For R
Waiting for You
K Hanna Korossy
"You think the cat's a cake?" Dean asked.
At least, that was what it sounded like he asked. Sam couldn't hear him very well over Ruby's enthusiastic chatter in his ear.
She wasn't really there, of course. It was just another hallucination, like Lucifer and fire and all the other fun tricks Sam's damaged mind was free to play on him now that he'd opened the door. But he could feel her pressed against him, smell her, hear her rambling grand plans for them, and knowing she wasn't real didn't make her any less so.
"Sam?"
"What?" he asked, probably a little too loudly.
Dean's eyes flicked to the empty space between them that imaginary-Ruby filled, like he knew what was there. "You think the kid's okay?" he repeated with raised voice.
"Oh...uh, yeah, I think so. I mean, it wasn't too long, and he's..." Sam rubbed at his forehead and a building headache. "...he's got his mom."
He tried to focus on that. On the psychic Nora Havelock's son—he couldn't remember the kid's name—whom they'd just visited in the hospital. The kid was still reeling from his brief demonic possession, but besides missing an ear, he was doing all right. Better than Sam, actually.
He didn't realize they'd pulled off the road until he started from the feel of Dean's hands on either side of his face. Blinking, he let Dean lift his head, refocus him on his brother's eyes.
"...see me? Look at me, Sam."
Sam didn't fight it, staring hard into Dean's eyes, the one thing the Cage hadn't been able to successfully mimic. Ruby's voice faded away.
The same thing had happened the night before. As Lucifer had taunted him with having let Hell in, Sam must've made some sound of distress. The next thing he knew, his brother was awake and crouching in front of him, hands cradling Sam's face just like this, demanding his attention. It had put out the fire like nothing else Sam had tried. Dean had ended up dragging Sam into bed with him, insisting that big brother being near might keep the Devil at bay, and wanting to know if Sam needed him during the night. It was probably the only reason Sam had gotten any rest at all.
"Is he still there?" Dean was asking now from the driver's seat.
Sam drooped, wrung out and humiliated. "She. Ruby this time. She's gone."
Dean studied him a tense moment before letting him go. "Yeah, well...at least your broken brain's taste is improving."
It was lame, but that was the most either of them were up for, and Sam's mouth quirked a weary smile in appreciation. "Yeah. Thanks."
"Don't mention it." Dean eyed him one more minute, then restarted the car. "Okay, here's the plan. I'm gonna swing by Nora's to pick up those rituals she has for us. You're gonna go back to the room and chill out for a while. Read, turn the TV on, sleep if you can. Call me if you need to. Okay?"
It was a sucky plan, but Sam didn't love the idea of tailing Dean around like a kid with anxiety issues, either. Things were bad, no lie, but not so bad yet that he needed his brother constantly at his side like a security blanket to ward off the bogeyman. "Yeah, okay," he agreed quietly.
"Sam." Dean waited until he dragged his eyes up, then gave him a nod. "We'll deal, okay?"
He nodded back, the lump in his throat damming the words that wanted to get out.
"Go on." They were idling in front of the motel already.
Sam got out, shaking his head with a reluctant grin when Dean called after him to hallucinate a redhead stripper if he was going to imagine things anyway. He plodded to the door, fumbled the keys, and went inside.
Later, he would blame his fatigued distraction for failing to pick up on the threat until a gun barrel was jammed under his jaw.
"I was waiting for you."
00000
Nora Havelock was one chastened witch.
She told Dean, shamefaced, of what she'd confessed to Sam before, that she'd helped Jeffrey in his pursuit to summon back his demon because her son would die if she didn't. She admitted she'd bashed Sam in the head when he'd come to confront her, something Sam had neglected to mention and that probably didn't help the crazy. But her son's possession had made her more mad than scared, and she vowed to continue her work. And to be ready to help whenever they called on her, if they would trust her again.
Dean was a little biased against people who clobbered Sam, but he knew all about being in a tough spot. He absolved her as best he could, promised they'd call if they needed help, and accepted a thick folder of translated rituals that Sam would probably drool over. Once upon a time, blades and silver bullets and the occasional flamethrower were their usual weapons. These days with angels and demons and Leviathan their main predators, information was the number one tool in their arsenal. Age of the geek, Dean shook his head. Another thing that would have sent Sam into raptures, if the bats in his belfry would've let him.
He stopped to pick up lunch on the way back to the motel, wanting to give Sam a little extra time to rest if he'd managed sleep. Dean was pretty sure he hadn't had another episode the night before after the one Dean interrupted, but Sam still hadn't slept well, which meant Dean hadn't slept well. Difference was, he could make it up anytime he wanted. Sam, not so much. He was already looking a little gaunt with fatigue, and things were probably not gonna get better anytime soon.
