Chapter 15
Dean tasted blood in his mouth, lots of it, could feel it oozing out of his nose. He knew he was going to die, and he just wished a reaper would hurry the fuck up and come get him. The inside of his body was like a vacuum, completely and totally devoid of air, as if all his organs were compressing in on themselves and imploding. It was the most horrendous, mind-blowing pain he'd ever felt, and he just wanted it to end.
He was barely cognizant of what was going on between Sam and Yellow Eyes, but he had gotten the gist of it. He, Bobby, and TJ were going to die, no matter what. If Sam killed the demon, he'd just end up paralyzed and alone, so he might as well choose to be cured and lead the demon army.
It was one really shitty choice, and Dean wondered if he would even live to see what his little brother would do. He doubted it. It was like watching a movie until it was almost over and then getting cheated out of the end. He would have laughed at the irony of it, if there had been even a molecule of oxygen left in his body. Such was the life of a Winchester. They always got fucked, apparently even in their last moments on earth.
He couldn't see anything, and now he couldn't hear anything, but he started to picture things from his past and realized it was true. Your life really did flash before your eyes when you were about to die. He saw his mom, felt her hug him, felt his dad lift him high in the air as he used to do when Dean was a child. He saw Sammy the day their parents brought him home from the hospital, all wrinkled and pink and small, no hint of the Sasquatch he would later become.
Dean saw himself teasing Sam in the way brothers do, but also taking care of him, doing a lot of the things their mom should have been there to do and that their dad wasn't emotionally capable of doing. He saw himself training Sam how to fight, then trying to teach the geeky, teenage version of Sam how to talk to girls, and then he saw Sam leave for college.
It had been a pleasant montage up to that point, but then Dean remembered the pain of that moment when Sam walked out the door, how he wanted more than anything for his dad and Sam to change their minds, to reconcile and fucking get along for once. God, he'd missed his little brother so much those years Sam had been at Stanford, but if he'd known what would happen once Sam rejoined him in the hunt, he never would have shown up that fateful night and asked Sam to help him find their dad.
Of course, Yellow Eyes still would have fucked things up for Sam, still would have killed Jessica, and Sam would have joined the hunt anyway, probably would have found Dean instead of the other way around—and still would have gotten hurt.
Maybe Sam had been right. Maybe shit just happened. Maybe Dean should just let it go, stop agonizing over it. Of course, it was a little late. Acceptance of the way things were wouldn't do him or Sam much good now, since he was going to be dead in about another second.
However, the next second didn't bring death. It brought the sound of a gunshot and then air.
Dean felt himself fall in a boneless heap to the floor, and he drew in a heaving, wheezing breath, trying to suck as much precious air from the room as he could into his lungs. It was sheer bliss, being able to breathe, and he would never, ever take it for granted again.
He didn't know how long he sat there, just breathing, but he finally began to realize that all the pain was gone, that he could move, that he was fine, and there were things happening around him.
He saw Sam on the floor, lying on his back, completely still and pale, eyes open and eerily staring at the ceiling like a corpse.
The thought jolted Dean into action, and he ran over to his brother and knelt down beside him.
At first, Sam had no reaction, not even a blink, but then he shifted his eyes to Dean and stared.
"Sam! Are you all right?"
Sam stared at him for a moment longer, and then he blinked and said, "Dean?"
"Yeah. In the flesh, dude."
Sam was still pale, and his eyes were a little disturbing, like bottomless pits, his features devoid of emotion. Finally, though, he seemed to come to himself. "Are you—are you okay?"
"Peachy. You?"
Sam swallowed hard and slowly closed his eyes. After a moment, he said, "I'm fine."
Dean frowned in concern, not believing him, but was distracted by a commotion near the door.
Bobby was walking with grim purpose toward Azazel's two demon henchmen, pointing the Colt at them, and Dean realized Sam must have dropped it at some point. Thank God Bobby had grabbed it and not one of the demons.
The two men ran toward the door and disappeared through it, apparently not realizing Sam had used the last bullet in the Colt on Azazel.
Dean smiled, thinking what a badass Bobby was for chasing the two demons with an empty weapon, and wished they had a devil's trap to keep the bastards from escaping. They'd have to leave that fight for another day, though. All that mattered now was that everyone was alive and okay.
He turned his attention back to Sam in time to see him struggling to sit up, and he helped him.
