The Thin Ice 3/3

[buffyaddict13]

Title: The Thin Ice 3/3
Author: buffyaddict13
Rating: R
Characters/Pairing: Sam, Dean, OFC, OMC / gen, no pairing
Summary: An average hunt turns deadly when a mysterious hunter kidnaps Sam and Dean, determined to exorcise a demon from Sam in order to "save" him. Sam and Dean insist Sam's not possessed but Libby doesn't believe them, and with good reason. Libby has proof Sam Winchester's a killer and she's not going to let him go. Written for Supernatural/JSquared Big Bang.
A/N: This is for
girlfan1979  because she told me we're connected by a red thread and I believe her. Also, copious amounts of thank yous to
estei  and
kroki_refur  . This fic would be piteous indeed if it weren't for the two of you. You guys rock!
A/N2: Thank to
buffyspazz  for her absolutely fantastic artwork.

Then.

Libby hates college. She hates the size of the campus and the buildings and the classes. She hates her dorm room and her roommate and the food. She hates being away from her father (you're getting out of this life damn it, you're going to be somewhere safe, Libby, don't argue) and the van. What she hates most, are the students. Libby tries to see them as people, as potential friends, but they're only sheep. Mindless drones drifting through their days looking for beer and sex and drugs and jobs and it makes Libby want to scream.

High school was hard. But most of the schools she spent (did) time at were small. She had more than enough books; she didn’t need to bother with friends. The teachers left her alone when they saw she knew the answers, could do the work. Here, the professors expect her to participate and be part of a group effort and she wants to drag Professor Tilbon by his corduroy collar into the woods and show him what a wendigo looks like close up. She wants to tell him philosophy isn't going to help her salt and burn a corpse or kill a shtriga. Libby wants to take the freshman who said she big tits and a bigger mouth and pitch him headfirst into a rawhead's den.

Libby walks to and from her classes and she hates. She's never been away from Dell for this long and she's so homesick (huntsick) it literally hurts. The only reason she even agreed to go accept the scholarship to UW Madison was the school's Library and Information Studies Master's program. She wants a degree that she can use to help her dad and the other hunters. She doesn't have the patience for law and she doesn't have the interest in medicine. But books and information have always been her companions and it seems like the perfect fit.

The problem is, she needs an undergraduate degree first. She needs to spend four years with the bland shit-for-brains losers that crowd her classes, flirt in the cafeteria and laugh with each other the say way Michelle Nealy and Carrie Jensen did. And getting up every day and facing the monotony of normal feels harder than any hunt.

Dell calls. He visits. He sends her care packages filled with Stephen King paperbacks and cans of Libby's Fruit Cocktail because he thinks it'll make her laugh. He sends her High Noon and Shane and microwave popcorn and money. Libby opens each item from the package carefully, slowly, like a ritual. She arranges the contents around her like a protective circle of home.

Libby thinks things will get better when she has her own apartment. She fills the walls with maps and newspaper clippings and tries to find her own hunts. The only thing she finds is an overwhelming sense of loneliness. Libby stops going to her classes. She sits on the floor of her bedroom and studies maps, looking for lines to lead her someplace different, somewhere better. She wants to go back to Dell, to her place in the van, but he's got a new truck and a new house and he says I'm so proud of you, Lib and Thank God you're out of this life so she stays where she is. She wants to make him proud. It's the only thing she wants besides hunting. But what Dell doesn't realize is, she's not just out of the hunting life, she's out of life, period. Each day feels like some small part of her is dying, curling in on itself like burnt paper and blowing away.

She forgets to eat and stays in bed. She dreams about things in the dark, things below the ice and she's cold, always cold. When Libby does get up she stands in front of the dirty window and watches the narrow alley behind her apartment. It's a small patch of dark that promises danger, or violence and she watches it, waiting. Hunting. Hoping. Today Libby looks and there's a hand behind the Dumpster, and also, an arm. While she watches, a second arm emerges, and then a head. A skinny pasty-faced boy crawls out from behind the Dumpster shaking and covered in blood.

Libby doesn't realize she's running until one of her slippers goes bouncing down the stairs. She leaves it behind and pads out into the darkness, gun in one hand, knife in the other, necklace around her throat. The boy looks up at her, only he's not a boy, he's a man, he's her age. He doesn't run when she comes, he just watches her, wild hair and wilder eyes.

"It's okay," she tells him. "Everything's going to be okay."

He just stares, hands clenching and unclenching in his lap.

"What happened to you?" She looks around, feels her reflexes (herself) come alive, her heart beating itself awake.

He shakes his head again, and his voice soft as the grass beneath her feet. "You wouldn't believe me."

Libby feels her face move into something unfamiliar and she realizes it's a smile. "Why don't you tell me anyway."

He looks at the ground, shakes his head. "I can't."

Libby moves beside him. "Start with something easy. What's your name?"

Finally, he lifts his gaze to hers and Libby can feel the threads weave between them, the connections grow. "My name," he says, "is Jay."

ooooo

Now.

Jay scrambles forward, puts his hands on Sam’s chest and starts pushing up and down like Sam’s some kind of bicycle pump. Libby shoves him out of the way because Sam’s dead,. She’s careful to avoid Jay’s eyes because she can’t look at him, can’t meet his gaze because she’s a fool, she’s a fool and Jay knows,. "You’re doing it wrong," she says and her voice is ashamed too, it's barely a whisper. She tilts Sam’s head, lifts his chin. His hair is (soft) against her fingers and she wants to cry. She wants to dig a hole in the concrete with her bare hands and crawl inside. She wants to shove her gun into her mouth and pull the trigger. Dell would be so ashamed of her if he was here. "Fuck," she grits through clenched teeth, "you don’t get to die. You don’t get to." She will fix this. She can save him. He owes her. He can't die. Possessed or not, he still killed her father and she wants to know why.

The scrape of metal shrieks down the hallway and Jay glances wide-eyed toward the door. "Fuck you and your fucking handcuffs!" Dean bellows. "You just wait until I Houdini out of these!" There’s a pause, and then, inevitably, another "Sam!" Dean’s voice is nearly hoarse (again) but Libby ignores him because Sam is here and Sam is dead.

