The trip to Connecticut required at least two stops to fill up the her immaculate beauty and style, she was quite a gas guzzler. A newer model car would probably be a better option for these cross country trips but who was going to suggest that to Dean? Surely, not me. I like living.
During our second stop for fuel, both gasoline and food, I noticed a change in Sam. For the last three or so hours he had become distant and quiet, only speaking when spoken to. His behavior was beginning to worry me. So, once we were inside the convenience store to stock up on chips, cakes, soda and of course, pie I took the chance to talk to him.
"Sam, is something bothering you? You've been awful quiet since we left the diner back in Akron."
"Yea, I'm okay, Nic."
"Don't lie to me Sam Winchester," I tell him, wagging my finger at him. "I have been with you two long enough to know when something is bothering you."
"It's just...maybe Dad was right," he whispered. His confession knocked me for a loop. Why the hell was he thinking like that?
I glance around and see the aisle we are in and the aisles on either side are empty. "What the hell, Sam?! Why would you say that?" My voice increases and catches the attention of the lone clerk. Sam notices that she is looking our way so he shushes me and tells me we'll discuss it later.
We get back to the Impala with all our purchases for Dean to tell us he has to hit the head, giving us a few more minutes alone to re-open the discussion from inside. "Sam, why? Why would you think that?"
Turning in the seat, he looks back at me. "I killed a man, Nic. Not a monster, not a demon, a man. A human being! I'm turning dark. I can already feel it. I killed him with no second thought."
I look at Sam completely bewildered. What was he talking about, killing a man? He hadn't killed anyone that I knew of. Unless, he was considering Ava's fiance's death and blaming himself.
"No way Sam," I tell him. "Don't you even try to blame yourself for his death. Ava came to you of her own volition. Sha had no idea what was out there."
"Not him, Nic," Sam says, his eyes tilted down. "Gordon. I killed Gordon. He's dead."
At that precise moment, Dean slides behind the wheel of the Impala. "Who's dead? Hey," he turns to look at me. "You get any pie?" he asks, with a smile on his face.
I bring the slice of pie out of the plastic bag and hand it to him as Sam answers, "Gordon is dead. I shot him when he came after me."
I sit there staring at Sam, in utter astonishment. He killed Gordon? Yes, I remember now, there had been a gunshot right before Sam had emerged from the rear of the house Gordon was holding Dean hostage in.
"Good for you Sammy!" Dean praises his brother. "One less fucker to worry about out there."
Sam and I both stare at Dean with wide eyes. He's sitting there munching on the apple pie I had bought, not a care in the world. He looks up and sees us staring, "What? That son of a bitch was evil! He got what was coming to him."
"Dean's right, Sam. Gordon was more evil than any monster or demon out there. He didn't kill to save people. He killed because he enjoyed it. And that's downright fucking scary, dude! I think you once again saved the world by taking out the big, bad evil Gordon Walker."
Sam lets a small smile cross his lips as he looks back at me and mouths, "Thank you."
Dean finishes his pie and starts the Impala, pulling back onto the road.
"The Pierpont Inn was built in 1930," Sam reads the information Bobby had emailed earlier in the day. "Two freak accidents in three weeks. First, a lady drown in a bathtub. Then a guy falls down the stairs, head turned a full 180. Inn's been run by the same family for the past-," he pauses to look at the electronic file. "Wow! Okay, the same family has been running it since it was established 76 years ago."
"Any unexplained deaths in all those years?" I ask from the backseat.
"Nope, just the two recent ones. The first victim, a Joan Edison, age 43 was the realtor handling the sale of the property. The second victim was Larry Williams. He was moving stuff out for Goodwill. Apparently, the current manager is in the process of selling the hotel."
"Well, there's the connection," Dean says. "Both of them were involved it shutting down."
"Yea."
We pull up to a large beautiful mansion, one that would have been seen on plantations in the South in the past. The structure was made up of large, square stone. The windows all gleamed brightly in the daylight. The flagstone steps are lined with large urns, that probably at one time housed magnificent plants to add to the allure and welcome of the hotel. Now they just sat there empty and deteriorated. I grab my bag out of the truck when Dean opens it and slide the strap over my shoulder. The day was overcast, not raining but the air was wet and misty. The size of the hotel looming over us.
