Sam pulled gingerly at the medical tape on his neck, wincing as it tugged at the softened skin. Dean, annoyed that Sam had deemed his concussion bad enough that he shouldn't sleep for a while was watching porn loudly on his laptop. Sam sighed, wishing he could be anywhere else. Ignoring the sounds outside the bathroom for now, he turned back to the mirror to examine the wound his brother had insisted formed a symbol on his neck. He leaned in carefully, hands resting on the stained linoleum counter. His eyebrows tugged together in thought as he saw very quickly that Dean was right; a complicated series of lines ran up the left side of his neck, forming what looked like a pair of lightning bolts surrounded by several spheres. Pulling out his smartphone, he snapped a quick picture as a reference for the unavoidable research that loomed ahead of him. He hoped that with the witch dead the mark would have been neutralized, but the faint tingling beneath his skin suggested otherwise. He just hoped he could get rid of the thing before he found out first-hand what it was meant to do. He sighed quietly, running a hand through his hair and pushing it away from his forehead. It tumbled back into place without delay.
He tried to search through his memory for whatever it was Endria had found that so interested her. When she had captured his gaze it had given her a door into his head. Having someone sift forcefully through your memories was not fun. It was even worse that she had hidden her search from him. Only flickers and colors had registered in his own vision as she searched. "How interesting," she had said, lip curling in scorn. A rosy tint flickered in front of his pupils. "It's okay if it takes a while…so long as it triggers eventually." And with that she had set about her work. Sam shuddered, the thought of her teeth on his skin as fresh as the wound it now sported.
A loud bang on the door grabbed his attention. "Sammy, you okay in there?" Dean's gruff voice, still echoing with worry, sounded through the door. Sam quickly replaced his bandage and flushed the toilet, flipping on the water faucet to simulate the sound of washing hands.
"Yeah, Dean, I'm good." He opened the door and gave his brother a smile. It was true, for now. No sense in showing Dean just how worried he was. Dean was already concerned enough as it is. Dean watched Sam's face quietly for a second before responding.
"I'm so glad I killed that bitch." He growled through his teeth. "What kind of sick freak uses their mouth to do that?" He gestured vaguely at Sam's neck.
Sam placed his hand over the bandage, letting out a huff of amusement. "That kind of sick freak, apparently." Dean was focused on Sam's hand, the faint scrunch in his brow revealing his concern despite his efforts to joke. Sam smacked him on the shoulder. "Stop worrying, Dean." He said with a warm smile. "I'm seriously fine." Dean nodded and averted his eyes, glancing instead at the neon green clock glued crookedly to the far wall. Sam followed his gaze. "Just wait thirty more minutes, Dean. Then you can sleep for as long as you want." Dean just shrugged, flopped back into his chair and clicked play.
The drive back to the bunker was uneventful. Sam noted that the tingling in his neck had faded to a dull ache, something he could easily attribute to the physical wound. He found the thought comforting. Dean was glad to be back at full speed and behind Baby's steering wheel once again. He just didn't feel right in the passenger's seat. The familiar weaving of back country roads and the powerful purr of the engine helped to settle his nerves a little. Being cooped up in a motel had left him no room for anything but worry. As they drove Dean would occasionally glance at Sam when he thought he wasn't looking. Even with calmed nerves, that mark worried him. Nothing good ever came out of a witch encounter, and the fact that their research had turned up next to nothing did little to comfort him.
They thought it was sigil magic based on the stroke-work and asymmetrical patterning, but it was nothing like any of the sigils they had encountered before. Not to mention most sigils were aimed at good rather than evil. They themselves had used sigils to ward against all manner of creatures, and the Men of Letters bunker they called home was saturated with them. There seemed to be little information online about using sigils for darker purposes, and none of the patterns on Sam's neck matched up with traditional sigil work. That likely meant the bitch-witch had been improvising. The only other witch they knew who improvised that much, Rowena, was considered so bad she had even gotten herself kicked out of the Grand Coven, who had their own list of nasty villains. She was also mother to Crowley, King of Hell. He and Sam had agreed not to ask her for help unless they absolutely had to. They had no promises she would tell the truth, and if there was a way for her to exploit it, it wasn't even a question that she would. No, until they had exhausted the bunker library's resources, they would leave that stone unturned.
"Dude. Stop staring." Sam's deep voice pulled Dean from his thoughts. He gave Dean the smile he always used to try and soothe his brother's nerves. Dean wondered if Sam knew just how much that expression actually worried him. It was the same one he used whenever he was hiding something for Dean's sake, so Dean knew it well. Sam had continued, unable to hear the quiet rumbling of Dean's thoughts. "I'm seriously fine. It doesn't even hurt anymore." He let out a soft sigh, eyes drifting back to the road. "We'll just have to wait until we get home. Then we can figure out what it means."
Dean couldn't keep his thoughts quiet. "And what if it starts doing things before we make it back? I'm worried, Sam. You heard what she said! Paired with what she told me, I'm twice as worried." His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he remembered all of the witch-related deaths they had seen. Seeing his brother go through any one of them would rip him to pieces. Even last night's memory of Sam's screams, of his body going limp against the wall left him shaken. "If anything changes, Sam, ANYTHING, you tell me. Got it?" Sam saw the tautness spread through Dean's torso and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Dean pursed his lips, unsure whether the gesture comforted him or just drove home how much the loss of his brother, and such a gesture, would break him.
"I got it, Dean." Sam's tone radiated warmth, trying to soothe his brother. There was no hesitation when he spoke, which told Dean that he wasn't hiding anything from him...yet. Dean sighed, flashed Sam a quick smile and reluctantly accepted that until they were back at the bunker there was nothing he could do. But something still fidgeted in Dean's stomach. He wanted this thing off of Sam as soon as possible.