Silently cursing her lack of knowledge, Sherry wrung out a cool cloth once again. Wiping first his forehead, and then his cheeks, she methodically wiped him down. Hoping beyond hope, she worked to lower the fever that had only grown worse, over the last four days. As she continued, moving onto his finely sculpted chest, and down his abdomen, she nearly cried in despair. She had been taking care of this young man for the last twenty-four hours, and though he had spoken only a few incoherent words, she had come to care for him.
Unable to offer any other relief, she smiled slightly, and brushed heavy bangs away from a pair of pretty green eyes. "You're going to be okay."
Sam knew the words for the lie they were, but he took solace from them anyway. Gathering himself he smiled and said, "It's not your fault." Sherry knew that the words were meant for her, but his eyes rested on the man behind her.
Sherry shook her head, tears flowing freely down her cheek, only to spill on his shoulder. Not for the first time, she reassured him, "I'm going to save you, I am." Watching, as he grew weaker she searched her brain for any usable knowledge. Speaking to the man behind her, she said, "I'm sorry I don't know what else to do. He wouldn't want you to blame yourself, you heard him."
The man's grief heavy voice, asked, "do you? Do you blame yourself?"
Sherry watched as he dropped to his knees, resting his head on the younger man's arm. Moments later the green-eyed man was gone, his last breathe a sigh that shook her soul.
Sherry sat up, gasping for air. Fumbling in the darkness, she reached out and flipped on the bedside light. Grabbing the pen and paper that lay on her nightstand, she began writing furiously.
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"Come on Sammy, I wanna get a move on. I want this town in the rearview as soon as possible." Dean winced, as he dropped the last bag in the trunk and slammed it shut. Turning, he watched as Sam made his way out of the hotel room. Tossing his brother the keys, Dean grimaced. "Buck up Sammy we're bound for better places."
Sam headed for the driver's side door, opening it he got behind the wheel. His eyes watching Dean's every movement. Yesterday his, thick as a brick, brother had gotten himself tossed into a mausoleum. As a result, Dean's back was as colorful as a sunset just before a thunderstorm. Unable to lift his arms, he had finally caved in, and agreed that Sam should drive to the next job, wherever that may be.
As Sam drove out of town, he watched Smithfield fade in the rearview, bound for better places; Sam snorted to himself, yeah what were the chances of that.
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"No, No it can't be. This was supposed to be enough; you were supposed to live this time. I did everything right." Sherry cried out, as she watched the older man drop to his knees next to the bed, his forehead resting on the green-eyed man's arm. Watching the brothers, she couldn't help but feel anger towards the heavens, for taking such a good man and leaving another behind alone.
Sherry sat bolt upright, grabbing the pad that lay next to her, and began writing.
"Sherry honey, what's the matter bad dream again?"
Sherry didn't even bother acknowledging Chris. Up and out of the bed, within minutes she was at her desk already typing furiously when he caught up with her.
"Sherry, we have to talk. You can't keep this up. You don't sleep, you're not writing anymore. Hell, I don't think I've had your attention for over three weeks now. It's just a dream, honey." Chris moved up behind his girlfriend, knowing what to expect, yet still hating the images that filled her computer screen. Images of gunshot and stab wounds, vivid with infection, dotted the sites that she was reading at a rapid pace.
Sherry shrugged off the hands that held her shoulders, and practically snarled at the man behind her. "I've told you, Chris, either help or get out. I have to save him."
Chris didn't bother to conceal the hurt on his face. "I didn't want to have to do this, but it's gotten out of hand Sherry. You need help, and I just can't sit by, and watch you throw your life away on some nightmare. I'm leaving Sher, I'm going to pack my stuff, and go to my brother's." Chris fought back the tears, as he watched his girlfriend of two years ignore him as if he didn't exist. "I can't believe you're choosing a dream over me, Sher, over life. Look at you, you've lost weight, you're editor is fuming, you're giving up everything you worked for on nothing more than a figment." Chris waited a moment more, hoping for a response, something that would let him know that the girl he had fallen in love with was still here with him.