Sam saw TJ, and his brow furrowed. "TJ, are you okay?"
TJ was huddled in on herself next to the wall, shaking.
Dean's instinct was to go to her, but he knew that was Sam's job. He looked at Sam expectantly.
Sam just sat there, looking at TJ, his only sign of emotion the tick in his jaw. His legs were straight in front of him, not moving, and the denim of his jeans looked loose, made Sam's legs appear thin.
Dean remembered Sam's struggle to sit up, and then he remembered the choice the demon had given Sam. A tidal wave of emotion hit him. His chest tightened like a fist, and he thought he might die for the second time that day, realizing in that moment what had happened, the ramifications of the choice his brother had made. Sam couldn't go to TJ.
The back of Dean's throat stung, and moisture welled in his eyes, spilling onto his cheeks, but he didn't give a damn. "Ah, Sammy."
Anguish crossed Sam's features.
Dean drew Sam into a fierce embrace. He was proud of his brother for doing the right thing, but, at the same time, he knew what it all meant. He knew what Sam's hopes had been, and he knew what Sammy had given up.
He felt Sam grip him and exhale a harsh breath, and Dean held him for a few minutes before finally letting go.
Sam hadn't let a single tear fall, but it was obvious he was fighting it, was trembling a little with the effort.
"Sam..."
Sam glanced over at the roasted demon lying on the floor, and his mouth tightened. "It's how it had to be."
Dean realized in that moment how strong Sam was, and he was in awe of his little brother and felt bad for ever doubting him, for thinking the demon could ever get to him.
Sam seemed to steel himself and looked back to Dean. "I thought you were dead," he said quietly. There was a pause, and then he said, "I'm sorry I hit you."
Dean's eyes blurred again, and he swallowed hard. He moved his jaw back and forth, feeling the soreness, trying to compose himself, but his voice still came out gravelly. "You do that again, and I'll kick your ass into next week. I've got a bruise as big as Alaska."
Sam made a half-assed effort to smile and nodded, and then his eyes shifted to TJ. She was still shaking, and it was obvious Sam wanted to go to her.
Dean was about to offer to help Sam get to her, but Bobby got to her first and helped her to stand. She looked like she was in shock, and who in the hell could blame her?
Sam's eyes were still on her, but she wouldn't look at him, wouldn't really look at anybody.
Bobby had his arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. "You hurt anywhere, kiddo? You ain't still in pain, are you?"
She absently rubbed the area where she'd had the surgery and shook her head no.
"It's gonna be all right," Bobby reassured her in his gruff voice and looked at Sam and Dean. "Anyone have any idea why the three of us are still alive?"
The question was met with an uncomfortable silence.
Finally, Sam spoke. "I think that killing the demon killed his power—all of it. Whatever he was using to make me walk was the same thing he was using to kill you. Once he was dead, we all reverted back to the way we were."
The realization of what that meant for Sam dawned on Bobby's face. "Sam—"
"Let's just go," Sam said tightly.
"What about the body?" asked Dean.
Bobby still looked stricken but didn't say anything else to Sam. He looked at Dean. "I'll make some calls. Somebody will come and clean it up."
It seemed sort of anticlimactic, after they'd spent their whole lives searching for the Yellow-Eyed Demon, obsessed with killing him. They had lost so much because of him, so many loved ones, and now he was dead, but the demon's death had been over too quickly. He should have suffered the way he'd made them suffer, should have felt the same grief that he had caused them, but it wasn't possible to punish something that had no soul, that was pure evil.
Sam had finally killed the bastard, had avenged the death of their parents and Jessica, but his hopes of being cured, of walking again, had died with the demon.
The victory seemed...hollow.
XXXXXXXX
The ride to the apartment had, so far, been completely silent. Dean was driving the car that Sam had stolen, and the only noise that could be heard was the vibrating hum of the engine. The car was a crappy, small, old Nissan, and Sam was sure the owner was wondering why in the hell anyone would want to steal it, but at least it ran. It had gotten him to the beach where he'd felt the sand between his toes for the last time.
Memories of those hours when he'd been whole haunted him now, tumbling over and over in his mind, and he tried to carve the memories into his soul, tried to remember all the pleasant sensations, the sense of movement. All he could feel now was nothing. He felt like a floating torso again, half a human—and he didn't want to forget.
