Good afternoon! So I had originally posted this with an explicit sexy scene included and have, since then, been feeling pretty unhappy about it. It took a lot of effort for me to write and receiving no comment on it, one way or the other, has convince me to go ahead and edit it out. This chapter is now devoid of anything explicit at all. Thank you!
Dee refused to believe Sammy was gone. She tried everything in the book and out of the book and the left of the book and even just underneath the book in an effort to wake her comatose sister. The hunter tried incantations, potions, prayer, and a few slaps that may not have been entirely for Sam's benefit. It wasn't until hours had passed that she began to realize that whatever this was, whatever had happened, she could not keep Sammy in the motel. If nothing else their lack of medical equipment and Dee's inability to set up an IV would put Sam's life into a more tangible danger than whatever they were already dealing with. It wasn't until Cas returned, having been sent away the moment Sam had gone slack in order to find out what had happened, that Dee finally caved; Sam had been unconscious for almost five hours.
"What do you MEAN no one knows? How can no one know? That…that thing! In the lake! And now this? I mean, it's gotta be connected to something bigger, right?" She hated the desperate sound of her own voice, that pleading tone that spoke more than the words did.
"Lucifer; it's GOT to be LUCIFER, Cas! I'll go out now, right now, storm be damned and I'll catch whatever the hell is swimming around in that lake." She hated the way her hands shook and the way she could not stop herself from searching for some sort of hope in the angel's eyes. For a short while he said nothing. He just…stared. Stared at Sam, pale and unresponsive as she lay on the bed, then at Dee. Her breath caught and for a moment, the world around her simply stopped. The panic she'd felt growing within her began to ebb slowly as the seconds ticked past. Yes, the fear remained. Fear that, perhaps, she had completely and utterly failed in protecting her sister. But the urge to panic, the bits of black hinting at the edge of her vision, were gone.
"I do not know, Dee." He said, the words soft and gentle. He reached out to her, his hand coming to rest on the curve of her check, cupping her face and keeping her steady, holding her afloat as she fought to regain her equilibrium. It was warm, HE was warm, and his warmth sent something to her more cognitive thoughts. Her gaze slid from his eyes, so serious, to her sister.
"I've got to get her to the hospital." Her voice was small, distant; weak and exhausted. Another wave of hatred washed over her and this she fought off as hard as she now fought her fury against this unknown assailant. Fury was hot, and it could keep her going, but it was rash and often led to poor decisions. Calm, cool, and collected-that was what she needed to be.
"You cannot go anywhere, Dee." Dee's eyes narrowed and her mouth opened and her fur bristled and just as she was about to tell him just where to stick his opinion, he leaned in and swallowed her words with his mouth. And yes he bumped her nose but it was sweet and chaste and for the first time in far too long she was rendered momentarily speechless. It was clear in his stiff arms and the desperation on his mouth that he was trying to bring her some sort of comfort and was altogether unaware if any of what he was doing was working. And there was something so utterly human in the action, in his reaction to her, and it was yet another thing to pile on this now towering stack of worries on her plate.
"It is snowing harder now." He murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. "It is not safe. I will take her. Contact Bobby. I will return for you shortly." He pulled away and she missed his warmth more than she should have. Watching him as he leaned over Sam, as he picked up her younger sister and cradled her in his arms, left her heart aching in a chest that felt so heavy she was sure it was filled with lead. He stood, Sam looking all too lifeless in his arms, and met her eyes. A brief, subtle nod, and he was gone and Dee was alone.
She sank down on the bed and for approximately two minutes she allowed herself to feel that panic she had forced down earlier, that horrifying hatred that she knew would not help her now. She allowed herself to break down because, she thought to herself, Sam needed her and Sam needed her thinking clearly and rationally. When her panic had run its' course, Dee dashed some icy water on her face, kicked on the heater, and found one of the many phones in her own duffel. A few deep, calming breaths to steel her nerves and she flipped it open, fingers flickering through the few pre-programmed numbers before settling on Bobby's. Before she could let herself think too hard on it, Dee was dialing.
"Deanna? Christ, what's goin' on? Its so late." Bobby's voice filtered in through the line and Dee shivered, wrapping her free arm around herself as she prepared to speak.
"Yeah… Bobby…some uh…crazy shit's gone down…"
OoOoOoOoOoO
That smirk. Always, always that all-encompassing all-knowing, holier-than-thou smirk. She would have thought, having been exposed to it so many times now, that it would not have such an infuriating effect on her. That she would not have such a strong urge to gouge out his eyes and rip him apart with her bare hands. Sam was not surprised when she felt a wall of fiery, hateful rage wash over her. He sat behind a dark cherry-wood desk, the surface bright and shiny beneath the series of fluorescents lighting the room. His chair looked infinitely more comfortable than her own and it appeared that he was wearing a lab coat similar to the ones that Bobby and Jesse had worn which completed the whole ridiculous look. Around the room were commemorative plaques and on a bookshelf on the far end of the room were a series of small trophies and more books than she could easily count. Analyses of various psychoses, leather-bound novels of theology… Costume pieces, placed with care to complete the image Lucifer appeared to have settled into.
They were silent for an interminable length of time, Lucifer smirking his smirk and Sam glaring with enough heat to melt a brick wall.
