright, I'm sure of it."
Rawly looked as though he wanted to argue, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Ty turned away from him back to Jenson. "Gather together a group of the guys…do it discreetly…then start searching the woods. We know Dean at least is injured, and probably his brother as well. It should slow them down. They will likely be headed back in the direction of town, so focus the search in that direction." Jenson nodded and turned away, Rocky trotting obediently at his side.
Ty turned back to Rawly. "I want you and David to get back to town," he ordered tersely. "You'll be able to patrol the streets without attracting attention. If they make it back to town before we catch up to them, make sure they don't get far."
Rawly nodded. "I might let some of the townsfolk know we are looking for a couple of wanted men…give them the boy's descriptions."
Ty hesitated for moment before nodding slowly. It wasn't a bad idea. It meant that many more eyes on the lookout and there were minimal risks since Dean and his brother actually were wanted by the law.
"Do it," he ordered, "and make sure you post a guard on the clinic and on their car."
Rawly grunted his agreement and began to turn away, but Ty reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him short. "I don't think I need to remind you of the possible consequences if we fail to recapture them," he stated softly, his gaze intent.
Rawly gave a tight shake of his head. "We'll find them Ty," he promised before pulling his arm free and hurrying away.
Ty gave one last disgusted look at the empty pit before turning and heading back to camp. He would give his men until dawn to find Dean. If they hadn't brought him back by then, he would have no choice but to cancel the morning's final fight. He dreaded the thought…dreaded even more the possibility that his clients might somehow learn that one of the prisoners had managed to escape. These men trusted and relied on him to manage the camp, and if they thought for even one moment that he was not up to the task, they would turn on him in a heartbeat.
Ty shuddered slightly, picking up his pace in his desire to escape the cold rain. If it came down to it, he would tell his guests that one of the prisoners had died of his injuries during the night. It wouldn't be the first time something like that had happened. The men wouldn't be happy, but Ty would promise them a partial refund, and as long as they went away satisfied and unaware, he would count it a victory.
And when he finally caught up to Dean…and he would…he would make the man pay in pain for every lost dime. He would start by letting Dean watch as he slowly killed his brother. By the end, Dean would die regretting the day he had ever dared defy Ty Gallups.
Annie Collins was the world's biggest dweeb.
Here it was, barely six a.m. on her day off, and instead of sleeping in and spending the morning lounging in her pajamas, she was dressed and heading into work. She had planned to spend the day planting flowers around her house, but the night's storm had left her garden a soupy mess and not feeling in the mood to watch TV. or read a book, she had decided to head in and see if Charles needed an extra hand at the bar and grill.
"Girl, you so need to get a life," she grumbled to herself as she pulled into the alley beside the grill and parked her car. Ten years ago her days off would have been spent shopping the malls of Jonesboro with her friends or else hanging out at the fire station with her brother Eric. A lot had changed since that time, but she still found herself preferring the company of others rather than the quiet loneliness of her empty house.
Stepping from the car to the wet pavement of the alley, she breathed deeply of the moist air, glancing up at the thick gray clouds overhead. It had stopped raining several hours earlier, but the heavy overcast remained, hiding the sun and casting the morning in deep shadows. There was a crisp bite to the air, and Annie knew the chill would bring in a few extra patrons to the bar, looking to warm up with some of Charles' famous hot apple cider.
Grabbing her purse from the passenger seat, she slammed the car door then began to walk briskly toward the mouth of the alley, avoiding the multiple water-filled potholes that lined the street. She was so intent on her footing that she almost missed the shadowy shape that suddenly materialized from beside the dumpster a few feet in front of her.
Annie jerked to a sudden halt, her breath catching on a startled gasp, her hand tightening reflexively on the strap of her purse. Almost without thought she shifted the keys in her right hand so that the metal prongs protruded from between her knuckles…just as her brother had taught her. "Who's there?" she demanded, proud that her voice came out strong and steady.
