Something Like Hope
The car Faith stole was small, even by her standards. It didn't even have any backseat. But it was the first unattended car she'd been able to find with a full tank of gas, and it had been easy enough to switch the plates before hot-wiring the engine and punching it all the way to Maryville.
The sun hadn't yet risen when she arrived at the hospital, parking far away from the entrance and taking a moment to simply breathe before she dialled Sam's number. He answered on the first ring. "Faith?"
"It's me," she told him. "I'm in the parking lot. Where are you?"
"I'll come down and meet you," he said. "Visitor's entrance, east wall."
When she got there, Sam was leant against the brick wall, slumped with exhaustion. It seemed to drag his whole body down, making him look shorter than before. "Sam!" she called, and when he looked up, she saw his face covered in scratches from the accident.
He looked so deeply relieved to see her that Faith didn't even hesitate before throwing her arms around his hulking shoulders and pulling him into a tight embrace. He gripped her back, and though he didn't tremble, she could sense he was unsteady. And she didn't blame him – all he had was his dad and Dean. And if the thought of something happening to Dean made her want to throw up, then she couldn't imagine how terrible Sam must have been feeling.
She pulled back, peering up into Sam's face, pale and washed out in the light of the hospital entrance. "Are you okay?" she asked, eyes flashing over his body, half expecting to find protruding bones and bloody gashes in need of sewing up.
"I'm fine, Faith," Sam assured her. "I can't – I mean, I just… Thanks for coming-"
"Shut up. You were there for me when…" she trailed off, but then again, it didn't really need saying. "Where's Dean? Is he okay?"
Sam's jaw worked as he swallowed, the question hitting some nerve. Faith spared him from having to answer, reaching out to grab his arm.
"Can we go see him?"
"He's getting some scans," said Sam quietly. "Why don't we grab a coffee while we wait? The cafeteria's twenty-four hours, and I feel like I've been on my feet for a month."
Faith agreed, and together they made their way to the cafeteria. Faith dug the spare change from her pocket and slipped it into a machine, making herself a coffee so strong it could put even Bobby's to shame.
Sam did the same, saying nothing, and then once they had their drinks, they chose an empty table by the low windows on the far side of the room. The lights were dimmed because of the hour, so Faith could see out into the night, the trees outside bathed in gentle moonlight. She got the sense Sam needed time and so said nothing, just sipping her tar-like coffee and waiting for him to gather his thoughts.
He began slowly, catching her up on everything that had happened since they'd separated the night before last. Strange, how that afternoon in Bobby's front room with the demon seemed so very long ago, when barely a full forty-eight hours had passed.
Faith listened without interruption, focusing on Sam's words with an unprecedented focus. She told herself it was just to get caught up – to understand how they'd gotten here, but all the while she knew, deep down, that she was grasping at anything to distract her from the thought of Dean laying upstairs, unconscious in a hospital bed.
"I was conscious after the crash, but Dad and Dean…" Sam finished his tale, the cup in his hand trembling as he brought it to his lips. "They're saying Dad's pretty much out of the woods, which is about the only good news I have."
He laughed; a tired, bitter sound. He looked like hell, even beyond the cuts and bruises covering his exposed skin. Faith reached out, placing her hand over his where it lay on the tabletop, curled into a fist. Sam looked up from the depths of his coffee, brow furrowed.
"Why did you call me, Sam?" she asked quietly. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you did, but…"
"We haven't known you for very long," Sam finished, that same bitter smile in place. "I guess…I was scared, and I felt alone. And despite not knowing you for long, I dunno, I guess I figured we were friends."
She scoffed. "Of course, we're friends, ya idjit," she said, flicking his wrist playfully.
Sam chuckled hoarsely. "Plus, I thought Dean might…uh…I dunno, want you here, or something."
That gave her pause. "Dean?" she blinked. "Dean can barely stand me, Sam."
"What?" asked Sam, genuinely perplexed. "Why would you think that?"
She stared at him like he were an idiot. "Because Dean can barely stand me, Sam," she said, slower.
Sam rolled his eyes. "He's an idiot, but he doesn't hate you, Faith. He's only trying to push you away in some misguided attempt to keep you safe. And he's only doing that in the first place because he cares."
Faith said nothing, taking a deep gulp of too-strong coffee and staring at him over the rim of her cup.
"Look, if you knew how we'd grown up…" Sam trailed off, making a face and seeming to change his mind about whatever he'd been about to say. "Hunting isn't exactly a lifestyle either of us are going to endorse."
"But you did," she pointed out. "You were on my side, those first few days. It was your idea to bring me to Bobby."
Sam's smile was grim. "If we met today, it probably wouldn't have gone down that way," he admitted. Surprised, Faith sat back in her chair and stared at him expectantly. "Jess had only died a few weeks before you and I met – and back then, I was still so full of rage. I wanted revenge, and when your situation was so similar to mine… I dunno, I guess I sort of projected onto you."
Faith pressed her thumbnail into the soft Styrofoam of her little cup, leaving an imprinted pattern behind. "You think it was a bad idea?" she asked. "You think I shouldn't be doing this?"
"Well, from what Bobby's told us, you're actually pretty damn good at it," Sam chuckled, the sound ringing with exhaustion. "A natural, he says. Besides, given your…situation…you'd likely have fallen into it anyway. At least this way – it happened the right way, with the right people."
She supposed he had a point there. "Dean could be less of a dick about it, though."
"He's a dick because he cares about you."
Despite the leap of her pulse, her stare remained flat and unimpressed. "Oh, well, in that case…"
Sam shook his head, his smile faint. "Yeah, I know."
They sat in companionable silence for a long few minutes, and Faith watched as the sun slowly began to peek out over the horizon, bathing the world in its golden glow. The sky became the colour of too-ripe peaches.
"I think you care about him too," Sam finally said, and Faith looked back at him shrewdly. "That's also why I rang you," he admitted. "I thought you might want to see him…just in case. The doctors said I should…" he winced, "…prepare."
Pain lanced through her body, like someone had staked her clean through the heart. Faith hadn't known Dean for long, or even very well, but Sam was right – she cared about him. She went to take another sip of coffee, only to realise her cup was empty. With a sigh she sat it back on the table and dropped her chin into her palm.
"But that's not gonna happen," Sam said suddenly and with such unwavering resolve that Faith looked up in surprise. The determination on his face alone could have powered a small city for a week. "There'll be something, somewhere. A spell, or a deal, or…I dunno – something. Dean's going to get through this. Even if I have to raise Hell to do it."
Faith could tell from the look in his eyes that he meant every single word, and something like hope flared to life in her gut. "Well, all right then," she agreed, "I've always wanted to do a little Hell raising."
The look Sam shot her was thick with gratitude, but she just waved it away. Sam glanced down at the watch on his wrist. "Dean should be out of his scans now. Wanna go up and see him?"
"Absolutely."
They threw away their cups and took the stairs up a level to the intensive care ward, where Dean and John were both being kept. Before they could reach Dean's room, however, a nurse stepped in their path.
"Unless you're family, visiting hours aren't until ten," she said sternly.
Sam opened his mouth, but Faith was prepared. She held up her left hand, the fake but convincing ring on her finger sparkling in the white lights of the corridor. She'd yet to take it off from her hunt with Toby, and she thought serendipity was a funny thing. "I'm Dean Winchester's fiancée," she told the nurse earnestly.
The nurse's eyes darted to Sam, who quickly nodded, and the nurse stepped aside with a sigh. The ward was getting busy as the day began, and they had to dodge a growing stream of patients and nurses before they reached Dean's room.
"Ready?" Sam asked, his hand hovering over the handle.
No, Faith wanted to say, but she steeled herself and said, "As ever."
He pushed open the door and they stepped inside the room. Faith's heart seized up at the sight of Dean. Usually he was overflowing with life, but now he lay still and lifeless, tubes running from his face and hands, likely the only things standing between him and death. Sam stood in the doorway and stared at his brother, while Faith walked tentatively forwards.
