Fic: When The World Is Burning (1/2)

[briarwood]

Title: When The World Is Burning
Author: Morgan Briarwood
Fandom: Supernatural
Wordcount: TBC
Rating: Adult
Pairing(s): Sam/Lenore, Dean/Jo
Warning(s): (highlight to reveal) Mentions of rape, imprisonment, drug and alcohol abuse and related PTSD. There's also one scene of torture (Dean, Hell) which is potentially triggering.

Summary: The Apocalypse is here. Lucifer walks the Earth. The angels say one man is destined to stop the world going down in blood and flame: Dean Winchester. But Dean is not interested in saving the world without the brother he loves, and Sam is dying.

WHEN THE WORLD IS BURNING

by Morgan Briarwood

One: In The Blood

The news services descended on the destroyed town of Ilchester, Maryland like locusts. During the weeks of speculation that followed, numerous unnamed “sources” offered wildly contradictory stories about what may or may not have happened in the small town. The official story eventually released stated that a terrorist cell had been using the long-abandoned convent to stockpile and create explosives. Even then, the rumours grew. The FBI did not confirm or deny the rumour that these explosives included nuclear material. Anyone who saw first hand what little remained of the town needed no official confirmation.

No news service pointed out that the terrorist theory failed to explain the body of a young nurse which was found in the trunk of a stolen car just outside the blast zone. Several websites, however – the kind that endlessly discussed the faked moon landings and CIA culpability in the 9/11 attacks – most certainly did notice. Few others paid attention or even cared about the anomaly: America mourned the dead of Ilchester.

In the month that followed the Maryland tragedy, the suicide rate in US cities quadrupled. The murder rate doubled.

One week after the disaster in Ilchester, nearly two hundred people died in a Los Angeles church. The media reported it as a mass suicide and suggested a connection with the Ilchester incident: it appeared that a doomsday cult had taken the disaster as a sign of the End Times.

One month after the explosion an unseasonal hurricane swept through Cuba, somehow missed Florida but devastated the coastal regions of Mississippi and Louisiana. Meteorologists talked about global climate change and unseasonal currents, but all the scientific talk really meant that no one could explain it. The death toll is still not known.

A well known evangelical preacher declared on national television that these disasters were signs described in the Bible. He predicted that the long-awaited Rapture, during which the righteous – by which he meant the members of his own Church and those wealthy enough to buy themselves last-minute salvation – would ascend bodily into Heaven, spared the horrors of the apocalypse to come, would occur before the end of the year.

In an isolated junkyard in South Dakota, Bobby Singer obsessively collected the news as it came in. Unlike those idiot reporters, he knew damn well what was happening and took a certain satisfaction in knowing that a certain preacher had missed the boat. It was one small, petty pleasure in a month that brought nothing but bad news and worse. Bobby Singer knew that prophecy said only one man could stop the world going down in blood and flame. And that man was in Bobby’s home, refusing to fight on without the brother he loved…a brother who, in Bobby’s opinion, was dying.

 ~*~

“Lock the door,” Sam insisted, his once-strong voice cracked and hoarse.

Dean couldn’t bear to see Sam like this. His skin was grey, his eyes dark hollows like bruises. The weeks of detox from his diet of demon blood had taken a terrible toll on him. Sam wasn’t sleeping. He couldn’t keep food down. Hallucinations haunted him and unpredictable seizures racked his body. Sam had lost both weight and muscle tone and the torn shirt hung off his wasted frame.

This was too much. Sam couldn’t last much longer. The demon blood was destroying him from the inside.

“Lock the damn door!” Sam repeated.

Dean nodded, unable to speak. He stepped over the iron threshold and swung the door closed. It clanged into the frame and he locked it. Dean gazed through the slot for a moment, watching Sam pace around the cot. They tied him down at night since the seizure that nearly cracked his skull in two, but he seemed to be well at the moment.

Dean trudged up the stairs wearily. The world was ending. News reached them sporadically, whenever one of Bobby’s contacts thought to call, but it was all bad. Fires and storms, massacres and riots, signs and portents. Castiel hadn’t shown his angelic face since Lucifer rose. And Sam was dying. Dean knew that now. He knew, too, that this time there was no eleventh-hour miracle, no deal to be made. He was going to lose his brother.

Bobby looked up from his book when Dean appeared in the doorway. How is he? Bobby’s expression asked.

Dean shrugged and headed into the kitchen. Not good, his gesture replied. He cracked open a fresh bottle of whiskey, looked for a glass, couldn’t find one so poured it into a mug instead. He swallowed a third of a mugful as if it were beer and refilled the mug.

He wanted to go out there, track down the first demon he could find and feed it to Sam. But Sam wouldn’t accept it. He’d told them he would kick this or die trying. He meant it.

“Tell me somethin’ good, Bobby.” Dean threw himself into an armchair, sending up a cloud of dust and sloshing the whiskey in his mug.

Bobby drew in a deep breath and let it out. “I ain’t sure you’ll call it good, but…”

Dean eyed him warily. Oh, God. What now?

“We’re gonna have company.”

“Company? With Sam here?” Dean half-rose from the chair, ready for a fight. There was no one he trusted around Sam right now. No one but Bobby. Maybe Cas, though after Castiel’s betrayal he wasn’t sure about that, either.

“Ellen,” Bobby said. “She found Jo and it sounds like she’s in a bad way. I couldn’t turn her down.”

Dean relaxed. He didn’t like it, but Ellen was solid. “Does she know? About Sam?”

“I told her nothing,” Bobby assured him, “but she’s Ellen.”

Dean understood. Hunters told Ellen things. It was likely she’d heard rumours about Sam. Whether Ellen believed anything she’d heard was another thing.

He finished his whiskey. “Did you find anything?”

“Don’t you think I’d have told you if I did?” Bobby scowled. “There’s no manual for this, boy.” He slammed the book shut. “Tell me again what the angel said about this.”

They’d been through it thirty times already, but Dean repeated Castiel’s words again, for Bobby. “The amount of demon blood he would have to consume in order to kill Lilith will change him. Permanently. Most likely, he would become the next creature that we would feel compelled to kill.”

Bobby nodded gravely. “I think we were on the wrong track with the whole detox thing, This seems to be more like an infection. Sam ain’t in cold turkey so much as…quarantine.”

Dean shrugged. He had heard it all before and had nothing to add. The bottom line hadn’t changed.

“Sam’s fighting it, Dean,” Bobby tried to reassure him. “It ain’t easy – this thing’s in his blood now – but Sam’s strong. He – ”

Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was divine inspiration. He stared at Bobby. “What did you say?”

Bobby gave him an odd look. “I said Sam’s strong,” he repeated.

“No. You said it’s in his blood.” Dean said the words as if they were a revelation. It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know. This had been about blood from the beginning. But the words resonated in Dean’s mind. It’s in his blood. In his blood. Blood. “Bobby, give me Sam’s phone.”

Bobby reached into a drawer and extracted Sam’s cell phone. He tossed it to Dean who caught it with one hand and scrolled through the stored numbers quickly. Sam still kept the numbers of his old friends from Stanford, though as far as Dean knew he no longer kept in touch with them. He had a lot of Dad’s old contacts in there, too. There were several newer numbers Dean didn’t recognise: a painful reminder of the distrust that had grown between them in the past year. Sam had stored most of those numbers with just initials, deliberately disguising them. The four Dean didn’t recognise were GN, PF, Q and LV. Dean selected the last and pushed the dial button.

“Who are you calling?” Bobby asked.

“A shot in the dark. Help…I hope.” Dean stood, walking away from Bobby as the phone rang. It took so long that when his call was finally picked up Dean expected to hear a voicemail message. Instead, he heard a woman’s voice:

“Sam? I didn’t expect to hear from you again.” Score! Her tone held just a hint of hostility, which worried Dean a little.

“This is Dean.”

There was silence. Then, her tone very different, “Is Sam…?”

“He’s in trouble. I think you might be able to help.”

“Why me?”

She sounded genuinely puzzled and Dean hoped  he wasn’t making a mistake. “Because,” he answered, “the problem is his blood.” He was out of Bobby’s hearing range now, but Dean still lowered his voice as he explained, as simply as he could, what Sam had done to himself. When he was done, he waited, barely able to breathe.

“I don’t know, Dean,” she offered uncertainly. “I might be able to do something but…I need to see him face to face.”

Dean leapt at the chance. “Where are you? I’ll come and get you.” Oh, yes. He was desperate.

She told him where she was and Dean could breathe again. If he pushed the Impala to her limits, he could make it there and back before dawn. “I’m on my way,” he told her and pocketed the phone as he dashed for his car without even taking the time to tell Bobby why he was leaving.

~*~

Dean floored the gas as soon as he reached black-top. He might have enjoyed speeding through the night if it didn’t remind him so strongly of that night in Ilchester. That was the last time he had pushed the Impala this hard, but then Sam was at his side. Now Dean was alone, holding on to one last, desperate hope that he might save Sam’s life.

“He’s coming,” Sam breathed. He was staring at the glowing light forming around Lilith’s blood.

“You want to be here when he arrives?” Dean demanded. He tugged Sam’s arm. What the hell was wrong with him? Couldn’t he see they had to get out of here? Sam seemed mesmerised by the light, but that light was going to destroy them both.

“Sam!” Dean yelled again. “We have to go!”

For a moment, Dean seriously considered leaving Sam behind. Sam did this. He broke the final seal. If he wanted to stick around and be Lucifer-chow, maybe…

Suddenly Sam snapped out of it. He stared at Dean. By then the light was so bright it made Sam’s skin translucent.

There was no more time. “Sam, now!” Dean barked. He ran for the door, not daring to look back. He heard Sam’s footsteps behind him. But there was another sound, too, a high-pitched whine that Dean recognised as the voice of an angel. Castiel’s voice could shatter glass; this sound was so much stronger. It seemed to reach inside Dean’s skull. He felt a kind of pressure inside his body; it wasn’t pain exactly, but like something inside was expanding and any moment he would explode. Dean reached the end of the corridor. Sam was at his heels.

There was dust falling all around them. The light was so intense it was like the sun itself. The screaming angelic voice almost drowned out the sound of the explosion, but Dean felt it. The ground beneath their feet rocked. The wall beside them crumbled and collapsed. The noise around them was unbelievable.

“Sam!”

“I’m here! Run!”

Dean heard the beam ahead of them crack. He knew they would never make it, but he tried anyway, running full-pelt toward the exit.

They burst out into the night. Dean threw himself into the Impala and had the engine going and his foot on the gas before Sam slammed the door on his side.

“Oh, God,” Sam muttered, craning to see out of the rear window.

“Don’t look back, Sam!” Dean steered them onto the road. It was night, but the sun shining out of the convent illuminated everything as clearly as daylight. They had to outrun the light. Dean floored the gas.

They were halfway to South Dakota before Dean remembered that the Impala shouldn’t have been there at all. Castiel sent him to Ilchester, angel-express. The Impala was still at Bobby’s place…except he was driving her.

“Thanks, Cas,” he murmured and kept right on driving. For once, a miracle came at the right time.

When they finally reached Bobby’s place and the adrenaline had worn off for them both, Dean had time to accept what happened back there. Lucifer was free. Because of Sam. Because Sam chose Ruby over his own brother. He chose his pointless revenge and look where it led.

Angry didn’t begin to cover it. Bitter. Betrayed. Terrified. Dean would never be able to trust Sam again, or so Dean thought then.

But that was before Sam started to feel the cravings. It was before Sam locked himself in the panic room, insisting he would kick this or die trying. It was before Dean spent weeks listening to Sammy screaming in pain and terror, night after night, as the demon blood destroyed him from within.

Now, the only thing that mattered was that Sam was dying.

~*~

With Dean gone, Bobby found sleep impossible. Sam had been doing well all day, but as if he somehow knew Dean was no longer near, he relapsed into screaming for help as night fell. Bobby had been through this often enough to know there was nothing he could do for Sam. Bobby had built that iron room intending it to be a refuge, a place of safety. The Winchester boys had turned it into a prison cell, locked from the outside instead of from within. He went down there with fresh water, leaving it just inside the door so Sam could find it when he was able, and returned to his lonely house.

Sleep just wasn’t happening. Bobby continued his futile search for answers in his books. When he was too exhausted to read, he found other things to do. He checked every weapon in the house and renewed the salt and sigils around the place.

The next time he checked on Sam the boy was huddled against the wall with blood running down his face. He looked up when Bobby entered and seemed to recognise him, but he couldn’t string two words together. Bobby coaxed him back to the bed and got him to drink some water. He tended the wound – a fresh cut above Sam’s eye – as best he could. Hating himself for it, Bobby tied the restraints back around Sam’s wrists and ankles. What scared the crap out of him was the way Sam just lay there and let him do it.

Sunrise found Bobby at the battered old desk again, polishing and sharpening knives that already shone like mirrors and had no need of a whetstone. In the cellar beneath him, Sam was quiet. He had been sleeping peacefully – or perhaps unconscious – the last time Bobby checked on him. But that was an hour ago. Bobby laid his whetstone aside and hauled himself up to check on the boy once more. That was when he heard the rumble of the approaching Impala.

Bobby rubbed at his eyes. He swayed on  his feet, the sleepless nights catching up with him. Slowly, he made his way toward the door. He heard the creak of the Impala’s doors and Dean’s voice. So he’d found whomever he’d gone looking for. Bobby had no idea how far Dean would go in his desperation to save Sam; he could only hope Dean hadn’t forged another deadly bargain.

But even Bobby wasn’t prepared for what he found when he opened the door.

The woman with Dean was average height with long, dark hair falling in a silky curtain around her oval face. Her pale skin was tinted pink by the rising sun. She wore a black, leather coat that fell almost to her ankles. The effect might have been sinister except the coat was open at the front, revealing a gypsy-style blouse patterned with pink roses over tight, stonewashed jeans. She looked toward Bobby as he opened the door and he got a good look at her eyes. He knew what she was.

Bobby moved to block the doorway. “Boy, what the hell are you doing?”

Dean simply met his look. He seemed very calm. “It’s okay, Bobby. She’s a – ” he broke off and glanced at the woman. “Well, I guess friend would be exaggerating.”

Bobby didn’t get the joke. “I think the word you’re looking for,” he said, not troubling to hide his irritation, “is vampire.”

“Yeah. She’s that, too,” Dean agreed easily, as if it meant nothing.

Bobby could only stare at them both, exasperated. He was terrified of what Dean thought this thing might do for Sam. He knew what losing Sam would do to Dean. He knew the boy was desperate, but this…

The vampire spoke in soft, melodious tones. “I’d like to get out of the sunlight, if you don’t mind.”

Vamps weren’t Bobby’s speciality. Most of what he knew about them, he’d gotten from John Winchester who (as far as Bobby knew) had never met one either. There weren’t many of them left.

“Bobby, it’s okay. Trust me,” Dean pleaded.

Damn it, boy. If you think I’ll let you do this to your brother… Bobby stood aside reluctantly. Dean muttered his thanks as he walked past. The vampire hesitated at the threshold.

