Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the CW and it's creator, Tim Kripke; as do all of the Winchesters; they are not mine.

Notes: The story picks up shortly after where "Come the Day" left off and contains references to the events in the 2nd season episode "Crossroad Blues, verging on the AU side of things.

"Like a Moth to a Flame" by Karen

Sam stood outside of the hospital, his leather coat draped loosely over one arm, staring blankly at the misty damp of the early evening air. He supposed that he really should be back inside with his brother and his father, tossing back a few drinks, the ones that Dean had sunck in from the trunk of the Impala while the nurses, the doctor and the rest of the hospital staff weren't looking. He hated being in there, and this time it was more than just the bland pastel-tinted decor and the that too clean antiseptic aroma.

Sometimes it was just all too much, really. It would be much simpler to have to deal with what had just transpired in a logical, reasonable manner; a manner that bore zero relationship to the world of the paranormal and occult. Because if it did they wouldn't have to worry about any deals with the devil, or more to the point, a deal that his father had just made with one particular and very intimate demon, one that had a vested interest in the Winchester family.

Sam thought about that a few minutes, as the cold of approaching evening settled in and he moved to take his coat off of his arm and put it on. He briefly considered making a bolt for it, taking the keys from Dean and taking the Impala for a spin, randomly picking a direction for the sheer need to do something, anything at all.

As soon as they gave Dean a clean bill of health and released him from the hospital, he would be really ticked off, but just at the moment, Sam really did not care.

Sam began walking towards the spot in the parking lot where they'd left the Impala, with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans when he stopped abruptly and began walking back towards the entrance. It was nothing he felt, or heard, or saw, it was more like a twinge on his nerve-endings, not unlike the buzzing sound he felt whenever he recieved one of his premonitions.

"Is anyone there?" Sam asked, glancing around at the empty parking lot.

"It has always struck me as an incredible concidence that you and your family have managed to live as long as you have," a woman's voice answered his question.

"What?" "You heard me." A woman dressed in blue jeans and a flannel shirt strolled towards where Sam stood her hair tied up in a loose auburn-colored pony tail, a faint if mocking smile on her face.

"Sam Winchester, isn't it?" Alllow me to introduce myself, Shelia O'Connor, and you have no idea how close a shave it was, but I'm getting ahead of myself, sorry about that."

"Not that I want to be rude, or anything, but what are you doing here and how do you know so much about me and my family?" asked Sam warily.

"Because as I believe I mentioned, we've got a stake in what happens from here on out," Shelia replied.

"Your brother, Dean, as you know, was in rough shape, his number was up, and there was very little modern medical science, as wonderful as it is, could do to save him."

"So, if you know all of that," Sam griped, "then you know about the deal."

"Yes, well, I don't need to tell that, boyo, that there are more things out there then are dreamt of your philosphies, to borrow a famous quote from the Immortal Bard, if you will."

"So?" Sam demanded impatiently.

"So, you know what your brother is like, he came this close," Sheila held up her hands with the palms facing out toward Sam with her fingers only inches spaced apart, "to crossing over to the other side, and if he had."

"He would have died"

"Well, yes, the only problem with that is that he would have become a spiirit, a spook, whatever you want to call it, are you still following me?"

"Okay, what's your point," Sam asked.

"MY point, is that he wasn't ready to let go of this life, and he is, was too much of fighter, so his spirit would have become an angry spirit, the kind that your family has spent almost its entire time fighting against."

"And that's why our dad felt that he had to make that deal, the one they didn't want me to find out about"
"Yes, but that's not why I'm here, Sam." Shelia sighed, her green eyes intent on his own.

"Then why are you here?"

"My counterpart came to warn your brother about choices and whatnot, I'm here to help you."

"No offense, miss, but I fail to see how this is helping me."

"I understand, really I do," Shelia paused and raised her hands to ruffle them through her hair, and a flux of varying emotions flashing through her pale face, an understanding look in her green eyes, and Sam had a sudden thought cross his mind, maybe, just maybe, things would really all work out for the best.

"Once you leave here, promise me one thing," Sam."

"Sure, whatever, man."

"Trust me, whatever has happened in the past, the deaths of your loved, your mother, your girlfriend,
Jessica," you have got to stop beating yourself up," Shelia paused and sighed again. "It was not your fault."

"So you're tellling it was all just random chance, that there was nothing we could have done to prevent it"
I am so not buying it"

"Fine, just stop blaming yourself, it's not going to help anyone, or yourself, and certainly not where you're headed." Shelia paused and glanced around in all directions at the empty parking lot.

"It's hard, really, speaking to you like this, mostly because I'm coming from a different perspective than yours."

"What do you mean," Sam asked, interested and willing to extend his trust to this strangel but attractive girl that seemed to know so much and was willing to be so forthcoming with what she knew.

"I mean, I feel like I've come into a movie in the middle of third reel without the benefit of having seen the previews, so I've only got bits and pieces of the storyline." Shelia said. "Catch my drift?"

"I guess so," Sam nodded agreeably and motined for her to continue.

"Up until now you've only dealt with the hositile, angry, and let's face the downright evil things out there."

"Shelia, if I may call you that," Sam whispered, "don't tell me, you're my guardian angel?"

"No, but I am here on behalf of those who want to be sure that you succeed in your mission, does that count?" she replied as she took several small steps towards him and placed her hands on his face.

"I guess so," Sam replied, feeling some if not all of the tension of the past three days seep out of his body and mind at her touch. "Will I be seeing you again?"

"Who knows, you just might?" Shelia replied, back pedalling and then strode off to the edge of the building, back into the shadows and disappeared.