She sat almost robotically in the chair beside his bed, then reached out to gently run her fingertips along the length of his exposed forearm. His skin was cool to the touch, so different to the warmth he'd had the other day, covering her hands with his own, soothing her after the death of Rumsfeld – something he hadn't even had any reason to care about.
He cares about you, Sam's words echoed in her head.
"Hey, Dean," she whispered, very gently taking his hand in hers. It felt all wrong – too cold, too limp.
She felt something cold brush her face, like a fingertip running across the jut of her cheekbone. With a gasp Faith turned, but there was nothing to her right but empty air. Although, she did suppose that just because she couldn't see anything, that didn't mean there was nothing there.
"Faith?" Sam asked, a frown in his voice.
Before she could answer him, a new voice appeared, sudden enough to make her flinch. "Your father's awake," said the doctor in a deep, smooth voice. "You can go see him if you like." Sam stepped aside and Faith looked at the doctor. He had a weathered face and kind eyes that narrowed at her in suspicion. "Young lady, I'm afraid visiting hours aren't until-"
Faith held up her fake ring. "He's my fiancé," she lied point-blank, with such confidence that the doctor immediately nodded, a sympathetic look on his face. "Is he going to be okay?" she asked, and didn't have to fake the way her voice wavered.
"Well, he sustained serious injury: blood loss, contusions to his liver and kidney. But it's the head trauma I'm worried about," the doctor said gently. "There's early signs of cerebral oedema."
Faith wasn't entirely sure what the majority of that meant – the most she knew about the human body was the right places to slice with a knife if you wanted a quick, clean death.
"What can we do?" asked Sam roughly in the now.
"Well, we won't know his full condition until he wakes up," the doctor said. "If he wakes up," he amended, the words sounding disconcertingly like a death sentence.
Faith's heart seized again, and Sam went rigid. "If?"
"I have to be honest, most people with this degree of injury wouldn't have survived this long," the doctor said, gentle but no less firm. "He's fighting very hard. But you need to have realistic expectations." He turned to look at Faith, the pity in his eyes almost too much to bear. "I assume you're his next of kin?"
She'd already lied about one thing: why not another? "That's right," she said with no glance at Sam to give her away. "Do you have anything you need me to sign…?"
"I'll send a nurse in with the paperwork soon," he assured her. "I hate to bring this up now, but the insurance…"
Sam stepped forwards. "He's on our family's plan. I'll take care of it."
The doctor nodded once, eyes already sliding back to Faith. "Well, if you have any other questions, just buzz a nurse. I'll be back to check your fiancé's vitals in an hour."
"Thank you," she said softly.
With a final, polite smile, the doctor took his leave. Sam shut the door behind him, sealing the three of them inside the room. Faith took a deep breath and dropped her head into her hands, which was beginning to throb something awful. She suddenly remembered how long it had been since she'd last slept, but pushed the thought away and looked back up at Sam.
"Okay," she said bracingly. "So clearly, modern medicine isn't going to cut it."
"I know you haven't been at this very long, but do you know anyone…?" he trailed off helplessly.
"I can make a few calls."
He raised his brow. "A few?"
"What can I say? I'm a people person," she drawled, attempting a smile that fell terribly flat. Sam's expression was sceptical, but she didn't bother trying to defend her position, just turning that flat, sad smile onto Dean. He was so pale, and when she gingerly ran her fingertips down his arm again, she found it even colder than before.
"I should go talk to my dad, now that he's awake," Sam said quietly. "He'll know what to do; about the insurance, and about…"
"Yeah," she swallowed thickly. "I'll stay with Dean; make some calls."
"Good." Sam's hand came down on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Thanks again, Faith. For coming."
She looked up at him with a sad, sad smile. "I wouldn't be anywhere else."
He left her alone then, but rather than immediately call her contacts, she instead took time to just breathe. She shut her eyes, leaning down until her forehead pressed gently to the mattress beside Dean's chest. Knowing all these machines were the only thing keeping him alive…it made her skin crawl.
Faith thought she felt something on her head: a stab of cold and a shudder that wracked through her body. It made her skin pebble as if she'd stepped naked into the snow. Faith lifted her head, narrowing her eyes at the empty room. There was nothing there, which was good, because she hadn't brought anything inside to defend herself with except the knife she always kept at her ankle.
Looking back at Dean, she allowed herself a moment to just stare at him. Gingerly, she reached out a hand, trailing a fingertip down the slope of his face, his day-old stubble tickling her skin.
"You'd better be okay, you asshole," she whispered to him like he could still hear. "I don't need anyone else dying on me. Not now. You hear me? You stay alive, or I'll claw my way into the afterlife and kick your ass myself."
She received no snarky answer in response, and that silence hurt more than any of his words ever could. With a sigh, she leant back in her chair and pulled her phone from her back pocket. Ellen's number was easy to find, one of very few actual numbers in her contacts, and she hit call without waiting to psych herself out of it.
She hoped Ellen would be up and awake by now, but as the phone started to ring out, began to doubt herself. Ellen owned a bar – it made sense that she'd work nights and sleep late until opening. Just before disappointment could truly take root in her gut, the line connected and Ellen's usual no-nonsense voice said, "Hello?"
"Hey, Ellen," she said, letting out a puff of air. "It's Faith."
"Faith," Ellen sounded pleased to hear from her, and some tension in Faith's chest eased. "Are you all right? What's going on?"
"Oh, you know, this and that…" she murmured, but even to her own ears she sounded wooden, her eyes locked onto Dean's slack, pale face. The tubes running from his nose and mouth looked uncomfortable.
Was he dreaming, she wondered? Was he sitting in some dive bar, drinking some expensive whiskey, chatting up some cute girl? That was what she assumed his dreams were about, anyway. She supposed she didn't really know him well enough to know either way.
"Faith?" Ellen asked, and Faith realised she'd trailed off into silence. "You okay, honey?"
Faith blinked back to herself. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"
"Well, I assume this ain't a social call."
Faith chewed on her words a moment, considering. "I need some information," she finally confessed. "I don't know too many people yet – being as new to this as I am, and I thought, seeing as you grew up in the biz, you'd be the person to come to."
"Ash still trying those terrible pickup lines on you?" Ellen sounded amused.
"Every time we talk. It's like he has a systematic list."
Ellen laughed, and the sound eased something coiled tight in Faith's chest.
She didn't say the other reason Ellen had been her first call; that she was the only person she had in her life who'd known her mother. She'd only known the woman a few days, but already she was the closest thing Faith had had to a maternal figure since she was eight months old.
"So, what's the problem?" Ellen asked. "I assume you're on a job?"
Faith didn't know how to answer that question, so she asked one of her own instead. "What do you know about healing rituals? Spells, incantations, or any trustworthy creatures with healing abilities? Is there anything at all that can bring someone back from the brink of death?" Her voice broke over the last word, but Ellen didn't seem to notice.
"You talkin' 'bout necromancy?" Ellen sounded wary.
"Brink of death, Ellen," she said. "I'm not looking to recreate Frankenstein's Monster."
"Well, there're plenty of ways to stave off death – but Faith, none of them come without a price."
"We'll pay it, whatever it is," Faith swore without thinking. "What do I need to do?"
When Ellen spoke, her words were laced with sympathy. "It's not that easy," she said softly. "It's dark magic, Faith. It's meant to be avoided, not just even in, but especially in times of crisis." Faith didn't know what to say to that, so she bit down on her tongue. "I know it ain't easy to hear, honey, but when it's someone's time, it just is, and there's nothing we can do about that."
"Yeah," Faith agreed hastily, then continued, "but all the magic in the world; I mean, all the hoodoo and voodoo and miracles, and you're saying there's nothing I can do?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," said Ellen without flinching. She was that kind of a woman; to tell it like it is, not how she wished it would be. If Dean weren't wasting away before her eyes, Faith might have even agreed. "That's why we're the hunters and they're the hunted," Ellen continued calmly. "Because messing with that sort of thing is all that separates us from them. It's a line, Faith. Don't cross it."
