First off, the episode title is Wishful Thinking. Jeez! Sorry!
Second, thanks for all the reviews, alerts and guesses. Very cool!
Third, I don't own anything, I think there's some swearing and some generally bad writing because I didn't have a beta. I don't recommend that to anyone. Ever.
Fourth, thank you thank you to Gem and TraSan. You guys are really just amazing!
Sorry for any mistakes, obnoxious errors, horrible medical facts and general bad storytelling. I tried to wrap up all my loose ends (because I hate when that doesn't happen) so if I did miss something, it was purely by accident. I also tried to shift this into "I Know What you did Last Summer" so there are some mild ties to that as well.
Ugh, here goes! Thanks for sticking with me!
Her family's cabin had always been a retreat of sorts. The Young's would journey there several times a year, bringing friends of the family, having bonfires and roasting marshmallows in the back, telling spooky ghost stories that Wendy never believed. Her father laughed as he tried to scare the girls but it never worked. They knew better.
This place always held a certain fondness for Wendy, even after her father died. Her mother would accompany her every once in a while, but she longed for the days with her husband and soon declined the invitations, allowing Wendy to bring her own friends, as long as she promised to behave.
This is where Stan had first kissed her, where he'd promised that once they'd finished high school, they would find a way to be together. There was no way she could get into Princeton, but they researched possible schools in the area that she could attend, settling on a few.
Then, Stan was ripped from her and for the first time, she really felt her mother's pain at the loss of her love.
But now, she'd found a way around that. She'd found a way to bring Stan back so they could be together, forever.
For the past few years, she'd studied up on Wiccan, hoping to find the answer to her broken heart through the spiritual enlightenment the practice taught. As she dug deeper, finding more and more things in the tomes of the library vault, she'd learned that black magic was the only way to get what she wanted. It took several months, but she finally found the perfect spell and now she had the means to make it work.
Sam was resting comfortably on the sofa, enormous legs awkwardly splayed across the cushions. He seemed to like it, so it was fine with her. She'd learned so much about him on their ride to the cabin. Wendy actually found herself feeling a little sorry for him, connecting with his deep pangs of loss for Jessica; the same that she had for her beloved. After the verbal catharsis from Sam, Wendy knew that whatever she needed, he'd willingly give to her. No questions asked.
She walked over to the sofa, kneeling next to Sam, brushing his cheek to rouse him. He blinked up at her and smiled, lunging for her lips with a passion she'd never known with Stan; it had been ripped away too soon. She returned the kiss, continuing to strengthen the spell she'd placed on the man before her.
Sam suddenly pulled back from her, dazed but happy. "Tell me again how you managed it? How are you back here with me?" She felt a strand of her hair pushed behind her ear as he looked lovingly at her.
"I told you, Sam. It was the angels. They knew that if I came back, you'd stay away from Ruby and stop your pursuit of Lilith. That's it. I mean, they were able to pull Dean from Hell, right? Why not do the same for me, in Heaven?" She watched as the logic of the argument seemed to settle Sam's curiosity a bit. "There was no way I could say no to being with you, especially with all the guilt you've harbored all these years." Wendy pulled herself to the edge of the couch near Sam's torso, placing her hand on his shoulder. "I love you too much to watch you continue to suffer."
Sam shook his head, still arguing the facts on the table, channeling his later Stanford days. "But after everything that's happened, everything that I've done, why would they reward me? I just don't understand."
Wendy started to panic a little, not really knowing everything that was going on. Sure, she got the gist of it – demon blood, The Deal, brother in Hell, the impending Apocalypse - but she wasn't really caught up in all the details. All she knew was that Sam had visions of his girlfriend dying beforehand and that major piece of guilt was going to get her what she wanted. If she needed to throw some Dean guilt in there as well, she would.
Putting all the chips on the table, Wendy quickly realized that she'd probably stumbled into something a little beyond her abilities. But Sam was her chance at bringing Stan back, and damn it, she was going to make this work.
"You're a good person, Sam, no matter what you may believe. Or what you think the angels or even the demons believe. And what happened to Dean was not your fault. It was his decision to make the Deal." She stopped her monologue to emphasize her love for him with another booster shot of the potion, concentrating heavily on clouding his mind. She pulled back, keeping a bit of Sam's lower lip in her teeth, releasing with a ping. "You've been through so much and you deserve a little happiness. Don't you think you deserve to be happy? Can't we be happy, together?"
She carded her fingers through Sam's hair, alarmed at the feeling of a new dampness. If he was fevered, it meant his body was trying to fight the infection of her spell. That meant she was running out of time.
"I don't know what to believe anymore, Jess. I just know that I'm so happy that you're here. That you're okay. That's all the really matters."
