When Darkness Calls

Chapter Four

Dean looked up from cleaning his guns, took a sidelong glance at Sam and sighed deeply. Sam lay on the motel room bed with his back to Dean, shivering even though he was bundled under several covers. It's been almost two weeks, why won't he just tell me what that freakin' psycho said to him? And now he's sick on top of everything else.

Setting his .45 on the bedside table, Dean stood and strode to Sam's bed, sat beside him, and felt Sam's forehead to see if he still had a fever. Dean frowned. A little warmer than the last time, and they were out of aspirin. Just freakin great. Now they'd have to go out. He nudged Sam on the shoulder. A low groan escaped Sam's parched lips as he pulled the blankets tighter around his lanky frame.

"Wanna get something to eat, Sammy?"

Sam shifted in the bed to stare at Dean with glassy, red-rimmed eyes. "Not hungry." He coughed spasmodically, clutching his chest.

"Dude, you gotta eat. You're gonna make yourself sicker."

"M'tired, Dean." Sam rolled over, his back once again to Dean.

"You wanna talk about it?" Dean asked, for what must have been the hundredth time in so many days.

"Just wanna sleep," Sam mumbled, coughing again.

Dean stood and paced back and forth in the small expanse, fists tightly clenched, anger growing with each passing turn. This is ridiculous. Why won't he just talk to me? Hell, usually I can't shut him up when it comes to caring and sharing time.

"Sam?"

"Hmm. . . ."

"What did he say to you?"

"Already told ya," Sam said, not bothering to look at Dean.

"Think I would've remembered if you had."

Sam turned and propped himself up on his elbows. "What the hell do you think he said, Dean? Hey sorry about that gunshot wound, Sammyboy, hope it doesn't hurt like a sonuvabitch - the man's a freakin' psycho."

"Just askin', Sammy, no need to bite my freakin' head off."

Sam scrubbed his hand across his pale face, sighing in frustration. "He - he just didn't care, Dean. He killed those guys and it didn't even bother him. What kind of person does that?"

"I dunno, but I think we have to find and stop him before he hurts anyone else."

"Why, Dean - why does it always have to be our job? I mean, it's not like he's a demon."

"Are you sure? Really sure cause - "

A sudden rap on the door, stopped Dean from continuing what he was saying. Both boys looked at each other and then to where the sound came from.

"He wouldn't . . ." Sam hesitated, tearing his gaze away from the door to stare at his brother, and Dean could see the look of fear in his brother's eyes.

Damn it Sammy, what did he do to you? Dean quirked a brow and shrugged. "No, I don't think he would be that stupid." He stalked to the bedside table and grabbed his gun. He was about to head for the door when his cell phone rang. Snatching the phone off the table, Dean jabbed the button. "Hello?"

"Ain't ya gonna answer the door, Dean?" came a taunting reply from the other end of the line. "You're not afraid are you?"

"I've never been afraid of anything, you sonuvabitch. And I'll be damned if I start now."

"Ah, good thing, I didn't want to be wrong about you. So answer the door," Charlie challenged.

Another knock on the door, had Dean gesturing to Sam to get a weapon of his own. He pulled the phone away from his ear, covering it with his hand. "Sam," he called to his brother in a near whisper. "Take the .45, go in the bathroom, lock the door, and don't come out no matter what till I tell you to."