Heehee. I'm glad that people are liking this one. I thought that, since I enjoyed writing it, no one would like reading it! Oh, and I'm not sure if anyone's noticed, but all of the chapter titles are lines from the Switchfoot song "I Dare You To Move."

So, just how did Bela survive Sam's attempt on her life? Why, exactly, did Sammy go forward? Is this story gonna be like LOST and ask questions without answering them? :P

Chapter 7

What Happens Next?

Sam stared at the woman across the table, at the subtle wrinkles carving shallow paths along her pale face, the graying streaks in her hair, the eyes that burned toward him. He had killed her. He had been sure of it. He'd felt her blood on his hands, had watched the light die from her eyes, had stood over her, just staring, savoring the moment.

Dean had thought she was dead. He had left her for dead, gotten rid of the problem so that Sam wouldn't have to deal with her. When Sammy had found out that she'd escaped and might have something that he needed, he went to her. He went to her, he got what he wanted, and he finished what his brother had started. He avenged his older sibling, the sibling that might never have traveled all the way down south if a certain antique gun had never been stolen from them.

And he was positive he had finished the job.

"Ok," Dean said slowly, speaking up for the first time since entering Bela's spacious office and sitting at the large table that occupied most of the room, "awkward." He looked at them both, glancing between them, attackee and attacker.

"Why'd you do it, Sam?" Bela finally asked. "Was getting that trinket really that important to you?" He didn't answer, just stared her drown, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. He'd done exactly what Jake had nearly three years before. He'd thought that he'd severed her spinal cord, a quick death, but a painful one, nonetheless. He knew that much for sure.

"Maybe we should talk about something else," Dean suggested. "Like how to get him back."

She smiled. "Yes. Because he obviously isn't where he wanted to end up, is he? Tell me, Sammy, when, exactly, were you shooting for? How far did you miss the mark?"

"That's none of your business," he said, finally speaking, his voice so full of acid that Dean actually flinched at the words.

"I think it's very much my business. Just tell me."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why should I?"

She stared at him with a level gaze, her voice calm, tone amiable enough. "Because you're the one who did this," she gestured toward her now-useless legs, "to me. And I want to know why."

"You want to know why?" he asked, leaning forward, barely even noticing as Dean tensed in his seat, readying for a fight, "you really want to know?"

"It's always been a mystery to me, so, yes. I would."

"It's because you killed my brother. It's because you stole the only thing that could kill the thing that took him. You gave us up, Bela. You sold us out. You stole it and you sold us and he died. And when I found out that you weren't as dead as we'd thought, I guess I just snapped a little." He lowered himself back into his seat, leaning back and gazing at her. "My bad."

He could feel their eyes on him, watching him, but he didn't care. He just kept staring at her, hating her. He hated her because of what she had done, because she had lived, because she was holding this against him, something she'd brought upon herself. He hated the way she was making him feel, the way that unflinching gaze bored into him, hitting him where it hurt.

He swallowed hard. He felt bad. He couldn't explain the sudden wave of guilt, of remorse, of sorrow. He couldn't explain why he was feeling it now, twenty years too late. He couldn't explain how he had been able to stand over her body and feel nothing but the warmth of her blood on his hands, couldn't explain why his horrible act had suddenly caught up to him.

But he could explain why it was horrible. He could explain it now and he knew why. He looked at his brother, saw something in the older man's stolen eyes, a glance directed at Bela. Sam wasn't a mind reader, but he knew what that gaze meant. It meant that he'd crossed the line, that he was different.

He was different, but not in the way that they were obviously thinking, not in the 'too-far-gone' sense. It had been a fleeting realization at first, the bubbling of hope within his chest, the shock of what he'd done since losing Dean, the confusion and fear, and now this. He was feeling again, letting himself be human, and it was good. It felt good. He hadn't felt good in a long time.

He opened his mouth, unaware of what was coming, what he was going to say, but that nagging hole in his chest, the burning of guilt and remorse and fear, just wouldn't quiet until he did something. Until he said something. "I'm sorry."

Two heads whipped toward him, two sets of eyes targeting him, honing in on him, like lasers trying to find a sniper's mark. "What?" Bela asked.

