*Paige's P.O.V.*

"Paige! You're leaving early today, right?" Donna asks, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, and Paige turns from the little girl wrapped around her leg to look at her questioningly. Donna's looking up from the snack table with the knife she'd been using to cut sandwiches next to her hand, and Paige has to stifle a laugh at how determined the girl is to cling as she attempts to walk across the room.

"I am," she says. "Wait, what time is it...?"

"It's quarter to three," Donna answers, ruffling her hair. "When are you heading out again?"

"Ah-I should be going now, actually. Thank you for reminding me, I lost track of time!" Paige swivels around, shoos away the kid by giving her a grape, and looks around for her sweater. It's draped over the back of a chair, and she grabs it, pulls it on, and runs her hands through her hair distractedly. Is she forgetting anything? No, it doesn't feel like it, her phone is here and her wallet is here and-

"No problem!" Donna grins. "Have a nice talk, and I hope you both have fun on your date!"

"Miss Paige is going on a date?" asks the girl, who is now clinging to Donna's leg-her name is Clarie, Paige remembers-with wide eyes. "With who?"

Donna lightly boops her nose. "She's going on a date with her fiancé, Claire! That's your Crown Prince, remember? Prince Winchester!"

"It's not a date," Paige starts to protest but drops it as soon as she sees the way Clarie's face lights up. After all... maybe it... maybe it is a date? She doesn't know. Whatever.

"What's a fee-fi-a fyan-say?" Claire asks, wrinkling her nose when Donna boops it again, laughing.

"It's what you call the person you're engaged to," Paige explains, smiling at her. "Sam and I are getting married at the end of this year, so he's my fiancé, and I'm his fiancée."

"Ohhhh," Claire says, nodding. "I learned a new word! Hey, hey, hey, Miss Donna, I learned a new word!"

"You sure did!" Donna agrees, clapping her hands. "I'm so proud of you! Hey, Claire Bear, let's get out of the way, though. We don't want to make Paige late for her date!"

Claire's little mouth turns into a big round 'o' as she shakes her head, wide-eyed. "No, no!" She lets go of Donna's leg to scamper aside, grabbing her hand to pull her out of the way, too. "Don't be late, Miss Paige! You'll make your fyan-say sad!"

"I'm going, I'm going!" Paige laughs. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to be on time, just so he won't be sad."

She says her final goodbyes to the two of them, pokes her head into the staff room to let Ange know that she's leaving, and finally heads out to the street. It's a bright, sunny day, and it's not a very long walk from here to the café where she agreed to meet Sam before they go to the botanical gardens-

And that thought sobers her quickly, despite the warmth of the sun on her face or the gentle breeze as it tousles her hair. The day is almost deceptively beautiful, isn't it? It's almost too warm to wear her sweater in the sun, but the shade is still cool, and the wind makes everything perfect, but... under it all, her mind can't get away from the mess at court. Out here, that oppressive bad feeling is practically gone, but she knows as soon as she gets back, it'll return in full force.

Maddy and Marya were right. She has no idea what it means or what to do about it, but the more she thinks about just letting Sam know, the more relieved she feels. It's almost like she never even let herself consider that she didn't have to do this all alone, didn't have to carry the weight of everyone on her own until Marya explicitly told her to seek help.

...Knowing her, Marya probably figured that she wouldn't have thought of that on her own. Ouch. She's really predictable about these things, isn't she?

Anyway, the café where she's supposed to meet Sam is pretty close, less than a ten-minute walk from the orphanage. And since she's been staring at nothing and thinking about everything while her feet carry her onwards, she's only around three blocks away. Good. She can tell Sam everything soon. Even if there will still be the burden of having to figure it out, she won't be carrying it alone, and that thought is honestly just so incredibly relieving that it's almost a physical feeling, the loosening of a knot in her chest that she hadn't even realized was there.

