Losing Sam, Arc 2, Supernatural, Keeper Verse, R-NC-17

[phantisma]

Title: Losing Sam, Arc 2
Characters: Sam/Dean, John, Dana(the daughter)/OMC, Aristotle (the dog)
Rating: R to NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine - just playing.
Summary: Written by my friend M.
Losing Sam consists of a Prologue and three complete arcs.
Prologue set in July after Dana's high school graduation.
Arc 1 goes back a bit in time to June after Dana's high school graduation.
Arc 2 jumps up to July and Arc 3 continues where arc 2 leaves off.



Note - Arc 2 Commences. Thank you to Tom Petty for this chapter title.
You keep running for another place
To find that saving grace
Don’t you baby?
~Tom Petty~



Two weeks after the Climbing Trip

Sex hadn’t been lovemaking in so long that Dean felt a bit off kilter.

For the past several months, ever since Sam’s new-found power began curing his bodily injuries, all of their sex had been forceful, rough. It was a stroke of luck that any of their furniture had survived in one piece. Sam had a definite theme of complete dominance in the bedroom (or wherever) going on. Dean hadn’t minded.

Sam in the driver’s seat when fucking was a really good experience. Everyone needed someone that damn good at fucking to take control. Sadly for everyone else, Dean wasn’t sharing.

As Dean emerged to wakefulness, he slowly became aware of Sam spooned around his back, slowly and lovingly stroking his chest and abs while kissing and licking his neck.

Dean was about to mumble, “Not a girl”, when Sam ran a finger expertly down his cock, eliciting an, “ah” of pleasure instead. Sam pushed Dean’s left leg forward and propped him up a bit higher on his side. Sam’s lubed fingers ran over his hole, still quite sticky from last evening when Sam had tied him to the headboard, face down, and fucked him royally.

“Let me love you Dean,” Sam mumbled, lips behind Dean’s left ear. Dean felt Sam’s dick breach him, gently, no hard thrusts, no hurry, just a long, slow entry paired with the continued caress of his chest. Despite himself, Dean felt goose bumps and emitted a loud sigh of pleasure.

Sam turned Dean’s head slightly and claimed Dean’s lips, inserting his tongue and licking into Dean’s mouth. It wasn’t a dominant, owning kiss; it was an intense, romantic, claiming of a kiss.

Sam altered the angle of his hips to hit Dean’s prostate. Dean emitted a very girly moan. Sam smiled, peppered Dean’s cheeks with kisses, nibbled at his chin, kept up his steady, leisurely strokes.

Dean tried to roll onto his belly to speed things up, force it get rougher. Sam used his arm to still Dean and mumbled “No,” against his neck, languidly working his hips.

“Need to come Sammy.”

“Need you in me baby,” Sam replied, as he pulled all the way out and pushed the lube into Dean’s hand.

“Huh?” Dean managed. Dean hadn’t topped in at least two, no - make that three, months.

“How do you want me?” Sam asked, hand reaching down and squeezing the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm.

“Your side, like you had me,” Dean whispered as he lubed up his swollen cock. Dean positioned himself, imitating Sam’s position from only moments before, and stroked two fingers over Sam’s hole. Dean’s bone-deep want made him ache, but if Sam wanted slow and easy, slow and easy he would get. He inserted one finger, gently, while scooting close in order to kiss Sam’s neck.

Sam moaned at the intrusion, shifted his hips slightly to improve the angle. Dean quickly followed with two fingers, moving them bit by bit, scissoring tenderly.

Dean aligned his hips and breached Sam. He froze then, waited for Sam’s body to adjust, casually fondled Sam’s balls and the base of his cock. After he felt Sam relax, he eased into working his hips, imitating Sam’s prior pace.

“Amazing,” Dean uttered, describing both the sex and his lover, as he licked and bit at Sam’s back, pulled Sam closer into him, reaching for Sam’s cock.

Matching rhythms, Dean worked his hips and hand. Sam rolled his head and said what sounded vaguely like, “saving grace”, followed emphatically by, “Oh god, yeah.”

Sam adjusted his position, moving his hips completely in sync with Dean’s.

They undulated together for several minutes, one fluid motion, bodies crushed together, similar sounds of pleasure filling the air. Sam opened his mind and flooded their link with the vista from the top of After Six, the wide open space, the dense green of the trees, the blue, cloudless sky, the slight smell of wildflowers on the air. Dean groaned, tightened his grip and started to come. Sam followed, coating Dean’s hand as he came in huge, messy spurts.

Dean pulled Sam slightly in order to capture his lips. Sam pushed back a second to look into Dean’s eyes. Annunciating each word carefully, he said, “I love you so much”.

And their lips crushed in a kiss.





Note - Thank you to Bruce Springsteen for this chapter title.
2.2 picks up immediately after the Prologue, which is short & should be read, if you haven't.

The beat of your heart, the beat of your heart
The beat of your heart, the beat of your heart
The beat of your heart, the beat of her heart
The beat of your heart, the slow burning away
Of the bitter fires of the devil's arcade
~Bruce Springsteen~



Dean looked down at Aristotle’s bloody paws and bent to pick her up. A buzzing sound filled his ears and Aristotle’s form started to blur in front of him. He fell to one knee, bracing himself from toppling over with a shaky left hand.

His father’s arms encircled his shoulders. John barked an order, “Breathe, son.”

Dean’s vision cleared as he pulled in a lungful of air and he continued his motion of reaching out for Ari, scooping her up.

John released Dean, moved to the Impala, jumped into the driver’s seat and turned over the engine. Dean, a few steps behind, threw himself, with Aristotle in his arms, into the passenger side.

The car flew backwards into the street, spinning 180 to head in the right direction, a move worthy of a fine stunt driver. John straightened her out fully and floored it.

Dean released his death grip on Aristotle and settled her onto his lap. Her paws were bright red, so covered that it was unclear how badly her pads were torn up. Dean pulled her in close and reached down to the floor for the water bottle. Pouring some into her mouth, she gulped greedily. Ari rested her head in his lap, body quivering, but managed to twist her body to look up at Dean. Dean was unsure if a dog was able to look terrified but that pretty much summed up the expression emanating from her big brown eyes.