Wendy felt herself pulled into the strength of his massive arms, amazed at how gentle and kind he was. A strange giddiness enveloped her from the attention of such a man, glad she'd added a little extra punch into that last kiss. But she knew it was now or never.
"Baby, can you do me a favor?" Wendy asked, nuzzling herself into Sam's neck and draping her thin arm around him, stroking the back of his head.
She kissed his neck, breathing out more of the spell and whispering the incantation softly into his ear.
"Shit!" Dean screamed, grabbing the paper down from the wall. "Shit!" This was bad; this was really bad.
Wendy the Witch wasn't the innocent from the Caspar cartoons; she was bat-crazy. She couldn't do the simple raising the zombies from the dead, routine. No, she had to find a blood spell – the blood of a willing lover. The blood of someone so nuts for her that they'd give their own lives to make her happy.
"Shit!" Dean added for emphasis, kicking at the stray pair of flowered boots on her floor.
He hit speed dial, hoping that he'd get lucky and Sam would answer, saying this was all one big joke, but like the fifty times before, it went straight to voice mail. Dean hung up and tried the next number down.
"Bobby, I figured it out. It's a blood spell…"
Sam sat on the hard wooden chair like a five-year-old boy waiting to be told what to do next. He didn't exactly remember how he'd gotten here but since he was seated, he rested his arms on the arms, looking at Jess as she busied herself around the room. She was always busy.
God he loved that about her.
He watched the ebbs and flows of her figure as she walked around, gathering a bowl and some silverware, probably getting ready to make cookies again. She made the best cookies. She bent so he could see her backside and he flourished with love, waiting to take her in his arms again and let her know how much he loved her.
But she'd asked him to stay right where he was; she had a surprise for him. And when it came to anything Jessica, he loved her surprises.
Sam reached to paw through his hair sleepily, feeling a complicated haze about him that wasn't there earlier. Like being drunk, only he hadn't remembered drinking. He drew his eyebrows together at that thought, wondering why he was feeling the way he was when Jess appeared in his line of vision again.
"Hi!" she said playfully, leaning in to kiss him with her soft, plump lips colored in that shade of pink that only belonged to her. "Miss me?"
His arms wrapped instantly around her tiny frame, squeezing with just enough pressure to let her know how much he did miss her. "Do you need to ask?"
She laughed and he watched her smile as it seemed to brighten the room, warming his skin and filling his heart with overwhelming emotion.
"Are you ready for your surprise?"
Dean was now in a state of panic. The spell required blood – a lot of blood – in order to raise the lover from his grave. And the longer the person had been dead, the more blood it took.
This was not good.
Bobby started a background check on the family to see if they owned property anywhere else in the area while Dean continued to search the house. He ran back upstairs looking in the rooms adjacent to the living room, assuming there was a bedroom of sorts somewhere nearby. He opened the lime green door and unveiled what he assumed was Wendy's bedroom. While it was not girly in the least, there were telltale signs that it belonged to her: multi-colored skirts, rumpled clothing on the floor, flat shoes and….
A white cat?
"I thought witches owned black cats. You're out of place." Dean reached to grab the cat when it scurried from his grasp and up the back of her bed, knocking over one of the few pictures on her headboard. He picked up the frame from the comforter and there, before him, was the small family of three perched in front of the campground entrance to Lake Earn.
"Bingo! Thanks, kitty!"
Dean pulled his phone out and dialed Bobby.
Wendy sat once again on Sam's lap, relishing this truly incredible moment. When she'd started researching this spell, she never actually figured she'd be able to do it. In order for the black magic portion to work, the person had to be head-over-heels in love with her. The problem was if that person was really in love, and she'd found a true lover, would she be able to actually kill him in order to bring Stan back?
Then she'd discovered this love potion spell, and her plan came together.
While she did genuinely find Sam attractive and interesting, having many of the same traits as her beloved Stan, she knew they would never work out. Plus, she had bewitched him into thinking she was Jessica, adding a layer of unease to their already unhealthy relationship.
This way worked much better.
She pulled the knife from the bowl beside her and showed it to Sam. Using the information she'd ascertained from Sam about the demon blood and playing on his fear of the angel's wrath, along with the guilt of losing his girlfriend and sending his brother to Hell, she figured her plan couldn't fail.
"Sam. The angels, they came…and talked to me," Wendy said with a sadness in her eyes and a dark timbre in her voice. She had to turn her head from him, escaping the emotion now exuding from his eyes at the sudden change in her demeanor.
"Did they threaten you? What happened?" Sam grabbed her shoulder and squeezed, encouraging her to continue.
"They said…they said that this blood in you…it's evil..." Wendy started to cry to the best of her acting ability, gently pulling her tiny frame up and down for added affect. She knew he was watching her every move. "They want you to…"
"What? What do they want me to do, Jess?"
