Chapter Thirteen
"God, it's nothing," Amy mumbled as she staggered through the doorframe of her apartment. Holding a bloody tissue beneath her nostril and wincing at the motions of her headache, the young woman kicked off her heels and headed directly for the kitchen. Dean and Sam were close behind, their faces were direct indications of worry and concern; Dean placed Amy's laptop bag on the floor while Sam closed the door quietly behind them.
"I think we should have listened to that nurse Amy," Sam called out, hearing the sound of Amy open a bottle of pills or something-rather.
Dean threw off his jacket in the living room and tossed it over a couch. He rubbed his head and quickly went back to the kitchen area – bumping into Amy just as she was coming out.
"Sorry-" Dean apologized quickly.
"No, I'm okay…okay?" Amy laughed weakly. Her nose was clean and tissue-less. She moved pass Dean and silently went into her own bedroom to change. With the door closing, Sam met Dean's gaze and shrugged.
"We should have checked her in," Dean mentioned. "I don't get what the hell is wrong."
"Headaches, nosebleeds…" Sam thought aloud. "Typical side effects of using some major psychic ability."
Dean nodded irritably: "I know. But nosebleeds? Doesn't that usually mean she's using power that isn't necessarily good for her? Like back in 1997…she almost put herself in a coma."
What else could she be doing…Sam thought. Visions are her weakest point. The power of empathy is her average-level power. Seeing the Dead is her key ability. Why the nosebleeds?
"Sam?" Dean repeated.
His little brother looked up, dazed, and shook his head. "Sorry…"
Dean shook his head and put his hands firmly on his hips. He was worried. Concerned. Confused.
"I dunno how much more I can take of this," Dean grumbled. "You and Amy…the only people here, besides Dad, who mean a damn thing…I don't even know how to take care of the two of you-"
"Not your job," Sam reminded. He followed as Dean went back into the living room. Both sitting on opposite sides, Dean leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He was frustrated, Sam could see, and closed his eyes too.
"Dean…" Sam whispered. He opened his eyes, still looking at his anxious brother. "We'll be fine – Amy and me – you just have to chill and not carry such a burden on yourself, okay?"
"Sure thing Sammy," Dean replied in a hushed tone.
Sam shook his head and stood up. "I'm going to jump in the shower. Sounds better than a nap."
The young psychic-hunter left the living room with his older brother watching. In exchange, Sam left to take a shower and Amy appeared from the hallway in more comfortable clothing – black sweats and a gray hoodie. Her hair was brushed back into a tight bun and she walked as if she were nauseous.
Dean sat up in his seat and asked worriedly, "You okay?"
She smiled fakely and increased her steps to the living room. Amy slid into the couch beside Dean, while he automatically put his arm comfortingly around her shoulders. She nestled beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm okay now, promise."
"But is everything else okay?" Dean murmured. "There was a nasty nosebleed. That nurse freaked-"
"Overdramatic, really," Amy grinned and looked up. "I think I was just trying to turn up my empathic-skills to a higher notch. My fault."
"Amy-"
"Dean…" Amy whispered, she reached up to touch Dean's tired face. "I'm okay. Please, just nap with me, okay?"
He sighed heavily, defeated, knowing this was all he would get out of her. Dean put both arms around Amy while the two were deep in one another's' arms. He stroked her back with his hand while humming Metallica. Amy was fast asleep in his arms. Dean petted her head and kissed her forehead. At least she was resting now.
O.O.O.O.O.
Freshly clean in another pair of holy-pants and a blue dress shirt, Sam quietly walked through Amy's apartment. His boots made somewhat was a pat-pat sound with contact on the carpet. He felt no need for a coat; spring in Evanston was beautiful, and sometimes there were those undesirable hot days, but with a cold shower and fresh clothes, the young Winchester seemed more adapted to the weather changes. Hair slightly damp and shirt not buttoned up all the way, Sam peered into the living room – immediately seeing Dean's keys on the small center table. He grabbed them quickly and, taking a sheet of paper from his pocket, exchanged the keys for that small note, which simply read:
Couldn't sleep. Will be out working on Izzy's case. Have cell. –Sam-
Minutes later, the apartment door closed quietly behind Sam. His steps could be heard for a moment going down the apartment stairs, but faded away almost instantly.
