The closet door slowly opens and Dean sits up straight, eyes frantic to get a look at whoever it was that survived the struggle.
"She'll be fine," Laraje spits out with a slightly disgusted tone once the door if fully open and she gets a look at his panic riddled face. Standing in the doorway she inspects the broken door and rolls her eyes. "Damn! You hulk out in here or what?"
Dean continues to look up at her, the fire in his gut clearly coming straight through in his eyes. His penchant for using the English language creatively is unfortunately lost on the moment as his mouth is bound. This demon is damn smart for picking Lizzy to possess, he thinks to himself. Otherwise he'd be doing everything he can to pummel the bitch.
"You done with the 'roid rage?" Laraje asks him. "I'd like to untie you now but if you're gonna freak out I can wait."
Dean quickly nods his head to indicate that he'll behave and she leans down to him, dropping Lizzy's black medical bag at his feet as she does, and begins undoing the knots in his shirt to free him.
"Are you hurt!" he asks quickly once the gag is off. "Did you get hurt?"
"Just my ego," she jokes with a smirk as she watches his eyes frantically search Lizzy's form. "Can't believe I let some newbie hunter get one over on me, though." She nudges the bag over to him and takes a seat Indian style with her back facing him. Dean sees the spot of blood glistening on the torn fabric of her black t-shirt. "Lizzy wasn't as lucky."
"Shit," Dean complains as he pulls the cut edge of her t-shirt back, revealing the deep stab wound just above her shoulder blade. "She's gonna be pissed, you know."
"Yeah, yeah," Laraje brushes off. "She already has a million scars, what's another one."
"No, you ruined her Van Halen t-shirt she got from her father," he informs her, knowing just how much sentimental value the item has for Lizzy. "She loves this thing."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Laraje sarcastically remarks. "You gonna fix this up or what?"
Dean sighs. It didn't look great but luckily it appears that the knife wasn't too big. He opens the bag and pulls out everything he needs.
"Why are you letting me do this?" Dean questions her motivations. "I mean, this is like a scratch to you. Probably doesn't even hurt, so why bother?"
"Because when I'm gone, this thing with bleed like a bitch," she informs him, clearly trying to earn his trust. "I told you before and I meant it. I just want to talk. You talk to me until I'm satisfied and you get your girl back."
"Just talk?" Dean challenges her. "Sounded like you did more than just talk down there."
"Ok, then I just want to talk to you. Anyone else is fair game if they try to interrupt."
"I still think this whole situation stinks to high hell," Dean comments as he soaks a gauze pad with antiseptic. "You have a reason for doing this. I know you do."
"Wow, that GED of yours is serving you well," she disses. "Of course I have a reason. Why bother with all this fucking hoopla if I didn't. Do you know how hard it is to get a storm this huge going? That took work, buddy boy. You should be more impressed."
He cleans her wound, noting that she doesn't even flinch with the sting of the antiseptic. "You created a freakin' blizzard just to talk to me?"
"And to keep you isolated while I did," she explains. "Though now I think that it isn't working so well. That grumpy bastard you consider a father-figure sent reinforcements. Should have seen that coming."
"Hey, I got friends in low places, darling," he quips while prepping a needle to stitch her closed.
"Looks like it. But this just lets me know I'm running out of time."
"How so?"
"You're going to tell me you haven't assumed that Sam's on his way by now?"
Dean stays quiet while he pushes the needle through her smooth skin. The thought had occurred to him of course but he's kept it to himself. No need to let the demon in on it.
"I swear, Dean, you say way more with your silence than you do with your actual words," she huffs while shaking her head and reaching over to one of the pictures that fell off the wall with Dean's efforts to break free.
"Stay still," he tells her as he continues his work. She doesn't listen as she sticks the photo once more onto the cracked door for both of them to see. Lisa Braden. Dean swallows hard.
"I figure that since our time is running low we should really try and finish things up here so that I don't have to fight off Andre the fucking Giant when he gets here. Next up, the lovely Lisa Braden."
Sam's inching closer to his destination with every second that passes but the closer he gets, the more impatient he is to just be there. The time it took to get to where he is, which is now over twenty-four hours, was excruciatingly long and the slick roads were not helping. Luckily for him, he's been able to travel on mostly busy roads for nearly the entire ride and Lizzy lives not too far off of a major highway. This means that his path has been pretty clear with frequent visitations by plows and salt trucks. He'd expected much worse.