John flipped open his cell phone, punched a number and after two beats, levelly ordered into the handset, “Home. Now. Fast.” and hung up.

Dean tried to stay focused on the passing of the streets, the good progress they were achieving in crossing through Lawrence in record time. He pushed away thoughts of what this meant or how bad it would be when they arrived home. Unbidden, the memory of that morning’s sex crept into his mind, the idea that Sam had insisted on lovemaking instead of the usual joyful abandon of fucking. Dean shook it off, did not allow himself to dwell. Instead, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a gun and two spare clips, asked his father, “You armed?”

“Yep.”

It was about two miles across town to their house from the garage. Typically, it was a five to ten minute drive. John ran every light and skidded around every corner at full speed.

They arrived home in under three minutes.

Tires squealing for mercy, the Impala tore into the driveway. Dean was out the door and running into the house, gun drawn, before John applied any pressure to the brakes.

“SAMMY!”

He ran into the living room, which was perfect, tidy, everything in its usual place.

Aristotle barked weakly and Dean looked back out the front door, following the sound. Ari was limping her way around the side of the house, to the backyard. John obviously understood the dog’s message and already was racing that way, gun at the ready.

Dean went flying back out the door, down his father’s path.

The horrid smell of burnt vegetation and rotten eggs greeted them. The stench deepened as they neared the back of the house.

As Dean rounded the last corner to the garden, he saw every bush and tree torn up by the roots and shredded, as if the whole yard had been processed through a mulcher, with the detritus spread out afterward. There were huge holes in the ground, still smoking, giant piles of ash and sulfur all that remained in the pits.

Dean saw John huddled over something and threw himself into a slide in order to cover the last few steps.

John reached down cautiously, tenderly, to lift Sam’s head into his lap.

Sam was naked, covered in blood and dirt, unconscious.

His short inhalations of air were strained, wheezy.

Sam’s head lolled in John’s arms.

Dean reached for Sam’s throat, counted out the beats of his faint pulse. Reached out to transfer Sam’s head from John to himself, pulled Sam’s body in close to his own. It had to be over 90 degrees outside; Sam’s body felt like a chilled drink.

Dean opened his mind to connect to Sam’s. But, he heard Dana shout, “Stop Dad!” and he looked up. Dana rounded the corner two beats later, racing across the yard, sliding across the space to get to them, just as her Dad had done moments before.

Dana panted out, “Don’t reach out for him – could be a trap.”

Dean vaguely recognized that Scott had arrived in the garden a few moments after Dana. He stopped a few feet away from them, eyes alternately moving from the devastation of yard to the Winchesters huddled around a beaten Sam.

Dana relaxed her body and put a hand on Sam’s forehead. Whatever she touched physically jolted her backwards onto her butt. Her eyes opened wide in shock and fear.

“Call Missouri,” she said to John, voice wavering.

To her Dad, “Let’s get him inside. Safer there.”





Arc 2.3 - Tick Tick Boom

Note - Thank you to The Hives for this chapter title.

It’s too late
It’s too soon
It’s too late
It’s too soon
It’s too late
It’s too soon

Or is it …
~The Hives~



They situated Sam on the living room floor, on a bed of blankets, head propped on Dean’s lap. Dean stroked his hair, a calm motion starting at the top of his head, down the side to his neck, then repeated carefully, tenderly.

Scott placed a large wash basin full of warm water on the floor and dropped down a huge stack of towels. Scott grabbed a wash cloth, wet and rung it out, and proceeded to clean the blood and dirt off Sam’s face.

Dana hurriedly placed the box of first aid supplies at Sam’s feet. She propped open the top, pulled out and put on latex gloves and dug out the IV supplies. Dave had taught her the basics well. She pointed to Scott to cleanse Sam’s left arm then she followed with a healthy dose of disinfectant. She expertly set up the line for a saline drip.

John waited at the open front door, scanning the street for Missouri’s arrival.

Dana rocked on the balls of her feet and said to no one in particular, “His breathing’s a mess. Wanna call Dave so bad but really need to wait until Missouri’s here.” She began whispering, mantra-like, “Damn Damn DAMN!”

Scott moved the blanket covering Sam in order to wipe down his chest. One swipe of the cloth revealed the source of the blood. Sam’s chest was a crisscross pattern of one inch gouges running horizontally and vertically. The gashes may have formed some pattern but, with all the blood, it was difficult to be certain.

“Are those knife wounds?” Scott whispered. Dana put her hand on Scott’s to comfort him. “No,” she replied.

Dana lifted her head to look at Dean. Dana’s stomach lurched as she sensed that somehow Sam and Dean were communicating. Yet Dana knew there was not even a slight buzz of mental activity coming off Sam. The only message between them was whatever message was carried through Dean’s caress.

Dana was lifted out of her thoughts as she felt Missouri’s energy approaching. She and Missouri never intruded into one another’s head space. Yet the recognition of each other’s pattern was well-developed after all their years spent together. Dana reached out and sent Be prepared Missouri. It’s terrible.

Missouri walked into the house a minute later and hurried over to them, John on her heels.

John helped Missouri lower herself to the floor before slumping down next to her. Five people sat, circling Sam’s broken body.

“Found him in the backyard, covered in blood, about fifteen minutes ago,” John stated.

Dana spoke up, “I touched his mind in the yard and hit a block that I’ve never felt. Sat me down on my ass. Backed off and had Papa call you.”

Missouri nodded, reached for Sam’s right hand. “Did the right thing gal.” Missouri’s eyes fluttered closed, her head dropped, she muttered some sing-song verse, possibly in meditation.

Dana touched Sam’s leg and Scott reached over to cover her hand with his. Out of the corner of her eye, Dana saw John place a hand on Sam’s shoulder. All of them were connected now, all touching Sam, creating a closed loop around him.

