Title: Down Time

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Blood and death stalk a quiet logging town. Sounds like a perfect place for the Winchesters to recover. post 2x03 'Blood Lust' hurt/caring/awesome!Sam/Dean

Author's Note: This story began as a Reader's Special Reward story for Becksupernatural. I had so much fun with this one that I needed… NEEDED… to give it a complete story and here we are. :D Hope you enjoy the ride.

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~

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Chapter 1

"Don't Sam. Jesus, just stay down." Dean put a hand on his little brother's shoulder and kept him from getting out of the hospital bed.

"Too dangerous." Sam tried to push off his brother's hand and missed as his vision swam. "You're still wanted."

"Yeah, four states over. I'll be fine. You, on the other hand, your head's cracked. Stay down." Dean sighed and waited until Sam settled back into the bed. It had been one of the more frightening drives of his life, peeling down the highway with his little brother's bleeding head in his lap, soaking his jeans, and Sam too unconscious to respond to him. The hit Sam had taken had been in Dean's place, his little brother diving between Dean's unprotected back and a fifty pound statue. That ghost had been real pissed off about being laid to rest. The bandage wrapped around Sam's head now was a testament to Dean's sense of failure. If he'd been paying more attention, it wouldn't have happened; at least that's what he continued to tell himself. "Don't move. I'm gonna grab a coffee."

Sam blew out a breath and put a hand over his aching eyes. "Fine. I promise I won't move. Couldn't walk outta here even if I wanted to. Dammit."

Dean patted his shoulder and stepped outside. He took out his cell and dialed as he walked, smiling when the call was picked up on the first ring. "Bobby."

"How'd the salt and burn go?"

"'Bout that. Old man Wendell's ghost tried to cave Sammy's head in with a damn statue." Dean smiled when Bobby cursed. "Yeah. Damn near cracked his egg-head open. We're down for two weeks, Bobby. Doc's orders. Sam's got the granddaddy of all concussions and it needs to heal. You got anywhere nearby we can lay low?"

"Balls. That bad? Yeah. Matter of fact, I do." Bobby pushed back his worry for Sam. Dean would make sure his little brother was alright. "There's an old hunter's cabin 'bout an hour from you. Small town, mostly logging up there, but you should be able to make him comfortable." He rattled off the address and directions and smiled when Dean recited them back perfectly. "It ain't been cleaned in a while, but I figure you remember how to work a broom."

"Funny. I'll bust Sam outta here later and take him up there." Dean stopped at the coffee machine and pumped change into it, jabbing the button for the black sludge that masqueraded as coffee. "He's worried I'm gonna get busted in this place for some damn reason."

"Should you be worried about that?" Bobby asked in sudden concern.

"Naw. No one's got any reason to look at me twice here. We'll be fine." Dean took the cup and sniffed the watery brew disdainfully before turning to head back to Sam's room. He stopped at the door and blew out a breath. "Scared me, Bobby. You should have seen all the damn blood."

"He'll be fine. You won't let 'im be any other way," Bobby said firmly. "Go take care of your brother, Dean."

"Yes, sir." Dean hung up and put his phone away. He was gratified to see Sam where he'd left him when he walked in. "Talked to Bobby. He's got a cabin about an hour from here. We're gonna lay low for a week while your head heals. Maybe two."

"Couple days," Sam said stubbornly. "I'll be fine."

"Did you miss the part where the doc said your skull was almost fractured? Or maybe the part where we had to tell you five times in ten minutes where you were 'cause you kept forgetting. We're takin' some damn down time, Sam. I'm not screwin' around with this."

Sam huffed out an irritated breath and relented. "Alright. You're right. Sorry."

"Damn right, you're sorry. Look at my jeans!" Dean waved a hand at his now brown, blood-stained jeans. "That ain't comin' out."

Sam smirked and looked up at his brother. "They were getting tight on you anyway."

"You tryin' to say I'm gettin' fat?"

"Nope."