This street is fairly busy at this time of day, with plenty of cars rushing back and forth, though the sidewalks are narrow and somewhat deserted-it's more of a private business district, this area, and there aren't a lot of people out and about if they aren't just passing through like Paige is, walking by herself.

Something makes the hair at the back of her neck prickle uneasily, and she bites her lip, walking a little faster. Maybe she shouldn't have decided to walk alone today-most days, she doesn't, either going places with other members of court or a borrowed member of the Royal Guard, but she assumed that since it was such a short walk to that café, and in a good part of town, too, it would be alright...

"Excuse me," a voice cuts into her thoughts. "Please, just-just a moment of your time..."

Alarm spikes for a reason Paige can't place, and her guard immediately rises. There's a hunched figure in the mouth of an alleyway, wrapped in raggedy clothes that resemble those of every other sad, homeless figure in the streets here, but something feels off. She doesn't take a step closer.

"Please," the figure repeats. "My daughter... she hasn't eaten in three days... please... anything would help..."

The wrongness and the unease rise. Paige entertains the thought of giving some money over and fleeing the scene, but even the idea of going closer at all makes her baulk; something akin to malice is radiating from the man, and she wants nothing more than to get out of here, because...

He's lying, Paige realizes. The man is reaching for her, entreating, begging, but something feels wrong wrong wrong and it's almost like the court feeling and that's bad bad bad bad bad-

"Please don't touch me," Paige says, stepping back, toward the centre of the street and away from the mouth of the alleyway. "I'm not carrying cash, my apologies-"

The wrongness spikes just instants before the man lunges.

He grabs Paige's wrist and yanks, hard, and Paige is thrown off balance because, under the nondescript, waifish disguise, there is hard muscle and more strength than she accounted for. With a yelp, she stumbles forward directly into a shove that sends her tripping over her own feet, so that they end up switching places, Paige in the alleyway and the man blocking her way out.

Shit.

"I told you, I don't have any cash on me! But you aren't after my money, are you?" Paige asks, trying to stall for time as she tries frantically to think of how to get out of this. The vague confidence she can sense from the man in front of her makes her feel like running back further into the alleyway would be a bad idea-he must have an accomplice, and that thought makes Paige reach out with her thoughts, groping around further behind her, until she detects not one but two more consciousnesses not too far away, both waiting, both too alert to be uninvolved.

Shit.

"No, not really," the one in front of her agrees. He's dropped the reedy, plaintive tone, and his real voice is much more gravelly, much more in keeping with his frighteningly broad stature now that he's not hunching his shoulders. He steps forward, and Paige hesitates again.

No, she can't let herself be driven backwards. That'd be two people, while there's only one in front of her. Her only chance is to overpower this man and run back out of the alleyway.

She springs forward, keeping her body low, and feints left, ducking to the right at the last moment and attempting to dash under the man's arm, but an elbow comes down hard and slams into her back, knocking the wind out of her. She stumbles and gets kneed in the chest for her trouble, but being doubled over gives her the perfect chance to grab the knife from her boot.

"You're not getting away that easy, princess," the man snarls, reaching for her. "You're gonna-"

The rest of his words are lost in a yowl of pain when Paige's knife slashes his arm open from wrist to elbow, and Paige dances backwards out of reach, ignoring the way her back and chest sting to hell and back and her eyes prickle with tears of pain. Breathing hurts; this is definitely going to bruise.

The two consciousnesses behind her start to come closer-she can feel the threads of their emotions start to get stronger-and Paige stifles a curse. Her best chance to get away, wasted-this is three on one, and she's already hurting a bit, and these are bad odds, very bad odds.

"What do you want from me?" Paige hisses, pretending that she doesn't know about the two sneaking up on her. Admitting that she knows they're there will make them stop caring about the element of surprise, and that means they'll be way more likely to attack outright-plus, this way, they won't be expecting anything from her.

"Your pretty little head, Your Highness," the man in front of her spits. He draws his own dagger from under his tattered clothes, and Paige's stomach drops. These men are regular assassins, from the feel of things-so, not shadow assassins, thank god, because she could never hope to fend off three of those-but three of them against one of her?