After two minutes, Missouri opened her eyes without releasing Sam’s hand. “Never felt one before, only read about them.” She paused, steadied herself.

“Some kind of demon attack. Dunno who or what or why. Fought him physically to weaken him, I could sense the remnants of the struggle clinging to Sam. But it really went after his mind. Left nuthin’, tore him up in shreds. Sam fought like a son of a bitch.” She stopped then, turned to Dana before finishing. “And the fucker left behind a fail safe.”

“A fail safe?” Dana asked, trying to stay calm. “You mean a booby trap so that when I go in to fix him, it’ll try to blow me up too?”

“Yes, dahlin’. That’s what I mean.”

Mental booby traps, she had read about them. Designed to capture a psychic and destroy or subjugate her when she least expected. Only a very accomplished being could manage implanting such a tricky, tainted thing.

Clearly, whatever had attacked Sam did not want anyone or anything to be able to fix him.

Dana put a hand on Missouri’s arm. She demanded, “Ok, how do I get around it?”

Missouri didn’t answer. Dana poked her in the arm. Sam needed her; she needed to get on with this. “How?”

“Oh baby, you can’t.” Missouri shook her head as tears ran down her cheeks, the first one of them to succumb to tears. “Thing’s in there solid. You nudge it loose, it’ll catch ya. That thing tore up his mind, everything is shutting down. Oh lord, he’s got maybe sixty minutes left.”

Dana felt the blood in her heart stop pumping. No, it wasn’t true. Nothing was insurmountable. Missouri was wrong.

Wrong, goddamnit.

Dana felt the blood surge back through her veins as she replied, in a voice much louder than her intent, “No fuckin’ way. NO!”




Wind Cries Mary


Note - Thank you to Jimi Hendrix for this incredibly indulgent (on my part) chapter title.

Will the wind ever remember the names it has blown in the past
And with this crutch its old age and its wisdom
It whispers no this will be the last
And the wind cries mary
~Jimi Hendrix~



Dana had run out of the room and up the stairs with Scott right on her heels.

Missouri pulled Sam’s hand up to her lips and kissed it, held it to her cheek. Some of her tears dripped onto his hand, mixing with the blood. She placed his hand down, stroked it once more soothingly, before pushing herself up to standing and exiting the room without another word.

John turned to Dean, who continued to stroke Sam’s head. Dean’s head was hanging, John unable to see his eyes. His son lapsed into silence when things were truly awful and always after a death had occurred. With Sam’s passing imminent, Dean seemed to have assumed his silence in preparation.

“Say something son.”

“Knew as soon as I saw Ari. Just knew,” Dean replied, voice devoid of affect. It didn’t sound a thing like him. As if he was channeling some news reporter to inform John of his state of being.

There were no words of comfort, even if John was a man for whom providing comfort came naturally. Since the event in Yosemite that scared Dana so thoroughly, they’d been cautious. They’d executed a whole litany of rituals, protections and cleansings to try to determine what the hell piece of shit evil was after Sam. John never doubted the veracity or accuracy of what Dana had reported. But, none of their efforts had netted even a glimmer of information.

It seemed that whatever it was had crawled back into its hole, threw up a shield and hid or existed on a completely impenetrable plane.

In response to possessing no solid information on which to proceed, they purified Sam in an ancient Japanese bathing ceremony intended to ward off evil and make it impossible for anything malevolent to latch on to him. That worthless tome was going to be torched at the first opportunity.

“Do you have any sense of him?” John inquired, asking as gently as was possible for him.

Dean shrugged. “Dad, need a few minutes alone with him.”

John stroked Dean’s head before pushing himself up and off the floor and exiting the room. He turned the corner into the hallway, out of visual range, and sank down to the floor, leaning his head against the wall. He doubted Dean would do anything rash but he didn’t feel like Dean right now and John wasn’t risking a goddamn thing. He was staying close. If anything was said that perhaps he shouldn’t hear, he’d live with it.

Silence, an eerie emptiness, for a minute, then two before John heard Dean’s voice, muffled. John scooted closer so he could make out the words.

“Baby, I hope you hear me. I’m pretty sure you can, not sure why, but really pretty sure.”

A pause. Then a bit louder, more definite, “Never wanted to have to say good-bye to you. Ever.”

“You’re my whole world, have been since that crazy day at the bar. Not going to ask you to fight Sam. Know that you can’t. Gonna ask something of you though. It’s time you go over Sam. Go to Mom. I know she’ll be so…”

A huge wracking cry of misery erupted. John’s body instinctually twitched to go to Dean but consciously he fought the motion. Sometimes allowing a son to be alone was the hardest, even when it was the right thing to do.

John’s gut felt Dean struggle for control, suppress his agony. “Mom, she deserves to have you after all this time. She’ll be happy. Most important, you get to be with Michael.”

Another grief-filled sound, quickly subdued. “I always hated that we weren’t able to save Michael. Now, you go and father him. Make sure you tell him how much we all love him.”

Silence. John moved to go back into the room but Dean wasn’t done.

“We all love you Sam. And you’ve paid your debts, all of them. Don’t cling to…us, to this world babe. Don’t want that for you. Go over and be with Mom and Michael. They love you and need you. I promise that everyone here will be fine.”

Quiet. No sound from Dean.

John was certain he was done this time but waited a few more beats before re-entering the room. Dean had switched positions. He was laying next to Sam, with Sam in his arms, Sam’s head tucked into Dean’s chest. Dean’s arms encircled Sam’s body and Dean’s clothes where soaked in his blood. Dean held the motionless Sam whispering comfort into his ear.





Breathe No More

Note - Thank you to Evanescence for this chapter title and to pyroblaze18 for suggesting it.

So I bleed,
I bleed,
And I breathe,
I breathe now...
Bleed,
I bleed,
And I breathe,
I breathe,
I breathe-
I breathe no more
~Evanescence~



Digging further down into the trunk, Dana shoved books around but there wasn’t enough light in the closet to distinguish them clearly. So, she just lifted them up, armful after armful, and threw them into the space behind her. When the trunk was empty she spun around and threw herself at the pile. Scott was standing there, hands at his side, looking immeasurably sorrow-filled.