The couple was not horizontal on the couch; Dean's bicep served as a pillow for Amy's head and she rested her hands on his chest. She looked so small being cradled in Dean's arms. His chin was resting against her hair as he snored quietly.
O.O.O.O.O.
Sam got into the Impala quickly. But while starting the vehicle, Sam turned to the passenger seat and-
"Whoa!" he yelped. Sitting beside him was a sad figure of a woman. She looked like she had been crying for several hours. Her face was so pale, and to Sam, Isabella looked paler than usual.
"Isa-" Sam gasped but as he stared at her complexion longer, he tilted his head in concern. Her hair was covering half of her face. She turned slowly toward him, in a still-weeping phase, and pouted her lips gently. "Are you okay?" Sam finished.
Isabella touched her face. Sam had to blink; she had looked blurry to him for a moment. But Sam rubbed his eyes and when we looked back…Isabella had blinked. Not with her eyes. Her entire body had blinked – or maybe one could describe it as a flash. She was completely gone for half a second and there she was again.
"God, what's happening…" Sam whispered.
The young woman shrugged. She bit her lip and whined: "I feel so tired, Sam…" There. She had blinked again.
"Oh no," Sam asked quickly, "are you fading away?"
"It's been like this for the last hour…ever since…ever since…" Isabella choked on her own words. She tried taking in a breath and turned back to the driver. "I was there when you guys were talking about that voodoo stuff."
Sam nodded. She heard everything. All their theories. She was there to see Daryl Greene…
"I think it's like em-emotion-overload," Isabella tried speaking clearly. She was getting better. "And I lost control. I kept moving from place to place so fast…not walking…but I kept being…transported to different places. I even went to Dad's house…he wasn't there…not even his car…I guess he's on the way to see me, but…"
She turned to Sam and asked, "Do you really think someone is doing this me? And my family…do you think-"
"Izzy…" Sam whispered in a soothing tone, "I don't know anything yet. But we're going to figure it out. I need to ask you…and think seriously…would anyone want to hurt you in any way…or not even hurt you…since, their purpose wasn't to kill you…maybe someone who would want to see you suffer?"
Throwing her hands in the hair, Isabella laughed and shook her head. "There's no one." She was in-between laughing and crying.
Without another word, Sam left the apartment parking lot and sped into the main street. When the spirit of the comatose girl asked where they were going, Sam merely replied: "We're going to talk to your step-brother."
O.O.O.O.O.
Greg and Hero were in the living room of a rather large home. There were two fireplaces and all the furniture pieces – from the massive couch to a tiny vase – were all quite luxurious. A trembling mother was pacing the floor with a tissue held under her breath. Her second husband, sitting on the couch with an empty cup of coffee residue, stared up at his wife and tried comfortingly: "Honey. Please. Sit."
Hero snapped her head around to her husband. "How could you think of such a thing?"
Her husband tilted his head in defense. "Hero," Greg pleaded, his voice was very apologetic, "this wasn't my idea. You know that. Isabella told us, before she left for L.A., if anything were to happen to her…if she were to be a in a vegetated state for more than a month…"
She shook her head wildly and bit her lip. "I'm not pulling the plug on my daughter in two weeks."
"Dear, I would never want to even think about doing it then…" Greg whispered. "We have to think realistically. The doctors say she's fighting. But they can't even explain why she's still in a coma. They have doubt she will wake up. I don't want Isabella to die in two weeks…but we have to think of the future. Isabella…if she doesn't wake up…she would never want to lie in a hospital bed for a year…or more…"
The woman slowed her paces and sat down on a sofa chair across from Greg. She put her hands to her face and rubbed her temples.
Suddenly, a man emerged from the large kitchen attachment. He wore a flashy gray suit with a white shirt and matching white tie. His age unknown, the man looked a little old to have a mohawk. The dark-haired man carried into the living room a beige cup filled with coffee.
"I'm more of a chi latte man," the man chuckled; his voice was so high-pitched for a man of his stature. He noticed the disgruntled expressions on the married couple's faces. "Sorry," he coughed.
The door bell rang then. Hero, frustrated with any more discussion of anything, jumped up to open the mahogany door.
Hero cocked her head to the side when she allowed Sam Winchester into her home.