"Who sent you?" she presses, taking a little step back. "If you're going to kill me, at least give me that much."

A sneer, a laugh. "You and your Pandorian sensibilities," the assassin says, advancing further. Paige takes another step back, painfully aware that she's losing ground, getting further from the mouth of the alleyway. Shit, she's getting too close to the other two! "You might believe in so much honour, but in Ruritania, we play by other rules. Our honour above yours. You will just be dead-what does it matter to you whether you know why you die or not?"

Another step back. She needs to attack soon, needs to get out. This man is basically ignoring the blood dripping from his arm; the knife in Paige's hand seems to be pulsing with energy, thrumming slightly as if it's waiting for something. She switches from a forward grip to a reverse hold, bringing it up defensively, and eyes the assassin, sizing him up for openings. He might not be paying attention to his injured arm, but he is favouring it-meaning he's probably going to expect Paige to go for it again.

Well, it's still her best bet-she could think herself in circles, he thinks I'll go here so I'll go to the other side, but he'd expect me to do that because he knows I know he thinks I'd go to the wounded side, so I should go there instead-but when push comes to shove, it's easier to take advantage of a wound that's already there than one that isn't, so...

And she has another advantage-this man doesn't seem to know he's fighting an empath. Good. Even trained assassins aren't above fear; their training just means they know how to ignore it, how to keep it from crippling them, how to suppress it and act ruthlessly anyway. But it's still there, a little current rippling gently far below the surface. Paige reaches for the man's mind, grabs that thread, and pulls.

As the assassin lets out a cry and stumbles back, his eyes widening, Paige throws herself forward again, knife flaring out against the assassin's shoulder. The hit lands and the assassin hisses in pain as blood spurts from the wound, running in scarlet rivulets down his arm. Paige presses her advantage and strikes again, pushing forward-they're almost out of the alleyway, almost, just a few more steps-but this time her blade is parried. A series of quick slashes rains down and she's hard-pressed to catch all of them, but she's gaining the upper hand-she's the better knife fighter and it's starting to show; she's faster than the assassin, and the fear in the man's mind makes him slow, clumsy, and uncertain.

However, in focusing on drawing that fear to the surface, Paige makes a critical mistake, one she only realizes she's made when it's too late.

She forgot about the other two.

Suddenly, a gloved fist grabs her hair and yanks her backward with painful force, and she cries out, stumbling backwards as the first assassin lunges forward, his terror draining away like water in a tub when the drain is opened. Paige throws herself backwards and ducks, wrenching her head to the left, but the slice from his dagger comes far too close for comfort, catching her cheek and dragging down almost to the corner of her mouth.

Almost immediately, her own blood starts trickling down her face; she can taste the salt and the metallic tang on her lips, but there's no time to focus on the pain. Blood drips onto her shoulder, wet and warm, as she wrenches herself away from the new attacker by stomping on their foot as hard as she can, kicking the heel of her boot into their kneecap with as much force as she can muster, and then whirling away from their pain-loosened grip to put her back to a wall, wild-eyed and panting. Her knife feels like it's on the edge of-of something. What's going to push it over?

"Feisty one, aren't you?" a tall woman asks, her eyes cold. "It gives me no pleasure to do this. Let us be done with it and we'll make your death quick and painless."

The third assassin is visible now, too-shorter than either of his companions, but with a hard look in his face, that sends a shiver down Paige's spine. She turns her attention back to the first two for the moment-they're closer-but keeps an eye on the third. He doesn't seem to have a weapon out (he's probably an elemental mage, then, Paige thinks, mind racing). Maybe if she can get past him...

"Why are you doing this?" she asks, hedging, trying to recover her breath. Shit. Shit. Against all three of them, she won't stand a chance! God, if only she had told Sam sooner-

Sam, she thinks and starts to reach out. Just a few seconds, please, please...

