As soon as they were out of the kitchen, out of Sam's hearing range, Bobby whirled and laid into him.
"You son-of-a-bitch! Are you trying to kill him?"
Dean flinched from the old man's fury. "Bobby, that wasn't me..."
"Maybe not directly, but you being here isn't helping him any." Bobby raged. "And why in the HELL don't you tell him who you are?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Bull! Don't you dare lie to me Dean Winchester. I'll fill your feathered ass full of lead." They were out in the hall several yards from the kitchen where Sam still sat trying to recover from whatever had gobsmacked him. Bobby lowered his voice. "Dean. He's your brother..."
Slowly, Dean shook his head, his shoulders slumping. Bobby had his number. There was no denying it anymore. "Things are different now."
"Why? Because you're dead? Because you're Heaven's bitch?"
"Yes, dammit!"
"Boy, that's crap and you know it." Bobby said quietly, subduing his anger with a swift intake of breath. "Family...that don't change. Why won't you tell him, Dean?"
Dean rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and back. "Besides the fact they don't want me to? That they didn't want me here in the first place?" He sighed again. "It'll hurt him worse, Bobby. Just like the last time. I came back, and he had to watch me die again. I can't do that to him anymore. I have to stay gone. I have to stay dead to him."
"Why did you come back? What's this about Ruby?"
"I was sent to find her."
"Why?"
"I don't know. She's up to something. I'm guessing she's trying to spring Lucifer again. It sounds like she might have a new vessel for him."
"Damn…"
"Yeah, it's big if Heaven is getting involved again."
"So if she's got a new host for the devil, what does Sam have to do with it? Hasn't he done enough?"
"I just thought he would know where she is." Dean stepped back a pace in light of Bobby's irritated growl. "And you're right." He worried his lip between his teeth, a gesture not entirely his own, but more Evan's; funny how the body can retain its own memory. "I missed him." Hardening his features into a scowl, he added, "They didn't tell me he was sick."
"Yeah, damn right he's sick." Bobby relaxed visibly, the set of his shoulders going down as anger gave way to sadness. "Putting Ol' Scratch back in jail nearly killed him back then, and it's left some nasty scars. He tries to lie to me about it, tries to pretend he's all there, but he's never been the same since. He's not thinkin' right, he's starting to make mistakes, and I don't know how he even keeps standin'. It's catchin' up to him, Dean, and catchin' up quick." Tears filled their old friend's eyes. "Every time I see him he's lost more ground. He's runnin' out of road, and when that happens..."
"I don't know if I can save him, Bobby." Dean said softly, morosely. "And I'm afraid for him."
"You're an angel – which, by the way, is actually the funniest damn thing I've heard in a long time - don't you have any pull up there?"
Dean gave him a wry look. "Me? What do you think? Martyrdom got me in, but it doesn't change who I am. They'd as soon chuck me back in the Pit than give me any clout. I've spent the last..." He attempted some quick calculations to account for the skewing of time between the plane on which he normally existed and Earth's, and then finally gave up "A really long time in valet parking. Centuries."
"What?"
"Try Wal-Mart door greeter. Souls come up, I hand them a brochure and point them toward the Pearly Gates," Dean shrugged. "more or less. I'm a bottom feeder, and there doesn't seem to be a promotion in my future either. The higher ups aren't keen on the idea of giving me any more power than they have to."
Bobby took off his cap and scratched his head. "What about Castiel?"
"Cas, he's the angelic equivalent to middle management, not a plum assignment either. Best he can do is keep me from screwing up bad enough to get my ass canned. He got me this job only because it involves Ruby, why I don't know, and I was hoping – maybe – if he helped me Sam would get...a reprieve?" Dean's voice broke. "I can't let him go to Hell, Bobby. I just can't do that, but I don't know how to stop it."
After a long pause, Bobby let out a sigh. "You should still tell him the truth, Dean."
Dean looked back over his shoulder to where Sam sat, head in hands, at the kitchen table. "I can't, not yet." He closed his eyes over the tears. "I don't want him to get his hopes up."
Sam's progress toward Toronto was slow, as travel always was these days. He simply didn't trust himself to drive very far for very long. There was too much stacked against him in favor of losing control at the wheel and dying in a fiery crash. He figured his death was going to be fiery and his afterlife too, but why should he tempt fate and go out before his time?
