Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I gasped for air, my lungs burning as my vision cleared, bringing the panic room into sharp focus. I felt the warm trickle of blood seeping down my face—trailing from my eyes, nose, and ears—just as it had inside Sam's mind. My limbs felt like lead, weighed down by the exhaustion of my drained magic. What had seemed like only half an hour inside his mind could have been hours in the real world.
"Sam?" His name slipped from my lips in a soft whisper as my gaze locked onto his unmoving form. He was too still—too silent. A deep frown crept across my face, worry clawing at my chest like a vice.
I pushed myself up from the seat, determined to fully check on him, but the moment I stood, my legs betrayed me. Weak and unsteady, I collapsed—not entirely gracelessly—but with just enough control to catch myself against the cot. My fingers gripped the edge tightly, using it as support as I found myself kneeling beside the bed, my breath shaky and uneven.
Summoning the last of my strength, I pushed myself up, leaning over him. He was so still, too still. A lump formed in my throat as I whispered, "Please, Sam," my voice barely more than a breath, thick with emotion. Slowly, I lowered my head onto his chest, pressing my ear against him, desperate for any sign of life. The steady thump of his heartbeat met my ears, a fragile reassurance. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as tears began to swell in my eyes. "Wake up," I pleaded softly. "We need you... I need you."
The words were frightening in a way I hadn't expected. Admitting it, even just to myself, felt like peeling away armour I had spent years forging. But there was no denying it anymore—Dean and Sam weren't just people in my life. They were a part of me, woven into my very being in a way I couldn't undo, nor did I want to. Somewhere along the way, they had become my family, along with that old man Bobby.
I would bend over backwards for these boys. I had already proved that, hadn't I? I risked everything—my magic, my life—stepping into Sam's fractured mind, navigating the maze of his trauma, just to bring him back. Not for a reward, not for some grand display of heroism, but because I couldn't stand the thought of losing him. Of watching Dean lose him.
Dean was barely holding on as it was, hope slipping through his fingers with every passing second. And I refused to let him drown in it. I refused to let Sam be lost to the abyss of his own torment. That's why I did it. Why I endured the pain, the weakness, the bleeding.
Because losing either of them wasn't an option.
"Abby," his voice rumbled through his chest, a faint vibration against my ear. My breath hitched as my head snapped up, my eyes locking onto his face just as his lashes fluttered. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the dim light of the panic room, his expression hazy with confusion and exhaustion. But he was awake. He was here. Relief crashed over me like a tidal wave.
"Sam!" I gasped, relief flooding my voice as his head lifted slightly, his tired eyes meeting mine. I knew I must have looked a mess—blood smeared across my cheeks, staining my lips—but none of that mattered. He was awake. He was here.
