CHAPTER SIX

Dean was sitting on the couch in Bobby's living room. Bobby was poring over health books from the local library he frequented when Dean or Sam called him for information. Dean, however, just stewed his brooding thoughts, fuming where he was sitting. His arms were still in the same place they were an hour and a half ago, crossed over his stomach and his fists clenched. He might have not even blinked since carrying Sam to the upstairs guest room.

He had certainly not talked since, not even to complain about Bobby being incapable of taking some of Sam's weight off of Dean. It's not that he was angry with Bobby. He was worried that he'd scream if he'd open his mouth to speak at all. He didn't look away from the hole he might as well be burning into the floor when Bobby groaned as he switched from the desk chair back to his wheelchair.

"You want anythin' to eat?" Bobby asked as he wheeled past Dean.

The only indication that Bobby received that Dean had heard him was that Dean finally looked away from the spot on the wood floor.

Bobby wasn't going to take the self-pity any longer, "Well, when you dig your way out of your mood, you know where I'll be."

Dean rolled his eyes and leaned back, wincing at how stiff his bones had gotten from not moving a muscle. His eyes felt very dry. Maybe he had indeed not blinked for a long time.

Sam yawned when he woke up. He didn't wonder about how he got from Lana's Kia to the guest room in Bobby's house. He was just surprised that Dean had gone so far to make him comfortable rather than dumping his underweight-ass on the couch which was far closer to the front door. He had felt so free last night. He rubbed his forehead with one reddened hand felt something drip down his nose.

He raised his finger to his lips and saw blood on his fingertip when he raised it up to eyelevel. The blood was dripping down his middle finger. Sam was about to hang his head back to prevent blood from dripping onto his bed sheets when he noticed the blood stop before reaching his palm. He straightened up again and looked from the drop of blood to the tip of his finger. Suddenly, the blood drop started running again ... up his finger.

Sam hadn't seen anything move when it shouldn't in around five years. Although, during the time he was thinking of he hadn't actually seen it happen. He had assumed that it was Adam who pushed the dresser away from the utility closet so that he could stop that murderous telekinetic boy from shooting his brother in the head. Now, he wasn't so sure. He gasped quietly as the blood drop rose up off his finger and floated before his eyes.

"Sam?" Dean grumbled while rubbing his eyes as he stomped into Sam's room.

Sam turned to look at him and felt the blood drop make a tiny splash on his bed sheet over his thigh. Dean pulled his hand away from his eyes and blinked sleepily down at Sam. He sighed irritably when he saw the blood drying above Sam's upper lip.

"Oh, sheesh!" He growled, snatching up the almost empty tissue box from Sam's beside table and shoving it into Sam's trembling hand.

Sam turned his head away from the tissue box and stared at the little stain on his blanket. Why was this happening to him again? He thought his telekinesis was long gone now that he was several months sober of the demon blood Ruby had been providing him.

"Wipe your nose, man." snapped Dean as he took a seat on the ground, burying his face in his hands and speaking to the ground. "I ain't gonna do that for you. Gotta draw the line somewhere, right?"

Sam numbly pulled out a tissue and started cleaning his lips with it, his hazel eyes not leaving the blood drop over his thigh.

Dean lifted his head up and squinted at Sam, "What did you do, huh? Get drunk last night? Are you trying to give yourself another heart attack? You might as well have given me one."

"Doesn't matter," said Sam quietly, still staring at the blood stain. "He'll bring me back anyway."

Dean ignored that, "Who was the hot chick driving you? Did she spike your drink or something?"

"Didn't drink," said Sam, just as distantly as before.

Dean scoffed, exasperated at how hard he was having to work to get an answer out of Sam, "Well, walk me through the night. 'Cause you were fine when you left, right? You said so yourself."

Sam finally looked away from the drop of blood and glared at Dean. He threw the blanket off of him and pulled his legs over the edge of the bed. Dean leaned back as though Sam was about to stand but Sam just rested his forehead on his hands.

"Her name was Lana," Sam told his jeans. "I met her at a club."

Dean cocked his eyebrows, "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"Ha-ha, very funny." Grumbled Sam, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "We danced, ate dinner, then she drove me here."

"Hey, spare the details." said Dean sarcastically.

Sam lifted his head to look at Dean, "I didn't sleep with her. Even if I did, I wouldn't 'detail' it to you."

"That I'd have no problem with you keeping to yourself!" retorted Dean.

Sam heaved himself to his feet and waddled over to his duffle bag on the short dresser opposite the bed.