"So. Running away didn't work out quite the way you'd hoped, hmm?" He chuckled and if she weren't so drugged up Sam was pretty certain she would have torn his throat out with her teeth.
"No, no, it did. Clearly it did, hence my continued incarceration and incapacitation." A genuine laugh this time and somehow this grated more than the forced humor. With a creak of the chair Lucifer was standing, sauntering slowly around his desk to stand in front of her. He knelt down in front of her, all amusement lost in his eyes as he reached out, lighting quick, and gripped her chin. Sam could not help but bare her teeth at him, limbs so slow to react that he had already stood and stepped away from her by the time she had managed to raise her arms.
"The 'drugs' should wear off soon; I was checking for any damage." An explanation? Since when did she merit an explanation?
"Oh, yeah, not worth as much if I'm damaged goods, right? Well you'll just have to take it up with your little security team out there. By the way," She said, voice dripping with sarcasm as her arms fluttered down to her lap. "Nicely chosen characters for your charade. So let me take a wild guess at how this works. I say the magic word, you let me out of here so you can have me, right?"
"You are correct in your assumption. However, I am surprised that you don't want to ask me just where "here" is." Sam huffed.
"Some kind of mind prison, I'd guess. Something like what the Djinn cooked up but altered, right?"
"Mmm, not exactly." Sam's gaze followed him as he stood up, hands behind his back, and began to pace slowly in front of his desk. "Fascinating, really, this place. I'd heard rumors, you know. But I never really thought something so complex could actually exist, let alone function without my knowledge." He smiled, beatific and serene and again Sam was overwhelmed with the urge to tear out his eyeballs.
"If you wanna keep babbling feel free but, please, put me out of my misery first." Lucifer's smile widened and quite suddenly he looked like a small child who's just discovered that when you slice a worm in half both ends still wriggle.
"Your mind is not the thing trapped here, Sammy." She rolled her eyes though she was, in all honesty, quite curious about her current situation. Showing him any sort of interest was not something she intended to give the peacocking devil, however, and so she settled with irritation.
"No? Then, pray tell O Great and Merciful MORNINGSTAR, what is?"
"It's your soul, Sammy. Your essence. The thing that, if twisted or destroyed or broken would shatter your resolve and dissolve you into a messy little pile of human goo. If you'll pardon the somewhat unpleasant descriptive comparatives, of course." What little humor Samantha had been fronting drained away instantly. Her face froze, eyes caught somewhere between widening and narrowing, jaw clenched so tightly it would be aching for hours after.
"Of all the sick jokes, Lucifer-"
"Joke? Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…" The sound of Sam's creaking bones as she clenched her fists was not something easily ignored.
"Do I seem the type to joke? Well, about something this IMPORTANT, I mean." For the first time since this little encounter Sam seemed to lose her voice. Her thoughts stuttered to a halt and her mouth parted as though she were trying to speak.
"Speechless? The great Samantha Winchester? Why, I never thought I'd see the day." She could hear the smirk, now, rather than see it. Her eyes, she was vaguely aware, had begun to glaze over as the lasting effects of drug-induced exhausted threatened to pull her under.
"Come on now, Sammy, stay with me here." Sam jerked back, recoiling violently as Lucifer made a slow but steady approach, slinking back towards her at a pace that suggested his lack of worry. Legs numb, arms heavy, Samantha could not help but launch herself at him, fury and pain evident in her face.
"How DARE you, you sick BASTARD!" She cried, stumbling on her own feet as she crossed the divide between them. She was surprised, however, when she did not end up on the ground. Revulsion jolted through her gut as she forced her gaze up to meet the cool blue gaze of Lucifer; her hands arched into claws which dug into his sleeves as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Teeth bared in a look that was entirely territorial, Sam's mouth parted, vitriolic disgust waiting to burst free-
All forgotten as Lucifer's mouth descended upon hers.
Medically speaking, there are three separate stages of shock, though the types of shock range widely depending on the causes. Stage one, compensated or nonprogressive shock, stage two, known as decompensated or progressive shock, and stage three, irreversible shock. Each stage is defined by the body's reactions as blood flow slows as the body's systems spring into response in an effort to prevent the shut-down of the heart and kidneys. It is often precluded by massive physical damage; shock might also be seen as the body's attempt to call attention to a serious problem and protect itself from said problem. Recognizing shock can, in some instances, be difficult for the average person. Signs or symptoms of shock can range from low blood pressure and rapid heart rate, rapid or shallow breathing, cold and clammy skin, dizziness or fainting, weakness, anxiety or agitation, seizures, confusion or unresponsiveness, bluish lips and fingernails, sweating, and chest pain. There are a multitude of things that might incite shock. Such things include but are not necessarily limited to: heart conditions, heavy internal or external bleeding, dehydration, infections, severe allergic reactions, spinal injuries, burns, or persistent vomiting. Though not necessarily obvious to those looking in on said shock sufferer, he or she who experiences such things is almost painfully aware of their symptoms.
Something not often included on the list of possible causes of shock would be a surprise kiss, a spur-of-the-moment liplock, from the Archangel Lucifer.
In some far off corner of her mind Sam realized that she was, in fact, experiencing at least six different symptoms of this medical phenomenon overwhelmingly and all at once. She was not, if she were to truly analyze the moment, sure which was more upsetting; her sudden descent into what was surely compensated shock or the fact that she could only focus on the way his lips were moving against hers. The way his arms had slipped around her waist and were now pulling her in close. The icy feel of his tongue tracing the edge of her bottom lip. Most of all, of how much she was not hating it.