The thing is, on TV it looks easy. She and Dell watched countless episodes of ER in dingy shoe box size motel rooms where doctors made it look effortless. Like you barely had to try to get someone breathing again. Like a few chest compressions and a good exhalation did the trick.

It doesn’t.

She blocks out Dean’s angry (terrified) shouts. And Jay’s mantra of oh God, oh God. She blocks out the hot needle of her mother’s voice and the rage that buzzes in her head like a cloud of hornets. This is not how it’s supposed to be. This isn’t fair. She puts one hand on Sam’s forehead, the other pinches his nose shut. She breathes into his mouth, her dry lips on his and gives two steady breaths. She watches his chest rise and fall, once with each breath. She waits for more movement. There isn't any.

Libby moves to his chest, locates his sternum and aligns her hands, clasps them one on top of the other, palms down. One hundred compressions per minute. That equals roughly two per second. She counts in her head one, fuck this, two, fuck this, three, fuck this. She doesn’t think about the way Dean’s voice is breaking, doesn’t wonder if the handcuffs are far behind. She counts. There is nothing but numbers, nothing but her hands, and nothing but Sam’s chest and his stone heart.

--twenty-three, fuck this, twenty-four fuck this, twenty-five, fuck this--

The room is rank with the smell of sweat. Her left hand hurts and her leg is cramping like a bitch. But she can’t move, can’t risk it because she’s going to save Sam. She made a promise to herself and more importantly, a promise to Dell. She won’t break it. Not now. Not yet.

"How can I help?" Jay asks. "Do you want me to call 911?"

Libby doesn’t answer because she’s on thirty, fuck you. She leans forward, puts her fingers on Sam’s face (he doesn’t feel dead, his skin is warm, it burns) and breathes. Again, his chest rises, falls, rises, falls. She waits for it to rise, she prays, clutches at faded prayers like bits of glass. But it’s been years since she’s prayed and the words are dusty now, their shapes unfamiliar, and she drops them. A tear spills down her cheek and lands on Sam’s face. She touches it with one finger. They’re connected.

They’ve always been connected. By tears, by invisible threads, by death. By lies.

Libby shoots Jay a glare because calling 911 is ridiculous. There’s no guarantee it’ll save Sam and it certainly won’t save her. There’s no logical way to explain what Sam and Dean are doing in her basement. There aren't enough words in the world to stop the suspicious looks or stem reports, she doesn’t even bother looking. She isn’t afraid to die, but she’s not about to do it from jail.

She goes back to the compressions and on seven, fuck this Sam's chest heaves and his mouth opens and he drags in a rasping breath like his lungs are sandpaper. His arms are at his sides and his eyes are closed and he's lying on the floor, but when Libby looks at him he's on a piece of shit mattress in a piece of shit house.

She wipes her eyes with a sleeve and Jay crawls over to Sam, his face nearly glowing with relief. "Sam?"

Sam ignores him and rolls his head toward Libby. The bruising looks worse still, the right side of his face is the color of sunset, dark shadows ring his eyes. Sam looks at her with his eclipse eye and whispers "Srree."

Libby stares at him. "What?"

Sam licks his lips, swallows. He tries again. "Sorry." His right hand drifts toward his chest, palm up, knuckles scraping against the floor. He blinks and a tear leaks from his eye. Libby watches it roll into his hair and disappear.

Libby looks at her hands. She's still on her knees, like she's praying. She shifts herself backwards and leans against the wall.

"Sam," Dean calls.

Sam moves his head toward the sound and tries to roll himself onto his side. His limbs don't cooperate and he coughs hard and long. When he finally manages "Dean. 'm kay," his voice is too soft to leave the room, much less make it down the hall.

"He's okay," Libby says and Jay stares at her, face tight.

"No," Jay says, "he's not." Jay crawls to the far wall and draws his knees up to his chest. "None of us are."

Libby wipes her nose and amends her statement. "He's alive," she says, injecting enough volume into her voice for Dean to her.

There's a long moment of silence and then the handcuffs rattle. Bedsprings squeak and Libby imagines Dean collapsing onto it. "Sammy?" Now his voice is quiet, the anger gone.

"Yeah." Sam's speech is slurred but understandable. Dean mutters thank Christ and Sam's left arm hitches toward his head. He tentatively touches his face.

Libby folds her arms around herself and asks "What are you sorry for?"

"Srry…sorry. That I. Killed your…father," Sam whispers. A second tear slides, and then a third. "Heard you. And Dean. Before."

Libby moves her back against the stone wall and mirrors Jay's position. He won't look at her and she feels like the air is being sucked out of the room. Maybe she gave it all to Sam. She rests her head on her knees and asks the one thing she's needed to know from the start. "Why?" There's a hole in the knee of her jeans and she pokes it with one finger, rubs skin over skin. "Why did you kill him?"

"I…was. I was possessed. You were right. But then. Not now." His hand travels from his face to his shirt and his fingers flutter at the buttons. He brings his right hand up and simply yanks. Three white buttons pop and tick against the floor like mints. "Tattoo," he explains. "Protection. Me 'n Dean both got one." He swallows, coughs. "No more possession."

Libby can just make out part of a navy pentagram surrounded by a stylized sunburst. Pain lances through her head and digs fingernails into her stomach. One hand goes to the pendant around her throat and she squeezes the silver disc between her fingers. "What about Jo?" she asks numbly.

"Didn't rape her. Didn't kill her boyfriend." He rolls his head, searches her out, confusion on his face. "Unless. Jo and…your dad?"

Libby barks out a laugh. "No. Jo came to me. Sought me out. Told me what you did." Sam's words echo from earlier. Everybody lies. "I don't…I don't understand what's happening," she says softly. "I just wanted to save you. But you don't…" her throat constricts to a straw, to a needle. She (hides) presses her face into her knees, covers the back of her head with her hands. "You don’t need saving."

"Libby."

She can't lift her head. It's too heavy, filled with everything that is wrong. She can hear movement beside her and Jay says her name again. She feels his shoulder against hers. "Everybody needs saving. I know you didn't mean for this to happen. I said it before and I still believe it: we'll get through this."

"You were just trying to…to help," Sam says and his words feel like the key to her grief. She breaks, sobbing out her pain and fear and guilt, until the denim is wet from her tears. Her shoulders shake and she can't stop.

