Chapter 8

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Kate slammed the door to Caleb's truck, tossing a quick wave at him as she dashed inside—she'd already thanked her friend profusely several times over the last eighteen hours, since he'd insisted on giving her a ride—but Caleb knew enough about the Winchesters to know they needed to do this alone, so he drove off in a roar of diesel engine and a friendly honk goodbye.

Up on the sixth floor, Kate caught sight of her little brother. He was folded into a chair in the hall, elbows on his knees and shaggy hair hanging in his face.

He was the picture of defeat, and she couldn't stand it.

"Sammy?" she called, and his gaze snapped up to her. He stood, lurched toward her, the most extraordinary expression on his face. It was open, afraid, and completely vulnerable, in a way she hadn't seen him since he was a kid being bullied by the bigger boys in second grade.

The boys she and Dean had beaten to a pulp and gotten expelled for it.

Sam crashed into her with all the grace of a baby moose, and she was grateful she was abnormally tall, for a woman, because she was able to cradle his head properly against her shoulder by standing on her tiptoes, without him needing to bend nearly double. He was shaking, muscles tense to the point of snapping beneath her hands, and she rubbed his broad shoulder with her free hand.

"It's all right, Sammy, I'm here," she murmured nonsense into his ear for the next few minutes, determined not to push him for information until he was ready to give it.

Sammy kept her waiting a while. Wet heat registered on the nerves of her right shoulder, and that's when Kate realized he was crying and trying to hide it.

Oh Sam.

She brushed her fingers through his soft hair, lingering on the way it curled at the tips, remembering how it used to soothe him as a child. Apparently that hadn't changed; Sam relaxed into the contact, his grip on her shifting, becoming less painful and more secure. After several minutes, he pulled back, eyes suspiciously wet and face flushed.

"Sorry," he croaked, and Kate shushed him.

"It's all right, Sammy, just tell me everything."

"The rawhead," Sam started. "It…I don't know. Dean sent me to get the kids out. He tried to taze it but he was standing in a puddle of water." Kate's intake of breath was sharp and pained, and Sam nodded in understanding. "Exactly. It triggered a heart attack and, the doctor says, damaged his heart permanently. They think…" he faltered, and Kate waited patiently, squeezing the nape of his neck encouragingly. "They think he won't make it a month. Katie, what do we do?"

Kate stared, frozen by the words even though she half-expected them the moment Sam said 'heart damage.' Saying it aloud, her brother made it more real, brought it too close to home; and she found herself wide-eyed and barely breathing as her heart slammed against her ribs.

Damn it, Dean.

By the end of this little speech, Sam was practically whispering, and Kate felt the burden of older sibling-ship keenly upon her shoulders. Dad was absent, Dean dying, and Sam needed her to be strong despite her sick stomach and the ache in her chest at the idea that her older brother might….might…

No.

"We're not going to let him die, Sam," she shook her head fiercely. "We won't. I'll take a shift with him; you go back to the room and get some rest. I'll start researching here. Turn over every stone. We will find something."

Sam was nodding, jaw set and eyes wide. Determination showed vibrant in his expression, and Kate almost smiled to see it.

There was nothing could stop Sam once he'd made up his mind about something.

But she had a lead of her own to pursue. First, though…

"Okay," she nodded. "Now where is he? I'm gonna punch him in the face for getting himself electrocuted."

Dean flipped through channels on the small TV aimlessly. He wasn't watching anything, not really; daytime television was truly horrid.

Maybe he could distract Sam with that. Dean knew the kid was in the hall talking to his doctor; he was gonna be all teary-eyed and maudlin when he got back. The doc had already told Dean what his condition was, and it was an ugly prognosis.

Not that Dean was surprised. He always thought he'd die on a hunt. It wasn't at all unusual—he had been hunting for ten whole years. So few folks in the life made it even that long, he supposed he was probably on borrowed time already.

Twenty-six was already old, for a Hunter raised into it.

The only thing about the situation that gave him pause was leaving Sam and Kate behind. He knew they'd look out for each other, but…

Well.

There wasn't much of a 'but', was there? That was really all there was to it—Kate would make sure Sam was safe and happy, and Sam would protect her to his dying breath; Dean knew this.

They didn't really need him.

Good, he thought, trying desperately to ignore the way his heart clenched at the thought. It was good, he wouldn't want them to suffer, he wanted them to be okay—

"Dean?" Sam had come back, and he wasn't alone. Dean stifled a sigh.

Kate stood there too, tall and slender and strong. She was paler than he liked, but her eyes were dry and her lips tight—an expression that meant she was holding back some emotional response. Dean looked at the two of them, his baby siblings, and swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

When had they gotten so grown up? When had they stopped being the scrawny gangly kids he comforted through nightmares and trained to fight and raised, in the absence of their father?

"Have you ever actually watched daytime TV?" he asked wearily, trying to ignore the way the wave of emotion swamping him made it actually, physically hard to breathe.

"Dean—"

"That fabric softener teddy bear? Oh, I'm gonna hunt that little bitch down."

