Wayward Son

Chapter 19

Deep furrows lined Dean's forehead. He was still pale, but the tremors had gone. His narrowed green eyes studied the empty syringe by her feet, then skimmed over her bandana-tied arm, her bloodied clothes and skin, her undone buttons, and the telltale needle mark. The furrows multiplied. "She said heart's blood," he said. "What did she mean?"

He didn't know. He knew nothing about the notebook or the requirement for killing a kounoúpi. He didn't realize what Monica's death meant, much less that Ruthie knew. Sam had said Dean hadn't even admitted it to himself. She found it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. She felt guilty, as though she'd found a journal of his most private thoughts and feelings, and read it without permission.

Ignoring his question, she took a step toward him on legs like liquid lead. "Are you okay? You looked awful..."

She reached for him, but he flinched back. He lowered his face, angling away from her. His whole demeanor mimicked Mike's body language in the parking lot. Shame. Guilt. Remorse.

"Dean, she's been injecting you with an addictive toxin. This isn't your fault."

A low groan came from behind Dean. They turned to see Sam sitting up, holding the back of his head. He scanned the room and spotted Monica on the floor at their feet. His eyes widened. He got to his feet and stumbled over to stand beside Dean. He stared down at the bug-eyed body, then looked at Ruthie. He opened his mouth, then saw her chest and froze.

She started buttoning up her shirt with shaky fingers.

Sam's brows squeezed together. "What happened?"

"That's what I wanna know," Dean said.

They both looked at Ruthie, waiting.

Any adrenaline she'd used had worn off. She swayed, legs trembling again. "I...need to sit down." She started for the chair, but her knees gave way.

"Hey, whoa." Dean caught her, his guilt apparently no match for his chivalry. He put her arm around his shoulders, and took her to the bed. He helped her sit on the edge, then took a knee in front of her.

Sam stood beside him, both their faces etched with concern.

She didn't know how much to say. She didn't want to embarrass Dean, to out him to himself.

Dean spoke first. "She said you had two or three minutes. What was she talking about?"

The whites of Sam's eyes grew bigger.

Ruthie hurried to reassure them. "She was wrong. It's been at least four minutes, don't you think?"

They didn't look reassured at all.

"She thought I might have nicked an artery. If I did, then yeah, I'd have minutes. I do feel pretty lightheaded, but that's probably just from the blood loss. If I'm still conscious five minutes from now, we can assume I'm out of the woods."

They both stared at her. Dean turned to Sam. "What the hell is she talking about?"

Sam glanced at Ruthie, his jaw working. Apparently he was having the same dilemma she was. "Monica was a kounoúpi. I met a hunter who told me about them. He gave me a stone knife, too. That's what you need to kill them. But it's got to be dipped in blood." Sam stopped, eyes flicking between Ruthie and his brother.

Dean waited, but Sam didn't say any more. Dean's already glowering face darkened. "So you made Ruthie do it? What the hell's wrong with you?"

Sam tried to respond, but Dean kept going. "And if it just needed to be dipped in blood, why didn't it work the first time?"