"I'm sorry," she gulps. "I am." She tilts her head toward Jay but doesn't look at him. "I'm so sorry, Jay. I shouldn't have brought you into his, I've done everything wrong-everything."

"You can say that again," Dean hisses, his voice in her ear.

The quiet fury of Dean's voice snaps her head up. He's standing in the doorway (but Sam's not dead), handcuffs dangling from his wrist. He pats his back pocket. "Lucky for me I had a receipt in my wallet. With a staple. It's a real bitch picking handcuffs with a staple, let me tell you." A muscle in his jaw tics and he moves toward his brother, face blank. "But I can do it. And right now I'm gonna take a look at Sam and see exactly what you've done to him." Dean's eyes flash and he shows her his teeth. "Why don’t you use the time to come up with a few reasons why I shouldn't just kill you."

"Dean, no. Don't hurt her."

Dean crouches over Sam, hands moving gently over his arms and chest. Dean grins but it's just a mask. "How much brain damage do you got, Sammy? She tried to kill you."

"It's okay. She tried to help. I killed her father," Sam says, voice dipping. "It's…it's okay."

Dean sits back on his haunches. "Okay, that right there? Bullshit. You didn't kill anybody." Dean glances up and aims a glare hard enough to dent the wall. "Excuse me. Let me rephrase that so Little Miss Libby doesn't get herself in a twist." He counts on his hands in a mocking imitation of her visit to his room. "He killed some demons. While they were still inside people. Not the smartest thing. Not the most noble. But I'd still like to point out: demon. Inside.. Next, let's talk about Gordon Walker, shall we? First time I met him I thought he was a pretty decent guy, not to mention a good hunter. I was right about the hunting but turns out he was a crazy-as-fuck asshole." Dean snaps his fingers, pulls his smile tighter. "Hey, remind you of anyone?" He drops the smile and his voice drops ten degrees. "He tried to kill my brother more times than I can count. He was a manipulative crazy-ass freak who wouldn't understand reason if it hit him in the face. He was turned into a vampire, Libby. Did you know that? Did you know he became the thing he hated most of all?" Dean's lips twist. "And people say there's no justice."

Jay's mouth drops open. "He what?"

"So yeah. Gordon got vamped and tried to kill me and Sam. And if Kubrick's the yokel that was all What Would Jesus Do, then I bet Gordon killed him too. Cuz it sure as hell wasn't Sam."

"I'm sorry," Sam says.

"Shut up," Dean tells Sam, but his gentle tone belies the words. He moves his fingers over Sam's face and Sam gasps and flinches when Dean finds his temple. "Okay, okay. Hands off. I get it." Dean rubs a hand over his mouth, sniffs loudly, then turns back to Libby. "And yeah. Sam killed Steve Wandell. And from what I hear your Dad was a good hunter."

"He was a good man," Libby says. "He didn't deserve to die like that."

"No one does," Sam agrees. "And I tried to be strong, I tried to stop it, I tried to stop her…" Sam covers his eyes and his voice unravels. "I tried but I." She can hear the tears in his voice. "I. Couldn't. And I'm sorry."

Libby studies the floor beneath her feet. The cement is the color of a stormy sky. The floor is cool. And smooth. Like ice. One of Sam's shirt buttons is close enough to touch with her toe.

She doesn't know what to do. She has two Winchesters in her basement. One of them killed her father and is sorry. The other one didn't and wants to kill her. She has Jay. He is disappointed in her, but he can't possibly be more ashamed of her than she is of herself. But most importantly, Jay is still here. He hasn't left. He's going to help. They'll get through this. She just has to figure out how.

"I'll let you go," she says abruptly.

Dean snorts. "Wow. Really? That'd be super awesome." His mouth twists into a sneer. "But I don't think it's gonna be that easy."

Sam's hand reaches out for Dean's arm. "Dean. It's okay. It's okay."

Dean turns back to Sam, all pretense at bravado gone. "Jesus, Sam. Look at you. You look…you look like shit. Worse than shit." He slides an arm around Sam's shoulders. "Can you sit up? Can you stand? I've gotta call an ambulance." He lifts his head and eyes Libby. "I can come back for you."

Sam manages a sitting position and Dean props him against the wall. Sam closes his eyes and lets his head sag. He presses one hand against the wall and forces himself to sit straighter. He opens his eyes and looks at Libby. She can see the sorrow on his face, the regret, and it feels like her own.

"She won't be here," Jay tells Dean. "You think I'm gonna let you near her?"

"I'll be fine," Libby promises quietly. She can't tell if it's a lie yet. It could be. "Don’t worry about me."

"Uh, yeah," Dean says, eyebrows jumping, "Go right ahead with the worry. In fact, I recommend it."

"Let them call an ambulance and we'll just go," Jay says, pushing himself to his feet. He holds a hand out to her, breathing hard, hair in his face. "Come on."

"I…I don't know." She wants to stay. She needs to go. Or maybe it's the opposite. "Jay, please."

"Okay, that's it," Dean shouts suddenly. "Who the flying fuck is Jay?" He does an exaggerated search of the room, makes a show of looking under the toppled chair. "Cuz there's nobody here but us chickens."

"Dean. Leave her alone."

Dean does a double take at Sam, his expression incredulous. "What do you mean leave her alone? What the hell's going on?" He stares hard at Libby. "Because I get that you're crazy, but I was just thinking it was, you know, the regular amount. If you're up to some advanced level like batshit crazy I think I'd really like to know."

Libby's gaze shifts from Dean to Jay and back again. "What?" Her head aches and Dean is pissing her off. He never stops talking. It's like listening to a bad radio station and she can't change the channel. She fumbles in her pocket for the taser.

"You even think about using that and you'll be seeing Daddy a lot sooner than you planned," Dean grits.

Sam holds his hands out like he's trying to keep the peace. Or he's blind. "Dean doesn't…Dean doesn't know what he's talking about," he stutters. "Just. Just tell me about Jay. How you met him. Everything's going to be okay."

Libby smiles faintly at Sam's words. "That's what you said," she tells Jay. And then, "I can't go. I did this, I need to fix it."

Jay hovers by the wall, a mass of adrenaline and fear, long fingers tapping against his leg. "I can't leave you," he finally says, and some of the tension drains from his face. "I…won't leave you." He leans against the wall. He looks tired and her heart aches for him. "I helped plan this. I'll help pay for it too."