"Why are you doing this?" she repeats, channelling everything Marya taught her about hiding her use of empathy into her voice. "He wouldn't tell me, but-if you really want me to stand down, at least give me a reason to. Who wants me dead so badly they couldn't even wait to slip some poison into my food at a banquet?"

Sam's consciousness is far enough away that Paige can barely feel it at all. Her empathy works much, much better in close ranges-the amount of energy it takes out of her increases almost exponentially with distance, but she's dead either way, so she might as well just-

She latches onto Sam's mind with the tenacity that comes from utmost desperation and yanks. There's a link established-tenuous, but there-and she pours everything into it: terror, desperation, pain, helplessness, help me please help me I don't want to die here-

"I can't tell you that," the tall woman says. "Our employer strictly asked us to keep it from you, despite any pleas of the damned. My apologies, but you know how the business is."

The jolt of shock, minuscule and muted by distance as it is, lets her know Sam felt it, that Sam must be coming. She drops the connection and is immediately hit by what feels like a truckload of magical exhaustion, but 'no no no not now not now she has to focus she can't die she won't die not now not like this'-she just has to buy time, time for Sam to head along the path to the orphanage, time for Sam to find her. Please, please, please...

"I see," she wheezes. Then she launches herself at the third man. Her best hope is to be fast, to eliminate one of her attackers completely, and when she dredges up a last reserve of magic to hit the man with a surge of pure terror, forcing every ounce of the fear in herself into the other's mind, it forces the man to hesitate for a moment before he attempts to summon elemental fire to flicker around his fingertips, and that second is everything. The hilt of Paige's knife manages to connect with his temple with a dull crack.

The man sways and stumbles back, crumpling to the ground with his flames snuffed out, but the other two are already in motion. The first one's dagger descends again, and it's only by a combination of reflexes and sheer luck that Paige catches it on her own blade. It's thrumming more insistently now, almost glowing black-sucking in light-in the shade of the alley, but she doesn't have time to wonder what that means because she suddenly finds herself gasping in pain when a heavy boot smashes a sharp kick directly to her ribs, and suddenly breathing is-breathing is a lot harder, and she lets out a keening cry of pain, involuntarily dropping to her knees. Her side feels like it's on fire, and every breath hurts.

Oh, god, she's going to die here.

She scrambles away from another kick that the second assassin aims her way, pathetically crawling along the ground, and knows she doesn't have much time left at all. This is it. She's too late-she should have told Sam and the Queen sooner, maybe they could've figured everything out, stopped this from coming, but it's too late now and she's going to die, right here, on the ground like a bug, and the little kids at the orphanage will hear that kind, helpful Miss Paige bled to death not ten minutes after waving them goodbye.

"It's over," the first assassin says. "Stop running. There's nowhere for you to hide, princess, just give up." He seems to be gloating, twirling his dagger in his hand as he steps forward, slowly, as if he has all the time in the world. "And since you didn't seem to like our kind offer to make this fast, we might as well take our time with it, don't'cha think? Nice 'n' slow. Not too slow, mind you, because if you scream too much that'd draw too much attention, but I think-"

"Hey," the second one cuts in. "Shut up. None of that talk. We just want her dead, you idiot." She prods Paige's tender side with her foot, and she winces and she flinches away, scrambling out of reach, but not before her boot connects painfully with the side of Paige's head and fiery pain blossoms, the world spinning. Her glasses fall from her face, and the assassin steps on them with a crunch as she raises her leg for another kick. "Surrender now, and your suffering can end. You don't have to keep putting yourself through pain."