Faith nodded even though Ellen couldn't see. She said nothing, her throat feeling too full of emotion to choke out words.
"Who is it, hon?" Ellen asked quietly.
Faith stared at Dean, close enough to count the long eyelashes spread across his high cheekbones. "Somebody I care about, even though I know I probably shouldn't," she sighed, more honest than she'd been – even with herself – in a long, long time. "I should probably go. I've gotta call Toby and check in."
"All right," said Ellen with a matching sigh. "Hey, don't you be a stranger now, Faith. Ya hear?"
"I won't," she promised. "And Ellen? Thanks."
She hung up the phone, then did as she'd said she would and called Toby. He answered on the first ring. "Where are you? Are you okay? How are things?"
"Anyone ever tell you that you're kind of a mother hen?"
Toby's scoff was bitter. "I don't exactly have any friends to tease me about it, do I?"
Eyes on Dean, Faith tried to smile. "Then I guess I'll just have to up my game. I'm fine, by the way. Jacked the first car I saw, had a full tank of gas and everything. I'm sitting with Dean while Sam speaks with their dad."
"Dean's awake?"
Faith's chest wrenched like someone had taken her heart and twisted. "No," she said, the word quiet. "No, he's…" she cleared her throat and told herself she wasn't crying, the air conditioning was just stinging her eyes. "They're uh, they're actually not sure if he'll … if he'll wake up at all."
A beat. "Faith, I'm sorry."
Her lip threatened to wobble but she bit down on it to steady it and whispered, "Yeah."
"The salt-and-burn went smoothly," Toby said conversationally, and Faith was so relieved by the change of topic that she could have kissed him. "I'm going to hang around another night, just to be certain the highway's safe, but I think we got it in one."
"That's good," said Faith, but her heart wasn't quite in it.
"I'll meet you there around lunch tomorrow," he continued. "It's the one just north of town, right?"
"Right." There was a moment of silence, and the question bubbled at Faith's lips. She was helpless but to ask it. "Toby, Dean's in real bad shape. Do you think…I mean, do you know of anyone – a witchdoctor maybe, or I dunno, someone who might be able to…"
"What's dead should stay dead, Faith," said Toby grimly. Faith's heart twisted again, and she was glad nobody was around to see the way her face crumpled.
"Yeah," she whispered. "That's what Ellen said."
Toby hesitated. "Look…" he sighed heavily, and Faith didn't bother to pretend she wasn't holding onto hope. "There might be a few people I can call. I know this one guy over in Pennsylvania; he's no witchdoctor, but he knows a guy who knows a guy… Point is, I'll see what I can do."
"But no promises," she finished.
"No promises," he confirmed grimly. There was a beat, and Faith reached out to trail her fingertips once more over the cool skin of Dean's arm. "We've lost enough people between us, Faith," Toby said softly. "I'm going to do my best to make sure we don't lose any more."
"Thanks," she whispered, meaning it in her soul. There was a quiet knocking at the door before it creaked open. Faith instinctively went for the knife strapped to her leg, but forced herself to relax when she saw it was just a nurse, dragging a large machine of some kind behind her.
"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," the nurse said apologetically. "No phones allowed on the ward."
Feeling vaguely like she had a hand wrapped around her throat, Faith said, "Toby, I've gotta go. I'll check in tonight, okay?"
"Okay," he agreed. "And try to get some rest. You haven't slept properly in days."
"Okay Mom," she sniped back, then shut the phone before he could come up with anything smart to shoot back. The nurse smiled at her, an older lady with blonde hair that was greying at the temples and wearing pink scrubs that made her brown eyes pop. "What're you doing?" Faith wondered, watching as the nurse began to touch and prod at all of Dean's wires.
"Just checking his vitals," she said cheerfully. "You're his fiancée?"
The conversations with Toby and Ellen still fresh in her mind, Faith nearly completely forgot her cover, but thankfully remembered at the last second, glancing down at the fake ring and trying to look like a woman in love. "Yeah."
"It's a beautiful ring," said the nurse. "You're a lucky girl."
Faith tried to smile. "I will be, once he pulls through."
"Oh, I'm sure he will dear," the nurse smiled, and Faith looked up in surprise.
She wasn't sure nurses were strictly allowed to assure the families of intensive care patients that their loved ones would make it through. Wasn't that just asking for a lawsuit? She'd have to ask Sam. "I hope so," she said instead, her smile strained.
As the nurse wrapped a pressure cuff around Dean's arm, she said, "All he needs is a little faith, and he'll pull through."
Faith blinked at the woman in surprise, but really, it was a perfectly normal thing to say. Coincidence; obviously. "Can I ask a question?" Faith asked softly.
"Of course," the nurse replied, half her attention on her task.
"Do you think he can hear me – us, I mean? Anyone talking around him? Do you think he can hear, but he just can't wake up?"
The nurse took a moment to consider the question, and perhaps how desperate Faith was for the answer. "I think he can," she finally said, removing the pressure cuffs with deft, gentle hands. "There have been thousands of cases where patients have relayed things said to them while they were in comas."
Faith's stomach dropped out like at the crest of a rollercoaster. "Is that what he's in? A coma?"
The nurse's expression turned pitying. "Yes, dear," she said softly. "For now."
Swallowing around that persistent lump in her throat, Faith nodded and took Dean's hand in hers. It still felt all wrong, limp and cold and dead, but it would look suspicious to pull away, and besides, maybe the nurse was right, and Dean really was in there somewhere, aware of everything happening around him. The least she could do was make sure he didn't feel alone.
"I'll leave you be," the nurse said, already wheeling her little cart back the way she'd come. "Just hit that button if you need me, dear."
Faith lifted a hand in silent acknowledgement and the door was tugged shut behind her, leaving her alone once more with Dean. Faith was still holding his cold hand, and even though now that there was no one around to pretend for, she still found she couldn't quite pull her hand away.
If she pressed her fingertips to the inside of his wrist, she could feel the slow but steady beating of his pulse. It was more comforting than she'd expected, that lazy rhythm reminding her his heart was still beating; he was still alive.
She wasn't sure how long she sat there, fingertips pressed to that slow pulse and her eyes glued to Dean's face, tracing over his stupidly long lashes, the full pout of his lips, the strong line of his jaw and the stubble that dusted it like dark snow. She drank him in, hoping and praying to a god she didn't believe in that it wouldn't be the last time she got to do so.
So lost in her silent musings, she didn't even hear the door open until Sam was saying her name.
Turning to look at him, Faith dropped Dean's hand. For the stretch of an instant, the loss of his pulse against her fingers was like losing a limb, but she got over it quick, turning to look at Sam, her expression blank. "What's up? Your dad doing okay?"
"Yeah," said Sam quietly. "He's okay. Listen, Bobby's almost here."
She sat up straighter. "He is?"
"I called him to come tow the Impala back to his place."
"Oh God, the Impala," said Faith, horror dawning on her. "Is it okay? It's not a complete write-off, is it?"
Sam's laugh took her by surprise. "Yeah, it's toast. But I know Dean, and the moment he's up and walking again, he'll wanna rebuild it from the ground up. All he needs is one piece, and he'll be able to make it run."
Faith looked back at Dean. "Yeah," she murmured. "That sounds like him."
"Listen, the Impala's got some…sensitive stuff in the trunk," he said delicately. It was doubtful they were being spied upon, but it was better to be safe than sorry. "I've gotta head over to the impound lot it was taken to, to clear it out before Bobby tows it back up north."
Faith was nodding before he was done. "Of course. I'll stay here with Dean."
"Thanks," Sam told her with a nod. "Call me if there's any change, all right? I should be back in an hour or two."
"You got it."
Sam left her with another squeeze of her shoulder. Once again alone with Dean, Faith stared at him, laid on the hospital bed, still as death. But finally, even staring got to be too much – it just reminded her of all the ways his body was broken. So instead, she climbed to her feet and began a slow perusal of the room. A drawer in the cabinet on his lefthand side had a stack of old magazines and a half-used book of crossword puzzles. Faith ducked into the corridor long enough to steal a pen from the nurses' station, slipping like a wraith back into Dean's room and taking the seat between his bed and the window.