"This is gorgeous," I tell the guys.
"It's sweet is what it is," Dean says, grabbing my hand and lacing our fingers together. "We never get to work jobs like this."
"Like what?" Sam asks from behind us.
"Old school haunted houses, you know? Fog, and secret passageways ... sissy British accents," Dean replies, trying to speak with a British accent and failing miserably.
We begin to climb the steps when Sam calls for us to stop. He points out a symbol on one of the aged urns, explaining it is a quincunx, a five-spot; a pattern used in hoodoo. That when combined with bloodweed creates a charm to ward off enemies. I look around. "I don't see any bloodweed," I tell them.
"Besides, ain't this place a little too, uh, white meat for hoodoo?" Dean asks.
Sam shrugs. "Maybe."
We continue the climb up the steps and enter the front door. The interior of the hotel is quaint and quiet. The decorum is outdated, but still kept to look stylish. We all three are so fascinated by the mere size of the lobby that none of us notice when the petite brunette step up behind the desk.
"May I help you?"
"Hi, yeah, we'd like a room for a couple of nights," Dean says, stepping up to the counter. I follow and stand beside him, our hands still intertwined.
As Sam joins, a little girl, about 8 years old, darts in front of his legs.
"Hey!" the lady looks to Sam and apologizes. "Sorry about that."
"No problem," Sam tells her.
"Well, um, congratulations, you could be some of our final guests," she says as Dean is signing the guestbook and pulling a credit card from his wallet.
"Well. Sounds vaguely ominous," he says, handing the car to her.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I mean we're closing at the end of the month."
"Speaking of antiques, you have a really, really interesting urn on the front porch. Where did you get that?" Sam inquires.
"Oh, I have no idea, it's been there forever.," she answers as she hands Dean two keys. "Here you go, Mr. Taylor.
"Thanks," Dean says as he hands one of the keys to his brother.
She rings a bell and says, "You'll be staying in room 237 and 238. Sherwin, could you show these gentlemen and lady to their rooms? I'm Susan, if you need anything."
When she says this, I turn to see an old, balding man in a black blazer shuffling up behind us.
"Let me guess. Antiquers?" The three of us all share a look and shrug.
Sherwin grabs Dean's duffel bag from the floor where he dropped it behind him, and proceeds to start up the steps, as we follow.
"So the hotel's closing up, huh?" I ask.
"Yep. Miss Susan tried to make a go of it, but the guests just don't come like they used to," the old bellhop tells us. "Still, it's a damn shame."
"Oh yeah?" Sam has picked up on my idea of innocently interrogating Sherman for information.
"It may not look it anymore, but this place was a palace. Two different vice-presidents laid their heads on our pillows," he tells us with pride in his voice. "My parents worked here, I practically grew up here. Gonna miss it. Here's your rooms." The cabins are straight across from one another.
Dean slips the key in the lock and opens the door, Sam mirroring him. Dean allows me access to the room first and turns to shut the door. Sherwin is still standing there, hand extended expectantly.
"You're not gonna cheap out on me, are you boy?" he asks Dean and I can't help but giggle as Dean grumbles.
He pulls out his wallet and hands the older man a couple of bills.
"Good evening, sir. Ma'am," Sherwin says, nodding his head toward me, turning to walk down the hall.
Later, Sam joins us in our room and we begin going over the facts of the case. Dean, of course, is fidgety and pacing the room.
He chuckles as he approaches what appears to be an antique wedding dress displayed on a wall like a ghost.
"What the —"
"What?" I ask him, looking up from the report I had been reading.
"That's normal?" he asks, gesturing to the dress. "Why the hell would anyone stay here? I'm amazed they kept in business this long."
Maybe somebody here doesn't want to leave, and they're using hoodoo to fight back.
"So, who do you think our witch doctor is, that Susan lady?" Dean asks, shuddering as he looks once more at the dress and then turns to me and Sam.
"No, doesn't seem likely. I mean, she is the one selling," I tell him.
"So what then, Sherwin?"
"I don't know."