“Do you need an invitation?” Bobby asked her, thinking if that piece of lore were true, Dean was going to have some explaining to do before he would let her in, sunlight or no sunlight.

She gave a small smile. “I can cross a threshold without being invited. I prefer to be welcome, though. It’s simple courtesy.”

Old fashioned courtesy, Bobby thought, wondering how old this vamp was if something like that mattered so much to her. “Fine,” Bobby said ungraciously. “Come on in.”

“Thank you.” She stepped into the doorway. “I’m Lenore,” she offered, “and I’m here to help, if I can.”

Bobby followed them into the house. He caught up with Dean and grabbed his arm. “You’re gonna let a vampire loose on Sam?” he asked incredulously.

“Lenore doesn’t kill people,” Dean replied, which didn’t answer Bobby’s question at all. “How is he?”

“Had a rough night,” Bobby answered. “Sleeping, last time I looked in on him.”

“Right.” Dean turned to Lenore. “Now?”

“I’m ready,” she agreed.

Dean led the way down into Bobby’s cellar. Lenore followed, her long coat dragging on the stairs. Bobby brought up the rear. Dean couldn’t be this desperate…could he? Yeah, he could. Last time Sam died he sold his goddamn soul.

Dean opened the window-slot and peered through. “Hey, Sammy. How you doin’?”

Bobby heard Sam’s voice, but not the words. He sounded awful, his voice worn down to a sandpaper rasp.

The lock clanked as Dean opened it. He walked in.

This room – what the Winchester boys insisted on calling a panic room – was built to keep out almost every supernatural creature. The walls were iron coated with salt. The whole of the interior was a devil’s trap. There were protections from thirty different religions carved and painted on the walls. None of it seemed to bother the vampire; Lenore followed Dean as if it were a regular room. Bobby hung back, waiting just outside the door.

Sam was still tied to the bed. The bruises and dried blood stood out vividly on one side of his face. He looked up, saw Dean and looked past him to the vampire. His expression turned to bewilderment.

“Am I dreaming again?” he asked, almost plaintively.

“No, Sammy,” Dean answered.

Lenore sat down on the bed beside Sam. “I’m real, Sam. Dean called me. He thought I might be able to help you.”

“How?” Sam asked.

“Well,” Lenore smiled, “I do know a little about drinking blood.”

~*~

It was Ruby he saw in the beginning. She came to him when it started hurting, offering comfort, help. Offering the poison in her veins. Sam killed her, over and over. He beat her to a pulp and tore out her heart with his bare hands. But she always came back. She wasn’t real, he knew that. But it sure felt real.

Sometimes, he saw other people. Jessica, taunting him from the ceiling. Dean, ranting about how worthless Sam was or how he betrayed his brother. Gordon Walker, telling Sam he was a monster that needed to be taken down. Sam could not disagree.

So when Lenore walked into the iron room, Sam could not believe she was really standing there. After all, last time they spoke he had promised he would never contact her again. Yet here she was, saying she’d come to help him.

“I do know a little about being addicted to blood,” she said, and he could almost see laughter in her dark eyes.

Sam stared at her, speechless. It would never have occurred to him to ask a vampire about his demon blood problem, but it did make a kind of sense. Lenore understood addiction and she certainly knew about drinking blood. She was probably the only person he knew who wouldn’t be disgusted by the things he had done in the past year.

Lenore laid her hand over his. Her skin was cool to the touch. “Dean has told me most of it,” she said. “What we don’t know for certain is how the demon blood has affected you.”

“It gave me power,” Sam began to explain.

Lenore interrupted. “I have tasted your blood before. Do you remember?”

It was a thousand years ago. Lenore was a prisoner, being tortured by Gordon Walker when Sam and Dean found them. She must have been in agony, but she’d refused to give up her fellow vampires. Walker had attacked Sam with a knife. He held Sam’s bleeding arm over Lenore’s face so his blood dripped down toward her lips. He’d been trying to prove she was a monster like every other fang. Lenore was sick from dead man’s blood and she must have been starving, but she resisted this new torture. They could all see her blood-hunger, but she retracted her fangs, proving that Walker was wrong about her.

“I remember,” Sam answered.

She looked toward Dean, who was struggling to control his expression. Dean knew what was coming, Sam realised, and he didn’t like it. That made Sam nervous.

Lenore stroked his hand absently. “Whether I can do something for you now depends on two things. The first is easy to discover, but for the second we’ll have to rely on our best guess. That means there is some risk in this.”

Sam tugged at the restraints around his wrist. His whole body ached from bruises and seizures. His throat was raw from screaming. And he knew he looked even worse than he felt. “I’ve got nothing to lose,” he told her honestly.

“You may have been drinking blood, Sam, but you’re not a vampire. You’re alive. That means that what you drink doesn’t go directly into your blood. There are biological processes involved. But there is a connection.”

Dean made a sound that might have been a stifled laugh. Sam hadn’t heard anything funny.

Lenore turned to look at him. “You’re surprised I understand biology? I take night classes, Dean, and I was a nurse, many years ago. Did you think vampires party all night, like in a trashy movie?”

Dean looked chastened. “Well…yeah,” he admitted.

Lenore was smiling when she looked back at Sam. “Demons don’t have blood. That’s the part of this that doesn’t quite add up. A demon is just smoke, air, the twisted remnant of a soul. But we’re not dealing with science here. We’re dealing with the supernatural. So none of us can know exactly what drinking demon blood has done to your system. I need…” Here, Lenore hesitated and Sam knew before she spoke what she was going to say. “I need to taste you again. Then I’ll know.”

Dean’s unhappy look made sense to Sam now. “You…you want to bite me?”

“It doesn’t need to be so intimate. Dean can cut you, if that’s easier.”

Unbidden, the memory of Ruby rose into Sam’s mind. The knife in his hand, cutting into Ruby’s body. Watching her blood well up around the blade, flowing over her skin before he –

No. He couldn’t let Dean cut him. He looked past Lenore to his brother. “We’ll need peroxide and bandages.”

Dean nodded. “You sure about this?”

Sam wasn’t sure of anything but he nodded. He waited for Dean to leave then craned his neck to see Bobby, still waiting outside the door. “Give us a moment, would you?”

Bobby frowned, but he closed the door. It wasn’t exactly privacy, but it was enough.

Sam let his head fall back onto the pillow. “When’s the last time you drank human blood?” he asked.

Lenore began to untie Sam’s left wrist. “I’m not sure a few drops of your blood qualify as a drink.”

He wasn’t sure a few drops of his blood qualified as human. “And before that?” he prompted.

“Nearly forty years.” She leaned across to untie his right hand.

“And when you were talking about biology, you were careful to limit what you said to the living. It doesn’t work that way for you, does it?”

“What’s your point, Sam?”

“I want to know what drinking my blood will do to you.” As Lenore released the restraints, Sam sat up. He moved slowly, his stiff muscles unresponsive. He did not rub his wrists.

Lenore’s expression turned serious. “A taste won’t do anything to me.”

Sam knew she was avoiding the question. “But if you help me the way I think you mean to – ” he objected, but broke off as the panic room’s door swung open again.

Dean was carrying the smaller of Bobby’s two medkits and a shining bowie knife. He set the medkit down on the floor beside the bed and picked up the knife.

“No, Dean,” Sam said quickly. “Not that way.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. His vision blurred as he moved and his head swam. He felt Lenore’s hand on his shoulder. With an effort, Sam straightened, blinked his vision clear and looked at her. “What do you need to be certain? Heart’s blood?”

She hesitated. “A vein. Your wrist is best, but that’s painful.”

Pain didn’t scare Sam. He offered her his left hand without hesitation. He saw Bobby still watching from the doorway, his expression very dark. Likely Bobby thought Sam was replacing one supernatural problem with another. Sam half agreed with him, but at this point it was a risk he was willing to take. All or nothing.

Lenore took his forearm in both of her hands. Her fingers were cold, but not corpse-cold. It was as if her natural body temperature was just a bit lower than his. She pushed his sleeve up to his elbow and closed her eyes. Sam waited. Lenore hesitated for so long Sam thought she was going to bottle out. He would have understood. It couldn’t be easy for her to be offered human blood after so long, and yet to have to restrict herself to a mere taste.

Lenore lowered her face and Sam saw her white fangs flash before he felt the sudden, sharp pain of her bite. Instinct made Sam try to jerk his hand away from that pain but she held him fast, her hands much stronger than he anticipated. Sam felt her lips close over his skin, a moment of suction, the rasp of her tongue. She released him, then, and pulled away. She raised her face to the light, her fangs sharp and bloody. Dean’s expression held pure disgust; once, Sam would have felt the same. Now, well…glass houses and all that.

Lenore opened her eyes and looked at Sam. He saw hunger in her eyes, but for an instant he saw something else: fear. What she tasted in his blood made her afraid of him.

Dean was already kneeling beside him, lifting a bottle of peroxide to Sam’s bleeding wound. “Well?” he demanded of Lenore, impatiently.

Lenore opened her eyes. When she spoke, her tone was dreamy, as if she were a little high. “Yes,” she said.

~*~

Two: Kill Or Cure

To those who called themselves hunters, the signs of the coming apocalypse were smaller and more personal. They counted the signs in dead hunters and failed hunts.

“Ace” Garcia ran a bar and motel in southern California, since a wendigo took half his leg back in ’98. Hunters always used his place when they were in the area, and he kept his ear to the ground, much as Ellen Harvelle did in Nebraska. His motel burned to the ground one night, killing twenty seven people. Most of the dead were hunters. Only one person survived the blaze: a teenage boy whose escape, with no apparent injuries, seemed to be a miracle. Traumatised by the event, the boy could shed no light on the cause of the fire. Investigators reported that the boy kept repeating the same thing: that Death came on black wings. Three days after the fire, the boy walked onto a gas station forecourt, doused himself in gasoline and struck a match.

Talk among the hunters in Wisconsin centred on the Winchester boys. The consensus was that the boys were dangerous. No one was quite willing to say they were on Hell’s side, though there had certainly been talk about Sam Winchester for years. But it was undeniable that people just seemed to die around those boys: their own father, for one, and the hunters who died when Harvelle’s Roadhouse burned. There were others: Walker and Kubrick, Pamela Barnes. Pete Creedy figured it was time those boys were put down – for everyone’s good. Two days after Creedy announced his plan, he failed to check the wiring when plugging in a power saw. The cops said it was just a freak accident. Hunters suspected otherwise.

But perhaps there were occasional rays of light in the apocalyptic darkness. Kristy Beckett, who had spent six months tracking down five witches – the Hansel-and-Gretel kind, not the naked-dancing-in-the-woods kind – reached the cave they were using as a lair only to find her prey already dead. When she told the story, after, she said she never wanted to meet whatever killed them. Four of the witches were mutilated, their bodies scattered over the bones of the children they had eaten. But the fifth body was intact and unmarked. Kristy believed it had died from sheer terror.

Sam Winchester, one of the few men alive who would have understood what that meant, knew nothing of the story. He was locked in an iron room beneath Bobby Singer’s home, doing his best not to die as the demon blood he had ingested drove him further and further from sanity.

~*~

The fan overhead turned slowly, throwing moving, striped shadows over the faces of everyone in the room. Bobby watched Lenore warily. He still didn’t like that this vampire could walk into his panic room without blinking. The lore said salt was proof against vamps; clearly that was a crock. If crosses were a problem for her she should have at least had trouble crossing the threshold. So strike two. There had to be something that would ward off vamps. Tonight, he was going to order a pizza. With extra garlic.

“…Understand that if I’m wrong, it’s the worst possible thing we could do,” Lenore was saying.

Sam was sitting on the cot with his legs drawn up to his chest, hugging his knees in a futile attempt to hide that he was shaking. His eyes were fixed on the vampire as if it was taking all of his concentration to focus on what she was telling them.

“So,” Sam managed to say, “you’re talking kill or cure.”

“Exactly.”

Were they nuts? “Before you jump on this bandwagon,” Bobby growled, “do you have any idea how hard it’s gonna be just to get ready for this? You can’t buy blood at Wal Mart, you know.”

Dean answered determinedly. “Sammy and me have the same blood type. We’ve done it before.”

“No goddamn way, Dean. Sam’s going to need more blood than you can spare.”

“Then we’ll find a way to get it. Break into a hospital.”

“That simple, huh?”

“You got a better plan?” Dean demanded.

The truth was Bobby didn’t have any other plan, better or not. He thought Sam was going to die. Kill or cure at least offered a chance. But he saw no reason to trust a vampire and he didn’t understand why the boys did.

It was on the tip of Bobby’s tongue to ask them whether their father would approve of this plan, but that likely wouldn’t accomplish a damn thing. He wanted to tell them both he’d have nothing to do with this, but he knew he would do anything Dean asked…because he couldn’t bear to lose these boys again.

Scowling, Bobby hauled himself up. “You boys are set on this?”

Dean simply nodded.

Sam met his eyes. “Kill or c-cure, right?”

“Then we’d better get moving. Ellen and Jo will be here tomorrow.” Bobby observed Sam for a few moments. “Sam, you need anything?”

Sam’s eyes were bloodshot, his skin almost grey under the bruises. “Whiskey, maybe,” he suggested.

There was more discussion. In some ways, Sam’s second attempt to detox from his diet of demon blood was easier than the first. This time Sam was co-operative. But Sam was treating himself like a dangerous animal. He lived in the panic room, insisting they lock him in when he was alone.

Bobby flatly refused to lock Sam in with a vampire who’d just had her first taste of human blood in years. He wasn’t thrilled about leaving them alone together at all, with Sam in this state, but there weren’t many options. Dean settled it by telling him he trusted Lenore with Sam and she could watch him while they found a hospital with suitably poor security.

“You need anything?” Dean asked Lenore as they prepared to leave. “You know…to eat?”

Lenore’s face was utterly unreadable. “Thank you, no. But I’d like to make a phone call to check on my family.”

“Phone’s through there,” Bobby agreed. He followed Dean from the house and they left Sam behind them, locked in his iron cell.

~*~

Sam had been staring at the thin, blue vein running down Lenore’s neck for at least five minutes before he caught himself wondering what it would be like to taste vampire blood. The very casualness of the thought scared the crap out of him. He knew what happened if you tasted vampire blood. There was no cure for that except decapitation.

But it came with power. That was the truth of Sam’s craving. There was something about the intimacy of taking blood from Ruby but in the end it had been about power.

Lenore raised a cool cloth to his forehead. Sam reached up to stop her. “It’s okay, Lenore. I’m okay.”

“You’re a bad liar,” she told him with a hint of a smile.

Sam raised the whiskey bottle to his lips and took a long drink. “Why are you really here?” he asked.

“Dean asked,” Lenore answered, brushing a lock of hair back from her face.

Sam looked into her eyes: dark irises rimmed with red. “You’ve got Dean believing you came out of the goodness of your heart. But he doesn’t know you like I do. Why are you so willing to help?”

Lenore didn’t answer. She dipped her cloth into the iced water and wrung it out.

“Is it the demon blood?” Sam persisted.

Lenore’s eyes flew open in surprise. She smiled, a wide, genuine smile. “You’re afraid I want the power.”

