"Come on!" Dean shouts, plowing forward into the developing crowd of panicked people.
I silently follow him into the building – it was burning, and didn't that say something about dedication? – and up the stairs, weaving through the mass of people. We find our way back to apartment 4C, only to find it locked.
That doesn't prove to be a problem – Dean simply kicks the door in, barreling into the room. "Sammy!"
"Jess! Jess, NO!"
My heart immediately sinks to my feet as I run forward, tracking the voice to the bedroom. I go to open the door, but yank my hand back with a yelp – the door handle was burning up.
Coming up behind me, Dean grabs my arm and yanks me out of the way, kicking the door in again and causing a wave of heat to wash over us – we'd definitely found the source of the fire.
And also Sam – through the flames, I could see him on the bed, screaming Jess' name and starting up at the ceiling in absolute horror.
I look up, and I see something that will never, ever be erased from my mind; it'll make my stomach turn for weeks.
There was Jess: pinned to the ceiling, stomach ripped open and skin quickly blackening due to the flames. She was dead, there was no doubt about it.
"Sammy!" Dean shouts, lunging forward to grab his brother. "Sam, come on, we need to go!"
But Sam was having none of it – it seemed like all he could do was scream for Jess.
Stepping forward, I grab a fistful of Sam's shirt and tugging, throwing all my weight behind pulling Sam out of the bedroom.
Together, Dean and I manage to drag Sam out of the apartment and down the stairs – it wasn't the easiest job, as Sam was nearly a foot taller than me and nearly double my weight. He was heavy, even with Dean helping as he was. Sam was fighting us every step of the way, and the air was hot and acrid with smoke, making it harder and harder to breathe.
We break out of the front door and onto the street, all three of us coughing and gasping for air.
The street in front of the apartment building was pandemonium – people were screaming, crying, pushing and shoving every which way. Someone had called 911, and a fire engine was just across the street, adding flashing lights and sirens to the chaos.
I spot the Impala off to the side and nudge the boys towards it. "Over here."
Dean nods and helps Sam over to the car, nudging him down to sit on the hood. "Sam? Sammy, talk to me."
Sam doesn't say anything, only gaping like a fish out of water.
"Sam?" Dean tries again. "Okay, I'm gonna go get a paramedic, you keep an eye on him."
I nod as he walks away, and I tentatively put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Uh, hey, Sam?"
He shudders under my hand, still not saying anything.
"Hey..." I start, clearing my throats and coughing – I sounded like I'd just swallowed a bag of gravel. "Hey, Sam. It's me...it's Lexi. I'm right here – your brother's just over there..."
I trail off and step out of the way as Dean arrives with a paramedic in tow. The paramedic wraps Sam in a shock blanket and begins looking him over, testing his heartbeat and breathing.
I watch as Sam begins to respond again – first to Dean, then to me. I watch his face as it turns from numb to grief-ridden to, finally, anger. A burning, all-consuming anger.
I was getting the feeling that Sam was the type that would go to the ends of the earth to find whatever killed Jessica. He wouldn't rest until he found what it was and how to kill it, and anyone – including me - caught up in the crossfire would be dragged along with.
Sam gets up and sheds the shock blanket, tossing it aside and stalking around to the trunk. I follow at a slower pace, hanging back as he wrenches open the trunk and the compartment, digging around for a moment.
"Sam?" I step up behind him. "Sam."
"What?" he demands, rounding on me. His face was stoic, his jaw clenched; but, in the flickering reflection of the burning building behind us, I could see the gloss in his eyes. "What do you want me to say? My girlfriend is dead because of some – some thing and you want me to – to say I'm okay?"
"No," I backpedal. "Of course not, I-"
He turns around again, cutting me off to slam the compartment shut and drop his duffel bag in the trunk before slamming that too.
I quietly fall back to where Dean is standing, shoving my hands in my pockets as we watch the apartment building blaze.
Next to me, Dean sighs. "He responding any better to you?"