And for far too long she allowed herself to be held. To be kissed, touched as though they were familiar with one another. And in the end, that was what did it for her. Before she could really give anything much more thought, Sam was shoving with all her might and Lucifer was letting her go. She slipped to the floor violently, landing with a jolt and enough force to leave a trail of bruises along her left hip and upper thigh. For a moment, all she could register was her breathing, heavy and unbidden as she stared with growing horror into the eyes of her captor. He seemed, for perhaps a second, as shocked as she and in seeing that momentary slip the Winchester understood that nobody REALLY understood what was going on here. No one truly grasped the depth of the pile of shit within which both human and archangel found themselves steeped in.
"I don't know what sick games you're playing at, Lucifer-"
"All of this and still you allow yourself to remain blind." His voice was quiet after the rage of her voice. "All of this...do you not see, Samantha? Do you not?" Desperation? Surely the Morningstar was not...desperate.
"Clearly not; so how about you lay it all on the line for the stupid human. How about you level the god-damn playing field for ONCE in your pitiful existence and explain something in a language I can understand." And it seemed, within those seconds following her icy request, that he just might do that. Explain it all. Do his best to open her mind and make her understand. But then the moment was gone, his eyes had cooled and his smirk had returned. All of this, too, was filed away.
"One of these days I won't need to explain it, Sammy. In the meantime, how about you take a nice nap?" A wave of the hand and the Winchester knew no more.
OoOoOoOoOoO
Samantha woke in darkness with the same sort of disorientation she'd felt upon initially awakening. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her mind. She listened, forcing herself to be cool, just BE cool, and hear her surroundings. Outside the wind was whipping a fresh sheet of rain against her windows in gales. She wondered vaguely if the weather had any impact on this false reality or if it was brought about by anything in particular. Linked to the emotional or physical upheavals of a certain archangel, perhaps? Ridiculous; the only thing possibly more ludicrous was the thought that he was doing it for her, knowing she slept better on a rainy night.
Sam snorted and rolled her eyes, feeling utterly unladylike, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Instantly she froze, feet mere inches from the laminate floor; she could feel the chill against the sensitive warmth against the bare bottom of her foot. Free? She was free to stand? Was that "fasten your seatbelt" sign off and was she, in fact, free to move about the cabin? For more than a minute she simply sat there, legs hovering just above that chilly floor as she waited for the hammer to fall. Waited for something to grab her from the dark, force her back into the bed and strap her down. When, after sitting in near perfect silence for almost four minutes, none of these things occurred, Sam tentatively pressed her warm toes against the icy linoleum. She gasped at the sensation, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet space as she jerked her feet away. More prepared for it the second time around, Sam pressed the pads of her feet against the floor, almost relishing in what she knew was a new type of freedom in whatever prison she found herself in. The fact that she could feel that coldness, REALLY feel it, was something she chose not to concern herself with.
Wrapping her arms around herself, the Winchester padded over to the window. Her eyes, calculating and bright despite the dimness of the room, sought out the window seat and she was not disappointed when her gaze caught on a glimmer of metal in the darkness. A sharp jerk upwards and the seat opened revealing a tiny storage space beneath it. The Winchester was caught for a moment between feeling smug and feeling desolate. The fact that the seat was actually a storage compartment was not a frequent occurrence in most asylums; the reference to it here in this place seemed to confirm what Lucifer had said; this place had been tailor made for her.
"Lucifer…" His name was out and whispered before she had time to truly register it. Her hands were pressing against her lips in a way that did not speak of hatred nor ill will. Her eyes grew distant for a moment as she stood there, rain beating against the window in gentle sheets and she remembered the kiss. Eyebrows knitting together in confusion, Sam could not help her errant and distracting thoughts. She wanted to feel hatred; she wanted to feel that anger, that all too familiar anger and frustration that had become her primary driving force throughout the entirety of her existence. The thing that, when all else failed, when everyone around her turned away or failed her, she knew she could rely on. The only thing she could rely on. And for the first time since she could remember HAVING feelings her anger was just…gone.
No, not gone. Just…suppressed. For some reason she just didn't feel as…angry as she thought she should have.
Having crossed the distance to the window, Sam settled into the lightly cushioned seat and almost immediately leaned her forehead against the window. She closed her eyes and listened to the rain drumming against the window, relishing in the icy chill of the glass against her flushed skin.
No. No, there was no anger here. And this was surprising to the Winchester. The immediate suggested more than a few reasons to feel fury; trapped here, soul and all, with both the one who PUT her here and the one who meant to use her time here to turn her towards their own means… And still she was not angry.
Rather, she mused as her fingers brushed against her lips, all that remained on her mind were his lips on hers.
All she could think about were his arms around her.
All she was sure of was how right it all had felt.
All she could think about was the icy chill of his arms around her, cooling down her raging fevered frenzy and bringing her to a level that was somewhere she'd never thought to find again in her life.
But what was sickening to her, to the alleged demon hunter, was how desperately she longed to feel his lips on hers again.