“Look for a slim green book with an etched leopard on the cover,” she ordered breathlessly.

Dana threw herself down and started flinging books to and fro. Scott bent down next to her, shuffling books as ordered.

“Goddamn it, where the fuck is it?”

“Dana, honey, the room is starting to vibrate, you gotta calm down,” Scott attempted.

“Don’t try to tell me…gotcha,” Dana scooped up the book as she charged for the door.



“See, right there - that’s the solution.”

Dana stabbed at a page in the green covered book for emphasis.

Missouri looked at Dana and stated as delicately as possible, “Dahlin’, I know what a switchback is. I don’t need no book to explain it to me. And it ain’t no solution.”

John walked into the kitchen then, obviously coming to check out the loud, emphatic voices. Dana looked up and immediately launched a barrage his way.

“Papa. You’ve gotta trust me. You gotta believe me. I can do this. Switchback.” Stab, stab, stab at the picture in the book. “It will work. No time Papa, just trust me. Please Papa.” She was begging and didn’t care in the least. There was only person she had to convince and that was John Winchester.

“Dana. The room is vibrating. You have to calm down.”

Dana pulled herself up to her full height. “Don’t tell me to calm down Papa. Sam has minutes left. This will work.”

John walked over to stand directly in front of her and put his hands on her biceps. “Take a breath and explain what you want to do.”

Dana forced down her anxiety. Scott was standing next to her. She reached for his hand and breathed. The tingling in the room lessened.

“Switchback. I prod the booby trap loose and it will come after me. I head to a psychic wall that Missouri will erect. At the last moment, I perform the switchback,” Dana stabbed at the open page again, “and the damn thing runs into the wall. It can’t follow me when I switch. Then I zap it back to hell where it fucking belongs. I CAN DO THIS.” Dana yelled the last part and the vibration resumed. Scott squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, inhaled deeply and it subsided once again.

John turned to Missouri and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry but you can’t do a switchback without lots of practice,“ she responded then added, “and it ain’t exactly pure.”

Dana huffed. “Been doing the switchback for months and it ain’t exactly evil either.”

Missouri stared at her, voice tinged with fury, “Where the hell you learn a switchback, young lady?”

Dana flailed in returned fury, “Sam, who do you think?” With that said, Dana turned to John to once again plead her case. “Sam was able to watch me at track practice and I didn’t sense him. I pestered the shit out of him until he told me how and then threatened to learn how to do it by myself if he didn’t show me. And, yes, it is a bit tainted in the big scope of things but it will the fuck work to destroy that damn booby trap in his head.”

Missouri conceded, “Girl, I am sure you execute the most beautiful, devious switchback known to psychic-kind but my skills aren’t up to holding a wall for that thing to slam into. It will go loose and kill us all.”

Dana actually stomped her feet. Scott rubbed her shoulders. “You put up the structure and use Papa and Dad as the force to make it strong.” In anticipation, Dana put up her hands to stop Missouri’s next objection. “Yeah, I know they’re non-adepts but Papa’s mind is Fort Knox and Dad is pretty damn good after all these years with Sam. They are strong, you just anchor them and hold steady. Trust me, you won’t have to hold it long. I’m going to blow the fuck out of it.”

Dana grabbed John’s hand. “Papa please, no time. I can do this. Please Please Please. Go in there and order Dad to let me do this. Please Papa.”

John nodded his head in assent, kissed Dana’s forehead and left the kitchen.





Livin' on a Prayer

Note - Thank you to Bon Jovi for this chapter title.

Whooah, were half way there
Livin on a prayer
Take my hand and well make it - I swear
Livin on a prayer
~Bon Jovi~



“No Dad, Sam wouldn’t want Dana to take any risk at all. Just. No.” Dean said, in a slow monotone, after John had explained Dana’s plan of action.

Dean propped himself up to sitting as Dana, Missouri and Scott re-entered the living room.

Dana didn’t attempt to argue. She looked at her Dad and replied, “No is not an acceptable answer Dad. No one is dying today and that’s that. I can do this Dad. Trust me. You and Sam are going to die of old age when you’re both ancient, surrounded by great-grandchildren and a pack of dogs.”

Dana felt Dean reach out mentally as if trying to obtain Sam’s reaction. In response, Dana touched his mind gently. The connection had an unfamiliar, watery texture since they never used this mode to communicate with each other. Love you Dad. Can do this. He taught me well. Have faith.

She studied her Dad who, in turn, was staring at Sam. As she was about to prod him once more, Dean conceded, “Ok honey. What do I do?”

The relief, cool and most welcome, felt like a waterfall cascading over her on a sticky hot day.

Dana went over to Scott and covered his hands with hers. “I need you to go back to the kitchen. Without any psychic experience, you’re too vulnerable to be in this room. I know you only knew about my telekinetic powers and I’ve got lots of explaining to do. But, please just do this for me now.”

Scott’s brown eyes held hers. He nodded and kissed her forehead. “Love you baby. Be strong.”

As Scott walked out, Dana called after him, “Will you tend to Ari’s injuries and make sure she stays in the kitchen too?”

Scott turned back and smiled and mouthed a, “Yes.”

Dana studied Sam, now a dreadful shade of gray. His breathing had devolved into small, pained gasps. Dana positioned herself above Sam’s head, touched her hand to his forehead and muttered, “Hold on SamSam. I’m coming for you.”

“Ok, Missouri you sit at Sam’s feet with Papa and Dad slightly behind you. Do you need a physical connection?”

Missouri sat where she was told, John and Dean following as well. Missouri replied, “Yes, I think a connection of us three would be for the best.”

Missouri grabbed John’s hand with her left and Dean’s with her right. “I think you two should join your other two hands, can you reach?” They could indeed and Dana immediately felt Missouri erecting the wall, block by block.