We decide to roam around the hotel and see if we can find anything that will clue us in on what is going on.
I find another, smaller urn and pick it up, inspecting it. There is another quincrux carved inside the lip. "Hey, guys. Look."
"More hoodoo, great," Dean grumbles. I sit the vase back down and continue on the excursion.
We come upon a door marked PRIVATE. Dean steps up and knocks. Susan opens it, surprised to see us.
"Hi there," Dean says, laying that Winchester charm on.
"Hi. Everything okay with your room?" Susan says, seemingly unaffected by his charisma.
"Yeah. Yeah, yeah, everything's great. Yeah."
"Well, I was, I was just in the middle of packing," she motions behind her.
"Hey!" Dean says, looking past her. "Are those antique dolls? Because these two pointing at me and Sam they've got a major doll collection back home. Dontcha? Huh?"
Sam and I agree after shooting Dean a glare. "Big time."
"Big time. You think he could come, we could come in and take a look?"
"Oh, I don't know ..."Susan said, unsure.
"Please? I mean, they just love them. They won't tell you this, but they're always dressing 'em up in these little tiny outfits and, um, you'd make their day. You — she would, huh? Huh?
"It's true," I say glancing at Sam and shrugging.
"Okay. Come on in," she concedes.
"All right."
He slaps Sam on the back and grabs my hand as we follow him in.
"Wow. This is a lot of dolls. I mean, they're nice, you know. Not super creepy at all.," Dean says as the vast display of dolls come into view.
"Yeah, I suppose they are a little creepy," Susan admits, chuckling. "But they've been in the family forever. A lot of sentimental value."
There is a model scale building standing off to the side. "What is this? The hotel?" Sam asks as he rounds it.
"Yeah, that's right," Susan answers. "Exact replica, custom built."
Sam leans down and picks up a broken doll from inside the model and frowns.
"His head got twisted around. What happened to it?"
"Tyler, probably. My daughter," she confirms when I cast her a questioning look.
At that time the little girl from the lobby runs in.
"Mommy! Maggie's being mean," she tells Susan.
"Tyler, tell her I said to be nice, okay?"
"Hey Tyler. I see you broke your doll. You want me to fix it?"
"I didn't break it. I found it like that. "
"Oh. Well, uh, maybe Maggie did it. "
"No, neither of us did it. Grandma would get mad if we broke 'em. "
"Tyler, she wouldn't get mad," Susan tells the girl, laying a hand on her daughter's shoulder.
"Grandma?" I inquire.
"Grandma Rose. These were all her toys," Tyler explains to me.
"Oh. Really. Where's Grandma Rose now?" Dean asks.
"Up in her room," Tyler answers him, annoyed.
"You know, I'd, I'd uh, I'd really love to talk to Rose about her incredible doll —"
Susan suddenly speaks up, sounding nervous. "No. I mean, I'm afraid that's impossible. My mother's been very sick and she's not taking any visitors."
We leave Susan's room shortly after that and return to mine and Dean's room.
"So, what do you think?" Dean asks us. "Dolls, hoodoo, mysterious shut-in grandma?"
"Well, dolls are used in all kinds of voodoo and hoodoo, like curses, and binding spells, and ..." Sam says.
"Yeah, maybe we've found our witch doctor. All right, I'll see what I can go dig up on boomin' Granny. You go get online, check old obits, freak accidents, that sort of thing, see if she's whacked anybody before," Dean says. "Nic, you coming?"
"Yea," I answer, crossing the room to follow Dean.
"Don't go surfing porn - that's not the kind of whacking I mean." I laugh as I see Sam rolls his eyes at his brother.
A flurry of activity is taking place downstairs so Dean and I head down to investigate.
"What happened?" I ask Susan, genuinely concerned.
Susan seems surprised to see us. "Oh, the maid went in to turn down the sheets and he was just . . . hanging there."
"That's awful. He was a guest?" Dean asks her.
"He worked for the company that bought the place. "
Dean hums in acknowledgment.
"I just don't understand." She says, mostly to herself.
"What?" I ask her.
"Had a lot of bad luck around here," she tells us. Turning around to us she says, "Look, if you'd like to check out I'll give you a full refund."