OoOoOoOoO
A calm and restful night of sleep brought Sam to another sunrise. She was just as surprised upon awakening to the morning that she had not been restrained at some point during the night. Nor, it seemed as she once again swung her feet free to the floor, had she been drugged. Her mind felt as aware and as sharp as it had during her moments of lucidity in the early mornings. At this thought, Sam was forced to stifle a laugh; lucid? Aware? Absolutely not; she would need to begin considering that she was being pumped full of SOMETHING. There was no way, in this realm of reality or any other, that any of her prior thoughts had come from herself.
Outside the sky was gray, dark and gloomy and hinting to rain that would come inevitably to the happy home of the invalids and just in the hallway Sam could hear the hustle and bustle of what were likely her orderlies.
As though on cue the door opened behind her and it was all she could do to keep from cringing away from his voice.
"Sam…Samantha, sorry… Hey, come on now, let's talk." He ALWAYS did that…approached her like a wounded animal after they fought. So willing to open himself up and make himself vulnerable when, half the time, the fight was her damn fault to begin with. Her fists clenched, nails biting into the palms of her hands as she tried to control her rage with this situation. Somehow, she had the feeling that dealing with Lucifer every second of her time here would be-
(preferable)
-easier than dealing with this garbage. And when she turned, mouth a thin grimacing line, she was doused with a fresh bucket of guilt. Jesse stood just inside her room, the door having closed softly behind him. His left eye appeared to have been drawn in with a black felt-tip marker; a nearly perfect ring that nearly reached past his eyebrow and down below his cheekbone of bruised flesh that hurt her just to look at it. She could only imagine the mottled greens and yellows which would follow the nearly perfect shade of plum and black which surrounded his eye. The rest of him appeared relatively normal but she was sure if she were to look beneath his mop of hair at the back of his head she would find a lump the size of a softball. More than anything, Sam hated the way this false Jesse was making her feel.
Such guilt over lies and fake personas…it was dizzying.
Still, the tiny flip-flops her stomach were nigh impossible to ignore as he stared, trepidation dancing in his green eyes (had they always been green?) as he glanced at her from beneath bangs that just begged for a trim, were not easy to ignore. The Winchester chewed on her lower lip for a moment, eyes roving over the earnest form of her dead lover, emotions warring within her as she debated throwing the bed at him or listening to whatever it was he had to say.
"Sweetie, that bed is WAY too heavy for you alone to pick up and you know it. It'll just throw out your back and then you'll be in intensive care for the next week." His laugh, a wave of warmth, washed over her and her gaze was drawn away from the bed. "You're so much more lucid than usual. Listen let's just talk. I'm not mad! I pushed you too hard too quickly and I ruined the progress you'd made this past week." He trailed off, hands held out before him as though attempting to placate her like one might with a wild animal. She sighed, running her left hand through her hair as she moved to sit at the window seat. Jesse seemed to take that as a positive sign; he entered the room more completely and, watching her, he settled on the mattress. And for a moment, neither of them spoke; Sam simply held her head in her hands, elbows resting on her knees, as she tried to think of how to avoid apologizing to whatever entity sat before her. An apology would mean that she felt bad for what had happened. To feel bad for attacking one of the faux people, most likely a demon, whose only purpose was to keep her put and perpetuate the idea that she was trapped in a mental institution, was like feeling pity for Lucifer.
At this, Sam could not help but chuckle.
Jesse's face relaxed at her reaction and his own smile seemed to curl across his lips. Something dark and uncharted flashed across his face, faster than lightning, there and gone as Sam lifted her head and turned an exhausted expression towards him.
"I hope you're not here to talk about my feelings, whatever I'm supposed to call you, because that's just not going to happen." She paused seeming to mull over her own words momentarily, before shaking her head. "No, that's not right. I'll go ahead and state that I'm feeling pretty pissed off but, considering the circumstances…" She trailed off, shrugging as she leaned backwards against the glass. Sam tried not the think of how warm the glass was through the worn-out cottony fabric of her shirt.
"I guess there really is no foolin' you, is there, Sammy?" Her reaction, a cringe and shudder which seemed to encompass her entire body, brought back that curious grin on Jesse's face. His lips twisted and his eyes darkened and his teeth were bared in a look which suggested a humor too dark to be real. For a moment, this stunned the Winchester; never had so dark and dirty a look passed the genial face of her late beloved and never before had she felt so horrified to see so familiar a face.
"What the-"
"Oh come now, Sammy. Do you really think I'm just a bit character?" He chuckled, standing and moving slowly away from the bed and towards the window. All at once the Winchester was tensed and ready for action, body thrumming with a nearly tangible energy.
"Ahh, but you haven't really given me much thought, have you? I mean, you did kill me, but who really thinks back to their hapless, helpless victims when so much time has passed? I'm surprised you even recognized me!" That cold bitterness…that icy fury… The adrenaline she'd felt overwhelm her body suddenly seemed to dissipate, leaving her feeling empty and hollow. Her thoughts stuttered to a halt, eyes incapable of turning away from the suddenly twisted image of the man she'd one day hoped to marry. His eyes were trained on her and only her, an ethereal glow Sam wasn't quite sure was real emanating outwards in a visible halo around his face. This was not Jesse, could not be Jesse. Even in death, could he really have changed so much?
"Bullshit." She managed, disgust still playing across her features as she glared down the frighteningly familiar face before her. "Jesse. He wouldn't be here. I don't know where the hell he would be but-"
"Tell me, please, O wise one, where I might be then? You think I'd be up in heaven? After being touched by that…that demon?" He spit, turning his head violently to the side. "I was sullied, darling. Ruined. More disgusting than a murderer in the eyes of God." He was hovering over her now, imposing and straight and tall, that disturbing grin still dominating his features.