"Sam, hello there," Hero greeted. She escorted Sam inside as he neatly wiped his shoes on a matt outside.
As Sam walked in, Isabella, at his sight, sighed and mentioned: "The police were here, maybe fifteen minutes ago. Mom knows about the voodoo stuff."
Hero walked back into the living room with Sam at her side.
"Ah, hello young man," Greg greeted. Sam nodded in greeting and turned to stare at the stranger standing in the room awkwardly.
Isabella laughed and pointed. "That's Hunter. My agent."
"And you are?" Sam asked, looking at Hunter.
The man placed his cup on one of the fireplace mantles and approached Sam smoothly. He held his hand out and said cheerily, "Hunter Austin. Miss Jamison's agent back in Cali. I came to see how my girl's doing."
Sam nodded in understanding.
"You a boyfriend?" Hunter inquired.
"No sir," Sam replied, studying the man's suit and hairdo.
"They've never even met," Hero explained.
"Oh, well…" Hunter raised an eyebrow. "That makes sense."
"I'm close friends with Isabella's friend, and professor, back at Northwestern," Sam added.
"Ah, I see," Hunter smiled, licking his teeth obnoxiously.
"Have a seat, Sam," Hero instructed sweetly.
"Sit on the couch next to Greg," Isabella noted. Sam, confused, nodded and did as he was told.
Sitting next to Isabella's step-father was awkward. Isabella then sat down next to Sam who looked at her oddly. No one noticed Isabella of course, except Sam, but they did notice Sam's expression.
He turned quickly to cover up any odd inquisitions. "Umm…" Sam started. "I heard about the bust at Daryl Greene's house." Hero flinched at the not-so-surprising news. She sat down on a free couch, with Hunter at her side.
"The police told us," Greg noted. "The police say he's not a suspect. They thought it would be best to tell us the information…the man had a devil-worship-thing set up in his home…with Izzy's picture…"
Hero closed her eyes and shook her head.
Sam stared around and sighed. "I'm very sorry." He turned to Hero. She was obviously in not the best of states. Her hands were shaking and her eyelids were so puffy and red from the thousands of tears she had shed in the last twenty-four hours.
"I'm sorry to intrude," Sam began, "but I was looking for Vic." He turned to Greg automatically. "I went by his apartment but he wasn't there."
"Oh, Vic's been out most of the day," Hero explained. Sam turned to face her instead. "He's been with friends during this time. He's also the one been in charge to get into contact with my ex-husband…"
"No word yet?" Sam asked.
Isabella added to Sam: "I think he's on his way here."
Hunter sighed loudly, taking the attention in the room suddenly. "This is all crap." He wiped his eyes. "My dear girl is in a coma…a man, with a freaky altar with Isabella's picture…and after that one story printed in the papers about her accident…you know there'll be a hella of a lot more now with this Greene-man."
"Should we be expecting any trouble from the press?" Greg asked.
The mohawk man shrugged and sighed. He bit his lip and tapped his finger by his ear. "Depends if we have any crummy reporters who pick up scent on the Daryl Greene story. I'll do my best to protect Izzy. There is…though…still the matter of her…wishes…"
"Dear god…" Hero whispered.
"What, what…" Isabella asked everyone, but Sam, the only one who could hear her, did not reply.
"What do you mean?" the psychic-hunter asked.
Greg leaned back and explained, "Isabella would never want to be in a vegetated state like this."
"We're not making any official decisions yet," Hero snapped, looking at her husband wide-eyed. "Isabella…like anyone, would never want to live the rest of her life in a hospital bed hooked up to some machine…" She looked at Sam tearfully. "But who can make a choice to end it like that…"
"No no no no…no unplugging me, not yet!" Isabella screamed, rising to her feet. "Sam, Dean, and Amy will figure this out! Okay! It's voodoo! It can be fixed! Sam, tell them-"
"Isabella never made an official will, correct?" Sam asked.
The California agent then jumped in. "Izzy always thought she was too young to make an official will," Hunter explained. "Although her word is her bond. She told me the same thing. 'One month, and that's it'…but we'll definitely give it more time. She'll come out of it. Don't worry." He gave Hero a fat grin. "Hero, please…I have the utmost respect for you and your husband…and to Izzy's wishes. She'll come out of it. And then she'll be a big star back in L.A."