The tears in her eyes make it hard to see, but she manages to crawl past the dazed third assassin, scrabbling backwards on her hands and knees. Where is her knife-she must've dropped it when the second one kicked her, damn her. She has a feeling some of her ribs must be horribly bruised, if not broken, from the way her breath is rattling painfully in her chest, and they're both advancing on her now, slow and almost leisurely. Unprofessional. A shadow assassin would never waste time like this-

Oh, god, she's going to die here, and her thoughts are hazy, distracted, disjointed, and they can't even focus on the people who are about to kill her. Shadow assassins-her knife, where is her knife, please-

It's on the other side of the two of them, blacker than night against the stony ground. 'No, no, no, she's really, truly about to die, right here and right now'. Sam-Sam must be on his way, and for a moment Paige clings desperately to the hope that she'll be saved (she doesn't want to die here, please) but-

Her back winds up against a wall. Ah, so this alleyway... has no outlet. The second assassin reveals a pistol, raising it to aim at her head, a sight that she's sure will haunt her. At least, Paige supposes, it won't be seared into her memory for too long.

Three things happen in very quick succession:

One. Paige closes her eyes, but the shot never comes.

Two. Something seems to snap, and for a moment everything feels weird, but by the time she opens her eyes, all that remains is shadows flickering on the walls as if they have a life of their own, leaving no real explanation for how the second assassin is suddenly on the ground, crying out, the hand that had been holding the pistol severed from her body so cleanly it almost looks surgical.

Three. Before she can begin to process any of that, the shadows abruptly settle, and the temperature plummets.

Paige lets her head slump forward, the relief rushing through her overpowering anything else. The adrenaline starts to fade, leaving her more aware than ever of the way her bruised, battered body is screaming at her, and she thinks numbly that shock is starting to set in because she can't really... process... anything?

But as it gets colder and colder, Paige sighs and closes her eyes again. She's too dazed to do anything much, really, and the brick wall is rough against her back as she limply slumps against it, energy gone. The empathic overuse is already coming back to bite her; she feels sluggish and caught in a fog like her thoughts are moving through molasses. It was a near thing-any more use of her magic, and she would probably have knocked herself out on top of completely fucking her own emotions over.

But the assassins aren't looming over her anymore, and she can worry about the rest later. Sam is here, and that means it's going to be okay.

*-*-*

[14:58] homobipboa:

Paige what happened

are you okay

i felt the spell on your knife activate what happened

[Missed call from homobipboa]

[15:01] homobipboa:

fuck

Paige please please please get back to me when you can, that spell is only supposed to activate if you're in mortal danger

i guess you're probably unable to talk right now but shit

[Missed call from homobipboa]

[Missed call from homobipboa]

[15:05] homobipboa:

please be safe please be safe please be safe

***

*Sam's P.O.V.*

Sam doesn't know the last time he's run like this-heart pounding in his throat, with denial and raw, unadulterated fear pulsing with every breath. Fear, not for himself, but for Paige, and just the thought of Paige, in pain and terrified and helpless and desperate, makes him push himself faster, because no, please, no, he can't be too late-

He sprints along the street, looking frantically for any sign of his Paige. She has to be somewhere between here and the orphanage, and that's only an area of a few blocks, so where is she?

He thinks, again, of sitting outside the café and waiting, enjoying the peaceful day, so blissfully unaware that something horrible must be happening to Paige-thinks, again, of that sudden burst of overwhelming terror and panic and a thousand other things at once, of floundering, of drowning in Paige's plea for help-because surely, that could have been nothing else.

But the deluge of pain and fear and horror and desperation wasn't the worst of it. The worst part was when it all just vanished, so abruptly. He doesn't know what that means. Either Paige severed their empathic link as suddenly as she opened it, or...

No. That isn't an option. That can't be an option.

A small winter storm is gathering, within him and around him, icy power swirling like a cloak. It fits, he thinks, because there is a frigid hand of fear with a chokehold on his heart, squeezing as it oozes dreadful whispers of too late, you're going to be too late, you can't save her that he refuses to listen to. Paige is close by-he knows it! Her empathic range isn't that large, and if she managed to send Sam such strong emotions, she must be near.

'Just a little longer, darling,' he begs. 'Just hold on a little longer, I'm coming for you.'