"But that's alright. I've found WONDERFUL work here in this prison of souls. In fact, you could say I found my life's true purpose!" He chuckled, turning from the shell-shocked Winchester as he made his way back to the door.
"But that's a conversation for another day. Now…it's nearly lunchtime, Sammy! Aren't ya hungry? You haven't eaten in at least two days." And just like that, the twisted visage of her former lover was gone, replaced with the gentle, sweet face she remembered just above her own on lazy Sunday afternoons when neither of them had anything particularly important to attend to. Sam was fairly certain what she was experiencing right now was vertigo and, combined with her sudden and overwhelmingly ravenous appetite, she was left reeling and dizzy. He was standing at the doorway, hand on the handle of the now open door, looking to her with his calmly expectant eyes. Had that conversation just happened? Had any of it actually happened? Unsure of what could be considered reality in this insane asylum, Sam was now standing and was halfway to the door, shuffling her way along without even a second thought. Glancing back up from her feet Sam felt herself balking, the first real hints of a breakdown tugging at the edges of her sanity. It would not occur to her until later, much later, that those eyes had not been his own. That the color they had darkened to had been familiar and were not Jesse's but were in fact the eyes of a creature she had thought she was finished with.
The man smiled and swept free from the room, leaving the door open behind him. Running did not even cross her mind; pain and another lapse in memory were not her goals of the day. It seemed, too, that Jesse did not think she would run. His back was to her as he walked, humming some song she couldn't place beneath his breath and sauntering in a way that was far too familiar. His hips swayed and dipped to whatever it was he hummed, head bobbing and arms swinging and Sam was horrified to find herself unable to look away.
She was, in essence, studying him.
His everything was the same. His walk, his talk, the way his eyes lit up when he'd said something he thought would make her laugh. Even the way he styled his goddamn hair. But there was no way. No way it was him, right? There was no possible way-after going through the trauma that he'd experienced, after being sacrificed for such a stupid purpose, that he would end up here of all places. Right?
"Ahhh, here we are Sammy… Damn, looks like we missed lunch time. Go ahead and sit down, work some more on your puzzle!" He cooed, urging her with gentle nudges to her back into the room she'd seen momentarily the day before. Men and women of various shapes and sizes and ethnicities filled the room, each seemingly absorbed in their own menial and repetitive tasks. He was urging her towards a small table where puzzle pieces, each the size of a small fist, were arranged in a haphazard attempt to assemble them. Sam allowed herself to be led to the table and sat when Jesse pulled out the chair for her. With wary eyes she watched as he stepped around in front of her, winking and gesturing to the room she assumed the food was kept. It took everything she had to force half a grin to her face. Whatever he saw it was enough; he turned and sauntered from the room, sidling into the room he'd gestured towards with a particular emphasis on appearing sneaky.
The moment he was out of sight she started to move. She'd noted two orderlies in the common room itself as well as the one behind the protective plastic bubble and equally she noted that they were preoccupied with specific people. They hovered around their charges like mother hens, smiles so wide and genuine they had to be fake plastered over their faces, eyes filled with a false sense of caring. She'd also noted a small group of three people crowded in a corner. It was at an awkward angle to the all seeing bubble and it was, as far as she could tell, the closest thing she might find to an information source in this hell-hole. Trying her best to not look like she was looking to score but knowing that her furtive "left to right" glances were doing just that, she approached the equally twitchy trio.
"This may seem like a really, really weird question, so…bear with me," She began, already aware that she sounded as weird as she felt. "Are any of you real?" She was greeted with silence and a series of wary looks, first between themselves and then aimed in slanted half-shielded glares at Sam. She could feel her face flushing but she refused to turn her gaze; she maintained eye contact, ignoring the heat in her cheeks and on her neck as they studied her, wishing she could not feel their eyes roving over her body.
"How do we know you're real?" Finally, words! Almost instantly Sam felt the tension ebb from their little circle and could not help the smile that slowly stretched across her cheeks.
"I know this isn't an asylum, and I sure as hell know I'm not insane or even mentally disturbed-well, despite what my sister might say, I mean." She paused, staring with a little more certainty at the group of three; two men, one overweight and balding who looked like a lawyer and another who was leaner, attractive in a tall, pale kind of way. And a woman, older, flanked by the two men in a way that was heart-warmingly protective. Old enough to be Sam's mom or maybe even grandmother; it was difficult to tell her age and Sam was afraid to push their already delicate and tenuous relationship over something so trivial.
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're real. Or a damn good ploy. Most of the people here, if they're not like us they're just gone." Sam shivered; the lawyer had a point. She'd passed a few people in the halls, seen the look in their eyes and the sagging in their faces. Most of them looked well past dead.
And she would be remiss if she were to forget about the screams at night.
"So. Why are you guys even here?"
"We don't know, sweetie." The woman. "The last thing I remember I was-I was turning down a proposition for a lucrative business deal from a very wealthy man. And that's all. My name is Susan. This is Doug, and Jeff." She gestured first to the one who looked like a lawyer and then to the youngest of the group. Sam nodded to each of them in turn.
