Reckless [Dean Winchester]

38. The Scribe of God

38. The Scribe of God

Sam finally falls asleep, but his tossing makes me nervous. All I can do is sit and watch him like the stalker I have to be. With Sam's stubborn spirit, I can't leave him alone for even a minute. I rap my hands on my thigh. I look to the open bathroom, then down at Sam. I'll be quick.

Without disturbing the sleeping body, I creep into the bathroom and shut the door. I splash water onto my face to liven myself up some. If Metatron isn't here, we've wasted gas and our time. Sam shouldn't even be out here, he should be on house arrest in the bunker. Dean and I should be the ones out here in Colorado. Even if Sam is responsible for the hunch that led us here, he's not in peak condition.

The water cools my face, and I feel slightly better. I rub my cheeks, but when I look into the mirror above the skin, I stumble back into the wall. My eyes are wide in terror as I see it, my reflection. I don't want to get closer, the image will only look worse.

I swallow, taking in the reflection's features. Her hair looks intact, but that's about it. Her clothes are torn, shredded, and bloody. Blood coats her exposed skin, giving it a reddish tint. Deep gashes tear into the skin of her neck. But the worst thing is her eyes: eyes that were once blue and now milky, corpse-like.

It takes all the restraint I have to not scream and disturb Sam. My eyes fall down to my body, not the reflection. I'm not covered in blood, or gashes. Pretty sure my eyes aren't dead inside either. When I look back into the mirror, I see my clean, lively self.

Get it together, Max. You still have time. You still have time to change this. All you have to do is kill the King of Hell. That sounds like a feat, an almost impossible feat. But it can be done. It's just a long shot.

Mortified, I decide to get out of the bathroom. The first thing I notice is that Sam isn't in bed. I begin to think he's run off since the door is wide open, but then I hear it.

"Sam?" It's Dean's voice, but he's not present in the room.

"Sam!" I panic as I see him passed out on the floor. I grab his phone quickly.

"Max?"

"Dean?! Sam's passed out!"

"Okay, okay, calm down."

I feel Sam's forehead. "Shit, he's Hell temperature."

"Okay, okay. Max, you need to listen to me, okay?"

I nod though Dean can't see it.

"I need you to start getting Sam towards the bathtub, fill it up with ice-cold water. I'll grab as much ice as I can."

"But, Dean—"

"Look, I'll help you when I get there. Just do what I tell you to, alright?"

"Okay. Hurry." I end the call and rush to the bathroom first and set the water to the coldest setting. I swallow as I try to figure out how to approach getting Sam into the tub. At this point, nobody's gonna want to strip him naked. If this breaks the heat sweat, I don't think Sam will care about being clothed in the tub anyway.

I try to grab him by his upper half, but since he's fully passed out, I don't have the help that I desperately want. Unfortunately, I've got half of his body weight against me, and the other half is dragging across the floor as I lead him towards the bathroom. Damn it, Dean. Hurry your ass up!