"You don’t have to," Libby says, fresh tears on her face. Her lips are dry and taste like salt. She feels thin and brittle as ice. And also empty. There's nothing beneath her. "They don't know who you are."

Jay shakes his head. He lowers himself slowly down the wall, his brown hair fanning out behind him, catching on tiny imperfections in the stone blocks. "I can't leave you." His voice catches. "I'll never find someone else the exact right amount of fucked up as you."

Libby manages a broken laugh and a tear falls. "Exactly."

Dean huffs loudly, his face red with impatience. "Who the hell is-"

"Do you get headaches?" Sam asks. He glances in Jay's direction, then back to Libby. "Do either of you? Or nightmares?"

"Okay, enough." Dean lifts his hand, holds it palm out, handcuffs dangling. "Time out on the crazy." He points to Libby. "You. Give me your phone." He glowers. "Now. I'm getting Sam out of here." He rolls his eyes, makes a face. "You know what? Fuck it. Ambulances are for pussies. Dude, I can totally drive you. Not only will the company be better, so will the music. Up and at 'em. Heave ho." He works his arm through Sam's. "I gotcha."

"No. I'm okay, Dean."

Dean's laugh is mirthless. "Just so you know, College Boy, "fucking head trauma" is not actually okay. What kind of shit did they teach you in school?" He pulls gently at Sam, and Libby can hear the desperation in his voice, see the panic in his movements.

Libby pulls herself to her feet. "I can…I can help?" She lets the offer stay a question and waits.

Jay moves forward. "Me too."

"Lady, you touch him again and I'll rip your hand off and gag you with it." He lifts his chin, nostrils flaring. There's no eclipse in Dean's eyes, there's only fire, and the furnace of his gaze pins her to the wall.

"I'm sorry," Libby tells him, and she is. Completely.

Sam's voice wavers again. "Me too."

"You know what? There's a 'sorry' time-out too," Dean mutters. "So everybody who's not me can stop talking right now."

Dean nearly has Sam to his feet when Sam's knees buckle. He drops like a stone, knees cracking against concrete and Dean barks "Sam!" Sam's face crumples like paper and goes just as white, the contusions stand out like vivid fingerprints. "Fuck," Dean hisses from between clenched teeth, "fuck."

Sam's hands go to his head and he pitches forward like a falling tree but Dean catches him, muttering soft comforts all the while. "Come on, Sam, you don't wanna do this, you're gonna be okay. Do you know how pissed I'm gonna be if you short-change me on the deal?"

Sam moans and he grinds out a sound like prison.

Dean's eyes go wide and he lowers himself to Sam's level, both hands on Sam's shoulders. "What? A vision?"

Libby stares. A what? "W-what did you say?"

Jay's voice sounds in her ear. "He said vision."

Libby and Jay stare at each other, stunned.

ooooo

Then.

The headaches start around the time Jay moves in. They joke about it and he says Libby's allergic to him. But the jokes stop when Jay wakes up the middle of the night screaming. He doesn’t tell her what he's been dreaming, but his eyes are haunted and she pours a ring of salt around his bed just to be safe. Sometimes she lies beside him and they look at the ceiling, talking. He never tries to hit on her, to ruin things between them, and she's glad.

Jay helps her scan newspapers for hunts and she feels better than she has in months (years), despite the headaches. Jay believes, Jay knows what's in the dark and sometimes, when he smiles it feels like the world is bearable. They spend a weekend poking around Lake Manitoc after a series of mysterious drownings, but the only weird thing they find is the local diner doesn't serve pie.

They investigate a haunted house that's not haunted and an empty church that is. Libby misses two weeks of classes researching a group of hikers gone missing in Sherwood and she doesn't care. She packs all of her textbooks and notebooks into boxes and shoves them in the back of the closet. She's relieved.

Libby and Jay spend Thanksgiving and Christmas together because Dell's off hunting with Kubrick. But Dell calls every week and sends her a T-shirt for Christmas that says silence is golden but duct tape is silver. Libby wants to tell him she's started hunting again, that she's done with school, but she doesn't. She'd rather save the heavy shit for seeing Dell in person. What she does talk about is Jay. Libby talks about movies they’ve seen, books they've read in common, his sense of humor. She calls Jay her roommate and half expects Dell to give her grief about it. But all he says is sounds to me like you got your own sidekick now and Libby laughs, her heart full.

By January Dell's settled into the new house and he tells Libby to bring Jay for a visit over spring break.

Dell's dead three weeks later.

Kubrick calls to tell her, and when she picks up the phone she knows something's wrong right away. His voice sounds like he's been sanding floors with it, and he says Libby in a way that makes her hold on to the edge of the desk. She listens when he says I'm sorry kid, he's gone. but she doesn't understand until he breaks down crying. Kubrick says more, he tells her when and where but Libby stops listening right after she realizes he's gone means dead. Libby leaves for Dell's house the next day.

She spends three days at her father's house. The police talk to her briefly, ask who might have wanted her father dead. Libby doesn’t know. Kubrick calls her cell, offers to come by but Libby doesn't want to see him. She walks through Dell's house, over shards of glass, past his broken computer, touching things. Missing him. Jay is with her but he doesn't push her to talk. He studies the photos of Libby and Dell stacked around the living room and sits on the couch.

Libby paces across the hard wood floor, back and forth, one fist pressed to her mouth. She doesn't know what to do. A stain on the carpet the color of coffee grounds is all that's left of her father. She lowers herself to the floor carefully, slowly, and Jay springs up from the couch like he's on a wire. "Libby, don't," he says.

Libby ignores him. She has the luxury of ignoring Jay because he's alive. Her father isn't. She puts one palm to the floor, then the other. The carpet is stiff beneath her fingers and she thinks of Bobby Singer's dog and the feel of its matted fur. Her chest hitches and she can feel her heart pounding, she can feel the grief press against her ribs like fists. Libby doesn't want to be here. She doesn't want to live in a world where she'll never hear her father laugh or joke or say her name. He'll never sigh or complain or roll his eyes or send her funny shirts or watch movies with her. He'll never ask her for help again.

Jay kneels beside her and takes her hand in his. "Don't do this," he says. "Don't remember him like this."

