He’d stayed there, sitting in the middle of who-knew-where, some grassy corner of the world where the temperature was just cooler than warm, and no one happened upon him for hours. It was time spent pulling himself together, knitting the frayed edges of himself back together; he’d meditated, for a while, something he usually did daily back home, but here had been skipping every now and then, without Tenel Ka prodding at him, or his Mom reminding him when he skipped and started to get kind of scattered.
He came out of the trance as the alert on his phone was coming in, timing or the Force or just coincidence but he was back in Lawrence only a minute and a half after the alert had gone out, right there with the rest of the rescue team, and he finally felt like maybe there was some hope of this not turning out so badly. Maybe Mom and Patrick were right, and it was just really strong magic. Maybe he wouldn’t be coming out of there with a corpse instead of a best friend.
The sound of laughter was what led him to her. Sam’s dad kicked the door open, and as soon as it was open he could feel her again, and it was pain he was feeling, and it didn’t take more than a second for him to be at her side, tearing her free while the others took care of the demons. He was babbling, voice low - quiet like it had been when they’d been kids and he’d sneak in to visit her at night, bringing a book they’d read together, talking softly and laughing and trying not to wake her parents - trying for soothing words and just ending up saying Sam, Sammy, oh God, Sam over and over before he finally managed to get them under control - right about the time Sam launched herself at the demon that had been coming up behind him, the threat he hadn’t noticed, taking it out at least for the moment before she fell - and he caught her, let her latch on (held just as tightly to her, maybe tighter, because he would not drop her, that was not going to happen) and sent a quick nod in the Winchesters’s direction (a silent I’ll get her out of here) and then he was off.
The first stop was Sammy’s apartment - her mom’s, anyway, but whatever. He’d make her let him see how bad it was - if it needed immediate attention, he could have her downstairs in the clinic in two seconds flat. If it wasn’t horrible, he would wait - do what he could for her, but give the doctors time to deal with the far more devastating injuries he’d seen in some of the others (his friends; why was this happening?) before he brought her down. Once they were there, he waited for her to move, to let go of him... she didn’t. He could feel her shaking, sense her emotional and physical pain when he reached out for her (he had to know, he couldn’t keep being blind, he needed to be sure she was okay).
“Hey, Sammy, you’re okay,” he started, gently prying her away a little, trying to carefully carefully get her onto the couch (sorry, Mrs. Winchester, but blood on the couch is probably not your biggest concern right now he thought to himself, momentarily, irrationally, almost laughing at the idea that she would be more worried about stained furniture than her daughter). “I need to see how bad it is, Sam, c’mon. You’re safe now. They can’t get you again, I won’t let them, okay? I promise, just, let me see,” back to babbling, still quiet but with a more hysterical edge to the words, because now that she was safe he was having a harder time staying calm because she almost died , how was he supposed to deal with this?