"It's okay," the figure quickly held up both hands, taking a small step closer so that Annie could see him better. "I'm not going to hurt you. My name's Dean…we met a couple days ago. Do you remember me?"
Annie blinked at the figure before her, trying to calm the wild pounding of her heart. She did indeed remember the man…had in fact spent far too much time daydreaming about him after he'd left the bar. His dazzling smile and confident flirtation had left her feeling like an adolescent schoolgirl, and she had been more than a little disappointed when he hadn't returned. "Dean," she gasped, relaxing her white knuckled grip on her purse. "You scared the hell out of me!"
"Sorry," he gave her an apologetic smile, and Annie noticed for the first time how haggard he looked. His features were drawn and pale, dark bruising visible along one side of his face and deep shadows pooling beneath his eyes. He was in need of a shave, the rough stubble along his jaw giving him a somewhat sinister look, and the sodden clothes clinging to his frame looked wrinkled and disheveled.
"What are you doing here?" she asked in surprised.
Dean gave a hesitant shrug, his eyes dropping to the ground of the alley. "I was waiting for you," he admitted, his tone self-conscious. "I was hoping you might be able to help me."
"Help you?" Annie repeated stupidly.
Dean sighed and lifted his gaze back to hers, his expression weary and…cautious? "My brother and I are in a bit of trouble," he admitted quietly.
Annie arched an eyebrow, trying to remember if he had mentioned having a brother before. If he had, she couldn't remember. "What kind of trouble?" she asked slowly.
Dean sighed again, raising a hand to rub down his face, the gesture carrying a world of weariness with it. Annie couldn't be sure in the dim morning light, but she thought his hand was trembling slightly. "It's…it's complicated," he finally replied, his green eyes locking on hers with tired intensity. "My brother's sick…really sick, and I just need a place where we can lie low while I take care of him. I promise it won't be for long and I will find a way to repay you."
Annie was surprised by the request, and felt an immediate sense of caution. It was more than his rough appearance and the suspicious way he had suddenly appeared before her in the alley. He hadn't really answered her question, and she knew exactly what her brother would say if he was here right now.
"Where is your brother?" she asked in an attempt to buy herself more time to think.
"He's close," Dean replied simply, the wariness she had sensed in him earlier reappearing.
Annie frowned, finding it strange that Dean seemed so hesitant and wary of her. Shouldn't she be the one afraid of him? After all, she knew next to nothing of the man and yet he was asking her to invite him and his brother into her home.
"I don't know, Dean…" she began slowly, shaking her head. "You could be some murderer running from the police for all I know…"
Something flashed in his eyes…there and gone before she could even begin deciphering what it was, and he took a small step forward, his gaze imploring. "I'm not going to hurt you, Annie," he reassured her softy, his green eyes steady as he stared at her. "Believe me, I never would ask this of you if I had any other option."
Annie returned his gaze, feeling as she had when she first met him…that she could lose herself in the green depths of his expressive eyes. She found herself wondering how someone could look so rough and disheveled and yet so handsome and attractive at the same time. Despite herself, she felt her hesitation fading. In her ten years as a waitress at the bar and grill she had learned to read people fairly well, and she could sense an honesty and integrity about Dean that made her want to believe him.
Besides, the more she looked at him the more she could sense his utter exhaustion and fatigue. He looked as though a steady breeze would be enough to knock him from his feet, and now that she was standing closer to him, she could see that his whole body was trembling slightly. There were lines around the corners of his eyes and a tautness to his mouth that suggested he was in some kind of pain. She found herself wondering again what kind of trouble he had gotten himself into, and if she really wanted to get herself involved.
Biting her lip, she glanced toward the mouth of the alley, torn by indecision. Dean didn't press her, but merely stood silently, his gaze dropping once more to the ground at his feet. It was this final defeated gesture that helped Annie make up her mind. It was obvious that he needed help, and though common sense told her she should run away and call the police, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Eric had always told her she had more heart than common sense.
"I have a small guest room off the garage," she finally conceded, drawing Dean's eyes back to hers. "It's pretty small, and there is only one bed, but I guess you could crash there for a while until your brother is feeling better."