"I will hurt you." Dean glared at Sam as his little brother chuckled. "Get some sleep before I bust you outta here, bitch."

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Sam groaned loudly when the car finally stopped and didn't dare move his head from where it rested on the window. It had been a rough hour's drive from the hospital, and they'd had to stop twice so he could leave his lunch on the side of the road. "Sucks," he mumbled as the engine went silent and he felt Dean's hand on his shoulder.

"Just gimme a minute to make sure there's somewhere to lay your gigantor ass out, ok?" Dean watched Sam's pale face and smiled when he nodded. "No moving 'til I get back." He opened his door, climbed out and stretched. It had not been a fun drive for either of them, and he wanted Sam out of the car and laid out somewhere before the kid's head decided to spin and make him puke again. Dean jogged up the short path to the porch of the little cabin and looked it over. It seemed to be in decent repair with dark, brown shutters over the windows and log walls that were dark with the rain that had stopped twenty minutes before. It was a single story house with a peaked roof and a wide chimney that made him smile. At least they wouldn't freeze since he doubted the place could boast a furnace.

Dean kicked up the corner of the aging mat in front of the door and chuckled to find the key exactly where Bobby said it would be. He picked it up, opened the front door and sneezed. "Great." Dust swirled up from the floor as he walked inside and he knew it had been a long damn time since anyone had stopped there. There was a couch and a big chair, both covered in dusty white drop-cloths and Dean pulled the cloth from the couch; careful to not send up clouds of dust. He balled it up and threw it in the corner. The fireplace was covered by a grate and he tugged that away for a quick look in the dim light. It looked clean enough. He'd just hope the chimney wasn't clogged with leaves.

"It'll have to do," he said grimly and went back outside to get his brother. "Sammy?" Dean asked as he pulled the passenger door open and reached in to prop his brother up before he could slump out of the car. "You with me?"

"Uh. Yeah." Sam raised his head slowly and took hold of the hand Dean held out. "Tell me there's somewhere in there to lay down."

Dean smirked. "Yeah. Got a dusty old couch all ready for ya. Come on." He pulled Sam up slowly and staggered under his weight as Sam's legs took a moment to catch his balance. "Good?"

"More or… or less. Yeah. Think so." Sam slipped an arm over Dean's shoulders and tried to ignore the way the ground seemed to dip and heave under his feet as he moved. "Hate concussions."

"Yeah, me too, buddy. Here we go. Two steps." Dean guided Sam up onto the small porch and then inside. "You lay down and I'll open some windows and air this place out."

"Deal." Sam wanted to help, he really did, but he knew he needed to be lying down and the old couch suddenly looked like nirvana as they neared. "S'not dusty."

"It was covered. Come on. Here you go." Dean eased Sam down to the couch and propped a pillow up under his head as he went slowly over to his side. "You good or you gonna hurl again?"

"No." Sam shook his head once, instantly regretting it and closed his eyes. "M'ok."

"Yeah, you're great." Dean watched his brother for a moment, making sure he wasn't going to paint the floor and then stepped away. "Back in a minute." He jogged back outside and started pulling bags out of the trunk, theirs and the grocery bags he'd stopped for while Sam had been asleep. Bobby had been clear that the place was empty. It took him two trips to get everything inside and Sam looked to have dozed off yet again. Dean set about prying open the windows and the shutters, thankful that the glass was intact. The kitchen wasn't too frightening, except for the dust and Dean grinned to find the electricity had been turned on - Bobby's doing no doubt - and the refrigerator was already cool. He piled the perishables inside and then went to have a look at the bedroom situation.

"Not bad." Dean smiled. The bedroom, though small, boasted two queen size beds backed against each wall. They'd have to make do with blankets from the trunk until he could get to the store again. Dean quickly flipped the dusty mattress on the bed furthest from the door, leaving the clean side up and went back out into the living room to kneel next to his brother's head. "Sammy?" He tapped his jaw lightly to get his attention and smiled again when Sam's eyes fluttered open. "Earth to Sammy. You in there?"