Dean sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Damn it, Bobby," he whispered, wishing the old man were still around to share the burden with. Dean had promised him at one point that if Bobby died, Dean was strapping his broken brother into the car and driving them off a cliff. He hadn't forgotten that vow. If Sam got worse...
Don't be an idjit, he could practically hear Bobby say, the cuff on the back of his head so real, Dean ducked from it. He smiled, the sketchy version he'd been practicing since Frank, another crazy old man, had dared him, and drove on. He was suddenly desperate to see Sam.
Dean turned into the lot and pulled into the space two doors down from their room. Then froze, key still in the ignition.
The curtains were closed.
He'd sent Sam back to rest. Sam sometimes got headaches from bright light. It was a sunny mid-morning. There was every reason for the curtains to be closed. So why was the hair on the back of Dean's neck prickling?
He pulled his phone out and dialed Sam. It rang four times, then went to voicemail.
He could be asleep. He could be in the shower. He could be engrossed in a movie, out to pick up a soda, out of his mind. But something was telling Dean he was in trouble.
He crept up to the window, gun drawn, and tried to peek in. Nada. He couldn't hear anything at the door, either. Trying the door knob, he found it unlocked, which sent a new rush of adrenaline through him. If he woke Sam up, or scared him to death, he'd apologize. But Dean wasn't taking a chance on the alternative.
Turning the knob slowly and silently, he counted off two beats, then threw the door open and rushed inside, gun up and sweeping.
He didn't have to look far.
Sam sat in one of the room chairs, his arms pulled behind him, his head hanging. Next to him stood a young, petite woman in a red dress with dark hair and even darker eyes. She had no visible weapon, her hand only cradling Sam's jaw almost affectionately.
"Get away from him," Dean snarled.
She smiled, and in different circumstances, Dean would've thought her pretty. "It's too late for that." She stroked Sam's face, and he groaned, head rolling, an unintelligible murmur falling from his lips.
"You've got to the count of one," Dean said, gun rock steady even as he flicked his gaze from her to Sam and back again.
Still smiling, she held her hands up in surrender and stepped back.
There was no blood that he could see on Sam, no sign of injury. But his brother's body writhed even as Dean watched, struggling with something, suffering.
"Sam? What did you do to him?"
"Oh, I hardly had to do anything," she said in her insufferably amused way. "I just helped along what was already there." Her smile widened. "I was here for that young man you so rudely killed yesterday. He smelled delicious, but your brother?" She took an exaggerated sniff, eyes almost rolling with pleasure. "I came for an appetizer but stayed for the meal."
Dean frowned. "What the—?" Then his eyes fell on the dark TV screen beside her.
Her reflection was twisted, monstrous. It made everything click into place.
"You're a wraith," Dean spat. She must've come for Jeffrey's crazy and gotten distracted by Sam. Yeah, that wasn't disturbing at all.
She smiled brightly at him. And then lunged faster than he would've given her credit for.
The first shot just winged her, not even slowing her down. The next, when she was close enough that Dean had to duck her outstretched arm, caught her in the chest. It wasn't silver, though, and she only staggered, that disturbing smile finally giving way to rage.
The moment's break was long enough, though. Dean dived for his bed and met her pounce with the silver knife he kept under the pillow. Her momentum impaled her on it, her wide eyes only inches from his.
He sneered into them. "Nobody touches Sam, bitch."
She fell at his feet, dead.
It was one of the basic rules of hunting: make sure your prey is a doornail before you turn your back on it. But he'd seen the light go out of her eyes, and Sam hadn't reacted once to the showdown happening right in front of him. Dean wasn't wasting any more time.
He dove to his knees in front of Sam's folded frame, palming his head gingerly. "Sam. Hey." Tipping it from right hand to left to reach behind Sam with his free hand and cut the knots of the rope that held him. He groaned when he found cuffs instead: she'd come prepared. Dean ignored it for the moment, back to holding Sam's limp head in both hands as he had in the car. "Sammy?"
Sam's eyes were half open, lashes fluttering. Even as Dean watched, his expression shifted through several emotions, all bad. Whatever he was seeing, it wasn't Dean.