Then he had to turn off the highway. Sam knew he was in trouble when he could barely make out the boundaries of the highway exit ramp. It took close to an hour to travel the usual fifteen minutes to the place Ruby agreed on meeting him.
Now that the steeple can be seen through the near white-out conditions surrounding the small car, Sam allows himself the joy of a quick smile. He actually made it, got to their meeting place and with the car still up and running. It's a mere couple more miles now between him and Lizzy's apartment and at this point that seems like nothing.
He parks in front of the front steps of the church. Why she suggested a church to meet at, he has no idea but the irony certainly doesn't go unnoticed. He cuts the overworked engine and waits, eyes scanning the parking lot for any movement in the bright blanket of snow surrounding him.
"Fuck, come on, Ruby!" Sam complains to himself, impatience once more getting the best of him. As if she had heard him, the passenger door flies open and the petite demon lets herself in.
"Alright, quick. Let's do this," Sam says to her with eager eyes. She scoffs at him in return.
"No foreplay this time?" she smiles while reaching into her back pocket.
"I got to go Ruby!" he shouts to her, knowing how important every second is.
"Here," she says, handing him a silver flask. Sam looks down at it, the small size fitting with ease in his palm.
"That's it?" he complains loudly.
"It's enough," Ruby tells him, annoyance on full display. "I'm not a machine, Sam. The human body can only lose so much and still function, even with me in it."
Sam sighs and moves to unscrew the cap. Ruby holds her hand out to stop him.
"Wait until you get there," she explains. "It'll be enough, just as long as you down it right before you go in guns a blazing."
"Ok," Sam understands. "Thanks, Ruby."
"Don't be stupid, ok?" she warns. "Laraje is strong. Just go in, do what you do best and get it over with. Don't hesitate."
"I won't," Sam tells her, pushing the flask into his back pocket.
"I'm serious. You flinch, she'll take the opportunity."
With that Ruby opens the car door again and leaves him alone. The door closes loudly and Sam turns the key in the ignition to head out. The engine sputters but refuses to turn over. He wrinkles his brow with confusion and tries again, getting the same struggling sound as the car just can't seem to start.
"No," Sam mutters to himself. "No, no, no." He tries one last time, knowing it won't start, and gives up with a fist punching into the center of the steering wheel. The horn blares with the impact and never stops. The sound is loud, accosting his ears with the grating pitch. Just what he needed.
"Fuck this," he declares while making an executive decision. The rest of his trek will just have to be on foot. He's made the drive before and knows where he is going anyways. He reaches for his duffel in the back seat and gets out of the obnoxiously loud car. The snow pelts his face, the wind whipping and biting at his skin. Popping the trunk, he grabs a second duffel packed with all his weapons and makes sure the trunk is absolutely empty. He's never coming back to this shit box on wheels, so he ensures that he leaves absolutely nothing behind.
A duffel slung over each shoulder, Sam walks away from the blaring car and heads down the street that leads right to Lizzy's apartment. His feet move as fast as they can, the pull of just knowing something is wrong still making him move with intent.
"Almost done," Dean tells her as he starts to tie off the last stitch. He asked her to wait just a little longer to begin the Lisa discussion so he could concentrate on not fucking up Lizzy's shoulder. She had informed him quite rudely once that he sucked at sewing people up, but that was when they hadn't talked for a year. He most likely shouldn't have taken the remark so seriously with how much anger she had been harboring for him, but ever since then he's taken extra care when stitching wounds.
"Good," she responds. "Then you can start telling me all about the one that you let get away."
"Lisa's not the one that got away," Dean tells her with confidence, cutting the black string and picking up more gauze to clean the now fully closed stab wound before covering it up. Lisa was not in his life for a reason, a good one.
"You certainly used to think she was," Laraje reminds him.
"That was before I met Lizzy," he says, realizing he's either said or thought this same phrase several times throughout this overly long conversation. "She definitely changed that."
"How so?" the demon pries.
"When I bargained away my soul I made the decision to leave Lizzy alone. I couldn't bring myself to face her after it was done and she became the one I let get away. At least for a while."
"But I thought Lizzy understood you better than anyone else in the whole wide world?" Her over the top, condescending attitude lets him know she's messing with him.
