 at me." He walked over, running his eyes over Dean with a small frown curled between his eyebrows. "You've got blood on your face."
Dean scrubbed a sleeve across his face. "Must have been when the plate shattered. Nothing hit me. Nothing big at least," he added with a grin. "So, I think she was killed in the kitchen."
"Good guess, she must be tied to something in here," Sam said, opening cupboards and peering in. He was moving aside a large cut glass vase on the counter when a plate appeared and exploded inches from his head. Sam ducked as Dean swung his gun up, but there was nothing to see. A knife suddenly appeared. Dean fired, but not before the knife was thrown. Sam had dropped, the knife missed and the spirit once again disappeared in a puff of black smoke.
"Sam?"
"I'm okay. What's keeping her here?" He stood and looked around. "There must be something."
"The newspaper said she was killed here, right? What else?" Dean had walked over to stand beside Sam with his back against the wall, watching for any sign of a return of the spirit.
"She had been cremated, but the hauntings started shortly after her death here. There has to be something." Dean sighed. "Back to the cupboards?" Sam nodded and headed across the room and Dean started opening doors and looking in. Most of the shelves were empty. Finding nothing interesting he squatted down and started opening the lower cupboards. Every once in awhile he would turn to check on Sam and then turn back to the shelves and drawers. Sam caught him at it once and Dean flashed a rueful smile and shrugged. Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head.
Dean finally found something interesting under the sink. A flash of white caught his eyes. He reached in and something hissed, then, well, he would swear it sounded like a scream. Then…pain…sharp, immediate…as something clamped down on his hand. He yelled, he would insist later in surprise and yanked his hand back. A large cat came with it. "Shit!" He tried shaking his hand, but the cat's teeth remained firmly embedded in his finger. Sam ran over and tried to pry the creature's mouth off of Dean's hand. They finally managed and with a hiss the cat ran out of the room. "Fun," Dean said, holding his hand.
"You need to clean that out, Dean. What were you doing anyway?"
"There's a hand under the sink. How was I supposed to know it was the cat's dinner." Dean grinned. "I guess he decided fresh meat was better."
"Not funny." Sam leaned over to look under the sink. "You're right." He scooped the remains of the hand into a pot and grabbed Dean's arm. "Let's go." A plate slammed into the wall, spraying both with shards of ceramic. They dashed out of the house. Sam set the pot with the hand in it down and opened the trunk. A bowl flew out of the house and smashed into the side of the car.
"What are you doing? Let's burn that thing before she ruins my car," Dean said, dodging the knife that narrowly missed his head.
"I'm grabbing the stuff, but you need to get that hand clean, Dean." Sam dragged a can of gasoline, the salt and the first-aid kit out of the trunk. He opened the kit and handed Dean a bottle of alcohol. Dean poured the liquid over is hand as Sam salted and burned the hand. The dishes stopped coming.
"Good job," Dean grinned at his brother. "Hey, it's no big deal." He snatched his hand back from Sam.
"Let me look." Sam grabbed his hand and turned it so he could get a better look at it. "I'm going to clean it a little better and when we get back you need to wash it."
"It's four little puncture marks, Sam. Nothing to panic about."
"Dean?" Sam looked at him as he dug around looking for another bottle of alcohol.
"Okay, Sammy, fine." Dean held out his hand as Sam cleaned it again. "Will I live?"
Sam looked at him and sighed. "I think so, but…"
"Sam? It's not like it's anything serious. No werewolves, no zombies, just a cat bite. Not bad compared to what we usually deal with."
"Yeah," Sam said with a grin. "Sorry. Want me to drive?"
Nice try, Sammy. "I think I can manage." He smiled at Sam as his brother got in the car. "Want to hit that steak place?"
"Sure." Sam smiled back. "As long as you promise to wash your hand again when we get there."
"Yes, mom." Dean gave his brother a shove, Sam shoved back with a laugh.
The sun was filtering through the purple curtains of the hotel room when Dean woke. He shifted in bed, not sure what had pulled him from sleep. Sam was snoring softly. Thank god he finally went to sleep. Dean rolled onto his back. He hadn't slept much, Sam's nightmares had kept them both up most of the night. Sam had finally dropped off to sleep about three. Dean had quickly followed suit. He rolled over and looked at the clock beside the bed. Eight? Great, just great. With a sigh he got up and headed into the bathroom. I think I'll just go back to sleep for awhile. That steak last night is not sitting well. He quietly closed the door and flipped the light on, trying to be quiet to not wake Sam. As he closed the door he caught sight of his hand. What the…?
He held it under the light for a better look. The finger where the cat he bitten him was swollen and red, the four small puncture marks oozing cloudy fluid. The knuckle was beginning to turn red and puff up. That's not good. He slipped quietly out of the room and grabbed the first-aid kit and walked back in the bathroom. Damn, no antibiotics. I think this needs them, too. Oozy and red? Never good. Dean closed the kit and went back in the room and quietly dressed, still trying not to wake his brother. I can be to a clinic and back before he wakes up, but just in case…He grabbed the hotel pad and scrawled a quick note. Dean left the note on his pillow and left with a quick glance back to make sure he hadn't disturbed Sam.
Dean stopped at the hotel office. "Where's the nearest clinic?" he asked the plump, motherly woman behind the desk.
"Clinic?" she laughed. "Not here. The ER at St. Clare's. Right at the light and then four blocks, can't miss it."
"Thanks."
"Everything okay?" she asked.
"Yep." Dean said, smiling at her. "No big deal."
He followed her directions to the hospital. The building was small, the emergency room parking lot had places for no more than twenty cars. He pulled in beside a mini-van with a "mom's taxi" bumper sticker and heading in the walk in entrance.
"Can I help you?" the woman sitting behind the reception desk asked as he walked in the door.
"Yeah, a cat bit me." Oh, that sounds good. How tough are you? A cat bit me.
"Fill this out." She shoved a form at him. He quickly filled it out and pushed it across the desk towards her. "Thank you, Dean. We'll call you back as soon as we can."
"Sure." He wandered into the waiting room. There were nine people scattered in chairs around the room. A local morning show was pouring cheer into the room. The woman on screen was babbling happily about cooking for teen parties. Dean groaned and sat in the far corner. He pulled out his phone and looked at it, tempted to call his brother. No, not yet. They'll just give me some antibiotics and send me home. No need to wake Sammy. The woman on the TV was talking to a guest about the latest styles in shoes. Dean shifted in the chair. His hand was beginning to throb and he had the feeling of stretched skin on his forehead that he associated with a fever.
He looked around the room, trying to guess what had brought the others to the ER. The woman to his left, well it was pretty obvious, both her eyes were black and her nose looks a little crooked. The guy across from Dean was coughing with a gurgling sound. And older couple sat quietly together. He wasn't even sure which one of the pair was there to see a doctor. A man was stretched out across three chairs snoring softly. Another woman was coughing into her coat and the man sitting near her had his foot propped up on a chair.
"Mr. Stummer? Dean Strummer?" Dean looked up, a woman in scrubs was standing with a clipboard in her hand.
"That's me." He stood, then waited as the room spun around him. Head rush, always fun. He followed the nurse back to a small cubicle. She pointed at a chair and he sat down, pulling his jacket off so she could take his blood pressure. She smiled absently as she filled out the paperwork and then looked at him.
"So, a cat bite?" she said, frowning at her clipboard.
"Yeah, I thought it might need antibiotics or something. Sam'll laugh at me. A cat bite." Dean chuckled a little