"Thank you," he whispered, his tone relieved. "You're really saving our lives here."
Annie nodded, feeling a small blush rising up her cheeks. "Go and get your brother and I'll give you a ride," she offered, motioning toward her car.
Dean merely shook his head. "It's okay. I don't want to keep you from your work. Just give me directions to your house and we can find our own way."
"It's okay," Annie assured him. "It's my day off. I was just coming in to grab something." She felt her blush deepening at the lie, but didn't want to admit that she was lame enough to have been planning on working on her day off.
Dean continued to shake his head. "We'll meet you there," he insisted, the wary look in his eyes returning. "And if you don't mind, do you think you could keep all of this quiet…" he trailed off, watching her intently.
Annie shrugged. "Sure," she agreed quickly. It wasn't like she was about to mention this to Charles or anyone else. She knew they would call her a special kind of stupid and insist she call the police.
"Thanks," he repeated.
Annie merely nodded, then quickly rattled off directions to her house. Denton was a tiny town, and she didn't think he would have any problems finding it. She offered again to give him a ride, but he continued to refuse, and Annie didn't press it.
When she had finished with her directions, he turned to leave, casting a surreptitious glance up and down the street before slipping silently from the alley and disappearing from view. Annie watched him go with a small sigh, wondering yet again what exactly she had managed to get herself into.
She took her time getting home, stopping by the post office to collect her mail and then swinging by the grocery store for a gallon of milk. By the time she returned home she half expected to see Dean and his brother sitting on her front porch, but there was still no sign of them. After putting away the milk and leaving the mail in a pile on her kitchen table to be sorted and read later, she headed out back, grabbing a set of keys hanging from a hook by the back door. She walked down the short path to the detached garage, unlocking the door of the small attached guestroom and stepping inside.
The air inside the room was slightly musty, and a fine layer of dust covered the few meager furnishings inside. It had a been a while since she had last used this room for company, and she left the door open to air it out as she headed for the tiny bathroom. Pulling a washcloth from the bottom drawer of the sink, she wetted it down then headed back into the main room and began dusting down the dresser and side table. When she had finished, she took the blanket from the single bed and walked outside, shaking the material forcefully and coughing slightly at the fine plume of dust that drifted from the coverlet.
She had just finished shaking out the blanket when movement from the edge of her property caught her eye. She looked up in time to see Dean and his brother approaching the house from the wooded path just beyond her backyard. Dean had one of his brother's arms draped across his shoulders while his own arm was wrapped securely around the taller man's waist, bracing and supporting his brother's every step as they made their way slowly toward the yard. Both of their heads were bowed, hiding their faces, and it looked to Annie as though they were dangerously close to collapsing.
Quickly moving back inside, she dropped the blanket on the bed, then hurried back out and down the path, reaching the back gate and swinging it open just as they reached it. "This way," she directed, indicating the open door to the guest room. Dean met her gaze briefly, giving her a tired nod, but his brother never lifted his head, his features hidden behind a curtain of dark hair.
The two men stumbled over to the room and inside, Annie hovering closely at their heels. She watched as Dean dragged his brother close to the bed, then gently lowered him down onto the soft mattress. As soon as his brother was down, Dean's legs seemed to buckle and he fell to his knees beside the bed, a low moan bubbling up from his lips, his hands clasped tightly around his middle as he rocked forward slightly.
Annie stood in the doorway to the small room, momentarily frozen in shocked surprised. If Dean had looked rough in the alley before, he now looked ten times worse. His face was deathly pale, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, his eyes clenched tightly closed as swayed on his knees next to the bed. His brother didn't look any better. His eyes were also closed, but instead of the paleness that marked Dean's features, his face was flushed red and Annie could clearly make out the too-quick pounding of the pulse in his neck.
"My god," she whispered, shaking herself free of her stupor and stumbling forward into the room. She went to Dean first, placing a gentle hand on his back as she leaned down over him. "Are you okay?" she asked, thinking he looked as though he were about to pass out across the floor.