"She does, smart ass, and I'm sure now that I completely underestimated her," Dean says while taping down the large gauze square. "I thought at the time that the disappointment she'd have in me would be crushing for both of us and my sticking around would just make matters worse for her. I couldn't let her down like that so instead I ran away."
"And once you ran away from her, you ran straight for…." Laraje turns so she can see him out of the corner of Lizzy's brown eyes, waiting for him to finish the statement for her.
"Lisa," he says, knowing that Lizzy heard him loud and clear. It was a scumbag move and his guilt was immense for doing it. He never told her about Lisa for several reasons, all of which are surely about to be put out in the open.
"Lisa," she immediately echoes. "You still thought about her, didn't you?"
"Yes," Dean answers.
"Why?"
Dean sighs as he keeps working on her shoulder. "I don't know. I mean, Lizzy is everything for me and in all honesty, Lisa didn't make me nearly as happy as Lizzy does."
"Then why couldn't you let go of the woman you only had a weekend with… all be it a very, um, busy weekend."
"Done," he informs her, last edge of dressing taped down, letting her know she's patched up and in doing so he avoids her comment. Laraje scoots around to face him.
"Tell me the truth," she grins with a look in Lizzy's eyes that makes him cringe. "Who's a better fuck; Lisa or Lizzy?"
"Can't compare the two," he says quickly, looking down at the medical bag and packing it back up. Anything to avoid her as much as possible. "They're too different from each other. Different styles."
"Oh, come the fuck on," Larage loudly complains. "You know the answer. You just don't want to say it."
Dean pauses and breaths deeply. This is by far not something he wants to discuss, especially with Lizzy listening.
"Once again, he's speechless," she taunts. "Doesn't matter though. You already answered the question without a single word."
"No I didn't," he tries to clarify. "Lisa was a physical match for me, but that's it. She was just really fun but there wasn't much else there. With L it's different, it's meaningful, it's more than just sex with some usable chick. Lisa and I didn't have that, even if she used to be the bar I had set for myself. We spent the weekend holed up in my motel room and then I left. The only reason I went back to her was because she has been the only woman who could even hold a candle to Lizzy in any single aspect. I didn't want anything more from her than a repeat of that weekend to try and help me forget about how good I used to have it with the one person I wanted." It was the truth, he just wanted a way to erase Lizzy's hold on him, or lessen the grip at least. He was hurting horribly and needed help and this time he couldn't ask for it from her.
"That changed when you got there though, didn't it?" Laraje questions.
"Well, yeah. She had a kid and was in no shape to be spending time screwing away the weekend with me anymore."
"But she had something you've always wanted. She had this wonderful little life, complete with a house, a son, and an open spot in her bed. You could easily have filled it. Hell, she wanted you to."
Dean looks at her with disbelief.
"Please," she complains with his expression. "You knew that so don't pretend you didn't. You could be playing house right now if you wanted to. Bringing the rugrat to little league on Saturday mornings, mowing the lawn, sitting as a family at the dinner table, and then getting some of the best sex of your life every night. Sounds like a sure bet to me."
"First of all," Dean starts, his eyes narrowing onto the demon. "That is not where I belong. I am supposed to be right here, right where I am. Lisa wouldn't make me happy and I am not about to pretend that life doesn't totally suck any more than I already do every damn day of my life. Lizzy is where I belong. Where ever she is, that's my home."
"Shit, I almost believe you," Larjae huffs, surprised by his response.
"That's because I'm not lying," Dean assures, his jaw clenching with his anger. "Second, that isn't my life. That isn't my house, that isn't my girl, that isn't my kid. I don't belong there."
"Well, you're mostly right," the demon nonchalantly smirks while checking Lizzy's nails, playing it cool through the bomb she prepares to drop on him.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Dean asks, brow furrowed and worry creeping in with her statement.
"Well, that house definitely isn't yours and neither is Lisa. But Ben on the other hand…"
"Isn't mine," Dean growls back. "She told me herself."
"And it hurt to hear it, didn't it?" she pushes him. "Deep down, you were disappointed. That kid was just like you. He was an eight-year-old AC/DC fan who scammed on girls and looked like a perfect cross of you and Lisa. The two of you connected a little too easily and I know it left you unsettled. It never occurred to you that possibly Lisa maybe could have lied?"