He wondered if time would eventually force him to forget. Maybe the fact that he couldn't feel the car seat beneath him would become a natural thing, like he'd never been any other way. It hadn't felt natural or right in the year and three months since his injury, but maybe in a lifetime it would.
He thought with cruel irony that it wasn't entirely true that he didn't feel anything. He was sitting in the front passenger seat instead of in the back with TJ because the backseat was too compact. He needed more room because his legs had started to spasm like crazy, and the pain was back with a vengeance, as if his legs were aflame with an icy fire, adding insult to injury. He inhaled deeply and exhaled, trying to breathe through it.
Dean glanced at him with a raised brow. "You okay?"
"Fine."
Dean stared at him for another second and then turned back to the road, not saying anything else.
Sam was glad. He didn't have the energy to argue with Dean, and there was nothing Dean could do, anyway, until they got back to the apartment and Sam could take his meds.
Sam glanced back at TJ, but she still wouldn't look at him.
Bobby was back there with her, and he had his arm around her in a paternal way. Her head was on his shoulder, her eyes staring at something in the vicinity of the gearshift.
Sam would give anything to be the one holding her right now. He wanted to comfort her, explain things to her, but the empty look on her face scared him. He wondered what she was thinking, if she was afraid of him.
He felt a stab of guilt for what had happened. He should have known she wasn't safe. If Azazel had killed Jessica, then he certainly wouldn't have had any qualms about hurting TJ. Sam had almost gotten her killed, and the thought made him nauseous.
He felt a particularly painful wave of the burning in his legs and winced, taking in another deep breath.
When the pain subsided a little, his thoughts went back to the demon. He should feel some sort of vindication, some sort of satisfaction for killing it, but, instead, he felt a numbness, as though his emotions were on hold. It was a way of protecting himself, a delay of what he knew was to come.
He felt like he had when he'd first been told his spinal cord had been severed and there was no hope, that he would never walk again. He was in denial, couldn't believe it was over and his only chance at a cure was dead.
Then, as if the numbness had been a dam keeping his emotions at bay, it broke, and the despair and desolation flooded in.
He felt his throat narrow and his eyes sting, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to try to push back the torrent that was threatening to come. He couldn't cry in front of them. He had to man up, especially for TJ.
He didn't want to go through it again, didn't want to get sucked back into that black chasm of hopelessness and despondency, but it was pretty damn hard to climb out of it when he knew what lay ahead of him and that it was how things were going to be, that he wouldn't wake up one morning and suddenly feel his toes and everything would be back to normal. He had a disability. That was his new normal.
He told himself that it was worth a lifetime of dealing with the paraplegia knowing the demon was dead, that he'd done the right thing, especially since those he loved were safe. He hadn't been able to believe it, at first, when Dean came up beside him. He'd thought for sure that Dean, Bobby, and TJ were dead, and he'd wished he were dead right along with them.
It stood to reason, though, that, if the power that made him able to walk died with the demon, then so would the power that was killing them. It was the only explanation he could think of for why they were alive and seemed to be unscathed—at least physically—and nothing else really mattered.
When they reached the apartment, Bobby took TJ inside while Dean went to get Sam's wheelchair from the bedroom and brought it out to the car.
Sam's heart sank to the pit of his stomach when he saw it.
Dean's mouth was in a tight, grim line as he opened the passenger door, but at least he showed no pity.
Sam leaned his head back against the headrest of his seat, eyes tightly shut and jaw clenching. This is how it's gonna be, he thought. Forever.
Dean cleared his throat. "You ready, Sammy?"
Sam took a deep breath, exhaled, and then nodded.
When they were inside the apartment, Dean helped Sam transfer to the sofa, and Bobby got him a glass of water and the meds.
Sam's legs were still hurting and spasming, and he tried to get his mind off of it, hoping the medication would kick in soon. He looked up to see TJ standing by the dining table.
She hadn't made a sound and was hugging herself protectively, staring at his jerking legs as if mesmerized by them, that vacant expression still on her face.
"TJ?" Sam said quietly.
She didn't move at first, but then she tore her gaze from his legs and met his eyes.
"Come sit down with me." He gave a slight, apologetic smile and glanced at his legs. "They're not as scary as they look."
She stared at him for a minute, still not saying anything.
Sam saw Bobby and Dean look at each other, clearly not knowing exactly how to handle this. TJ was definitely not herself, and none of them really knew what to do with a shell-shocked TJ.