“Do you?”

“No,” she answered firmly.

“Then why?”

Lenore studied him for a moment, her look as frankly appraising as Bobby’s had been earlier. “I know what’s happening. The angels. Lucifer.” She laid the damp cloth down across her knee. “Sam, what do you think will happen to people like me, when Hell rises?”

Sam frowned. He hadn’t really considered it. “I guess I thought evil was on the side of…well, evil.” Lenore gave him an arch look and Sam tried to take it back. “Not that you’re… I didn’t mean…”

“Yes, you did,” she corrected. “What you call evil is all one to you, isn’t it? It doesn’t work that way, Sam. Demons and vampires have…a history.”

Sam sat up, all pain forgotten as the meaning of her words filtered through his still-fuzzy brain. “Lenore, what do you know?” he asked eagerly.

“Legends,” Lenore answered. “I’m old, but not old enough to have seen it first hand.”

Sam waited expectantly.

“Lucifer was cast out of Heaven because he refused to bow down to humanity,” Lenore went on after a while. “It’s said a whole legion of angels fell with him. In the first war between Heaven and Hell, all but nine of the rebel angels were destroyed and Lucifer was chained.”

“So there are eight left? Nine including Lucifer?”

“That’s the legend,” Lenore agreed. “It’s said that during the war, Lucifer and his legion wiped out the Children of the Dark. He wanted the Earth for himself.”

“Children of the Dark? That’s a bit Anne Rice, isn’t it?”

Lenore didn’t smile, but he saw the twinkle of amusement in her eyes when she looked his way. “It means supernatural beings confined to darkness. Not only vampires, but werewolves, unseelie sidhe…many things.” She closed her eyes. “If Lucifer rises to power again, we’re all going to die.” Lenore met Sam’s eyes unhappily. “I suppose you’re thinking that’s a good thing.”

Sam shook his head. “I wouldn’t mourn, but no.” He watched he thoughtfully. “So…the enemy of my enemy is my friend. That’s what this is?”

“It’s as good a reason as any,” she agreed.

It was a motivation Sam understood. “What will it do to you?” he asked, determined to get an answer this time. “My blood…will it…change you?”

“I don’t know,” Lenore confessed. “Like you said, kill or cure.”

~*~

That was the last coherent conversation Sam managed. By the time Dean and Bobby returned, Sam was drifting in and out of consciousness. When conscious, he seemed delirious, reacting to things that weren’t there and talking to people Lenore couldn’t see. When the seizures began again, Lenore was strong enough to tie him down so he wouldn’t hurt himself, but then she was afraid to untie him or to leave him alone. That was okay in daylight – she was comfortable down in the cellar – but once the light filtering through the fan turned to dusk she became restless.

Lenore took refuge in what she knew. She’d worked as a nurse for a long time, before things like ID checks and blood tests became routine for hospital staff. Her training was a long way out of date, but she could keep Sam clean and comfortable and encourage him to drink a little water when he was lucid. Still, it was a relief when she finally heard Bobby and Dean returning.

Dean dashed past her to Sam’s side. “Sammy!”

Lenore watched him frantically trying to wake his brother. “The seizures started again,” she explained to Bobby. “I’d gotten some food into him before that but he didn’t keep it down.”

“When was the last seizure?” Bobby asked. He seemed beyond worried. He looked resigned. Lenore realised Bobby expected Sam to die.

“Not long before you arrived. Half an hour at most.” She let Bobby see her concern, but she wanted him to see her hope, too. “I don’t think he’s going to wake up any time soon.”

“You a doctor now?” Bobby growled.

“I was, a few centuries ago. I’ve been a nurse more recently.”

“Lenore!” Dean called, desperation in his voice.

Lenore understood. Better than most humans, she knew how strong the bond of family could be. Her kind needed family, too. Right now Dean would do anything to save his brother. Anything. She could have taken advantage of that. Once, she would have. Now she crossed the room to his side, her only concern to save Sam if she could.

She laid her hand on Sam’s cheek, her vampire senses easily checking his life through her touch. Breathing, heart-beat, the strength of his blood-flow…he was alive, but weak.

Dean seemed to know it. “What you’re going to do for him,” Dean said, pleading, “you have to do it now!”

She had hoped to have Sam conscious for this, so he could consent to what she had to do, but she agreed with Dean. Sam would not wake up again. If she was to help him, it had to be before his condition deteriorated any further.

Lenore believed that the demon blood he ingested had been slowly poisoning Sam. A gradual build-up of a supernatural toxin in his system explained most of his illness now. A doctor would try to bleed him, flush out his system, but that wouldn’t work if the poison were supernatural. She was supernatural. She could take it from him. But to do that, she would need to drain massive amounts of his blood. Enough to kill him, if she did it all at once.

The real danger was what could happen if she was wrong about this poison. If what Sam was going through was some kind of withdrawal, as Bobby believed, then the shock of the sudden detox might kill him. Kill or cure, as she’d warned them.

“Do you know how to set up a transfusion?” Lenore asked Dean.

He did. They had the blood they needed and all the equipment for a transfusion. Lenore stood back while Dean and Bobby set it up. All that blood could not tempt her: fresh from the body was what she needed. But watching Dean slide a needle into Sam’s vein…that made her breath catch, and she had to concentrate hard to stop her fangs descending. Had she still been human, and alive, her pulse would have been racing. But if she still had a pulse to race, the thought of Dean bleeding Sam wouldn’t affect her in this way.

Medical science had moved on since Lenore ended her medical career, but this procedure hadn’t changed much. Working nights in a battlefield hospital secured her a ready supply of blood. Sam was so much like those young soldiers, wounded and dying, dependent on her for care…or for an easy death. Lenore turned away, fighting down the memories and the feelings they aroused in her. She could not think like that. Not now. Not about Sam.

“Lenore?” Dean called warily.

“I’m ready.” She schooled her features to neutral and turned to face them. “With Sam unconscious, it will be up to both of you to…control me. I have to take as much of his blood as I can, but not so much that his life will be in danger.” She looked at Dean. “You must listen to his heart. Massive blood loss makes the heart pump faster and harder. When that happens, stop me if I don’t stop myself.”

“You think that’ll be a problem?” Dean asked grimly.

“I’d be a fool if I didn’t prepare for it. It’s been a very long time for me, Dean. I may not have enough control to stop myself.”

Dean looked at Bobby, who nodded. “We’re ready.”

Lenore lifted Sam’s body into a sitting position. He was heavy, but his body was relaxed and she sat him up with an ease born of long practice. She slid one hand beneath his arm to hold him in place. It was awkward, especially when Dean moved into the position she instructed. They should have stolen a stethoscope, but it was too late to correct the mistake.

Dean muttered something about Sam owing him for this. He sounded irritated, but Lenore knew he would hold Sam forever if he had to. Dean drew back suddenly and looked up at her. “Lenore. If this doesn’t work…I mean, if he dies…”

If Sam died, Dean would kill her. Lenore had no illusions about that. Dean’s tone wasn’t threatening and perhaps he really believed he could handle it, but she knew better.

“I know,” Lenore told him. “He’s your family.”

Dean’s frown deepened and she knew she’d said the wrong thing. “He is my family,” Dean snarled. “Not the twisted version of it you vamps talk about.”

Anger flashed through her. He had no idea how many of her family she had lost to men like him. Hunters. Self-righteous bastards who cared nothing for the grief they left behind them. Her hands tightened on Sam’s body, her fingernails digging into his arm.

Bobby snapped, “Play nice, kids.” He gave Lenore a meaningful look then added to Dean, “Don’t piss off the nice vampire when she’s about to snack on your brother.”

Dean muttered an insincere apology.

Lenore ignored it, pushing her anger back down inside. “Let’s do it,” she said.

Dean shifted into position once more. It was an odd embrace: Lenore behind Sam, supporting him against her body and Dean in front, holding his brother, his head on Sam’s chest so he could hear his heartbeat.

Sam hadn’t washed or showered for several days at least and this close to him Lenore could smell stale sweat and traces of vomit on his clothing. She didn’t find it unpleasant. It was the scent of life, and she was from an age before the modern obsession with hygiene.

“Just do it,” Dean urged.

So she did. Lenore’s fangs descended. Her strike was under perfect control – she had to pierce the vein in the neck but avoid the artery. She didn’t want to bleed him out. Sam reacted to the pain, but did not wake as his blood, hot and delicious, filled Lenore’s eager mouth. She drank him down greedily, her first true meal in decades. Human blood, living blood given freely…there was none better.

The rush of blood filled her hearing, Sam’s heart pumping more of his gift into her. She had forgotten how good this was. Power sang through her veins and she knew this was working.

She didn’t hear Dean’s voice telling her to stop. She didn’t hear Bobby yelling. Not until hands grabbed her shoulders and she turned on her attacker, hissing angrily.

“Lenore!” Bobby shouted. She saw the flash of a knife in his hand an instant before she felt the pain. She shoved Sam’s body away from her and lunged for the hunter. Then she felt it and put her hand to the shallow wound his knife had made. Shock brought her back to herself.

“Dead man’s blood,” she whispered.

Bobby backed away from her, raising the blood-streaked blade. “Insurance,” he agreed.

~*~

Ellen was driving an old blue truck with a trailer. Bobby recognised both, and they weren’t hers. There was something wrong with the engine: he could hear it from a long distance away.

Bobby and Ellen went way back. He’d been friends with her husband. He watched young Jo grow up – from a distance – and had been there for both of them when Bill died. She’d called him for help now, and that created a terrible dilemma.

The Winchester boys were in big trouble. If what Sam had done in Ilchester got out, he would be hunted. Gordon Walker telling anyone who would listen that Sam was the anti-Christ was one thing; Walker had a bad rep even among hunters and only a minority took his ravings about Sam seriously. In a way, John Winchester’s reputation protected his son: no one who had known John could believe a son he’d raised would be evil. But reputation only went so far. Folks knew by now that John sold his soul. Bobby had no idea how the story got out – certainly he’d never told anyone – but get out it did. They knew he’d crawled out of the Pit, too. Bobby had heard talk about the boys. Some said Dean went the way of his daddy. Some said Sam was a demon; others thought he was something else. Some said he was working on Hell’s side; others thought he was still John’s son. Bobby’s standing policy was to deny knowing anything about anything. The most he’d say was that the boys were still hunters.

Yet somehow, the stories got out. When Rufus called just before Sam ran off with Ruby, he seemed to know everything. Rufus wasn’t one to gossip, but he must have gotten the story from somewhere. It meant others knew. It meant sooner or later someone was going to figure out that Sam broke the last seal on Lucifer’s prison. It meant hunters would be coming after them.

The last thing Bobby wanted was more hunters around the place, especially with Sam still sick. If it had been anyone but Ellen Harvelle, he would have said no. He almost refused Ellen…until she told him she’d found Jo.

Jo Harvelle went missing last July, while Dean Winchester was in Hell and around the time Sam vanished off the grid. Bobby knew about it because Ellen called him. She’d called everyone, most likely, looking for news of her daughter. A few weeks after Ellen’s call Bobby heard that Nan Franklyn, the hunter Jo had been partnering, had been found. In six pieces. He called Ellen and found to his relief that she already knew. Nan was dead; there was no trace of Jo. Though Bobby kept an ear out for more news, that was the last he heard. Six months later, when there was still no news of Jo, Bobby figured she was most likely dead.

So when Ellen called, begging him for a place she and Jo could stay for a while, it did occur to Bobby to wonder if he had been right. After all, Jo wouldn’t be the first hunter to come back from the other side. Sam and Dean had both done it.

“I know it’s a bad time, Bobby,” Ellen told him, “but I’m desperate. Jo needs to be somewhere she’ll feel safe.”

He tried to put her off. “Ellen, I’ve got no room. The Winchester boys are here…”

She cut him off. “I’ll pack a tent if I have to. She’s in a bad way. I’ve done all I can.”

Bobby quit arguing because it wasn’t like Ellen to beg, nor to sound so desperate. “Hell, Ellen, what happened to her? I mean, I can do some basic doctoring, but this ain’t a hospital.”

“We don’t need a hospital. Physically, she’s recovering. But we can’t stay where we are. It’s not safe and Jo’s…fragile.”

Bobby didn’t press for details. Reading between the lines he knew it was bad. For Jo’s sake as much as her mother’s, Bobby could not say no. Not even if it put the Winchester boys in danger.

He waved to Ellen as she drew close. The truck window was open and he could see Jo. At least, he assumed it was Jo: her hair was different and she wore big sunglasses that obscured her features. She didn’t look his way. The trailer behind the truck looked old, but adequate. It would help with the space issue if someone slept in the trailer.

Ellen smiled for him as she climbed out of the truck. “Bobby! It’s good to see you again.” The words were normal and her expression was relaxed but there was a tension in her movements as if she was struggling not to give something away. Struggling not to look at Jo. Ellen was worried…but Bobby had known that already.

Bobby returned her smile warily. “Good to see you, too.”

“The boys still around?”

“They’re around,” Bobby agreed. Ellen would have to know everything, but he didn’t want to say too much upfront. “Sam’s been ill,” he revealed. “He’s still in bed. Dean’s barely left his side.”

Ellen’s smile vanished. “How badly was he hurt?”

“It’s not an injury. He’s sick. It’s why I wasn’t sure about you coming. But you’re here now and you’re both welcome.”

“Been hearing a lot of stories about those boys,” Ellen said. It wasn’t, quite, a question.

Bobby nodded. “Some of it’s even true,” he answered gruffly. Then, to change the subject, “That’s Kane’s truck, ain’t it?”

Ellen nodded, her mouth set in a grim line. “He don’t need it any more.”

Oh, hell. “When?” Bobby asked.

“Ten days ago.”

“Demon?”

“What else?”

Damn it to Hell. Kane was a good man. “Come on inside,” Bobby suggested. He looked past Ellen to Jo who opened the truck door and stepped out into the light.

Jo’s hair had been cropped brutally short and looked darker because of it: the pale highlights she used to sport were gone. What he could see of her face beneath the sunglasses was thinner than Bobby remembered; it could be just the loss of her youthful puppy fat but to Bobby it looked as if she’d been ill. The flannel shirt she wore hung on her in the same way Sam’s clothing had begun to hang off his broad shoulders – in Sam’s case it was because the long illness had robbed him of both weight and muscle mass. As Jo slammed the truck door closed Bobby saw that she was armed, and not trying to hide it. It made him look more closely at Ellen, but if she was carrying it was well concealed.

Dean was in the kitchen when they entered the house. He’d been raiding the refrigerator and had a plate piled high with sandwiches and cold meat. He poked his head and shoulders around the door as they came in. “Hey, Bobby. I thought you – ” he broke off, seeing the women, and moved fully into view, revealing his pilfered lunch. “Oh. Hi. I forgot.”

Jo shrugged off his odd greeting and looked up at the ceiling where one of many devil’s traps was painted. She studied it for a moment. “Do you have salt around the place, too?”

“And a few things you won’t have seen,” Dean answered her lightly.

Jo didn’t smile. “Don’t bet on it,” she retorted.

