Lost Time Ch. 15

[dime_liora]

Title: Lost Time Chapter 15/27
Wordcount: 6,375
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam, Gabriel/OFC
Warning(s): Violence, Sex, Expletives, Mentions of an Abusive Relationship
Notes: Still very AU. If you like this, thank sammichgirl, who told me it was time to make it public. :) If you don't it's totally not her fault.
Summary: Sam Burton has an average life, a foul-mouthed sister, and a dream of putting his past behind him. All of that changes when Dean Winchester comes to stay.

First part
Previous part

It’s the day before New Year’s Eve, and Sam’s getting nervous. He doesn’t know the exact danger of the ritual Ope is preparing for, but he does know it signals Dean leaving. The last few days have been so perfect Sam hates to think of giving them up. His fingers begin to twitch, and he avoids meeting Dean’s gaze sometimes when the tension gets too heavy. Now he’s lying in bed beside Dean, awake and alert, watching time pass. Eventually he slips out of the bed and pulls clothes on before heading out into the living room. Ope is there just as he thought she would be, her fingers moving silently along the couch’s arm as she stares into the darkness outside the windows. Loki, Gabriel he corrects himself, left the morning before.

Because of all the windows the living room is often cold, harder to keep warm than the rest of the house, and Sam knows she’s not dressed warmly enough. He drapes a throw over her shoulders and watches her head tilt up to take him in. There’s enough light from the fireplace for him to see bits of her face, and what’s not in shadow stares heavily at him with a weight he hasn't seen in a long time.

He sits beside her and puts one arm around her shoulders. “You missing your man?”

Her grunt is amused and offended. "What man? Are you talking about that big kid? Fuck no."

He ponders that for a minute and then takes a deep breath. “Do you really think Dean will come back with his brother?” There’s so many other questions he wants to ask. Will the other Sam approve of me when he knows what I am? If he asks her though he’s in for a lecture about his worth and he doesn’t want that tonight.

Her fingers drag along his arm briefly and then she hugs him tight. “Of course he will. Go back to bed Sam. Go back to Dean. Time is running out.”

He nods, leaves her there in the half-dark, and wonders later if he would have stayed if he knew what was coming.




----





Dean wakes to Sam’s soft snoring, and he lays there for a long time listening to it before he gets up. They have a drive today, and then when they reach the cabin Ophelia will perform the ritual and if it works…when it works Dean’s whole life will change. He rubs Sam’s arm gently and waits for the younger man to wake up naturally. It happens slow, the way it often does when Sam has stayed up too late, pushed himself too much, and then hazel eyes are studying him through thick lashes.

“Morning.” Dean secretly loves this moment, when Sam is half-awake and so innocent and small that Dean could pull him into his arms and shield him from the world if he wanted. It makes him feel powerful, makes him feel like the word Sam so unknowingly placed on that silver blade. Dean knows Latin, and he knows Ope does too. Knows that Sam chose the word because it means hero instead of man, but that Sam doesn’t know it can also mean husband. Fuck if Dean doesn’t feel that way sometimes when he’s unguarded and soft like this, as if he’s tied inexorably to Sam.

“Morning.” He leaves it at that, and they lie quietly beside each other until the sun makes it known that too much time has passed, and Dean’s stomach is cramping with hunger. Ophelia is already showered and waiting for them, bags at the door and fingers tapping at the table as she eats cereal.

They eat in silence, ride up to the cabin with music blaring, and Dean glancing in the rearview to see Sam sitting in the back and staring out of the window. They fought a good deal about whether or not Sam should come, and in the end Dean gave in. Ophelia didn’t like it either, but she wasn’t able to tell Sam no. The fight about taking the Impala was worse, and Dean gave in on that one because her Jeep is better suited for the outdoors and the deep snow.