Her hair had fallen mostly out of its ponytail by now, and she made a futile effort to tuck the stray strands behind her ears. Then, her mouth tightened, and she pulled the elastic holder out of her hair and threw it angrily to the floor. Her hair fell down around her shoulders, and she looked at Sam, then, eyes blazing.
It seemed she had left the freak-out stage and was moving on to extremely pissed off. Her freckles still gave her an impish quality, though, and all Sam could think about in that moment was how awesome she looked, like some enraged, giant pixie. He could feel his blood start to stir, despite everything that had happened, despite his exhaustion and the pain in his legs.
In full-on Kentucky mode, she said, "You fellas wanna tell me what in the hell happened today?" There was nothing pixieish about her tone. It was hard and demanding.
Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, Bobby, I think you and I need to ditch that stolen car."
Bobby lifted his cap and quickly scratched his head. "Yeah. We've already had it for too long. The sooner we get rid of it, the better."
Dean shot Sam a look.
Sam responded with one that said, Cowards.
Dean waggled his brows, unrepentant.
TJ skewered them all with her eyes, head cocked in an attitude of impatience, clearly wanting an explanation.
After Dean and Bobby left, the only sound that could be heard was Sam's legs jiggling against the fake leather of the sofa.
TJ crossed her arms again and arched a brow, indicating his legs. "Are they hurtin'?"
His first instinct was to lie and tell her no, but then he thought honesty might buy him some sympathy and help to cool her anger. "Yeah. They're hurting."
"Good."
So much for the sympathy card. "Look, TJ—"
"Who in the hell was that man, and how did he make us stick to that wall, and why did he want to kill us, and why were you up walking around, and why can't you walk now, and why in the hell did you wait so damn long to shoot him?" Her face reddened, and her chin began to tremble, and when she spoke again, her voice was thick and shaky. "Because what he was doing to us fuckin' hurt, Sam." She lifted her hand and subconsciously covered the area of her scar. "I thought..." A tear rolled down her cheek, and she angrily wiped it away. "We almost died!"
He felt a surge of remorse and frowned, hating more than anything that she had gone through that, unable to stand the thought of her in pain. "I know, Teej, and I'm so sorry."
"Don't give me those eyes. I want some answers, and I want 'em right now. What in the hell did you mean when you said somethin' about a deal, about his powers?"
"TJ, come sit with me."
She stared at him defiantly.
Sam sighed. "I'm not gonna tell you anything until you come sit down. It's a long story."
She stood there for a minute, looking like she was going to refuse, but then reason seemed to win out and she reluctantly came over to the sofa and sat down on the other end from him, as far away as she could get, arms stubbornly crossed.
He was slightly amused, but he wasn't going to let her get away with sitting so far from him. He slid himself toward the middle of the sofa, pulled his legs up onto it—no small feat, considering how spastic and stiff they still were—and then lowered himself until his head was on TJ's lap. He looked into her eyes, challenging, and said, "I need to lie down. Sometimes it helps with the spasticity."
"Oh, please," she said with irritation.
He couldn't hold in his grin. "I'm serious."
She poked her cheek with her tongue, mouth quirking. "Whatever." Then she mumbled something about Sasquatch heads weighing a ton.
Sam knew she'd gotten that from Dean and rolled his eyes.
"Comfy?" she asked sarcastically.
He reached up and pulled on her arm, unfolding it, and then took her hand, resting it on his chest near his heart, and covered it protectively with his own hand. "I'm comfy now."
She jerked it away and crossed her arms again. "Start talkin'."
He grabbed her hand again, grasping it more firmly this time.
"Holding my hand doesn't get you off the hook."
"I know, but it makes me feel better."
Her features softened a fraction. "You're still in hot water."
"I know."
"Well?"
He exhaled and frowned. "I don't really know where to begin."
"I don't think 'once upon a time' will work for this one."
He snorted. "No. More like the beginning of Rosemary's Baby or The Exorcist."
Her brow creased.
He really didn't know where to start and was quiet for a second, absently noting that the pain in his legs and the spasms had both started to taper off since he'd lain down. Or maybe it was since he'd taken TJ's hand in his. The softness and warmth of her skin was soothing, and he sighed a little with the pleasure of it. "Dean, my dad, and I—we used to be hunters. Bobby still is one."
"I take it you don't mean huntin' deer and 'coons."
He smiled wryly. "Uh, no."