"No thanks. We don't scare that easy," Dean tells her, with a small smile on his lips.
We find Sam sitting alone in the dark in his room.
Dean walks in, not noticing the darkness of the room or the lack of interaction from his brother.
"There's been another one. Some guy just hung himself in his room."
"Yeah. I saw."
"We've gotta figure this out, and fast. What'd you find out about Granny?"
"You're the damn boss."
Dean and I both turn to Sam looking at him in surprise
"What?"
"You're bossy. And short," Sam laughs, sliding deeper into the chair. "Not as short as Nic, though. She's fucking tiny."
"I am not," I defend myself, trying to contain my giggles at drunk Sam.
"Are you drunk?" Dean asks his brother.
"Yeah" Sam answers, laughing. "So? Stupid."
We finally notices the empty liquor bottles scattered around the room. "Dude, what the hell are you thinking? We're working a case."
"That guy who hung himself. I couldn't save him."
"What are you talking about?" I ask Sam, going over to squat in front of him. "You didn't know, you couldn't have done anything."
Sam shifts his gaze to me. "That's just an damn excuse. I should have found a way to save him. I should have saved Ava too."
Dean approaches Sam, coming to stand behind me.
"Yeah, well, you can't save everyone. Even you said that. "
"No, Dean, you don't understand, all right?" Sam slams the side table. "The more people I save, the more I can change!"
"Change what?" I ask him.
Sam leans forward to me, his hands on his chest.
"My god damned destiny!"
"All right. Time for bed. Come on, Sasquatch." Dean leans over and pulls Sam up by the shoulders. "Come on."
"I need you to watch out for me," Sam says, looking Dean in the eyes.
"Yeah. I always do."
"No! No, no, no. You have to watch out for me, all right? And if I ever ... turn into something that I'm not ... " he pauses, licks his lips and then continues, "you have to kill me.
"Sam," I plead with him. I don't like the way is is thinking.
"Dean! Dad told you to do it, you have to. "
"Yeah, well, Dad's an ass," Dean says, trying to maneuver the moose of a man to his bed.
Sam frowns at Dean's admission. "He never should have said anything. I mean, you don't do that, you don't lay that fucking crap on your kids," Dean explains as he gets Sam situated on the bed.
"No. He was right to say it! Who knows what I might become?" Sam sits back up quickly, his arms flailing out around him. "Even now, everyone around me dies!"
"Yeah, well, I'm not dying, okay? Nic ain't dying. And neither are you. Come on. Sam."
He pushes Sam back down onto the bed, and Sam reaches up and clutches Dean's jacket. Dean's right hand curls in the fabric at his brother's shoulder.
"No, please! Dean, you're the only one who can do it. Promise.," Sam begs.
"Don't ask that of me."
"Dean, please. You have to promise me, dammit!"
Dean pauses and then gives in. "I promise."
"Thanks." Sam says as he reaches up and grabs Dean's face with both hands. "Thank you. You are ... "
"All right. Come on. No chick flick moments." He bats Sam's hands away and Sam falls back, turning over on his stomach to plant his face in the pillow, hugging it with both arms. Dean rubs a hand over his face. "I really, really hate drunk Sammy."
Once we're sure Sam is down for the night, Dean and I decide to go check out the bar we spotted during our earlier search of the downstairs.
We walk in and notice Sherman, the bellhop, behind the bar.
"Find any good antiques?" he asks us as we sit on a couple of bar stools.
"No, we got distracted," I answer, trying to sound disappointed.
"Have a drink?"
"Yeah, thanks." Dean says as Sherwin pours us both a drink. "So, poor guy, huh? Killing himself?"
"That kind of thing seems to be going around lately," Sherwin says, sadly.
"Yeah, yeah, I heard about the other ones. It's almost like this hotel is, uh, cursed or something."
"Every hotel has its spilled blood. If people only knew what's gone on in some of those rooms they've checked into."
"You know a lot about the place, don't you?" I ask him, hoping maybe to continue my earlier interrogation.
"Down to the last nail," Sherwin answers proudly.
"We'd love to hear some stories," Dean tells him.
"Boy, you should never say that to an old man."
