The first thing Dean saw when he arrived at the meeting spot was the smoke.
The entire building, if that's what it had been, was burning slowly and steadily, and his stomach lurched with sickness.
"No," he muttered, stopping the car and getting out. "No."
"Dean!" Sam called, getting out of the passenger seat and following. They stopped in front of the fire, eyes wide. Dean's blood was roaring in his ears. Sam grabbed his shoulder, steadying him.
"She was in there," Dean said, unable to comprehend the idea of Petra being . . . "God, Sam, she was in there."
"Dean, look," Sam said, pointing. Dean followed his glance, seeing footprints not far off, blood flecked here and there.
"Get the car," Dean told Sam. "Follow the road, she might have found her way to it. I'm going to follow these tracks."
Sam nodded, running to get into the car. Dean began to follow the prints, jogging along in the dark, hardly able to see. About a mile and a half in, Sam called.
"Anything?" Dean demanded.
"No," Sam said. "You?"
"No, not – I see her!"
"I'm following your cell phones GPS to you guys. Stay where you are."
Dean hung up. "Petra!" he yelled, running towards her. She was leaning against a tree, eyes closed, though she opened them a bit when she saw Dean. He fell to his knees in front of her. She was covered in soot and blood, and her lips were turning blue. He yanked his coat off, wrapping it around her.
"Hey," Petra smiled weakly after a moment, and Dean felt relieved.
"What the hell happened back there?" Dean asked, pulling her gently against him and rubbing her arms, trying to warm her up.
"I did like you said, to escape. Then blew them up."
Dean looked shocked. "You blew the place up?"
"It was simple science," she muttered, closing her eyes, muttering about formulas and calculations.
"Hey, hey, hey, don't close your eyes," he told her. He heard a rumbling noise not far off, and a car horn beep.
"Look, Sam's got the car, he's there," Dean said, trying to keep her awake. "You almost made it, baby. A few more yards and you woulda found the road."
"I'm a quitter."
"You're not a quitter," he told her, lifting her gently and holding her against him as he followed the noise of the car. "You're a freaking badass."
He got into the back of the Impala, and Sam turned the heat up all the way.
"Stay awake, sweetie," he told her. "C'mon, talk to me. Tell me about Einstein or something."
"I'm cold."
"Yeah, I know," he told her, holding her closer. Her eyes closed, and her breathing slowed, but Dean kept a close eye on it, making sure she was okay.
"Lucky we got to her in time," Sam said. "Before frostbite or hypothermia could get her."
"She blew up Rowena."
Sam raised his eyebrows, glancing at Petra in the rear view mirror. "Um . . . damn. You sure know how to pick 'em. How's she looking?"
"Banged up," Dean admitted, brushing some hair out of her face gently. "Where's the closest hospital?"
"About twenty minutes away," Sam said. "She's gonna be fine, Dean. I promise."
Petra opened her eyes, panicking a bit at first. She sat straight up, and found that was incredibly painful. She looked around, frightened, unaware of where she was.
"Easy, Xena," Dean said, approaching her from where he'd been resting on the couch.
"Dean," she breathed, her throat incredibly sore. "I thought I dreamed you."
"Yeah, I'm pretty much too good to be true, huh?" he teased.
"Shut up," she said hoarsely, leaning back into the pillows. "You know what I meant." She looked down at her wrist, heavy in a cast. "Broken?"
"Nothing major," he told her. "Small break. You've got a few cracked ribs, and you inhaled a lot of smoke, so your throat is going to hurt for a few days. A few burns. Lots of scratches, Mrs. Thirty-Six Stitches."
"Thirty six?!" she felt the scratch above her head, wincing.
"Eight up there, the rest on your legs and arm," Dean said, sitting beside her bed and taking her good hand in his.
"I must look awful," she said, suddenly very self conscious, her head sinking into the pillows.
Dean leaned forward, kissing her gently. "You look beautiful."
She smiled weakly, turning a brilliant shade of pink, squeezing his hand. "I did okay, huh?"
"Okay?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "Are you kidding? You're the most awesome chick in the world. That was badass back there."
"Am I as cool as Daenerys?"
"Way cooler than Daenerys," he laughed, stroking her hair.
Her smile grew, and she looked to the left, seeing a large bouquet of flowers in a vase. She frowned. "Who are those from?"
Dean glanced at them, and sighed. "Crowley. They're 'Thanks for killing my evil bitch of a mother' flowers.'"
"Well that's nice, isn't it?" She paused, looking back at Dean. "Do you really think they're . . .?"
"I don't know," he admitted after a moment. "Even if they are still alive, they're definitely slowed down for a while."
"Silver lining, then." She looked up as Sam entered the room.
"Hey, Osgood," he said, standing awkwardly as though he were afraid he were intruding. "How're you feeling?"
"I've had worse."
Sam raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
"No," she admitted. "But it sounded better than saying that I feel like hell."
Sam laughed. "Well, good news – the Doc says you can go home in the morning. We'll be out of here soon."
"Why don't you try and sleep till then?" Dean suggested.
She nodded, then winced. She hesitated. "You'll be around, yeah?"
"I'm not going anywhere," he swore. "Except to get you some water." He paused. "Hey, I love you."
"Mm, I know," she grinned, and he grinned back, glad he finally found a girl who looked good naked, could kick ass, and quote Star Wars.