"I'm Sam," she said when they stared expectantly at her. "So, what about you guys? What do you remember?" Doug, the portly looking lawyer ran his hand over his face, pushing up a pair of nearly invisible spectacles to better pinch the bridge of his nose.
"Last thing I remember. Well, the last thing I remember was my promotion. Yeah, I'd just gotten the promotion to senior partner, at my firm," Sam had to keep herself from cackling as he confirmed his lawyerly outward appearance. "And that's it. I think there was a party or something. I don't know, everything feels so blurry. Like I drank too much. I can't even remember going to sleep."
"Yeah, yeah, man, I'm the same." Jeff worried his lower lip as he spoke, pausing occasionally as he spoke to do so. "Well, sort of. My dad's a senator and he was just re-elected." Now it was Sam's turn to bite her lip, arms wrapping self-consciously around her torso as the implications their respective positions in the world provided. She was loath to explain that their bodies were likely continuing to function as normal in the real world. That slowly, bit-by-bit as time went on, they would begin making decisions that would alter something important. Decisions the likes of which would sway some faction this way or that and alter some person's path.
The thought was not comforting to the already anxiety-ridden Winchester. How many souls were here? A cursory glance produced numbers upwards of thirty. Over thirty souls trapped here; the majority of them appeared incontinent, incapable of independent thought or movement. How long had they been here? Rage, sudden and intense and undeniable hit Sam; how long had this been going on? She glanced around the room and her rage swelled. There were so many here, trapped here. They made it all so much worse. How was she supposed to get them all free?
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"Dee…you've been here all night…you need rest." Deanna jerked herself free from some twisted wakeful day terrors. Sleep had almost gotten her, nearly taken her away from the cold hospital with its' cold hallways and colder rooms. Someone had shut off the overhead light and switched on the one in the bathroom. That same someone had likely been the person to drape the worn excuse for a blanket over her shoulders while she'd dozed. Her neck ached, arms and back sore from the awkward position she'd adopted, upper torso draped on the lower half of Sammy's bed. Her gaze drifted reluctantly to her sister, prone and looking as though she were sound asleep. The consistent and constant beep of the electrocardiographic heart monitor or, as the nurse gently confirmed earlier that day, the EKG. It had become something like a metronome to the Winchester, something as reliable as the ticking of a watch or the whir of a fan. That both might stop at literally any moment in time carried more weight than Dee liked.
Coming back to herself felt a slow process. The world itself seemed to have slowed, to lose importance, as Sam lay comatose before her.
"Cas…? Cas what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be? Be…" She yawned; hiding her inability to remember which fruitless avenue she'd sent Cas away to investigate. Hands at her shoulders helped wake her, so warm and suddenly she was aware of just how cold she was. Dee twisted against the bed, left hand resting almost absently on Sam's leg, to turn to Cas who stood just to the left of where she sat. His eyes were warm, gentle, and Dee hated the way hear heart pounded in her chest when she met his gaze.
More than anything, she hated the way her lower belly tightened and her breasts became sensitive and her mouth began to tingle. She hated the thoughts which flew unbidden into her mind and which begged her to take action. She wondered how much of this was pent up arousal and how much of it was her body looking for some sort of outlet for her stress.
The Winchester flushed, subconsciously gripping her sister's leg in an attempt to ground herself; a physical reminder of where she was and what she was doing there. Simultaneously she averted her gaze, sighing out a breath she couldn't remember holding.
"I could not find anything to help us, Dee. You said that Bobby would be here tomorrow afternoon, is that correct?" His voice was as soft and as gentle as his eyes had been and Dee hated the way her need flared within her.
"Yeah, that's right Cas."
"And you are exhausted, physically and mentally, is that also correct?" Dee shrugged, unwilling to verbally confirm his statement. "There is also nothing you can do here, Deanna. We should return to the hotel until Bobby arrives. Perhaps then we can pursue other options." Dee ALSO hated how much she loved that Castiel had said WE and not YOU. Still… her gaze wandered back over to her sister and her guilt washed over her anew. Sammy looked so pale; lying there beneath the harsh fluorescent-tubed lighting, and it was disheartening to see her face devoid of the gentle glow the sun always left behind. Dark circles around her sister's eyes, lips parted just barely to allow the passage of air even as the tubes forced in through her nose kept the oxygen flowing, hair fanned out around her head in a halo of darkness… Dee would be remiss if she ignored the resemblance she saw between her sister and her mother… Her mother, trying to sleep and beyond the parameters of exhaustion. Incapable of doing little more than asking Dee to watch over Sammy while she slept for a few hours…
Dee shook her head violently from side to side, withdrawing her hand from Sam's leg and running it through her short hair. It hurt to admit that there was nothing she could do here but… Dee's gaze wandered briefly back to her sister, incapacitated and responding to nothing. The tattoo on her neck had become more prominent over the past several hours, emblazoned on her paling skin as a shock of black; the wound the monster had caused had healed remarkably fast, scarred over to nearly nothing beneath the twisting of the tattoo. After a moment she stood, swaying for only a moment before Cas' hands were on her forearms steadying her as she regained her bearings. He waited until she shooed him away before releasing the grip on her though his arms remained lifted, the angel wary lest her sway turn into a fall.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright Cas. I'm okay. I just- I guess you're right. I need some sleep or something…" She rolled her shoulders and shambled out of the room, leaving the bathroom light on in case Sam were to suddenly wake in the night. Sammy wasn't AFRAID of the dark, per say, but there was a reason they always kept that fan going and without a fan in the middle of the night or a light to break up the solidity of the night Sam tended to have trouble sleeping.