He pulled out his shampoo and conditioner, "I'm gonna take a shower. I don't need assistance."

Dean got to his feet to and followed Sam out of the door, glaring at his little brother's back, "Like I said, we've got to draw the line somewhere."

Sam rolled his eyes and watched Dean stomp down the stairs. He reached to turn the doorknob to the bathroom and felt chills run over his whole body when the door moved away from his fingertips with an ominous creak. Sam turned to look at the door and saw that no matter how many times he moved to touch the door knob, the door edged away from his fingertips as though they were like the opposite sides of magnets pressed together.

Sam swallowed deeply, "Not again."

"You didn't need the feather to fly. You had it in you the whole time," said Ruby's voice as though from down a deep, dark tunnel that Sam wished would caved-in. "You had it in you the whole time ..."

Sam jerked awake as the Impala jostled over the rocky road. Ruby's beautiful face faded away from his mind's eye with each time he blinked. Dean was urging his old pride-and-joy up a mountainside.

"Come on, baby!" Dean coaxed the inanimate object behind gritted teeth, "Don't give up on me yet!"

Sam yawned widely, stretching his bunched-up lanky legs as much as the small space would allow and wincing when his head hit the low ceiling.

Dean turned at the little bump from Sam's mini-collision and chuckled up at his little brother, "Well, good afternoon, Big Guy."

Sam frowned down at him with tiredness as he sank back down in his side of the bench, "It hasn't been that long -"

"Dude, you were out like a light bulb the second we got on that highway." Dean corrected him, leaning forward as they rounded another tight turn in the winding road up the mountain. "Still not feelin' too great, huh, Sammy?"

Dean was dragging Sam along on his first hunt since recovering at Bobby's house. Sam was now ten pounds heavier. But, he still hid his large and ever-boney frame underneath layers of hoodies and baggy jeans.

Sam cleared his groggy throat, deepened further with sleep, "Feeling awesome, actually."

Dean quickly gave the side of Sam's thin face a sad look, as though Sam's reply was not what he was hoping to hear, before focusing back on the hazardous road. Sam has been hiding his hands in his hoodie pouches and jean pockets ever since he watched a drop of his own blood rise up off his finger. He has been trying to engrave into his mind that he had been hallucinating since passing-out the night before while with Jessica. His 'powers' have been doormat ever since they shot the Yellow-Eyed Demon, long forgotten. Why would they return now?

"Where the hell are we even going?" asked Sam after the Impala nearly slid down the slick pebbles.

Dean glanced at him warily, "We're off to see the wizard."

"The who?" Sam scoffed.

"That chick that drove you back to Bobby's," Dean rolled his eyes. "I want to find out what her secret is."

Sam scoffed, "What do you think she is, a witch?"

"You've been getting better ever since," said Dean, his shoulders tensing. "I want to know what she did to make that happen."

Sam straightened up but stopped himself before he'd hit the ceiling again, "Dean, look. I was sick. I'm recovering. Lana has nothing to do with it. How do you even know where she lives?"

Dean fished out a crumbled note from his jacket pocket, "She scribbled down her number and I asked her for directions so that I could 'thank' her in person. She must have liked you a lot 'cause she was dumb enough to give them to me."

Sam glared down at Dean, "After Ruby, you're really going to suspect every girl whose kind to me to be some kind of a monster?"

Dean gave Sam another sad look, "Sorry, man. But, you're kind of a magnet for them. So, yes. I will."

"You're hopeless," Sam yawned, trying to hide his own concern.

What if Dean was right? What if Sam could never meet a normal girl? Sam watched the landscape bumping past his passenger window without really seeing any of it. He was so lost in worry that he yelped when Dean parked the Impala outside an apartment complex.

"Easy, tiger." Dean laughed at the fright that flickered across Sam's face. "We're here."

Sam irritably pushed the passenger door open and slammed it shut after he heaved himself out of it. He stuffed his hands quickly into his jean pockets. He was so scared that he'd make something levitate again. He knew how Dean would react. His older brother would jump to the conclusion that Sam was drinking demon blood again.

Maybe that's what Dean thinks is helping Sam recover. Sam thought back to the meal he had eaten with Lana. He would have recognized the metallic flavor of blood immediately. He felt a small weight lift off his shoulders. He had not tasted any blood that night. Dean was just being a paranoid, over-protective brother. This was nothing new. Lana was a perfectly normal girl. Sam followed Dean up two flights of stairs, remembering being carried down on a gurney with the medics a few weeks ago when his heart was failing. Sam and Dean took a harmonious deep breath before Dean knocked on room 204's door.