A muscle in his jaw jumped, and he didn't open his eyes right away, but he still gave her a tight nod. "Just…just give me a sec," he grated. "Is Sam okay?"
Annie glanced at the figure on the bed. Sam hadn't moved a muscle since Dean had deposited him on the bed, but she could make out the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. "I think so," she answered, keeping one hand firmly on Dean's back while she reached out with the other to brush her fingers gently across Sam's cheek. The young man jerked slightly at her soft touch, but he didn't open his eyes and Annie felt a flair of worry at the intense heat radiating from his skin. "He's running a pretty high fever, though."
With what looked like monumental effort, Dean seemed to pull himself together, opening his eyes and dropping the arms he had wrapped around his stomach back to his side. Gripping the side of the bed, he pushed himself back to his feet, his worried gaze immediately seeking out his brother. "Sammy?" he called softly.
At the sound of his brother's voice, Sam's eyes blinked slowly open, his gaze unfocused, his eyes bright with fever. "Don't feel so good…" he murmured, a slight slur to his voice. "Tell Professor Johnson… I'm not going to… make it to class."
Dean frowned down at his brother, his face a mask of worry, but his voice was gentle as he reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from his brother's flushed face. "Don't you worry about that, Sammy," he murmured. "I'll take care of everything, you just focus on getting better, okay?"
"Kay," Sam whispered, his eyes already sliding shut once more.
Dean raised his gaze to Annie, and she was rocked by the look of anguish in his eyes. He still looked dangerously close to collapsing himself, and she guessed that his worry for his brother was the only thing driving him to remain on his feet. He didn't say anything, but she could read his silent plea for help in the raw emotion in his expression.
Quickly snapping into action, she moved to the other side of the bed, running a critical eye over Sam's still form. She was not a doctor, but her brother had been a Firefighter/EMT, and she had picked up a thing or two from him. She had offered Dean her help, and she wasn't about to go back on it now when it was obvious he so desperately needed her.
"We need to get him out of these wet clothes," she observed, reaching for the arm of Sam's jacket even as she lifted her eyes to meet Dean's gaze. Dean gave a small nod and moved forward to help her, and together they slowly worked to strip Sam of his sodden clothes.
Annie couldn't hide her shock once Sam's jacket was removed and she caught sight of his torn shirt, bandaged and blood-stained right arm, and numerous scrapes and bruises. Her eyes snapped up to Dean's face, but he refused to meet her gaze, his attention focused resolutely on his brother. Annie's lips tightened, but she swallowed back the burning question at the forefront of her mind and returned her attention back to the task at hand. Sam remained completely limp and unmoving as they worked over him, but occasionally he would let out a low moan, his brow furrowing in pain as his body was unavoidably jostled. Each time this happened, Dean would pause, murmuring soft words of comfort until Sam had quieted once more. Watching him, Annie had to swallow back the rising lump of emotion building in the back of her throat.
When they finally got Sam stripped down to his boxers, Annie took a small step back, unable to hold back a small gasp as she registered for the first time the full extent of the cuts and bruises marring the young man's body. She didn't need to see the injury hidden beneath the blood soaked bandage high on his right arm to know that it was bad, and if the burning heat radiating from every inch of his body was any indication, he was obviously fighting off some sort of infection.
She lifted her gaze to Dean, only to find him watching her intently from across his brother's still form. He was leaning heavily against the frame of the bed, one hand splayed out across the mattress near Sam's head, the other held in a white-knuckled fist against his thigh. The wary look she had first seen in the alley outside the bar and grill was back, but this time it was tempered with something that looked a lot like resignation.
Placing both hands on her waist, Annie blew out a long sigh, her eyes locked on Dean's face, refusing to look away. When she spoke, her voice was soft but insistent.
"I think it's about time you tell me what's going on here."