“John, think of me and open your mind.” Missouri waited a beat then instructed Dean to do the same.

Dana tossed an energy bolt with a blood red trail their way. It slammed into their joint wall and disappeared into a curl of smoke. Dana half-smiled. “Very nice. That wall evaporated that senswelt without a flinch. It’ll do just fine.”

Dana started into the traditional ritual of mind clearing. She couldn’t afford any errant energy or disruptive thoughts left behind when she dislodged the trap in Sam’s head. Her need for a pure healing energy outweighed her desperate need to hurry, so she repeated the ritual twice and then a third time, slowing down on each pass. On the fourth time through, she entered Sam’s mind and performed another sequence of cleansing from there.

Then, in the middle of the fifth pass, she performed a colossal psychic roundhouse, flying around and clobbering the booby trap accompanied by an almighty howl. And she raced up and out. She felt its filth right on her heels as she headed straight into the wall, needing to get within millimeters of it in order to leave no room for the trap to reverse course.

Every instinct was screaming out to switch now, switch, switch, switch. But she waited another millisecond and then another and then another. She was going to slam into the wall and then she flooded her mind with the intricate pattern of the switch, the green energy of it, slightly flecked with the gray triangular pattern of its darker side, flooding over her.

Dana veered up, up, up and then flipped over and away, not unlike a pole vaulter clearing a record-setting height. Beneath her she felt the impact as the trap slammed into the Missouri~John~Dean wall.

Stopping dead in her tracks, she shook off the after-effects of the switch like a dog shaking water off its coat. Turned and stared for the tiniest fraction of a second before unleashing, full bore, the nastiest, dark side psychic energy bomb in her book of tricks.

She nailed it dead center.

It exploded, sounding like a sonic boom had erupted in the Winchester living room. The windows shook, the glass mirror shattered into thousands of pieces followed by the light fixtures, wood was groaning under the strain. Then it stopped. Blessed silence.

She looked at Sam, wheezing for air. She performed a quick cleansing ritual for herself and dove into his head, searching desperately for every autonomic function she could find. She couldn’t find any trace of Sam’s unique psychic signature. The attack was a psychic rape of the first order; it was chaos in there.

She had to deal with that later. Right now, she needed to focus on performing surgery on all his basic functions. She found the failing connections for heart and lung and threw them together. She searched desperately for digestion, blood flow, lymphatic systems and fixed them all. She worked furiously, felt her own energy fading.

She stepped back and assessed. She had done what was necessary to keep him alive. He was in dreadful shape, but he wasn’t going to die today.

She stepped up and out of Sam’s mind and swayed. She reached for her head and hazily recognized that someone was holding her tight. She groaned and tried to open her eyes. The small amount of light that leaked through made her scream in agony and fade into unconsciousness.






Look What You’ve Done

Note - Thank you to JET for this chapter title.

Oh well, it seems likes such fun
Until you lose what you had won

Oh, look what you've done
~JET~




Heat. Dana numbly registered that she was laying in the middle of a pit of hellfire.

Crap. Had she done something wrong? Why was she burning up?

She forced her left eye open and felt a tremor shake through her body. Hands touched her but that burned worse. She flinched and gasped.

“Dana, you awake?” Scott’s voice. So loud, it echoed in her ears. Scott was so soft-spoken. Why in the world was he yelling?

“Hurts,” she whispered. It sounded so loud to her, reverberating in her ears.

She forced her eyes open and earned herself an explosion of light. She slammed her eyelids shut.

She heard someone tromp into the room, sounded like a herd of elephants shaking the forest floor.

“Is she up?” Missouri’s voice, so unbearably loud.

Scott replied, “Barely. Can we give her anything?”

“Going to give her a righteous whupping. What she deserves.”

Dana could not stand the pain of the voices any longer. “Please,” she gasped, “please, quiet, please.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to be quiet young lady.” Dana thought her body was going to shatter. The sound of Missouri’s raised voice reverberated from the tip of her hair, down the back of her head, coursed through her torso before causing a knot of pain in her thighs.

“Hurt a little? Let me guess, you’re burning up, my voice sounds like rockets exploding inside your body and you can’t open your eyes without thinking you’re staring into the sun.” When Missouri was right, she was dead on right.

“Answer me!”

Scott interjected, begging, “Missouri. She’s in agony. Please stop.”

“I will not stop young man. Do you have any idea what she did? Any idea?”

Of course, Scott had no idea. But, he gamely attempted a reply. “She saved Sam’s life.”

“That, young man, remains to be seen. Sam’s in a bad way.”

That got through to Dana. She forced her eyes open, absorbed the misery of the white, blazing light. “Sam, oh god, Sam.” Dana struggled to sit up, pulled at the couch to help prop her weight up.

In a calmer voice, Missouri filled in the gaps. “That doctor friend of John’s is upstairs with him. Sewing him up, transfusing him. John and Dean got him into bed. Can’t do nothing for Sam right now gal, lay down.”

Missouri’s hand came to rest on her shoulder and Dana recoiled from the searing pain of it. Missouri kept it in place.

“Dana Elizabeth, where did you learn that filthy thing you threw to destroy the fail safe? Tell me right now.” Missouri’s voice made it clear that bullshit was not going to be tolerated.

Oh. It all clicked into place like tumblers in a safe. This was a blowback in response to that little move. Well, it worked so she felt rather happy, sort of, to suffer the consequences.

Dana managed the smallest of explanations. “Read about it. Then the internet, connected with a dark practitioner. Asked for the details of how. Been practicing.” She added, “Not from Sam.”

Missouri sighed. “Listen to me. I do not tolerate any connection to the true dark. None. Not even when used as you did today. Your uncle has touched too much, most not his fault, you will not follow that model. You will stop this.”

Dana nodded. She knew Missouri was right but frankly, she’d agree to anything to get her to be quiet.

“Good. Glad we agree. I’ll go get Dave to give you something for the pain.”

Dana spoke up, remembered how Sam felt on this issue, “No, deserve to suffer through it.”

