"Age nunc intellectum," Catriona's lilting, obnoxious voice said over the speaker, casting a spell unknown to Rowena despite her vast knowledge of the arcane. Perhaps it stemmed directly from the Grimoire. "Age nunc intellectum atque voluntatem omnem meam."

The spell created a terrible, high-pitched noise, loud enough that Rowena had to lower the phone's volume lest they'd risk damage to their eardrums even from afar.

Sam screamed.

Screamed like she'd never heard him before.

His agony seemed to resonate somewhere deep within her muscles, shaking that barely contained landslide out of its constraints once more. She could swear she felt something shatter inside herself.

Then his scream broke off abruptly.

A blockage in her chest refused to let her breathe. Completely taken by surprise over her own reaction, she didn't know what to do or even think.

Nobody had ever—

She wasn't supposed to—

Clinging to the flickering movement of candlelight on the table, she swallowed against the lump in her throat and tried to make sense of what she was feeling. The weak attempt to ground herself failed miserably.

"Sam?" Dean's quiet, doubtful question condensed her thoughts far more effectively than she herself could have.

Sam, was he truly—

Too overwhelmed by the chaos in her head, the sound of Catriona's voice over the speaker actually made her wince.

"Tie him to that chair before he wakes up. I'll be right back."

Before he wakes up.

Heavens above.

She only just had enough sense to press a hand in front of her mouth to stifle the sound of relief that threatened to escape her.

It took another few seconds and several deep breaths until she regained control enough to think clearly. The first thing she did was mute their microphone, so that the ongoing connection would hopefully remain undiscovered, no matter how much noise they caused.

"What do we do?" Dean asked of her, looking at her with open trust as if she held all the answers in the world.

To the echo of hounds in her mind, she realized how much the lad's behavior reminded her of her time in Scotland, back when Fergus had been but a wee thing.

Casting a glance over to the motel room's door, she knew that she could turn her back on all this and be on her merry way. A past version of her would have done just that.

There was a sensation of wetness clinging to the corners of her eyes. Who knew if it had been caused by the memories of times long gone or by the mistaken conviction that Sam Winchester was no more.

At a distance of just a handful of steps, the door still beckoned her. But she wasn't the same woman anymore.

The things the supposed end of the world did to you.

Getting rid of the unshed tears with a hasty swipe of her hands, she squared her shoulders and straightened her posture before meeting Dean's gaze.

"Why, we save him, of course," she said, as if it was the most logical conclusion in the world. Perhaps it was. Or perhaps she'd finally lost her mind.

Dean smiled like a child who'd found the candy. "Oh, good, yeah, that's—" In a mood change as sudden as a lightning strike, he frowned instead. "How?"