Title: A High Price to Pay
Author: Kodiak bear
Cat: Gen
Rating: T
Word Count: 2,200
Warnings: Spoilers for episode 2x20 and 1x22
Summary: Sam's thoughts during the events of What Is, and What Never Should Be

AN: Just wanted to drop a quick, big thanks for the previous feedback. Yes, I suck at replying, totally. The bots were down and when they came back up I got swamped. Anyway, hope this is enjoyed! This episode was so angsty, devastating and just 'wow'.

A High Price to Pay

Sam looked worriedly at his phone, voicemail, again. Damn it! Why hadn't Dean just listened and picked him up first? Why did Dean always have to be so freaking stubborn? He paced again the length of the motel room; should he risk stealing a car and going to look for Dean, or trust that his brother was almost thirty and probably capable of saving his own ass?

That thought was impaled on visions of Dean lying in a puddle, not breathing, his heart, not beating. And Dean, strapped to a chair, captured by Gordon. Dean, roofied as he put it, by Andy. Screw it. Dean was better at this crap than Sam, but he wasn't infallible. If nothing else, the last two years had taught Sam that lesson painfully well and Sam had always been a fast learner.

He flipped aside the curtain and squinted into the rainy darkness, looking for the return of the police cruiser. Maybe he could charm a ride from someone, get them to take him to the place Dean had mentioned? Better than stealing a car and risking their necks with the law. He knew the area where Dean had been, but he needed to find someone local. Someone who would know what abandoned building on the highway Dean had meant when he said he was going back to check it out.

OoO

"Are you sure you want out here?"

The rain hadn't abated. Sam stared absently out the window, peering through the thick rivulets of water running down the glass; he watched the darkened building for any sign of life. "Yeah, I'm sure." He turned to give the old guy a reassuring smile. "That's my brother's car over there." Sam tried his damnedest to make himself convincing; he was doing everything he could to send this guy a mental "don't worry, be happy" vibe, just so he would leave Sam here and go about his business, and not call the cops or anyone else.

The guy shrugged noncommittally. "All right then, young fella. Good luck convincing him to go back to college. That's important, nowadays, you know? And you might want to tell him it's not safe to hang around places like this."

Sam nodded, opening the door. He waved enthusiastically as the Ford F250 pulled away; gray exhaust tagged behind the old truck before dissipating in the cold air. Relieved to be alone, Sam turned toward the building. Before he'd hitched a ride, he'd had to get a hold of lamb's blood. Not hard in this area, but it'd taken time.

As Sam stepped savagely toward the entrance, a door hung invitingly ajar directly in front of him, bent and broken. He had to wonder how much more could they take? His own downs weighed a hell of a lot, and they weren't getting any lighter. What was he going to find in there? He shoved the thoughts away. Pushed them into a place where they still existed, where they were still a millstone around his neck (and always would be), but not a hurdle in front of his feet. He passed the door and scouted around, ducking behind the Impala and angling toward a broken window. Never enter in the obvious place.

He found the desiccated corpses first. He walked by them, ignoring the panicked stain on his soul. He ducked under stairs, shining the flashlight forward; he kept it low enough to light a way without glaring too brightly or loudly announcing his presence. Sam's breathing hitched. Dean. He hung, motionless, a tube snaking from his neck to a medical bag collecting his blood on a stand. Sam faltered, just a second in time, while his mind raced through the numbing fear of reaching for his brother only to find Dean gone. That he was too late.

"Dean!" In his dread, he forgot the Djinn. He forgot to be quiet. He forgot everything except his brother's face, eyes open and staring at nothing. "Dean!" Sam shouted a second time, just as loud, just as fearful, already reaching forward, facing the inevitable. "Dean -" he touched his brother's chest, his eyes traveling up the length of his torso. There was no muscle control in his hanging – Dean was limp, loose. "Oh, God." In a millisecond of time Sam thought about the futility of daily prayer. How he can't go back to Stanford and be normal, not now, not anymore – how he can't do this without Dean. How he's not going to let Dean go like this…

"Come on," he rushed, shaking Dean's arm, "hey, wake up. Wake up, damn it!"

Dean's eyes moved. Euphoria kept Sam on his feet. Oh, God, he was alive. Not dead yet. Disoriented and slow, but those eyes moved. "Hey -"

"Auntie Em," Dean rasped, sweeter than breath itself.

Sam was only paralyzed for another second. Just long enough to process that Dean really was alive. He wasn't dead. Dean grimaced and muttered wryly, "There's no place like home," his head lolling tiredly to the side. The whole Wizard of Oz thing, it was just another of Dean's "laugh in the face of death" cracks, but even Dean couldn't muster up enough to deliver it with confidence or bravado. Still, a Dean who could wisecrack (even pitifully) was better off than he'd been in other times.

Like in the cabin, when Dean had bled all over his clothes and the floor and could only gasp short, monosyllabic sentences.

"Thank God," Sam uttered, past memories mixing with the present. Time released. He reached for Dean and admitted breathlessly, "I thought I lost you for a second." The needle in Dean's throat made Sam wince. It wasn't often they so completely became victims, but Dean had been in a similar position before. Almost two years ago, when they'd gone up against a Wendigo. He'd been strung up then, too.

The shiver of ghostly memory wasn't helped when Dean derisively fessed up, "You almost did."

Sam tugged at the offensive needle, tried to ignore Dean's face, screwed up against the pain. He worked it free, trying to make it as easy on Dean as he could, but it was a needle, stuck in Dean's neck. He glanced over his shoulder. Now that he had Dean, now that Sam knew Dean was alive, the memory of what put him here stalked to the front. The Djinn. It did this. It hurt Dean, strung him up, and had been draining Dean's life even while Sam had waited and worried.