Thinking of Sam having trouble sleeping felt like another knife in her chest and it took all the strength she had left to force herself from the room, down the hall, wave to the nurse at her station, and shuffle out to her car. The blizzard, which had begun the night Sammy had gone into her coma-like state, had abated over the past couple of days. At least, it had calmed to the point where Dee felt at least safe driving the Impala the short distance from her new hotel across the street to the hospital that Cas had deposited Sam. Dee had to swallow past the lump in her throat as she registered, finally, that it had been just over forty-eight hours since Sam had become…comatose. Bobby was furious that she'd waited so long to get Sam to the hospital but beyond promising he'd be there the following afternoon, he said little else.
Except to hold on. Except that it wasn't her fault and to hold on because he would be there as soon as he could.
Remembering their conversation the other night was…calming. Bobby had been on the other side of the country attempting to track down some artifact for some ritual a friend had requested to help rid their home of some particularly malevolent spirits. It was a long drive and Bobby was a helluva driver but even so…
Even so.
Deanna shivered, her body reminding her that it was late or, rather, very early. Snow swirled delicately, elegantly in the air around her as she shuffled quickly to the car. A flake landed on her nose, melting before Deanna had much time to register the icy sensation her skin. Cas had disappeared somewhere between the walk from the room and the parking lot. For a moment Dee allowed that loneliness to sink in; she'd been strong over the past two days, smiling and joking with the nurses and flirting with anyone who gave her the time of day. She researched when she was alone and did her best to make every second count regardless of what she was doing. Dee wondered if Sam would have had this all figured out by now and wished, for the umpteenth time, that it had been her and not her sister who had been attacked by the lake monster.
The Impala was icy, the seats cold enough to catch her by surprise and bring her back to the now. A couple of minutes passed in shivery silence, the Impala's engine initially slow to heat, before Dee was reversing free from her spot and motoring across the lonely, empty stretch of highway to her hotel. Less than ten minutes after turning her car on Dee was shutting it off, slamming the door, and tromping through the freshly collected snow to her room. The world seemed to move past in a blur. The cold had seeped in past her jacket and was now clinging to her bones. Frozen, shaking hands missed the lock the first couple of times and it was with a great feeling of relief that she managed to unlock the door.
The heat was on and this was surprising to the Winchester. She had left the motel hours prior, making sure to leave nothing on. Old habits, she supposed, died hard. Deanna silently shrugged free of her coat and unlaced and removed her snow-coated boots before leaving the tiny bit of linoleum placed at the entrance to the room. Clad in her snow-dampened jeans and several sweaters the Winchester approached the second curious thing in the room; the bathroom. The door had been left open when she'd left and was, now, mostly shut. The light was on, she could see it in the outlines of the door. The hunter placed her hand at the small of her back, palm brushing the demon-slaying knife as she crept towards the door. When she reached the threshold she paused, still crouched low to the floor. She waited for her heart to slow to something close to regular before she gripped the knob and flung the door inward, drawing her knife and darting in a smooth, well-practiced motion to find-
"Cas? Castiel is that you? God DAMN it, Cas, I just about stabbed you, you-," She paused, incapable of finding the proper angelic derogatory terminology to couple her sudden and fleeting anger. Due to this, it was unsurprising that she did not realize that the angel was half-naked, his shirt having been discarded in the corner in the bathroom. Based off of his current position (that being crouched in the bathtub that comprised the lower half of the shower), was either staring intently at something in said tub or was trying to perform some sort of human act of defecation.
Dee paled and strode purposefully to the tub, hands raised and mouth curling up into a look of wary disgust as she approached.
"Listen Cas, you can't do that, and you definitely do NOT do THAT in THERE." The angel turned his head towards her and Dee tried to ignore just how edible he looked, half-naked and crouched in that tub. Her heart did that weird flip-flop in her chest at the puppy dog look he gave her, head tilted and mouth just parted.
"I don't understand." Deanna snorted and ran a hand through her short locks, disgust replaced now with open humor.
"What d'you mean you don't understand?" The angel shifted in the tub but did not stand.
"I thought this was where you bathe yourself."
"Well I mean, yeah, it is. But you usually do that with uh…water." Dee crouched down beside the tub and did not bring up the fact that one also does that naked.
"Every time I turn the facet on the water is cold, no matter how far to the left I turn the dial." Dee was fairly certain that she had never before looked upon a grown man and felt both that he was the most adorable thing in existence and that she wanted him inside her simultaneously. Surely this, if nothing else, would cause her to wind up the some circle of hell or another. He met her eyes, his face a look of sheer confusion and hers a flushed veil of disinterest, and words were suddenly impossible. Dee swallowed.
"And you were trying to fill the tub…why?" Dee was gifted, then, with something she thought she'd never see. Cas was blushing.
"I…wanted to bathe you." Dee blanched and stared, open-mouthed and bewildered. He turned his head towards her, something dark and warm and wholly innocent swimming in those depthless blues nodded. His nod pulled at some deep down inside and Deanna was not sure if she could ignore the sensation making her weak in the knees for much longer. Her lips parted and she could feel her skin growing hot and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she needed to stop. Needed to back up and step away and not edge down this road. Not here. Not now. Not with everything that was happening. Not with the horrible mess her defenseless sister currently found herself in.