Ellen laid a hand on Jo’s arm, a silent signal. “You look well, Dean. How’s Sam?”

Dean glanced at Bobby; he nodded slightly, confirming he’d told Ellen what they agreed.

“He’s still…sleeping,” Dean answered. “I’m going back up there now.”

~*~

Consciousness wasn’t too welcome at first.

Sam woke to a bone-deep ache in his muscles, a bitch of a headache and a truly disgusting taste in his mouth. He opened his eyes, expecting to see the iron roof of Bobby’s panic room with its devil’s trap built into the fan. Instead he saw the cracked plaster of a once-white ceiling.

“Sam?” It was Bobby’s voice.

Sam turned his head to the side and saw Bobby sitting beside the dusty window, a book in his lap. He looked tired.

“Hey,” Sam said, his voice cracked and hoarse. “I guess I made it.”

A rare smile cracked Bobby’s face. “Looks that way.”

“Dean?”

“He’ll be pissed you picked the only five minutes of the day he ain’t at your side to wake up,” Bobby evaded. “How are you feeling, boy?”

Sam noticed the evasion, but paid no attention. It was just Bobby’s way. “I feel…awful,” he answered, then realised what that meant. “It worked. Damn, it worked, Bobby.”

Bobby looked worried. “We don’t know that yet,” he said carefully.

But Sam was sure. “I know,” he said simply. He didn’t know how to explain it, even if his voice had been working properly. Ever since his first taste of Ruby’s blood, he had felt…different. It was a constant buzz, a high…an ever-present reminder that he was no longer entirely human. Now that feeling was gone.

Sam reached across to the cannula in his arm. He fumbled with the tape holding it down and winced as the needle-stick moved beneath his skin.

“Cut that out,” Bobby ordered.

“Then take it out for me.” Sam stretched his arm out toward Bobby.

He sighed but obeyed, ripping off the tape and then carefully extracting the stick from Sam’s arm. “Take it slow, Sam. You’re still short some blood.”

Sam struggled to sit up. The movement made him aware of the dressing on his neck and he touched it. “Is Lenore still around?”

Bobby took his time answering. “She’s around.” He looked as if he was about to say more, but the door opened to reveal Dean.

Dean stared a them for a moment, then leapt across the small room and pulled Sam into a bone-crushing hug.

Sam tried to laugh. “Okay, Dean. I’m okay.”

Dean released him. “Are you…uh…” he didn’t seem to know how to finish the sentence.

“Clean,” Sam said for him. “One hundred per cent.”

“Thank God.”

“Don’t think God had much to do with it.” Sam remembered what Lenore said about Lucifer and the angels who fell with him. It made him think of Uriel, the angel who despised humanity so much he finally rebelled and joined with Lucifer, and he wondered what side he, Sam, was on now.

Dean’s smile vanished. “I guess not,” he agreed. He glanced at Bobby. “Did you tell him?”

“Haven’t had the chance.” Bobby closed his book and stood up.

“Tell me what?” Sam asked.

No one answered him.

“What? What’s happened?”

“Lenore fed from you three times,” Dean answered. “The first time she almost took too much. Bobby had to cut her with dead man’s blood.”

Sam nodded. It explained why he felt like crap. “I knew it was a risk.” Lenore hadn’t tasted human blood for a long time. She got by and she had incredible control, but giving her blood was like laying a full banquet before her when she was starving.

“Yeah. Well, after that we were more careful. The second time went just right, but the last time…when she was done, Lenore kinda went nuts. She screamed at us to get away from her. So we carried you out of there and locked her in the panic room.”

“She’s still in there?”

Dean nodded. “It’s been…” he checked his watch, “sixteen hours. She screamed the place down for the first ten.” He sighed, taking the chair Bobby vacated. “I don’t know what to do for her, Sam. I think…my instinct says we should put her down…but she helped us. Helped you.”

“The demon blood did this to her,” Sam said. “My blood.” It wasn’t a question.

“It’s a good bet,” Dean agreed. He was tense, like he was waiting for something.

Sam realised it was him. Dean wanted him to agree they should kill Lenore. Or to say they couldn’t. He wanted Sam to decide. It had been Sam who insisted on saving her when they first met Lenore; in Dean’s mind that made it Sam’s call now.

Sam swallowed. “If it has to be done,” he said, “I’ll do it. But give her time, Dean. She told me she thought it was poison, but she’s not human. She’s strong.”

Dean nodded. “Are you up to coming downstairs? We’ve got company.”

“Ellen and Jo. I remember.” Sam looked down at himself and wrinkled his nose. He stank. “Is there enough hot water for a shower?”

~*~

Sam locked the bathroom door. He stared at the lock for a moment – just a simple deadbolt screwed into the wooden door – then he unlocked it again. He’d spent far too much of the past two months behind a locked door. It wasn’t as if anyone was likely to walk in on him.

He set the bag that contained his shaving gear and toothbrush beside the sink and stripped off his shirt before looking into the cracked mirror. Sam barely recognised himself. He couldn’t recall when he’d last been stable enough to shave but it looked like at least two weeks. His hair badly needed cutting…and Sam found a small smile curving his lips when he thought about what Dean would say to that. It was true, though. Sam liked his hair long, but he looked like he belonged on an 80’s album cover…and not a good one.

Sam turned on the tap and splashed water over his hair, slicking it back from his face to keep it out of the way. He pulled out his shaving gear and began to soap up the week-old beard. Focussing on the familiar task helped Sam avoid thinking about…everything. What he had done, what was happening in the world because of it, what he and Dean could possibly do to fix it. Armageddon. Nothing in their lives or training prepared them for this. Sam winced as the sharp blade cut into his cheek. He dropped the razor into the basin and leaned closer to the mirror, examining the cut. It wasn’t serious, just bloody, as cuts to the face so often were. He blotted it with a towel and went on shaving.

When he was done, he looked at himself in the mirror. The bruises down the left side of his face were fading to yellow-green. Sam remembered slamming his head against the iron wall in an idiotic attempt to distract himself from a far worse pain. There was a cut above his eye. Sam couldn’t remember how that happened, but he knew he must have done it to himself. He turned his head to examine the mark Lenore’s fangs left on his neck. No one could mistake that for anything but a bite: the puncture wounds stood out in two livid semi-circles against his pale skin. He ran a finger over the marks; it hurt, but only a little.

Sam rinsed the last remnants of blood and soap from his face. The cut was more than a nick: he had a thin red line parallel to his cheekbone, but the bleeding had stopped. Sam removed the rest of his clothing and stepped into the shower.

The water was warm, but not hot. Sam tipped his head back under the spray, letting the water saturate his hair. The patter of water on the tiles made him remember, for some reason, the lawn sprinklers around the house where they’d tracked down Lilith…the place where Bobby found the water main and got the sprinklers spraying holy water…the house where Dean died. Where part of Sam died, too.

It crashed through the emotional barriers he’d worked so hard to erect. The desperation of those last days, Sam’s inability to accept that he could do nothing to break Dean’s deadly contract. Sam’s throat felt tight, his chest hurt – physically hurt – remembering Dean’s scream of pain when the hellhound attacked, remembering Lilith in Ruby’s body laughing in delight, remembering a storm of white light and the weight of Dean’s dead body in his arms. Dean was alive now, he was back, he survived…but as Sam stood under the shower none of that mattered to him; the pain was as real, as raw as the night it happened. He fell to his knees, slipping on the white tiles. Tears blurred his vision and he choked out a wordless cry of grief.

Sam had no idea how long he was there, crying like a child under the shower. By the time he came back to himself, the water was cold and he was shivering under the spray. Sam reached up to twist the dial and turn the water off; his hand was shaking so much it took three attempts. He struggled to his feet, his hands slipping on the wet tiles as he tried to haul himself up. Finally he stumbled out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself, grateful for the warmth.

~*~

Three: Training

In Lawrence, Kansas, fake palm-reader and genuine psychic Missouri Moseley read the signs of the growing darkness with little surprise, but a great deal of fear. The last time she saw her old friend John Winchester he warned her that the end of days might just be around the corner. Thanks to John, Missouri was at least prepared. Since leaving things neat and tidy was a lifelong habit, she put her affairs in order, paid her debts, closed her accounts, locked up her house and left the keys with her attorney.

Missouri was a practical woman. She knew that the lines of communication everyone relied on so heavily these days would go down, but she figured that the US mail would be the last to go. So before she left Lawrence for the last time, she walked down to the post office and mailed three letters. There was very little she could do to make a difference in this apocalyptic war. Knowing that might have been a relief had she not also known on whose shoulders that heaviest of burdens now fell. It was for the sake of John’s boys that she sent her letters and prayed, harder than she ever had in her life, that her small effort would make a difference.

In Lost Creek, Colorado, Haley Collins routinely bought twice as much food as she needed every time she went shopping. She bought things that would last: tinned food, dried goods, water in bottles. And salt. Always salt. Her store-cupboard was full to overflowing, but she continued to buy more than they needed, filling boxes for the attic when space ran out elsewhere.

Two years earlier, Haley saw a story on the local news about a gas explosion which destroyed the sheriff’s department of nearby Monument. A lot of people died in the explosion, but there were only two who mattered to her: Dean and Sam Winchester. She cried herself to sleep that night, surprised by how much she cared about two young men she had known for only a few days. The following day, not really knowing why, she drove to Monument to find out for sure what happened. What she learned there frightened her more than anything had since that monster on Blackwater Ridge almost killed her and her brothers. But she knew what she needed to do: protect her family. No matter what.

Tommy never stopped teasing her about her obsessive hoarding of food and salt, but he was the one who started ordering extra propane for the generator. And when they heard the news from Ilchester, Maryland, it was Tommy who bought guns.

Every night they talked about the latest news. Every night they asked each other whether they ought to tell people, try to warn them, maybe. But they never did.

~*~

Dean opened the bedroom door without knocking. He saw Sam sitting on the edge of the bed. He seemed okay. His wet hair was combed back from his freshly-shaved face and he was dressed in clean clothing. He had removed the dressing from his neck, or perhaps the shower unstuck the tape, and the vampire bite on his neck was livid against his skin. The vampire bite that had saved his life.

“Sam?” Dean said, when Sam failed to react to his presence.

Sam looked up and the look on his face had Dean halfway across the room before he realised he was moving.

“Sam? Are you still in pain?”

“No. No…not like that,” Sam answered. His voice seemed stronger than before.

You’re scaring me, man. “Then why didn’t you come down and join us? Bobby’s cooking garlic chicken.”

“Sounds good,” Sam answered, unsmiling.

Dean sighed. “Okay. What’s wrong?”

“Dean, how much do you remember about Dad after Mom died? Right after, I mean.”

Dean was startled by the question. Where did that come from? It wasn’t something he enjoyed talking about, but he took a deep breath and plunged in. “Not much. I was four.”

“And I was just a baby. Whatever you remember, it’s more than I do.”

That was true. Dean considered other objections, but it seemed important to Sam. So he thought about it. “I can’t remember what happened right after the fire. I just remember the fire trucks on the street. The next day, we moved in with someone, neighbours or friends. Their place was small and I had to share my bed with you. You wouldn’t stop crying most of the time, but sometimes I could get you to quiet down. Dad…he started giving you to me when he thought you’d been crying too long. He’d say, ‘Watch out for Sammy. He feels safe with you.’”

“I’m glad you did. But Dad? What was he like?”

God, Sam, why are we talking about this? “He was…distant. Cold, even. That’s how it seemed at the time. He would go out to work each day – at least, that’s what he told me – and he went out most nights. He’d come home smelling of whiskey and cigarettes.” Dean shrugged. “After what happened, I can’t blame him.” Dean moved across to the dusty window and gazed out across the junkyard. “Just before Christmas day, something changed. Dad packed everything we had left into the car and we just hit the road. I guess that’s when he met Missouri. After that, it was better, you know? I mean, once we were on the road, Dad was almost the way I remembered. For a while.”

“For a while,” Sam repeated.

Dean nodded, lost in memory for a moment. “Why are you asking me about Dad?”

Sam sighed. “I’ve been sitting here thinking about him. There were times I really hated him, you know?”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Dean grimaced.

“But I loved him, too. And it kills me that he died, that he went to Hell, thinking I hated him.”

This conversation was going nowhere Dean wanted to follow. But he couldn’t escape it now. “Sam, you and Dad are a lot alike. You drove him crazy, but he was proud as hell of you. He knew.”

Sam nodded, not answering. Dean got the feeling there was more. It wasn’t Dad Sam wanted to talk about. But wherever this was headed, Dean was sure it would be uncomfortable. There were times when he could open up with Sam, but these days he needed a whiskey buffer before he would even think about it.

He slapped Sam on his back. “C’mon, Champ. You up for some chicken?”

Sam shook himself and the awkward moment passed. “Yeah. I could eat.”

~*~

The last time Sam saw Jo Harvelle was in Duluth, when he was possessed and the demon riding his body attacked her. She’d left home to be a hunter, but as far as Sam could tell she’d just been waiting tables in that waterfront dive. She was a tough kid…but she was a kid.

No longer. Jo sat next to Sam in Bobby’s living room, nursing a beer. The long, golden hair that had been her best feature was gone, replaced by a short, spiky cut. Her eyes were dark hollows, her skin tanned by the sun but not in a way that looked healthy. She wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off at the elbows, jeans with bloodstains that hadn’t washed out very well and heavy army-surplus boots. Her gun was in a shoulder holster outside her shirt where everyone could see it. She looked much older.

Ellen, on the other hand, hadn’t changed a bit. She’d downed her first two shots of Bobby’s whiskey like she had a bet on it; now she nursed a tumbler with a generous measure, sipping occasionally as they talked.

Sam himself was simply listening, eating his meal slowly while the conversation continued around him.

“…But the news services can only invent so many gas leaks and domestic terrorist attacks,” Ellen was saying. “They called what happened in LA the work of a doomsday cult. Anyone who knows anything about our world knows what’s really going on.”

Apocalypse, Sam thought, but that was wrong. The bomb in Chicago, the massacre in Los Angeles – they were just the warm up act. The real Apocalypse was still to come.

“What are they saying about us?” Dean asked.

Ellen’s look said clearly that Dean should know the answer without asking. “Nothing good,” she reported. “Sam’s working with the demons. Some say he’s one of them. They say you came back from Hell, and the only way that could have happened is if you’re on their team. You were both in Maryland when He broke loose. Some think you did it.”

It was no worse than Sam expected, but he still didn’t like hearing it.

“So we’re the bad guys,” Dean concluded. “Anyone coming after us?”

“Not that I’ve heard,” Ellen answered and shrugged. “But they wouldn’t tell me if they were.”

“Is it true?” Jo asked: a challenge.

“Is what true?” Dean asked her.

“Any of it.”

Dean studied Jo for a moment. Sam watched her, too. He knew she’d been through something horrible. Jo looked…haunted.

“We ain’t demons,” Dean answered. “It’s true we were in Maryland but we didn’t break the seal. Lilith did. We were tryin’ to stop her.” That was a lie: Sam did break the seal. But Dean caught Sam’s eye, silently telling him not to explain further. Sam gave a small nod in reply. He was just as happy not to bring it up and what Dean said was almost the truth, from a certain point of view.