"Ready to help me with a crossword, Winchester?" she asked him, surprised to find she didn't feel stupid talking to him. It didn't matter that he couldn't talk back; if there was even the slightest chance that he could hear her in there, then she'd talk. If only so that he knew he wasn't alone. "What's a seven-letter word for 'theatre seating area'?"
There was, of course, no response.
"You're terrible at this," she muttered even as she toed off her boots and set her sock-clad feet on the edge of his bed, leaning back in her uncomfortable chair and settling in for the long haul.
Nothing was okay, but maybe if she pretended it was, then the gaping hole in her chest wouldn't cave in on itself, leaving her empty as she'd been when Nate died. Empty like nothing else in this world. Just a yawning void of black.
She'd nearly completed a whole crossword – and had gotten into a very one-sided argument with Dean (which was really no surprise; she could've argued with a lamp post, given the opportunity, and this was Dean they were talking about) – when the door creaked open. She looked up expecting another nurse, pen twirling like a tiny baton around her fingers, only to frown at the sight of a tall, ruggedly handsome, dark-haired man in the doorway before her.
Faith shifted forwards, bringing her leg casually towards her body, fingers inching towards her knife. "Can I help you?" she asked combatively.
To her surprise, the man just smiled. It wasn't a happy expression, but rather one that echoed with bone-deep sorrow, a hint of regret, and some other unnameable emotion. For some reason, it reminded her starkly of Sam. "You must be Faith," the man said softly, eyes shining with that nameless something.
Knowledge maybe. More than any one man should have to bear.
"Yeah," she said, eyes narrowed suspiciously, still inching fingers towards her knife. He didn't look like a doctor, or a nurse of any kind. In fact, he looked like a patient… Maybe even like a patient who'd just been in a violent car accident…
"John Winchester," he introduced himself, glancing pointedly down at the hilt of the exposed knife she was reaching for, a hint of a smirk on his lips, like he could read all her thoughts. Faith stopped inching her way to the knife, relaxing back into her chair with a sigh.
"Oh, right, of course," she murmured, like a moron. "Um, nice to meet you."
"You too," said John, taking a seat in the chair on Dean's right, across from her. His eyes remained on her, even with his unconscious son on the bed between them. Almost like he wasn't sure he trusted her not to attack. "The boys speak very highly of you."
"Bullshit," she said, then winced.
But John only chuckled, the sound like whiskey poured over fresh ice. "No, you're right," he agreed huskily. "I think Dean's exact words were 'stubborn little hellfire'."
"Well," she muttered, pausing long enough to shoot the unconscious Dean a scowl, "that's not derogatory at all."
"Believe me," John smiled again, eyes shining, "it was a compliment."
Faith wasn't sure what to say, but John seemed content to let them sit in silence. Finally, his eyes slid from Faith, settling on his comatose son, a sadness deep in their depths. Faith sat awkwardly in her chair, unsure what she was meant to do. Minutes dragged on and still John said nothing, seeming lost in deep thought.
Finally, Faith realised that perhaps her presence was no longer welcome. She sensed he might want a minute alone with his dying son.
She began to climb to her feet. "Why don't I go grab us some coffee-"
"I know about your mother."
John's words were so unexpected that Faith collapsed back to her chair like someone had shoved her into it. John was smiling that sad, unknowable smile again. Faith couldn't find words.
"I didn't know her personally, of course – she died before I ever became a hunter," John began, and Faith stopped breathing, every atom of her focused on what he was saying. "But I know all about the case that killed her. I thought for a while – the demon I was hunting at the time – I thought maybe it was part of the Hades Cult. I became kind of … obsessed with the story of your mom," he admitted, almost boyish in his sheepishness. Faith was rapt. "I studied how she took down the Cult; studied every inch of that damn curse until I was sure the demon I was looking for had nothing to do with it."
Mouth dry, she rasped, "Then?"
"Then I moved on," he shrugged. "Looked into a new case, became obsessed with that one, and then the next. It was a relentless cycle."
Faith wasn't sure where to begin, so she settled for a blanket, "What do you know about the curse?"
John looked away from Dean's face to pin her with a knowing stare. She felt like he could see through her, and it left her feeling stripped naked. "What do you know about the curse?" he countered calmly.
"Frustratingly little. I know my mother banished the Cult back to Hell, and that it cost her her life. I know that somehow it has something to do with me, even after all this time. And I know that, whatever it is, it got my boyfriend killed."
John cocked his head to the side, assessing her with placid eyes. "It's going to get you killed too, one day, and everyone you ever dare to love," he said. It wasn't a threat, but also wasn't quite a warning, either. Maybe a promise? Faith's heart squeezed and she shrank away from Dean's father like he'd threatened to slit her throat himself. A chill shuddered through her, some part of her knowing, in her bones, that it was the truth.
She took a moment to swallow the lump in her throat, straightening her spine and pinning John with a flat stare of her own. "Are you going to actually tell me anything useful?" she demanded. With Dean at death's door and Toby halfway across the state, she wasn't in the mood to play games.
John's smile was mysterious and sad; she wondered if he was capable of making a smile that didn't shine with sorrow.
"You'll know when you're meant to," he said softly, turning those unknowable eyes back to Dean. "You care about him?" he asked, the change of topic so sudden that Faith nearly got whiplash. She stared at him, trying to make sense of this frustrating, enigmatic man; trying to figure out how someone like Dean had come from this.
"Dean saved my life," she said, the only answer she was willing to give.
"And brought you to hunting."
"Well, I didn't really give him much choice," she admitted. "I guess he was right about the stubborn part. But I was always heading here, to this. At least this way, I don't have to do it alone."
John's steady stare turned thoughtful as he peered down at his lifeless son. "Will you do me a favour, Faith Jett?"
She flinched, just slightly. "It's Bueller, actually."
He looked up at her with that unhappy smile. "I think you'll change your mind about that, sooner or later." Before she could ask what the fuck that was supposed to mean, John said, "Will you? Do me a favour?"
She peered at him hesitantly, not a clue what was coming. "Yes?"
"Don't fall in love with Dean," he said, the words hard like steel and sharp like a threat. Faith locked her jaw together hard and stared at him, speechless. John didn't waver; he was deathly serious. "Not even for a moment. Not even if he falls in love with you. Do you understand me?"
Faith wasn't sure she did, but the weight of his hard was too much for her to bear, and as her heart pounded beneath her breast, all she could do was nod, not entirely sure what she was – or wasn't –agreeing to.
John's smile became a little less sad, although his eyes still shone with grief. "Thank you," he sighed, and she could tell he meant it down to his marrow.
Faith wasn't sure she could handle any more, so she put the forgotten crossword book on Dean's bedside table and stood smoothly to her feet. "I think I will go get those coffees," she whispered. "How do you take yours?"
"Black, no sugar," he said, attention already back on Dean. Faith nodded once and made for the door.
As she reached the threshold, the thin hairs on the back of Faith's neck prickled, the sensation telling her she was being watched. She looked back into the room, but John had his head bent over Dean's body, paying her no attention. There was nobody else in the room, but the weight of eyes never went away. Like there was somebody in the room with them, watching, listening.
Shaking off the sensation, Faith left and made a direct beeline for the stairs leading to the cafeteria, intent on shaking off what had been one of the most confusing encounters of her life.
By the time she returned to Dean's room, her head wasn't quite such a roar of unanswered questions, and she felt calmer than before. John, however, was gone. Frowning, Faith put his coffee down on his side of Dean's bed and returned to her spot between Dean and the window.
"If I can finish this crossword by myself, you owe me a Coke," she told Dean conversationally, because pretending he could hear her was the only way she could handle being in the room with him like this without losing her mind in the process.
She finished that crossword – though whether she completed it successfully was very much up for debate – then started on another. As it grew later in the day, she began to wonder when Sam would be getting back but didn't call to ask. He was busy and she didn't want to bother him.