"So what does the hunting have to do with what happened today?"
He exhaled. "You're pretty religious, right? I mean, you grew up going to church regularly?"
She huffed. "Yeah. Until I went to college. I mean, I'm no Bible thumper, and I started slacking off when I came to San Diego, but you can bet your ass after what happened today I'm fixin' to start going every Sunday."
"What does 'fixin' to' mean?"
"Sam!" she exclaimed in exasperation, giving him a warning stare.
He grinned, enjoying teasing her and delaying what he didn't want to talk about. He rubbed the back of her hand, no longer keeping a firm hold on it since the tension in the air had lessened and he sensed she would leave it there, where it belonged. "Well, all that stuff in the Bible about demons? It's true."
She frowned like she always did when she was trying to understand something.
"That thing that hurt you today, it wasn't a man. It was a demon, and not just your regular, garden-variety demon."
Her eyebrows went up. "There's a garden variety?"
"Yeah. There's different levels, I guess. The demon you saw today was what my dad always called the Yellow-Eyed Demon, for obvious reasons. I think he was the highest level of evil, the devil's right-hand man. His real name is Azazel."
Sam felt her shiver, and he squeezed her hand. "When I was six months old, that same demon—Azazel—" He stopped abruptly, rethinking his words, not ready to tell TJ about the demon blood. Besides, now that Azazel was dead, maybe whatever he'd tainted Sam with had died, too. Sam hoped to God it was true.
He cleared his throat and began again. "My mom found him in my nursery, hovering over my crib, and she tried to stop him." He searched TJ's face, wondering if he should tell her the horrific details about the fire.
She met his eyes. "You can tell me, Sam. I can take it."
In that moment, he knew that she could, that she was strong, and he admired her for it.
She began to idly brush her fingers through his hair with her other hand.
It was calming, and he continued. "He—he killed her. He pinned her to the ceiling, kind of like he did with you on the wall today, and then set it on fire."
She drew in a sharp breath of air and gave him a look of compassion. "Oh, my God, Sam. I'm so sorry."
He paused for a moment. He'd never known his mom, but her death still wasn't easy to talk about. "As my dad was picking me up from my crib, he saw the demon. He handed me to Dean and told Dean to get out of the house. Dean was only four years old, but his childhood pretty much ended that night. He's been looking out for me ever since.
"I guess my dad probably tried to do something to save my mom, but it was too late. My nursery had become an inferno. After that night, my dad became obsessed with finding the thing that killed my mom, and he became a hunter. There's actually a lot of hunters out there, a sort of hidden counterculture. Dean and I got sucked into it, too, and we've been hunters our whole lives.
"Our dad was an ex-Marine, and he trained us to be soldiers. He dragged us around from one hunt to the next, tracking Yellow Eyes and killing anything evil that needed killing along the way. There's other things besides demons—lots of things. We hunted ghosts, monsters, shape-shifters, werewolves—just about everything you've ever heard about in folklore except for maybe unicorns."
She huffed, and then she was quiet and pensive. Finally, she said softly, "That's how you got hurt, isn't it—hunting?"
"Yeah. It was a poltergeist."
Her eyes grew large. "As in, 'They're heeere', as in the kind that lives in the TV?"
He held in a smile. He knew she wasn't teasing for once, but only TJ could turn something so devastating into something sort of amusing. "Kind of like that, yeah." He grew more sober and added, "This poltergeist liked to throw knives."
The true implication of his words sank in, and big, watery tears brimmed in her eyes. "Oh, Sam."
The way she'd said his name, the emotion it held, was profound. It wasn't pity. It was love, and he loved her, too. He'd never been more sure or certain of anything in his life—or more destroyed by it.
He couldn't—he wouldn't—let her waste her life with him. He'd had hope before that maybe he could trick Azazel into curing him, but now that hope was gone. He would deal with his disability because he had to, but TJ didn't, and he would not be a burden to her, even if she thought that's what she wanted.
He levered himself into a sitting position and then scooted his body and maneuvered his legs until he was sitting next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. His heart felt heavy. "Hey. It's okay."
She lay her head on his shoulder and wiped a tear from her cheek. "That deal that the demon was talking about, it had to do with you walking, didn't it? He was gonna cure you."
"Yeah."
"I don't understand. You were already walking, though. You were already cured."
"That was sort of a trial period, sort of like a test drive."
"He wanted you to see what you'd been missing and what you had to gain?"
