Chapter Text
Sam sat beside Dean’s hospital bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Hours of relentless worry had left him bone tired. They’d eventually gotten the infection under control, but doubts lingered about the after effects of that high fever. The doctor had seemed optimistic, but warned they wouldn’t know for sure if there had been any brain damage until Dean woke up.
It was difficult for Sam to imagine something so destructive happening in Dean’s head, because he seemed so peaceful—besides his swollen, split, black-and-blue bottom lip. The hospital bed propped him up at a forty-five degree angle. He lay under a thin blue blanket, his breathing shallow but steady. An IV tube stuck out from a vein on the back of his left hand. Late afternoon sun shone through the window blinds.
Sam rubbed his forehead, wondering how long he’d have to wait like this before Dean woke up. The last time he’d taken a short bathroom break, his reflection had startled him. Dark circles under his eyes, pale skin, hollow cheeks. Like he’d aged ten years since last night. He kept wondering what he’d do if Dean wasn’t Dean anymore. He’d murmured a few dozen prayers already, fully aware that his brother would mock him if he knew.
Sam thought back to early that morning, when Dean had stumbled in with bloodshot eyes and fiery skin. He’d apologized over and over. Every labored breath had been an “I’m sorry.” Sam knew his brother. Dean would beat himself up over what he’d done for years. From the looks of his lip, he’d already gotten started.
Sam leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and blew out a breath. For Dean, getting over the bite and infection and fever would be easy compared to getting over the guilt.
If he woke up.
“You look like hell.”
Sam jumped; his eyes snapped to Dean’s face. His brother lay there, looking a bit gray, but awake. And judging by that greeting, he was still entirely himself.
Sam suppressed a giant grin. He gestured to Dean, then himself. “Pot, kettle.” Sam wiped his palms on his jeans to hide the fact that they were trembling with relief. “I was about ready to call Cas.”
Dean’s heavy-lidded eyes scanned the small hospital room. “So, what am I in for?”
Sam leaned in and folded his hands together. “That ghoul bite you didn’t tell me about got infected. When the ambulance arrived, your temperature was nearly a hundred and six. It was probably higher before that, but Ruthie kept it down. She put you in a cold bath.”
At the mention of her name, Dean’s gaze dropped. He gritted his teeth, then stared off into a corner.
“Where did you go last night, Dean? What happened to your face?”
Dean opened and closed his hands a couple times. “I picked a fight.”
Sam pressed his lips together. That sounded about right. “Dean,” he began, but Dean cut him off.
“Don’t, Sam. Okay? Just don’t.”
Sam sat back. Unbelievable. Dean had been awake for all of two minutes after nearly dying or being brain damaged, and he was already starting an argument. Yeah, he was definitely still Dean. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“Yeah, I do. You’re gonna tell me it’s okay, I did what I thought I had to do, you forgive me. Or that I screwed up bad, but it’s gonna be okay anyway. But it’s not. What I did, what I almost did…it’s not okay.”
Sam recognized the familiar current of self-loathing running through Dean’s words, his tone, his eyes. He waited for a minute. Then he asked, “Is that why you went out and got somebody to beat the crap out of you? Because you think you deserved it?”
Dean didn’t look at him and didn’t answer.
“Maybe you did deserve it, Dean. Maybe not. I’m not gonna pretend last night wasn’t terrible. But yeah, I know why you did it. I see why you felt like you had to. Just...next time, talk to me, okay?”
Dean swallowed, and kept staring at the corner. “At least she’s got some sense. Where did she go? Back to Idaho?”
With his gaze fixed opposite the door, Dean didn’t notice Ruthie come silently into the room, a styrofoam coffee cup in each hand. She stopped, her eyes widening at the sight of Dean awake. Her eyes shot to Sam. He gave her a small smile. She hadn’t spoken much since they’d arrived at the hospital, besides questioning the doctors about Dean’s condition. He didn’t know what was going on in her head, but he took it as a good sign that she was still here. He didn’t know what she would do or say now, but he suspected it would decide the relationship between the three of them—and whether they’d have one after today.
Ruthie looked at Dean for several silent moments, her face working through a series of emotions. Her mouth tightened at first, and her body stiffened. But then she closed her eyes and took a long breath, in and out. When she opened them, every feature had softened. Without a sound, she set the coffee cups down on the small table beside Sam. Then she walked around the end of the bed, to Dean’s side.
Dean spotted her coming. His arms pulled in tight against his sides. He looked up at her from eyes strained with remorse. They flicked to the thin cut on her throat, and began to glisten.
She stopped beside the bed. “You scared us, Dean,” she said, her voice steady.
Sam was pretty sure she didn’t intend it with a double meaning, but Dean’s head flinched back into his pillow anyway.
She didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze dropped to the bed, and she picked at some invisible lint on the bedspread. “There are some things I have to say. To both of you. But first, Dean.” She lifted her eyes to his again and raised her chin. “You told me you were sorry. I believe you, and I accept your apology.”
Dean's jaw started working, and she reached down and grabbed his hand.
“I forgive you, Dean.” Her tone was firm, leaving no room for argument.
He swallowed. Tears pooled in the bottoms of his eyes as he looked up at her. They quivered on his lower lids, threatening to spill over. Sam covered his mouth with his hand, his own eyes stinging.