Libby shakes her head. She never got to say goodbye. She never got to tell him the truth about school or hunting and the guilt feels like a vise. Libby curls her fingers around Jay's hand and squeezes. And then she pushes his hand-their hands-- against the floor, against the dried blood and weeps. There's a ringing in her ears and

there's a crash from the kitchen. She can hear the murmur of angry voices, one of which belongs to her father. Libby sits up, nerves on edge. Who's here? Now there's a shout and the hard slap of a fist against skin and two men stumble into the room. One is her father. She stares in shock as the second man punches her father in the face, once, twice, knocks him down. Dell fights back, but the intruder is tall and strong. He's also got a knife. He forces Dell to the ground and holds his head (holds his head) and drags the knife across Dell's throat.

Libby can't breathe, or maybe she just doesn't want to. She kneels on the floor, trembling, and watches her father's murderer stand, wipe her father's blood on his shirt, clean the knife. She stares at the man, because she knows him, she recognizes something in his face. Libby can't place him, doesn't know his name but she's seen him before. The man turns away from the security camera on the wall and his lip curls and his eyes go black and Libby realizes two things. One, the man is possessed. Two, there's a red thread around his wrist. "Sam Winchester," she whispers and

Jay gasps and his fingers clasp Libby's hand hard enough to hurt. He tries to stand but he's still holding onto Libby and nearly falls over. He lets go of her and stares at her, eyes rolling, stunned. "Did you see that? Oh my God, Libby. Oh my God. I’m sorry."

Libby shakes her head. "What. What was that?"

"I don't know. It felt like…like a vision." He jumps to his feet and clutches at his stomach like he's trying to keep it from falling out. "Libby. I had a dream last week. I dreamed somebody broke into a house and killed a man." He swallows and his voice clicks. "I didn't know it was your dad. I didn't know." Jay twists his hands together, horrified. "Oh my God. I didn't know. Oh Libby."

Libby's stomach heaves and she vomits onto the floor. She counts to ten, waits for her stomach to unclench, and stands. She wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and goes to Jay, puts her arms around him. She doesn't like physical affection. But she loves Jay and she doesn't blame him. It's important he know that.

"What does this mean? What's happening to me?" Jay asks, his face pressed against Libby's shoulder. She can feel his thin shoulders trembling beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"I don't know. But we'll figure it out." Libby thinks of the look on Sam Winchester's face when he killed her father. She thinks of Jay. She starts to plan.

When they get home Libby is bone-tired. They cross the porch but Jay stops, head up, shoulders rigid. His posture reminds Libby of a guard dog and she hesitates. A woman stands on the porch. Her hair is unkempt, her clothes out of style and thread-bare. She's in her early thirties and her body language says she's terrified.

"What do you want?" Jay asks. His tone is belligerent and it sets Libby on edge, Jay's the quietest, most gentle person she knows.

"My name's Jo Harvelle," the woman says softy. "I was wondering if you knew Sam Winchester."

ooooo

Now.

Sam grimaces, eyes squeezed tight. He gasps and sways and Dean holds him like he's done this before. Sam pulls one hand from his face and lashes out, fingers searching the air for something only he sees. "No," he chokes, "no. Nonono."

"What's happening?" Libby asks tentatively.

Dean keeps his eyes on Sam's face, still muttering. "Come on, man. Come on," Dean soothes, "It's gonna be okay."

And Libby thinks everybody lies.

Sam's still struggling for breath, but he opens his eyes. "I. What?" He blinks and slides away from Dean.

Dean yanks him back, holds his head. "Sam?" The word is one syllable but it holds an encyclopedia of fear. "You still with me?" Dean shakes Sam, touches his cheek. "Sam?"

Sam jerks and lifts his head. "Dean. Hadda vision."

Dean nods, relief shines from his pores. "Yeah. I sorta figured. You can tell me about it in the car."

"Can't leave," Sam says and shakes his head slowly, like he can't quite remember how. "She's coming."

"She's already here," Dean points out, jerking a thumb toward Libby. "Which is fine, cuz we're going."

Sam flattens himself against the wall and motions for Libby. "What did Jo look like?"

Libby tries to remember. "I don't know. She had dark hair. She was upset." She was a liar.

Sam nods. "How old?"

Libby considers. "Maybe early thirties, late twenties?"

"And what did she say her boyfriend's name was?"

"Louis."

Dean drops his hands to his side. "Thirty? Dark hair? That's not Jo." He glances at Sam. "And who the hell is Louis?"

Sam sighs and rests his hands in his lap. "It's not Louis. It's Luther."

Dean stares. "Luther? Then who the hell is-" he stops. "Oh. Oh.." He scratches his chin. "Well shit."

"What?" Libby asks, confused. "What's going on? Who's Luther?"

"The person who came to see you wasn't Jo Harvelle," Sam says. He seems more alert, his words less slurred. "Her name is Kate. She's a…she's a vampire."

"And here I was, thinking this day couldn't get any worse," Dean says wearily.

"I don't…I don't understand," Libby says. "Who is she?"

"Me, my dad and Sam fought her and some of her vamp buddies last year. My dad shot her boyfriend." He makes a face. "Mate, whatever you want to call him, in the head. Kate seemed pretty pissed at the time." Dean says with a faint smile. "Guess she still is."

"I thought you couldn't kill vampires with guns."

"It was a special gun," Sam says softly.

"It sure was. And that's a story we only tell friends, and hey, I didn't see any friends here, do you?" Dean shoots Sam a come on, already look. "We need to get out of here, right now. Who knows how many vampires she'll have with her. You're in no shape to fight." Dean salutes to Libby. "Good luck. Adios."

"She-they," Sam amends quickly, "have to come with us." He puts one hand against the wall and holds himself up, turns his shadow eyes on Dean.

"They? I don't think so. We're through with Miz Crazy Ass and her Invisible Friend."

Libby blinks and frowns at Dean. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Sam says quickly. "Just. Just come on. Before Kate gets here."

"But why did she lie to me?"

Dean's lip curls. "Gee, maybe it's because she's an evil vampire."

"Not all vampires are evil," Sam rasps and Dean rolls his eyes.

Sam lets Dean guide him toward the door. "We met some vampires who didn't drink human blood," he explains.

Dean snorts. "Vegetarians." He shrinks slightly under Sam's gaze and mutters, "Sort of."