"Let's get you down." Sam had the knife in his hand; he bullied past Dean's hurt and started to saw through the thick hemp because nothing mattered more than getting Dean down, making sure his brother was really all right. There was still danger, still –

"Sam!"

He turned, Dean's warning and his senses clamoring together. Holy shit! The Djinn was right there and it was a scary mother, faster than he'd ever imagined. As soon as Sam moved, it moved, faster. No wonder it'd caught Dean. He heard his brother somewhere in the back of his mind, straining to get free from the last of the rope holding him. Then pain exploded in his brain as Sam's head impacted something hard and unyielding and everything slowed and jumbled. Sam saw the blue glow coming towards his head. He remembered the hanging corpses and knew that letting that hand touch him meant death, or something damn near close.

Suddenly the Djinn jerked forward, the blue light in his eyes abruptly switched off. Blood spurted from its mouth even as it slumped forward, and with a vicious pull, Dean yanked the knife out; the body, free of the metal embrace, folded bonelessly to the floor.

Oh, God.

Sam swallowed, trying to regroup. His eyes traveled from the Djinn to Dean. The look he got in return was raw. Whatever had gone down here, it had written a new layer of scars, and the fact that Sam could see them plainly against the backdrop of pallor and something else, scared him more than anything had since Dean's eyes had responded to his frantic calls.

"Let's get you out of here," he managed to say, climbing slowly to his feet and reaching for Dean's arm. Sam just wanted to get Dean back to the motel. Close ranks, lick wounds – it's what Dad had taught them to do.

"No, there's something I need to do first."

Before Sam could protest, Dean turned and disappeared around the stairs.

Dean led Sam just around the corner, a few steps was all it took. A girl hung, strung and hooked up just like Dean, looking grayer and dead than Dean had. Sam thought maybe Dean had tried to save her before. Maybe the Djinn had caught Dean when he was trying to help her, maybe he'd seen her and hadn't made it, and maybe Dean thought they should bury her –

"She's still alive, Sam --"

He stepped forward, disbelieving, cutting her down even as Dean pulled the needle free. She collapsed into Dean's hands. Sam wasn't sure Dean had the strength to hold her, but somehow he did…somehow he was, regardless of what it was costing him.

Dean grunted, "I got you…"

Sam sensed something going on. Something a lot heavier and harder than a normal rescue gone bad. Dean's shoulders shook just a little, his voice, trembled, as he soothed the girl, promising her they would get her out of here, and Dean kept repeating, "I got you."

"Here, give her to me," Sam said quietly. He didn't give Dean a chance to say no. "You're halfway to passing out."

Dean let Sam gather her up; let Sam lead them from the building, this time, going out the front. Dean opened the rear door of the Impala and helped Sam get the girl stretched out. The nearest hospital was ten minutes away. "I'm driving." He caught the keys and opened the passenger door for Dean.

"I'm fine," Dean snapped.

Sam nodded, waiting for Dean to pull his legs in fully before he slammed the door shut for his brother. Fine. Yeah, right. Fine for a stubborn asshole, Sam figured, and he wasn't even remotely fooled.

The engine lumbered to a start, grumbling as he pressed the gas and steered onto the two-lane highway that hadn't seen much traffic in hours. Rain still drizzled. He flipped the wipers on low and the air to hot when he saw a few, almost imperceptible tremors make their way through Dean's jacket.

"Dean, the girl --"

"She was there, Sam." Dean glanced over his shoulder.

Sam gripped the steering wheel and puzzled over Dean's answer. "Yeah, I kinda figured that, I mean, we did rescue her --"

"No, not there. In my life. In my…" Dean shook his head. "Whatever the hell it was. The genie did some kind of voodoo, hoodoo on me, I was with Mom, and you and Jess and everything was real, except her. She kept popping up, and if it wasn't for her, I don't think --"

"Mom and Jess?" Sam frowned at Dean, confused. "You were catatonic, Dean. You weren't anything other than a hanging vegetable. I thought you were dead." Dean rubbed a hand wearily across his face, letting his head rest in his palm. In the distance ahead, Sam could see the lights from the hospital. "Do you need to see a doctor?" They were fugitives, but Dean had been catatonic. He'd been bled and something had happened – "Dean?"

Sharp panic hit when he saw Dean's head slumped against the window. Sam hurriedly turned into the drive leading to the ER, stopping in front of the drop-off with a squeal of brakes. He leaned over, tapping Dean's cheek just enough to get a response. When he got a grumpy brush off, Sam decided he'd drop off the girl and take Dean back to the motel. If his condition worsened, he could always drag Dean in then.

When he ran in, cradling the girl, calling for help, the ER staff responded quickly; a concerned nurse pushed a gurney in front of him. Sam said he found her in an abandoned building. He said he had to go move his car out of the no parking zone. And he never went back.

OoO

Dean slept for two days. He woke when Sam got worried enough to shake him into consciousness. He'd use the bathroom and automatically eat what Sam put in front of him, moving in a fog, and then he'd pass out again.

In that quiet, tense time, Sam read more about Djinn's. He knew the genie lore, the mythology of granting a wish, and he knew by Dean's nightmares, that the reality was like many things in life, uglier than the words written on paper. He knew Dean had been hurt and he knew that it had been nothing short of a miracle that his brother had found his way back to reality.

As he watched Dean sleep, Sam chewed on his thumb and prayed.