He doesn't know what's happening, doesn't know why Paige was so afraid, so frantic, but when he thinks of reasons Paige might be in pain or in danger, a grim suspicion comes to the forefront of his mind-assassination. They have worried about it, but they've gotten lax, and this is his fault because he should have paid more attention! He promised to protect Paige, and yet here they are! Someone has obviously been watching Paige closely enough to know when she'd be alone, and that thought is more than a little unsettling.

But he'll worry about that after he worries about Paige.

A sudden scream from a side street-no more than a tiny alleyway, really-grabs his attention, and without a second thought, Sam races toward it. It takes him a split second to realize that the shadows around its entrance are flickering, dancing like moths around a flame, and his blood runs cold with something very different from ice elementals.

Shadow magic. If there's a shadow assassin after Paige...

No. He's going to save Paige because he's not too late, and he'll keep his promise. Even if he has to personally fight the head of the Genoshan shadow guild himself.

By the time he rounds the corner, the shadows are perfectly still again, as if they'd never moved, but that's not important, because there are people in the shade here, and one of them is Paige, and the rest of them are trying to hurt Paige. Ice surges through Sam's veins, pouring out of his very soul, as he raises his hand to guide the stream of raw magic to his bidding. Everything is frigid, but the cold is an old friend of his.

The first man he sees, holding a knife and staring at his kneeling companion, Sam viciously slams against the bricks with a wave of ice, pinning him from the neck down in a massive, frozen wall. It blocks off the rest of the alleyway behind him, cutting off any hope of escape for the assassins, and he readies himself for a counterattack from the second-a counterattack that never comes.

The second assassin, a woman on the ground sobbing and clutching her arm, barely appears to notice he's here. She's too slow regardless, and she gives Sam all the opening he needs-the arm that had been prepared to summon ice as a barrier between himself and a blade or a spell moves, fingers flaring out from his palm and directing the water in the air to freeze, solidifying around her so that she's frozen in place, her body cocooned in ice halfway through standing to face him. Only her face remains free because he doesn't want her dead... yet, anyway.

Sam takes only a moment to reinforce both of their frozen prisons, cold fury rumbling through him like tongues of flame as they hungrily swallow kindling. These people are nothing, not when he could potentially summon a snowstorm to bury them in his wrath, but there's no time for that. Thanks to their own distraction, neither assassin seemed to notice him until it was too late for them, too fixated on-

Paige.

Paige lies wilted against the wall, limp, limbs splayed loosely around herself like a broken doll. Her eyes are closed, her glasses gone, her face covered in blood.

No! No!

Too late too late too late, the whispers sing in Sam's chest, but he ignores them, dashing forward and ignoring the assassins, ignoring the massive flood of ice blocking the alleyway-it melts, parting around him, and solidifies again-to fall to his knees at Paige's side.

"Paige," he calls gently, gathering his beloved into his arms, cradling her against his chest. His fingers fumble at Paige's throat, desperate to find a pulse, but before he can, Paige shifts against him with a little moan, and relief crashes into Sam with the force of a ten-ton truck. "Paige? Paige, sweetheart, open your eyes. Please. Look at me. Please."

Paige's eyes flutter open, and she blinks up at Sam groggily. "...Your hands are cold," she mumbles, and Sam sags, some of his worry dissipating so fast it almost burns in his chest. "Ow."

"Paige," he breathes again, closing his eyes and bowing his head, slow and measured, until his forehead presses against Paige's, and he hears Paige let out a careful breath. "Dear heart. Thank god you're alive, Paige-tell me, my sunshine, where are you hurt?" The endearments fall from his tongue far too easily, but he's too shaken to care, too worried to hold back the implicit admission of how much Paige means to him.

Paige doesn't say anything for a long moment, just taking another slow, guarded breath. The assassins behind them are saying something or other-'let us go,' it sounds like-but Sam ignores them for the moment. His entire world is right here, in front of him, cradled against his heart.