“But I need you to hear something,” she continued. “Because apparently you didn’t know before.” She hesitated, then plowed ahead. “You two are all I have. When I met you, my old life died. There is no one else. And I wouldn’t change a single thing. There is nothing in this world that could ever make me betray you.” Her eyes flicked to Sam briefly, then back to Dean. “No one they can threaten. No amount of money they can offer. Not even seeing my dad again. Nothing.” She paused and looked down at her hand, still holding Dean’s. “I love you both. I need to you know that.”
Several quiet moments passed. Ruthie withdrew her hand from Dean’s and clasped her hands together in front of her. Her cheeks flushed pink as she sank down onto the edge of the bed. “Also,” she began in a much quieter voice, “it’s my fault that I looked so guilty to you.” Her gaze focused on her hands in her lap. “I stopped looking for the werewolf months ago. Almost from the beginning. I didn’t want you to find it.” Her cheeks turned redder.
Sam sat up straighter. This was out of the blue.
“The other day, I did hide the paper from you. I was going after it myself. I hoped I’d be able to kill it and you wouldn’t find out.” She lifted one hand long enough to swipe it across her downturned eyes before going on. Her voice trembled now. “Because once it’s dead, I’m supposed to go back home. That was our deal.”
Dean’s lips parted, like Sam’s. The same open-mouthed moment of understanding.
She pressed a hand to her mouth; her shoulders shook a couple times. Then she pressed on in a hitching voice. “I didn’t tell you any of this because I didn’t think it was fair of me to ask.” She lifted her bandaged left hand from her lap and held it up. “But now we know where secrets can lead. That’s on me, and I’m sorry.” She took a shaky breath. “So, I’m just going to be honest.”
She looked from Dean to Sam, her brown eyes full and sincere. “I don’t want to leave. Not once it’s dead. Not ever. I want to stay with you, if you’ll have me.”
Sam just barely managed to stop himself from answering immediately, telling her of course she could stay, that they hadn’t been planning to send her away. That they loved her, too. He looked at Dean, to see what he would say.
Dean lay there, looking at Ruthie, searching her face. They looked at each other for so long Sam started to wonder if he should leave the room. Finally, Dean lifted both arms, holding them out to her. Ruthie let out a sound that was half laugh, half cry. She bent forward onto his chest, and he folded his arms around her.
Sam exhaled. He felt slightly awestruck, like he’d just witnessed a miracle. A paralyzed man suddenly standing. A blind man receiving his sight.
Dean kissed the top of Ruthie’s head, then faced Sam.
“What do you say, Sammy? I say she stays, on one condition.”
Ruthie popped back up, one eyebrow raised. “What condition?”
“Pie, no less than once a week.”
Sam ignored Dean’s lame joke. “Ruthie, you have a home with us as long as you want it. We love you. You’re family.”
Now the tears shining in her eyes slipped down her cheeks.
“Nice, Sam. You made her cry.”
Ruthie wiped her cheeks and stood up. “Thank you. Both of you.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Okay. Well, I think I’ll go find the doctor. He should take a look at Dean.” She smiled at them on her way out of the room.
Sam waited until her footsteps had faded down the hallway. “I told you she’s good for you.”
Dean surprised him by nodding. “Yeah.” Then he looked at Sam, no trace of joking in his tone. “But not like that.” He looked out the doorway Ruthie had just passed through. “She’s staying, Sam. Long-term. I’m not gonna mess that up. I don’t wanna make things weird.”
Sam started to argue, but thought better of it. He had his brother back. They had Ruthie back. For today, that was enough.
Sam shut the motel door behind him, tossed in the last bag, and closed the trunk. He climbed into the driver’s seat. “Everybody buckled?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Remind me: how long until I’m allowed to drive?”
“Forty-eight hours,” Ruthie piped up from the back seat. Before Dean could complain any more, she asked, “So, have you two ever had a case basically solve itself like this before?”
Sam thought about it, but nothing came to mind. Ruthie had gotten a call the night before from Officer Dixon. They’d found a woman matching the witch’s description dead inside a locked hotel room. Strangled, probably dead twenty-four hours. Dixon had sounded spooked, Ruthie said, and he’d told her there was “occulty stuff” all over the room. Additionally, they found a Sleeping Beauty costume and a spinning wheel.
So, it looked like their ghost had kept his promise. Mitchell Cross was his name, and he’d told the truth about falling from the tower. Sam thought he’d have to salt and burn a fresh body, but it turned out Mitch was cremated the morning after the witch died. So that loose end tied itself.
But the werewolf had gotten away. That fact bothered him, and he knew it infuriated Dean. Sam figured they hadn’t heard the last of it, and they’d get another chance at it sooner or later.
Dean switched on the radio and started fiddling with the dial.
Sam swatted his hand aside. “Hey. Driver picks the music.”
Dean stared at him for a second, mouth open as though he were going to argue. Then he crossed his arms and slumped back in his seat.
Sam and Ruthie exchanged a silent grin in the rearview.
The werewolf could wait. For now, Sam was content to be heading home.
No, he corrected himself. I'm heading west.
Here in the Impala, with his family, he was already home.