Jo looked unconvinced. “Then why aren’t you fighting?”

Dean glanced at Sam again. Sam raised his beer to his lips. Your call, the gesture said.

“Sam’s been sick,” Dean answered. He sighed. “I guess I’ve been stalling. I wanted to hear from…” he stumbled over an appropriate word for Castiel. “…Someone,” he concluded, “before we rush back into the fight.” He glanced around at the others. “It’s been too long. Cas must be out of the picture.”

“Who’s Cas?” Ellen asked.

The crash and scream from below them saved Dean from answering. Jo jumped at the sound and spilled her beer.

“Nothin’ to worry about,” Bobby said laconically. “We’ve got a vampire locked in the cellar.”

“I’ll go,” Sam volunteered. He stood, setting his barely-touched beer on the table.

As Sam crossed the room, he felt the stiffness in his joints and muscles. If something as simple as walking across the room hurt, he was a long way from being recovered. Training, Sam decided. Lots of training.

~*~

“Rise and shine, princess!”

Sam looked up from the computer, annoyed. “I’m not sleeping, Dean.”

Dean grinned. “I can see that.”

Sam ran both hands through his hair. He was actually glad of the interruption. There was nothing but bad news out there.

Dean came further into the room. “I think we should do some training,” he suggested. “We’re both out of condition after…” he shrugged, letting the gesture stand for everything.

“Training,” Sam repeated. “Like what?”

“I was thinkin’ Dad’s way. I know,” Dean added quickly, “but – ”

“I’m in,” Sam interrupted. He shut the computer down.

Dad’s way could have meant several things: their father had endless training regimes when they were kids. But Sam knew what Dean meant as soon as he said it. Injuries aside, only once in their insane childhood had Dean been really sick: he caught a bad case of the flu and had been unable even to get out of bed for two weeks. Their father had been so worried he let Dean convalesce slowly for a while, let him off the usual training and chores. When Dean decided he was ready, Dad complained that he was slow and out of condition. No surprise, really. Dad made them fight – spar – and because Dean was so weak Sam beat him easily. The humiliation of being taken down by his little brother, and Sam’s elation at his unearned victory, spurred both of them on for a while.

Dad’s way. They would spar, because that would demonstrate for both of them where their weaknesses were. Then they’d work on fixing those weaknesses.

Sam remembered to find bandages to protect their hands, and they both cleared a space in the junk-yard. Sam wrapped the bandage around his knuckles, knotting it in his palm. He glanced up as he finished the second knot to see Dean waiting for him. He was surprised how much he was anticipating this.

Sam dropped into a crouch. He felt his smile turning feral. Out of condition he might be and he wasn’t going to hurt his brother…but this was going to feel good.

Dean smiled, too, circling Sam slowly. He made a “come on” gesture, but Sam didn’t take the bait. He moved as Dean moved, keeping an eye on his brother but noting, too, the place where they were. He committed very detail to memory: where the ground was uneven, where the sun reflected off the junked cars, anything he might be able to use against Dean. He noted, too, potential weapons: a broken piece of pipe, glass, a jagged edge of metal. He wouldn’t use them, not against Dean, but he saw them just the same. He knew Dean did, too.

Dean made that gesture again. “What are you waiting for? Rescue?”

Sam struck before the last word was out of his mouth, aiming his punch low. The point was exercise, not combat, or he’d have gone for the head. For an instant he thought he’d actually got past Dean’s guard. Then Dean twisted away, avoiding the blow and sweeping his foot around. First contact to Dean: he hit the side of Sam’s knee and Sam had to go down or risk breaking it. He grabbed Dean’s upper arms as he fell; they fell together to the ground. Sam used his greater mass and momentum to get above Dean, so he was straddling Dean’s hips while Dean lay on his back.

“That’s all you’ve got?” Sam panted, but even as he spoke he felt Dean’s muscles bunch beneath him as Dean moved, bucking him off.

“Just gettin’ warmed up, princess,” Dean returned as he rolled them both over, bringing one knee up to Sam’s groin – not to hurt, but to demonstrate that he could.

Sam grinned back and the real fight began.

It felt good to just cut loose. They had always been competitive and in that sense their combat was serious, but neither man had any interest in hurting the other. A few bruises, sure, a black eye if they could manage it, but nothing worse. In minutes both were covered in dirt and dust. After half an hour Sam’s t-shirt was soaked with sweat and he had lost the protective bandages from his left hand. The knuckles were a little sore. Dean looked no better off: he was breathing hard from the exertion, sweat leaving tracks in the dust clinging to his face and chest.

It was Sam who finally called a halt. The truth was the weeks of detox had taken a toll and when Dean’s punch – just a lucky punch – to his kidney sent Sam to his knees he held up one hand in surrender. “O-okay,” he panted, struggling to catch his breath. “Enough.”

Dean switched instantly to concerned-brother mode. He slid his arms around Sam, helping him to stand. “You okay, Sammy?”

“I’m good,” Sam agreed, though he wasn’t, yet. He met Dean’s eyes; Dean’s face was still very close to his. He saw Dean struggling to hide his satisfaction at beating Sam. He felt like sticking out  his tongue – or some gesture equally childish – but he didn’t do it. He stripped off his sweat-soaked t-shirt and used it to wipe the sweat off his face.

“You were right,” Sam admitted.

“About what?”

“Training.” Sam tossed the t-shirt over his shoulder. “My reflexes are fine, but I’m not strong enough to hunt and my endurance is shit.”

“You did better than I thought you would,” Dean offered judiciously.

“Gee, thanks. That’s flattering.”

“Bitch.”

Sam grinned. “Jerk.”

~*~

Lenore didn’t know how long she had been locked in this cellar. She thought she might have woken up before, but didn’t remember clearly. It felt as if a lot of time had passed, though. She was hungry.

Hunger sharpened her vampire senses and she knew someone was nearby. Lenore went to the door. It was locked, but whoever was on the other side heard her try to open it.

“Lenore?” It was Sam’s voice. The slot in the door opened and Lenore saw Sam’s eyes.

“I think I’m recovered now,” she told him.

His eyes crinkled as if he were smiling. “You think? Do you mind if I come in and check?”

“I don’t mind, but I need…”

“Blood,” Sam interrupted. “I figured you’d be getting hungry by now, even after the three-course banquet you had. It’s been a while.” He closed the slot, then she heard the clank of the lock and the door opened. “I’m safe…I hope?” Sam checked.

“So do I,” she answered with a teasing smile. She was hungry, but she was a long way from starving. She remembered the taste of Sam’s blood, delicious and warm, but she wasn’t so out of control she would attack him for a fresh taste.

Sam walked in, leaving the door ajar. “About the blood thing. What do you need? I can get animal blood from a slaughterhouse or something.”

She recognised the generosity of his offer, but she shook her head. “You know what dead man’s blood does to us?”

“Yes.”

“Well, blood taken from a slaughtered animal is much the same. Even human blood from a blood bank is unpleasant, though we can live on it if we have to. I need to drink directly from a living creature.”

Sam looked uncomfortable. “Oh. Well, maybe we can…”

“It’s okay, Sam. I’d rather hunt my own prey and I can wait a few days.”

That surprised him. “A few days? How often…?” He stopped awkwardly. “Sorry. Not my business.”

Lenore didn’t mind answering a few questions. It made the conversation easier. She sat down on the bed and gestured, inviting Sam to join her. “Most of us feed the way you do, two or three times a day. That way we can eat small meals, so we don’t have to kill. If you go without food for a few days, how does it affect you?”

Sam sat down on the end of the bed. “I get hungry sooner than that. A few days without food would weaken me. If I had no water as well as no food I’d be dead in a few days. With water…I’m not sure. Ten days, two weeks at most, I guess.”

Lenore nodded. “You can’t eat a huge meal and make it last a week. Your body doesn’t work that way. But mine does.” She looked at him seriously. “I took a great deal of blood from you, Sam. I’m hungry, and if I don’t find more blood soon I will weaken, but for now I’m fine.”

Sam nodded, looking relieved. “Yes, I think you are.” He smiled, a full and genuine smile. “You saved me, Lenore. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Impulsively, Lenore reached up and drew the collar of his shirt away from his neck, exposing the healing bite-wound. Sam, when he realised what she was doing, tilted his neck to one side to give her a better view.

The wound had scabbed over, the puncture marks of her fangs clearly visible. It would scar, marking him forever. But the mark he bore was more than the physical scar and Sam needed to know that. “It’s healing well,” she remarked, wondering how she could explain. “I don’t need thanks, Sam. You and Dean saved me and my family. I hope this makes us even.” His skin was warm under her fingers and without thinking she let her hand drift to his face, caressing the rough texture of his unshaven cheek.

Sam drew away from her. “Lenore…”

She withdrew her hand quickly. “I’m sorry.” She stood and walked a few paces. “Sam, have they told you what I did?”

His forehead creased in a worried frown. “To me? Yes, Dean said you drank my blood three times.”

She nodded. That was a good beginning. “There are some things you should know, Sam.”

The bed creaked as Sam shifted his weight. “Okay. Tell me.”

Lenore wasn’t sure how he would take it. If he weren’t a hunter she wouldn’t have considered telling him at all, but he was. He would encounter more vampires. “I didn’t only feed from you. Each time, I had to drink enough to bring you close to death.”

“And they replaced what you took with transfusions. I know.”

“You were unconscious, but you had agreed to let me do it,” Lenore went on. But she could see she wasn’t making herself clear.

“I know,” Sam began.

She cut him off. “You don’t understand. There’s a bond between us now.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “What kind of bond?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nothing you will notice, but it’s a mark other vampires will see. That’s why I needed to explain.”

Sam sprang to his feet. “You’d better explain!”

Sam’s height was intimidating, especially as she was still seated, but Lenore held her ground. She wasn’t impressed by his anger. “I am very old, Sam Winchester. In the old days, this was how we marked the humans we chose. To another vampire, it means you belong to me.”

“What the hell does that mean? I didn’t sign up for – ”

“Sam! This doesn’t give me power over you. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It might even protect you.”

Sam stilled, listening. “How can it protect me?”

He still sounded suspicious, but at least he was paying attention now. Lenore took a step back. “Some of the youngest vampires don’t know or respect our old laws. But all of the old ones will. If you are marked, it means no other vampire can feed on you or try to turn you. They can’t hurt you except in defence of their family and they can’t…keep you, they can’t take you prisoner.”

“Really? Huh.”

Lenore could see him considering it. More than that, she could feel the edge of his emotions as the ideas flitted through his brain. She couldn’t read his thoughts, not literally, but his feelings and the context of their conversation made Sam’s train of thought transparent to Lenore. It went from a thread of excitement and interest – that could be kinda cool – to almost coldly calculating – in fact, it might be very useful – to suspicion that she wasn’t telling him everything. On the heels of that came guilt, so strong that Lenore backed away a little.

Sam saw her movement. “Why do I get the feeling there’s more to this?”

“There doesn’t have to be, Sam.”

“Stop avoiding the issue, Lenore. Just tell me!”

“Then stop interrupting me!”

Sam was startled, but he backed off. “Fine.”

Lenore took a deep breath. She was dead and didn’t need to breathe except to speak, but the sensation of air filling her lungs helped to settle her nerves. “If you and I were…close, if we had some sort of relationship, the mark you now carry would mean something. No vampire ever marked a human casually.” She hesitated, choosing her next words carefully. “The next time you encounter another vampire, he or she will recognise your mark and will assume two things about you. First, that a vampire values you as a – ” slave “ – companion, or servant. Second, that someday you will be a vampire yourself.” Lenore saw him react to that and added, “I mean the mark indicates it’s been promised to you, not that you’re infected.”

Sam’s frown deepened, but it wasn’t anger now. It was concentration. “If they think I want to be a vampire, won’t that put me in more danger?”

“Oh, no! Sam, do you understand what family means to my kind? How important it is?”

Sam nodded. “I think I do.”

“The mark declares that my family has accepted you as one of us, even as a human. No other vampire will violate that. It’s not total protection, Sam. You’re a hunter and they’ll kill you if they think they have to. But that’s all they’ll do if they think you…belong to another.”

“Belong. Like a slave?”

“More the way a child belongs to a parent. It’s family, Sam. I know you well enough to be able to see you’re thinking of how this can work for you.”

Sam shrugged. “Like you said, I’m a hunter.”

“The thing you need to remember is this. Other vampires will see that you’ve been marked. All but the youngest will respect it, but because you’re a hunter, they’ll be very…curious. They’ll want to know who you belong to. If you want that protection, you mustn’t tell them it’s me. I’m old, which usually means powerful, but a lot of the old vampires see me as weak.”

Sam nodded as if he understood. “Because you don’t kill people,” he said.

This was too close. It hurt too much. Lenore felt tears fill her eyes and turned away from him so  he wouldn’t see. “No, Sam,” she said quietly but clearly. “Because of the thing that made me stop.”

~*~

“I need to take the car,” Sam announced.

“Where are you going?” Dean dug into his pocket for the keys, but Sam could see he was about to offer to come along. They’d been at Bobby’s for nearly two months without a break. Sam had been sick for most of that time, but Dean hadn’t been. He must be going stir crazy.

“I’m going to take Lenore somewhere she can…eat.” Sam almost said hunt – Lenore’s word – but corrected himself. He saw Bobby look up sharply, but kept his eyes on Dean.

Dean tossed the keys to Sam. “If she’s well enough, we can take her home.”

“I thought of that,” Sam agreed, “but I don’t know how well she is. I’m not sure she knows.”

Dean turned the page of the newspaper he had been reading. “You’re gonna feed her cow, right? Not some person?”

Sam gave him the look that deserved, but even as he did, he heard a woman’s panicked screaming Just…just listen to me, okay? My name is Cindy McKellen. I have a husband named Matthew, we’ve been married six years and I don’t even know who you are, I’m not gonna tell anybody anything. No! No! Please, no! Sam could still see Cindy’s terrified face as he forced her into the trunk, could still taste her blood…

Dean caught him as he staggered. “Whoa, Sammy. I was kidding.”

“Bad joke,” Sam said shakily. He wasn’t sure what just happened. He hadn’t seen Dean move; it was as if he’d lost a few seconds. Dean steadied Sam with one hand on his back. Sam leaned on him gratefully.

“I’ll take her,” Dean offered.

“I’m fine.”

“Son,” Bobby interrupted, “you don’t look like you should be drivin’.”

“I’m fine, Bobby.”

Dean drew back from him. “You’d better be fine. If you crash my car…”

Sam smiled. “Dude. Stop.”

Sam did stick around long enough to have coffee, partly to stop Bobby from fretting and partly to calm himself. The flashback scared him. Sam knew where he was, but the sound of Cindy screaming, that had been real. He heard it. He could have saved that woman. He’d saved so many from possession, but not her. He murdered her. Coffee couldn’t fix that. Nothing could fix that. But coffee gave him time to calm down.