Missouri laughed. “Yes, you do. But Sam needs you. I ain’t got the skills he needs right now and you do. So we got to get you on your feet.”

Dana heard the loud steps as Missouri headed out of the room. Missouri was right but Sam was alive.

And Dana knew she’d do it again, screw the consequences





O Mary Don’t You Weep

Note - Thank you to Bruce Springsteen for this (once again indulgent) chapter title (not a Springsteen original song, adapted from a traditional spiritual frequently used during the Civil Rights movement).
Feel free to yell at me in comments for this chapter.

Brothers and sisters don't you cry
There'll be good times by and by
Pharaoh's army got drownded
O Mary don't you weep

Well O Mary don't you weep, don't you mourn
O Mary don't you weep, don't you mourn
Pharaoh's army got drownded
O Mary don't you weep



She awakened with a groggy, leaden head, the remnant of some stellar pain killer.

It was pitch black in the room. From the stillness of the night air and the soft chirp of the crickets, Dana figured it was somewhere in the early morning hours.

“Hi sweetheart.” A cold cloth smelling like lemons touched her face. Dana sighed into its welcome relief.

“Daddy,” she murmured, reaching a hand out to touch him.

Dean pulled her head up off the pillow and cradled it in his arms. She felt his lips on the top of her head, dropping feather light kisses into her hair with his warm hands firm on her back. She inhaled, drawing his scent into her, and inadvertently caught a sensation of his bone-deep anguish.

Suddenly terrified that something had transpired while she was out, she breathed out, “Sammy?” in wide-eyed alarm.

“Your Papa’s with him. He’s in a coma. Blood pressure’s better and his heart rate is good. Missouri said we have you to thank for that,” Dean whispered into her hair.

Missouri. Furious. Dana’s grogginess started to fade at the memory of Missouri’s rage colliding with her dark side-inspired sense overload.

“Don’t be mad Dad, please.”

Dean continued to rock her, as if she was three again. “Not mad. Will deal with that later. How are you?”

“Okay now.” She sensed his disbelief. “Not just saying that Dad. Really okay. Wanna see Uncle Sammy.”

Dean moved to help her stand up. She remembered then, “Where’s Scott?”

Dana swayed a bit, not quite maintaining her balance, no feeling in her extremities, unsure if it was the drugs or the blowback effect.

“Sent Scott home. Four or five hours ago.” Thankfully, Dean kept his arms around her waist or Dana would have been a heap on the floor.

“He’s a smart kid Dana. Looked at me and told me that you had only ever asked one thing of him, to never ask about Sam. And he headed out without one question.”

Dana took a tentative step, happy she didn’t collapse. “I don’t blame him if I never see him again, now that he knows how much I’ve kept from him, lied about.”

Dean actually huffed at that, a small, emotionless sound. “Sam kept quite a bit from me sweetie and you know how that worked itself out.”

Dana desperately wished that Scott had not accompanied her into the backyard. Fuck, should have insisted. Scott didn’t deserve knowing this, witnessing the result of unfettered malevolence, exposed to its filth. And, he most certainly didn’t deserve a psychic freak of a girlfriend.

They had navigated to the foot of the stairs. She looked up, wished they had a ranch-style house.

“Can you make it?” Dean asked.

“Sure, no problem,” Dana replied and lifted her right foot, willed it to move and climb the goddamn stairs.



Dana gasped as they entered the bedroom. Sam was cleaned up, no more blood on him, wrapped in white blankets with IV lines in both arms and a breathing cannula in his nose, propped up in the bed, hair hanging limply to his shoulders. With the blood and dirt gone, she clearly saw his skin color, the filthy yellow-gray that snow turns in late winter. “Oh god” unwittingly escaped her lips. Dean tightened his grip, pulled her a bit closer to him.

Dean lowered her into the rocking chair pulled up to the side of the bed. She slumped into it gratefully.

Dana looked across at John in the recliner on the other side of the bed. It shocked her how aged he looked, how beaten down, how defenseless. Papa was never anything but Mt. Everest in her mind.

Without preamble, John sat forward an inch and spoke to her, in a low voice, stern as a schoolmaster. “Don’t think I don’t know what you did, young lady. I don’t care that you used such a nasty thing Dana Elizabeth. I care that you learned it in the first place. We will revisit this topic.”

And with that, he sat back, tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

“I can’t feel him,” Dana said as she reached for Sam’s hand. He was cold to the touch. “What’s his body temperature?”

“A little below normal. We’re using hot water bottles to warm him up.”

“Oh.” Dana stared at Sam’s face. No trace of pain in his expression. Perhaps a sadness or a loneliness though.

“I need to go in and find his healing power. Get it activated. Then things will start to fit back together. The brain damage is severe but that will work.”

It was easy. It had to be. The alternative, saving him only to subject him to life as a vegetable, was unthinkable, unacceptable, not going to fucking happen on her watch.

Dean grabbed her hand. “Dana, not now. You need a good night’s rest and let the effects wear off.”

She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed it. “I don’t want to wait another minute. He needs us. This isn’t difficult.”

Dana moved Dean’s hand to cover hers covering Sam’s. Physically connected to both her guys, she touched Sam’s mind lightly, her first non-emergency entry. Her heart constricted. Tattered memories free-floating, muddled together. The massive physical battle had left a signature, kind of like the sound of nails on a blackboard. That, in and of itself, upset her and, on an ordinary day, was hugely concerning.

But, the physical battle, with its jarring, tremor-y remains, was insignificant compared to the mental attack that Sam had undergone.

When she went flying in after the switchback, she saw what she thought was a rape of the mind. That impression summed it up well. Sam had been mentally penetrated against his will, held down and forced to submit. During the act, all his memories had been ripped apart with psychic metal claws. Everything had been shredded. The being, whoever or whatever it was, was formidable, cruel and masterful in its destruction.

She felt the lingering trail of the murk and its fail safe. She cleared that away with a tender sweep of pink dust. The rosy haze surrounded it and floated it up and out. At least Sam’s mind would be filth-free.