"Dean? What…" Sam looked around in confusion and then back to his brother. "Where are we?"

Dean's heart fell a little with the question, but the doctor had told him Sam might be confused for a few days. "We're at that cabin Bobby told us about, remember?"

Sam shook his head and tried to sit up. "N-no. I… why's my head hurt?"

"Oh, boy. Ok. Take a minute and breathe. It'll come to you." Dean helped him sit up and held him there while Sam stared intently at the floor.

"Ghost." Sam said at last and closed his eyes. "There was a… and it hit me." He looked up at his brother. "Was tryin' to hit you."

"Right and you tossed your enormous skull in the way instead." Dean smirked. "Good job by the way. Next time, how about you just push me outta the way?"

"Too slow." Sam put a hand up to his head and groaned. "Damn that hurts."

"Got a bed for ya to stretch out on. Come on. You need some real rack time, not this rickety, short couch. Here we go. Up."

"M'not five," Sam protested, but he let his big brother tug him to his feet and would have gone right back down if not for the hold Dean had on him.

"You sound like it right now." Dean chuckled and led Sam down the short hall to the bedroom. He helped his brother to lie down and swung his legs up for him.

Sam sniffed and wrinkled his nose. "Smells musty."

"That's 'cause the last person who slept in here was wearing a hoop skirt." Dean smirked at him. "You should feel right at home."

"Jerk."

Dean chuckled and patted his hip. "Lem'me go grab a blanket."

Sam nodded and rolled slowly to his side, pillowing his aching head on his arm. His lapses in memory were really starting to get on his nerves. He could remember several instances of Dean asking him questions about things he should have known. He remembered the doctor asking him where home was, and the only answer Sam had for him was 'Impala'. The doctor had thought he was confused, but he distinctly recalled Dean's grin on the other side of the room. There were some things no head injury could take from him it seemed. He looked around the little bedroom and saw the small television set on the bureau across from him. Sam had found it a little steadying in the hospital with the television on in the room with the volume on low. It had given him something to focus on each time he woke up and he was beginning to miss it.

Dean bustled back into the room with an armful of blankets. He spread one out over his brother's legs and tapped his shoulder. "Lift your head for a sec."

Sam picked his head up carefully and felt his brother push a folded blanket under it like a pillow before he set it back down with a soft sigh. He opened one eye and looked at the little television again. "That tv work?"

"Let's find out." Dean went to the aging set and pushed the power button. He grinned when it turned on. "Yahtzee!" He flipped through the few available channels and settled on the news, turning the sound down loud enough for Sam to hear it but low enough to let him sleep. "How's that?"

Sam closed his eyes with the background noise and smiled. "Good. Thanks, Dean." He let the low drone of the reporter's voices lull him while Dean moved off into the cabin, no doubt trying to dust the place into submission. He could hear Dean cursing every so often and smiled. The news caught his attention as he realized it was the third time he'd heard bodies mentioned and Sam opened his eyes to look at the screen and really listen.

"Reports are sketchy, but police have confirmed three bodies have now been found in the forest surrounding Cragger's Mill. As yet, we have no details on the identities or state of the bodies or the cause of death. It's the off-season for loggers, and people are scarce on the mountain. One eyewitness claimed there were pieces scattered everywhere. Is this the work of wild animals or is there something darker stalking our streets?"

Sam lifted his head to watch an aerial view of the mountains, the dense forests with logging roads sliced through them, and the little town nestled at the base. "That's not good."

"What's not good?" Dean asked as he came back and saw Sam with his head up.

"I think there's a hunt here." Sam waved an arm toward the television and let his head rest back down as it started to pound. "Found bodies."

"There's bodies all over the place. Doesn't mean it's our kind of thing." Dean glanced at the tv and then bent to flip the mattress on the other bed. "Bobby wouldn't send us here if there were somethin' munchin' on the locals."

"He probably didn't know." Sam opened his eyes again and watched his brother. "Dean, if it is our sort of job… we have to do something."

