The Truth and Nothing But.
Chapter 3
"Glad to see you're not denying it," she said, and slowly moved closer until she was just out of reach. "'Cos that would have been just plain dumb. I saw the tape. I saw what you did, you bastard!"
In spite of the danger – and a hunter out for revenge was about as dangerous as they came – Sam's heart broke for her.
She must have been around Sam's age, large, brown eyes wet with stubbornly unshed tears, belying the hard-assed attitude. Dressed in black from head to toe, including leather gloves and boots, there was nothing about her that spoke of the 'college girl' in her letters to Steve Wandell.
But, then, Sam could say the same thing these days. Perhaps, like him, she'd opted out of hunting for a while to experience a normal life, and now her father's death had dragged her right back in.
Sam suddenly felt overwhelmed with guilt. There was nothing he could say or do to change things. No doubt her ordinary, apple-life was now just as screwed as his had been the night Jess died.
But, how on earth had she seen the tape?
There was only one way he could think of.
Sam had no memory of it, but Meg must have made a copy of Wandell's security tape, the one that Dean later destroyed, and somehow passed it on to the dead guy's daughter.
Oh damn.
"I know this looks bad," Sam began, trying to reason with her and knowing instinctively that he would fail. "But if you'll just listen…"
"To what?" she sneered. "To you talking your way out of this? I don't think so!"
Young, angry and grief-stricken she might have been, but her hand was steady as a rock, and Sam had no doubts that she would squeeze the trigger if he gave her good cause.
Funny. He could have sworn he'd already covered that part.
Honestly, Sam couldn't really blame her. Had the roles been reversed, he'd have done the same, so if he could get her to see that then maybe he stood a chance.
"Ok," he said, softly. "At least hear me out. And if you still want to kill me?" he shook his head. "I won't fight you. I won't even try to run, I swear it."
The girl watched him with those dark, angry eyes, her jaw tightly clenched.
Sam regarded her in turn, meeting her gaze as honestly and openly as he could.
After a couple of minutes had passed, she nodded towards the bed.
"Sit, with your hands on your knees," she ordered, backing away and perching on the arm of the sofa. "If they so much as twitch, I'll shoot 'em right off, understood?"
Sam nodded and did as he was told, moving slowly and deliberately, feeling her heated glare right through the back of his shirt. He had just one chance. If the girl was a hunter, as he suspected, then she would know about demon possession. That was half the battle won.
The other half, convincing her that he was also a victim in this mess, wasn't going to be quite so easy. And if he failed, no one would hear or come running. The muffler on her .44 would make sure of that.
"Well, go ahead," the girl prompted him. "Let's hear it."
Sam took a deep breath and started from the beginning.
To her credit, she didn't interrupt him much at first, except for a few brief questions. And when he talked about Meg, and demons, and possession, she merely nodded.
He described the times when Meg had allowed him up for air, to watch some of the despicable things she'd used his body for.
"What was it like?" she had asked, quietly, right before he planned to move onto the volatile subject of her father's death.
"Being possessed?" Sam carried on when she nodded. "Like being held under water with your arms tied behind your back, unable to breathe, or fight, or even scream for help. You have very little control over anything."
She nodded slowly and bit into her lower lip.
"So, what you're telling me," she said, voice a little shaky. "Is that the guy on the tape, the one slitting my father's throat… that was this Meg demon?"
Sam watched her, wary and guarded.
"Yeah, I'm afraid so," he whispered, gently. "For what it's worth, I'm really, very sorry for your loss. I keep looking back and wondering if I could have done something…"
"What do you mean 'could'?" the girl hissed. "Of course you 'could' have done something. You said it yourself, you had little control… a little!" She was virtually shaking with rage. "That means you weren't totally helpless."
She rose from her seat on the sofa and advanced on Sam.
"You could have fought harder to stop her… should have stopped her!" she half-sobbed, eyes shining bright with anger and loss.
Sam was thinking quickly, trying to figure out a way to get her to see reason beyond her grief.
"Look, I'm a hunter," he said, soothingly. "Just as your father was, and I'm pretty sure you are too, right?" When she nodded, hesitantly, he asked "What's your name?"
At first he didn't think she was going to answer, but moments later she let out a soft sigh and backed off a few steps, her gaze never leaving him.