As she traveled through the sections of his mind, she sensed differently toned remains from the assault. There was devastation more Sam in nature. She stopped, pondered and jerked, realized that some of the damage occurred from Sam’s vicious struggle to survive. She stepped lightly so as not to make a sound or leave any of her trace or cause any further damage. She was intent on not causing him any more hurt.

She shuffled through each piece, identifying from memory what had been where. Searched everywhere for the silvery white, blob-like formed mental shape, that was his unique, powerful healing power. Its shape was so different from all else. Should be a piece of cake to locate and then she just had to poke it, tell it to get to work, do its thing, and bring Sam around.

She moved up and down the corridors, psychically peeking in doors. She made two passes before the unthinkable started to float through her own mind.

After four complete passes, she pulled out and put her forehead down on the bed, struggling to maintain control. She lost that battle quickly. Her body convulsed and a terrible shriek of grief surged out of her.

Dana Winchester was rarely wrong. This was an easy task. Just go in and activate his power and let it work. Straightforward, except for one thing. Sam Winchester’s healing power was nowhere to be found anywhere Dana searched.





Drown Me Slowly

Note - Thank you to Audioslave for this chapter title.

I've got a will this time I don't care what you say
I've got a feeling this will all go away
It's in the wind this time it's in the southern sky
I can't walk on water yet won't even try
~Audioslave~



John stood in the doorway and examined the scene that had been repeated over and over the last two days. Dean checking all of Sam’s vitals, massaging his feet, checking the IV lines, petting Aristotle, who was sprawled out next to Sam, before slowly, almost painfully, lowering himself back down into the chair pulled up next to the bed.

“Dean.” John said from the doorway in a loud voice.

Dean didn’t even flinch.

John stepped closer, repeated, even louder, “Dean.”

No response.

John strode across the room and planted himself directly in front of his son.

It didn’t even garner a glance in his direction.

“You will look at me when I speak to you.”

“Huh?” Dean moved his head up a fraction. “What?”

John ran a hand through his own hair. “Dean, this must stop. You need to eat, sleep. And you need to tend to your daughter.”

Dean’s eyes were glassy, seemingly not comprehending.

“I’m missing something Dad.”

Maybe Dean was losing it. The boy had fought his way through death and destruction many a time, mostly with a wisecrack and a smirk firmly in place. But, everyone had a tolerance threshold and losing Sam seemed to be Dean’s. John wasn’t the least bit surprised.

Dean blinked, sat up a bit straighter.

“Dad, I know I’m missing something.”

“Yes. You are. Your mental stability. You’ve had no sleep in over two days and very little to eat. Your daughter has not left her room in two days. You need to pull it together and go and deal with her.”

“Dana hasn’t been out of her room in two days?” Dean’s eyes managed a bit more focus, awareness, a bit of a spark.

“After she left this room after…,” John didn’t want to put words to anything about Dana’s failed attempt to locate Sam’s healing power. He cleared his throat to cover his stumbling. “She flew down the hall into her room, slammed the door and hasn’t surfaced since. Knocking on her door is getting no response. You need to deal with her. Not her fault.”

Dean’s expression changed from vaguely concerned to downright perplexed. “No, not her fault, at all. Why would she think that?”

Relieved that he evoked some reaction, John reached over to pry Dean out of the chair. “I’ll watch Sam. Go make Dana something to eat then go and talk to her. Then you need to sleep.” John watched Dean’s face carefully, braced for the presumed argument.

Instead Dean stood and walked out of the room. John smiled, petted Aristotle and received a soft whine of gratitude, before he lowered himself into the chair and commenced his turn watching over Sam.



Dana’s door wasn’t locked. Dean stopped and pondered why his Dad hadn’t simply opened her door to see what was going on inside. Knowing John, he had some good reason. Dean was too tired to attempt to puzzle together what strange John logic applied.

Dean crossed the threshold and saw piles of books, blankets and clothes strewn everywhere. A localized tornado had hit this room and, by the looks of it, it rated a category F5.

At first he didn’t see Dana. It fleetingly crossed his mind that maybe she had destroyed the room then took off. He scanned the room a second time and barely saw the top of her hair over some oversized, yellow book.

He crossed the room, sat down on the edge of her bed and pulled the book away out of her hands.

He passed her a milkshake accompanied by one word, “Drink.”

Dean had been staring into her beautiful face for eighteen years. He knew every twist of her mouth, wrinkle of her nose, eyebrow quirk. He had seen her happy, sad, mad, victorious, frightened, regretful.

Right now, the only word to describe what he saw was sorrow.

She obeyed him, drank down half the glass before pausing for air. Her hair was standing on end and she reached up to pull at it. Dean looked around the room until he spotted the box of tissues. He reached over, grabbed a handful, passed them to Dana with another one word order, “Blow.”

Again, she did exactly as instructed.

“Have you slept at all?” Dean asked.

“Have you?” she tossed back at him.

“Touche.”

She resumed drinking the milkshake until she finished and passed back the glass. “Just the right amount of chocolate and coffee flavor balance. Thanks.” She paused a second before adding. “I know you drugged it. Don’t think you’re fooling me.”

Dean’s lips turned upwards. “You aren’t the only one. Your Papa told me I could take a sleeping pill or a right cross to the jaw, my choice.”

She snorted. “Which ya gonna choose?” Dean smiled despite himself. Dana always seemed more like Sam to him, intelligent, studious, devious, clever and, most importantly, psychic. But, in times like these, when things were dire, she was a mini-Dean, all bravado, smart mouth, never say die.

“The answer is here,” she waved at the books, “or in some book. I know I’m missing something.”

Dean’s eyes widened at that last bit. “What did you say?”

“I’m missing something. Just out of my grasp. Something I should know or do but can’t quite put my finger on it. Can feel it in my gut.”

“Really?” Dean hesitated before adding, “I’ve had that same feeling in my gut for about 24 hours.”