Besides, wherever Dean is, wherever I go, he'll hunt me down and make me pay a hefty price for wrecking his car.
The thought made him smile. Long after Dean's death, when it became clear there wouldn't be another miraculous resurrection, Sam had gone through his brother's things. In Dean's wallet he had found a small piece of paper, folded in half, with his name written on it. Inside was a note:
"Sammy, if you're reading this, I'm dead – again. I just want to say I'm sorry – and you damn well better take care of my car."
"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Sam whispered. "And yeah, I'm taking care of your car."
The Impala was running well, but not because of Sam's mechanical skills, which were decidedly limited. Bobby had hooked him up with a part-time Hunter, full-time mechanic in Missouri, Gil, who was an expert in all the quirks inherent to vintage automobiles. The guy's jaw had hit the ground when Sam pulled into his shop for the first time. Sam knew the Winchester name came with a reputation, but had no idea the car had a similar reputation. He hadn't said a word as Gil came up to the Chevy and circled it with nothing short of reverence, barely daring to touch the sleek black steel – which at the time had been nearly obscured by road dust.
"This," Gil said finally, somewhat breathlessly. "This isn't...this isn't The Impala is it?"
"It's an Impala," Sam had replied. "Nineteen..."
"It's a sixty-seven, V8, 4-door hardtop, Tuxedo Black." Gil still wasn't looking at Sam, just the car. "You're Sam Winchester."
"Uh...yeah - look, can you just..."
Sam didn't even finish before Gil's head had snapped up to finally attend to his human visitor. "You want me to work on this car, this car?"
Somewhat disgusted, Sam replied. "You are a mechanic aren't you?"
"Yes, but...this..." Gil gazed lovingly at the Impala. "It would be an honor."
That had been the first time Gil had worked on the car, but he continued to be in awe of it, and more than a little afraid of Sam, particularly after one nerve wracking week when the Impala seemed to have finally thrown in the towel. It steadfastly refused to start no matter what Gil did to it. Sam had been tired, sick, and cranky at the time and had reminded Gil that the car actually belonged to Sam's dead brother. If Dean's ghost even thought for a minute they'd killed his beloved Chevy, they'd both be in deep shit.
Needless to say, Gil got it running the very next day.
When this trip is over she'll need some work done. She's past due for an oil change, and I think there may be a leak...
"Assuming I survive long enough," he muttered, and not for the first time considered leaving the car to Gil. Bobby might be too tempted to scrap her for parts.
He tightened his grip on the Chevy's wheel. It was late, he'd been driving for hours, and there was still another hour to go before he hit the outskirts of Cedar Rapids where he'd stop for some rest. Back in the day he could have made it from Bobby's house in Sioux Falls to Chicago or beyond without stopping - but that was before he'd started screwing around with demonic powers and took on Satan himself in a psychic duel.
And for what? To save the world? Was it worth it to save a world already full of death, destruction, disease and famine? What difference would Hell on Earth make? Earth was Hell. Life was Hell. Maybe he should have let Lucifer purge the human blight off the face of the planet, let God start up again with a clean slate and maybe this time He would get it right.
Sam's stomach churned. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, and his medication was making his gut ache. Reaching for the glove box he found some antacid tablets and chewed a few as he drove. At the moment he was driving along a curving county road lined high on either side with corn stalks waiting for harvest. There was no moon in the overcast sky, making it seem as though a blanket had been thrown over the land. It made the route seem even darker; the walls of corn seem more solid. It was like traversing a maze.
It's a maize maze. Shit, I am tired.
The corn opened up ahead, revealing a small access road, hardly more than a path, wherein the farmer could bring his equipment. Sam turned off into it, slipping far enough into the tunnel of corn so the car could not be seen from the road. With the lights off the black car was nearly invisible. Sam could rest for a while undisturbed.
He checked the time, and with a sip from a bottle of tepid water, washed down his usual meds plus more pain killer. Sleep wouldn't be hard to find, but he didn't want to spend too long napping when he should be driving. Once he got to Chicago he could rest properly. First, however, he had to get to Chicago and in his current state he wasn't going to make it. With this in mind, he set his watch alarm for a half hour. He'd sleep off the meds, and then get going again.
Sam hoped he wouldn't dream.