"You need to get rid of it. You need to prove to them that…the good part of you still exists. They want you to prove that you love me by wanting to cleanse your blood." Wendy threw herself into Sam's chest, breathing out deeply and forcefully, surrounding the air with one last dose of her poison. "They can make you better, and we can be together. But only…only if you do this, for me. For us!"
After a few moments, she pulled back, watching Sam's face go through every emotion known to man. Wendy didn't think that so much could be said in a facial expression until she watched it happen before her. She saw sorrow, grief, guilt, happiness, doubt, anger and finally conviction.
Wendy felt the brush of his palm against her cheek, twisting to the back of his hand as it made its way down her neck to just above her heart. He paused, watching the up and down flow of her chest taking in the life that he'd seen slip away from him. She could read the awe in his face as he saw Jessica before him.
The knife was gently removed from Wendy's hand and he raised it, studying the qualities of the blade like a jeweler scoping a diamond.
And Sam sliced the knife through the first layers of skin on his arm, watching the blood drip silently to the floor.
"It's not too far, Dean. You can probably get there in twenty minutes if you hurry."
Bobby'd confirmed what Dean had found; a small cabin on a lake owned by the family for years. It made perfect sense that Wendy would go where she was comfortable and free. And alone. There was probably a second altar set up at the cabin but Dean didn't want to take any chances that the two were linked, smashing the contents and candles in the basement and booking out the door.
The directions to the cabin were straightforward, but the fear of losing Sam and not getting there in time was overwhelming, pressing him to drive even faster.
They'd been through some pretty rough times the last weeks, the scariest of which was watching Sam exorcise Samhain with his mind. It had taken a lot of out Sam, giving him a killer headache and an instant nosebleed, but it took even more out of Dean knowing how Sam was tempting the angels to strike him down. Sam swore that was all he could do was destroy the demons, but his brother had gotten pretty good at lying to him and that worried Dean more than he'd let on.
So, it had to stop. He needed to get through to Sam, but first he had to find him.
The ride took forever, especially with Dean's guilt swirling through his mind at the initial set up in the first place. How could he have known that a homicidal witch was after her next victim, and he handed him to her on a silver platter?
Winchester luck, that's how I should have known…
Sam watched with absolute joy for several minutes at the smile on Jessica's face. He'd forgotten how incredibly beautiful she was, how the sun hit her skin and made it glow. How her kiss made all the nightmares fade away.
He remembered coming home that night after Dean had dropped him back at the apartment, promising to stay in touch, seeing the plate piled with warm cookies. Sam remembered grabbing a few and shoving them into his mouth, padding upstairs to see the love of his life, calling her name as he climbed higher. Then he heard the pitter-patter of the shower, knowing what awaited him when she came out and the comfort of being home. Having an actual home.
But the drop of blood hit him squarely in the face and he looked up to see Jessica pinned to the ceiling, gut slashed open. All the nightmares came true. He should have prevented it. He could have prevented it, but he didn't want to believe it was true – couldn't believe that he was a freak and had seen the future. The horrible, terrifying future as his life went up in flames. Again.
Jessica never deserved to die; she deserved so much more. Her life was cut short because of him and his lies. Because he couldn't admit who he really was…
Now, he'd made her happy and they could be together again. He was so worried how she would react to the truth, but she had been amazingly calm and unwavering about the demon blood and what was going on with the angels. I should have told her all along. She would have accepted me for who I was. Maybe she could have saved me…
It didn't matter now. This simple answer would save them all. If the angels were finally on his side and this is what they wanted to get him back in God's graces, so be it.
After finally meeting Castiel, and ultimately, Uriel, Sam was overwhelmed by them, having prayed to God and his angels all his life. It's not that he'd expected fluffy feathers and halos. He knew the lore; knew that they were fierce warriors of God. But what they presented wasn't anything like he'd imagined; he was quickly dismayed at how unjust they were. Cas wouldn't even shake his hand, calling him "the boy with the demon blood."
Dean was right, they were dicks.
So then, why would they suddenly agree to give him Jessica back and help him with the demon blood when they wouldn't even touch him a few weeks ago? What could have happened in that period of time to make everything better? Was this a residual wish that he'd made at the wishing well without realizing it?
Something was definitely not right.
A pause. "Yes, Sam."
"Why am I doing this again?" Sam asked, trying to be forceful and steady but the words came out surprisingly slurred and sloppy.
"Because you love me. Because the angels said so."