An hour later, Lenore sat beside him in Dean’s car as they drove down the country roads. Sam had not planned a particular destination. He knew she and her vampire family fed on cattle: cattle mutilations were what led Dean and Sam to her in the first place. He knew there was a big cattle ranch in the next county so he headed in that direction, but he was trying not to think about what would happen at the end of this journey.

“What are we looking for?” he asked her.

Lenore looked over at him. “You’re uncomfortable with this, aren’t you?”

“No!” Sam protested, but the protest was mere reflex. “Well…yeah. A little.”

“You kill things all the time,” she said reasonably. “And you eat meat.”

“I know it doesn’t make sense. I’m not squeamish. I don’t know.” The Impala’s headlights were the only light on the road. Sam could see the glow of city lights in the distance but that was very far away. They were alone out here.

“I need…” Lenore began. “Well, I need to feed on an animal. If we were in the city I’d look for a stray dog – ”

Sam stared at her, swerving the car a little.

Lenore laughed. “You humans are so sentimental about dogs! Honestly, what’s the difference?”

“I guess you have to be human to get it,” Sam suggested. “Just…don’t let Bobby know that puppy is on your menu. He already doesn’t like you.”

“I noticed that. You should tell your friend that garlic doesn’t work any better than crosses.”

Sam grinned. “He was a bit freaked because you could enter the panic room. He built it to keep supernatural things out.”

“Ah, I see,” Lenore said thoughtfully. After a moment, she added, “Devil’s bane. It’s a herb native to Europe; I don’t think it grows here but you could probably get some. And wild rose ash would work as a weapon. It’s not fatal, but it hurts us the way the stories say holy water should.”

“You’re taking a risk, telling me that,” Sam commented.

“No, I’m not,” she answered softly. “I trust you, Sam.” She hesitated, then took a more businesslike tone. “We need a farm. Sheep or goat is probably best.”

Sam kept his eyes on the road. “That shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

~*~

When Lenore returned to the car, Sam could see the change in her. The hunt had left bloodstains on her pink blouse, and there were scratches on her skin, probably from a thorn bush. Her hair was a little mussed and Sam thought he saw a flush on her cheeks. Lenore’s eyes were bright. She looked…alive. It would not last, Sam knew that, but for a few moments she was as beautiful as any woman he had known. Had she looked like this after drinking his blood?

Lenore settled into the front seat. “Thank you, Sam.”

There was something in her voice that made Sam look at her. When they first met, Lenore had described surviving on animal blood as “disgusting”. She wouldn’t thank him for that. She met his eyes and suddenly seemed sad.

Sam gave her a quizzical look. “What is it?”

Lenore shook her head. “It’s just…nothing.”

Sam slid across the seat to be closer to her. “Lenore, I know we’re not exactly friends, but I think we’re past that. What’s wrong?”

“The last time I marked someone the way I have you, this is the kind of thing he used to do for me.”

“He helped you steal food?” Sam quipped, not sure how to react.

“He helped me survive hard times. Whatever it took.”

Sam frowned. “That means you fed on him, doesn’t it?”

Lenore nodded, combing her fingers through her hair to straighten it. “Often. He wasn’t a victim, Sam. He fed me willingly.”

Sam wondered if that were true; why would anyone willingly volunteer to be vampire chow? But he pressed on with his original question. “And, if I understood you today, that mark means you made him a vampire.”

Lenore nodded again, avoiding Sam’s eyes. “Yes. He wanted to be one of us. He was my human companion for many years and when he was ready, he joined my family as a vampire. He was killed by a hunter…but I think you guessed that.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, and he was. If he understood anything, it was the pain of losing family. He laid his arm across her shoulder; the gesture was meant to be comforting, but Sam felt awkward.

Lenore surprised him when she slid closer to him. She silently leaned her head on his shoulder. Her hair brushed his fingers and he stroked the silky locks gently.

Dean killed one of Lenore’s family. Not Sam. But Sam still felt the guilt of it. Dean struck the blow only because he got there first. It could easily have been Sam. They hadn’t known the vampire Dean killed wasn’t a killer. Neither of them had seen Lenore’s family as anything but another pack of monsters to hunt.

Lenore knew that, and she still helped him. She risked everything to save him.

After a long, silent pause, Lenore lifted her head to look at him. Their eyes met. This close, Sam could see how inhuman her eyes were: the pupils dark pinpricks, but not dilated by the darkness, the irises rimmed with red. He brushed her cheek with his fingertips and found her skin soft to his touch. Sam tried to see her as a vampire, a creature, ancient and inhuman, but all he saw was Lenore herself. She was a lovely woman.

Sam didn’t know which of them initiated the kiss. It was just a chaste touch of lips at first, her top lip just brushing his bottom lip. That didn’t seem to turn the world upside down, so Sam kissed her again. He slid his hand into her hair, holding her to him. He felt Lenore melt into his body and it was perfect, so natural that Sam stopped thinking. He parted her lips, probing with his tongue and ran his free hand up her arm. Lenore’s tongue touched his as his fingers found the top button of her blouse.

He half-expected her to stop him, but her hands caressed his back and shoulders, tracing the shape of his muscles. She shifted her position on the car seat and drew him down on top of her. The Impala’s front seat was bigger than most but there wasn’t enough room for them to lay down, especially not for Sam. But he managed to avoid getting tangled in the wheel as he raised himself above her. Sam kissed her again, deeply, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Lenore responded eagerly, her hands tightening on his body as she explored his mouth with her tongue.

Sam could taste the blood she had been drinking. Sweet and copper, a taste that made his body react before his mind caught up. He thrust against her, wanting – needing – for her to feel his arousal. He got the last buttons of her blouse open and pulled her bra down, exposing one breast and cupping it in his palm. Lenore moaned as Sam broke the kiss, his lips moving to her neck. He nibbled at the flesh and sucked hard enough to mark her.

“Sam…wait…Sam…”

He heard the words, but they meant nothing to him. He was lost in her body and his own lust. She moved her body against his, her hands caressing him, willing and eager. Sam kissed the small hollow at the base of her throat and licked along her collarbone to the strap of her bra.

“Sam, don’t!” She pushed at his shoulders. “Please, don’t!”

Sam finally got the message and stopped. “What’s wrong?” he asked, confused. What did I do wrong? She had seemed so willing…

Lenore pulled the blouse closed, but didn’t button it or fix her bra. “Sam, you… We can’t…” she looked up at him, her confused expression a mirror of his. When she sat up but blouse fell open again and Sam saw the scratches on her chest. They were shallow cuts, mostly, and already closed, but he saw a bead of red blood welling from a cut just below her collarbone an inch from where Sam’s mouth had just been.

Sam’s confusion vanished in a wave of terror. He’d been so caught up in the moment he almost tasted her blood. He could have…would have…

…turned himself into…

“Oh, God.” Sam wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He reached blindly behind him for the door, found the handle and scrambled back away from her. He fell backward out of the car, rolled, scrambled up and stumbled away into the darkness. But Sam wasn’t running from Lenore. He was running from himself.

If I didn’t know you, I would want to hunt you.

You turned yourself into a freak!

You’re a monster, Sam. A vampire.

Bile rose into his throat and Sam fell to his knees, retching. He knelt in the dirt as  his stomach spasmed and he emptied its contents onto the grass. It was a long time before Sam straightened, but even then he stayed on his knees, wishing he had some water to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth.

A plastic bottle appeared in front of his eyes. Sam took it gratefully, opened it and rinsed his mouth. He spat water onto the ground and looked up to see Lenore. God, what must she think of him?

Lenore knelt beside him and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Sam, it’s okay…”

Sam, it’s okay…it’s all me inside of here…and it’s nice inside this body, Sam…

…bloodsucking freak…

I can feel it inside me, Ruby…

I don’t even know who you are, I’m not gonna tell anybody anything. No! Please, no!

Oh, God, what have I done?

As Sam began to turn away, Lenore’s hand on his shoulder tightened. She drew him into her arms. The lump in Sam’s throat threatened to choke him. He tried to breathe and it became a sob. Sam’s shoulders shook with the effort of holding all his emotion inside. Lenore held him close as Sam struggled.

“It’s okay, Sam. Let it go,” she whispered into his hair.

As if that permission were what he needed, Sam clung to Lenore, tears overflowing as he finally allowed himself to break.

~*~

Four: Confessions

The inhabitants of the small town of Paragon, Ohio vanished one day early in August. On 31^st July, the last day the authorities could be certain of, everything was normal. The people of Paragon got up, went to work, bought groceries, watched TV, ate, played, got sick, got better, had sex, had fights, slept.

Then it all stopped. The first person to notice was a supermarket manager in nearby Toledo. When three of his staff failed to show up for work on August 3^rd he tried to call their homes and found the phone lines down. Being a busy man, he did nothing more about it, simply made a note to dock the wages of the three women.

Slowly, others began to notice absences. Relatives didn’t get expected phone calls or visits. Facebook friends noticed the lack of updates. A pharmacist noticed several people who had not collected prescriptions were all from the same town. Slowly, suspicions rose.

On August 4^th a state patrol car drove that way to see what was what. The officers found the town utterly deserted. The main street looked like there had been a riot: windows were smashed, stores looted, debris littered the streets and obscene graffiti decorated the road. But there was no sign of anyone on the streets. Not even dead bodies.

In the weeks that followed, the authorities examined every property in the town. They didn’t find a single body, but there were signs of violence on many streets. Inside the houses, though, all appeared normal, except that the people were gone. In one house, children’s bath toys floated in a filled bathtub, with a boy’s pyjamas neatly laid out in the next room, but there was no sign of the boy, living or dead. In another house, a partially cooked meal was set out in the kitchen: meat in the oven, vegetables in saucepans and the table laid ready for three people. The cooker had been turned off, but there was no sign of the family that would have eaten there.

No coherent official explanation for the disappearances was ever offered.

No one who had been present in Paragon on the night of August 2^nd was ever found.

Naturally, a town turning into the Bermuda Triangle came to the attention of hunters in the area. One of those who investigated found the only clue that might have shed light on what befell the town. On the altar of the Episcopalian Church an ancient Enochian symbol had been written in human blood.

~*~

Dean found Jo sitting on a broken engine block in the junkyard. She had a nearly-empty bottle of Bobby’s whiskey dangling from her right hand. Dean didn’t remember her being such a heavy drinker. It was a quiet night and Jo was staring up at the stars. She didn’t seem to be aware of Dean; he moved silently out of habit, walking up to her side. He was quite close to her when she noticed him.

Jo yelped and dropped the bottle. She scrambled away from him, knocking over the engine block in her haste. Dean never saw her draw the knife: it was just suddenly in her hand as she shifted into a fighting stance. All this before she even recognised him.

If she were any other woman, Dean would have taken that knife just to make a point. But his first meeting with Jo at the Roadhouse had left quite an impression. He tried to take a weapon off her then and she damn near broke his nose.

Dean raised his hands in a “peace” gesture, demonstrating that he was unarmed. “Whoa! Easy there, tiger. It’s just me.”

Jo didn’t relax. “No shit. What do you want?”

Oh, she was pissed alright. “You’ve been out here a long time,” Dean explained reasonably. “I was worried about you.”

“Don’t sneak up on me. Don’t ever sneak up on me!”

Dean took a step backwards. “Okay. I’m sorry. You want to put the knife away?”

Jo stared at him for a moment longer, then slid the knife into her jeans. She’d rigged a sheath across her stomach like an inner-pants holster. It was pretty good; Dean wouldn’t have seen it.

He bent down to retrieve the whiskey bottle. Whatever had been left in it was gone. Dean set the bottle on the ground and pulled out his own hip flask. He offered it to Jo.

She shook her head. “It doesn’t help.”

Dean leaned back against a junked car and took a drink. “Not for long,” he agreed. Jo glanced at him sideways but said nothing. Dean sipped from the flask again and once more silently held it out to her.

This time Jo accepted it. She wiped the neck of the flask with her sleeve and raised it to her lips. “Mom’ll kill me,” she muttered, “but what the hell, right?” She tipped the flask up, pouring whiskey into her mouth. She didn’t stop at a sip, either. Jo’s throat worked as she swallowed, drinking it like it was soda. Finally she wiped the flask again and handed it back to Dean.

Mom’ll kill me, she said, but Ellen had never been one to get mad over Jo drinking. The way she drank that whiskey, though, and the way she’d greeted him with a knife…Jo was a mess. Dean knew only that something had happened to her; no details. He didn’t want to ask, but if she was staying they couldn’t afford to have secrets. If the past year had taught Dean anything, it was that. No more secrets.

Still, Dean said nothing, only pocketed the empty flask. He thought about Anna, about the night they’d been together. Anna knew his secret; he hadn’t needed to talk about it. She helped him begin to heal just by showing him it was possible. Where was Anna now? Dean had hoped he might see her again when she got her wings back, but that didn’t seem likely now. She could be dead. She’d told him disobedience was like murder to the angels.

Jo had resumed her contemplation of the stars above them. She scratched absently at the inside of her arm as if her clothing irritated her skin.

Dean studied her more closely. It was dark and he couldn’t be sure, but he thought there was a scar on her neck, mostly hidden by her shirt collar. He saw no other sign of injury, but her clothing would have hidden evidence of any serious wounds. The shirt she wore was loose and baggy, nothing like the tight-fitting tops she used to wear. Jo was shivering, he noticed. Dean slipped off his jacket. He reached out to lay the jacket over her shoulders and Jo flinched away.

“You’re cold,” Dean said, by way of explanation.

She gave him a hard look. “Don’t even.”

“Don’t even what?” Dean asked, honestly confused. “You looked cold. I was just tryin’ to help.”

“Yeah, right.” Jo’s eyes narrowed and she edged away from him. “I’ve changed, Dean. Everything’s changed.”

It finally dawned on him that she thought he was making a pass at her. Getting laid was the furthest thing from his mind. “For me, too,” Dean agreed. “I wasn’t trying to screw you, Jo. Just wanted to help.”

She took a step toward him, her expression challenging. “I heard you and Sam have a way to kill demons. Kill them, not just exorcise. That true?”

Dean thought of Sam killing Alastair with nothing but the power of his mind. They didn’t have that any more. He still had Ruby’s knife, though. “It’s true,” he admitted.

“Will you share?” She phrased it as a question but it sounded like a demand.

“It’s a knife. There’s only one and I have no clue how to make more or I’d have started a production line before now. You got a particular demon in mind?”

“All of them!” she answered with venom.

Uh-huh. “That’s a big job,” Dean suggested casually.

Jo opened her mouth to offer a sassy response, but then seemed to crumble. She hugged herself, turning her back on Dean.

Oh, crap. Was she crying? Dean didn’t try to touch her again. “Jo,” he began gently, “I know what happened was bad. I’m not gonna ask, but if you want to talk…”

“You’ll run a mile,” she interrupted, with a trace of her old fire.

“I’m not running anywhere,” Dean answered. It was manipulative, and he wasn’t proud of it, but he needed to know. Or was that just an excuse?

Jo looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. She swallowed. “Last time I saw you, in Duluth?” she began, making it a question.

“I remember,” Dean answered.

