It's the first night in weeks that Sam hasn't been hastily awoken to Dean screaming his name. Sam isn't asleep, but it's late, and he hasn't heard Dean's nightly rousing.

So he goes to check on his brother. Panic grips him as he reaches for the door handle. What if Dean isn't even here? What if he somehow sensed that the Book wasn't destroyed and went to seek it out? Sam gulps. What if he's finally gone dark side, and Sam's too late? All of his risks today have been for nothing, and they'll go back to the same old song with Sam trapping his brother in the basement until the human blood kicks the darkness out of him. Again.

But when Sam slowly pushes the thick door open, he only sees Dean sleeping. He's actually honest-to-god sleeping, not thrashing, not screaming, not sweating. Sam brushes his hair from his face. His brother is sleeping for the first time in months. There's no nightmare tonight, and from the quirked grin on his brother's face as he sleeps on, he's dreaming about something pleasurable. Maybe an old bar filled to the brim with cheap liquor and even cheaper women, or maybe that beach he'd been talking about earlier. Sam can't help but smile at the sight. Dean's laying on his back, right arm behind his head in a lounging position as he lightly snores. Maybe it's just all those beers tonight doing his brother good, or maybe he's actually improving. Sam hopes that he is, because that will make his job all the much easier. Maybe they won't even need the Book. They can solve this issue without the use of black magic.

Sam's about to step out of the room when Dean shifts a bit. His flannel's sleeve rides up a bit in the new position, and Sam catches a glimpse at the Mark. An indenture permanently engraved into his brother's arm—into his brother's being. He remembers the zoned-out look in Dean's face when he'd laid eyes on the Book today, and the way he had forced himself to it once Charlie had unearthed it. Sam had been calmly holding it, then Dean—a ravaged, wild look in his eyes—had nearly thrown himself onto the Book of the Damned, the only emotion in his face an ache for the cursed object. The Mark had called out to an item of equal, if not more, wickedness, and it had made Dean do things he was unaware of. Sam saw the look in his face once they called him back into reality—his brother was scared. His pleading for Sam to burn the book only amplified just how frightened he was of the Book's evil powers. The Mark isn't relenting, no matter how much both Sam or Dean would like to think it is. The fact that they'd actually had a nice dinner with all of their friends had put Dean in a good mood, that's it. This nightmare-free night is merely a fluke. Sam knows that as the Mark purges on, the night terrors will only worsen. Sam has to act while he can, before it's too late.

Of course he didn't burn the book. Not when it's his only chance to save his brother. He grabs the book, still creepy as hell, and puts it into a duffel, grabbing his jacket. Charlie had left hours ago. She didn't say where she was headed, but she didn't seem worried about it, which was good. Cas had flown off, most likely to enjoy the newest extents of his returned grace. Sam is free to go off. He has business to do.

He drives out to a field. He's brought the proper ingredients, so the spell can quickly be underway. He just needs to find her, and she can help him. He knows her motives are anything but pure. However, she's Sam's only option.

He cuts the palm of his hand to release the needed ingredient of fresh human blood and mutters the incantation, followed by her name to provide the required effect. What he'd left with once the flames pan out is the charred name of the place where she is. Sam smiles without thinking of why she's here. She's in a local bar in Lebanon that Sam's visited many times. How convenient.

He's driving the Impala, but Dean's asleep, so he won't know. If everything goes as planned, he'll be back in an hour or two. However long it takes her to do her work.

When he enters the bar, he immediately sees her. How could he miss her? She's nursing a martini with a miniature umbrella in it. How cute. Sam, clutching the lead-lined box that holds the object in question, sits across from her. She doesn't even look up when she starts talking.

"I thought I felt someone tracking me, Sam Winchester."

Sam swallows, suddenly wondering if he's doing the right thing. "Rowena," he starts, "I need your help."

She glances up at him, a grin lacing her lips. The gleam in her eyes seems unearthly. "So I've heard."

Like many of you, I have extremely bad feelings about what's to come next week. Sam and Rowena... just no.

I'd love to hear your comments on this story or what you believe is yet to come in the season.