Her body is cold against his and her head lolls back in his arms, chest fluttering with slowing breaths, eyes closed and dead to the world. He push his legs as fast as they can go, needing to get back to the motel at any cost, all while murmuring encouraging words to her deaf ears. 

When he had first picked her up, her pulse was barely there, just a weak thump underneath her skin, and now he no longer feels the gentle beat. Horrible thoughts about losing her – for good this time – run through his head as they feeling of being too late washes over him.

Bursting through the motel door, he places her limp body on the bed closest to the door, not wasting any time as he pulls his phone out and dials the number he needs.

His gaze focuses on the dying woman on the bed, hand running anxiously through his hair, and he almost releases a cry of desperation, but someone picks up the phone.

"Dean?" Jamie's voice carries through, calm and a bit confused, but it does wonders to ease Dean's fear of possibly losing Laine. He may have a shot to save her now.

"Laine got attacked by the Lamia. She got injected with poison and she's..." For some reason, he can't seem to push the words out of his mouth. Why can't he say those simple words? It's as if his mind believes that if he gives life to those thoughts, they may actually become a reality.

"Calm down, boy. It's gonna be okay. We'll get her patched up. Just take a deep breath and listen."

He does as he's told and sucks in a large breath, holds it for a few seconds, and then releases it back out. It doesn't do much to calm his racing thoughts, but it does settle his pulse and stop the shake of his hands.

"We thought this might happen, so we found a way to counteract the poison," Jamie says.

Dean casts a glance over to Laine, half of her face bloodied from being pressed against the concrete and the other half is pale and still, the colour already drained from her cheeks. She looks so lifeless now. He takes another deep breath to steady himself and looks away from her, focusing entirely on Jamie.

"Just tell me what to do."

After a few instructions from Jamie, he puts the phone onto speaker and gets to work on blending up the concoction needed to expel the toxin from her body. Apparently, the mixture used to stun the Lamia can also be used to counteract the poison, at least according to the lore, but if it isn't removed within minutes of being injected, then the victim will die.

"You don't have much time, boy, and you only get one shot, so make it count."

Dean nods even though Jamie can't see it, and with a final stir of the mixture, he makes his way towards the bed, grabbing a knife and a syringe out of his bag on the way there.

"Where was she injected?"

Setting the instruments down, he does a quick inspections of Laine's cold body, ignoring the lack of pulse as his hands search. He soon finds a small opening on the back of her neck. The skin around the spot is inflamed and red with black veins sprouting outwards and down her spine, distorting the white birth mark that decorates the base of her neck.

"Back of the neck," Dean says, voice emotionless.

"Okay, you gotta cut the wound open more and try and suck out as much poison as you can before you inject her with the mixture."

Dean rolls Laine onto her side, allowing him clear access to her neck, and takes the pocket knife to cut the open the festering wound. A clear liquid seeps out of the incision, and with a few good squeezes to the wound, the substance is pushed out and the veins surrounding the hole slowly start to recede.

"Now just shoot her up?"

"You have to inject it right into her bloodstream, and since you're no doctor, I'd say heart would be the best bet."

"How are we doing for time?" Grabbing the syringe, he sucks the thick mixture up out of the bowl, his shaking hands stalling the process. He takes another large inhale, two just to be sure, and his hands stop vibrating, allowing him to finish pulling the liquid into the syringe.

"Focus, Dean." Jamie's words strike something in him ad all hesitation or fear is wiped from his mind, blocking out everything but saving Laine.

Lining the needle up over her heart, he pushes it past her skin and ribs and into the slow beating muscle, and presses down on the plunger. The odd coloured concoction leaves the syringe and enters her system, and soon, the syringe is empty.

He removes the needle and sets it down next to the bowl, waiting. His hand reaches out and brushes hair away from her face, blood dry and crusting on her skin. Her chest doesn't look to be moving up and down anymore, and again, panic seizes her body.

"Laine?" He touches her face and leans down to hear her breathing, but instead of hearing ragged puffs, his ears are greeted with silence. "Laine? Hey, c'mon. Wake up. You're fine, now."

"What's going on? Is she okay?" This time it is Zach's voice, sounding distant as the blood thumping in his ears drowns out everything else. His eyes begin to burn and he can't help the tightening of his jaw or how his hands clench into fists, his stomach churning and twisting as bile rises up his throat. "Dean?"

His head falls, overcome with guilt – he could have saved her. If he would have been there a few minutes earlier, he could have gotten to her in time and saved her, but now here she is – dead, and it's all his fault. All because he couldn't get to her in time.

Of course it's his fault – it's always his fault.