In his dreams Dean was alive again, a theme common to both his conscious and unconscious dreaming lately. He found it disturbing – no, distressing – as it only served to irritate already raw wounds. Grief and loneliness were as much a part of Sam's life as his physical pain. Dreaming of Dean, just thinking of Dean cut him to the bone. Sometimes he did wonder if Hell wouldn't be better, despite all he'd been told. Life now was no picnic.
This last vision Lucifer had tormented him was sticking in his craw too. Why would Lucifer send him a vision of Dean as an angel? Why would Lucifer have him dream of salvation? The more Sam thought about it, the more troublesome the vision seemed. He had no doubt it had been Lucifer – he knew the Devil's touch far better than he wanted – but perhaps it wasn't Lucifer at the very end. Someone had interfered. Sam suspected a real angel, Evan.
His troubled thoughts didn't last long. A massive yawn almost split his head in two, and as he settled back in his seat, he could feel exhaustion dragging him down. Within minutes he was asleep, passing quickly through the painful twilight time and on into a deeper sleep.
A dream did come to him, a dream from out of the corn maze.
He's sitting in the car, but not behind the wheel. It's Dean's place, and Dean is in it, piloting the Impala down a long stretch of road through the Kansas prairie. Grass meets sky all along the horizon. Heat waves shimmer along the road ahead, creating the illusion of water in the distance – a mirage. The old Chevy has no air conditioner and despite the windows being rolled down the interior heat is sweltering. Sweat stains their t-shirts at their armpits and in the hollow of their chests.
"Is it really hot in Hell?" Sam asks.
Dean doesn't take his eyes off the road as he answers, "Yes. It's so hot a breath of air will scald your lungs and put blisters on your tongue."
They continue to drive. Sam slumps down in his seat, letting the air blow in through the window onto his face. The beads of sweat on his face dry in the wind, cooling him. Through heavy lidded eyes he watches his brother drive. Dean's idly tapping the steering wheel as he mouths the lyrics to a tune he has playing on the radio. Sam recognizes the call letters of the radio station. It's classic rock out of Topeka. He's heard the song before, but cannot place it.
It was a scene that had been played out many, many times before over the span of more than twenty years, the only difference being the man behind the wheel and Sam's position in the car. When he'd been young, and John still drove the Chevy, Sam had to sit in the back seat. It had been stifling hot, even with the windows down. Often Sam would lie down across the broad leather seat, his feet propped up on the windowsill, and a book open upon his chest. Where bare skin touched hot leather it stuck, and sometimes it got burned if the sun had been shining in too long on one spot. In the front seats John and Dean would talk "shop." It made Sam feel like an afterthought.
When John bought a big four-wheel drive pick-up he turned the Impala's keys over to Dean. The car was the only inheritance either of the boys would ever get, aside from the Hunting skills their father had instilled in them. Sam graduated to shotgun. He got to talk "shop." Sometimes he would sleep, drifting off to the sound of the Impala's big engine rumbling, the whoosh of the wind as she sped down the road, and the quiet sounds of Dean singing along to the radio.
"I don't know, but I've been told, a big-legged woman ain't got no soul..."
Sam jerked awake, sitting up so quickly his world momentarily went completely black and soundless. Gasping, he dug his hands into the dashboard and waited for the spell to pass. As sound began to bleed back into his consciousness the first thing he heard was the pounding of his own heart, followed by the familiar sounds of which he'd just been dreaming. The car was moving and Sam wasn't driving. A voice sang softly from the driver's seat.
Zeppelin. Just like the dream.
Only it wasn't Dean driving, but a boy just shy of manhood, a boy possessed by an angel. It was Evan.
"Houses of the Holy," Sam murmured. He blinked, rubbing at his eyes. It was daylight, midmorning. How long had he been asleep?
Evan stopped singing. "Sleeping Beauty wakes."
Sam shot the angel the bird and then ran his nose across his sleeve. Blearily he focused his eyes to see a streak of fresh blood among the stains already there. Some of the blood was his. A lot of it wasn't. He never wanted to be a Hunter, but he had to admit, he was a damn good one.
"What the hell are you doing?" he growled.
"Driving."
"I can see that. Why?" Sam grabbed for the water bottle. His mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. He could taste blood at the back of his throat. "I just stopped for a few minutes."