The cabin is gorgeous, small but homey and set on the edge of a lake surrounded by woods. Dean watches Sam taking it all in, his breath puffing in the air, and for a moment Dean is overwhelmed by how beautiful he is. It’s not a great word for a man, not one Dean would ever use aloud, but the way Sam’s cheekbones catch the light and his eyes sparkle, the plump lips and the soft hair, all of it combines to a breathtaking sight.

He helps Ophelia carry gear into the cabin and follows her directions in pushing the furniture around and clearing out the main floor. When the space is open she directs Sam in taking the non-essentials up to the loft bedroom as she pulls out chalk and begins making a circle.

It’s huge, lined with Greek letters and symbols even Dean doesn’t recognize. She does all of it with precise and small motions, and then lays a ring of peacock feathers around it with care, one overlapping the next to form an unbroken circle. She kneels and sets up a small altar in the center of the circle, leaving a space at the center of it and then placing an oil burner, a little bowl, and an incense burner. The last step is a universe of candles that she places around the circle first and then throughout the cabin.

When it’s all set up she peers at the windows and then gets the cooler out and pulls out the sandwiches and chips Sam packed for them. They eat in silence, the sun slowly setting outside, and then she unwraps a small bag and starts filling a joint paper with a mixture of what Dean recognizes are herbs and pot. Dean lights the candles as she works and then comes back to stand with Sam. He raises an eyebrow at her as she rolls it smoothly and licks it.

She lights the joint, takes a deep breath and holds for a bit, and then lets it go. The smell of it is strong, earthy and rich, and Dean feels a contact high almost instantly. Beside him Sam is staring at her in concern. She takes another drag and then meets Dean’s eyes, and he sees that her pupils are so dilated her eyes look black. It sends a shiver down his spine that Sam echoes. “I’m going to perform the ritual. You have to remain silent, don’t break the circle, don’t distract me.”

She slides her shoes off first, before undressing entirely, slipping on a robe, and picking up the last package she had laid out. She pours a little oil in the burner, lights the candle in it, and then unwraps the package. Incense is placed in the burner and lit, herbs are poured into the bowl first, then she extracts the black mirror she bought and places it in the center of the table. Her hands are steady as she takes a wickedly sharp knife and cuts a hunk of her hair before dropping it in the bowl, she cuts both of her tattooed fingers and bleeds them each in on top of the hair. After it’s all done she lays the knife down, stares into the mirror, and begins to chant in Greek.

He feels Sam’s hand take his, and he grips it tight before letting go. Her voice starts low, soft, and then picks up power and volume. The intonation resonates around the room, and Dean watches as all the candles flicker once, twice, and then go out leaving only the ones around the circle lit. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rise up, his skin is covered in gooseflesh, and the room gets colder as the sense of power sweeps through it. He doesn’t realize there’s a problem until she stops speaking.

Her fingers are resting on the sides of the mirror, steady and still, and then they begin to shake. Dean watches in slow-motion horror as the mirror cracks under her hands, as her hands fly up to her eyes and cover them, and then she’s screaming in a terrified voice that is both her own and not. One by one the peacock feathers light on fire and Dean’s holding Sam back as the younger man begins to struggle, one arm gripping him tight while his hand covers Sam’s mouth because breaking any of her rules can only make this worse.

Her screaming is wordless for the longest time, flecks of blood covering her lips towards the end, and then she falls silent and hits the floor with a thud. Dean lets Sam go, hears him slither to the floor, and he breaks the circle and pulls her out of it. He checks her pulse, and while he’s doing that her eyes fly open and he sees that they are both staring sightlessly, two moons literally shining out of her face at him. He has to blink, adjust to the brightness, and then she’s speaking in a voice that is barely more than a whisper of wind.

“The line is cut and lost. Threads unraveling long before, and now the players will come back to the stage.“

She goes quiet after that, eyes closing, breath evening out, and Dean releases her into Sam’s hold and sits perfectly still, grasping his knees and waiting for what comes next. She might wake up, and be alright, and then he’ll know the truth and spend what time isn’t left apologizing to his brother apologizing to her and Sam. That’s the good option. The bad one, the one he expects, is that she will never wake up. The knowledge she’s gained will die with her, and Dean will lose the chance he had to find his brother, one of his only friends, and the man he’s fallen in love with all over one stupid choice.