Sam pondered the answer for a moment, fighting for clarity in his mind. He'd just been through the mental checklist of why this was so wonderful before realizing that the angels didn't give a damn about him. He took a shallow breath and started to work this out. "But the angels…are dicks. Why did they…change their mind and decide to help me when they were just threatening me…" The more Sam tried to think about it, the more he knew that this was not how it was supposed to be and he was going to get to the bottom of it.
His throat was dry, swallowing to assuage the desert forming there. As his body jerked, he felt a strange pull on his arm. Looking down, he was surprised to see his blood running like a stream down his skin. When did that happen? Had this been part of the plan of his purification via angel grace? He couldn't remember… For the first time, he noticed the crimson seemed to be dripping into an ornate chalice at the base of his chair. Sam shook his head and looked again to see the alarming rate which it was filling.
Jess came into his view, all smiles and beauty, running a palm down the side of his face. "Because they know that deep down, you're a good person and this is the way to make everything alright," she said, her head nodding up and down.
Her words were convincing; at least, he wanted to believe them. Was there really salvation for him? Could this be the answer to his years of prayer?
But he was a Winchester and deep in his gut, he knew this was wrong.
Sam tried to rise, needing to stand and clear his head, but he found that he was actually tied down to the chair. The rope was amateur at best and in normal circumstances, he could have broken free in no time but he pulled uselessly at it with his whole body, jerking unsteadily in the seat.
"Jess? Why is there a rope around my waist?"
"So you don't hurt yourself, Baby. I can't have you falling off the chair as we get through the final stages for the angels, can I?" Jessica flashed a smile at Sam who was becoming wearier with fatigue and confusion every moment.
Sam looked down his arm again and a pang of fear sliced through him, wondering what would happen to Dean if this scenario came to pass. "I…I don't think this is right, Jess. I think this is a trick," Sam answered, now struggling a bit more to release himself from the chair. He watched as the blonde came to him, reaching for his hair to comb it back. Her touch felt different this time. "I think we should….call Dean and tell him what happened."
"You do have lovely locks, Sam. And maybe, if things were different, I'd want to get to know you better." She fisted Sam's hair tightly, yanking his head upwards revealing her true face through his glazed eyesight. "But I need your blood to bring back my true love. Sorry about Jess," she added with a shrug. "I guess you can die knowing that one of us got what we wanted."
Sam felt his head released from the grasp and looked at the woman before him, confused and disjointed at the turn of events.
"Who are you? What…are you doing?" Speech was becoming more difficult as his motor skills seemed to put the brakes on.
"I need the blood of someone who loves me more than life, so I can bring back my own love. And you are giving it to me, drip by drip." Sam felt his arm raised as she inspected the wound, showing it briefly to Sam then dropping it. "By the looks of it, I only need another pint or two and I'm all set." The woman's face was in his and he suddenly remembered who she was.
"The library… you were, helping me." Sam's vision grayed for a moment before pulling himself back to the moment. "Don't… do this. He won't…be… the same."
The woman smiled as she sat again on Sam's lap, making herself comfortable for the finale. "Oh, I know all about zombies and love slaves. I've done a lot of research. It's kinda what I do," she added with a giggle, leaning over to see the chalice continuing to fill. "This is a combination of spells from two different practices. The love spell is really pretty harmless but I ratcheted it up a notch or so. The black magic part? Yeah, that's a little trickier, but I'm pretty confident."
"But I don't… love you," Sam squeezed out between breaths, finding consciousness more of challenge.
"No, but when I started the drip you did, and there will be enough pheromones in there to get me what I need," she countered, getting up from Sam's lap to busy herself with some other task. He tried to grab at her but she laughed as she continued to walk away. "You don't have the strength, Sam. I'd give it a rest."
Sam knew he was running out of time and if he didn't stop the blood flow, he'd soon pass out. He pulled his good arm and tried to release himself from the rope tied about his waist.
There was no way that she would have the muscle to truly make it tight, now that he saw her true form. If he could just loosen it enough to get up, he might be about to knock her out, stop the bleeding and call Dean, preferably in that order.
Long fingers traced the origins of the rope, finding the knot a little further in his back. He dug his stubby fingernails into the knot, feeling for some kind of give. The twine poked at him but his sense of pain was dulling and the insignificant scratches only served to keep his mind thinking. He pushed and pulled, back and forth and finally found a small opening to shove his fingers into. Without making too much noise or too much movement, Sam was able to get a portion of the rope to come free.
The librarian was hovering over a black alter that was adjacent to a cauldron of some sort, clearly engrossed in her spellmaking and not concerned about Sam at all.
I haven't had enough of witches in the last few weeks!
Shaking the cluttered thoughts, Sam continued to work at the rope, finally getting the bondage from his torso and dropping it to the floor with a slight thud. He worried that the noise would call her attention back his way but she was in the throes of the spell.
