Twenty-two couldn't come soon enough for the witch, because twenty-two meant it was a new day. A new day meant so many things now....new chances, old memories, and most importantly, another chance to watch the dawn break across the tired Rhydin sky. This was something Lilliana did with a hedonist's passion, as it was not only the moment she soaked up a surge of another year's memories and inspected the length of her body for signs of aging or injury. Basking in the early pink and yellow of what was surely to be another wondrous day was not to be however, for upon waking, the witch felt a sharp, surging pain across the span of her shoulders. Tears sprang to her eyes almost as instantly as the bewilderment did; a moment later and she was a sprawl of shaking limbs and a tangle of bed rumpled curls on the oriental plush of her caravan's floor.

"Wha'....what?s tha'?" What is this". As she pressed the tips of her nails down into the worn carpet threads beneath, a shuddering breath rushed in and out jaggedly. The pain had been immediate, but it was slow to fade. Once the sharpness turned to a dull ache, Lilli managed to pull herself up to some sort of rights. The clear, bright colors of confusion painted her quite the picture of hurt and wondering, but not for long.

Dean. She should have known.

The unvoiced answer had her up and scrambling; hedonism be damned. Images from the year-no, the night before flooded her violent and sudden as a summer downpour.

Oh my darling man, what have you done"

The candles, the blade, the blood, the desperation in his eyes, the taste of the day on his lips, the warmth of his wanting, the strain in his limbs, the sorrow and longing in his voice; not just for her, but for his kin. His brother. This sudden pain that wrenched her upon consciousness wasn't for her, but for his brother. Don't ask how she knew, but somehow she did. Whether it be a touch of the divine for the truly devout, or a bit of unintended magic that bonded them in that miniscule, but mutual moment of pain as their blood coated her ceremonial blade. No. Not that. She knew because she'd have done the same. In her heart of hearts, deep down in the depths of her soul, Lilliana knew why she knew what Dean had done, simply because she'd already done it so many years back.

Mama, I'd do it again. Sacrifice. Sacrifice in the name and in the spirit of unshakable love. Something all with a true soul knew how to do, even if they never yet have.

Goddess please let him be okay.

Thoughts of his worries from the night before hit her so hard it was almost too much; what if he'd been right to worry' What if he was meant to die young" What if she cost him the chance to be some sort of happy before his body was called back to the ground and the great skies beyond" Bursting out into the cold morning air, breath fogging, Lilliana broke into a run the moment her feet touched the ground. So many 'what if's danced wickedly behind the young woman's eyes that it was hard to tell if she truly saw where she was running to or no. Somehow though, somehow, she managed to pound the right pathway of pavement to lead her to him- she had to have. Why else would she be running in this direction' It just seemed right.

Why didn't you wait for me"

The intense pain in her shoulder was gone now; only worry remained. The young man's name was a mantra inside her head that beat as fast and furious as the lub-dub of her heart. Dean. Around the streets she skittered in too-swift turns. Dean. The scrape and sting of bricks biting at her palm as she hooked around from a dank gangway barely registered. Dean. Jarring her ankles during a short moment of leap and flight went unheeded as she jumped up the Red Dragon's front stair and crashed through the door shoulder first. Dean. Even the empty forest of chairs and tables cracking against her legs as she stumbled through to the back stairwell seemed little more than the passing glance of wind. Dean. All paltry by comparison.

It was seeing the blood that hurt her the most, because it was smeared on the tarnished knob of room 29. Pale and shaken as a sheet, Lilliana sucked in a brave breath and reached for the door. There was no knocking this time, nor checking and listening to see if he was in; she simply walked in, praying to the All-Mother that she wasn't going to be greeted with the body of someone she'd realized too late her heart had come to find quite precious.

"....Dean?"