“The demon that was in Sam…before you came, he attacked me. I thought for sure he was gonna rape me. I thought…that was the worst thing I could imagine happening to me.” She laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “You know what? I wish he had raped me! I wish he’d hurt me so bad I woulda gone home for good.”

“But you didn’t go home.” It was all Dean could think of to say. Had Jo gone home after Duluth, she would have been inside the Roadhouse with Ash when the place burned. And he didn’t believe Meg would have raped Jo. Not that night, at least. It had all been about putting on a show for Dean.

“I didn’t go home,” Jo said. “Not even when I heard about the Roadhouse and Ash.”

Dean nodded as though he understood. That one, though, he didn’t get. How could she stay away when her mother must have needed her? Dean couldn’t have done that to his family.

“About a year ago, I did an exorcism,” Jo went on eventually. “Not alone,” she added hastily. “I was hunting with Nancy Franklyn. Did you know her?”

The name sounded vaguely familiar but Dean had to think for a moment before it came to him. “I think we met her at the Roadhouse. I’m not sure.”

“Well…Nancy did most of the work on that exorcism, but I was there. I helped. We sent the demon back to Hell. The little girl was okay…”

“Little girl?” Dean interrupted sharply. No, it couldn’t be… She exorcised Lilith?

“Yes. Does that mean something?”

“I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter.” Lilith was dead. It couldn’t matter now and maybe she wasn’t the only demonic bitch with a taste for children.

Jo frowned at him, but went on. “We called it a win and moved on. Like you do. We didn’t think much about it.”

Dean nodded. “You can’t. Once you’re done with a hunt you need to focus on the next.”

“Six weeks later, we were on the other side of the country. Demons came after us.” Jo was still hugging herself, her arms crossed over her chest. Every word she spoke seemed like a struggle. “There were so many of them, Dean. Ten, twelve…maybe more. Too many. Nancy was the lucky one. She d-died trying to protect me.” Jo’s voice broke, as if she were crying, but her eyes were dry.

Oh, boy, this was bad. Dean didn’t know what to do. He refused to ask her what happened; he’d promised her he wouldn’t. He couldn’t comfort her if she didn’t want to be touched. He considered stopping her, telling her to keep the story to herself. It was tempting. Her tale and the obvious pain behind it touched Dean’s own deep wounds and he was afraid of what more he might hear.

“They took me prisoner,” Jo volunteered, her voice very quiet now. “They…they hurt me. They…made me do things…you don’t know…”

But Dean did know. He knew exactly how creative demons could be with torture. He swallowed, shoving the memory of Alastair’s voice down into the back of his mind. “Jo, it wasn’t your fault. Whatever they did to you, whatever you had to do to survive, it’s not your fault.”

“You have no idea!” she flared.

Good. Get angry. Take a swing at me. It’ll help.

…at the end of every day, Alastair would come to me and he would make me an offer…and every day I told him where to stick it… Words. Just words.

Dean looked up at the stars. “They found ways to hurt you that you never even imagined,” he said softly, lost in his own memories. “Hurt you until you don’t know where you are. Can’t even remember your own name, except they keep saying it, keep whispering who you are while they…” He broke off, unable to continue. “And no matter what you do, it never stops. You’d sell your soul for it to stop, but it’s too late for that. You’re already in Hell.” That was what it meant to get off the rack. It meant selling his soul for a second time. It meant giving up the last thing he had: his humanity.

But Jo hadn’t been in Hell. Not literally. She was alive and that meant she had hope. Did that make it easier to bear? Or harder? He forced himself to meet her eyes. “Whatever they made you do, Jo, it was because they wanted you broken. They made you think you had a choice, but you didn’t, not any more than if you were possessed. Even if…” his voice cracked. “Even if they made you enjoy it, you didn’t have a choice. You’ve got to believe that, Jo.” Dean wasn’t sure he believed it himself. He stretched out his hand toward her, palm up.

Jo stared at his hand for a long time, so long Dean thought she wouldn’t take it. But then she moved, sliding her warm palm over his, her fingers curling around his larger hand. She looked up, meeting Dean’s eyes and her tears finally spilled over. Dean drew her toward him, gently, so she could pull away if she needed to. She let him come close this time. Dean lifted the jacket he still held and settled it over her shoulders.

~*~

There was more to Jo’s story, Dean thought as they walked side-by-side back to Bobby’s house. According to her, she was taken prisoner ten months ago, give or take a few weeks. Jo hadn’t said how long the demons held her, but since she seemed physically recovered Dean estimated a few weeks, max. Much longer than that and she’d have more permanent physical injuries, he thought. Jo hadn’t said how she escaped, either, nor anything about what happened to her since then.

The missing pieces could be important, but for right now Jo had told him as much as she could. It was more than he could have said in her place. Dean slowed as they approached the door. Jo, still wearing his jacket, looked up at him quizzically.

“Does your mom know what you just told me?” Dean asked her.

Jo nodded. “No details, but yeah, she knows.”

“Okay. Are you ready to go in?”

“Can I ask you something first?”

“Sure.”

“What’s with the vampire? I thought you two were hunters.”

Dean couldn’t help smiling. It was surprising she’d waited so long to ask. “The short version of a very long story is this: Me and Sam met Lenore a couple of years ago. She’s not like most vamps. I ain’t sayin’ I completely trust her, but she’s not going to hurt anyone. Sam was sick; something in his blood. Lenore came to help.”

Jo’s eyes widened. “You mean she took Sam’s blood?”

“Well…yeah. Look, I know how it sounds, but it worked. And I guess the poison affected her, too.”

“So you locked her up? What the hell was wrong with Sam?”

Dean hesitated. “That’s a really long story, Jo. If you and Ellen are sticking around for a while then you should hear it, but not tonight.” He wanted to talk to Sam first, make sure he was okay with sharing. Now he knew part of Jo’s story, Dean wasn’t sure how she would take the news. Sam killed a lot of demons: she’d probably like that. But he was also BFF with a demonic bitch who screwed him and fed him her blood so he would…

Wait. If the demons who tortured Jo were connected to Lilith…had Ruby known about it? Dean frowned, trying to put it together in his head. Jo said it happened about ten months ago. That would have been about the time Ruby crawled out of Hell. Could there be a connection?

“What’s wrong?” Jo asked, and Dean realised he’d been quiet for too long.

He tried to cover it. “Nothing. Just thinking too hard. Listen, Jo. I’d like to know more about those demons, but…just let me know when you think you’re ready, okay? A week, a month, a year if we live that long. No pressure.”

Jo looked away from him, but nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

They went inside.

~*~

Lenore still held Sam’s hand, her thumb stroking along the bones on the back of his hand, a comforting, repetitive gesture. “You kept saying, What have I done?,” she said softly. “What did you do, Sam?”

Sam shook his head mutely.

Lenore’s dark eyes were serious. “If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. But Sam, no matter how bad it is, I’ve almost certainly done worse.”

Sam stared at her. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I think,” Lenore told him, “you’re afraid of being seen as a monster. You’re not, Sam. No matter what you’ve done, you’re still you.”

“I’m not so sure,” Sam confessed. He drew his hand out of hers and managed to stand up.

Lenore stood with him and took his hand again. She raised it to her neck, pressing his fingers into her throat in the spot where, had she been human, he would have felt a pulse. Lenore had no pulse.

Sam understood her meaning. “I…I killed someone,” he confessed. “I mean, murder. Not an accident, not part of a hunt. She was an innocent woman with a family at home and I cut her throat.”

Lenore’s eyes met his without condemnation. “You must have had some reason.”

“Power. Blood. She was possessed and I… But it doesn’t matter. There’s no reason good enough.”

Lenore nodded. “You feel it now, don’t you? What you did.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Of course I do!”

She reached up and cupped his cheek with one cool hand. “I’ve killed more people in my life than you have monsters. I killed them for blood, and for desire, and sometimes for vengeance. I don’t feel it, Sam. I can’t. I know love and grief and anger, but I can’t feel regret. I can’t feel guilt.”

“You’re lucky,” Sam said bitterly, thinking Dean would probably agree with him.

But Lenore shook her head. “I’m not lucky. I’m a vampire. Treasure that pain, Sam. It’s when you don’t feel it that you’re a monster.”

~*~

The sky Dean could see through the hulks of the wrecked cars was slowly turning from black to deep blue. It was almost sunrise and Sam wasn’t back yet. Dean wasn’t worried, but still…

A sound from outside had Dean grabbing for his gun. He moved to the next window for a better view, cautiously keeping his body flat against the wall. There was definitely someone out there. Dean clicked the safety off, waiting for whoever – or whatever – it was to come closer. The house was protected, not only with salt and devil’s traps but also with what they had left of Ruby’s magic. The chances of a demon getting through all that were…well, probably better than they had been before Lucifer busted out.

Light from the front window spilled across the yard, illuminating the figure as she moved into the beam. Dean recognised Ellen and relaxed. What was she up to? He crossed to the front door and unlocked it as Ellen approached.

“You’re up early,” he commented by way of greeting.

“Right back at you.” Ellen walked past him toward the kitchen.

She had a point. Dean shrugged and followed her. “I haven’t slept,” he explained. “Jo’s in my bed and – ”

Ellen whirled around, her eyes blazing. “Tell me you didn’t…”

Dean interrupted her. “I didn’t. What the hell, Ellen? What do you take me for?”

“A Winchester,” she retorted, but her expression softened. “She’s just been through a lot. I know you used to be sweet on her, so when you said…” she gestured, waving it away. “Forget it.”

Dean nodded, accepting the apology. He could probably have put it more clearly.

The sleeping arrangements at Bobby’s had always been casual. There were three bedrooms, but two of them were full of boxes, books, ammo and other esoteric paraphernalia. The third was where Bobby slept. When Dean and Sam stayed over, they usually just tossed a blanket and pillow on the nearest clear patch of floor. But Sam’s detox meant they had to stay longer than just overnight so they figured out a new deal.

In the first week after Maryland, Dean and Bobby cleared the boxes and junk out of one of the bedrooms. They tossed out the stuff Bobby decided he could spare, found a place to store the rest and found a king sized wooden bed frame, in pieces, at the back of the room. Dean put the bed back together and Bobby drove to a nearby flea market where he bought a used mattress. That became Dean’s room. When Lenore’s cure left Sam unconscious, Dean put Sam in his bed and went back to sleeping on the floor or in an armchair.

Tonight, after he heard Jo’s story, Dean knew she wouldn’t feel safe sleeping in the trailer with her mom. He’d offered her the room without mentioning it was his. She might have guessed, but she didn’t ask. As soon as Lenore left, Dean would show her the panic room below; she might want to sleep there instead. They would need to figure something out so all of them could sleep at night. Dean didn’t have the patience for babysitting.

But tonight, he was happy to give up his bed; he couldn’t sleep with Sam gone anyhow. Ellen glanced around the kitchen. Dean saw her eyes linger on the kettle and guessed what she was looking for.

“There’s a coffee press in the second cupboard,” he told her, “but there’s no ground coffee. Freeze dried only around here.”

Ellen grimaced. “Sounds like Bobby.” She set the kettle to boil. “So, why aren’t you sleeping? Is it Sam?”

Dean leaned back against the kitchen counter. “How much do you know?” her asked her warily.

Ellen gave him a shrewd look. “I’ve heard a lot. Can’t all be true. What I know is nothing. Bobby only told me Sam’s been ill.” She opened cupboards as she spoke, looking for mugs.

“He’s better now,” Dean answered.

“Still, he’s got to be weakened. And he’s off with that vampire.”

Dean made a dismissive gesture. “I am worried about Sam,” he admitted, “but Lenore isn’t the trouble. She won’t hurt him.”

Ellen set out a mug for herself and held up another to Dean, silently asking if he wanted coffee. Dean smiled an affirmative and Ellen spooned freeze-dried coffee into both mugs. “She’s the one you busted Gordon Walker’s ass over, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Do you really believe she’s one of the good guys?”

Dean laughed. “Hell, no! Ellen, I ain’t stupid.”

She stared at him. “Then what am I missing?”

Dean pushed away from the counter. “Lenore isn’t on the human-free diet because she suddenly grew a conscience. She does it because it keeps hunters off her back.”

“Somehow that’s not reassuring.”

Dean nodded. “The thing a lot of hunters don’t get about vampires is they have this…pack instinct. They call it ‘family’ but it’s like their bloodlust: built in. It’s need, not love, but they think it’s love and that’s good enough.” Dean’s eyes were cold, his voice emotionless. “Ellen, when I asked Lenore to help Sam, I made sure I picked her up from her home. I know where her nest is. If she hurts Sam, I’ll kill everyone she loves and her last. She knows it. That’s why I trust her.”

Ellen met his eyes. “You have changed.”

Yeah, a trip to Hell will do that to a man, Dean thought. What he said aloud was, “We all have, Ellen.”

She handed him a mug of black coffee. “True,” she said sadly.

She was thinking of Jo again, Dean guessed. He thanked her for the coffee and took a sip. It was too hot and burned his tongue. He set the mug down to let it cool.

“How…” Ellen began. She swallowed some coffee and tried again. “Did Jo sleep okay?”

“I didn’t sleep with her, Ellen.”

“I believe you. I meant has she been quiet? Stayed in bed?”

The question told Dean a lot about what Ellen had been through with Jo. “As far as I know,” he answered. No nightmares, was what he meant. “She – uh – she seems to be handling it,” he added.

Ellen’s eyes narrowed. “How much did she tell you?”

“Enough. She told me about the demons. No details, but I got the picture.”

“She didn’t tell you about Chicago, then?”

“No. I didn’t ask. Not my business.” The words came out more curtly than Dean intended. “Jo can tell me when she’s ready. If she wants to.” That was better. “Sam should be back by now,” Dean announced to change the subject. “I’m gonna call him.”

Dean picked up his coffee mug and left Ellen alone in the kitchen while he went to phone Sam.

~*~

“Can you handle the sun?” Sam asked worriedly. He knew Lenore wouldn’t burn up in the light like vampires in the movies, but he still felt guilty. If he’d kept control of himself they could be back at Bobby’s by now. Instead, Lenore had to face the dawn.

Lenore kept her back to the rising sun. “I can handle it,” she answered. “It’s painful, but I’ll be okay.” She reached for the Impala’s door.

“Get in the back,” Sam suggested. “There’s a blanket on the seat. You can cover yourself with it.”

Lenore smiled. “Thank you.” She climbed into the back seat.

Sam slid in behind the wheel and found his phone ringing insistently on the dash. He answered it quickly. “Hello?”

“Sam? Where are you? What’s taking so long?”

Sam couldn’t explain he’d had some kind of emotional breakdown. Not over the phone. “I’ll explain when we get back,” he evaded. “I think we’re about an hour away if I floor it.” He hesitated then, wondering why Dean was calling, added, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just planning today’s training is all.”

Sam grinned. “What do you have in mind?”

“Oh, I won’t spoil the surprise,” Dean said and Sam knew he was grinning.

“Fine. I’ll see you in an hour.”

“See ya, Sammy.”

~*~

“…meteorologists described as a freak tornado which left a trail of destruction across Oklahoma this morning. Early estimates suggest up to four hundred people may have died in the disaster. In other news…”

Bobby snapped off the radio with a snarl.