We continue talking to Sherwin about the hotel until our drinks are gone. Sherwin takes us on a impromptu tour of the hotel to carry on his tales.
Dean and I follow Sherwin up the wide staircase once again, this time he is showing us old framed photographs on the walls, telling stories that go along with the photos.
"This is little Miss Susan, and her mother Rose. Happier days."
"They're not happy now?" Dean pries.
"Well, would you be, leaving the only home you ever knew?"
"I don't know. I never really knew one," Dean says and it breaks my heart.
"Well, this is Rose's home. It's been in the family over a century. Used to be the family estate," Sherwin tells us. "And now she gets to live in some senior living graveyard, and they tear this place down."
"Yeah, that's too bad," Dean agrees.
We start down the stairs.
"I hear Rose isn't feeling well," I remark.
"No, she isn't. "
"What's wrong with her?" I probe further.
"It's not my business to say, missy."
"Oh," I say, nodding my head.
I see a picture of a girl sitting on a chair with young black woman; the woman has a quincunx necklace. Picking up the picture, I nonchalantly nod toward it to get Dean's attention to it. "Who is this?" I ask Sherwin.
"That's Rose, when she was a little girl."
"Who's that with her?"
That's her nanny, Marie. She looked after Rose more than her own mother."
I see Dean frowns and meet his eyes, both in concern as Sherwin replaces the photo.
The next morning, Dean and I find Sam cuddled up to the toilet in his bathroom. "How you feeling, Sammy?" Dean asks his brother,loudly, only to be answered with a groan.
"I guess mixing whisky and Jäger wasn't such a gangbuster idea, was it? I'll bet you don't remember a thing from last night, do you?"
Sam groans again. "Ohh, I can still taste the tequila." Dean smiles at me.
"Hey Sam," I say walking to the bathroom door and leaning against the frame. "There's a really good hangover remedy - it's a, it's a greasy pork sandwich served up in a dirty ashtray."
Sam heaves. "Oh, I hate you both."
"I know you do," Dean says, unapologetically. " Hey, turns out when Grandma Rose was a tyke, she had a Creole nanny who wore a hoodoo necklace." He walks over to stand beside me. "Whoo!"Dean bats the air, the smell coming from Sam's bathroom rancid.
"So you think she taught Rose hoodoo?" Sam asks, still groaning.
"Yes I do," Dean proclaims, proud of himself.
"All right," Sam says, standing up painfully. "I think it's time we talked to Rose, then."
Dean grimaces. "Oh. You can brush your teeth first."
We knock on the door marked PRIVATE once again. When there is no answer, Dean looks both ways and then lets Sam work on picking the lock. In the room full of creepy dolls, there is a door opened, displaying a dimly lit staircase. One by one we climb the stairs. At the top we are met with a hallway. Grandma Rose is seated in a wheelchair in the room at the end of the hallway. She is facing the window, rain water running down the pane. The three of us approach her cautiously.
"Rose?" I timidly ask, coming around to view her face. I can tell she is trembling and she is staring out at nothing. "We aren't going to hurt you," I say squatting down beside her. "It's okay." I notice she starts trembling harder, never making eye contact. "Guys," I call to them to get their attention. "This woman's had a stroke."
"But hoodoo's hands-on, I mean, you've got to mix herbs, and chant, and build an altar," Dean explains, probably more to himself than to us.
"Yeah. So it can't be Rose. Hey, maybe it's not even hoodoo.," I agree with him.
"Or she could be faking," Dean says, almost sounding hopeful.
"What are you gonna do, poke her with a stick?" Sam whispers asking him, which Dean shrugs and nods. "Dude! You're not gonna poke her with a stick!"
"What the hell?! What are you doing in here?" Susan comes into the room, surprised.
"We just wanted to talk to Rose . . ." "Well, the door was open . . ." Sm and Dean both speak, one's words overlapping the other's.
"Look at her, she is scared out of her wits," Susan says, frantically checking on her mother. "I want you out of my hotel in two minutes or I'm calling the cops. "
We leave without hesitation.