I shake my head. "But then, I didn't expect him to. I don't know him like you do – I have no idea how to handle a six-foot-four-inch ball of rage."
"I'll figure something out," he promises, but I'm not sure who he's trying to convince.
"Why...why don't you see if you can find us a place in town to crash, and I'll drive him down to meet you."
I nod and push off the car, pushing through the crowd until I reach the Mustang, unlocking it and climbing in.
I end up finding a reasonably priced motel about fifteen minutes from the motel, and I quickly text Dean the address and reach for my keys.
But just as I was going to close my phone, I catch sight of another name, lower on my contact list.
Jess.
I stare at the name for a second, which turned into five, and then ten.
The wail of a siren jerks me from my thoughts, and I swipe a hand over my eyes, ignoring the wetness on the back of my hand. There'd be time for that later – right now, I needed to make sure everyone would okay, at least for tonight.
Flipping my phone shut, I toss it on the seat next to me and start the car, gunning it.
By the time I pulled up to the motel, the Impala was already parked and quiet, and just as I turn off the car, my phone buzzes with a text from Dean, simply reading Room 5. You might want to grab your bags.
Nodding to myself, I flip the phone shut again and climb out of the car and grab my bag from the trunk, making my way around the car and walking until I found the door marked 5.
I raise my hand to knock on the door. "Dean, it's me."
The door swings open a few inches and Dean pokes his head out: upon seeing me, he shoves it open the rest of the way but signals for me to be quiet. "Sam just laid down."
I raise an eyebrow as I step into the room. "I'm surprised he's sleeping."
"Didn't say that," Dean chuckles softly. "He's just...lying there. Hasn't said word one to me."
I nod and look over to the huddled shape on the farthest bed. "I wouldn't expect him to, to be honest. On either count," I tack on at Dean's questioning look. "Sleeping or talking...or eating, for that matter..."
"We'll see about that," he cuts me off. "So, you've got your bag, good, you'll be bunk mates with me again tonight, hope that's okay."
I cut him off before he can enter rambling territory. "Cop a feel and you die," I deadpan, only half-sarcastic. "But other than that, I'm cool with it."
"Alright," Dean concedes. "I'm gonna go shower."
"Good, you smell," I fire back lightly, even though we did both smell like charcoal and sweat. Sam was worse, but hell if I was gonna make him move. Dean rolls his eyes and heads for the bathroom, and I quietly sink into one the slightly-wobbly chairs by the table.
Sparing a glance at Sam, I dig my phone out of my pocket and flip it open, quickly checking for any new messages and finding none. Just as I was about to shut it again, I catch sight of Jess' name again and sigh.
"Damn it…" I murmur, running a hand over my face. I'd had the girl's phone number this entire time, and all I used it for was texting her that we were on our way home.
What if that text lured her into the clutches of whatever ripped her stomach open? Why couldn't I have called her when we pulled up – would that have kept her from dying at, what, twenty-one? Twenty-two, maybe?
And for what? I didn't know much about her – granted, I just met the girl – but she seemed human. She seemed liked she was in love with Sam, at least enough to get an apartment with him. So why her? What had she ever – ever – done to piss off whatever supernatural thing it was that killed her?
Could a simple phone call have stopped all of this? Would Sam have been comfortable asleep in his own bed, in his own apartment, instead of silent but probably not asleep in a crappy motel room while his future burned to ashes less than ten miles away?
Could I have stopped this?
"Lexi?"
I nearly jump out of my skin at Dean's voice, managing to slam my knee, which was still sore from last night, into the underside of the table. An involuntary yelp escapes my mouth, and I quickly glance over to see if it had woken Sam, which it hadn't.
"Sorry," Dean apologizes, but I can see the faint smirk on his face. "You okay?"
"Fine," I mutter, even as I grimace from the throbbing pain in my leg. "I'll go shower…if you left any hot water, that is?"
"Ha, ha," Dean mocks me. "You go do that, I'll grab some ice for your knee."