A tear slips from his eye and rolls down his cheek, landing on her dirt-smeared shirt. All he can hear is the silence of the room, his own wordlessness giving Zach the answer to his question.

He doesn't move for a few moments, instead trying to process the harsh reality of the situation, and when he does move, the grabs his phone with numb fingers. He wipes at his eyes and steadies his voice best he can before speaking, but even then, it still cracks.

"She's..." Before the can get the dreaded word out of his mouth, the one word he doesn't want to say, a sputtering cough from behind him has him whipping around, wet eyes wide.

The phone isn't even set back on the table before he is launching over to the bed and pulling her into his arms. He ignores the fact that he may be suffocating her, but in this moment, he doesn't care.

She's alive. He saved her, he actually saved her, and she's here to live another day.

"Dean?"

For a moment, he nearly forgets where he is, forgets he is on the phone with Zach and Jamie as they wait for an answer – all because Laine is alive and warm and breathing in his arms.

He saved her.

"She's alive."

She may not be in top condition right now – with her face bloodied, ribs and spine bruised, and arm dislocated – but at least she's alive. That's all he needs right now as he cradles her to his chest, pressing a kiss to her hair and relishing in the feel of her weak hand clutching at the t-shirt over his erratic heartbeat. 

**********

Dean had been reluctant to let Laine go once he knew she was alive and breathing. If he had been able to choose, he would have held her until his mind was no longer filled with images of her cold body lying still on the bed. He couldn't do that, though. He had needed to assess her condition and make sure she was truly all right, make sure her memory was sound and she was coherent.

Although it had taken a few minutes for her to complete his tests, Laine had answered all his questions without flaw. She had fallen asleep quite quickly after that, exhaustion catching up with her. Worry had flooded through Dean when she had suddenly fallen asleep, but once he checked her heartbeat, a steady thump against his fingers, his mind was put at ease.

He hadn't wanted to leave her side, but if they wanted to leave and head back to Montana, she needed to not look like death with blood all over her face. Which is why Dean now finds himself waiting in the reception office for the lady to come back with some extra face clothes and towels.

The woman returns a few moments later, a pile of white fabric in her hands. She passes them to Dean with a smile and he nods his thanks before heading out of the office.

As he is walking back to their room, Dean notices a vehicle parked a few spots away from his. It hadn't been there when he left to get towels, it wasn't there when they first arrived, and no one had come to check in while he was waiting.

Dean can't help it when his mind switches to high alert, shoulders tensing as his pace slows. Suspicion floods through him and he begins assessing the area for any threats. He knows he may be overreacting, seeing enemies where there are none, but he figures it's better to be safe than sorry.

Something looks out of place when he approaches their room. His eyes scan the area, and it only takes him a moment to see what is wrong.

A slip of paper lays outside the closed door, small enough that any passerby wouldn't think twice about it. Dean knows better. He had set a piece of paper in the hinge of the door as a precaution on the off chance that Laine's gut feeling was right. This proves that they were being tailed.

Now it's time to see who's been following them.

Placing the towels on the hood of his car, Dean turns back to the room. The gun he keeps hidden in the back of his jeans is in his hand in the next instant, safety flicked off before he raises his arm. He takes a step towards the room, free hand coming up to grasp the door handle. Twisting the knob, he opens the door.

The room is mostly dark, the only light coming from the lamp on the nightstand. Light illuminates Laine's sleeping form on the bed, but the view of her face is obscured. Looming over her is a man, his back turned towards Dean.

Dean enters the motel room, gun raised and aimed at the intruder. The man must notice Dean's arrival for he glances over his shoulder, but his face is cloaked in shadows. He doesn't look at Dean long before he turns back to Laine, his head cocked to the side.

"Poor little Lainey. You know you shouldn't go down dark alleys," he says, completely ignoring Dean's presence. "Oh, well. You'll still work just fine."

Dean takes another step towards the bed, moving so he can see Laine as well. Out of his peripheral, he notes she is still asleep and seemingly unharmed, aside from her previous injuries. It doesn't look like this guy has hurt her, but Dean can't be sure.

"Who are you?" Dean asks, gun lined up with the man's head. He doesn't want to shoot, knowing that it will attract unwanted attention and possibly the authorities, but he may not have another choice.

"Hmm?" The man finally looks back at Dean, hazy eyes illuminated by the lamp light. His face is covered in faint black veins, accentuated by the silver piercings on his lip, nose, and eyebrow. Hazy eyes, veins, sullen look to the face; if Dean remembers correctly, that indicates Cambion. "Oh, you weren't supposed to show up yet."

"Who are you?" Dean repeats as he takes another step towards the half-demon.