Sam looked around the room trying to find a towel or something that would serve as a tourniquet for his arm. Nothing jumped at him, partly because the room was moving with an awful spin and tilt, colors all turning a lovely shade of gray. For the moment, his palm would have to do.
The pot at his feet was alarmingly full and a rush of bile started up his throat. Sam pulled his gaze away, focusing on his next steps…
What was I doing…
Steadying himself, Sam planted his feet and shifted his weight forward as he held his dripping arm to his chest. He took a deep breath, finding his center and pulling himself upward. His eyes swam and closed automatically at the onslaught of fatigue and blood loss. Sam took a gingered step forward, knocking into the nearest table. The woman's blazing eyes shot back at him as she raced to stop him from escaping; grasping the knife he'd used moments earlier to carve his arm.
"Now, Sam, that's not very nice trying to leave our little party. We were just getting to know each other." She pointed the knife at him as he lumbered closer to her.
Sam knew he was screwed. His body was shutting down and his mind was having a hard time comprehending everything going on around him. The fight or flight instinct was still primed and ready, adrenaline probably the only thing still pumping through his veins. He knew he wasn't going down without a fight. Lunging forward with his one good arm, Sam tried to bat the knife away, hoping to knock her down with his weight. Grossly miscalculating, the woman countered Sam, thrusting upwards with the knife and into Sam's ribcage, yanking it out immediately with a sickening slurp.
"Why did you have to do that? Now I have even more of a mess." She tossed the object to the table, turning back to the altar.
Sam fell to a heap on the floor, gasping in short breaths as blood now oozed from his chest as well. He tried to steady his breathing but found that oxygen was not his friend, face planting to the floor with a crash.
The cabin was exactly where Bobby'd said it would be, along with a Cutlass Sierra parked out front. Barely stopping the car, Dean grabbed his Glock and raced to the door, busting down the wooden barrier with a swift kick.
Wendy stared back at him, shocked at seeing the man again. Having nothing to defend herself with, she ran from the room, tripping along the way but catching her balance.
Dean started after her when he noticed Sam piled on the floor covered in blood. By the time he looked back up at her, she'd run around the corner and slammed a door. She'd have to wait.
Racing to his brother, he turned Sam over to find a lump on his head that had a small nick in the center. What were more concerning were the shallow breaths and the weak pulse. "Sammy? You there?" Dean tapped lightly on Sam's face, getting no reaction. That's when panic set in.
Examining him further, he found Sam's shirt a mess of wet crimson. Dean wasn't sure where to begin as he unfolded his brother.
His brother's arm was still dripping from the incision made but there was also a wound just above his stomach that Dean feared had hit a lung. Not wanting to leave Sam's side, he gophered the area to see if there was anything of help nearby. Spotting a towel on the back of a chair to the dining room, Dean lowered his brother to the floor as he sprinted to gather the cloth.
Military first aid always came naturally to them, patching each other up with whatever MacGyverisms they could come up with. The arm seemed straight forward enough, but the stomach wound was definitely beyond Dean's ability. Looking past his brother, he saw the rope lying on the floor next to the chair, knowing that Sam had just freed himself. On the other side of the chair was the chalice filled with Sam's blood. Too much blood. As Dean looked back down at Sam, hopelessness started to fill his heart.
Shakily, Dean reached in his pocket to dial 911 knowing that these injuries required professional attention. As he flipped the phone open, he heard sirens in the background getting closer to their location.
The phone vibrated and the screen lit up the name BOBBY.
"Did you call them," he barked into the phone at the older hunter, still assessing Sam's situation.
"Just after you left." There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end. "It's bad, isn't it?"
Dean's breath hitched at the question, looking at his brother, seeing the face of an innocent, not the demon-killing bad ass that lay before him. "Yeah. It's bad. How did you know?"
Bobby sighed at the question, obviously hoping he'd been wrong. "I did a little research on this ritual and I figured by the time you got to Sam, it might be…Well, let's just say I wanted to add some insurance to make sure the boy was alright."
Two paramedics pounded through the door immediately heading to Sam to ascertain his situation.
"Thanks, Bobby. I'll call you."
A hand landed on Dean's shoulder and he looked up to the kind eyes of the female paramedic. "Can you tell me what happened?"
Dean looked down at his brother who was way too pale and still for his own comfort; breathing quick and staggered. "I'm… I'm not sure. She…kidnapped him. She's still in the house."
A third presence made itself known as a navy blue uniform entered Dean's vision. Scanning upwards, the policewoman regarded him with a stern nature. Her hands shifted to the butt of her gun, nodding slightly at Dean's information. "I'll check it out." And she ran off.