Sam whispered in Dean's ear, "This'll be a waste of time. You'll see."

Dean waved Sam away like he was swatting a fly off his ear as the door opened before them. There was no one on the other side of it. Dean cocked his eyebrows up at Sam and hovered his hand over the back of his jeans where he had his gun stored.

"Hello? Lana?" Dean called into the apparently empty apartment. "It's Dean from yesterday. Remember, we talked on the phone?"

Dean stepped hesitantly over the threshold and yelped when Lana came trotting down the hallway by her tiny kitchenette. Sam coughed to hide his chuckle at the sound that had escaped Dean's lips.

"Sorry, that thing always opens on its own." Lana giggled, beckoning them further inside. "How are you, Sam?"

She closed the door behind them after Sam said, "Great, actually, thanks. You should get that door fixed. I could try to do it for you. It's not safe."

Lana led them to the couch directly beside the door. It was quite a small apartment. Just big enough for one tenant.

"That's so nice of you. But, my brother's gonna fix it later today. You scared me that night," she said quietly while Dean circled around them to the kitchenette island. "What was that all about?"

"I was hoping you could tell us," said Dean as he leaned his lower back against the countertop; Sam glared over Lana's head at his brother's tone of voice.

Lana glanced over her shoulder at Dean and shrugged them, saying a little defensively, "How should I know?"

Dean cocked his eyebrows up at Sam to convey 'I expected her to say something like that', "Sorry, I've got to use the bathroom."

"Third door down the hall on your left," Jessica pointed at the hallway from which she had appeared.

Sam knew Dean was using that excuse to leave and investigate Lana's home. Sam assumed Dean was expecting him to keep Lana occupied while he snooped around. Lana and Sam's eyes met and they both laughed nervously.

"Want to sit?" She asked after a few moments of awkward silence.

Sam smiled widely down at her, "Nah, I'm good. Sometimes it's too hard to get back up."

Lana pouted up at him sympathetically, "I'm sorry to hear that."

He added hurriedly, "It looks comfy, though!"

She smiled, "Want some water? I've got to do something other than just stare up at you."

Sam laughed, "Sure."

Lana turned away from him and raised her hand towards the glistening dishes drying by the side of her sink. Sam frowned as he watched a glass lift into the air and fill with sink water which had been turned on without anyone touching it. His wide mood ring eyes bounced from the glass floating towards him to Jessica's hand directing it.

Sam gaped his mouth and listened to his strangled voice breathe, "Dean!"

Lana pressed a finger to her lips as the cup redirected to her hand instead of Sam's, "I just felt like skipping the formalities."

Sam gulped, trying to clear his voice which he now realized she was controlling the volume of,"What are you?"

Lana took a sip of water,"I knew the second I saw you that you were one of Azazel's 'chosen ones'. When I pressed my body against you, I could feel your strengths writhing to be released. You're strong, Sam, one of the strongest I've ever come across. The rest are dead or dying. And you've been ignoring your powers for so long. I just thinned the angst burying it all."

"How?!" Sam choked, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "Give me back my voice!"

"It was a selfish thing of you to do, really. There's so much good you can do with them. Trust me, I did you a favor. They were about to mutiny your ass."

"How could you know all this?" Sam croaked, massaging his neck.

"Because I was in the same boat, Sam Winchester. You've been locking away your gifts, too."

"Wait, how do you know my last name?"

"They don't make you a monster, Sam. What you choose to do with them will decide that. You better start getting a leash on them, honey. Or soon those neat-o powers will be controlling you instead."

Sam shook his head and sank down onto her couch, burying his face in his large hands.

He flinched away without looking at her when Lana laid a hand on his shoulder, "You'll understand some day, Sam, you're just as much of a monster as we are. We didn't ask for any of this. All we can do is make the best of it."

Sam could hear Dean's heavy footsteps approaching them. He glared up at Lana, "Release me."

Lana tilted her head, her glossy raven hair snaking over to one shoulder, "You've got to do it, Sam. Stop Lucifer."

Sam shook his head fervently, "I swear I'll practice! Please!He'll kill you."

Sam felt the pressure around his vocal cords relinquish and he quickly composed his panicky expression, forcing himself to smile up at the pair. He wondered how on earth Dean couldn't hear Sam's heart pounding in his little brother's chest. This had been the exact opposite of a 'waste of time'.

Sam bolted to the stairs once Dean unlocked Bobby's front door. Bobby wheeled out from behind his desk and gazed up at Dean questioningly.

"What's gotten into him?" Bobby asked as they listened to Sam stomp up the stairs to the guest bedroom and slam the door behind him.