All there is to do is wait.




----



They clean up the cabin in silence, and Dean drives them back to their home, glancing in the rearview mirror at Sam holding her. The younger man’s face is white, silent, pinched with grief.  He eats when Dean feeds him, but he never looks at Dean. She’s asleep for three days. Towards the beginning of the third day Sam has fallen asleep, and Dean sits beside her and stares out the window. The tap on his wrist is hesitant almost feels accidental, and he turns to see she’s staring sightlessly out of blue eyes. She whispers. “Hello?”

He leans down and takes her hand, puts it to his face for some stupid reason he can’t figure out, and she feels for a second before smiling weakly. “Dean.” It’s still a whisper, soft and hesitant. “You alright?”

He can only nod, but her hand feels the movement and her smile stays in place. “Sam?” He nods again. “Where is he?”

“Asleep.” His own voice is a hoarse whisper. He hasn’t spoken since she fell unconscious. There’s been nothing to say.

“Dean, I got your answer but-“Her voice fails her, and he watches her throat work hard. She shakes her head once and frustration crosses her face.

“Stop sweetheart. Take your time.” He needs to find his brother but he needs her to be ok too. It’s a delicate balance, one Dean can barely handle. It costs him almost everything to tell her what he already has and she must hear it or feel it because she frowns and works her mouth anyway.

“I found your answer but it’s bad Dean. It’s got a price. Would you settle for knowing he’s safe?”

Dean considers that for less than a second. He’s been guilty for so long, left his brother alone in a hostile world, and as the woman in the bed beneath him can attest no price is too steep to pay for the cause of his brother. “No. Where is he?”

She takes a deep breath and then pulls him down, her lips against his ear. “It’s Sam. My Sam. Your Sam. Same Sam.”

There’s a moment, a delirious and horrible moment, where Dean can’t understand her. Then it hits him like a tidal wave and his eyes cut over to the young man sleeping on the floor. He’d put a blanket over him after Sam went down, and all that he can see is the outline of his body and the top of his soft hair. The hair he’s gripped more than once as plump lips circled his cock, the body he’s been inside, and all of it is his brother. His baby brother. It’s a joke, a black cosmic joke, that Dean didn’t see it before. He thought it was Sam’s soul calling to his but it was blood. Winchester blood calling to Winchester blood.

The one person he could fall in love with, be vulnerable with, it’s his goddamn brother. He’s the shitty family that abandoned baby Sam on a flight of hospital steps, he’s the one that let Sam fall victim to Brady, and now he’s the one who has molested his little brother countless times. He’s breathless with it, violated, sickened, and left at a loss. Her hand is still on his head, and she pulls him tight against her before he can pull away.

She’s too weak to hold him, if he wants to escape he can, but he stays because she’s paid a price he can’t even comprehend to tell him this. Her voice is rough and thick when she gets it out again. “Stop it. Don’t do that. I’ve seen it Dean. I’ve seen all the outcomes of telling you this. Just think. You fuck it up and he dies.”

Dean nods once, lets her release him before he pulls away, and then slinks out of the room silently and leaves her and him there. His brother on the floor and his friend in the darkness she may never escape. Leaves them there and starts up the Impala. Drives until he can’t breathe anymore and then pulls over and dry heaves out the window while his mind races.





-----





When Sam wakes up the first thing he sees is that Dean isn’t in the room. The next thing, is that Ophelia is upright, eyes open and pointed towards the window. He’s up so fast he staggers with the head rush and then makes it to the bedside so he can take her hand. Her head flies his way, nostrils flared and then her face relaxes and opens wide. Her eyes aren’t focused on him, but they’re pointed in his direction. Sam realizes all too quickly what that means, and he can’t stop the tears that come as he grips both her hands and pulls her into him, holding her like a child to his chest.