Dean's expression softens as her words soak in.
"He's yours, Dean. Benjamin Isaac Winchester for all intents and purposes."
"She wouldn't lie like that to me," Dean tries to persuade himself. "She couldn't do that. She's a good person."
"And how would you know?" Laraje asks him. "You barely know that woman. How do you know she didn't lie right to your face because she didn't want her son to have an absent father who disappears all the time and lives out on the road? She was protecting Ben, just like any good mother would."
"Why did I let Sam talk me into coming here?" he mutters to himself. "I'm gonna kill him for this." Dean leans back against the wall behind him and bows his head. Screwing his eyes shut as the pain in his skull becomes worse once again, he sits with the information. Demons lie all the time. She has to be lying. Lisa wouldn't do this to him, never.
"I haven't lied to you yet, not once daddy dearest," the demon breaks in after seeing him struggle. She flicks the switch to turn the flashlight back on and stands up. "I'm gonna let you mull this over for a while. I think Lizzy needs a break from you right now anyways."
"Fuck," he breaths out, having forgotten temporarily that Lizzy was still listening.
"I'll see you in a few," she winks, satisfied smile firmly in place.
He watches the door slowly shut and the lock clicks into place. The sound of her footsteps fade and he sits in the silence, already mentally berating himself for everything. He just hopes with everything in him that Lizzy isn't going to leave him for all of this. Everyone important in his life has left him. His mother left him, his dad, even Sammy when he went to college. And now she's going to leave him too and this time it's all his fault. Totally and completely his fault. What he'll do without her he doesn't know. He can't even process the idea fully.
"Fuck, fuck , fuck," he mumbles into his hands as he buries his face into them. This is a disaster.
Sam estimates that he's about halfway there. The snow saturates his hair as it lands on him and drips down into his eyes now and then, making him wipe his face every so many steps. The sidewalks aren't plowed yet so he's forced to travel in the street, speed walking while concentrating on not slipping on the snow caked pavement.
Exhausted isn't even the word for what he is right now. Over a day of constant driving and his emotions running the gamut, his body struggles to get him to his destination. Legs weak and brain foggy, he keeps at it. Sam thinks briefly that if he gets there and the two of them are watching a movie or banging on the couch, he might just kill them himself. But chances are he knows that isn't what's happening. He can just feel it in his bones, in his soul, that something is still horribly wrong. It's always been that way with he and Dean; they can somehow tell when something is wrong concerning the other.
"Shit!" Sam yells when he loses his footing and slips, his feet sliding out from under him and causing him to fall hard onto his back. He groans with the pain, the heavy and packed snow doing nothing to cushion his landing. Breathing deeply, he gathers whatever strength he has left in him and pushes off the ground, his back protesting all the way. Once standing, he gathers his bags and checks his pockets, his back one now empty. "No."
Panic flashing in him quickly, Sam scours the white snow surrounding him as he frantically checks all his pockets to be sure. "No, no way…." Coming up empty handed, he realizes the flask has dropped in the snow. "Fuck!" he shouts while dropping to his knees and begins digging. He needs that flask, it being the only solid weapon he has to offer.
The wet snow now seeping into his clothes, he grows colder by the minute being outside in the driving storm but he continues to dig. He won't give up until he finds it.
"Come on, where the fuck are you?"
Minutes go by, his digging slowing with his lowering hopes. He can't find it. He lost his best chance at getting Lizzy out of this whole situation alive. That was all he had to offer. Damn it!
Sitting back on his heels, he pauses with his eyes closed. He's desperate once more.
"Please, somebody help me," Sam says quietly in the middle of the road, the air around him quiet aside from the wind. "I just need a little help here, please." He sighs and opens his lids. As soon as he does, something catches his eye as it briefly gleams amid the snow. The shiny silver metal just peeking out from the white catches some unknown source of light, glinting brightly enough to capture his full attention. Eyes wide with surprise, Sam greedily grabs the suddenly visible flask and stands back up. Once the blood it tucked safely away again and bags are over his shoulder, Sam starts trekking down the road once more, this time with a renewed sense of determination.
"Thank you," he says to whatever it was that decided to lend a quick hand to him. "Thank you." Unsure of what to think about the whole incident, he instead focuses on the task at hand; get to Lizzy and Dean.