"Whoa. We're not doin' a damn thing until your melon's not cracked anymore," Dean said firmly. He saw the stubborn set of Sam's jaw and rolled his eyes. "Ok, look. I gotta go into town anyway to pick up a few things. I'll check it out, alright? Will that satisfy you? I'll look into it."

"Yes." Sam trusted Dean not to lie to him about a job. "If you tell me it's nothing, I'll believe you."

"Alright, then. Get some sleep already. I'll be gone at least an hour and I don't want you tryin' to walk around without me." Dean pulled the blanket up higher to Sam's chest and patted his shoulder. "Just stay put." He'd salted all the doors in the cabin and the windows too, not willing to risk anything with his little brother helpless inside. He picked up the salt canister he'd brought in with him and reached over his brother to pour a heavy, thick white line on the window ledge. "Here." He set a bottle of water on the nightstand and his brother's phone. "You need somethin', you call me. You don't get up on your own. You hear me?"

"Yes, mom." Sam smiled and would have laughed if he didn't think it would hurt too much. "Go on. Sooner you look into this the better."

"Knew I shouldn't have left the news on with your geek brain online." Dean chuckled and left the room. He grabbed up his jacket and looked back toward the bedroom, suddenly not fond of the idea of leaving Sam on his own, not if there really was something munching on people in this damn town. "Dammit." He went out to the car and looked at the little cabin backed by trees and took out his phone to call Bobby. "Better not be a damn job in this town. Not now."

Dean dialed Bobby as he drove down the mountain toward town. "Bobby. So Sam was watchin' the news, and it looks like there might be a job in this town. Tell me I'm wrong."

"Balls! Are you serious?" Bobby jerked up out of his chair and took his coffee with him into the living room and his computer. "Dean, I swear I wouldn't'a sent you two up there if there was somethin' screwy goin' on, not with Sam hurt."

"I know, man. I know. Just… check it out, would ya'? I'm gonna hit up the coroner's office here and see what I can find. They've got bodies on the ground." Dean turned a hard corner and slowed as a deer wandered across the road in front of him. "I'm gonna have a hell of a time keepin' Sam outta this if there is something here."

"I know. Boy's like a dog with a bone. Lem'me have a look and I'll call you back." Bobby booted up his laptop with a curse. "Sorry, Dean." Mentally, he calculated that he was about five and a half hours from the boys and could be there in no time if he needed to and he was starting to feel like he needed to.

"Don't worry about it." Dean eased past the deer and sped up again. "I'm not gonna borrow trouble 'til I know whether it's our kind of job or not. Later, Bobby." He flipped the phone closed and put his attention back on the mountain road. The town came into view, small and sleepy looking, nestled in among the trees and half hidden by them. Lights were just beginning to come on as the sun began to set and the streets were fairly empty of people. He figured the town was probably bustling during logging season.

The police station was easy to find and the coroner's office was a small building attached to it, making Dean's life easier. He dug through the glove box for the right ID and smiled as he found his FBI badge and pocketed it. "Let's see if Agent Rogers can turn up anything interesting." He missed having Sam beside him as he walked up to the station and inside. His little brother had a knack for putting people at ease and getting information out of them. It was those damn puppy dog eyes of his; no one could resist them, including Dean.

"Can I help you?" A burly desk sergeant stopped Dean inside the door.

"Yeah, I need to speak with your coroner." Dean pulled out his badge and flipped it open. "Agent Rogers. I've got some questions about these bodies you've turned up."

"Well, hell. The chief ain't gonna be happy to see you. Come on." The sergeant sighed and waved Dean around the desk. "I'm Sergeant Hibbert. What are you doin' here anyway?"

Dean snorted. "Believe it or not, I'm just up here with my partner. He took a hard hit on our last case. Came up here to let him rest up and then we hear about this. Boss said since we're here, we may as well have a look, like we don't have anything better to do."

The sergeant rolled his eyes in understanding. "Assholes never let ya' have five minutes, do they?"