Concern back to Sam, Dean started to fabricate a lie in his head, realizing that the truth was a better option in this case. "I think she was trying to perform some ritual. She took him and…"
The other paramedic was already attending to Sam's wounds; staunching the flow of the arm quickly with a tourniquet and applying pressure to the stomach. The woman who was speaking with Dean got up and pulled her bag open, getting vitals on Sam.
Dean watched as she checked his blood pressure and heart rate, looking gravely at her partner.
"Kid's 80/50. We gotta get this under control now or we'll lose him," the first medic stated, grey hair cropped short in a buzz cut. The years of experience were clear in the lines on his face.
"Did you see all the blood? I'll start the IV but that's a helluva lot to try and replace with the fluids." The female medic who'd questioned Dean was swabbing Sam's skin and prepping to insert the IV.
Dean watched them work, listening to the grim forecast. "What can I do? Can he have my blood?"
"I lost the pulse. Hold on," the woman said strapping an oxygen mask to Sam's face, getting herself ready for CPR if need be.
"If he's got a bleed in the lung, we'll only make this worse with compressions. Keep on the IV." The orders were obeyed without question as the man took on the oxygen, pulsing into his lungs, hoping for a response while keeping his finger at Sam's neck.
"It's faint but there. We gotta go. Now!"
Dean stood and watched the team put his brother on the gurney, not really believing that they'd lost him; grateful that they hadn't.
This whole thing was supposed to be a joke; a way to make things better between the two of them. Something to laugh at. Something for Sam to get indignant about because of the baiting of the librarian.
It wasn't supposed to end up with him lying on the floor with half his blood sitting in a bowl to be used in a resurrection spell.
"Sir? Are you with me?" The young woman grasped his bicep, grabbing his attention away from his inner thoughts.
"Yeah. Sorry. It's all just sort of, overwhelming," Dean answered honestly. He looked up to see his brother being carted out the door. "Sammy? Where are they taking him?"
"Just relax. He's in good hands," the medic said, words dripping from her lips with ease having said it a hundred times before. "Oakdale has the best local hospital but it's about 45 minutes and we don't think he'd make it. There's a satellite clinic 10 minutes up in Forest Glen. We'll go there and further assess your brother's condition."
Dean nodded, thankful to Bobby's quick thinking. "Can I come with?"
"It's up to you but you might want to bring your car along. I don't expect he'll be at Forest Glen for long and then you'll get stuck."
Radio chatter was heard from behind the kitchen as the officer was calling for some kind of back up. Dean never liked authority figures but he figured the cop could figure this one out on her own. Looking around a final time, Dean pulled himself together and ran to the Impala, weaving through the roads behind the ambulance, keeping up with her pace for pace.
Dean was sick with worry. They'd taken Sam to the chop-shop ER over two hours ago. They were supposed to just ready him for transport and ship him to the real hospital, but there'd been "complications." Sam bottomed out and stopped breathing and they'd forced a tube down this throat to counteract the nick in his lung. And being told they didn't have enough O+ blood in their bank didn't help either. Then when Dean watched a new doctor come flying in from outside about an hour in, barely stopping to check in, he knew they were in trouble.
It had been a flurry of activity for the tiny clinic and the more time that passed, the worse he felt about his brother's chances of survival.
Finally, around hour three, the ambulance wheeled itself back into the makeshift dock area, doors opening ready for transport. Dean turned to see a grey door opened by a member of the nursing staff, followed by the top of Sam's head. He was strapped onto the stretcher, IV and blood ports hanging from the rolling pole along with an oxygen machine forcing air into Sam's lungs.
He looked the color of death.
"What now?" Dean asked, following the gurney to the back of the ambulance.
The name on the man's white lab coat said Dr. Wilson. The man looked to Dean and tried a smile. "It was a little rough. We're just not equipped to handle an emergency like this here." The doctor pulled the mask from his face, revealing a slight mustache. "We're a small town. Ritualistic torture stuff isn't really our thing."
Dean watched as the gurney was lowered and then raised to get Sam into the back of the ambulance. Paramedics were barking orders to each other as they hooked Sam to the internal machines.
"I was able to staunch the bleed from his arm easily but we only had three pints of blood here. He needs another four. We tried to compensate with additional IV fluids but he's still dangerously low." The man paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Had I known it was going to take this long, I would have sent for the blood but there simply wasn't time or personnel. The lung started to give us grief and tried to collapse, but we were able to cease that from happening with our limited equipment."
Dean made his way near the back of the ambulance, clearly seeing there was no room for him. "What do we do now?" There was a slight shake to his voice as he threw his fists into his pockets.
"The ride to Forest Glen is about half an hour. The staff is ready for him when he arrives. Hopefully, we were able to inflate the lung enough to keep it going and the fluids will sustain him until we get him there."