“Ope. Oh shit Ope I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry Ope. Your eyes…” He can’t stop talking, can’t stop holding her, and her movement against him is worth every agonizing moment of worry. Still there’s this, she’s blind and Sam has no idea if it’s temporary or permanent. If it’s permanent then…but Sam can’t really consider that. It has to be temporary. Has to be because the world can’t be this unfair.

No good deed goes unpunished. He squeezes her harder and listens to the huff of breath before she whispers to him. Her throat can’t be fully healed, he saw the blood on her mouth after the screaming, and he has to strain to hear her over his ragged breathing and thundering heart.

“Sam. Sammy. It’s ok now. I’m ok.” Her hands are disentangling from his shirt and wandering upwards, finding his face before she grips it and touches his mouth to feel if he’s smiling, his cheeks to feel his tears.

He turns hopelessly and shouts. “Dean! Dean she woke up!” He waits for footsteps, a shout back, anything, and hears nothing. Which is odd. Really odd.

Ope’s head is shaking softly, her hands pulling his face back towards her. “He knows. He stepped out to get something. He’ll be back.” But her voice sounds unsure, worried, and Sam takes a minute to absorb that.

“Did you find out where his brother is?” He can’t see her face but he feels her shudder. Would Dean leave her here blind and alone without waking Sam? Leave without saying goodbye? There’s a surge of anger, and Sam picks her up and carries her easily to the kitchen before sliding her into a chair and pulling out his phone. He puts it to the side for a second and finds her cigarettes, slides one into her hand and the lighter in the other, pulls the ashtray close and moves her fingers so she knows where to find it. “I’m going to call him, and I’m going to get you water and soup ok? You’ve been asleep for three days and you need to eat and drink.”

She nods, eyes roaming aimlessly over his general area, and then turning towards the sunlight of the windows to her right. He pulls back, watches her carefully light the cigarette, and then picks the phone back up and dials Dean’s number.

It rings several times, goes to voicemail, and Sam hangs up and tries again as he pours the water for her. It’s his fifth try that receives results. Dean answers by picking up, but he doesn’t speak.

His eyes are on her as she takes the glass from him and carefully moves it to her face, tilts it to her mouth and drinks in slow, tiny sips.

“Dean. What the fuck man? You left her alone and blind and didn’t wake me? I know you want to find your brother but that’s just-“

“Sam.” Dean’s voice is wrecked, hollow, and there’s a moment when Sam’s heart skips a beat. Something terrible has happened. Something that’s left Dean like this, sent him running away, and Sam freezes in place. He looks to Ophelia, and sees that she’s crying. Was she doing that before?

“Dean. What’s wrong? Talk to me dude. What’s happening?”

“Sammy.” Broken still, lost and lonely, as if everything’s been taken from him. “Can I see you?”

“Yeah Dean. Just-just come home man and we’ll talk. Ok?”

Dean makes a noise, strangled and thick, and then he hangs up. Sam heats the soup up with shaking hands and puts it in front of her. Slides the spoon into her hand and watches as she struggles to eat it before giving up and feeding her. They’d bandaged her fingers and Sam focuses on the white of the bandages against her tan skin as he moves the spoon.

It’s got to be fifteen minutes, maybe twenty at most, before he hears Dean pull up. Sam’s torn, doesn’t know if he should go get Dean or stay here and watch her. The bowl is empty, and her hands reach out seeking him before they touch his chest. “Go Sam. I’ll be ok here.”

He’s up in a heartbeat, feet carrying him across the threshold and out into the cold without thinking. He meets Dean halfway up the hill to the porch, and at the sight of him Sam freezes in place, perfectly still, and watches. Dean moves like an old man, shambling up the hill slowly his eyes fixed on a point somewhere inside of Sam. When he finally reaches Sam he stumbles, falls to his knees, and covers his face. Sam feels the breath leave him, and then he tries to lift Dean but the older man jerks violently away from him.