"Emma. Emma Wandell."
"Ok, Emma," said Sam, staying calm and non-threatening. "So you know what can happen to people during a possession, and that the victim rarely survives."
Emma didn't say anything, just stared at him. He took that as his cue to continue.
"Meg used me to hurt other people, good people I care about. She shot my own brother, and made me watch," he sniffed, licked his lips, and allowed his long awaited tears to fall. It was hard to talk about it without conjuring the bloody images of Dean's pain, and he supposed it always would be. "As long as I live, I'll never forget it and I'll never forgive myself for not being able to stop it…"
"Screw you!" Emma Wandell's upper lip curled angrily. "You could have stopped it! How can you live yourself, huh? How can you live with what happened, knowing if you'd fought just that little bit harder, my father would still be alive!"
Sam's eyes widened and he raised his hands again. "Emma…!"
"Shut up!" Emma spat out, and gestured upwards with the gun.
Sam took the hint. He stood up, and waited for his life to end.
"Go ahead," he whispered, sadly. "You'd be doing me a favour anyhow. 'Cos you're right. I can't live with this any longer."
Emma stared at him, finally letting her own tears go. They rolled down her delicate face and neck, highlighting just how young she really was.
Sam didn't care much for his own life. Not now. But he did care about what this would do to Emma one day, long after the pain had faded a little, and the anger had dimmed. The path she chose this very night could drastically alter the course of her life.
"Turn around," she whispered in reply.
Sam turned his back to her.
And waited.
And waited.
Her heard a sniffle, and waited some more, before quietly telling her.
"You can't do it, ya know," he heard a hitched breath and carried on, figuring he had nothing to lose. "You're not a killer, Emma. A hunter yes, but not a killer. I was possessed, but what you're doing is cold blooded murder. The question is: can you live with that?"
He didn't know for certain what happened, but he heard the dull thunk of a silenced bullet shortly before he felt the pain in his back.
The force of the impact threw him forward, over the end of his bed, and he rolled helplessly onto the floor.
Barely able to breathe, already feeling his body slide into shock, he gazed up into the horrified face of Emma Wandell.
"Oh God," she breathed. One hand was still holding her weapon and shaking badly, but the other reached up and clamped over her own mouth, muffling her voice. "Oh God, what the hell have I done?"
She blinked and dropped to her knees beside him.
Sam gasped and choked, feeling his own blood seeping onto the purple carpet.
"I am so, so sorry," she sobbed, desperately checking his pulse. "I didn't… I… I never wanted this. I was just going to scare you... to punish you... but the gun went off. I thought I'd put the safety catch on… Sam, I…"
"S'ok," Sam reached out and grabbed at the hand still covering her mouth. "B-believe m-me, it's o-ok…"
She relented and tightly gripped his hand, bringing it back to her mouth for a gentle kiss.
"No it's not," she said, lips trembling against his skin, tears now streaming down her face. "It'll never be ok."
Sam could feel his life slipping away, his body cold, numb, and shaking with shock. He gave her hand one last squeeze.
"Y-you'd b-better g-go," he murmured, barely able to get the words out around all the shivering. "T-take y-your g-gun… d-destroy it…" he gulped and tried to swallow the blood coming up his throat, but it bubbled out his mouth and slid down his chin.
"Shhh," Emma, ran a hand over his shoulder, trying to sooth him. "I'm not going anywhere. Not going to leave you, and I don't care if they arrest me. I deserve it."
"No!" Sam grunted and somehow summoned the strength to roll over onto his stomach, spitting out blood. "N-not the c-cops… m-my b-brother… h-he'll k-kill y-you…"
Emma considered that, and her answer was short but sweet.
"So be it."
Sam found it a little easier to breathe in this position, but he knew it wouldn't last long. He'd bought himself time, but seconds only.
"G-get… out," he hissed, desperately. "J-just g-go."
He turned his head a little to look at her, his cheek grazing the rough carpet.
"L-live… f-for your d-dad. M-make h-him p-proud"
"I…" Emma gulped back more tears. Sam deserved better than some wailing, weeping woman in his last moments.
This brave man was letting her go free, even after what she'd done to him.
"S'ok," Sam whispered, again, virtually reading her mind. "N-nothing to... f-forgive."