Stupid. "Idiot!" She was furious, and although that fury stemmed from a deeply seeded worry, fury was so much easier to deal with than panic and worry. Fury could turn even the smallest of souls into an inferno to be reckoned with, it could fuel bodies with nothing left in them but heart, turn mothers into warriors, or in Lilliana's case, a desperately shocked and shaking young woman into a saver of lives. "I though' I t-t'old ya' t'wai' fer me!" She stuttered, that was how furious she was; Lilliana was letting her friend have it, conscious or no, if only to keep her focus on the tasks at hand. Her own were shaking, and as she quickly turned to give the door a jerk back closed and into place, she gave herself a quick slap to the thigh before turning around and striding across to the mess of Dean that awaited her half drunk and shirtless on the bed. Somewhere distantly, she thought, any other circumstance might find this a much more enjoyable scenario, but something about the blood on the sheets and still oozing from his back ruined it all. "If any o' wha' I do hurt's, I'm no' sorry!" Odd how firm her voice was when her hands moved oh so gently across him to inspect the ruined flesh of his shoulder. Dean mumbled Sam's name, only partly coherently, only partly realizing it was Lilli who was there and not Sam. He pried his eyes open again and looked up at her, blinking to clear his vision. He smiled when he saw her and heard what she said. "Are you gonna play nurse?" he asked, groggily. "I shouldn' do nothin' fer ya', ya' daf' fool, I t'old ya' t'wai' fer me an' ya' didn'." Lilliana grumped quietly as she reached out with one hand to give his head a tap whilst the other still busied itself with pulling him around enough to check out the damage he'd sustained. Seeing the nature of the wound made her pale anew, but she didn't flinch, nor did she recoil. Instead, she sighed and released him carefully backward. Once she let him settle, she was up off the bed again and moving with purpose across the room to where he'd set her things aside. "Jus' be glad tha' I brough' a few things tha' will act'ually help. Wasn' sure wha' we were goin' t'be gett'in' int'o....Now t'urn 'round fer me ont'o yer belly if ya' can." Just moving was painful and he bit his lip so hard to keep from groaning that he tasted his own blood. He watched while she moved about the room, feeling groggy and feverish. He sensed that she was angry with him for some reason, and he wasn't quite sure why. Was it because he'd gone after Sam alone or because he'd gotten hurt or both' "I'm fine, Lil. I took care of it." "Aye, fine mess ya' go' yerself lookin' like. I don' think it's very fair t'all the ladies ou' there ge' yerself all ugly an' munged up like ya' are." Focus, just be angry. Be angry or you'll cry. It reminded her so much of herself, of the love she knew she had for her own family she missed so dearly. She'd have done the same in a heartbeat, as would her mother were the shoes reversed and Lilli were in the bed with a grievous wound. Tears sprung to her eyes despite her best efforts, but she managed to keep them from falling during the trip back across the room to the bed. She'd pulled up a layer from the many that made up her skirts to keep take all she needed; the witch didn't intend to move very far away anytime soon. At least not until her task was finished. "Oh Dean....Are ya' sure those were Sam's marbles ya' found lyin' there, or yer own?" She whispered quietly, offering her friend a watery smile as she held up a damp cloth. It smelled strong; soporific almost. And yes, once it was run across his wounds, it stung like hell. He flinched when he felt the sting against his back and shoulder, muscles tensing and stiffening. He'd never really been wounded before. Oh, some bumps, bruises, broken bones, but never like this. Never gaping, bleeding wounds that were already starting to fester and hurt like his flesh was on fire. He said nothing for a moment, too busy trying to withstand the pain. When he finally spoke, his voice betrayed what he was feeling, sounding weary, weak, and humorless. "Are you trying to....make a joke" Saying I lost my marbles?" "Aye. It's called keepin' yer wounded w' ya'." Lilliana shook her head as she began to realize the extent of the damage. It was too much. All of it. And while she had had the foresight to bring extra supplies in case of accidents, there was no way the witch could have predicted such a mess. Worrying her bottom lip, Lilli set the cloth aside, watching the deep, deep gouges well back up to the brim and over with blood again. Trying not to make any sort of noise to give away the distress she was trying to hide, she pressed the softest of touches to the side of Dean's head as she leaned down very, very close. "D' ya' t'rus' me?" The words came out more as air than anything; things to be felt against the skin more than heard. He was starting to feel a little dizzy again, weak from loss of blood and lack of sleep, worry taking its toll. She was angry with him, that much was clear, because he'd been a stubborn ass and gone out on his own without her, maybe because he didn't want to chance her getting hurt. She'd done so much already. He squeezed his eyes closed against the threat of tears, more from the feelings of guilt and desperation than from the physical pain. "I'm sorry, Lil," he said in a heartfelt voice that was full of unshed tears. "Yes, I trust you." Lil. That word, that endearment, it jarred her right down to her toes and right back up again. It was what her mother called her, and she could think of nothing else but to tell him so. "Ya' know....M'ma calls me tha'." Her smile, although soft, was very much genuine now. Her mind was made up; she knew what to do. Leaning back up and stepping away from the bed, Lilli's fingers began working at the laces running up along the front of her corset. Pick, pick, pick; one at a time, though with a practiced sort of pace to it all, she very quietly set the heavy bit of bone and brocade across a nearby chair. Her boots were next, then the impossibly layered skirts. As she worked, she continued to talk to him slowly. "I think ya'd like her, m'whole family really. There wouldn' be a place Sam could hide tha' we couldn' find him." The fantasy was cute; much cuter than the gravity around them now. He felt her pull away from him and he followed the sound of her voice, turning his head toward her, eyes widening when he saw her stripping her clothing away, misunderstanding what she was up to. And despite the pain, he felt his body responding to her sudden lack of proper clothing. "What....what are you doing" Do you really think this is the time for that?" His gaze wandered over her, even half drunk and woozy from blood loss, he found himself admiring the curves of her body, the fall of her hair, her smile soft and warm even in anger, the freckles that dotted her nose. With so many layers missing, it was indeed a bit startling; the bulk of her cover, oddly, wasn't the short sleeved blouse nor the pleasant ruffles of her high-legged bloomers, but the wildfire of her hair. Against so much pale, freckled skin and so much white, delicate cloth, the effect was truly magical; ethereal. Almost angelic. The smile she wore with an equal air of delicacy, though it broke in a moment of soft laughter as she digested his reply. "Oh darlin', I'm no' nearly so formal if i' were wha' ya' were thinkin'....I jus' need a bi' less o' m'layers t'do wha' needs t' be done." Vague, yes, but it was on purpose. She knew he'd refuse what she was about to do. Carefully, oh so carefully, she knelt back onto the bed at his side, and putting her bulk to good use, began to gently nudge him back against the bed so there'd be room enough for her. "Jus' be st'ill an' close yer eyes. Ly on yer side like tha'-aha, good boi'o, swee' lad." She cooed to him gently as she might a sick child; not exactly adult bedside chatter. He did as he was told, sliding as far over as he could without falling off the bed. Her voice seemed to have a calming effect on him and his eyes drooped closed again as he relaxed a little to the sound of her voice. He'd heard every word she'd said, everything about her family and Sam and something vague about what she was about to do, but not all of it registered in his head. "What are you going to do?" he asked, somewhat groggily.