“Sam.” That same voice and Sam can’t stand it, doesn’t want to hear it. Whatever has made Dean like this, Sam doesn’t want to know. Wants to stay in the dark, because ignorance is bliss and fuck if Dean doesn’t look like he’s been driven mad.

He shakes his head once, but Dean doesn’t see, keeps going in that same tone. “Sammy. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Fuck Sam, I can’t-I didn’t-I’m so sorry.”

Sam hits his knees in front of Dean, fumbles for the familiar face and tilts it until the beloved green eyes are looking at him. “It’s ok Dean. Stop. Please. Whatever it is we’ll get through it but you have to stop this.”

Dean’s gripping at his hands, pushing and pulling them at the same time, and Sam holds on tightly until he stops struggling. Dean can’t seem to speak, mouth working but no sounds coming so Sam takes over for him. “It’s about your brother? Is it bad? Is he in a lot of trouble? I can help you get him. We’ll go get him Dean. We’ll call Bobby, your dad, whatever and we’ll go save him, but you have to calm down ok? I can’t handle Ope blind and you like this so you have to calm down.”

Dean nods once, eyes searching his face like he hasn’t seen him in years. “Sam.” Heartbroken and Sam’s pulling him into his arms and holding him. Dean lets him for several seconds before flailing backwards and holding his arms out to ward Sam off. “Sam you’re-you’re my-“ He can’t finish the sentence and Sam pulls him up, out of the snow and towards the house. Dean’s left without his jacket, in his sweats and t-shirt, and Sam can feel how cold the normally hot skin is. It scares him, more than anything else has so far, and he pulls Dean along into the house and pushes him into a chair. He goes to his bedroom and grabs the comforter before coming back and covering Dean. Ope is sitting at the table, hands over her face and head shaking.

Sam takes position in front of Dean, kneeling and rubbing at his arms through the comforter, while the green eyes stayed locked on him. “Ok man. I got you. Just tell me what the problem is, and we’ll fix it together.”

He watches Dean’s throat work, watches him swallow and struggle, and then that rough voice comes out so thick and raspy that it takes a full minute for Sam to understand the words he’s speaking. “You’re my brother Sam. I’m sorry. You’re my baby brother.”

Sam turns, finds Ophelia’s desolate look, and then turns back to look at Dean’s desperation. His hands drop, limp and nerveless beside him. The kitchen is too silent, oppressive, and Sam wants to get up and leave but there’s no strength in his legs to lift him. Instead he kneels there in front of Dean like a person praying, and isn’t that perfect because Sam is suddenly sure that prayer may be his only option.

What happens next surprises even Sam, scares Ophelia so badly she pushes back in her chair and hits the floor clumsily, makes Dean jump. He’s roaring, shaking Dean like a rag doll and screaming at him. “That’s not fucking funny.”

He can’t stop though, knows it’s bad but can’t stop, and his hands keep shaking but Dean isn’t fighting him. Sam fights for control, gets it, and pulls his hands back. Dean’s head is hanging low, now that he’s found his words they pour out of him like poison and Sam is frozen in place listening with his fingers up and outspread like he can slap the words off before they have time to settle in his brain. “I’m sorry Sam. I thought you were dead and I would have found you if I knew. Would have saved you. It was all my fault, all that shit, because I couldn’t protect you, and then I-oh shit Sam I touched you and I’m sorry. You’ve gotta believe if I knew I would never have-“

Sam finds the strength in his legs, stands rapidly, and shakes his head. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up.” The anger is still there, the disbelief, and he’s grabbing his phone before heading for the door. “Stay here. I’ll be back.” Then Sam is running, running into the cold morning and he can’t stop.