Sam walks like he's a ninety years old but he doesn't fall and he's still breathing and Libby considers those both good signs. Dean's got his hand against Sam's back, like if he lets go Sam will make a run for it.

"Let them come with us," Sam whispers. "Please."

Dean's face goes hard. "She nearly killed you."

Sam returns the gaze, glare for glare. "But she didn't."

Dean swings around and squints at Libby, eyes hard. "Fine. You can come." His mouth tilts. "But only you."

"Dean." Sam's face is reproachful.

Dean shrugs, casts Libby a tight smile. "Yes or no."

Libby's mouth opens, shuts. "I can't...I can't leave Jay."

"It's okay," Jay says, already trying to push her toward the door. "I'll find you later."

Libby shakes her head. "No. We should stay together."

"Jesus H. Christ on a crutch," Dean roars, "Jay. Isn't. There."

Libby takes a step back. She looks from Jay to Dean. "What?"

"Lady, don't 'what' me. You're talking to yourself."

Libby stares at Dean, laughs in his face. "No I'm not."

"When did you meet Jay?" Sam asks suddenly. "Can you remember?"

Libby frowns and her chest hurts and she doesn't know why. Jay looks at her and he looks like he wants to cry. "Of course I remember. We...we met about two years ago."

"And did you...I mean…did Jay get headaches? And nightmares?"

Libby swallows. "We both did," She whispers. "How did you know?"

"Because a year ago I started having nightmares and headaches. And then I started to have visions." Sam's face twists and he stumbles. Dean's arm tightens on his shoulder and Sam continues. "There were...there were a bunch of us. All kinds of kids...special kids with these. These powers. I had visions. Andy..." Sam's voice bends in the middle. "Andy could do this thing with his voice. Like mind control."

"That was sweet," Dean says, voice tinged with regret.

"Jake had super strength and Lily had. Had a horrible power and Ava." Sam goes paler still and now his hand seeks out Dean's arm and grips it. "Ava killed everyone."

Libby's throat is dry and there's a pressure building behind her eyes, inside her head. It feels like something's coming lose. "You're alive," she says.

Sam stares back at her with uneven eyes. "Now," he says. "But you saw me. Before."

"She's special all right," Dean huffs, steering Sam toward the doorway, "but not that kind of special. She wasn't in Cold Oak, Sam. She's just a…whaddyacallit? A Muggle. And we have to go."

Sam doesn't budge. "Look at her necklace."

Dean rolls his eyes, but he does what Sam says. Dean's expression shifts from annoyance to surprise. "Huh. I'll be damned," he says softly. Then he grins and elbows Sam. "Oh wait, I am. Heh. Dude, I've been waiting to use that one since forever."

Sam falters and Dean's grin falls. "Sorry," he says quickly, "sorry, man. I couldn't resist."

"What about my necklace?" Libby interrupts.

"It kept you safe. Not just from possession but from the…whatever it is that took the rest of us to Cold Oak."

Libby shakes her head, confused, disoriented. "What's...what's Cold Oak?"

"It's a place you never want to go, trust me," Dean says brusquely.

"But why...why do you keep saying Jay isn't real?" Her voice trembles when she asks the question and she hates Dean for making her sound this way. She hates herself more for letting him.

Dean shrugs, cocks his head. She can see a crack in his mask and for one second he's just a guy trying to help his brother. He's a guy who's had a lousy day and been maced and handcuffed and is trying like hell to avoid a little face time with a vampire. "I don't know," he says. "Don't listen to me, okay? I don't know what I'm talking about. I usually don't." He nods at Sam. "Just ask him, he'll tell you."

Libby feels behind her, hands searching for something solid. She finds the wall, leans against it. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say we have to go," Dean snaps.

Sam holds his hand out to her. "Please. Please forgive me--"

"You didn't do anything to forgive," Dean grits, pulling Sam.

Sam ignores his brother. "Forgive me. I never meant to hurt your dad. It's the last thing I'd want to do, the last thing." His eyes are too bright. "And I. I never meant to hurt you."

Libby's eyes feel raw and she presses the palms of her hands against her face. "I know." She makes her voice small and hard like a marble and lets it roll to Sam.

"It's not true," Jay says suddenly.

Libby lowers her hands and looks at him.

"I'm real," he says. "I'm not crazy."

Libby nods, reaches for Jay's hand. "I know. You're right here." From the corner of her eye she can see Sam and Dean exchange a look but she doesn't care. Jay is real. He is.

"What's Jay's last name?" Sam asks.

Libby frowns. What a stupid question. That's easy. It's...she knows what it is. It's Jay, for God's sake. It's Jay.

"Where's he from?" Dean persists.

Libby can feel herself falling. She's sliding toward the ground, and she feels like she's been falling a very long time. But the moment passes and her feet are steady and Jay's looking at her. He walks backwards, away from the Winchesters. "We tried to help you," he tells them, shaking his head, hair in his face. "And now you just...you just try to mess Libby up by saying I'm not real? That's...that's bullshit. That's crazy." His mouth pulls down in anger."You're crazy."

"You're crazy," Libby echoes.

Dean sighs and waves his hand. "Sticks and stones, baby." To Sam he says, "Dude. I’m not gonna tell you again."

Sam ignores his brother and asks again. "Where is he from?"

Libby rubs her chin and looks to Jay. "Just tell them. Tell them where you're from and they'll shut up."

Jay doesn't say anything.

Libby's hands twist. "You're from Wisconsin, right?" She waits for Jay to answer.

Dean doesn't. "That's it. We're leaving. Sam, now."

Above them there's a horrendous crash; the sound of a table falling from a great height, the sound of wood splintering. The sound of a door being ripped from its hinges.

Dean hisses shit and shoves Sam back into the room, yanks the door shut behind him. "This thing lock?" he asks, then grits his teeth. "Like it matters."

Libby numbly reaches for Sam's weapons and hands them over. "Thank you," he says and touches her hand. Libby doesn't pull away. He looks sad. And sincere. She can't speak, because if she does she might cry again, and she's had enough tears to last her through forever.

Jay comes to stand beside her. "You're my best friend," he says.

Libby nods. "I know." The words feel like glass in her throat but she says them anyway.

She can hear footsteps on the stairs.

"It'll be okay," Jay says and his voice breaks. "Right? We'll be okay?"