Dean forced a smirk, "That sounded a little dirty. But, I don't know. He's been p-m-s-ing ever since we left that chick's apartment." Dean followed Bobby into the kitchen and they rejoined at the table with beer bottles, "The engine was acting up; didn't stop freaking-out till Sammy fell asleep. It was like he was making himself go to sleep. He was shaking and stuff. Real determined."

"Do you think his fever's comin' back for an encore?" Bobby asked, dread in the lines imbedded in his face.

Dean took a long swig, "He had better not get sick again or I'll kill him, I swear. I still don't like how I feel about that girl. But, her apartment was 'clean'. Maybe Sammy did make a human friend after all."

Bobby rested his elbows on the tabletop and gave Dean an imploring look, "Dean, I know that you're gonna say 'no' -"

"Then why ask?"

"- but, I think that you need a break, son." finished Bobby. "I think you've seen too much too often. It's not good that you're seeing monsters where they're ain't any - "

"You were right," grumbled Dean before taking another gulp of beer, "my answer is 'hell no'."

"How poetic of you," Bobby snapped back.

"Kiss my ass," Dean groaned. "You're short enough to now, anyway."

"That wasn't over-the-line at all," yawned Sam's baritone voice from behind them.

Dean and Bobby's heads harmoniously twisted around to look up at Sam. Sam had changed into drawstring pants and a oversized t-shirt. He had his plate-sized hands stuffed into his pant pockets and he was trying so hard to make them not notice that Dean's green eyes zeroed-in on them.

"Are you digging your way to China or somethin'?" Dean chuckled, gesturing to Sam's stuffed pockets. "What's wrong with your hands?"

Sam scoffed and hunched broad shoulders to hide his hands deeper in his pockets, "I'm just cold, asshole."

Sam's heavy feet hit the linoleum floor with a dull thud each step he took towards the fridge. He was not as emaciated as he was a few weeks ago. But, he wasn't quite the grizzly bear of a younger brother Dean had grown used to.

"That 'time of the month' again for ya'? Huh, Sammy?" jeered Dean, whose sneer melted away with a single reproachful look from Bobby.

Sam was about to pull his hand out of his pocket to grab the handle of the fridge but froze just before his long fingers would be exposed. He was still very afraid to reach for something in front of Dean and Bobby. What if the refrigerator opened on its own like the bathroom door had unlocked without him touching it? Sam spun around and leaned his back against the fridge. He avoided meeting Dean's gaze, his hazel eyes looking everywhere else but at his big brother.

Dean could sense that something was off. He was naive to even think that things were going to improve with Sam's health. It wasn't anything new for Sam to hide things from him.

"What, are your hands broken? Open it if you wanna eat," Dean scrapped his chair back against the floor and heaving himself to his feet. He analyzed Sam for a moment longer, then asked with a rather unnerving switch to a kind tone, "You hungry, Sammy?"

Sam still didn't meet his eyes, "I'm fine."

"You should eat somethin'," Dean insisted, walking over to Sam.

Sam felt his temperature rise sharply and he snapped his head up, "I said 'I'm fine'!"

The light fixture above their heads shattered, sparks raining down on them. Sam and Dean both covered their heads protectively with their big hands while Bobby cursed over by the table. Dean crashed to the ground when he lost his balance and Bobby was rolling out of the line of the sparks fire. Sam then realized with a skip of his heartbeat that his hands were no longer in his pockets. His hazel eyes opened and he gasped at what he saw.

The kitchen was entirely dark but for the sparks from the busted light fixture ... that were no longer falling. They were suspended in the air around them. Dean had not lifted his head up yet. A few were hovering close to his shirt, burning him. Sam quickly shoved his hands down inside in his pockets and the sparks died away.

His eyes felt oddly cold in comparison with his boiling body, like ice cubes had replaced them. Dean pushed himself back up from the ground and watched Sam disappear around the back door, which must have already been open because Sam hadn't reached for it. Perhaps Bobby had been right. Maybe Dean did need a break, for he refused to believe that he had just now seen Sam's mood ring eyes entirely black.

Sam's toes dipped in the river, not caring how the icy water stabbed his skin like needles. He was sitting on the dock behind Bobby's house with his hands on his knees, one arm wrapped around a wooden post. His long brown hair curtained his face, his neck bent forward. Sam didn't know what to do if he had to explain what happened in the kitchen. He knew the words but they strangled his throat like the coiling muscles of a snake.