----





Dean finds his legs after several minutes, and pulls Ophelia off the floor. Sits her back in the chair and feels how cold her skin is. He slips the comforter off and puts it around her. It smells like Sam, and Dean can’t bear it at the moment. She grips it tightly before tilting her face up in his direction. “Dean-”

He shakes his head, realizes she can’t see or feel it, and chokes out, “Not right now sweetheart. Silence please.”

She nods, reaches to the table and fumbles around it 'til she finds her cigarettes and her lighter. They stay that way, silent, for a long time and then Dean breaks it. “Was that one of the wrong ways?”

Her fingers trembled and she missed the ashtray when she tapped the cigarette. “That depends on what happens next.” Her voice is a little better, the half empty glass of water is probably a big help. He has to focus, has to take care of what he can right now because he’s done a big thing very fucking badly, and if after all this he’s the reason Sam dies then he won’t be able to take it.

“How did this fucking happen?”

She takes a long drag, coughs harshly, and then reaches out for the water glass. Dean moves fast, taking it and tilting it to her lips. She shoots a grateful look in his general direction and then rubs at her mouth. “Your father found out what happened to Sam the night of the fire, and he thought the safest option was to hide Sam from everyone. He had someone named Caleb take Sam to the hospital, but he didn’t know about the name note or anything else. Didn’t know where Sam went. He set the fire so you’d let it go.”

Dean has to absorb all of that. Take it in and internalize it even as it rips him apart. All these fucking years John Winchester has watched his angst over the loss of Sam and simply let him feel it. Let him carry the weight of killing Sam even as his youngest son, Dean’s brother, was suffering in the hands of strangers. The cold and clear anger he feels then is so sharp that if his father were here he would probably shoot the son of a bitch dead. He forces himself to sound calm.

“What happened to Sam the night of the fire?”

“Azazel marked him. Some of what I saw was clear, some of it was in symbols, and that part was the haziest. I’m not sure even Jana understood it fully. Sam is-he wasn’t wrong. Brady was a fucking demon. They’ve been tracking Sam. They lost him when I took him out of Texas.” Her head is shaking hopelessly. “But they’re close. They’re still looking. Sam has to be protected from them.”

That’s what drags Dean out of his self-pity. Sam needs protection, Sam needs to be kept safe, and Dean is the one who has to do it. “Where do we start?”

Her fingers tap the table rapidly, and he watches as her eyes roam over the kitchen sightlessly. “I need my phone. There’s a private detective in Texas looking for Sam’s family and he has to stop before he finds them. It should be in my purse.”

Dean moves quickly, purpose giving him his mobility and speed back, and watches her tell him which number on her contacts list to dial before he hands her the phone. She speaks calmly, forcing volume, and Dean listens to her half of the conversation 'til she finally hangs up and drops the phone carelessly on the table.

Dean wants to ask what next, to grab her and make her spill everything she knows, but he holds back and waits for her to speak again. When she finally seems ready to do it he watches her face carefully to see any clues it might give since her voice is back under control. “Dean. You’re not going to like this but we have to discuss the-“

Which is when Sam comes slamming through the door with a look on his face like he’s hit the lottery and had his ticket stolen. Dean has time to consider the metaphor apt and then Sam has her shoulders and he’s bent over double to lean into her face and stare into her empty eyes.

“Did you know? Did you know you’d lose your goddamn sight?” He shakes her once, and Dean’s tempted to grab him because until he speaks Dean knows she has no way of knowing it’s Sam barging in, and now she’s left in the dark as someone shakes her. It can’t be a good experience but the weight of Sam’s question hits him so hard he stays still.

She swallows once and then nods slowly. “Yes. I knew.”

“Is it temporary Ophelia? Or did you just blind yourself for us?” Sam’s voice is vicious, almost hateful, and Dean can’t comprehend it coming out of Sam’s mouth in her direction. Knowing now that Sam’s a Winchester helps, because Dean and his father are the masters of misdirected anger.