When Sam opens his eyes again, Paige's are closed, dark eyelashes contrasting starkly with her pale face, but the red blood running down her cheek clashes far more harshly. Sam gently wipes it away with his sleeve and sees that thankfully, the cut under it is long but shallow. More blood wells up almost immediately and Sam's breath catches in his throat.

I promised to keep you safe...

"Paige?" he prods. Paige lifts one hand and brings it up to stroke Sam's jaw, a delicate, featherlight caress, with her eyes still closed.

"I hoped you'd save me," she sighs. "Sammy."

And here Paige is, thinking he kept his promise. Sam wonders if his heart could physically burst out of his chest from loving someone too much, from wanting nothing more than to protect them and keep them safe and happy forever. He just wants to hold Paige and make her smile every day, wants to keep anything like this from ever happening again, wants...

"I love you," he whispers fiercely, pressing Paige closer still. "I love you. Please. Let me take care of you. Where are you hurt?"

Paige winces, finally opening her eyes again. "Um-ow-not-not so tight, please? I-bruised ribs, or maybe broken, I don't know, it just-it hurts," and she stops, taking careful, shallow breaths. Sam immediately loosens his arms around her, kissing her forehead in apology.

"I'm so sorry, darling," he murmurs. "I didn't mean to hurt you. What else?"

Paige shifts, leaning gingerly against his chest. "Lots of bruises? Nothing... nothing major, I think. M-maybe a concussion? One of them-she kicked me in the head and everything feels fuzzy, but that might be a magic thing, so..." she pauses to take another measured breath, wincing and then adds with a touch of wry humour, "Also, my face, but I think you already saw that."

"I did," Sam agrees. He's glad Paige feels alright enough to joke, but personally, he's still far too shaken by this to be able to joke back, not when Paige is in his arms, trembling with exertion and liberally splattered in her own blood. "We should get you back to the palace. Do you think you can walk a little, or should I carry you? Just to the car, it's close by. I don't want you to hurt yourself any further."

"Mm," Paige hums. She sighs again. "I think I can, maybe for a little while at least, walk that is..."

"Alright," Sam says. "Tell me if that changes."

He carefully helps Paige get to her feet, slides an arm around her for support, and patiently stands as Paige catches her breath again, leaning heavily into his side.

"Thanks," Paige wheezes, looking up with a tiny smile that makes Sam's chest ache, both because Paige's smile is still so breathtaking and because of the bloody line running up her cheek. "Oh, a-and, I lov-" she starts, but Paige's gaze snaps to something over Sam's shoulder and her eyes widen, her breath catching in her throat, and her grip on Sam's arm becomes vicelike as she cries, "Sammy-!"

Sam whirls, thrusting Paige safely behind him and calling up more ice, just in time to see a third assassin waver on his feet, clutching at his throat and wheezing pathetically as he falls to his knees. Yet the elemental fire magic in his hands shoots out and blazes towards him until it's blocked by a flash of wavy, bloody, rusty-blonde hair as Paige pushes ahead of him. Sam finishes his spell over Paige's head, encasing the third assassin in ice just like his compatriots just as Paige's body begins to shiver, and then convulse.

"Let us go!" the first man cries again. "Damn you!" The second assassin is grey-faced and silent; only now does Sam notice the grisly sight of her neatly severed hand on the ground, surrounded by blood, the same blood that's turning his ice pink. Did Paige really manage that with her little knife?

Ignoring the assassins again, because his priorities are definitely on more important things right now, Sam turns to Paige, who falls to the ground, even paler than before.

"What did you do?" he asks worriedly, catching her before she falls.

"He was-about to burn you," Paige manages, each word sounding laboured, difficult, and exhausting. "I-I made him... I made him have a panic attack. It was-maybe it was a bad idea, though, um-I used too much magic today." As Sam attempts to touch her face, he reels back. Her skin is hot. Like, way too hot. Worry cascades through his blood, leaving a cold pit in his stomach. "lis-ten, I-I love-"

She saved my life, Sam thinks, full of a mixture of wonder and guilt as he looks down at the precious, precious head of hair tucked against his shoulder. In this exhausted state, she saved me.