Evan reached over and switched off the radio. "Two reasons," he said, neatly steering around some unknown pile of roadkill in the Impala's path. The car straightened out under his hand, and surged forward as his foot pressed down on the accelerator once again. A faint smile crossed his lips. "I miss driving."
"Is that one?"
"One what?" The angel glanced over at Sam, his perfectly arched brows dipping together.
Sam grunted. "Reason."
"Huh? Oh! No. First reason – I thought you could use the rest."
"You could have just left me alone," Sam pointed out. "Not stolen my car."
"I haven't stolen it. How can I steal it when you're sitting in it?"
"Should we call it kidnapping then?"
"Stop being an ass," the angel said, clearly annoyed at Sam for poking holes in his happy.
"Stop beating around the bush and tell me why the hell you're driving my car."
"Don't you mean Dean's car?" Turning his head, Evan gave Sam a poignant stare. "That's the only reason why you keep it."
Sam lowered his eyes, toying with the now empty water bottle. "And what's wrong with that?"
Evan turned his attention back to the road. "Nothing," he said quietly, "nothing at all." He paused a moment before adding. "You've got demons on your ass. I was afraid they'd catch up while you were sleeping."
"I always have demons on my ass, that's nothing new," Sam grunted.
"They know I've come to you. They want to know what's going on."
"Hell, I want to know what's going on."
The angel sighed. "So do I."
Throwing up his hands, Sam leaned back heavily in his seat. "Terrific."
Evan nudged the Chevy to go a little faster. "Whether we actually know anything or not, they'll still try to make us talk."
"Us? Oh, right. I forgot. You're a bargain basement angel." Sam reached into the glove box and pulled out a flask. There was holy water in it. He tucked it into his jacket pocket. "How many are there?"
"Four."
"That's two to one odds." Sam shrugged. "We can take them."
Glancing quickly in the rear-view mirror, Evan nodded, but his expression was one of skepticism. "A fight has to be our last resort, Sam. If you're going with me to confront Ruby, you'll have to be at the top of your game."
"Good luck with that." Sam rubbed his forehead, wincing. "The top of my game came and went five years ago."
"And that's why we can't waste your strength."
"It's my strength to waste."
Evan rolled his eyes. "Damnit, Sam, make up your mind! Are you in this with me or not?"
Sam snorted. "There's not much left to make up, and yeah, you know, I am getting really sick and damn tired of sticking my neck out for you people and getting nothing but crap in return."
"Right, like we didn't tell you not to fuck around with demons."
"If I hadn't fucked around with Ruby you'd be Lucifer's boy-toy right now."
"You didn't have to go there. You could have found another way." Evan's expression hardened. Sam could tell he was getting annoyed – and didn't give shit.
"What other way? And why should it have been my responsibility in the first place?"
"You're a Hunter. It's your job."
"Don't give me that crap, don't you dare!" Suddenly infuriated at being jerked around by some piss-ant angel, Sam remembered why he hated them so much. "Me, and Dean, we did everything we were asked to do. We stopped the damn Apocalypse. We put Lucifer back in lock-up. What did that get us? My brother drowned in his own blood trying to save the world while God's soldiers turned tail and ran." Evan winced, and Sam twisted the knife. "Dean's dead, I'm dying, and just because of some Heavenly bureaucratic red-tape, I get to go to Hell when I bite it. Never mind that I spent over a year in the hospital after frying my brain getting rid of Lucifer, and ever since then I've been mopping up every demon that dares show its black eyed face outside of the Pit. Where are the angels? Where were the angels? Where were you when my mother sold my soul to a demon? Where were you when it turned me into a freak of nature in the first place? If anyone failed to do their job, it was you and your God! You fucked it up, not me!" Sam ground his teeth together. "Stop the car."
"What?" Evan glanced over at him. "We can't…."
"I said STOP THE GODDAMN CAR!"
It wasn't Evan who obeyed, but the Impala herself, responding to Sam's psychic jab at her motor. She shuddered, missing on first one cylinder and then another, before the engine coughed and sputtered to a halt. The power steering shut down. Behind the wheel Evan wrestled her over to the berm where she gradually came to a complete stop. Sam immediately got out and rounded the hood to the driver's side door, which he threw open wide.
"Get out."