Sam's throat felt tight, and he swallowed. "Yeah."
Head still on his shoulder, she placed her hand again over his heart. "Why, Sam? What did he want with you?"
He sighed. "I don't understand it all myself, but part of it had to do with the fact that I grew up as a hunter. He thought it made me stronger than—" He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose, stalling, not wanting to go into it all but knowing he didn't have a choice. TJ had a right to know everything. "There were others like me, possible candidates to lead a demon army that would help Azazel free Lucifer, the devil, from hell. Apparently, I was the frontrunner because I was a hunter, until the poltergeist threw a kink in his plans."
"But then your injury became leverage, something he could bargain with, the promise of a cure?"
"Yeah."
"So, I still don't understand what happened today. Why did he kidnap me? Why did he want to kill Dean and Bobby and me?"
"He knew that I...cared about all of you and that if you three were gone, I wouldn't have a reason to refuse him." He remembered what it felt like, thinking he'd lost them, and he felt a surge of emotion. When he spoke, his voice sounded dense and strained. "I—I almost gave in, TJ. I thought there was no way to save the three of you, that you were as good as dead. I hesitated to shoot Azazel because he said that I would go back to being paralyzed if I killed him, and I didn't think I could deal with that alone."
"But in the end, you still shot him anyway."
He could see that moment vividly in his mind, knowing the life he was choosing, thinking that everyone he loved was already dead. It was the right thing to do, he reminded himself. The right thing. The right thing. "It was the right thing to do," he finally said out loud.
She leaned her head back and gazed up at him for a long time.
He had a good view of the freckles dusting the bridge of her nose and wanted to brush kisses over them and make his way down to her mouth.
She looked down, breaking the spell, giving him a view of long, dark lashes fanning over her cheeks instead. "I know what you gave up, Sam—or, at least, I have a pretty good idea. When I was stuck to that wall, I couldn't move anything, no matter how hard I tried. My body wouldn't—or couldn't—obey my brain. It was..." She trailed off, swallowing, and looked up at him. "Well, let's just say it's a good thing I didn't have to make the choice that you did. I might be doin' the tango with Lucifer right about now."
He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her. "No, you wouldn't. You would have done the same thing."
She shook her head but didn't argue, and, after a minute, she changed the subject. "I don't get it. How did—why are Dean, Bobby and I all right? It's like nothing happened to us."
"I think that whatever power healed me was the same power that was killing the three of you. When I shot the demon, it shut the power off, and we reverted back to the way we'd been."
She seemed to mull that over for a second, and then she moved on to another question. "Why you? I mean, why not Dean, for that matter? He grew up as a hunter, too."
He shrugged. "I don't know. Like I said, I don't understand it all myself. I'm sure there's more to the story than Azazel told me, but I guess now I'll never know. I hope I never know." He couldn't keep the harshness from his voice. "I'm so fucking done with demons—with all of it." He gave a derisive snort. "That's at least one good thing about my disability. It gets me out of hunting."
"You didn't like it, the hunting?"
"No. I hated it. All I wanted to do was go to college and live a normal life."
"But you quit college and, I assume, went back to hunting. Why?"
"The demon. He killed my girlfriend Jessica the exact same way he killed my mom. After that, I wanted revenge." He ground his teeth. "I played right into Azazel's hands. He said an apple-pie life would have made me too soft, that he wanted me to hunt so I would hone my skills as a soldier, as a fighter."
She rubbed her fingers idly over his chest.
He could feel it through the cotton fabric of his shirt, and, although he didn't think it was intentional on her part, it reminded him of what they'd shared last night and made his skin come alive.
He still had one arm around her shoulders, but he gently covered her hand with his other hand, stopping the motion that was very quickly going to drive him insane.
She looked up at him, brow creased a little, but she didn't say anything.
He wanted to kiss her so badly, but he couldn't. He never should have let things go so far last night. He would be tortured by those memories every time he was with her—and when he wasn't.
"You must have loved her a lot."
"What?"
"Jessica. You must have loved her a lot."
He didn't answer for a second, not missing the irony that Jessica had just been the furthest thing from his mind. He kept his tone neutral. "Yeah, I did. I was going to ask her to marry me."
"I'm sorry, Sam. No one should have to deal with losing someone like that."
"No."
TJ was silent after that, and several uncomfortable minutes went by.