Turning he left the room, the last words he heard her speak weren't even directed to him. "Brothers, they're brothers. Need to save him, going to save him, gotta save him. He'll never forgive himself. I have to save him."
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"Ugh, I still can't believe that thing swallowed you whole, Sam." Dean said, as he swiped a hand down Sam's arm, flicking away the goo he scraped off. "That's just seriously gross, you know. Kinda like that big alien bug, in Men in Black. You know the first one..."
"I know Dean," Sam cut in on his brother's musings. Sighing wearily, he tossed his brother a shovel. "You can bury the body. I'm just glad that I didn't get swallowed more than once, hell I might have ended up as short as you." Sam shuddered theatrically. The Yara-Mayha, they had managed to track to a preserve in Ohio, had caught Sam unawares. Luckily, as soon as it had thrown Sam back up, Dean had killed it preventing it from attacking anyone else.
Dean began digging, unable to resist one last parting shot, "Thanks for holding its attention so I could kill it, Dude, without you who knows the danger I might have been in."
Sam practically snarled as he flicked a handful of goo, towards Dean.
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A warm hand gripped her shoulder. "You tried, Sam knows." With a sigh, he settled to his knees besides the bed, resting his head on his brother's arm.
Sherry couldn't stop moving, she couldn't stand being in that cabin another second. She'd been watching the young man hover between life and death for over a week now. Bolting from the house, she stood in the meadow and screamed...
Sherry awoke as a scream ripped through her; Sam she thought, his name is Sam. I can't forget that, scrabbling for her notepad she added the name in bold letters at the top of the paper. Circling it repeatedly, she never noticed the tears that streamed down her face.
Finally, she came to with a start, staring down at the sheet she held in her hands. She'd pressed so hard, the first half of the yellow notepad was ruined. Dropping her pen, she pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes, unable to push away the pain she sighed, and got to her feet.
Tottering weakly, she made her way towards the kitchen, barely noticing the piles of crumpled up paper that littered the floor and furniture. Standing before her sink, she set about making a pot of coffee. Thoughts swirling through her mind faster than the water flowing into the pot she held. Turning she set the pot aside, and hurried towards the living room.
Glancing up her eyes took in the wall before her. Every inch littered with paper, scraps of yellow legal pads, white computer printouts, and even small sticky notes. Red and black lines crisscrossed the information, tying together pertinent points. Muttering she reached up, and added another name to a growing list of words, Sam. Sighing in satisfaction, she sat on the couch, studying the wall in front of her, her coffee already forgotten.
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Sam woke up with gasp; wiping the sweat from his forehead, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Panting, he glanced at Dean's bed, unsurprised to see him already sitting on the edge of the bed facing Sam. Sitting there in the dark, with their knees nearly touching Sam took a moment to compose himself.
Dean frowned, as he watched Sam visibly gather himself. He knew better than to push, the kid would talk as soon as he was able, and Dean wasn't willing to rush him. Finally, Sam nodded, and Dean leaned forward, worry a spear that lanced through him.
"I saw a woman, she seemed... I'm sorry for waking you Dean. It must have been just a dream. I can't remember, what I saw. She was... I think she was trying to help someone." Sam shrugged self-consciously.
Dean mimicked his shrug, "No big deal, Sam. Sleep's overrated. So this chick, we don't need to rescue her."
"No, I think. I don't know Dean. But it defiantly wasn't a vision." Sam yawned with weariness, but was hesitant about lying back down. The dream though vague, had left him feeling unsettled.
Dean watched his brother for a moment, standing, he said, "Well I'm not getting back to sleep anytime tonight. So what do you say, we hit the road. Might as well make a couple miles, if we're not able to sleep, right?" Within minutes, Dean was packing a bag, ignoring the thankful look on Sam's face.
Sam knew his brother understood how he was feeling, and had suggested leaving town for him. Grateful for the gesture, Sam began dressing. At least in the Impala he'd be sure to sleep.