Their eyes met and held. Seconds ticked by. Dana reached out gently to touch Dean’s mind. Their lack of experience made it awkward but she managed to pass her sense of ‘overlooking something’ to him and reached for his. Dean felt her react through their watery link.

The signature pattern on their feeling on something ‘missing’ was jarringly similar, as if a cookie cutter had been used to create the feeling.

Dana let go of this shared sense and Dean felt the link pop like a bubble burst.

“Christ. Do you think Sam’s trying to tell us something?” Dana asked in a reverent tone. “Naw. Can’t be. His mind is a mess. I just don’t see how.” She bit her fingernails, twisted her hair, pulled her legs up to her chest. “Yet, too weird to be a fluke. Too fucking weird.”

Then in a little voice, “Dad, some of the damage….,” her voice trailed off.

“What about some of the damage sweetheart?” Part of Dean really didn’t want to hear this.

“He caused some of it. I read in one of these books,” she pointed to the mess strewn about her room, “that you can tear up your own thoughts to protect something.”

“Like protect us?” Dean asked gently.

“Yeah, exactly, like protect us,” she acknowledged shaking her head. “He’s such a damn martyr.”

“He loves us,” Dean really didn’t want to think about any of it. “And we need some sleep, both of us.”

Dean stood up and pointed to the bed. Dana propped herself up to standing and crawled under the covers. He kissed her head. “Love you sweetheart. Sleep, we’ll talk more in the morning.”

Her eyes met his again, held them, “Love you too Daddy.”

He was almost out the door when she called after him, “I’ll never give up you know.”



Dean was semi-aware of being shaken violently. There was a voice, far off, saying something over and over then the shaking, the voice, the shaking, the voice…..

Dean struggled for consciousness but it eluded him, coherency way far off in the distance. He stretched for it but felt like he was on a half mile long treadmill that was just going too fast to ever make any progress.

More shaking, louder voice. Then quiet. Dean was going under when something icy cold touched his forehead. He struggled, batted at it.

“Wake up Dad.” A very loud voice, commanding.

Dean opened one eye and focused. It was Dana standing over him, very cold something on his head.

“Whaaa?” Dean tried to spit the word out.

“I know where it is. Well, pretty sure. Really pretty sure.”






The Rising


Note - Thank you to Bruce Springseen for this chapter title.

Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
~Springsteen~



Dave was upstairs tending to Sam, tube feeding and changing his dressings. Dana needed to talk to John and Dean. So, she herded John into the living room and returned upstairs to shake Dean into some approximation of wakefulness. She helped Dean stumble his way downstairs, plopped him into the armchair and wrapped his hands around a mug of coffee.

Dean sat, leaned over awkwardly, in the chair, face a shade of chartreuse, clinging to the mug. Dana wasn’t sure if his state really qualified as awake or not.

“Papa, what the hell did you give him?” Dana snapped, more than a little perturbed with her grandfather.

John had the decency to look slightly abashed. “Knew if I didn’t drug him, he’d sleep twenty minutes and demand to resume watch.”

“It’s been ten hours and he’s barely lucid. Whatever he dosed me with let me sleep a few hours and feel better.”

“Didna gi yut nuthin,” Dean slurred.

Dana jumped and looked toward her father. Some of the coffee had dribbled down his shirt. He really looked pathetic, hair matted to the side of his head, pillow marks on his cheeks and coffee stains down his front.

But, they had to talk now, while Dave was here with Sam. No choice. “Ok Dad, try to focus. Do you remember me waking you about five hours ago?”

Dana stared at Dean, willing him to consciousness with the force of her personality.

She whacked her own head. “Of course you don’t, silly question.”

Dana reached out to check on Dave, who was about half way done. She had to hurry.

“Dad and I both felt we are missing something. I compared our feelings and they are identical, same pattern, texture. Which frankly, just isn’t possible unless they are coming from the same source.” She paused, checked to make sure Dean was awake, bumped his leg a little. A little more coffee spilled, this time into his lap.

“I was asleep about five hours and I was dreaming.” Dana blushed, the next part was a tad embarrassing. “It was a sex dream.”

She checked John and Dean’s expressions but their faces were blank. Well, John ‘s was blank. Dean’s was still that dreadful shade of green mixed in with a haze of incomprehension.

“When I woke, I remembered the dream.” Dana looked at them both. Neither registered any level of understanding.

“Don’t you get it?” She asked. Obviously, they did not.

“Guys, I only remember my psychic premonition dreams. I never remember my personal dreams.”

They just looked at her like she was an alien.

“Sam sent me that dream to tell me what I was missing.”

Still no reaction. She tried again.

“Whenever I’ve been in Sam’s head, I’ve never found any sex memories. Dad, am I safe in assuming that Sam has a decent memory of his sex life?”

Dean lifted the mug to his mouth, swallowed a bit and mumbled, “Yeah.”

She realized she had to spell out the whole thing although she hadn’t wanted to. In a rush of words, she spilled.

“After I infiltrated Sam’s mind when I was thirteen, Sam reordered things to keep me out. I knew that. I didn’t know what he did though. Last night, when I woke up from the dream, I realized that when I was in his head helping him during the blowback, there were no sex memories. It’s what’s missing. He’s locked them away from prying eyes.”

John sat up, finally clicking into her point. “So, you’re saying that he has hidden the healing power with his sex memories?”

“Yeah, I think so. Likely the most secure part of his mind. Dad and I are getting a vague message from him and the dream definitely was telling me that. It’s probably orderly in there, undamaged.”

Dean surprisingly spoke up then, coherently. “So, go in and get it. Whatcha waitin’ for?”

Dana laughed, overjoyed that they understood, finally. “Oh, he built the sex memory vault to keep me out. I’ll never get in.”

John reached for his phone. “I’ll call Missouri then.”

Dana laughed harder. “Good lord Papa. He’d never let her in.”

She looked at both of them, sure they’d catch on to what had to be done. Again, blank faces. She loved them desperately but they could be a tad slow at times.

“There’s only person he’s going to let in there.” She smiled angelically and pointed directly at Dean.