"Yes, Deanna. I wanted to bathe you. A few days ago you bathed and you seemed happy when you were finished. You seemed to enjoy it. It's cold. I want to help." She melted. It was, she would decide much later, his sincerity that finally did her in. Or perhaps it was the stress; her sister trapped in some kind of magical coma, Bobby furious and on his way to try and save the day, the world trembling on the precipice of the Apocalypse. It was so much, too much, and right now she realized she wanted something for herself. Some break, some escape, from the world falling to shit around her. She wanted this man, this literal angel, who had been protecting her and following her every step of this insane dance, the angel who had been reaching out to her for longer than she cared to admit now. Wanting her attention and still incapable of asking for it. Wariness, trepidation…she stored them in a back corner of her mind as she reached for him, still sitting in the tub, and pulled him up. Pulled him to her, helping him step over the tub.
"Alright big guy, first…we turn the water on."
His hands were gentle as he helped her into the water. It was hot and carried the scent of vanilla and was nothing short of heavenly on Dee's aching body. Her hands ghosted against his as he helped lower her into the tub, her insides clenching with the ever-electric brush of skin on skin. It did not take long for her to relax beneath his somewhat hesitant palms, soothed by the delicate caress of the water against her skin. She tried not to focus on the fact that Cas had not put his shirt back on, or that he was tracing that horrible scar along her back, or that she was just barely able to contain herself as she felt his breath on the back of her neck.
"Does this hurt, Deanna?" She shook her head and said nothing, rolling her shoulders and leaning forward to wrap her arms around her raised knees in an attempt to give him better access to her back. Not once could the hunter ever remember feeling so nervous in front of a man before; her face had flushed down into her neck and she could feel the heat, as she was sure he could see it. Behind her the angel began to hum, a low gentle sound in the dimly light bathroom as he continued to brush his hands across her back, tracing first one old wound and then another, his hands dipping beneath the water occasionally to reach her tailbone.
"What are you humming?" She finally murmured against her knees.
"It is an old song. The words have been lost to most but it speaks of peace and healing. It used to be sung during times of war or by nurses as they worked with the sick. It was believed to aid in their recovery." Without prompting he began to sing; the words were in a language far too old to have a name but Castiel sang them beautifully, his rough voice slipping through the words and bringing forth the meaning without Dee needing to know what he was saying. His fingers moved to her shoulders and neck where rough pads rubbed gently into the skin, pressing away the tension she'd been holding for who knew how long. And then damp fingers were brushing up into her hairline, his nails scraping lightly into her scalp. Her head tilted backwards against his touch, and she gasped as what felt like a building tension that could only mean one thing raced through her body.
"Cas what the hell," Her voice was huskier than she wanted it to be and even though she had already had this damn debate she was still stuck on this, trapped between wanting what felt so right and knowing that it was a mistake.
"You ran from me, damn it." The words were out before she could think them through and now the gates were open. There would be no stopping her.
"I…I told you I loved you and you fucking blinked out of existence. I tried to hide how I felt and then when I realized I couldn't I reached out to you. I tried to give you something I have never and will never give to any other creature known in existence and you shit on me, Cas. You left me alone in that fucking parking lot in the rain and I didn't see you for months." She stood, breaking contact with him and scrabbled for the towel draped over the sink, simultaneously stumbling free of the tub. Slipping on the cold linoleum Dee did her best to wrap the towel around herself, furious and upset and wondering what the hell she was thinking when a pair of warm hands were steadying her at the doorway.
"You have no idea how much I want you, Cas, and you don't care so let me go. Let go of me right this minute or so help me,"
"You were drunk, Deanna." His voice was soft and his hands were tight against her arms but all she could do was blanch from him, blinking and whipping her gaze up to meet his own.
"The hell I was-,"
"You had had four beers and three shots of whisky and could barely stand up straight. Do you honestly not remember?" There was no anger in his voice, only a type of incredulity that had Dee stunned into silence.
"I only left you there because I was going for Sam; that's why she came so quickly to come get you." That night that felt so long ago had blurred over time into a scene straight out of a romantic trash novel; Dee trapped alone in the rain after the man she had finally confessed her love to had left her. Was she remembering it wrong? Something cold in her gut told her that he wasn't lying.
"I knew what you wanted that night…and I was unwilling to give to you, Dee," She flushed at hearing her nickname come from his lips. "I did not want you to do something you might regret when you had sobered up in the morning. Heaven had been calling so…I left. I did not know what else to do." She was all at once stunned and humiliated and happier than she could ever remember being.
"But what does that mean for me now, Cas? What does that mean?" Her words were almost inaudible in the hazy warmth of the bathroom, hands clutching the towel to her chest as one might a life preserver in the middle of the ocean. His left hand left her arm and fingers pressed up into her chin, tilting her face until she was looking him straight in the eyes.
"It means that I want to be with you. It means that I reciprocate your feelings. It means that I love you." He bowed his head to meet hers and when their lips met Dee understood that there would be no stopping her. Not now, and not ever again.
And later, as they lay curled around each other, limbs entangled and Dee warm and fuzzy and drifting into the fade, she wondered just what it was they were getting themselves into.