Sam wondered what she was thinking. He'd just told her a lot of things that were hard to believe, not to mention pretty damn scary, and it made him nervous that she wasn't saying anything. "TJ? I...I need to know what you're thinking. I know what I've told you is pretty freaky, and, then, with everything that happened today... Are you..." He cleared his throat. "Are you afraid, you know, of me?"
"Afraid of you?" She sounded incredulous. She lifted her head up off his shoulder and sat up straighter, a fierce, determined look on her face. "You listen to me, Sam Winchester. What you did today was—the sacrifice you made..." She looked away, her throat working, obviously trying to remain in control of her emotions. When she regained her composure, she looked at him again with that same ferocity. "What you did today was—God, it goes way beyond heroic. There are no words for it. And that doesn't include how you must have risked your life on a regular basis when you were huntin'. I could never be afraid of you. I am in awe of you, and I feel safe with you."
"You do?"
"Of course. Do you realize how badass you are? I mean, you not only saved Dean, Bobby, and me, but you pretty much saved the whole, entire world from evil."
He stared at her, not knowing what to say. He didn't really feel like much of a badass. That was more Dean's thing.
She shifted, swinging a leg over his lap and straddling him like she'd done last night. Then, she took his face in her hands. "You're the bravest, most amazing guy I've ever known."
His body reacted to her, pulse quickening and heat flushing through him. His voice was husky when he tried to speak. "TJ—"
She gently pressed her mouth onto his, cutting off his protest, gliding her tongue over his lips.
He couldn't resist, of course, and he opened his mouth to her, let her tongue mingle with his. It was intoxicating, the taste of her, the warmth and moisture, the way her tongue sometimes tickled the roof of his mouth. He could hear blood rushing through his ears, could feel his breathing accelerate.
God, how he wanted her, but he couldn't do it. He had a lot to deal with, a lot to figure out now that there was no doubt his disability was permanent. Azazel had been his only real chance at a cure, and he knew it. Of course, there was still the very slim, miniscule chance that he or Bobby might find some kind of supernatural miracle, but after already researching it for a year and finding nothing, Sam's hope was nonexistent. He was done wasting his time on it.
Gently, he pushed on TJ's shoulders, breaking their kiss, and he felt an almost physical pain when they separated. "TJ, please. Don't."
She rested her forehead on his. When she spoke, her voice was low, and her accent came through, smooth as silk. "You make me crazy, Sam. You make me do things I wouldn't normally do."
The sound of her vibrated through him.
She sat back on her heels, a rueful look on her face. "I don't usually attack guys like this. I swear."
He gave her a small smile, forcing himself to take normal breaths, trying to get his heart rate to slow down. "It's okay. It's not that I don't...like it, but we shouldn't. It's not—I don't want to ruin our friendship."
Her brow creased, and she moved off of his lap and sat several inches away from him.
He felt cold without her to warm him and immediately wanted her back, wanted her body close to him, touching him.
She lay her head back against the sofa, staring at the inert screen of the TV in front of them for what seemed like forever.
Finally, Sam couldn't stand the quiet any longer. "Teej?"
She looked at him, then, regret touching her features.
He swallowed, getting a bad feeling.
"I can't be your friend anymore, Sam—at least, not right now."
"Why?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.
She gave him a bittersweet smile, unshed tears welling in her eyes. "Because I'm in love with you, in case you haven't figured it out, yet."
He just sat there.
She huffed a self-deprecating laugh and looked up at the ceiling. "I'm so in love with you, I don't know if I'm comin' or goin'. What we did last night—God. I know I said no strings, but I'm weaker than I thought. Maybe having my insides run through the wringer by a demon and almost dying—again—has put things into perspective." She looked into his eyes. "Now that I've had a taste of you, I can't go back to the way things were. I don't want to waste my time pretending anymore."
"TJ, I love you, too, but—"
"But not in the same way," she finished for him. "Yeah, I know. You love me like a sister."
"After what happened last night, I wouldn't exactly say I think of you as a sister."
Her mouth quirked. "You know what I mean."
Don't do this to her, said a voice inside his head, but the logical part of him said it was better this way. "I'm sorry, TJ. I don't want to lose your friendship. I need you."
"No, you don't. You're strong, Sam. What you did today, what you've been dealing with—don't you see? You're more man than any able-bodied guy I know. You don't need anyone."
"TJ, don't do this, not after everything we've been through. It can still work."