"And what happens once he gets there," Dean asked as the doors were shut and his brother was whisked away, sirens blaring.
"They'll readjust what we did to stabilize his lung and fill him up with O+. If he makes it to the hospital, he should be alright," the doctor added, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I know it's hard to watch someone you love in pain, son. Technically, he shouldn't still be here, but he fought to stay. I'm guessing you had something to do with that." He patted his shoulder at an attempt to reassure.
The ambulance was in the bay when Dean arrived, but just barely. As he ran into the ER, he saw the chestnut locks wheeled down the hallway. He made his way over to the doors to watch Sam hurried down the hallway.
"He made it. He's a trooper." It was the female paramedic who'd originally helped at the cabin. "The lung tried to give us guff, but we were able to work it. I think he'll be fine." The smile was genuine and lit up her face, easing Dean's tension immediately.
"Thank you. You have no idea… well, actually you probably do." Dean smirked feeling relief flood through his body. "I'm Dean, by the way."
"Katie. Glad to have helped." She turned to go, pulling gloves from her fingers and walking back to the ambulance.
He stood for a moment more before deciding to collapse in the nearest chair. Dean pulled out his phone and called Bobby.
Sitting next to Sam's bed was harder than he'd thought. They'd finally removed the vent, replacing it with a nasal canula but the pallor of his brother's skin didn't make him feel any better.
Blood still dripped steadily down the tubing to Sam's arm, filling him up little by little. The laparoscopic surgery to repair the lung had gone well enough but the loss of blood was still alarming. The doctors felt that he'd received enough oxygen through the whole ordeal that there shouldn't be any permanent damage but it didn't help ease Dean's conscience.
"I just wanted to try and lighten things up. I never would have…" Dean stopped, watching his brother for any kind of reaction. He knew he was still sedated but it was always easier to talk to Sam when he couldn't talk back.
"I don't know what's going on, Sammy. What you're doing, who you are. What you can do scares the crap out of me. Watching you with Samhain? I just…" He stood, pacing the small room, feeling like a catharsis of the Sam proportion was exactly what he needed at the moment. "And Ruby, I just… I can't believe you trust her. Why would you trust her, Sammy?"
The phone rang next to Sam's bed, scaring the thoughts out of Dean's head. He looked at it for a minute before finally picking it up.
"Ever think to put your phone on vibrate instead of turning it off, idjit?"
"Sorry, Bobby. I wasn't thinking…"
"Yeah, kid, I know," Bobby replied, softer than before. "Listen. I figured out what she used. It sounds like Sam figured it out near the end, but some of her mojo might still be floating in his veins. After snooping around her house for a while, I found a counter spell…"
By the time Bobby made it out to the hospital, Sam was showing signs of waking soon. He was still hooked up to an IV and they had just removed the last of the blood. Sam looked awful but, according to Dean, it was a vast improvement from earlier in the day. That didn't make Bobby feel much better.
"I think if we inject this right into the IV port, it'll work much faster," Bobby stated, pulling a small vial from his coat. "We'll have to do this fast. If they think that anyone is messing with him, we'll get hauled away and shoved in the cell next to the nut case."
Officer Sheila Grady had found Wendy cowering in the basement trying to say that she was a victim in the whole matter. It didn't take long for the officer to yank her out of the cellar, cuff her and send her off for evaluation at the local loony bin. Wendy wouldn't be going anywhere for a while, and Bobby made sure they knew all about her "Make your own Black Magic Altar" in the lower half of her home. That was, of course, after he took everything he needed to help Sam.
Bobby added a few drops to the port, making sure the liquid was clear and blended right in. He quickly hid the vial and hoped that the effects would help bring Sam back to normal and ease some of the affects of the drugs.
"This is just crazy. I mean, what the hell, Bobby? We walk into the library, the library, to do research and Sam gets whammied? We just can't catch a break and I should've known better." Dean pulled a hand down his face as his feet retraced the same steps they'd been following for the last few hours.
"Jess…" It was barely a whisper but Bobby watched as Dean honed in like a hawk to its prey.
"Sammy? You in there?"
Weary eyes blinked slowly open, searching for something in the room that he couldn't focus on. Bobby caught the look of distress on Dean's face as the first words he mumbled were not his own name.
"Yeah, kiddo, I'm here. Bobby, too."
"It was Jessica. She tried to kill me…" Sam's face scrunched as obvious discomfort trailed across his features. "Told me the angels would help me."
"Hey, just relax right now, okay? We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise," Dean carded a quick hand through his brother's hair, instantly calming him.
Bobby's heart swelled seeing the love they still had for each other, even after everything that had happened between them. Sam's eyes fluttered for a minute then he fell back into an easy sleep.