“I don’t know Sam. The research couldn’t find the answer and she didn’t say. That was the trade though, my sight for hers.” She swallows again and then reaches up to touch his face, missing it twice before finding his neck and following it up. Sam’s anger fades, his scowl softens and he closes his eyes when she finally reaches his jaw. “So yeah, I knew. This wasn’t a surprise.”

“You’re so fucking dumb.” His voice shakes with grief and tenderness, and Dean watches as her face spasms once and then recomposes itself. “You sold your sight for-Jesus Ophelia. What do I do now?”

His face falls forward, hides in the side of her neck, and she stares above him with no way of knowing her blue eyes are fixed on Dean. He stares at her, trying not to watch as Sam breaks down against her and she holds him. It should be Dean’s job, his hands itch and ache to keep away from grabbing Sam, because he can’t touch. Can never touch again because anything he tries will be marred by the damage he’s already caused.

Ophelia reaches awkwardly, rubs at Sam until the crying slows and Sam is simply breathing heavily into her flesh. Eventually she closes her blank stare, and Dean can look away from the two of them. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be a part of this because he has no right. Every bit of their misery is Dean’s fault and he knows it, but leaving now isn’t an option. No matter how badly he wants to.

“Dean,” she speaks softly and slowly, “can you give us a minute?”

He nods, points to the porch for Sam’s benefit, and steps back into the freezing morning air.





----





Sam holds on to her like a lifeline, as if she can keep him from flying off into the chaos his life has become. He hasn’t felt this lost since Brady, and all he wants is to go back to New Year’s Eve and stop her from finding out the truth, from losing her sight, from all of it. Since that’s not an option he holds on and breathes her in. The scent is familiar, comforting, but the awkward way she touches him only reminds him she can’t see him anymore.

“Sammy.” Her voice is so sad, so fucking sad that Sam wants to stop her from talking. Wants them to just be silent and sit here until he doesn’t have to deal with it anymore. That won’t happen though. He has to deal with it eventually.

“Ope, what am I supposed to do? Everything is-oh god everything Ope. Your life, Dean’s, mine, and it’s all-“ He can’t finish, doesn’t try, just holds on to her and hopes she knows the answers now. She’s paid well enough to have them.

“Sam. I can’t tell you what you have to do. You have to decide on your own honey.” He feels her hand travel until it finds his hair. “I've got your fucking back no matter what though. Ok? I know this is-shit Sammy I know.”

Sam’s back is bent so far over it feels like it will break under the weight, and he slithers to his knees so he can hold her more comfortably. “Decide what?” Her tone is off and Sam can’t put his finger on it.

“What you’ll do about Dean Sammy. You have to decide. He won’t.” Her fingers are moving through his hair again, a pattern that is familiar but a speed that isn’t. As if she’s only half there.

Sam pulls back to see that her eyes are wide and staring, her face so expressionless it’s like she’s in a trance. “Ope? You ok?”

Her fingers twitch in his hair, and then she’s pulling her hand back and focusing on him as best she can. “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry Sam I’m fine. What were we-?” Her question trails off and her fingers start to spasm and shake. It’s the first warning, before her back bows and her head snaps so hard it hits the wall behind her.

Sam’s shouting for Dean before he can think about it, pulling her against him and trying to restrain her. Dean slams through the door, and Sam feels that familiar and rough hand grab his shoulder before Dean’s voice comes authoritative and confident. “Let her go softly Sam, on her side on the floor. Stop holding her still.”

He lowers her and then lets Dean pull him back, watches as the older man shoves the table against the wall to give her more space. Dean’s eyes go directly to his wristwatch and Sam watches his lips move silently counting off the seconds as Ophelia jerks and spasms on the floor. The whole thing is going in slow motion, and all Sam can do is watch as his best friend’s brain electrocutes itself.

When she falls still Dean’s at her side instantly, gently tilting her face so he can look at her eyes. “Sweetheart, hey, can you hear me?”

