Saints or Sinners | {BOOK 3}

77| This One Goes Out to Any Angel with Their Ears On

Dean and I sat staring at a TV screen that showed a shot of the angels falling, the headline calling it a 'Global Meteor Shower'. Beside us, monitors beeped as they indicated Sam's vitals. He was lying in a hospital bed in a coma. We hadn't even had the chance to go back to the Bunker and check on Kevin and the kids.

"The MRI shows massive internal burns affecting many of the major organs," the doctor explained to us when he came in. "Oxygen to the brain is severely deprived. The coma is the result of the body doing everything in its limited power to protect itself from further harm."

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Dean muttered.

I rubbed my hand up and down his back in a soothing gesture before looping my arm around his and resting my head on his shoulder. The doctor gave us both sympathetic looks.

"If your brother continues on this trajectory, the machines might keep him alive, but-"

"He'll be dead."

I felt a tear slip down my cheek as the doctor nodded.

"Technically, yes. I'm afraid so."

"So, there's- there's no recovery?" Dean asked. "I mean, there's no bounce-back. There's no nothing."

"I'm afraid that's in God's hands now."

I tensed up as Dean glared at the doctor, raising his voice.

"You're a doctor. You're a medical professional. You're trying to tell me my brother's life is in God's hands? What, is that supposed to be a- a comfort?"

"Mr. Johnson-"

"No. God has nothing to do with this equation at all."

"I didn't mean-"

"That's not good enough."

Dean pulled away from me, storming out of the room. I gave the doctor an apologetic look, thanking him before hurrying after my husband. I paused as I found him along with six other people sitting in the hospital chapel.

"Cass, are you there? Sammy's hurt. He's hurt, uh- he's hurt pretty bad. And, um... I know you think I'm pissed at you, okay? But I don't care that the angels fell. So whatever you did or didn't do, it doesn't matter, okay? We'll work it out. Please, man, I need you here."

Dean looked around at the other six people before locking eyes with me briefly.

"Screw it. Okay, listen up. This one goes out to any angel with their ears on. This is Dean Winchester... and I need your help. The deal is this- Linwood Memorial Hospital, Randolph, New York. The first one who can help me gets my help in return, and you know that ain't nothing. Hell, it's no secret that we haven't always seen eye to eye. But you know I am good for my word. And, uh, I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't needing, so..."

He trailed off, looking down to try and hide the fact that he was crying from me. Part of me thought it was really stupid to send out a general prayer like that, but I understood why Dean did it. Neither of us would allow the other to make a Crossroads Deal to save Sam, and if all the angels were on earth now, we might as well utilize their help. I just hoped it wouldn't come back to stab us in the back down the road.

⁘

Dean and I had returned to Sam's room. I was sitting in one of the chairs by the bed, but Dean had opted to lean against the window frame instead. We both straightened up when a woman entered the room.

"Hi," Dean greeted her. "I'm just going to break the ice. Are you an angel?"

I fought the urge to snort. I could have told him she wasn't- there weren't the tell-tale black wings on her back. Though, now that the angels were fallen, that made me wonder if I would be able to see their wings at all.

"Sometimes I wish I were," the woman responded. "My name is Kim Schortz, and I'm a grief counselor here at the hospital."

"Right. Yeah," Dean rolled his eyes. "Uh... Sorry. I'm just tired. We both are. Well, all due respect,  but, uh, we're not grieving- at least not yet, so-"

"I'm afraid, as hard as this may be, this might be a good time to talk... about the inevitable."

I grimaced in my seat, looking over at Dean. His expression was stoic, but I noticed the little signs that underneath, he was getting angry again- the slight set to his jaw, the way his hand twitched ever so slightly toward me. It was all a build up to when he would inevitably explode.

"Look, I'm sure you're a nice person and that you mean well, but 'inevitable'- that's a fightin' word where I come from," Dean said, his voice calm. "There's always a way."

"And I am a prayerful woman who believes in miracles as much as the next, but I also know how to read an EEG. And unless you're telling me you have a direct line to those angels that you were looking for-"

"Yeah, no, I, uh... guess I don't. But I might have something better. I got the King of Hell in my trunk."

Dean pushed past the counselor and exited the room.

"Uh, is- is that... I'm sorry. Is that a metaphor?" she called after him, then turned back to me. "That was a metaphor, yes?"

"No, I'm afraid he's quite literal," I muttered.

My voice was hoarse from the combination of crying and not speaking. After the angels fell and Sam passed out, I'd gone mute, letting Dean talk to all the doctors and whatnot. The only time I spoke was if I was directly addressed. Kim stared at me for a long moment, probably trying to decide if my response was serious or not.

"Mrs. Johnson, I know your husband appears unready to talk, but if you would like to get some things off your chest-"

"It's my fault," I whispered, voice starting to give out. "I should have stopped him."

"Stopped him from what?" the counselor pressed.

"It was causing him so much pain, I could see that. And yet I just sat there, a bystander... Dean had to come back and stop him himself."

"Mrs. Johnson, I want to help. I want to understand. But you have to work with me. What exactly was your brother-in-law doing that you were a bystander for?"

"Lady, you wouldn't believe me if I told you," I glared across the bed at her. "Get out."

"Mrs. Johnson, please-"

"I said get out!" I yelled, voice breaking and throat protesting.

The counselor left without another word. I buried my face in my hands, fresh tears falling down my cheeks to mingle with the already-dried ones left there from before.