Sam tensed visibly, while Kate just cocked an eyebrow, as if to say, that's how you want to play it? Fine.

"Sam's going to the hotel," she announced. "Looks like you gotta put up with me for tonight."

And I'm not gonna take your crap, her eyes telegraphed. Dean winced internally. His tough-guy act wasn't working on either of them, but Kate was the one who would push him to have a chick-flick moment, and he wasn't quite so successful shutting her up usually.

Damn it.

"Great, well, you rest up Sammy. Looks like y'all are leaving town without me."

Kate's jaw clenched, and she pulled a protesting Sam away. They conferred quietly across the room—which pissed Dean off, by the way—and Sam nodded once. Kate pulled him down for a long hug, and he tossed a wave at Dean as he left.

Kate crossed the distance between them in three strides and sat smoothly in the chair beside the hospital bed.

"You two better take care of that car, Kate," he supposed if he was deliberately boorish, maybe she'd get pissed off and leave him alone instead of peeling back what was left of his defenses and exposing him. "But let Sam have it; I know you've always preferred trucks anyway, and he'd appreciate it."

Kate shrugged, looking at the grainy picture on the TV. "Sure, Dean, whatever you say."

Shit, she wasn't taking the bait. Dean sighed; he wasn't strong enough to fight her right now; he was exhausted and felt weak enough it made him despise himself.

More than he normally did, anyhow.

He tried again. "You can have my amulet though; I don't think Sammy will mind, and it won't do me any good once I'm just a bunch of scattered ashes—"

"Cut it, Dean," Kate ordered, intensely blue eyes flicking to his and refusing to let him go. "I get that you're sick and afraid and you don't want to talk about it. I won't make you talk. But don't hide from me. Don't you dare."

Dean blinked furiously in an attempt to disperse the sudden moisture in his eyes. But he nodded, mute, and turned back to the television. There was a puling man confessing his love to an overly-made-up woman wearing too much jewelry. Sickened, Dean flicked the TV off and focused instead on the thin blanket covering his lap. Kate said nothing.

After a moment, he patted the space beside him. He wouldn't talk, and she wouldn't make him; but dammit, he wanted her closer, and he was dying. He was entitled.

"'M cold," he muttered by way of explanation, but Kate was already moving. She slid onto the sterile sheet beside him, kicking her boots off and pulling the blanket over her own legs as she sidled up beside him. Dean leaned into her almost imperceptibly, which made Kate huff an exasperated sigh and lay her head on his shoulder.

Her soft blonde hair tickled his cheek, and Dean let his lips brush over her warm scalp, working hard to control the tears now.

"It's okay, Dean," Kate whispered, and a single drop of wet escaped, landing on her head beneath his lips. "I got you."

Dean nodded, and let himself relax into the comfort she offered. His eyes felt droopy anyway, his body exhausted despite the fact he hadn't done more than sit up since he woke up from the electrocution. Everything hurt, everything felt twice as heavy as it ought, and he was just so damned tired.

Dean fell asleep, cheek pillowed against Kate's blonde curls.

The hospital chapel was easy to locate, for all that it was isolated and tucked away in a tiny hallway on the second floor. Kate left Dean sleeping peacefully; she would be back in minutes, he would not wake alone.

She noted gratefully that the chapel was empty. Nat had said regular folks couldn't see him, but they still spoke to one another aloud—and the last thing she needed was some poor person of faith, here looking for comfort, instead stuck listening to her one-sided conversation with an angel. Kate snicked the lock on the door behind her and sat quietly in one of the padded pews, looking toward the altar and cross in the front of the small room.

If angels were real, she wondered suddenly, did that mean God was too?

Filing that question away for later, Kate focused hard. Everything in her railed against it—she wanted to scream, to cry, to mourn her brother and every nasty thing they hunted and all the pain the last twenty-four hours had inflicted on her family—but she could cry later, if her plan failed.

For now, she had work to do.

"Nat?" she called quietly, putting every ounce of will she possessed behind the call, lacing her voice with heavy intent. "Nathanael, I need your help. Please come now."

Light danced behind her closed eyelids, like summer on a beach, and the angel's booming voice announced, "I am here, Katharine." She opened her eyes, but didn't allow herself to indulge the incipient sense of wonder that made her skin tingle with goosebumps at the dazzling figure of Nathanael before her.

There wasn't time for wonder.

"My brother," she choked on the word.

"I know. Fear not, it is not yet his time of dying."

Kate blinked rapidly. "Someone should tell his heart. Can you heal him?"

"I can," Nat's head tilted slightly as he regarded her. "But we believe you may be able to, as well. It is our intent that you attempt it."

Kate was silent, torn hopelessly between I might be able to heal? and it is "their intent" that I try? Uncertain, she just sat there staring, jaw slack and eyes wide. Nathanael raised one bright eyebrow.

"Is there a problem, Katharine?"

"Uh…" was her eloquent response. She shook her head to clear it after another moment. "I don't know how."