A laugh erupts out of the man and a grin twists at his studded lips. He stares at Dean, brows drawing together. "You weren't supposed to be here."

Before Dean has time to pull the trigger, the man turns and his arm comes up. His attack knocks Dean's hands apart, the one with the gun falling to the side. Dean raises his arm to block the elbow coming at his face, but it leaves him open. The attack to his gut isn't a surprise, but unable to block, Dean doubles over in pain.

His breath comes out in rasps, white hot rage building up in his chest. The gun now lays on the ground a couple feet away, having been knocked out of his grasp. Ignoring the shortness of breath, Dean shakes his head and stands up.

"Bad dog," the half-demon says, his expression casual as he looks down at Dean. "You could've woken the little angel."

Glaring, Dean launches his fist at the intruder, knuckles connecting with the man's jaw. He doesn't hesitate to swing again with force, sending the half-demon stumbling backwards. Not wasting a moment, Dean rushes forward and slams his shoulder into the intruder's chest.

The Cambion thuds against the wall, body shattering the mirror hanging there into jagged pieces. Tightening his hold on the man's jacket, Dean aims a punch at his face, hoping to knock it against his temple. As if expecting his attack, the Cambion sidesteps and Dean's fist connects with nothing but air.

Stunned from the miss, Dean doesn't have time to fight off the hand that comes up to his shoulder, fingers digging into his flesh. Another hand clamps around his wrist, twisting the hand holding the jacket at an odd angle. Pain shoots through Dean's arm, the strain on his bone worsening with each second as the Cambion twists it more.

"Nice try, pup." With a sadistic snarl, the half-demon shifts his hold and pushes Dean, sending him flying backwards.

The motion is so sudden that Dean barely registers the change, weightless in the air. That sensation only lasts a second before gravity takes over and he crashes through the table. His groans and ragged breaths are the only things he hears for a few moments, ears ringing from the impact.

Shaking his head, Dean rolls onto his side to alleviate the splinter of wood digging against his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he notes the approaching pair of black shoes. After six more deliberate steps, pace even and steady, the legs stop mere feet from Dean. Glancing up through blurry vision, the Cambion is already looking down at Dean.

"Be a good dog now and stay down," he says, lips curling into a malicious grin, before he turns around. He begins walking towards Laine, humming a dark melody under his breath as he goes, and anger surges through Dean.

Struggling to his feet, Dean snatches the gun off the ground and stands. Pain gnaws at his limbs and his head feels warm, but he ignores it and begins moving towards the Cambion. The half-demon has already reached the end of Laine's bed, his back still turned to Dean, but it appears his attention is completely on the unconscious woman.

"You better be worth the hassle, little dove."

The Cambion mutters a few other things, but Dean is unable to hear them from where he stands. Not wanting to let this opportunity slip by, Dean launches forward and slams the butt of his gun on the Cambions skull. Stunned, the Cambion stumbles forward.

Dean closes the distance between them and places his hands on either side of the half-demon's head. With a sharp twist, the snap of bone cracks through the air. It takes a second, but soon enough the Cambion is falling to the ground, eyes still wide open in surprise.

Grabbing a pair of handcuffs out of his bag and a Sharpie, Dean gets to work on restraining their new friend. He makes quick work of the sigils, adding a few extra just for good measure, and soon enough he is done.

A relieved sigh leaves Dean as picks up his gun and shoves it back into his pants. Tucking his shirt and jacket over the bulge, he moves closer to Laine. Once he is certain she is still sound asleep – how she can be, he has no idea – he runs back outside to collect the towels so he can wash her up. Then they can get the Hell outta dodge before something bad happens again.

It only takes him a few minutes to wash away the crusted blood and dirt, removing all visible traces of violence from her ghost-white skin. Besides the small scrapes on her cheek and forehead, she looks much better than she did before. After a couple more minutes, their bags are packed and shoved into the backseat of the car.

Now all that's left is moving two bodies.

Gathering Laine up into his arms, Dean carries her out to the vehicle and places her in the passenger seat. He heads back into the room and hauls the unconscious Cambion to the door. Before exiting, he checks both ways to make sure there are no approaching civilians. Dean goes to the trunk and pops it open, heads back into the room, and hoists the man over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

With haste, Dean stuffs him into the trunk. He closes the hatch and locks it, eyes darting around to make sure no one saw him. He doesn't waste another moment before he climbs into the car and starts the engine, speeding out of the parking lot.

Glancing over at Laine, she barely stirs when they get onto the road, only shifting once before they hit the highway. His gaze keeps flitting over to her the entire drive, and thankfully, no noises come from the trunk.