"I love you," he whispers again, lips brushing the top of Paige's head. Or, he tries, but he pulls away again, hardly being able to stand touching Paige through her clothes. What happened? He wonders as her eyes flutter closed.

This definitely isn't just the contrast from his ice magic versus normal body temperature. What's happening? Sam immediately conjures ice in his hands and presses the palms of his hands into the sides of her face. To is horror, as quickly as the ice is created, it melts, which causes a tense silence to fall over the alley. Please Please Please. The spasms in her body make her look as though she'd been possessed, and Sam is grateful her eyes are closed, for he could not imagine what he'd do if he saw Paige's eyes roll back.

Confusion and fear course through him as he looks down at his wife-to-be, fear clutching at Sam once more. All of her skin is red and flushed as though under the effect of an extreme fever. Her eyes are closed and somehow look peaceful even with smudged makeup and blood-soaked on one half of her face. Sam instead focuses on turning his blood cold, his skin falling below freezing temperatures, but it doesn't matter, it doesn't hurt him. Seeing Paige like this does, however.

"My princess, say something. What's happening?" Her body stops shaking when her jaw falls slack while steam immediately begins to pour out like smoke. The sight causes a prickling pain in the back of Sam's eyes, his voice cracking. The smoke is deep, black, and acrid as it flows out from between her lips without a care. "What about our wedding?"

'what did you do? What did you do to her?! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY--" Sam's inquiries are cracked and strained while sobs stop him from being able to finish his question. It's fruitless, he knows as all Sam can hear is his heartbeat in his ears, pounding so hard that it's deafening. His tears are free falling from his eyes as he lets go of the choked weepings he stuffed in his throat, and the heat from her body seems as though it's becoming too intense. But Sam shakes his head at the thought of letting her go and pulls Paige's limp body into his lap. No. Anything for her, I'll cool her down. I'll cool her down, Sam thinks. Once Paige is in his lap, however, the pain of holding her starts to make his clothes feel as thin as paper.

"Paige, wake up! My dearest, my love, sunshine, the stars in my sky!" Sam's voice is broken and loud as every endearment he can think of flies from his mouth once more. When a tear drops off of his face onto his Paige's body, it causes another fountain of vapour to appear which only causes Sam to cry more. He pulls his hand up, stroking the side of Paige's face, second-degree burns instantly scorching his skin. Regardless of how burnt Sam's body is, Paige's face and skin still seem clear as Sam can already feel blisters and open wounds on his hand, chest and thighs. He pours more magic into himself and the air around him, a raging blizzard brewing around the pair. Snow and wind whip around his cheeks, freezing his tears in place.

Through all of the burning, blistering heat of a thousand suns, Sam stays put, his insides feeling hollow. You idiot you idiot you idiot the voices whisper once more, you were too late, how could you let this happen? You promised. The tears that fall down his face are entirely from pain. Partially because he feels as though he has been thrown into lava, yet mostly because he can't feel Paige breathe or hear her heartbeat.

Pain is all he could feel. Physically, mentally, emotionally. She's gone? She's gone she's gone she's gone.

"No!" Sam shouts, the pavement and walls of the alley becoming coated in glacial ice. "NOO!!" the shattered sound of his screams entwined with the horrible sound of his sobs makes his aching heart shake in his chest. The burning of his flesh is nothing compared to how Sam feels right now.

Ice crawls across the entire alley, removing the appearance of brick and replacing it with the clean, reflective surface of ice. The storm rages on, the sidewalk outside of the passageway becoming slick with sleet as it spreads onto the street and up the office buildings. Sam can barely hear the cries of the assassins, something about freezing to death, but the Winchester can only hope.

"Paige," Sam chokes, whispering in her hair, "I love you"