The afternoon sun was shining in through the windows, warm and golden, and the whole world felt peaceful – Faith should have known everything was about to go to shit.
Dean twitched, a movement she just barely caught from the corner of her eye. She stared at him, waiting, and when it happened again, she reached forwards and pressed the call button on his bed. "Dean?" she asked, putting aside her third cup of coffee of the day and leaning over Dean's bed. She pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her hand. "Dean, can you hear me?"
He twitched again, more violently this time, and hope snagged in her chest, making it hard to breathe.
A nurse appeared into the room, looking concerned. "Is everything all right?"
"He moved!" Faith said hurriedly. "He was twitching – it seemed like he – he knew I was here…"
The nurse's expression turned painfully sympathetic. "Twitches and vague reaction to stimuli are perfectly normal-"
The steady, comforting beep of Dean's heart monitor disappeared, replaced by a sickly, endless ringing. The pulse beneath her hand fell still and terror sunk its talons into her gut.
The nurse let out a curse and slammed her hand against a button on the wall. "Code blue!" she shouted out into the hall, and like magic the room was swarmed by other doctors and nurses, all manner of machines and devices carted with them. Feeling vaguely like she were in the middle of a war zone without a weapon, Faith stood frozen in the middle of the room, staring at Dean's slack face.
Hands grasped her shoulders, and she turned in a flash, about to drive her palm into her attacker's nose in self-defence only to realise at the very last moment that it was just an orderly. To his credit, the guy was well prepared, and managed not to react as he simply herded her towards the door, where she wouldn't be in the way of the doctors.
"Help him!" Faith heard a voice shouting. It took longer than it should have to realise it was her own.
An arm wrapped around her shoulder, and she flinched again, only to relax at the sight of Sam, who had tears streaming down the length of his face. He didn't look at her, staring into his brother's room, grief written into every inch of his body. Faith wrapped an arm around his middle and had absolutely no qualms about tucking her head into the crook of Sam's arm, giving just as much comfort as she was taking.
Together they stood, watching as Dean died.
"Still no pulse!" shouted the kind-eyed doctor from earlier. "Starting CPR."
He climbed atop Dean's body, pumping into his chest, the only thing between Dean and certain death. Faith would climb on herself, beating his heart for him, if it meant he stayed alive.
"I said get back!" shouted a familiar, gravelly voice. It was unmistakably Dean – which was, of course, impossible.
Faith went rigid in Sam's arms. He sniffled and looked down at her with a furrowed brow. "Did you hear…?" he tilted his head, hazel eyes scanning the room with a feverishness, searching for its source. Faith couldn't explain it; or maybe she could and was just too afraid to try.
Before she could properly come to any conclusion, the most wonderful sound in the world drifted through the room – the slow, steady beating of Dean's heart monitor. "We have a pulse," announced a nurse, and the room gave a sigh of relief. "We're back into sinus rhythm."
Sam stumbled back into the hallway, finally letting himself breathe. Faith stumbled with him, an arm still wrapped around his waist, half worried he might collapse. "He's alive," Faith reassured him, just in case he needed it. "He's alive, Sam."
Sam swallowed loudly. "Yeah, but for how long?"
Faith didn't have a good answer.
"You heard that too, didn't you?" Sam asked, pulling out of her grip and peering down at her intently. "That voice?" When Faith didn't reply, Sam said, "It was Dean."
Her instinct was to disagree, but she had no legs to stand on. She was new to all this occult shit; Sam was the one who'd been born into it. If anyone knew what was and wasn't possible, it would be him. "So, what, he's a ghost without being dead?" she asked, trying to understand.
"It's got a lot of different names across a lot of different cultures, but the theory is that people can have out-of-body-experiences when they're close to death. Coma ghosts, I've heard them be called once or twice," Sam explained.
She processed that quickly, nodding her head and getting on board. "Okay, so it's Dean, he's here. But clearly, he hasn't been able to make contact until now. Why not?"
"Coma ghosts usually can't make contact. They're not like spirits who've been trapped on earth, stewing in their emotions for decades. It takes time to build up that sort of power."
Faith peered back into Dean's room, watching as the doctors checked his pupil reactions and vitals. "He sounded desperate," she murmured, almost to herself. And it was true, Dean had sounded panicked, maybe even angry when his voice had broken through the veil to reach them. Sam nodded in agreement. "So then, the question is, how do we make contact?"
Sam hesitated. "I think I have an idea about that," he finally said. "Will you stay here? Watch over Dean while I go get something?"
"Of course," she promised immediately.
"I'll be back in an hour."
Then he was gone, racing down the hall in the direction of his dad's room. Faith desperately needed another cup of coffee – she was coming up on thirty-six hours without sleep and felt herself starting to flag – but the thought of leaving Dean was too terrifying. If something happened and she wasn't there, forget Sam never forgiving her – she'd never forgive herself.
As she waited for the doctors and nurses to finally finish stabilising Dean, she leant against the hallway wall and stared into the room without seeing any of it. She thought secretly, in the privacy of her own head, that maybe it was for the best that Nate had died the way he had – out of sight.
If she'd had to sit through watching him deteriorate and lose his grip on life… She wasn't sure she'd have made it through the other side of that intact. It was a selfish thought, but Faith was full of those these days.
Finally, the nurses and doctors all cleared out of the room, and a nurse in pink scrubs placed a gentle hand on her back. "You all right, sweetie?"
"Yeah," Faith rasped, hardly the most convincing performance of her life.
"You can go sit with him again, if you'd like," the nurse offered.
Faith nodded numbly. "Um, I don't want to leave, but – and I know you're not a waitress – but if I don't get some coffee-"
The nurse smiled understandingly. "I'll send someone with a cup from the cafeteria."
"Thank you," Faith rasped, attempting a smile before wandering like a lost soul into Dean's room. She'd spent hours in there by now, but somehow after Dean's near miss, it seemed like an entirely different room – hostile and unwelcoming. She sank shakily into the seat she'd claimed as her own, reaching out to brush her fingers along Dean's hand, just to reassure herself that he was okay.
Beyond the steady, comforting beep of the heart monitor, there were no sounds filling the room. Faith watched Dean's chest rise and fall in a stupor.
"I know I have to get used to death," she whispered after an indeterminable stretch of time. "I'm in the business of killing things, now. But I think that's the hardest part of this job. Not the weapons or the risks or even the runs Toby makes me go on every morning – it's the losing people that scares me most."
No reaction, Dean's chest just continued to rise and fall, its rhythm soothing. Faith's eyelids began to droop, and she allowed herself to rest her head against the unused side of Dean's pillow, her body twisted awkwardly in her chair. She was just resting her eyes…just for a minute…
She was shaken awake sometime later by Sam, who held up his hands in surrender when she instinctively flashed her knife in his face. A cold cup of coffee sat on the bedside table, and a paper bag lay at Sam's feet.
Sheathing her knife, Face scrubbed tiredly at the sleep in her eyes. "You're back. That was quick."
"I was gone nearly five hours," Sam told her, keeping his voice to a low whisper, as if Dean was merely sleeping and able to wake if they spoke too loudly.
"Really?" she murmured.
"When was the last time you slept?"
"Not important," she batted away the question, as if the bags under her eyes weren't dark and her complexion wasn't drawn with exhaustion. "You get the goods?"
Sam lifted the paper bag, pulling out the last thing Faith had expected him to return with – a packaged Ouija board, the sort you could get at any old toy store.
"That's your plan?" Faith asked sceptically.
Sam shot her what could only possibly be described as a Bitch Face. "You got any better ideas?"
She didn't, so she shut up and watched as he took a seat on the floor at the foot of Dean's bed, unpacking the cheap Ouija board onto the linoleum floor. "Could you keep an eye out at the door?"
"Why?" she asked. "They're not gonna throw us out for using a toy."
He shot her another Look. "This isn't a toy."
Faith snatched up the bag he'd left on the floor, holding it out with Look of her own. "It literally says ToyWorld on the bag."