Had he hesitated, Sam would have thrown him out, but the angel quietly removed himself from the driver's seat. Sam got in and slammed the door. In seconds he had the engine running again and had peeled out from the gravel berm, speeding off down the road – back toward Sioux City – leaving Evan far behind in his wake. His anger had caused the headache to flare up even worse than before. His hands were shaking badly, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in short, struggling gasps.
"Are you done throwing your tantrum?"
Sam flinched and nearly drove off the road. Whipping his head around, he saw the angel sitting in the passenger's seat. Evan's handsome face was set in a grim expression, his eyes cold. Clearly Sam had pissed him off.
"Get out before I throw you out," he said.
Evan snorted softly. "I doubt you could."
"Don't tempt me."
"Not a morning person, are you Sammy?"
"Don't." Sam grated. "Call. Me. Sammy."
"You'd prefer asshole? Because that's how you're acting." When Sam didn't respond the angel continued, his next comment harkening back to Sam's outburst. "It used to be that doing the right thing was its own reward."
"It used to be that doing the right thing didn't always come back and bite me in the ass."
"You used to have faith."
Sam didn't answer for a moment. He let the silence hang. "It was misplaced," he said finally, bitterly. "The only thing you can really count on is yourself."
"What about family, Sam? Did Dean ever let you down?"
"Dean," Sam breathed, "no, he never let me down, but he was only human."
"He made mistakes."
"He did the best he could."
Evan sighed. "Yeah, I know, and it still wasn't enough."
Before Sam could ask him what he meant, something in the road ahead caught his eye. A line of people, seven in all, stood in a line stretching from one side of the road to the other, effectively blocking the Impala's passage. All of them stood there with one arm outstretched, and Sam knew if he didn't stop the car, the car would be stopped for him.
"I thought you said there were only four," he said quietly.
The angel cursed softly. "They must have picked up some new recruits."
A few yards out from the row of demons Sam hit the brakes. Pulling off onto the gravel berm, he stopped the car and turned off the engine. Pocketing the keys, he got out. Evan followed. One of the demons, a young woman eerily reminiscent of the last woman Lilith had possessed before Sam killed her, stepped forward to meet them.
"Well, well, well," she said. "Hello, Sam, fancy meeting you here in the middle of nowhere."
One of the abilities Sam had honed over the years was the ability to identify demons no matter what meat they wore. His eyes moved over the line, carefully studying them. He knew only one - the woman who spoke to him.
"Medea," he snarled. "I didn't think you'd crawl out again so soon. Enjoy your vacation? Hot enough for you?"
She chuckled. "I hear things are getting a little hot up here." With a little nod she acknowledged Evan's presence. "The featherheads are back. What game are you playing now, huh?"
"Checkers," Evan replied, his voice and eyes gone chilly cold. "What's it to you, bitch?"
Medea's smile vanished. She took a step back. "Wow. You've picked up a live one, Sammy." Narrowing her eyes, she gave a cool look back to the angel. "Careful there, pretty boy, you don't want to get yourself too riled up. You might just fall."
Evan shrugged. "Maybe I already have."
Both Medea and Sam stared at him. He never took his eyes from the demon, and his mouth did not move, but Sam heard him quite clearly inside his own head.
"You get Medea and the three on the right. I'll get the other four – on my count."
"You know, if I have," Evan continued aloud. "I don't have to fight fair."
"One."
Sam gathered himself, both mentally and physically. This was going to be tough, not nearly as easy as subduing a single demon and exorcising it after tying it to a chair. He flexed his arm. In a sheath at the small of his back was a knife. It wasn't just any knife. It was Ruby's demon killing knife. It was also the knife Ruby had used to kill his brother. The bone handle was stained a dark brown from all the blood that had spilled upon it, demon blood, which gave it power over them. Intermingled with the demon blood was Dean's, and that gave Sam power. It had been formidable when the Winchesters first encountered it. Now it was even more so.
"Two."
Medea strode up to Evan and stopped. "You haven't been tainted. I can smell the grace in you. You're nothing but a big-talking fledge..." The she-demon paused, cocking her head slightly as she looked at Evan from the corner of her eyes, eyes that slowly widened. "You!" she said softly. "No. It can't be!"
Evan grinned at her. "It can," he said. "And it is."
"THREE!"