Emma leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sam's hair, then stood up.
"I'll call someone… get some help for you," she murmured. "Goodbye, Sam. I hope you find peace, wherever you end up."
Sam watched her head towards the door. She mouthed thankyou, then disappeared into the night, letting the door bang lightly off the frame and fall back without latching.
He huffed out a painful breath and tried to relax his muscles, but a rough estimation of the recovery position wasn't the most comfortable to lie in.
Sam stubbornly held on, waiting for the one person he wanted to see before his lights went out permanently.
Fortunately, the sound came sooner than he expected, the deep rumble of a V8 followed by the squeak of hinges, and light, carefree footsteps.
"Dean…" he breathed, wishing he could call out.
Sam sensed the moment his brother spotted the open motel room door, because his footsteps became stealthier, slower, and more purposeful.
"Sam?" Dean called out softly.
Sam blinked and tried to answer, but his body was failing him.
"Sammy?"
The door swung open a little wider, revealing Dean with his Taurus drawn, gaze flitting round the room looking for…
"Sammy!"
As soon as his eyes lit on Sam, Dean scrambled across the room to him, one hand reaching for the pulse in Sam's neck, the other pressing against the wound on his back.
Sam choked out a painful groan.
"Sammy, talk to me!" Dean begged, frantically. "What the hell happened…" his eyes widened "...is that a bullet wound?"
Sam could no longer speak if his life – haha – depended on it, so he nodded instead.
"Alright, just hold on, ok? Just… just..." Dean trailed off as he shrugged out of his jacket, pulled off his button down shirt, bundled it up and shoved it under Sam's blood soaked tee-shirt, against the wound.
Sam grunted, his body jerking violently. The pain was unbearable, but Dean didn't let up on the pressure.
"M'sorry, kiddo, gotta try and slow the bleeding," Dean searched the leather jacket for his cell phone one-handed, muttering curses until his hand closed around a familiar shape. "Just take it easy, Sammy…"
But Sam was fading in and out, not really sure what the hell was going on anymore.
Eventually, he vaguely picked up on other people coming into the room, talking to him, prodding, poking, and then finally rolling him over onto his back.
The only thing he managed to focus on, with any semblance of success, was his brother's voice, until that, too, became over shadowed by pain.
Next time he woke up, there was something plastic held over his mouth and nose, Dean was sitting beside him, and the world appeared to be moving weirdly.
"Don't worry, Sammy, someone already called it in," Dean was saying, calmly, but his eyes glinted worriedly in the overhead lighting. "We're in an ambulance, already. These guys were fast, huh? Gotta be a record. Hate to think how many speeding tickets they would've picked up…"
Even in his sorry state, Sam could detect the levels of panic beneath the thin veneer of levity. Though he'd calmed himself down a little, Dean was still scared shitless.
Sam opened his mouth to reassure him, but couldn't get the words out. He whimpered pathetically, instead.
Suddenly, Dean leaned forward, whispering in Sam's ear.
"Who did this to you, Sam?" said Dean, voice low and urgent. "Who was it? Was it Gordon? C'mon, I know you're in pain, but I need to know in case they come back to try and finish the job."
Sam just blinked up at him, helplessly, wishing he could remove the desperation from his brother's eyes. There weren't many times that Sam could recall seeing Dean cry, but now was one of them.
It was a sad sight, watching those brilliant green eyes, so recently filled with pain over the loss of their father, cloud over once again. And this time it was all for Sam.
"Goddammit, Sam!" Dean choked on his tears. "For Christ sake, tell me! I'm not gonna lose you to another psycho hunter, you hear me? I won't!"
Emma's a hunter but she isn't a psycho, Sam wanted to tell him, just a daughter grieving for her murdered father.
Sam couldn't stay awake any longer. His eyes slid shut, and he was vaguely amused that his brother was only half right.
TBC...
A/N: So, what do you think Dean's going to say to all this? By all means let me know!
BTW, you guys can follow me on Twitter, under Skagtrendy37, if you fancy looking in on my everyday ramblings from time to time.
You'll be amused, perhaps confused, maybe disgusted (I'm English. I enjoy toilet humour), but most certainly entertained.
Cheers my darlings,
Love ST xxx