"Would you just shut up and keep lookout?" he sniped. "Jeez, you're worse than Dean."
Rolling her eyes, Faith made her way to the door, unable to deny it was the best moment she'd had in hours – because it was the first glimpse of normalcy she'd felt since she first got that call from Sam. Faith leant in the doorjamb and pretended to just be waiting for something, while most of her attention was on the boy and his Ouija board in the room behind her.
She was admittedly surprised when the Ouija board worked, and listened with a racing heart as Sam confirmed Dean was in the room with them. "Of course you were, you peeping Tom," Faith muttered, trying to hide a smile.
A few moments, then, "Dean says to shut up, and… Jesus, Dean, I'm not saying that."
Faith turned away from the doorway, arms crossed, a familiar fire kindling in her gut. It made her feel awake, like until that moment she'd been drifting through the world half asleep. "No, no, let him speak," she said, glaring at the empty space across from Sam at the Ouija board.
Sam laughed; the sound drenched in a relief he couldn't mask. "Holy shit, not even a coma can keep the two of you from bickering," he chuckled. Faith was helpless but to smile back, shaking her head and returning to her vigil at the door.
Things went quiet behind her as Dean stopped being a prick and instead told Sam what they needed to know. Apparently, there was something in this hospital killing people; and apparently it was after Dean next.
"A reaper," Sam said, his voice deepening with concern.
"A reaper?" Faith echoed. "Sam, I've read about those. If it's here naturally, then…" Then there was no possible way to stop it. They couldn't kill death itself. Nobody could, although plenty had tried.
"No, no, no," argued Sam, climbing to his feet and pacing the length of the room with his freakishly long legs. "There's gotta be a way."
"Well, maybe it isn't here naturally," she pointed out.
But Sam didn't appear to hear her, too lost in his own head. "There's gotta be a way," he said again. "Dad'll know what to do." He left with nothing more than a thrown, "Stay here!" at her – at the both of them – over his shoulder.
Stunned, Faith hovered uncertainly in the doorway. It felt exceedingly strange, knowing Dean was somewhere in this room, but she just couldn't see him. And now she knew he was there, it was almost like she could feel him there, or at least the weight of his attention on her.
"I finished that crossword without a lick of help," she said to the empty air, at a loss for what else she could possibly say. "You definitely owe me a Coke."
There was a tapping noise from where the Ouija board was still laid out on the floor. Faith assumed that was Dean's way of telling her to talk to him the one way he could actually talk back. With a sigh, she shut the room's door to be safe and reluctantly took a seat on Sam's abandoned side of the board.
"I feel like an idiot," she muttered to herself, gingerly setting her fingertips to the little plastic planchette, and almost instantly it began to drag, up and up, until its small circle was centred over YES.
Faith let go of the stupid piece of plastic and muttered, "So, you're an annoying twat even from beyond the grave. Good to know."
A pause, then she reluctantly put her fingers back to the planchette. As much as she'd have loved to have the last word, it wasn't as fun this way.
NOT DEAD, Dean spelled out with the Ouija board.
Faith let out a puff of air and said nothing. Dean moved their hands again.
DEATH IS PART OF THE JOB, he spelled out, and she realised with a sinking gut that if he'd been around this whole time, then he'd heard everything that had been said – both to him and about him. It was a scary thought, mostly because she couldn't remember everything she'd said, and worried she'd mentioned something she'd rather him not have known.
"Well, I've had enough of it to last a lifetime," she said out loud. "So, stay alive, or else you and I are gonna to have a problem here, Malcolm Crowe."
FUNNY, he replied, and Faith could feel the echoing sarcasm in that one word alone.
They sat in silence a moment, and Faith peered hard at the space of empty floor opposite her, trying desperately to imagine him there, staring back at her. But with his physical form bruised and broken on the bed above them, it was difficult to imagine him well – all bright green eyes and crooked smirk.
"Just, hold on for me, will you?" Faith asked him, dropping her eyes to the Ouija board and fiddling with one of its loose edges. You really did get what you pay for. "My survivor's guilt is bad enough without adding you to the list."
Dean said nothing, just gently nudged the planchette – not in any particular direction, but as if to just reassure her he was there.
She realised, suddenly, that she was in a rather advantageous position. Dean was sat there, nothing to do but listen, almost completely unable to respond and definitely unable to interrupt. It was like the perfect form of mediation. (If mediation was tying someone to a chair, duct-taping their mouth shut and forcing them to listen to you ramble.)
"I'm a good hunter, Dean," she told him point-blank. "Bobby says it, Toby says it – Hell, even Sam agrees. This job – this life – it's the right choice for me. And I'd really love it if you could stop holding my own decisions against me. I made the right choice, and whether I find my end a week from now or in fifty long years, at least I'll have done what I know I was meant to do with the time I had left."
She looked up at the space where she could only assume he was sat. She couldn't see anything, not so much as a shadow, but she had the uncanny feeling that her eyes were locked with his.
"Don't punish me just because I'm not making the decision you think is best. I don't need any more punishment; all I really need is a friend."
A moment's pause, stretching long enough that she thought maybe Dean had left the room altogether – then the planchette slowly began to move up the board until finally it hovered over a single word: YES. Faith figured it was probably as close to an agreement as she was likely to get.
Loud footsteps in the doorway, and then Sam was there, a bound journal in one hand and a frown on his face. He took in the sight of Faith sat on the floor with the Ouija board, eyebrows raised.
"He say anything else?" Sam asked her eagerly.
She shook her head. "Nothing important. Whatcha got?"
"Our dad wasn't in his room, but I got his journal," Sam said, taking a seat on the edge of Dean's bed and flipping the journal open. "Who knows? Maybe there's something here."
"What is this thing?" Faith wondered, climbing to her feet and wandering closer. Peeking over Sam's shoulder as he leafed through the thick journal that looked more like an art project than a diary, with loose pieces of paper and rough sketches dotting every page, made up of a motley of different inks and materials.
"It's our dad's hunting journal," Sam explained, half his attention on the book in his hands. "Everything he ever learned about hunting – it's all in here. We've been using it over the last few months; it helped us to track him, and it's gotten us out of some tight spots."
"Do all hunters keep journals?" Faith wondered.
"Not all, but most do," he said. "It's like an index of everything you might need to know on the road. Helpful if you don't have access to a library, or a computer, or a phone to call Bobby. Ah, here it is."
He's flipped to a two-page spread that read 'Reapers' in block letters across the top of the page. Faith felt a cool brush of air against the right side of her face, like something unseeable thing was hovering over her shoulder. But as quickly as the sensation had appeared, it was gone, and Faith was left with the uncanny feeling that Dean was no longer in the room with them.
"Reapers; they're basically angels of death. They exist to maintain the balance of things, ferrying souls to their final resting place. They're known to be able to alter human perception, sometimes used to lull the dying into calm. If a Reaper is naturally occurring, there's no power on earth that can stop it from reaping the soul it's come to claim," Sam read from the journal.
He looked up at Dean's physical body. Faith reached out, unthinking, and grabbed Dean's hand once more. He was still awfully cold, and although the beeping of the heart monitor reminded her that he was alive, Faith still pressed her fingers to his wrist, the thump of his pulse soothing in a way she couldn't explain.
"Any of this helping?" Sam asked Dean's unconscious form as if he was capable of replying. "It says about as much as we suspected. I'm not sure what to do, Dean. How do we hunt something we can't touch, much less see?"
He was starting to get distressed, and Faith didn't think her presence was helping any. If Dean was going to die today (he wasn't, she told herself, but if they were dealing with hypotheticals…) then Sam deserved a minute alone with his brother.
"Why don't I grab us some snacks from the vending machine?" Faith offered, fingers sliding reluctantly away from Dean's pulse point. "Got any requests?"
"Something healthy," muttered Sam, his heart not in it.
"Might be asking a little too much there, buddy," she joked, clapping him on the shoulder as she passed. "But I'll do my best."