Dean met Annie's determined gaze calmly, not at all surprised by her demand for an explanation. He had been expecting this…had in fact spent most of the trip to her house trying to distract himself by coming up with any number of stories he thought she might believe. He hadn't had much luck, his brain simply too exhausted to work properly, and in the end he had decided the best course of action would be to stick to the truth. Whether he liked it or not, he had put Annie's life in danger the minute he had decided to involve her, and she had a right to know the truth.
Of course, that didn't mean she would accept it.
"You're not going to like what you hear," he warned her gently.
Annie lifted her chin slightly, her eyes determined. "Try me," she challenged.
Dean shrugged, then did as she asked. He kept the story brief, sticking to the facts, speaking quickly and calmly, his voice devoid of all emotions. He watched Annie's face closely as he talked…watched as her eyes grew steadily wider and her lips parted slightly in an expression of shocked surprise. He was grateful when she didn't try to interrupt or stop him.
When he had finished, Annie stared at him silently for what seemed like ages. Dean watched her calmly, waiting for her to finish processing what he had told her. He kept his gaze steady, his expression open, hoping she could read the truth of his words in his eyes. He had no idea how she would respond…what she might do, and that fact scared him more than a little. If Annie decided he was a mental case and called the Sheriff, he and Sam were as good as dead. He couldn't let that happen, but he didn't want to hurt her either.
"You're serious, aren't you?" Annie finally asked, her voice whisper soft. Strained.
Dean gave her a sympathetic look, his gaze softening slightly. "Completely," he answered simply.
Annie looked away, her gaze dropping to the floor, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I don't believe it," she whispered softly, but her tone gave lie to the words.
"I'm sorry." Dean could think of nothing else to say.
Annie raised her eyes to his once more, her freckles standing out in sharp contrast against her pale face, her green eyes anguished. "You're telling me that men I have known for a decade…men I have joked and laughed with…are really" she paused, as though searching for the right words, " are really cold blooded monsters." She finished on a whisper.
It wasn't really a question, but Dean nodded anyway. He could only imagine the shock she must be feeling at the moment, the safe little bubble of her world effectively shattered by Dean's revelation. He found her choice of words to describe Ty and his cronies…interesting.
"And Sheriff Rawly…" she began, her eyes imploring as she looked up at him. "You're sure he's involved?"
Dean gave an emphatic nod. "He's the one who shot Sam," he added, his voice coming out rougher than he had intended.
Annie flinched, turning her gaze to stare out the still open window. "I don't believe it," she repeated again, more to herself than to Dean.
Dean didn't bother responding, bowing his head and letting his eyes slide shut in weary exhaustion. He was glad Annie seemed to be accepting the news without the wild histrionics he had been half expecting. He didn't think he would have had the strength to subdue her if she had.
"We have to call someone." Annie's sharp statement drew his attention, and he raised his eyes to regard her once more. She was looking at him, her body stiff, her chin held high, her green eyes hard with steely determination. "The state patrol or the FBI or…someone."
Dean winced, having half expected such a response. "We can't Annie…not yet," he replied gently.
Annie's eyes flashed, her earlier shock and disbelief being replaced by anger. "Why not," she demanded.
Dean hesitated, trying to come up with an answer that would satisfy her. He had already given her one shock, and he suspected that revealing he and Sam were wanted by the FBI might be a little much for her at the moment. He settled for a simpler but no less true explanation.
"Ty told me he had paid off a number of officials in high places," he explained slowly. "We have no idea who those officials are or how powerful. If we end up notifying the wrong person, it would put us all in danger."
Annie frowned as she considered his words, but the stubborn determination on her face never faded. "Well, we have to do something." She insisted. "We can't just let the bastards get away with this."
"Trust me, they won't get away with it," Dean promised her softly, unaware of the hardness in his voice or the dangerous gleam that had suddenly entered his eyes. "But right now, I need to focus on helping my brother."
As if on cue, Sam let out a soft moan from below them, shifting restlessly against the sheets. "Dean?" he called out, his voice soft and weak, his tone anxious.