"This Daryl Greene man…" Hero whispered, putting her face in her hands, "is there any way…at all…that may be he had something to do with the accident?"
"Honey-" Greg started, but his wife hushed him.
"He obviously hated her in some sick, twisted way. Maybe he somehow did something to her…" Hero was rambling on.
"I want to leave…" Isabella was begging Sam.
Sam realized it was time to leave the family be. He never had a chance to say goodbye. Greg and Hero were in each other's face instantly. Hero was yelling and Greg was trying to calm her down. Hunter was muttering things to himself, drinking his coffee once again. From the window, one could see the Chevy Impala take off with a fury.
O.O.O.O.O.
Carter Lynn, with a satisfied grin, got back into his car. The vehicle was parked right outside the hospital where Isabella Jamison lay in her coma.
He was quickly on his cell phone and he added happily: "Hey George! Yeah. I know. Okay, listen to this…I've got a great story. Nothing like headline-news. If I can have it complete in two hours, will it make tomorrow's paper…yeah?...great!"
He hung up and tossed his cell phone into one of the cup holders. Starting the car with an excited motion, Carter was fast down the street and on his way home to write a story.
O.O.O.O.O.
Sam walked down the hallway of the hospital quickly. He was eager to see Grammy and to know if there was any change or if the old woman had been successful in breaking down the psychic barrier.
When he entered the hospital room, Sam's eyes widened.
Grammy's head was lying next to Isabella's hand on the hospital bed.
"Grammy!" Sam cried worriedly. He ran over to her but before he could even shake her shoulders, the old woman's head popped right back up.
"Sam?" she asked oddly. She was greeted with Sam's warm smile and relieved touch. Grammy squeezed Sam's hand and shook her head sadly in return. "I couldn't do anything, Sam. I'm sorry." She turned back to look at Isabella.
Sam nodded in agreement. Isabella was no longer at his side. The previous discussion in her step-father's home was upsetting.
"I'm going to find out who's doing this to me," she had cried in the car. "I'll go everywhere – I'll follow Vic…and I'll try to find my dad…and even Greg…anyone…everyone…I'm not dying!" Her words were final. Isabella had now taken this investigation into her own hands. She blinked, and she was gone. Sam knew she was being emotional…but something was so strong in her words. Isabella wasn't a strong, positive speaker. But her declaration had begun to worry Sam.
Could Isabella be saved? It seemed simple enough to find the one responsible. All they had to do was find the second altar. To destroy it. And to free Isabella of the Rada holding her against her will. But there were so many options. It made sense to start in Evanston. But Isabella had gone all the way across the country to Los Angeles. Anyone there could hate her. Anyone there could have traveled here, to Illinois, to watch Izzy's accident and to kill Daryl Greene. Here it was. The moment. Sam rarely felt these moments. It was a sharp feeling that seemed to inflict everywhere in his body. Doubt. That's what it was. The uncontrollable doubt. It filled him up and drowned him in it.
Nothing made sense to Sam. The only conclusion he could make was this: Life was completely and utterly unfair. He couldn't understand how they could better their chances at saving Isabella. Sam didn't know why Amy was having nosebleeds, and wasn't taking the initiative to figure it out. He didn't know where his father was. The talk Dean and he had a while ago…if the demon was destroyed…would Dean have a normal life? Ever? Sam had forgotten to take into consideration that Carter Lynn was at home, writing a story about Amy, with far too many details. And Jessica. Of course. She was always something that popped into his head at times like these. Sam had to save everybody. Because he couldn't save her. If he let Isabella die, Sam felt he was really the one who killed Jess. There he was. Just looking at Isabella's pale, sleeping face. Grammy had said his name several times. He hadn't noticed. Sam muttered quietly, to Isabella, "I'll save you."
O.O.O.O.O.
AN: Will update ASAP. Still trying to get back to the 'mood' of the story. I've been apart from it for too long. Please, reviews/comments/feedback MUCH appreciated! And I'm glad Supernatural is returning Jan. 11 with new episodes – it's been too long. And I've almost killed myself over the re-runs AND double-features of Smallville, ick. And I know that many of you are happy too!
REVIEWS/COMMENTS!