As we are packing out bags into the Impala, I notice Susan walking toward the playground on the property. The swings eerily moving. An empty car in the lot starts up and begins to roll toward Susan, who seems to be mesmerized by the swings. "Guys!" I yell and Sam takes off running, knocking Susan out of path of the vehicle. The car crashes through the swingset and into the big oak tree behind it.
Dean and I run over and help them up. "Are you okay?" Dean asks Susan as he helps her and Sam off the ground. "Come on. Let's get inside!"
I help the boys guide Susan inside. She leads us into the bar and to a table.
"Whiskey?"
"Sure." We all three consent.
"What the hell happened out there?" Susan asks.
"You want the truth, sweetheart?"
"Of course."
"Well, at first we thought it was some sort of hoodoo curse, but that out there? That was definitely a spirit," Dean explains to her. She has a look of disbelief, fear and something I can't identify on her face.
She hands each of us a glass of whiskey.
"You're insane," she tries to blow the explanation off.
"Yeah, it's been said," Dean chuckles.
"Look, I'm sorry, Susan. We don't exactly have time to ease you into this, but we need to know when your mother had the stroke," Sam asks her.
"What does that have to do with any—" Susan queries, unsure of why he's asking about her mother.
"Just answer the question," he pleads.
"About a month ago," she tells us
"Right before the killings began," I acknowledge and she nods.
Sam turns to Dean. "See? So what if Rose was working hoodoo, but not to hurt anyone. To protect them."
"She was using the five spot urns to ward off the spirit," I recognize his train of thought.
"Right, until she had a stroke and she couldn't anymore.," Dean says, slowly getting on board with the idea.
"I don't believe this," Susan mutters.
"Listen, sister, that car didn't try to run you down by itself, okay?" Dean tells her. "I mean, I guess it did, technically, but, but the spirit can - forget it."
Sam interrupts him. "Look, believe what you want. But the fact is you and your family are in danger, all right? So you need to clear everybody out of here: your employees, your mother, your daughters, everyone."
"Um, I only have one daughter."
"One?" It's now our turn to be puzzled.
"I thought Tyler had a sister named Maggie." I exclaim.
"Maggie's imaginary," Susan says, looking guilty.
I look to the boys, terrified. We just found our ghost. "Where's Tyler?"
We follow Susan up to the playroom to find Tyler
"Tyler!"
When we get into the room the floor is littered with broken dolls causing Susan to start to panic.
"Oh my god. Tyler," She runs out of the room and comes back still yelling for her daughter. "Tyler! She's not here!"
"Susan. Tell us what you know about Maggie," I ask her
"Uh, not much. Um, Tyler's been talking about her since Mom got sick."
"Okay, did you ever know anyone by that name?"
"Uh, no ..."
"Think, think, I mean, somebody that could have lived here, might have passed away?"
"Oh my god. My mom,." Susan says. She is beginning to freak out. "My mom had a sister named Margaret. She barely spoke about her."
"Did Margaret happen to die here when she was a kid?" Sam asks.
"She drowned in the pool," Susan tells us.
Dean and I make eye contact. We are both thinking the same thing. "Come on," he says as he takes off back downstairs and outside.
The four of us run through the gardens to the pool house. We reach the door but it's locked tight. Sam and Dean start pounding at the glass, trying to break it.
"Tyler!" Susan screams over the pounding. "Tyler!"
"Mommy!" We hear Tyler call out before a scream and a splash.
"Is there another entrance?" Dean asks.
"Around back."
"All right, let's go," he looks to Sam and me and nods, "Keep working."
I offer to look around for a stone or rock or something to break the glass. As I'm hurrying through the overgrown grounds around the pool house, I fail to see the root sticking up out of the dirt. My foot catches on it and seeing that I'm practically running, it lurches me ahead and as I am falling toward the Earth, I hear bones crunching and cracking. "Motherfucker!"
Sam comes up to me asking if I'm okay and I yell at him to save the girl. He runs back to the door and notices a large potted planter. He pulls the plant out, picks up the heavy pot, and starts pounding the door with it.
Sam finally breaks open the door and takes off inside to save Tyler, diving into the pool from the balcony.
When Dean and Susan get to him, he has pulled Tyler out of the water and is trying to perform CPR. Tyler suddenly spits and sputters and water gushes out of her mouth.