Dean immediately reached down to grasp Sam's forearm. "I'm right here, Sammy" he murmured, watching as his brother's head tossed restlessly from side to side.
"Dean?" Sam cried out again, his voice sounding even more desperate, his eyes shifting wildly beneath his closed lids.
"Easy, Sammy," Dean soothed, reaching out a laying a calming hand across his brother's hot forehead. "Just relax."
Annie disappeared from view, and Dean could hear the sound of running water from nearby. A moment later she reappeared with a wet washcloth held in one hand. Dean removed his hand from his brother's brow, and Annie replaced it with the cool cloth. As soon as the wet rag touched his hot skin, Sam's eyes snapped open, dazed and unfocused as he glanced wildly around the room.
"He's coming, Dean," he gasped, his arms and legs beginning to thrash slightly across the soft sheets of the bed.
"It's okay, Sam" Dean reassured, trying unsuccessfully to get his brother to look at him. Even though Sam was talking to him, Dean had the impression that his brother wasn't really seeing him at all.
"He's coming," Sam repeated, becoming more and more agitated, his breath coming in short, sharp pants. "Yellow eyes. He's coming for me."
Dean couldn't help but flinch at his brother's words, his hand tightening reflexively on Sam's arm. "Listen to me Sam," he ordered softly, his voice intent, trying to drive the words home through his brother's fevered panic. "You know I won't let him get to you, right? You're safe, Sammy. I promise… I'm going to keep you safe." Dean was well aware of Annie standing a few feet away, listening to every word of their exchange.
Something in Dean's tone must have gotten through to his brother, because Sam's wild thrashing instantly calmed. His eyes slid to meet Dean's gaze for the first time, and Dean caught a flicker of awareness in the hazel depths.
"Dean," Sam whispered, the muscles in the arm beneath Dean's fingers flexing slightly, as though Sam were trying to lift it but simply did not have the strength.
"It's okay, Sam," Dean reassured softly, instinctively knowing what his brother needed. "I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere. We're going to be fine."
Sam gave a weak nod before his eyes slid shut once more, his breathing almost instantly deepening as he drifted back to sleep
Dean glanced up at Annie, surprised to find her eyes bright with unshed tears as she watched him.
"Sorry," she whispered, raising one hand to dash away the wetness as a single tear escaped from her eye. "It's just watching you with him…" she trailed off, her eyes dropping to the edge of the bed, her throat working convulsively. "You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you," she asked softly, her voice tight with emotion.
Dean shrugged, though she wasn't looking at him to see it. "He's my brother," he stated simply, knowing there was nothing more he could say to explain it. Either people understood the intense connection or they didn't. Something told him Annie was one of the few people who did.
Annie nodded slowly, still not looking up, one hand reaching out to trace the pattern of the bed's coverlet. "Watching you with him reminds me of my own brother," she stated softly, her voice subdued.
Dean shifted uncomfortably. Dealing with emotional women was something his brother handled so much better than he did. He always managed to say the wrong thing, or else came across as calloused and insensitive. He much preferred his girls happy and giggling over sad and crying.
"Are you two close?" he asked, feeling the need to say something to fill the sudden quiet filling the room with tension.
"We were," Annie answered simply, the slight emphasis she placed on the past tense telling Dean he had once again managed to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Before he could come up with some sort of reply, Annie lifted her gaze back to his, and he was relieved to see she had her tears firmly under control. "He died in a car accident ten years ago," she informed him quietly. "It was one of the reasons I moved up here. I used to live in Jonesboro, but after Eric died, I just couldn't stay there any longer. It seemed wrong…you know…to just continue on with my life when such a big piece of me was no longer there."
Dean swallowed hard, knowing only too well what Annie was talking about. It was how he had felt after his father died. He had wanted so desperately to get away…to escape…to purge from his life anything and everything that would remind him of what he had lost. But unlike Annie, he hadn't been able to run away. Family secrets, unfinished business, and an unspeakable promise had kept him tightly bound to the path fate had decided for him…the path he had been on since the night his mother had died.