"I said… I'm sorry. For what I did. I know it doesn't make a difference now, but… I'm sorry."

Dean smiled and turned back to Bela, and Sam read what he was saying without words loud and clear. I told you so.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping, seeing Dean's logic in Sam's words. "All right. I can't say I forgive you, but… when were you trying to go?"

Sam shrugged. "I dunno. Not exactly. I was thinking back to Cold Oak." He looked at Dean. "I figured if I could keep Jake from, you know, then maybe you wouldn't have to, you know."

Dean nodded. "Makes sense. So how'd you wind up here?"

"I have no idea. I found the ritual in a book that I found at Jim's old cabin. I followed it exactly-"

"To the letter?" Bela asked.

"Yeah."

"Describe it."

He ducked his head, suddenly ashamed. He'd done some things that he now wasn't proud of in order to get his brother back, things that had seemed to be worth it before, back when he was alone. Now that he was with other people, with family, it was like he was coming out of a fog. Looking back into the ever-darkening mass of the past two years scared him. He wasn't liking what he saw.

"I built the altar," he said, hoping to avoid details, "I used everything it said to. The sundial was the last thing I needed."

"What about the virgin?"

Sam cleared his throat, physically turning away from his brother. "Yeah. Got her first."

"And you're sure-?"

"I'm positive, Bela."

She leaned back in her chair, her gaze never faltering, pinning him there across from her. He couldn't remember seeing that intensity in her gaze before, but he supposed that hiding in a sewer for nearly twenty years was apt to do things to the way a person viewed the world.

"And the incantation?"

"Memorized it. Said it perfectly."

"What about the last part?"

He glanced up at her. "What do you mean?"

"The ritual was designed to find a person in time, not necessarily an event. If you wanted to stop yourself from getting murdered, you should have visualized the murderer, or one of the other psychics that got dropped in Cold Oak."

"I never read anything about that."

She leaned forward again, leaning her elbows against the old wooden table. "Tell me what you thought about."

Sam shrugged. "Dean. Just Dean."

"You focused on him?"

"Yeah."

"You visualized him?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"What?" Sam asked, shaking his head slightly.

"How did you see him? What did you see? I need you to think back, because if you truly did everything right, then there's only one way you messed up. Tell me what you saw."

He stared at her for a minute, then turned to his brother. Dean had been silent for most of the meeting, letting Bela talk, letting her lead. That was what she did now. She solved the problems, made the plans. She helped. He sighed.

"I saw him the way he was," Sam said. "Just like he'd always been." He closed his eyes, trying to remember if anything else had popped up in his mind's eye, if something could have gone terribly wrong. He closed his eyes and he saw his brother, all happy smiles and shining eyes and annoying habits.

The eyes that he saw blinked, and ceased being so bright, so colorful. They were black as a starless sky, black as oil, black as a demon's soul.

Sam's eyes snapped open.

"What?" Dean asked, concerned to the very end, playing the part he'd always played. "What is it?"

Bela narrowed her eyes and grinned. "You found it, didn't you?"

Slowly, Sam nodded. "Yeah. I remember… it happens a lot when I try to, you know," he looked back at his brother, "think of you. It's like I see what I want to at first, but then it changes to, well, this."

"This?" Dean asked. "You mean…?"

"Black eyes." Sam looked back at Bela. "That's what did it, right? I saw a demon."

She glanced at Dean before nodding slowly. "Most likely."

Sam sighed, letting his shoulders slump as he leaned farther back into the chair, pushing his long legs out beneath the table. "Great. Now what?"

"Now," Dean said, "we wait."

The younger man raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

As soon as the words had left his mouth, the door leading into the office opened to reveal a petite woman with shortly cropped blonde hair and a hardened face. She glanced over at the table where the trio sat, her gaze settling on Sam and darkening. Before he could react, she'd started running, diving across the table to ram into him, knocking the startled hunter to the floor. The business end of a pistol was shoved into the hollow where his neck met his chin, jutting in hard as she leered down at him.

"'Bout time you found us, freakshow," she hissed, cocking the weapon and preparing to literally blow his head off.