Turn the Page -Sequel to More Than a Feeling

Chapter 7

"You know, Dean, it's nice out. You could try walking back and forth out there. It would almost be like exercise."

Dean was in no mood for Sam to be calm. "It's been half an hour. Where the hell is she?"

"Maybe there was a line."

Since his tongue-lashing from Sam the evening before, Dean had been trying not to treat Ruthie like she was helpless. But every minute she'd been gone had brought a new, horrible scenario to his imagination: Ruthie dressed like Sleeping Beauty, dead. Like Cinderella, dead. Like the chick from Beauty and the Beast, dead. It probably didn't help that he was hungry. And his whole body ached from sleeping on that freaking sofa bed—if you could call it sleeping.

He kept pacing, watching Sam irritably for a few minutes, sitting there with his laptop, searching for leads on any artistic, potential witches in town. It wasn't right for Sam's hair to be so perfect right now. It mocked him, laying there all smooth and Fabio-ish, while he himself was too frazzled to even sit down. He almost turned toward Ruthie's bed to ask if Sam had been using her shampoo. But of course, she wasn't there.

Dean yanked his phone out of his pocket and scowled at it, willing it to sing "Chris-TEE-na" at him. But it didn't. He punched her name in his contacts, ignoring Sam's crossed arms and scoldy face. It rang until her cheery voice told him to leave a message.

"Screw it," he said. "I'm going to get her."

"Dean—"

Dean ignored him, and marched out the door and toward the bakery.

Once he got there, it took only a minute for his fears to be confirmed. He raced back to their room and burst through the door, panting.

Sam looked up at him, startled.

"She's not there. The guy said he hasn't seen her today." Dean's voice was taut, like every muscle and tendon.

Fear flashed through Sam's eyes as he stood up. "Where do we look?"

Dean raked his hands through his hair. "I don't know." He scanned the room, not knowing what he was looking for. Something, anything—

His gaze landed on her duffel bag. He hurried over, crouched down, and dug inside. He pulled out a folded newspaper. He stood, opened it, and froze.

Sam came over. "What is it?"

Dean turned the paper for him to see. Sam's face paled.

"She hid this from me," Dean said in a low voice. "She didn't want us to see it. Why?"

Sam still looked shell-shocked. "I don't know. We've been looking for this thing for months."

"No," Dean said. "She's been looking for months. Or that's what she's been telling us."

Sam frowned. "What are you saying?"

"I don't know, Sam." He waved the newspaper in the air. "All I know is, this paper shows up, she hides it from us and bolts."

Sam's eyes widened again. "You don't think she went after it alone?"

"She's not stupid." Even as he said it though, fingers of ice streaked through his chest.

Sam looked down at the floor. His voice dropped. "She's been trying to prove herself to you." His eyes jumped up to Dean's. "To us," he corrected, but too late.

She'd known Sam was on her side, that he believed in her. Sam had encouraged her, made her feel like part of the team.

If she'd felt like she had to take on that werewolf alone in order to prove something, it was because of Dean. Because he'd tried too hard to protect her. Because he hadn't been willing to risk losing her.