"Dean. Dean. Wake up!"
Dean comes to all at once. "Dad!" he gasps, choking on nothing. "Where's-?" The night comes rushing back. "No." The denial is weak, barely more than a whisper. He tries to sit up only for Sam to firmly press him back down.
"Calm down, Dean. You'll tear your stitches!"
The warning does absolutely nothing to deter him. "No, Sammy. I need- I need to-" He can't get the words out. His chest hurts, his vision's blurring, and Sam's doing very little to disguise the waver in his voice.
"Calm down." This time, the sheer force in the command is enough to shock him still. When Sam uses that voice, he sounds an awful lot like Dad.
"Sam," his voice cracks. "What happened?"
His little brother releases him. "After Leigh stitched you up we went our separate ways. We're a couple hundred miles away from the cabin now."
Dean looks around. They're inside a church. Or, what used to be a church, if the dusty pews and shattered stained glass windows are any clue. "Dad?" he croaks. He knows what happened, he does. He just doesn't believe it yet.
Sam's eyes dart to the left and Dean follows his gaze. His breath hitches at what he sees. "Is that-?"
"Yeah."
Their dad's prone form is wrapped in a sheet.
"Bobby's on his way," Sam tells him. "He wants to pay his respects, help us with Hunter's Rites."
"How long?"
"An hour. Hour and a half, at the most."
Dean nods. He doesn't trust himself to speak another word. Not without screaming, or crying, or something.
A phone rings.
"I've got it," Sam says, reaching for one of their bags. Dean looks on, not really seeing anything as his brother talks to Bobby.
He'd thought, for a while there, that they might all come out of this alive. They'd found dad alive, against all odds. Sure, they'd only had two bullets left, but they were together – seemingly ready for anything.
He should've known it was too good to be true.
"He did?" Sam's slightly raised voice draws his attention. "What else did he say about her?"
Her. Dean doesn't have to guess who they're talking about. He sits up fully, completely ignoring the pain it causes. "Sam," he says, trying to inject the same forcefulness his brother had used earlier. "Give me the phone."
Sam shakes his head, but he does put it on speaker. Then he walks over to sit beside him, using his free hand to maneuver Dean back down.
"-intel was good. Saved him a lot a trouble." Bobby's voice crackles and pops through the phone's shitty speakers. "He passed her number out to a few others, says that most of them have taken her up on the offer."
"And?"
"They've got nothing but good things to say. Apparently quite a few of them have sent Rufus booze as thanks for connecting them."
Sam sighs, clearly relieved. "Thanks Bobby. I'm not surprised, but it does make me feel better to know for sure."
"How do we know she's not just playing the long game?" Dean asks.
"Dean?" There's no small amount of relief audible in his voice. "Didn't think you'd be up any time soon. How're you feelin' boy?"
"I'm fine," he bites out. "You got any more information on this psychic?"
"Sorry, but no. I barely remembered Rufus mentioning Leigh at all. It was only after I got off the phone with Sam that I thought the name sounded familiar. Then I had to call Rufus to be sure." The older man coughs. "I'd, uh, assumed Leigh was a guy, originally.
"But none of that's pressing." The words shock Dean. How the hell is it not pressing? He makes a wordless noise of protest that the older hunter must hear through the phone. "I can look into this later, after I've met up with you boys. Rufus'll help. If she is bad news, we'll deal with her together."
"Thanks, Bobby," Sam says. "We appreciate it. Give us a call when you get here so I can unlock the gates."
"Will do."
They hang up.
Dean, prone on the pew, does his best to angle his head to see Sam's face. "I don't trust it. A psychic? Coming out of nowhere to kill the demon dad's been hunting for twenty years?"
"I know." Sam stares at the phone in his hand. "But she saved you, so I'm inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt."
"Sam-"
His brother cuts him off. "I'm going to get you something to drink from the car. Stay here."
.
.
.
By the time Bobby arrives, Sam is about ready to pull his hair out. His brother just can't seem to sit still. He keeps trying to get up to check the salt lines, to load the guns, to check the devil's traps... It's infuriating.
A blue car pulls into the tiny plot of grass beside the church, blinding him for a moment before the headlights cut out abruptly. He watches as the familiar figure cuts the engine and climbs down from the pick-up truck. "Thanks for coming, you didn't have to."
"'Course I had to," Bobby says gruffly. "This isn't something you two should handle on your own."
Sam smiles weakly at him. "Well, I can't say I don't appreciate it. I have the feeling it'll take both of us to deal with Dean."
"What do you mean?"
Sam just leads him the rest of the way into the church, where a white-faced Dean is struggling to carve a devil's trap into the wood floor by the alter.
"Damn it, son." Bobby moves past him and gently hauls his brother to his feet. "Even I can see you're in no shape to be moving about. Sit your ass back down." Mercifully, Dean complies. He even sits quietly as the man pokes and prods at his stitches, despite how painful it must be. "Looks alright to me," Bobby admits. "Certainly better than anything I could do."
He replaces the hastily taped gauze and then it's his turn to press Dean back down. "Don't move." The order is accompanied by a glare that manages to keep him where he is, at least for the moment.
While Dean's still cowed into obedience, Sam pulls Bobby aside, voice low so his brother won't overhear. "Dean doesn't know about the hex bag yet, but I thought you might want to take a look. It's in the duffel, along with instructions for how to make another."
Bobby nods. "Can't promise I'll recognize it, but I'll check. Go sit with your brother."