"I don't-" I start to protest, but Dean silences me with a glare just before quietly leaving the room. I huff and hoist myself up, limping over to grab my clothes before entering the bathroom.
By the time I was done with the shower and dressed in an old t-shirt and the loosest, softest pair of jeans I owned, Dean had returned with a makeshift ice pack, which he tosses at me as soon as I exit the bathroom.
I deftly snatch it out of the air and hobble over to the unoccupied bed and gingerly sit down, resting the ice pack on my knee. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it," he dismisses with a vague gesture. His eyes slide over to the other bed and he sighs. "It's all catching up, isn't it?"
"To everyone," I agree. "I had Jess' phone number this whole time, you know. I texted her that we were coming home…what if that-"
"Don't," he cuts me off. "Don't think about the 'what if's. This isn't your fault – if anything, it's mine, I'm the one that pulled him away from her in the first place. But more than that," he quickly adds as I begin to protest, "it's whatever sonuvabitch that killed her's fault."
I consider this for a moment before nodding quietly, shifting the ice pack to a less-numb spot on my knee.
"…it was the same thing that killed our mom, y'know."
I look up sharply, not entirely sure that I just heard that statement – and if I did, I was shocked that Dean was telling me this. He didn't seem like the type to divulge information to someone he'd only really known for 48 hours. "What?"
"The thing that killed Sam's girl," he clarifies softly, not meeting my eyes. "It…it killed our mom too. The body looked the same, from what I can gather from Dad's stories."
I open my mouth, can't find the words, and close it again, eventually coming up with the incredibly intelligent response of "Oh."
Dean just snorts at that but doesn't comment. "I just – that's gotta be why he's so crushed – at least partially. And now, I'll bet you a six-pack that once this phase passes, he'll be just as pissed as Dad was. He'll want revenge just as badly, and we'll either get dragged with or left behind."
"I don't drink if I can help it," I mutter, and at Dean's questioning look, clarify, "The six-pack."
He just rolls his eyes. "Whatever, lightweight. Speaking of getting dragged along, do you wanna get dropped off somewhere? We're not too far from Oregon."
I fall silent at his ever-so-casual question, letting my eyes wander to the other bed, where Sam was still huddled, but I wasn't sure if he was asleep or not at this point. He looked positively miserable – he was curled in on himself, and his back was tense; he wasn't moving at all, save for the rise and fall of his chest.
He could almost be curled up and sleeping, if it weren't for the circumstances. And I knew that while he may look semi-peaceful now, it was going to get worse before it got better – everything always did. To leave Dean to deal with that…
And besides, we hadn't found John, and I'd made a promise in that bar two nights ago (had it really only been two nights?)
"I told you I'd help you find your dad," I tell Dean after a minute. "We haven't done that yet. And Sam seems like a good kid…I want to help – him, you, the two of you," I explain slowly. "And besides, it's not like I had anything better to do on my own. You're good backup."
"Puh-lease," Dean snorts. "If anyone here is backup, it's you, princess."
"Don't call me that," I snap. "Asshat."
Dean just smirks, his face softening as he glances over at the other bed again. "Might wanna catch some shut-eye. I'm not sure what the morning will look like."
"Aye-aye, cap'n," I quip, picking up the ice pack – it had long since melted and was leaking through my jeans – and flinging it into the trash, crawling underneath the flimsy motel-bed covers. "'Night."
Dean mutters a goodnight as he settles in on the other side of the bed, creating as much space between us as possible without falling off the bed.
And so we were settled in, with only the sounds of breathing resonating in the room.
What Sam and Dean didn't know is that later that night (or technically morning) I opened up my phone and sent out a message to the meager contact base I'd amassed, letting everyone know to hold off on sending me cases for a bit.
I didn't think I'd be doing anything else for a long, long while.
Thanks to CSILLA (Guest) for reviewing the last chapter, and to everyone who has favorited and/or followed this story thus far.