"Never." Dean grinned at how easily he'd won the sergeant's sympathy.

"How is your partner?"

"Took a hell of a hit to the head, but he'll be good, assuming I can keep his ass down for five minutes." Dean followed the man through into the coroner's and gave the pretty woman sitting at a desk a long look. "He's stubborn."

The sergeant chuckled. "Yeah, I know the type. You and the chief are gonna butt heads. Fair warning. He's a good guy, though. Try not to step on his toes too much."

"Promise, man. I'm just here to have a look so I can tell my boss it's nothin' and get the hell outta your hair." Dean raised a hand in promise as they pushed through a set of doors. "This was supposed to be a quiet two weeks for us."

"Malcolm?" Sergeant Hibbert called to the two men in the room and smiled when the larger of them turned to look. "Got a fed here for ya. Try not to chew his head off. He's just doin' his job. Agent Rogers, Chief Malcolm Cander. Enjoy."

"A fed?" Chief Cander glared over at Dean. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Like I told the sarge, I'm just checkin' it out for my boss. Got a bug up his ass about this. Believe me, I don't wanna be here either." Dean stepped forward and held out his hand. "I came up here to let my partner heal up from a bad blow to the head, and then we got the call about this crap. I ain't happy."

"Partner?" Malcolm's dour expression softened at the mention of a wounded agent. "How bad did he get tagged?"

"Bad enough he's out of it for a couple weeks." Dean wasn't above playing up Sam's injury if it got him in with the chief, not that he had to play it up. It was serious enough. "The bastard we brought in didn't wanna come quietly and cracked him over the back of the head with a fifty pound statue. Rattled his brains but good."

"Jesus. Sorry to hear that." Malcolm blew out a breath and looked at the agent. He seemed young in his street clothes, the battered leather jacket speaking of hard years spent on a hard job. "Alright, look. I'll show you what we've got and you can tell your boss there's nothin' to worry about. We've got it under control, and you can go back to taking care of your partner."

"Deal." Dean shook the man's hand and smiled. "Kid's stubborn as hell too. If he thinks there's something we should be lookin' at, I won't be able to keep him down."

Malcolm chuckled. "I've got a deputy like that. Ok, come on. This is Fred Robertson, our M.E. Fred, show him the files."

"Hey, Agent. Sorry to hear about your partner." Fred shook Dean's hand and grabbed a file off the table. "Don't have much, but it looks like your basic, run-of-the-mill serial killer offin' people and dumpin' what's left in the forest. Happens sometimes."

"Right." Dean took the folder and opened it. He frowned as he read the reports on the bodies. "What's he using to kill them?"

"Well, there are definite signs of a knife being used on some of the bones, so that'd be my guess." Fred shrugged. "The wildlife doesn't leave a whole lot to pick through around here."

"Odds are, whoever it is has moved on by now." The chief leaned against the wall of freezer doors and watched Dean reading the file. "Killers like this don't tend to stick around too long, especially in small towns where everybody knows everybody. They stay on the move."

Dean nodded and flicked through the autopsy photos. They were black and white, grainy, and made it hard to tell what he was looking at, but he was inclined to agree with the chief. A human killer wasn't their job, and he could put Sam off about it. "Looks straight-forward enough. How many…"

The doors to the autopsy room banged open suddenly and two deputies pushed in with a tarp-covered gurney and grim faces. "Chief! We got another one!"

"Dammit." Chief Cander glared at the gurney.

Dean watched as one of the deputies grabbed the tarp and peeled it off the remains. It had clearly once been a person, but there wasn't a lot left. He moved up alongside with the chief to look down and swallowed hard. The body had been dismembered. The left leg rested beside the head but the disturbing part wasn't the jumbled limbs, gnawed bones, or bits of shredded muscle and sinew; it was the pile of almost gelatinous flesh that they had scooped up and deposited with the body. He could see bits of bone and even a tooth and Dean's blood went cold. He knew what they were dealing with. "Son of a bitch."

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To Be Continued…