"Yeah," Libby tells him. Ice cracks beneath her feet. She's falling. "Of course." Everybody lies.

They stand in the center of the room. Libby holds her gun in her right hand, the taser in her left. Dean's got Sam's knife, the blade smiles a welcome in the bulb's harsh grow.

"I know you're in there," says a voice from the other side of the door. The voice is calm, friendly even. "Hey guys, it's me, Jo."

The door shudders once, and then it slams forward like a piece of plywood.

Dean stands his ground, expression as serene as the vampire's voice. "Wow, Jo. What big teeth you have."

Kate laughs, bows slightly. "It's been a while, boys."

Libby takes a step forward. "Why did you do this to me?"

Kate flashes a brittle smile, her eyes narrow. "Because it was fun. Because I could." She bares her teeth at Sam and Dean. "So I could kill them." She folds her arms, chin lifted. "You have no idea how pissed I was to find out Daddy Winchester died."

A muscle twitches in Dean's jaw and he twirls the knife in his hand. "I'm gonna kill you."

Kate grins. "Not if I kill you first." She moves fast. One minute she's standing in the doorway, the next she's got Dean by the neck. The knife flashes and he stabs her just below her right collar bone. The knife sinks in up to the hilt and she hisses damn. "You're going have to do to better than that," she growls and throws Dean backwards. He bounces off the wall and lands on the broken chair.

Libby looks from Dean to Sam to Kate. She inhales through her nose, exhales the same way. She flexes her fingers and counts to three. This is her fault. All of this. It's up to her to fix it. She raises her gun, aims. "Leave us alone."

Kate lifts an eyebrow at the weapon, her expression disdainful. "That's a little better. But not by much."

Libby lifts the gun, aims, and pulls the trigger. And again. And again. Kate rocks backward but stays on her feet. She huffs out an annoyed breath, puts a hand to her shirt and grimaces. "Okay, Libby? I was going to let you live, but I have to tell you, this pisses me right off." Kate sighs and drops her hand. "Tell you what, I'll kill you, but you don't have to die. That's my best offer."

And just like that Kate's in Libby's face and the taser is gone and Libby is against the wall, steel fingers digging into her shoulder, her shoulder blades ground into the wall. Libby wants to say no and Jay but Kate's face is right there and there's no breath, there's no heat, there's only a whisper and a wink and This won't hurt. Much. Kate slams her head forward and smashes Libby in the face. Pain explodes through Libby's head like a star and she moans, feels herself sliding downward. Blood pours from her nose, she can feel the heat against her lips. She squints through the agony to see Kate pull the knife out of her shoulder, grab Libby's arm and slice an inch-long gash. She digs the knife into Libby's arm and Libby screams, flinches, tries to pull away, desperate. Kate smiles and lets her go.

Libby falls sideways and onto her back. She can hear the heavy bass of endless drums and the light stabs her eyes. There's a strange sort of yodeling scream and she doesn't realize it's coming from her until Kate says "Shut up before I cut out your tongue."

Dean's back on his feet but Kate tosses him across the room like he's a toy. He lands in a heap against the far wall. He doesn't move. Kate bends to Sam and brushes the hair from his face in a gesture that's almost tender. "Please," Sam whispers, "Don't hurt Dean. Kill me, but let Dean go." He coughs and his eyelids flutter as he strains to stay conscious.

"That's sweet," Kate says, "and I like how you asked so nicely. I will kill you, Sam, but I'm not letting Dean go. He's going to watch while you die." Kate's eyes turn to flint. "Do you know what it's like to lose the person you love the most in the world? The person you need? The person you live for?" She smiles and rows of needle-sharp teeth fill her mouth. "And when I say live, I don't mean breathe. You don't need a heartbeat to live or love, Sam. Pain is pain, whoever or whatever you are. And I've been following the two of you long enough to know it's going to hurt like a bitch for Dean to see you die." She lowers her face closer to Sam's. "And that makes me glad. It doesn't bring Luther back, but at least I'll know you're dead."

Kate lifts Sam's head and sinks her teeth into his neck. Sam's eyes roll and he bucks against her but all that does is tear his skin. Blood bubbles down his neck and drips onto the floor. He kicks his legs and his arm jerks in a frantic attempt to dislodge Kate, but Kate grips his arm and the crack of breaking bone is like thunder in Libby's head.

Libby stares up at the light bulb. It's like the sun. It is the sun. A panicked heartbeat hammers against her ears and it takes her a minute (forever) to realize it's not hers. She puts a hand to her chest but there's nothing. Nothing moves, her heart is a stone but unlike Sam's, CPR isn't going to save her. She's empty. She wants to scream but she can't get the sound out (she's not breathing) and all she manages is an unsteady "Jay?"

She rolls onto her side and up onto her knees. She tries again. "Jay?" But he's not here. There's a broken chair, an overturned table, a small glass bottle, a discarded knife, a brown coat, her taser. Somehow, her gun is in the corner of the room. Dean's lying crumpled beside the table and Kate's cradling Sam's head like a lover. There's blood spatter across one wall and a spreading pool around Sam. But there's no Jay.

"Where's…where's Jay?" her voice feels thick and uneven. There's no answer because Jay's gone. Libby licks her lips and they're dry and cracked and she tastes blood and she smells it because Sam's blood is literally screaming at her, she can hear it singing. It pulls her forward, like wires.

Dean jerks awake and scrabbles to his feet shouting Sam's name. His glare is like poison. "Get off him."

Kate lifts her heard and her teeth and chin are bright red. She smiles. "Not yet. Not until he's completely empty. Not until-" She stops and a look flickers across her face, a look of uncertainty. She stares down at Sam and suddenly drops his head and jerks away from him. Her face contorts with rage, and beneath that, fear. "What's wrong with him?"

Sam claps a hand to his neck and Dean runs forward, grasps Sam beneath the arms and Sam screams when his arm is jostled. Dean drags him away and Sam says "No. Dean. Get out. Go."

"Not without you, you big baby," Dean mutters, eyes on Kate.

Kate shudders and tries to stand. "What…did you do?" she demands. She rubs her mouth and spits. She grimaces, spits again. "What the fuck? What did you do? How…how is it possible?" Kate sways and moves toward the door, her movements uncoordinated. "He tastes like…he tastes like dead man's blood."

