Sam Winchester sat on the bed, combing thru his laptop.
He was supposed to be resting - he doubted he would be able to.
Stephenie had taken him for an MRI and had promised afterwards to stop poking and prodding him, on the condition that he rest. Stephenie had told him that there was little they could do for him until they found Cyrus Leonard. And even then it would be a longshot to convince him to undo the curse. But that these tests would give them a better baseline on what they were looking at.
Bobby, along with Stephenie's father and some of his most trusted researchers, were working tirelessly on a way to track the Skin-Walker. It wasn't easy. These things tended to stay underground. It was one of the reasons why they had remained largely off of the radar of most hunters. However, from the impression he got from Stephenie and her father, they weren't anything like 'most hunters'. And for that part, at least, Sam was eternally grateful. If they had any chance of saving him, he was thankful to have help from people who knew what they were doing.
But it was his life - and as much as the growing ache in his chest told him he needed to rest - he needed to feel like he was doing something. That he wasn't just going to sit idly by and wait for the inevitable heart attack everyone kept telling him he was going to have. He needed to be useful. He needed to do whatever it took to make himself well enough so that he could focus on what was more important.
Finding Dean.
He had waited until everyone had gone to bed, leaving him in the clinic with a skeletal crew, before sneaking over and grabbing his laptop from the backpack Bobby had brought in for him. He had scoured over his notes on the original hunt in Cortez, until he had memorized every word. There had to be something that he missed. Something he had looked over during the inital investigation.
But he couldn't find anything.
After looking for hours, Sam felt physically drained. Normally he would have surrounded himself with liters of Red Bull and pressed on. However, he knew that his body had been working on over drive, and the last thing he wanted to do was exhaust himself to the point of being completely useless. Shutting the laptop off, he set it on top the table beside him.
"Its good to see you're finally taking my advice."
Slightly startled, Sam turned to see Stephenie standing in the doorway.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to know that resting is about the last thing you've been doing," she said as she walked into the door and stood by Sam's bedside. Grabbing his wrist to check his pulse, she added softly, "But I don't blame you."
"You don't?" Sam asked genuinely surprised.
"He's your brother. He's family. And he's in trouble. From what Bobby had told me of you and Dean, I would be disappointed if I didn't find you scouring for clues. I would do the same."
"Do you have any siblings?"
Stephenie paled in response, her eyes suddenly saddened.
"I had a brother. He was killed."
Sam asked as he sat up, gently swinging his legs over the bed. "How?"
"It was a Skin-Walker. More than likely the one that we've been tracking. The same one that killed Molly."
Letting go of Sam's wrist, Stephenie took a seat beside him on the bed, her expression although serious, was frought with lingering despair.
"Stephenie, I'm so sorry," Sam said placing a consoling hand on her shoulder. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"
"Jon was a good man. He had a wife and three beautiful little girls. He was the most wonderful brother a girl could have ever asked for. When we were kids, he always talked about leaving the reservation and becoming a famous musician. So when he was a kid, he left for California with big dreams. Dreams that never came to fruition. But he had a family. He didn't regret anything. He worked twelve hours a day at a crappy job in the middle of nowhere just to make sure that his family would want for nothing. He showed up to work , just as he did every single day without fail. Only that day, something evil showed up as well. And it tore him apart - along with everyone who happened to be in the diner that night."
Sam kept quiet as Stephenie composed herself.
"I'm not going to let you die, Sam. I couldn't save Jon, but I'm going to save you. I don't care what it takes or what I have to do, there is no way in hell I am going to let die. Do you understand me?"
Sam nodded as Stephenie got up from the bed. "Well, now that - that is out the way, I came here to bring you some news."
Sam gave Stephenie a small smile, "What kind of news?"
"We got the results back from the MRI. I think I have discovered the cause of the original cardiac event that Cyrus' poison is triggering."
"And?"
"It didn't make any sense at first but after talking with Bobby, I was able to put the pieces together. I was right about it being related to the demon blood consumption, just not in the way I originally believed. The MRI showed a damaged area of heart muscle near on the wall near the apex of your heart. It wasn't recent. It was the kind that had been there awhile. The kind usually found after a heart attack."
oooo
Chicago, Illinois
Turned over tables, broken glass and patches of blood adorned the living room of the high rise penthouse. In the far corner, near the large, unbrekable windows, lied a man in a pool of his own blood. Quiverring and crying profusely. The man tensed as he turned his head into the direction of the kitchen, where he saw a figure, the one who had destroyed his home and was leaving him to die, sitting comfortably on one of his bar stools, hitting back a scotch.
"I'm not going to tell you what you want Crowley," he said as he coughed up a fist full of blood.
"You really need to acquire a better taste in liquor Ronald," Crowley said as he threw the glass across the room, smashing into a nearby wall. "And, yes, you are going to tell me."
"I'm going to die with the secret Crowley! And there is nothing you can do to stop me."
Striding with ease, Crowley walked over to Ronald, bending down beside him.
"Tell me what I want and I will go away. Leave you to die in peace. Or, I will let you die an agonizing and excruciating death and then drag your ass to hell where I will toture you until you eventually tell me everything I want to know."
Ronald looked into Crowley's eyes. Terror and resignation lining his face.
"And I'll get to go to Heaven?"
"You have my word."
"Blanding," Ronald said swallowing hard. "He's in Blanding, Utah. You will be able to find him when you get there."
"Thank you Ronald."
"Just make it quick," Ronald squinted as Crowley reached into his chest and pulled out his still beating heart.
"Enjoy your afterlife, Ronald, whatever that may be."
Crowley stood up, dropping Ronald's heart on the ground beside him.
"Utah," he sighed as he grabbed his jacket from a nearby sofa and headed for the door. "Why can't it ever be Vegas?"