He was staring at his hands, these hellish hands gripping his knees. Sam was shivering to his bones in the fall South Dakota chill. He thought over what Lana had told him about his powers needing to be controlled rather than locked away. Maybe she was right. He didn't agree with her decision to loosen them up for him.

But, it could have happened anyway. If she was evil, why did she bother to explain herself? Those who are high-and-mighty like that usually don't waste their time doing something that isn't in their favor. If Sam was as strong as she had told him, why would she release such a threat to her life? Sam focused his attention on a jagged rock peaking above the surface of the rushing current as he pulled his legs back over the edge of the wooden planks and pushed himself to his bare feet.

He breathed slowly and deeply, closing his hazel eyes. Sam raised his left hand, palm facing the rock. He waited a few moments and peaked his eyes open. The rock had not moved.

He stared at his hand and shook it, "Is this all in my head?"

Sam curled his fingers almost to a fist and felt his entire arm stiffen involuntarily. He gasped at the pain and tried to pull his arm down to his side but it was like it had turned into a steal bar. Sam's eyes widened as all the veins in his arms moved above his muscles and wrapped around them like vines beneath his skin. It was an agonizing sensation, like a limb falling asleep from not being moved after a long time.

He felt his temperature rise sharply again and he began panting to keep up with his racing heart. He could see the blood pulsing in his veins so close to his skin. He whimpered as the veins rose higher and created long, skinny mounds beneath his skin. He was about to call for Dean but was interrupted by his shoulder thrusting forward. Sam clung to the railing of the bridge, his feet dangling over the rushing river.

The wooden railing strained against his grasp. Sam felt his eyes go cold again and saw the veins beneath his skin turn black, bleeding into the veins and tendons of his outstretched hand.

"Dean!" he whimpered with his lips trembling, a tear slipping down his hollow cheek.

His stiffened arm shook violently, banging his teeth together ... then it went still. Sam licked his dried lips, waiting for it to resume. After a few moments, Sam pressed his lips together and twisted his hand upward. He heard something slap in the water. He glanced down and saw that the enormous, jagged rock was rising skyward. Sam's mouth gaped and he shifted his arm to the right, pointing it at the opposite bank.

A rushing sound filled his ears, deafening him to all else. He saw the slimy algae growing beneath the rock rising steadily into the air. Sam forced his fingertips away from his sweating balm, the visible veins still black, when the rock was up the bank. It was slowly revolving in the air, cold water dripping to the dry dirt below.

Sam growled through clenched teeth, "Let-go!"

The rock only began trembling along with his vibrating arm.

He took a deep breath and glared at the blackened veins in his outstretched arm, "Listen ... to ... me! NOW!"

He and the rock both plummeted downward simultaneously. The boulder crashed into the ground with a dull thud and Sam's legs fell beneath the water with a splash, his one hand still grasping the weak railing. The rushing sound in his ears evaporated and all the sounds of his surroundings filled his ears. He was panting harder than ever now with hints of whimpers. The water was so terribly cold, it knocked the breath right out of his lungs.

Sam gulped and after a few moments he screamed, "DEAN! HELP ME!"

He swung his other arm upward to join the other one gripping the straining railing. Sam tried to pull himself up which resulted in a pounding headache. He felt something cold drip down his left nostril and tastes something metallic in his mouth. He wretched and splattered the wood posts in front of him with blood. He hung his head forward, which was growing heavier with exhaustion with each passing second.

Sam could feel his grip slackening and didn't have the energy to redouble his hold. Either he was going to slip off from exhaustion or the railing was going to buckle under his weight. Sam knew that if he wasn't found soon, he would drown in this river. Though he knew that Lucifer would bring him back to life again, he didn't want to revisit the feeling of suffocation. Of all the times he died, that was the worst way to go.

Sam's mood ring eyes unfocused and his fingers loosed. He heard something pounding and shaking the dock. Just before his fingers would let go, a strong hand coiled around his wrist and gave a powerful yank upwards.

"SAMMY?" Sam heard Dean roar from far away. "What the hell did you do?"

Sam blinked up at Dean and cried out when the railing broke away. Dean firmly placed his boots on the slippery boards and walked backward, tugging Sam to safety. Sam reached a trembling hand up and gave a weak smile when he felt his brother entwine his strong fingers in his. Dean collapsed at Sam's side, cursing all the while.

Dean patted Sam's cheek, "Sam? Sammy! Talk to me! It's Dean! What the hell happened? Have you lost your freakin' mind?"

Sam blinked up at Dean and breathed, "Yeah ..."

His eyes rolled upward and remained open. But, he could not see anything.