Dean's mouth drops open and he pulls Sam closer. "He what?"

A thin bubble of laughter bursts out of Sam. "I came back wrong," he says, voice rising. "Thank God, right?" The laughter collapses in on itself and then he's crying, his face pressed against Dean's arm. His voice is muffled against the denim of Dean's jacket. "What does it mean?"

Libby doesn't listen. Her head is filled with more sounds than words and only two things matter. One, Jay is gone. And she knows what gone means. Jay is dead and it's her fault. Two, Sam is dying. And this too, is her fault. She had meant to save him, and one way or another, she will. She ignores the smell of the blood and the noise in her head and leans down to pick up the knife. The blade is long and sharp and still covered in her blood. And Kate's. Her fingers lift the knife, her hand grasps it, but this is not her body. This is the body of a monster, of something dead, of something that lives in the dark. (Beneath.) But she can still think, she can still feel, and what she feels is rage.

She wants to share it.

Libby springs forward, cat-like, with surprising agility and strength. She knocks Kate to the ground and brings the knife down like she's wielding a hammer. Kate screams, but something's wrong with her now, she's slow, her limbs jerk and Libby stabs her again. The knife ricochets off a heavy cross necklace and the knife comes down again, like it's alive. Maybe it is. Libby's not.

Libby's head feels like a balloon that's floating away; its no longer part of her body, it moves of its own accord. Libby watches what it does and she approves. Kate took Jay away and that's worse than what Sam did. Sam was possessed and hadn't meant to kill Dell. She's not sure she can forgive him but she doesn't blame him. Kate is something different. Kate knows what she's doing, Kate's eyes aren't human but she's no demon and Kate killed Jay. The knife comes down.

Libby's screaming but she doesn't know it. Between the sound of the blood and Sam and Dean's hearts, there's a narrow strip of silence. It's an endless quiet, one that Jay's voice used to fill. The knife comes down.

Libby's face is wet with blood and tears but she doesn't feel it, she doesn't feel anything. She's numb and cold and her mother says how stupid are you? and the answer is very very very. She loved Jay, she loved him and she never told him and now she can't. The knife comes down.

She's dead and she can't even see her father. The knife comes down.

Kate's not moving and the knife is slippery, she can't hold it steady. Her hands are covered in blood and her throat burns and she's blind. She nearly drops the knife twice but her hand is locked around it, her knuckles burn. She will not let go. The knife comes down and the blade stutters against concrete.

Her hand tingles and knife skitters across the floor. Libby blinks and she's not blind after all. Her eyes are filled with tears and the light hurts. Her hair hangs lank and wet in her face and she pushes it aside with dripping fingers. Her hands and forearms are stained red. Kate is still beneath her.

Kate's head is twisted at an odd angle. Kate's head is not connected to her body. Libby makes a noise and scrambles back and away, like a crab. She covers her face, paints Kate's blood across her chin and forehead like a mask. "I want Jay," she screams. "I want Jay."

"Holy fuck," Dean whispers. "Jesus Christ."

"I'm sorry about Jay," Sam says.

Libby nods, takes a breath. (Except she's not breathing. Even her lungs lie now.) She looks at Dean. She feels nothing. "You can kill me."

Dean stares at her, eyes wide, face pale. "I." His shoulders slump. "Yeah. Okay."

"No," Sam says. "I should have…should have. Stopped you last time. Lenore. Call Lenore."

Dean scrubs at his jaw. "Sam…"

"Do it. For me." Sam shakes his head. "No. Not me. For Steve Wandell. And his daughter."

Dean puts a hand to his face and whispers a weary "Shit." Libby watches him pick a phone up off the floor. It looks familiar. It's Libby's. He punches in three numbers and it sounds like beep beep beep but she hears Jay is gone and she closes her eyes. She's tired.

ooooo

Libby helps Dean bring Sam upstairs. Sam can't walk by himself but he's semi-conscious and trying to talk. Libby catches handfuls of words like I'm sorry and call my cell but she stops listening because the words don't help. They don't bring back Jay. They don't start her heart. Dean hands her a slip of paper with a phone number and the name Lenore McDonald but Libby doesn't know what she's supposed to do with it. A siren warbles in the distance and Libby flinches. The sound is like a drill in her head.

"Call the number," Sam says, "She'll help you."

The ambulance shrills louder and Libby knows the ambulance is coming here and that means she has to leave. If Jay were here, he'd say we have to go. She stuffs the scrap of paper into her packet and her fingers meet metal. She pulls out her car keys and stares at them. She looks at her car.

"I'm sorry," Sam says again and Libby can't remember why he's sorry but he looks sad. He looks fucked up. She thinks maybe she should try to help somehow, but there's no time. She's in a hurry. The siren is close now and Libby knows it's not safe so she gets into her car and locks the door. She starts the engine as the ambulance pulls up in front of the house. Two EMTs hurry toward the Winchesters and kneel in front of Sam. Dean's mouth moves and he gestures wildly toward his brother. The EMTs strap Sam to some kind of board and place it on top of a gurney.

Libby puts her foot on the break and shifts the car into reverse. Dean stands against the ambulance, arms folded, head down. He looks up at the sound of Libby's car and Dean's eyes meet hers. He clenches his jaw and watches her go. Sam turns his head and his eyes are shadows, his face bruised and bloody. Their eyes meet and she feels nothing (lost, alone, empty). She thinks she felt something once, but there's nothing left, she's been scraped clean. Sam nods at her, the movement so slight she thinks she imagined it. Only she didn’t, because he lifts one hand in greeting. His hand flutters, just once, like a bird. Impulsively Libby puts her own hand to the window, her palm against dusty glass means goodbye. And there, from her wrist to Sam’s hand, is a momentary red thread binding them together.

Libby blinks and the thread unravels, drifts away like a tiny red cloud. Dell says "How about a little music?"

Libby turns to see her father sitting beside her; she smiles, tremulous. Relieved. "I thought you were dead," she whispers and backs the car out of the driveway.

Dell grins. "Nah. You can't get rid of your old man that easy." He leans his head against the seat, eyes closed, content. "It's about time you drove for a change. It's nice to take a break now and then."

"Don't get used to it," Libby says and hands him the map. "Where do you want to go?"

Dell shrugs and says "It's up to you."

Libby smiles and shifts the car into drive.