"Thank god! Thank god, thank god," Susan is chanting as she falls to her knees beside her daughter.
"Mommy!" Tyler cries.
"Yeah, baby, I'm here."
"Tyler, do you see Maggie anywhere?" Sam asks her.
Tyler looks around and then looks at her mother, "No, she's gone. Mommy."
Dean speaks up, looking at his brother. "Where's Nic?"
"Outside. Think she might have broken her ankle," Sam says after pulling himself out of the pool.
Dean takes off outside looking for his girlfriend.
"Hey baby. What did you do?" Dean asks, squatting down next to me.
I'm laying on the ground, watching clouds float by in the sky. I knew it was useless to try and get up. There had been too many bones cracking for me to be able to put weight on my foot.
"Did you get her? Did you save Tyler?" I ask. looking at him, not the least bit worried about myself. It was my idiocy that got me hurt. The case was more important, saving Tyler was more important.
"Yea, Sammy got to her. She's okay. She'll live."
"Good."
"Can you get up?"
"I don't think so. Stupid fucking tree," I say, raising up looking down at my foot tangled with the root.
Dean chuckles, untangling my leg and wraps my arm around his neck and puts his arm under my knees, lifting me bridal style.
"I like having you in my arms," he says, kissing my forehead.
I roll my eyes. "Shut it Winchester." I wince at the pain. "I think it might be broken."
"Oh it definitely is," he tells me as we meet up with Sam and the others.
Susan and Tyler go into the hotel to retrieve Rose so they can leave after Dean settles me into the backseat of the Impala.
Sam leans on the open door. "You gonna be okay, Nic?"
"It's broken, Sam. I'm going to be demoted to research while you and Dean go out and fight the big bads. No, I'm not okay," I tell him, agitated. Aggravated at myself for not pay better attention. Why didn't I see that stupid root sticking up out of the ground. I am a hunter for God sake! It's been ingrained in my head to always be aware of your surroundings. I have fought vampires, witches, werewolves; hell, just recently, I fought and conquered a fucking shadow demon on my own, and yet a simple wood limb sticking out of the ground takes me out.
Sam opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by screaming coming from inside the hotel. I watch the boys take off at a run, heading inside. A short time later, Sam appears holding a distraught Susan by the shoulders, Dean behind them holding Tyler on his hip. An ambulance pulls up and I watch as the three adults speak to the paramedics and then Susan, taking Tyler from Dean, leads them inside. Sam and Dean walk over to the still opened back door of the Impala.
"Medics said it was another stroke."
"Rose is dead?" I ask and the both nod. "Do you think Margaret could have had something to do with it?"
"We don't know,: Dean says.
"But it's possible, yeah," Sam confirms.
The three of us watch as the paramedics exit the hotel, their gurney with a black body bag between them. Susan and Tyler are following close behind. As the ambulance pulls away, a cab pulls in. Susan walks over to where the guys are standing and I'm propped up in the back seat.
"Susan, I'm sorry" Sam tells her.
"You have nothing to apologize for. You've given me everything.
She turns to Tyler, "Ready to go, kiddo?
"Yeah.
"Now Tyler, you're sure Maggie's not around anymore?
"I'm sure. I'd see her.
"I guess whatever's going on must be over.
Sam walks with Susan and Tyler and holds the taxi door open for them.
Before getting in the taxi, she turns and gives Sam a full-body hug. Dean smirks. I giggle at his expression.
SAM shuts the door behind her and walks back to the Impala.
"Think you could have hooked up some MILF action there, bud," Dean quips. "I'm serious, I think she liked you." Dean shuts the rear door of the car and walks around to the driver's side.
"Yeah, that's all she needs," Sam says. rolling his eyes.
"Well, you saved the mom, you saved the girl. Not a bad day," Dean smiles as he slides in behind the steering wheel. "'Course you know, I could have saved 'em myself, but I didn't want you to feel useless."
"All right, I appreciate it," Sam remarks, pulling open the passenger door and sliding in.
"Now," Dean states as he turns the key in the ignition. "Let's get hopalong Cassidy back there to the hospital."
"Not funny, BABE!" I retort as we pull away from the inn.