Out in the hall, Faith took her time finding a vending machine. Digging in her pocket for some loose change, she lazily punched in the numbers for a bag of plain chips and a packet of jelly snakes. While the coils slowly unwound, she rested her forehead against the glass, breathing deep. Her eyes fluttered shut and the urge to fall asleep was paramount. She could feel exhaustion creeping in, and she fought back a yawn.
Her food fell into the tray with a thump that jolted her from her drowsiness. Faith blinked her eyes open again and collected their meagre meal, dragging her feet back in the direction of Dean's room.
Sam was still sat on the bed, his head hung with something like defeat. Faith bit down on her tongue in an attempt to wake herself up – Sam didn't need a dopey, scared, exhausted girl to look after – he needed a strong friend to lean on. And if that had to be her, then so be it.
"Chips are basically just fried potato and salt, right? I figure that covers at least part of the major food groups," she said cheerfully, tossing the packet of potato chips at Sam, who caught them with a blink.
"Jelly snakes?" he asked, peering down at her own haul with a frown.
"I wasn't exactly swimming in options," she replied, retaking her seat on Dean's left, kicking her shoes up onto his bed and avoiding looking into his slumbering face. "No go on the journal?" she asked, ripping open her packet and biting down on a jelly snake with a tad more force than necessary.
"Nothing that can help us, anyway," said Sam with a sigh, opening his own packet and reluctantly digging into his chips. "I was thinking, maybe you could call Tobias. I don't know him that well, but he's been at this a long time. Maybe he'll know something we don't-"
Dean's body suddenly jerked upwards, his eyes snapped open and a panicked, choking noise coming from his throat, which was still stuffed with medical tubes.
Sam shot upright with a cry, staring at Dean in barely concealed hope. "Dean?" he asked, hardly daring to believe. Dean continued to choke, and Faith snapped out of her frozen surprise, flying to her feet and leaning over Dean. "Help!" Sam screamed into the hall. "I need help!"
"Dean, it's okay," Faith was saying in her calmest voice. "Try not to panic. The doctor's coming, he'll get the tube out."
Dean's forest-green eyes were wide and confused, eyelashes fluttering with panic as he choked and struggled against the tubes in his mouth. He reached to rip them out with his hands, but Faith grabbed his wrist to stop him. He was weak enough that he couldn't fight her, panicked eyes shooting to her in fear. Something inside of her wrenched itself in two at the look in his eyes.
"Dean," said Sam again. "It's okay. You're going to be okay."
The doctor arrived then, a small troupe of nurses in his wake.
"He just woke up," said Sam hurriedly as the doctor gently nudged Faith out of the way to give himself room to work.
"Dean, my name's Dr. Parsons. You're in the hospital; you've just woken up from a coma. I'm going to take the tubes out now, but you need to stay calm and just try to keep breathing through your nose," the doctor told him calmly. "Do you understand?"
Still choking, though less so than before, Dean nodded his head once.
Faith moved to Sam's side and the two of them stood across the room, giving the doctor and his nurses the room to help Dean. Sam was trembling just a little, eyes wide and glued to Dean like he wasn't convinced he wasn't going to wake up and have this miracle be just a cruel dream. Faith took his hand in hers, squeezing reassuringly. And if he held on like a child afraid of a nightmare come to life – well, she wasn't going to tell anyone.
Finally, the tubes were out of Dean, and he could breathe. The doctor went through a slew of tests, checking his vitals and reactions to stimuli, then asking some basic questions – what year they were in; who the president was; if he remembered the crash; how he felt. Finally, when he seemed convinced Dean didn't have brain damage, he turned to the nurses and began ordering another avalanche of tests and scans.
"Doc, what happened?" Sam asked as Dean carefully sipped at some water held up by a nurse. "I thought – I mean, he just woke up out of nowhere-"
"I need to run some tests to be sure. I'll get back to you once I know more," said the doctor, a cookie-cutter answer if Faith had ever heard one. He turned back to the nurses. "We'll take him up to CT right away. He's awake and alert, but I want to check that oedema before he's moved too much more."
The nurses were already beginning to wheel a stunned Dean from the room. "Sammy," Dean called hoarsely.
"Dean, I'm here," Sam called back, struggling to get close around the gaggle of nurses.
"Are you okay? How long-? I mean, how's dad?" He caught sight of Faith stood beside Sam, her face pale and drawn. "Faith, what're you-?"
"Quiet now, Mr. McGillicutty," said one of the nurses sternly. "You'll be back with your fiancée and brother soon enough."
Dean blanched. "My what-?!"
They heard no more of Dean's confusion as he was wheeled from the door, the door creaking shut in his wake. Sam stood perfectly still for maybe a full minute. Faith listened to the soft ticking of the room's clock, gripping Sam's hand tightly, because it seemed he needed the contact. His eyes were shut as he allowed the relief to wash over him in waves.
Finally, he opened his eyes and turned to smile gratefully down at Faith. "I should go tell dad that Dean's awake," he said, letting go of her hand – for which she was grateful, because he'd been clutching it tight enough to restrict her blood flow.
"I thought he wasn't in his room?" she asked.
Sam shrugged. "I'll try and find him. Beats sitting here waiting for Dean to get back," he said, making a beeline for the door, a hop to his step that hadn't been there before.
"Sam," she called before he could leave, but then just as quickly shut her mouth. Sam turned to look at her with raised brows. "I don't mean to sound…" she trailed off, unsure where she was going with that sentence. She tried again. "Dean was at death's door. Don't you find it strange that he just…woke up?"
"Of course," Sam agreed. "But miracles happen every day. I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth."
And without another word Sam left the room, leaving Faith alone, a sinking feeling deep in her gut. "If they happened every day," she whispered into the emptiness of the room, "then I don't think they'd be called miracles."
She took the seat she'd come to think of as hers, pulling out a random magazine from the drawer of old copies. It was strange to sit there with Dean in the room with her, and she found she couldn't focus on anything in the magazines, her mind too full of questions.
At some point, her phone began to vibrate. "Toby," she answered with a sigh of relief.
"I think it's fair to say our case is over and done," Toby told her. "No more sightings – or killings – since I burned the bones. I'm heading up to you now. How's Dean?"
A surprisingly loaded question. "Awake, actually."
A beat of surprise. "He is? Is he okay?"
"The doctors are running tests now, but…" Faith chewed on her tongue. "I dunno, it seems almost too good to be true."
"In my experience, things that seem that way usually are." Faith's heart thumped heavily, like her blood turned to cement with the true but damning words. "Look, I'm two hours out-"
"Keep driving," she said. "I have a feeling that Mr. McGillicutty and his two sons aren't going to want to hang around this hospital any longer than they have to, if you know what I mean. Go straight up to Bobby's place, that's where we're headed next. We'll meet you there."
Toby hesitated, and she could tell he was trying his hardest not to argue. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. I'll see you in a day or so."
"All right," he agreed with a sigh. "Keep in contact."
"Will do."
Dean was wheeled back inside the room some twenty minutes later. He was sat upright in his hospital bed, the deathlike pallor to his face gone. Colour had returned to his cheeks, light to his eyes. Faith felt a relief so profound that she could have melted into a puddle right there, but she wasn't about to let Dean know just how frightened she'd been for him. Instead, she fixed a blank look on her face even as her eyes roamed his body, double-checking for herself that he was alive and well.
When Dean spied her there, waiting for him, he cracked a grin so wide that she was surprised his lips didn't split with the force of it. "Hiya, honey," he said brightly. She arched a brow as the nurses wheeled his bed back into place in the centre of the room. Before she could say anything, he took her left hand in his and brought it to his face, pressing a kiss to her fake engagement ring. "Jezebel and Amy have just been telling me all about how lucky I am to have such a caring, beautiful fiancée. I can't say I disagree."
Clearly Dean was perfectly fine – to such a degree that he could mock her. But let it never be said that Faith couldn't rise to meet a challenge, she pasted a sugary sweet smile onto her lips and leaned forwards enough to press a lingering kiss to Dean's cheek. His face was rough with stubble, but his skin was warm. Faith's lips tingled long after she'd pulled away.