"So, you thought Jess was here," Dean began tenderly, clearly watching his language for Sam's sake.
"She looked just like her. Smelled like her," Sam answered, sighing heavily. "But she didn't know what had happened. She wasn't angry at me at all for letting her die. I should have known then that she was a fake." He pushed the sheet away making to get up when Dean came swooping in.
"Hang on there, cowboy. Let's make sure that everything is back to normal," Dean said, halting Sam with his hand but not pushing for fear of causing injury. "And for the record, you didn't let her die. You just didn't know."
"Whatever." Resisting Dean was futile so he sat back on the raised bed, looking anxiously at the door. While all the O+ blood had been restored, he was missing the kick of the demon blood.
Dean would kill him if he knew about that. Hell, he'd kill him if knew just what had gone down with Ruby. Sleeping with a demon wasn't exactly in the Top 10 of the Winchester Guide of Demon Hunting. Maybe someday Dean would understand why he was doing what he needed to, but for the moment, that was his secret, like Dean's time in Hell was his.
On cue, Bobby walked in the door shaking some paperwork that Sam prayed were for his release.
"Ready to blow this pop stand, Sam?"
"You have no idea," Sam replied attempting the sheet toss again. He carefully swung his feet over the side, pausing at the slight pull on is chest. The serum Bobby concocted had helped to ease the witch's potion from his system, but it also was supposed to have a magical quality that helped heal the wounds that were created by her. Bobby thought that part was hooey but for some reason, it worked with Sam.
The wheelchair came into the room for Sam's discharge and while he wanted to walk out of his own volition, he knew hospital policy. He sat with a grunt and they made their way towards the exit.
After a few days of rest, and finding someone to take on the original case, Bobby decided he could take his leave of the boys. They waved him off and thanked him profusely for his assistance, yet again.
"You boys are family, you know that." And with that, he was gone.
Sam was still a little slow and sluggish but overall feeling much better. His color was returning and the fever was very slight. Overall, things were going well.
They'd decided to clean up a bit and make their way to the nearest diner for some grub. The place wasn't bad and even had its own DJ spinning Top 40 stuff. It was clean and not overwhelmingly loud or dark, so it fit the bill.
Perusing the menu, Sam decided on a burger to try and get some protein back into his diet. Dean was on board with that menu option, making it two.
"I'll be right back," Sam said, rising slowly and indicating the washroom. "Don't get kidnapped by any witches while I'm gone."
Dean's face crinkled into a smile, saluting him with the beer. "No chance, Sammy. No witches 'round here. We're skank free!" he answered, taking a huge gulp of beer.
Sam huffed a laugh and walked slowly towards the back of the bar where the restrooms were located. He swung the men's room door open to see Ruby standing in front of him.
"Well, not quite," Ruby replied locking the bathroom behind him.
Dean sat at the table watching for Sam to come from the bathroom. He still felt guilty at the set up and how it turned out. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions… No way was he letting Sam out of his sight anytime soon. At least there was only one way out of the bathroom, he'd made sure of that when they arrived.
The lights in the place dimmed slightly and Dean's eyes opened in a panic.
"We've had a special request for REO Speedwagon for Dean Hall, who's seated right over there," the DJ announced, pointing directly at Dean. "Unfortunately we're not a karaoke bar, but we understand that Dean won the Kansas City Sing-off not too long ago with his favorite song, "I Can't Fight this Feeling." So, Dean, this one's for you! Congrats on your victory."
The opening keyboard rift filled the bar as people smiled and encouraged Dean to sing along with the lyrics. He waved them off, thanking them for the gesture. All the while waiting for Sam to come back into view so he could skewer him.
The end of the song thankfully came about along with a round of applause aimed at Dean. He smiled and looked around to come face to face with his brother's beaming face.
"Isn't he the greatest! That's my brother!" Sam jostled Dean's shoulder with his good arm, hitting it a few times and taking his seat again across from him. Sam's coat opened slightly to reveal a flask in the inner coat. I don't remember Sam grabbing the holy water when we left. Weird… Dean brushed it off more concerned about the beat down at hand.
An accusatory finger pointed inches from Sam's face. "You are so dead!"
Sam's high-pitched laughter filled the table as he grabbed his beer and took a swig, wiping at his mouth. "It was the least I could do after you set me up with a librarian."
Dean took it for what it was, and smiled in return, pausing for a moment. "You look a lot better. I guess a good pee will do that for you, huh?"
Sam looked uncomfortable, shifting in the seat and grabbing his beer again, taking another quick swallow. "Yeah, I guess."
And just like that, they were back to square one.
So absorbed with the commotion around him and because of him, Dean never noticed the short brunette sneaking out the back door holding her arm with a paper towel.