Nat nodded. "I will remain at your side and assist you. Come."

And that was it. Kate had prepared herself to bargain, deal, even to beg if necessary; but sixty seconds later she was standing in an elevator with a blinding-bright angel, trying not to squint so the old man also occupying the small space wouldn't think her crazy.

The glaring contradiction between the humdrum elevator music, the awkward silence between her and the stranger, and the presence of a massive angel whose wings filled every available inch of space in the cramped area would have made Kate laugh under different circumstances.

The ding of the elevator bell at the sixth floor made her jump, and the old man gave her a sympathetic smile as she walked out. "Good luck," he croaked, and she turned back just long enough to nod at him.

"That was kind of him," she murmured to Nat as they walked toward Dean's room—to any observer, it would seem she simply made a comment to herself.

"Kindness is as present in this world as brutality," the angel responded, and something hitched in the vicinity of Kate's chest. "Love, generosity, loyalty—they are just as common as the horrors you and your brothers see."

I know, Kate thought. That's why we do what we do.

But she just gave a short nod, swallowed the tightness in her chest, and led Nathanael into Dean's room. The angel's mass made everything seem that much smaller, including her brother, whose skin had taken on a sickly-gray pallor when his heart stopped working properly. It made the bruised dark circles around his eyes seem even darker, bloodless lips turned down in a pained frown, even in sleep. His breathing was shallow, but a look at the machines that monitored his every bodily function told Kate nothing had changed in the five minutes she'd been gone. She moved to stand on his right, at the level of his chest.

"All right," she murmured. "What do I do?"

Nathanael spread his towering wings over the bed, enclosing them all in warm, golden light that reflected off the dark light-feathers. "As you advance in your abilities, you will not need me to do this," the angel said, and his voice seemed somehow stronger, rattling in Kate's very bones. "But I have charged the atmosphere in this small dome, wherein Dean's body will be more disposed to heal and you will have an easier time accessing your Grace."

That sounded about right, seeing as how the hair on the back of Kate's neck was standing straight at attention.

"Now," Nat continued. "Focus, Katharine. Find your Grace."

Unsure of where to even begin, Kate closed her eyes and tried hard to do as he said.

Find your Grace, find your Grace.

It came surprisingly easily. One moment she was repeating the mantra inside her head; the next, her eyes popped open with a gasp and everything seemed brighter, bluer. She had it. She knew, somehow, that she had hold of the Grace that had been imbued into her soul as a child; had grown with her, changed her even as she changed it, until it had become something…other. Something different than standard angel juice.

Something ridiculously powerful.

She could sense it, hot and bright, warming her from the inside and drawing out goosebumps as it pressed out against her skin, threatening to break free.

"Good," she heard Nat say, and his voice seemed less thunderous than before, more manageable to her ears and bones. "Now—"

But the angel didn't get to finish, for instinct had Kate's right hand stretched over Dean's chest in less than a second, as if it sensed illness and wanted—no, needed—to repair the damage. Kate barely had to do more than give the conscious command, and her hand began to glow with blue light that shone through her skin and muscle, highlighting the bone structure beneath.

It was the freaking coolest thing she'd ever experienced.

She sensed the Grace set aright the damage electricity had done to her brother's heart, and move to the path it had burned through his insides, soothing and restoring every damaged cell and nerve until all was restored to its former health.

There were other things she sensed—scar tissue from old wounds, calcification from broken bones, and the beginnings of plaque buildup in his blood vessels, courtesy of too many years of crappy mini-mart food. Kate couldn't let herself give in to the instinct to heal it all, to leave her brother clean and unharmed as the day he was born, but she did repair his alcohol-ravaged liver and clean up some of the plaque in his arteries before Nat's voice came again, faraway and muffled.

"He awakes."

A jolt in the vicinity of her stomach threw Kate out of her head and backward, away from Dean's bed. The wing dome was gone, as was the angel who'd provided it, and Kate was slumped in the hospital chair trying to catch her breath. Dean was breathing more erratically, waking up, and before Kate could arrange herself better, the pain hit.

It was intense; a flare of fire in every nerve she possessed, a wave of exhaustion that pressed her further into the hard cushion, a blinding agony behind her eyes that wrenched them shut on a gasp. She barely had a moment to adjust before Dean sat bolt upright in his bed.

Green eyes popped open, accompanied by a starved intake of air. Kate tried to school her features, really she did, and Dean was so busy coming to that he could perhaps be forgiven for not noticing his sister's distress right away.

She was at his side bare seconds later, shoving aside pain in favor of checking over her big brother.

"Dean?"

"Kate?" he rasped, blinking hard in the cold light of the hospital room. "What the hell?"

"I don't know," she lied smoothly, and shoved him back down. It was pitifully easy—apparently her Grace did not restore strength, only repaired physical damage. "You just...spazzed out. Gave me a heart attack."

He was quiet, and when she held his gaze, brow raised, he scowled. "Not funny."

She couldn't help but smirk, shaky as it was. "Come on, it's a little funny."