"It's such a relief to see you up and awake, sweetie," she said sweetly, still holding his hand. "I was so worried."
Dean's eyes sparked with mischief, and without a single word between them a challenge had appeared – who could lay their fake relationship on the thickest? "I felt you here," he said, eyes alight with amusement while the look on his face was tender. "I felt you by my side the whole time."
The fussing nurses cooed over his sugary words, but Faith had to wonder just how real they were. Did Dean remember being a coma ghost? Did he have any memory at all of everything that had happened while he'd been out of it?
"We'll leave you two be," said one of the nurses, her silvery hair piled atop her head in a pretty braid. "Buzz us if you need anything. The doctor should be in to see you shortly."
"Thank you," Faith told them gratefully, still holding tight to Dean's hand.
The nurses left the room and Faith let go of Dean's hand like it was on fire. The smile melted from her face, replaced with a frown. "You're an ass," she huffed.
"Hey, you're the one who told them you were my fiancée," as he spoke, Dean had glorious laughter in his eyes. Faith wanted to trap it there, so it could never leave. He was so beautiful when he was happy.
The unexpected thought was like a slap, and her frown deepened into a scowl. "Don't go feeling special," she sneered. "Toby and I were playing newlyweds on a job. I forgot to take off the ring, but it worked out well enough. They wouldn't have let me in, otherwise."
"That anxious to sit at my bedside, huh?" Dean asked, that smirk never leaving his face. "You gonna nurse me back to health, Bueller? I'll be honest, I could do with a sponge bath."
The glare she sent him could have boiled water. "Shut up."
At that exact moment, Sam tripped through the doorway, eyes wide with relief as he spied his brother sat up and exchanging barbs with Faith like nothing had ever happened. "Sammy," Dean sighed, and Sam didn't hesitate to cross the room and lean his hulking form over Dean's bed, bringing his big brother into a hug.
Dean grunted in pain and Sam jolted back as though stung.
"Still a little tender," Dean said. "It's good to see you, Sammy. You okay? They said Dad's awake, too?"
"Yeah, we're all fine," Sam assured him. "Listen, did you end up coming across that Reaper?"
Dean blinked. "Reaper? What Reaper?"
Sam turned to look at Faith, who met his stare with a furrowed brow of her own.
"What?" demanded Dean, frustrated by their silence.
Faith nodded at Sam, and with a sigh he took a seat on Dean's other side and began to explain. Dean listened without speaking, eyes growing wider and wider the more Sam spoke. Finally, once Sam was done recounting their adventures with coma ghost Dean, he leant back in his bed and blinked.
"That's crazy," he said slowly, frowning down at his hands like he half expected to find them looking transparent as a ghost's.
"You're telling me you remember none of it?" Faith pressed, heart in her throat.
Dean shook his head. "I don't remember anything after that son of a bitch hit us."
He looked suddenly to Sam, mouth open to speak, but Sam was already on top of it. "The Impala's totalled. Bobby should have towed it back to his place by now. There's not much left, but I told him you'd wanna build it from the ground up anyway."
Dean let out a breath. "You were right. Thanks, Sammy."
A knock on the doorframe, and then Dr. Parsons was stepping into the room, Dean's chart held in his weathered hands. "How're we feeling, Dean?"
"Tired," Dean confessed. "A little sore. But alive, which I guess is the important part." The doctor smiled kindly, managing to look both amused and utterly perplexed at the exact same time.
"What'd his tests say?" Faith spoke up, reaching for Dean's hand again, taking it in hers and slipping into the role of worried fiancée once more. From the corner of her eye, she saw a smirk flicker and die on Dean's lips.
"Well, to be honest, I can't really explain it," said the doctor, staring down at Dean's results like the harder he looked, the more he might be able to make sense of them. "The oedema's vanished. The internal contusions are healed. Your vitals are good… You have some kind of angel watching over you, son."
Dean smiled, but it was tight. "Thanks, doc."
With a nod the doctor left the room. Faith smoothly let go of Dean's hand, folding her arms across her chest and leaning back in her chair.
"So, you said a Reaper was after me?" Dean asked Sam, slipping back into their previous conversation like it were a pair of boots.
"Yeah."
"How'd I ditch it?"
"You got me," Sam shrugged, looking a little bit disturbed, but mostly just relieved. "Dean, you really don't remember anything?"
He shook his head. "No. Except…this pit in my stomach. Sam, something's wrong."
There was a gentle knock at the door, and three heads turned to look. They were all surprised to find John stood there, battered and bruised and more tired than ever, but strangely peaceful. Faith watched the way he looked at Dean, relief seeping from his very being.
"How you feeling, Dean?" John asked, eyes focused on his eldest son.
Dean shifted. "Fine, I guess. I'm alive," he said even as he prodded a sensitive part of his torso and winced.
John smiled. "That's what matters."
"Where were you last night?" Sam blurted. Faith wondered if he realised that he'd shifted into a defensive stance without thinking about it. Feet spread apart, shoulders back, head tucked; Sam was looking for a fight, whether he knew it or not.
John's smile was sad again. "I had some things to take care of."
"Well, that's specific."
Dean sighed. "Come on, Sam."
"Did you go after the demon?"
A long, heavy pause. "No."
Faith had never felt more like an interloper than in that moment. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and tried to think of a way to slip from the room without disrupting the conversation before her.
"You know, why don't I believe you right now?" Sam snapped, shifting his weight forwards. After so many weeks of training with Toby, Faith could recognise someone ready to throw a punch when she saw it.
She stood abruptly to her feet, dragging the attention away from their family fight. "Um, why don't I go grab us some celebratory coffees?" she asked, filling the tense quiet with the sound of her voice. "Any requests?"
John and Sam never broke their stare, while Dean looked up at her with exhaustion in his green eyes. "Anything hot would be great," he said quietly. Something in her pulled towards him and her hand twitched as if about to reach for him – not as a plot or a game, rather just because she could tell he needed comfort and she wanted to give it to him.
She curled her hands into fists instead and said, "I'll be back in a bit."
Then she hurried from the room like it was on fire.
The line for the coffee machine was longer than it had been the previous night – probably with the hospital being busier during the day than in the dead of night – but Faith didn't mind, standing in line and trying to sort through her own thoughts which tangled and snarled like vines in her mind.
She felt like something was wrong, but she wasn't sure what it was. It was just this feeling in her gut, like an intuition, only stronger. She was next in line for the coffee machine when Sam appeared beside her. "Dad wanted me to make sure you got his order right," Sam said, a furrow in his brow. "He plays tough, but a little creamer in his coffee and he's a mess."
She was too drained to bother trying to laugh. "Do you get this feeling like…" she trailed off, reaching up to tug at a lock of loose hair. "Like something's not right?"
Sam swallowed thickly. "Yeah," he said. And that was that.
They got coffees – Sam making John's while Faith made one for her and Dean each. Then, once they were done, they began to slowly amble their way back up the stairs to Dean's room. "I assume we won't be sticking around," she said conversationally.
"Why's that?"
"Well, I figure the longer you hover, the more chance there is that the hospital will realise you're not the McGillicutty family," she told him. "Seems smart to move on now that everyone's up and about."
Sam tried to smile and failed horribly. "Yeah," he said. "We'll probably head to Bobby's. We'll be safe there while we heal."
"Well, you'll be safe if Bobby and John can keep from shooting each other over the salt shaker," she quipped. When Sam laughed, it had a seed of life to it that it hadn't before. She smiled back, about to ask what exactly had happened between the two of them all those years ago, when Sam looked to his right and the coffee cup fell from his hand, splashing all over the floor.
Faith turned with a gasp to find John Winchester laid lifeless on the floor of his empty hospital room. Sam was screaming for help, nurses rushing by. Faith wasn't sure how she knew, but something in her gut told her it didn't matter what the nurses did to try and bring John back – he was far beyond any of their reach.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter we get the fallout of this one, some insight into Toby's backstory, and… Faith meets Garth!