She takes a minute, mouth moving silently as if she’s speaking but Sam can’t hear noise. A shadow crosses Dean’s face and then Ope’s voice comes out slow and thick. “I’m horizontal. Did I fall?”

“You had a seizure Ope. Short but intense. You ever had seizures before?” Dean’s still searching her face, the shadow hidden now.

“No. But it’s a brave new world. Can you get me off the floor? The tile is fucking cold.” Dean lifts her gently, carries her to the living room and then settles her on the couch in a reclining position. Her fingers go for her temple and miss once before finding it. “Goddamn it. That was shitty.”

“Sam,” Dean doesn’t turn when he says it, “get her some water ok?”

He nods, glad to have something to do, and then rushes to the bathroom to dig through the cabinet. He fumbles with the water glass in there before filling it. He’s back in record time, handing Dean everything while being careful of physical contact. Dean notices, and that shadow crosses over again.

Ophelia is pulled into a half sitting position so she can drink, and then lowered again. Sam gets her the comforter from the kitchen and lays it over her before taking a position in the spot Dean has surrendered. “We’re gonna get you to a hospital ok?”

She shakes her head and then frowns weakly. “It’s a side effect of the-no doctors Sammy. Just wanna sleep.”

He sits beside her until she’s slipped into sleep, and then he stands and carefully avoids Dean’s gaze. “How long was the seizure?”

“A minute and forty-eight seconds. Not including before you called me, so probably about two. The danger zone starts around three to five if I remember the manual correctly.” Dean’s hand is rubbing briskly at his hair, Sam can hear it and he risks a peek to see where the green eyes are fixed. He’s not surprised to find them on Ophelia’s prone form.

Sam nods once, and then covers his eyes and tries to breathe deeply, to remember how breathing is supposed to happen. It feels like he’s been short of breath for hours. After a while he hears Dean shift, and then he senses the heat of the older man near him. His lover’s heat. His brother’s heat. The world sways dangerously and strong hands grip his elbows just long enough to lower him and then jerk back.

“Sam. I can go. If you want me to. I can just disappear or I can hide out unless you need me.”

Sam keeps his eyes covered, experiencing a small amount of the darkness the woman on the couch has been staring at all morning. “Wait. I need to-“ He needs to what? Think? About what exactly, because the obvious logic is that there is nothing to think about now. The decision has been made for him, Dean is his brother and Sam has lost almost everything in the span of one terrible morning. And the worst part- ah the worst part is still to come. Sam stands suddenly, uncovering his eyes and meeting Dean’s worried gaze. “I’m going to the store. Someone has to. Stay here with her until I get back and I’ll have an answer for you by then. Will you do that?” He doesn’t mean it to sound needy, insecure, but it comes out that way.

Dean’s nodding before he finishes the question, green eyes full of hope and despair all at the same time and Sam’s heart tears just a bit more. “Anything you want Sam. Anything.”

He has to step away, stumbles through to his bedroom and throws on clothes before grabbing his wallet and Ope’s keys and heading for the door.

Comments

[sammichgirl]

OMFG.

You're killing me. HOW did you write this? Seriously, I can't stop reading.

Ope's sight for Jana's, very poetic. And believable, given the spell and supernaturallyness. I want to hope it's temporary, but...you being evil (in the best way, of course)...

Dean took that harder than I thought, and thinking that caught me off guard. Sam's reaction, that I expected - I'm surprised it wasn't worse - but I don't think that's the end of it. (I almost skipped commenting to just read the next chapter!)

I KNEW IT! Brady. And now I'm 100% sure Ruby too. Makes me wonder what her gift was to Sam. And why did Gabe leave? Why couldn't he stay? I have to wonder if he knew what was going to happen.

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

This is officially my favorite review ever. My head is so very swollen.

Gabe is...oh man. Flirting with disaster. :)

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

I knew it was building up to this and it was still heartbreaking. You really did that beautifully--wrenching but just the right amount of pain.

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

Thank you. :D