Unable to think of anything to say, Dean grabbed the cloth still resting across Sam's brow and quietly walked to the bathroom, re-wetting the rag under the cold water. By the time he returned to Sam's side, he had a firm control over his emotions, his features carefully neutral. Annie seemed to understand his silence, for she quickly changed the subject.
"What are we going to do about your brother?" she asked, refolding the wet cloth Dean handed her and replacing it across Sam's brow. "He's really sick, Dean. He should be in a hospital."
Dean shook his head. "We can't," he informed her firmly. "Ty and Rawly will be looking for us, and in a hospital we would just be sitting ducks." There was no need to mention the FBI.
Annie sighed. "Well, we have to do something. I don't have the supplies here to take care of him. He needs medicine, not a washcloth on his forehead!"
Dean's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. He knew she was right. The infection in Sam's arm was the biggest concern, though blood loss was another serious problem. Dean would have asked Annie for needle and thread and sown Sam's wound closed if he wasn't uncertain if such action would do more harm than good…locking the infection inside his brother's body where it could do even more damage. He had some antibiotics stashed away in the medical kit in the Impala's trunk, but even if he could somehow get to them…which was doubtful…he wasn't sure they would be strong enough to do the job.
It was a sobering reality that Sam was in serious trouble, and Dean wasn't at all sure what to do about it. Yet doing nothing and allowing Sam to slowly waste away was not an option either. He briefly considered breaking into the local pharmacy and stealing the supplies he needed, but in order to do that he would need to wait until nightfall, and he wasn't at all sure that Sam could afford to wait that long.
"I have an idea," Annie suddenly spoke from across the bed, drawing Dean from his increasingly desperate thoughts.
"What is it," Dean asked warily.
"I can head down to the clinic and talk to the local doctor. Explain what's going on…"
Dean was already shaking his head, ready to dismiss the idea before Annie had even finished. "We can't trust anyone, Annie," he stated forcefully. "We don't know who all is involved in Ty's operation."
"You trusted me," Annie pointed out softly.
Dean let out a soft sigh. It was true, but it had only been because he was desperate. He hadn't been expecting Sam's rapid decline during the long trek to Denton, and by the time they had reached the town, he had been forced to half carry his brother, Sam's mind slipping increasingly into confusion and delirium. He had known immediately that he needed help, and Annie had been the only person he could think of.
Annie reached out and touched the back of Dean's hand where it still lay gripping Sam's arm, drawing him from his thoughts. She leveled Dean with a patient stare. "I understand your caution," she stated calmly, "but I honestly don't see that we have much of a choice here."
Dean scowled at her, knowing she was right but unsure if he was ready to admit it yet. "This doctor," he growled, "his name doesn't happen to be Collins does it?"
Annie frowned, shaking her head. "No, her name is Juarez. Maria Juarez. We do have a vet named Collins, though."
Dean grimaced. He had so not wanted to hear that!
"Maria works as a trauma doctor in the ER a couple of towns over," Annie continued, "but on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons she runs the local clinic. I've gone to see her several times, and I honestly can't believe she would be involved in any of this mess."
Dean frowned. "Yesterday you might have said the same thing about Ty…or maybe sheriff Rawly," he pointed out gently. "People can surprise you, and if your wrong about her, it puts us all in terrible danger. Even if she's not involved, if she doesn't believe your story and decides to go to the Sheriff, it's all over."
"I know," Annie replied, "but I really don't think that will happen. Maria is from a small county in South America. I don't remember exactly where, but I do know her family moved here when she was a teenager in order to escape some pretty severe persecution. I've heard some of the stories. If anything, Maria will be more likely to believe the evil some people are capable of then I was."
Dean closed his eyes, the heavy weight of his weariness pressing down on him. Annie was right. They were out of choices, and if he wanted to help Sam he had to make a decision. Risky or not, Annie's idea was the only option left them, and Dean couldn't afford not to take it.
"We'll do it," he agreed softly, hoping fervently that he wasn't making a mistake that might cost them all their life.