In one swift move Sam whipped the dagger from his belt and thrust it home through Medea's throat, killing her instantly. His follow-through brought him around to meet the demon who came up behind him. With one hand he slashed its throat with the knife and with the other sent a third demon flying through the air to land sprawled across the Impala's hood. In the distance he could hear Evan fighting off the others.
Bright even in the morning sun, angelic light exploded forth to illuminate the entire road. Sam heard the demons shriek, and when he dared to open his eyes again he saw at least one make its escape from its host body. Said body fell in a boneless heap upon the asphalt as Sam turned his attention to the demon he had pinned upon the Impala's hood.
This demon had taken an older man, one in his fifties or so, the same age John Winchester had been when he died. Dark hair was peppered with gray. Lines were carved deep around eyes the color of a summer sky, indicating a man who either smiled or squinted a great deal. Judging from the tan, Sam guessed the latter. He was probably a farmer from one of the houses nearby.
The sky blue eyes turned black as Sam approached. Like a cat, the demon hissed at him.
"You can't tell me," Sam said quietly. "That this was just a fact finding mission. It doesn't take seven demons to ask a few questions, and I don't see Medea having guts enough to take me on again over the appearance of a fledgling angel without some incentive." The demon tried to get up. Sam extended a hand and "pushed" him back down on the hood with a bang. "It's my turn to ask the questions."
The demon curled his lip. "Ask away. I don't know anything."
"Who sent you?"
"I don't know."
Sam raised his chin and curled his fingers slightly. The demon gasped in pain. "Who. Sent. You?"
"I don't know!" The demon writhed beneath the pain Sam was inflicting on it, virtually howled when Sam amped up the pressure. "Medea! Medea got the orders...aaaugh!"
"Orders from who?"
"I...I...swear. I don't...please..." Gasping, the demon's body started to convulse, and a trickle of black smoke began to run from its nose. It shrieked as Sam's hand closed in a fist. "Ruby! It was Ruby!"
Sam looked back over his shoulder and addressed Evan, who, despite the fight, was as unruffled as ever - clean-cut and handsome, looking like he had just stepped off the cover of TV-Guide. "She knows we're coming."
Evan frowned. "How?"
At this the demon laughed breathlessly. "Psychic trip wire. She knew Sammy here would eventually hunt her down, and made damn sure she'd get advance notice."
"And she sent you to kill me?"
The demon shook his head. "No, no she didn't. She sent us to give you a message."
Sam exchanged glances with the angel. Evan appeared as startled as Sam felt.
"What? What message?"
"I don't know."
"Like hell…"
"I don't know, you bastard! If she told anyone she told Medea, and you f-in killed her didn't you! So screw you Winchester. Now you'll never know."
Infuriated, Sam took another step forward, tightening his fist. He ground his teeth together against the pain as he wrapped his mind around the demon's essence and began to pull it free from the human body. Like a leech it was reluctant to let go. Smoke swirled around the prone body, flowing from nose and mouth to form a dozen little eddies loathe to put any distance between themselves and the warm human flesh.
Sam cocked his head and took a deep breath, shattering the demon's hold over its host as he tore open the veil. The roar of flames overwhelmed the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. He could feel the heat rising up from the pavement at his feet, and smell the reek of sulfur. A thousand voices cried out in agony. One more joined them as Sam forced the dark soul back down into Hell and slammed the door shut behind it.
It was over quickly. The demon's host body slid from them Impala's hood to lie crumpled upon the ground - still and unmoving – regrettably, dead. Sam swayed, and went down to his knees, and might have joined the farmer on the pavement had Evan not caught a handful of his jacket. For some reason he could not catch his breath. He couldn't catch a breath. Something had short circuited in his head again, and this time it was obviously something important.
"Sam?"
The angel's face vanished as Sam's eyes rolled back. He still struggled to breathe, and now struggled to remain conscious as well. He actually felt his heart stop beating.
This is it. Oh my God! This is it!
"Sammy! No. No, no, no...not yet. Not yet dammit!"
Thunder rumbled. Sam could smell the rain. He could feel Dean's hands on his face, the knife in his back...
"Sammy?"
Jake. It was Jake who had stabbed him, who had severed some important connection between mind and body. Sam couldn't breathe. He couldn't make his lungs fill with air no matter how hard he tried. There was only blood, and pain, and Dean's voice, fading off into the distance.
"Hey. Hey! It's not that bad. It's not that bad. We'll get you patched up as good as new...Sam? Sammy?"