She shook her head. "Maybe, in time, we can go back to being just friends, but I need some space. I can barely breathe sometimes when I'm around you. I can't just go back to the way things were. It was hard enough trying not to show you how I felt when things were still platonic. I've been through this before, Sam." She looked almost apologetic. "Although, I've never loved anyone the way I love you."
Her last words were sweeter and, at the same time, hurt him more than anything anyone had ever said to him.
"Now that the cat's out of the bag, it'll be awkward and difficult for both of us. It'll be torture for me, not being able to—" She paused and swallowed. "Well, you know. You'll feel bad and guilty because you don't care about me in the same way, and I'll eventually resent you. It won't end well, so let's just finish it now and save ourselves a lot of heartbreak down the road."
It was too late. His heart was already breaking.
She reached over and took his hand. "Promise me, Sam, that you won't become a hermit again. Promise me that you'll live your life, that you'll find someone you can be in love with. Please don't think that no one will want you because of your disability. It's not true." A tear slipped out of her eye, and she wiped it away and gave him a crooked smile. "I'm living proof."
His throat burned, felt like it was closing up, and his eyes blurred with moisture, threatening to spill over, but he didn't care. "TJ—"
"Promise me."
He shook his head, clenching his eyes shut. How could he promise that, when it was the very reason he was lying to her in the first place? There was no way he'd ever try to find someone else. He didn't think he'd ever be able to tell anyone else the things he'd told TJ, all the embarrassing things that went with his disability, let alone be intimate sexually. If he could do that, he'd be with TJ.
God, he hadn't thought it would come to this. He'd stupidly thought they could go back to the status quo, but she was right. He knew exactly how she felt because it would be torture to be around her, too, and deny himself.
Of course, he wasn't really denying himself. The useless part of his body would do that for him. Yes, last night had been incredible in some ways, better than anything he'd ever imagined, but the fact remained that he hadn't been able to follow through because of his "plumbing issues." No woman deserved to be stuck with that.
TJ loved him, and her feelings were clouding her judgment. Sex wasn't everything in a relationship, but it was a big part of it, and he wouldn't let her make that sacrifice.
He'd let things go too far last night, but he'd foolishly hoped that it would go differently with Yellow Eyes, that he'd either be cured or dead once the final showdown was over—not that he'd have to face her like he was now, a paraplegic for life.
He hadn't really thought through the consequences of being intimate with her, how much it would hurt both of them if he had to reject her. He'd had a fleeting thought that it might be awkward to go back to just being friends, but he hadn't really given it any credence, hadn't wanted to scrutinize it too closely, hadn't really thought he'd have to deal with it.
"Promise me, Sam."
He shook his head again. "I can't."
"You can. You just killed a horrible, vile demon and saved the world, for God's sake. You can do anything."
"I was walking when I killed it, TJ. I was who I used to be."
"You're still that person, but you're even stronger, now, because of everything you've been through. Please, Sam, don't give up. Promise me you'll try to find happiness."
"I can't. Not without you."
Her voice was determined and deliberate. "You. Can."
"TJ, please, don't do this," he pleaded again. "You, Dean, and Bobby, you're my family—all of you."
She tilted her head to one side, a sort of wistful expression on her face. "Dean and Bobby are your family. I'm just a friend, Sam, and, maybe, in time, things will change, and we can hang out together again. It's not like I'm saying goodbye forever."
"Then why does it feel like you are?"
"Like I said, I just need some space, but, in the meantime, I want you to go out and have fun, make new friends."
"No one can replace you."
There was a rattle of keys in the front door lock, and they both looked toward it.
Bobby and Dean walked in, both their expressions turning wary when they saw TJ and Sam, obvioulsy sensing that things were not going well.
TJ stood and walked over to them. "I need one of you to take me home, please."
Dean and Bobby shared a look, and, after a pause, Bobby said, "I'll take you, kiddo, if you're sure you want to be alone."
She nodded and then folded her arms and hunched her shoulders, as if she felt cold.
"Who's gonna take care of you, TJ?" Sam asked quietly.
"I will." Her eyes were still sad, but her mouth curved upward with a hint of triumph. "I'm done hurting myself, Sam, and I'm done being hurt by others, demon or human." Then she turned to Bobby and indicated she was ready to go.
Sam shut his eyes—his whole world collapsing—and opened them in time to see his happiness walk out the door.
TBC