"Hey. Hey, Sam." He tipped Sam's jaw back into his right hand while he fumbled for Bobby's flask. He had no idea if the wraith's poison could be washed off, but he remembered with disgust her caress, amping Sam's hallucinations with her parody of comfort, and he wanted her touch off his brother. Dean splashed the whiskey into his hand, rubbed Sam's jaw and cheek with it. "Come on back, man. She's gone, Lucifer's gone, just you and me, bro. Sam?"
Sam's face twisted, anguish so evident that Dean felt it stab into him. He was still whispering, words that didn't make sense. And then, in their midst, "'ean."
"I'm right here, dude." Cursing, he pushed up on his feet to lift Sam under the arms, an awkward dead weight, unlooping his arms from over the back of the chair and bringing them both down to the floor. He still didn't want to take the time to pick the cuffs, but maybe this would help his brother feel less trapped.
Slumped against him, Sam shivered and shook. Broke off a keen of pain.
"No, no, no." Dean jostled him, turning him clumsily so they were facing each other. "Sam, hey, listen to me. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. This," he dug his fingers into Sam's arm, "this is real. I'm real. You come back and look at me, you hear me? Sam!" He barked the last like a bona fide John Winchester command.
Sam jolted and blinked. He looked up through dripping bangs with confusion and disbelief and maybe a little hope. His eyes were blown, but he was trying to focus on— "'ean?"
"Yeah." He himself felt wobbly with relief. Dean let go of one shoulder to pat Sam's cheek, then let him drop forward against his shoulder. "I'm here. It's over."
Sam's pointy chin dug into his collarbone as he panted wetly. "Wraith."
"Yeah, got that." He skimmed his hand over the back of Sam's head. "She's dead."
He could feel Sam swallow. This battle was over, but the war was far from won.
Then Sam relaxed. Cuffs and all, his brother melted against him, his relief boosting Dean's.
"I was waiting for you."
00000
He was vaguely aware of Dean moving around him, cleaning up yet another crime scene they'd leave in their wake. Then his brother was practically carrying him out to the car, settling him in the front seat with a blanket and a bottle of water. Sam faded out just about when the car started.
He roused a little when Dean was moving him again, back into another room. He drank whatever the sweet stuff was that Dean pressed on him, answered a few questions hopefully correctly, and passed out to the feel of Dean tugging his boots off.
A crash jolted him awake some time later. Sam shot up in the bed, gaze darting around in search of the source.
Lucifer grinned beside him, a pair of still-vibrating cymbals held high. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead!"
"Sam?"
He turned the opposite direction, to see Dean sitting on the near side of the other bed.
He set a book aside as he watched Sam carefully, like he might explode. "You okay?"
Sam licked his lips. He winced as the cymbals crashed again behind him, but kept his eyes doggedly on his brother. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."
Dean nodded slowly. "Okay. Anything hurt? Didn't look like the wraith did any damage besides whammying you."
He grimaced at the reminder. Right, the wraith. She'd said she wanted him to stew a little more in his juices, and proceeded to turn the dial up to 11, full-on Cage surround-sound and touch and smell. Lucifer had been slowly slicing his lungs to ribbons when Dean had finally penetrated the hallucination and grounded him. Sam absently rubbed his wrists, realizing just then that they were bandaged. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "No, just the...whammy."
Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow; he wasn't going to push, but he clearly wanted Sam to know he knew how bad it had been. "With a side of exhaustion and dehydration." He held out a bottle of Gatorade. "Here, top off and save me the trouble of pouring it down your throat."
Sam huffed a laugh and took a long drink. It did taste good. And his muscles did feel like jelly from fatigue.
When he dropped the bottle to his lap, Dean was still watching him. "Where are we?" Sam asked.
"Outside Spokane. You wanna know when we are?"
He snorted again. "Not really. There a case here?" He turned like an old man and plopped his feet to the floor so he was facing Dean.
"Probably." Off Sam's look, Dean shrugged. "I was more interested in going away than to, dude."
"Yeah," Sam said to his hands.
Dean's knee bumped his. "We alone?"
Reluctantly, he swiveled to look behind him, then around the empty room. "Yeah," Sam said, surprised.
"Good." This time Dean swatted his leg. "Make yourself pretty—we're going out for dinner. I don't know about you, but I'm starving." As he stood, his stomach seconded that statement with a growl.
Sam shook his head, feeling the smile steal across his face despite himself. His brother was a goofball, but, God, Sam loved him for it. He was also the only thing keeping Sam sane right now, and maybe between the two of them, they really would find a way to fix him. "Why didn't you order something?" he asked as he dragged himself to his feet and looked around for his boots.
Dean held them out with a grin, even as his eyes gave away the depth of his response.
"I was waiting for you."
The End