"SAM!"
Sam's eyes popped open, and so did his mouth. With one huge, shuddering effort he sucked in a deep breath of air, and then another. His head felt like it was being crushed beneath some heavy weight. Pain throbbed at his temples. He could feel blood running from both nostrils and down his chin from his left ear. Something soft, cloth torn from a t-shirt, was pressed down over his nose. Temporarily blinded, he was at the mercy of whomever it was helping him and he hoped to god it was the angel. He had no choice but to comply as he was helped to his feet and guided over to sit in a car. From the feel of it, it was the Impala.
Gradually the bleeding stopped and his vision cleared. He was indeed sitting in the Impala. The door was open. He was sitting sideways in the passenger's seat. Evan knelt in front of him on the pavement, patiently observing his recovery with a frightened look on his face that made him look even younger.
"You okay? Sam?"
Sam started to nod and thought better of it. "Yeah," he said weakly. "Thanks. That was a bad one."
"Understatement. You were turning blue."
"Not my color." Sam smiled wryly. "Is it?"
The angel wasn't amused. "No," he said quietly. "It isn't."
"So," Sam put a trembling hand to his forehead, wiping away sweat that had beaded up there during his attack. "Are you worried more about me, or your mission?"
Evan didn't answer the question. Instead he stood up and walked around to the driver's side door. "You're right. It is my mission. It was selfish and stupid of me to drag you into it. You shouldn't be doing this. I'm taking you back to Bobby's. Hell, I should be taking you to the nearest hospital!"
"You damn well won't take me anywhere!" Heedless of his nausea, Sam reached over and plucked the keys out of the ignition.
"You think you're the only one who can play mind games with an internal combustion engine?" The angel demanded, and with a flick of his wrist the Chevy roared into life. "Get in the car, Sam."
Shaking his head, Sam spoke roughly. "No. We're going after Ruby."
"I'm going after Ruby. You're not."
"Screw you," Sam rose, slightly unsteadily and got all the way out of the car.
"Dammit, Sam, listen to me!"
"I was wrong, okay?" Sam shot back. He took a wavering breath. He was too worn out to be angry anymore. "Back there, these past five years – I was wrong. I thought I could just forget it and walk away, but I can't. If there's any hope for me at all, I need to go for it whether I like it or not, because yeah, maybe I did drop the ball with Ruby. I should have cleaned up my mess and taken care of her a long time ago. So whatever God needs now, I'm in. I don't like it. I don't like you, but I'm in, and that's final."
Even was adamant. He looked Sam in the eye and said, "No. I'm taking you home."
"This is my home," Sam indicated the car.
"I meant to Bobby's."
"And just what do you think I'm going to do there, huh? It doesn't matter, Dean! I'm going to die whether I'm lying on my ass on Bobby's sofa, or kicking demon ass out here. You can't save me, so stop trying!"
Abruptly the Impala's engine shut down. Their surroundings grew completely silent, save for the rustle of wind through the cornfields surrounding them. Sam stood looking at Evan across the roof of the car. The angel was staring at him with an odd expression on his face, one of both hurt and confusion.
Sam scowled back. "What, damn you, what?"
"You called me Dean."
"Yeah, well..." Sam murmured, embarrassed, distraught. He pressed his thumb and forefinger hard into the corners of his eyes. "I'm not exactly running on all cylinders these days." He raised his head again, glaring across the Impala's roof. "You're right. You started this. You dragged me into it again, now you live with it, you prick!"
Evan paused as if he were going to continue the argument, but then seemed to change his mind. "Fine, you're going, but I'm driving. Give me the keys."
On this, Sam couldn't argue. His vision was still fading in and out. With a grim expression he tossed Evan the keys. The angel plucked them out of the air and slid into the driver's seat. Sam sat down in the passenger's seat and slammed the door. The angel twisted the keys in the ignition, threw the transmission into drive, and whipped the Chevy around back toward Chicago, leaving a patch of rubber and seven bodies behind in their wake.
Sam leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Evan had done the pain block on him again, he was beginning to recognize its signature, but this time the pain was leeching through anyway. It was not his poor health that caused his heart to continue racing in his chest, but fear. Evan had interceded only seconds before Sam might otherwise have died.
There wasn't much sand left in his hourglass, and Sam knew it.