Ellen stood abruptly and walked across to the window, gazing out.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked. He got it: the tornado was just the latest in a series of seemingly natural disasters that were anything but natural. But that didn’t explain this reaction.

“When did you last hear from her?” Ellen asked, still with her back to the room.

Dean stared at Bobby. His expression was grim. “A while,” he answered curtly.

“You both know someone in Perry?” Dean guessed.

Ellen nodded. “Hannah Lake.”

“She’s…an old friend,” Bobby added.

Meaning, Dean assumed, that she was a hunter, or at least someone who helped hunters. But Bobby’s grim expression told a different story. Dean knew the old man well enough that he could tell Bobby was struggling not to show his feelings. This Hannah meant something to him. An old girlfriend?

“I’m sorry,” Dean said quietly.

Bobby was already dialling the phone. He held it to his ear for a moment then slammed the receiver down, swearing. “Line’s down,” he explained unnecessarily. He rose to his feet, but then stood there are if he’d forgotten what he was about to do.

Dean had never seen his friend so indecisive.

Finally, Bobby strode toward the stairs. “I’ve got to go out there,” he announced as he left the room.

Dean found Ellen’s hand on his arm. “Let him go,” she ordered. Her eyes warned of dire consequences if Dean disobeyed her. He nodded and returned to his seat. A moment later, he switched the radio back on and re-tuned it to a music channel. No one spoke.

Jo was curled up in her usual chair, one of Bobby’s books resting on her thighs. Occasionally she turned the pages, but Dean wasn’t convinced she was reading.

Sam was in the next room, either whacking off with the computer or sleeping off the morning’s training. Dean didn’t know. Sam was getting stronger, but he wasn’t there yet. Dean was beginning to wonder if he would ever get his brother back completely.

It was no surprise when Bobby reappeared with a bag slung over his shoulder. Dean stood, ignoring Ellen’s signal this time. “We’ll come with you,” he offered.

Bobby hesitated, but then shook his head. “No. Sam’s not recovered yet.”

“Then I’ll come.”

“Whatever happened in Perry, it’s most likely over. I’m just going to check up on her.”

“You don’t know that it’s over, Bobby. What if you walk into the middle of…I don’t know. Some shitstorm.”

Bobby scowled. “You think I can’t handle a hunt, boy?”

Uh-oh. Dean knew that tone. He held up both hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay.”

“If I’m gonna be longer than a week, I’ll call.” Bobby headed for the door.

Dean let him go. Moments later they heard Bobby’s car roar out of the junkyard.

Ellen glared at Dean. “Don’t you dare quiz him about this, Dean.”

Dean returned her look steadily. He couldn’t give her the promise she wanted. “We can’t keep secrets. None of us. Bobby knows that.”

“Now, you listen to me…”

“Dean’s right.” Sam’s voice came from the doorway. He stood there, holding the doorframe for support. Dean hated to see him so weak. “Ellen,” Sam went on, his voice quiet but determined, “when we escaped from Ilchester and came back here, we all agreed. Bobby too. The secrets we all thought we had a right to keep got us into this mess.”

Ellen’s eyes narrowed. “He didn’t agree to share this.”

“That’s not your call,” Sam said firmly.

Ellen met Sam’s eyes for a moment longer, then nodded. “Hannah’s his sister in law. You boys know Bobby was married once, right?”

Dean moved to Sam’s side. “We know. And we know what happened to her. Probably not everything, but…” he shrugged.

“I’m not sure what lies Bobby told the cops, but Hannah never believed it. She thinks he killed Karen. Bobby gave up trying to reconcile a long time ago, but  he still keeps an eye on her, from a distance. If he heard of anything happening near her place he’d call me. I’d make sure it got checked out.”

The way Dad always kept an eye on Sam while he was at Stanford. Dean nodded, understanding. “Thanks, Ellen. We’ll keep it to ourselves.”

~*~

Sam and Dean spent the next morning training as usual: running through the junkyard, using the cars an improvised obstacle course. It was hard work for Dean; for Sam it was exhausting. When they stopped for lunch he was so tired he could barely eat and after the meal he went up to the bed Jo had slept in and fell asleep at once.

Dean, who hadn’t slept at all the night before, decided to join him.

It was late in the day when he woke. While they slept, they had come together in the bed they were sharing. When Dean woke, it was to find Sam half on top of him, one of his legs between Dean’s. Dean tried to wriggle out from under Sam without disturbing him, but he was trapped. He pushed at Sam’s shoulders.

“Dude, let me up,” he groaned.

Sam stirred and, half-awake, he shifted above Dean. The movement made Dean uncomfortably aware of his brother’s warm body and his breath gusting past Dean’s cheek. Dean shoved Sam away more insistently. “Sam! Get off me!”

This time Sam heard him. He raised himself up on his elbows and met Dean’s eyes sleepily. “Dean?”

“Get off me!”

“Oh. Uh. Sorry.” Sam rolled onto his back, dragging most of the covers with him.

Dean moved away from him. “How are you feelin’?”

Sam frowned. “Okay, I guess.” He sat up and rubbed his shoulder. “I still ache,” he admitted, “but it’s better.”

“Good to know.” Dean pulled his jeans on, turning his back on Sam.

Sam reached for the shirt he’d discarded for sleep. “Lenore’s healed from the poison. We should take her home tonight.”

Dean frowned, twisting around to look at Sam. He narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Did something happen between you two?” he asked. Sam was trying just a bit too hard.

Sam opened his mouth to issue a denial, but stopped. He sighed, his shoulders slumping a little. “Yeah. Kind of.”

Dean thought about how late they returned from Lenore’s hunting trip. “Tell me you didn’t screw her! Geez, Sam, what is it with you and evil chicks?”

Sam looked defiant. “I didn’t have sex with her,” he said, his hand straying to the bite mark on his neck. He sighed again. “There’s something Lenore didn’t tell us when she agreed to help me,” Sam began. He explained, as briefly as he could, what Lenore had told him about the mark.

Damn. I knew the bitch was hiding something. “So what? She can fuck you over now?”

“She says not. I think it’s okay.”

“You believe her?”

Sam was halfway through buttoning his shirt. He stopped and looked at Dean. “Honestly? I’m not sure. I don’t think she lied. She might have left something out.”

“We’re taking her home today,” Dean said decisively. “I want the bitch out of here.” He was pissed. He’d had enough of monsters trying to claim his brother.

Sam finished dressing and sat down on the bed again. “We need to get back out there, Dean.”

Dean shook his head firmly. “You’re not ready, Sam.”

“What’s happening out there won’t wait for us. And we’re both partly responsible.”

“Yeah,  you’re right. But I don’t care. Something comes for us – we’ll deal. Until then, we’re doing this my way, Sam. That means training until you’re ready and we have a real plan.” Then he grinned. “You know, when we take her home, we’ll have to pass close by the wood where we trained when we were kids,” he suggested.

“Geez. You really are turning into Dad.”

“Are you up for it?” Dean pressed.

Sam smiled back. “Yeah. Why not?”

~*~

In the end, there were four of them on the overnight drive. Lenore seemed as keen to leave as Sam was to get rid of her. It made Dean wonder if Sam was telling him everything. There was nothing for her to pack: Lenore came with only the clothes on her back.

Jo was in the room when Dean explained to Ellen that they wouldn’t be back for a day or two. When she heard Dean say they were going to do some training she asked if she could come.

Dean could tell she was serious. Jo had been in the corner of Bobby’s library when they came down after their nap, engrossed in one of the many books. She was looking for something. She’d been asking about ways to kill demons, Dean remembered, but she wouldn’t find that in Bobby’s books. There was the legendary Colt, which Bela Talbot stole from them…on Lilith’s orders, Dean suspected. There was Ruby’s knife, which remained in Dean’s possession. There was the spell Ruby tried to talk them into using once, but that definitely wasn’t in the books and Dean didn’t picture Jo sacrificing virgins. And there was whatever the hell Sam had been doing when he was hopped up on demon blood. That was it.

On top of that, she wanted to join them training. Jo had some kind of half-assed plan, Dean was sure. Was it better to say yes and keep an eye on her, or say no and hope she’d stay here out of trouble? He thought about her showing up in Philadelphia after everyone told her not to. He glanced at Sam, silently asking his opinion.

“If we’re going to the wood, it would be better to have a third,” Sam suggested.

“Good,” Jo announced. “Then I’m coming.”

Even with a vampire and Jo Harvelle in the back seat, it was good to be back on the road with Sam at his side again. Dean revved the engine hard, turned the music up loud and grinned at his brother as they headed away from Bobby’s place.

~*~

Lenore’s home was not unlike the place she was living when they first met: an isolated farmstead in a rural area, miles away from the nearest town. Sam walked with her to the door, wanting a last, private word. Dean and Jo remained in the Impala.

“Thank you, Lenore.” Sam took her hand as they reached the gabled door of the farmhouse.

Lenore squeezed his hand in reply. “You don’t have to thank me, Sam. I was glad to help.”

“I won’t forget it,” Sam promised.

Her smile faded a little. “Sam, about last night…”

“I’m sorry about that,” Sam muttered, embarrassed. He started out kissing her and ended by throwing up. Even if she had to know it wasn’t her, it was a pretty poor start to a relationship.

Lenore seemed to read his thoughts. “I’m not insulted. I just want to say that…well. I told you that the mark doesn’t have to mean anything between us. But it could…if you want it to.”

Sam shook his head. “Thanks, but I plan on dying human.”

“I respect that. I just mean you can have a place here. If you need it.”

Sam drew back, several things becoming clear with her words. “That’s why you came, isn’t it?” he accused. “You want a hunter with you. Why?” But even as the words left his mouth, Sam knew. When Hell rises…we’ll all die, she had told him. “Protection. Not from other hunters. From Lucifer.”

Lenore looked down; it was as good as a confession. When she met Sam’s eyes again, her look was defiant. “Do you blame me?”

“I don’t like being manipulated, Lenore. I’ve had as much of that as I can take in the past few years. You need something from me? Be honest. I owe you my life, but if you lie to me again, I will leave you to burn.”

~*~

Five: If You Go Down To The Woods Today…

In Seattle, an outbreak of swine flu took a serious turn, with over twenty fatalities in one hospital. By the time the CDC took control, over a hundred of the hospital staff were reporting symptoms. By the end of the week, there was serious talk of quarantining the city, but by then it was too late.

What later became known as Seattle Flu spread quickly to neighbouring Auburn and Tacoma. Within days, the first suspected case was reported in Portland. By the end of the week, there were confirmed cases in Vancouver, San Francisco, New York and Washington D.C.

The Seattle Flu reached Rockford, Illinois a month after the initial outbreak, courtesy of a grad. student from NYU who flew home to visit his parents. Kat Grantham, who kept a shotgun loaded with salt under her bed since her encounter with the ghosts of the old Roosevelt Asylum, became infected three days later. She was one of the few who survived the outbreak, but she lived to bury her parents and both of her brothers as the disease swept through her hometown.

There were a lot of dead to take care of in Rockford, so the the funerals were very hurried. After her family was buried, Kat took the contents of her father’s bank account and her own – almost $6,000 in total – filled her car with her possessions and drove out of town. She hit the I80 out of state and just kept going.

~*~

“I don’t get it,” Jo said. “What are we hunting?”

Dean grinned. “Me.”

Sam saw Jo’s look turn wary. “It’s a training exercise our Dad used to make us do. We’d take turns being the prey.”

Dean was stacking branches over the Impala. The job almost complete, he turned to face the others. “There are four rules,” he announced, for Jo’s benefit. “One: you can take anything you think you’ll need from the car, but once we start you can’t come back for anything. Two: everyone has to be back here two hours before dark. That’s eight twenty, but if I haven’t been caught the game is still on until we’re all here.”

“Meaning,” Sam interrupted, “that Dean has to be last back if he’s gonna win.” He winked at Jo.

Dean gave him a dirty look. “Oh, I’m gonna win, princess. Three: I get twenty minutes head start. Four: the winner picks the prize.” He smiled at Jo. “You and Sam can work together and share the prize or make it a three-way contest. Your call.”

“Jo,” Sam asked, “is your cell phone working out here?”

She checked it. “I’ve only got one bar, but it’s working.”

“Call if you get into trouble. All of us. This is just training. No one should get hurt.”

Dean nodded his agreement. “You both ready?”

“Ready.” They spoke together.

Dean threw the Impala’s keys to Sam. “Start the clock.” He took off at a run before Sam had even caught the keys.

Sam turned to the trunk quickly. “It’s best to travel light, Jo. Grab what you think you’ll need.” He reached for a coil of rope.

“Dean didn’t take anything,” Jo commented, opening her backpack and starting to look through the haphazard gear in the trunk.

“Of course he did,” Sam disagreed. “Didn’t you notice what he was wearing?”

“But he didn’t take a pack or – ”

“Dean didn’t want us to see, that’s all.” Sam added bottled water to his pack and a handful of Hershey bars for energy. Then he stopped, considering what Jo had said.

Dean had been wearing his black jacket rather than his favourite leather coat. The jacket was bulky and could conceal a lot, and Dean was a master at concealing his weapons. But Jo was right. Dean couldn’t have hidden water under that jacket, not if he’d packed an adequate supply. Sam grinned at her. “Or maybe he’s planning to double back. What do you think?”

“He said we can’t do that.”

“Yeah. About those rules,” Sam shrugged. “Dean left out rule 5: anything goes as long as we’re back before dark. Dad never sweated the rules. Dean won’t either. So what do you think?”

Jo considered. “I agree, he might be planning to double back. But we can’t wait around and hope. We’ll lose the trail.”

Sam nodded. “Either we split up and one of us stays close to the car…”

“No. I’m not babysitting the car! I came out here for training.”

“Then we follow Dean’s trail and stay alert for misdirection.” Sam zipped up the pack and swung it onto his back. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Jo agreed. She hoisted her own backpack onto her shoulders and led the way into the woods.

~*~

Dean watched them go from his hiding place in the undergrowth. They hadn’t waited twenty minutes, but then, he hadn’t really expected them to. He estimated he had five minutes, max, before Sam figured out what he’d done. He ran to the Impala and pulled out the supplies he’d prepared earlier. Rather than a backpack, Dean used a canvas duffel he could carry with the strap across his torso. Inside he had a couple of knives, shotgun, ammo, rope, water, food and a basic medkit. The medkit was an old habit: he didn’t expect to need it.

He checked the trail to see which way Sam and Jo had gone then took off in a different direction. Dean was careful to leave as little trail as possible at first, but before long the undergrowth was so thick he stopped trying: the only way he could conceal his trail was to fly, or maybe swing tree-to-tree like Tarzan. But he didn’t see any vines around.

The path Dean followed was not exactly familiar, but he did have a destination in mind. The wood was approximately circular on a map, but that was misleading. From where they had left the Impala, the ground sloped upward quite sharply. If you kept going up, you’d eventually reach a place where the side of the hill had broken away, perhaps in some long-ago earthquake. The cliff-face was full of small caves, but getting to them required at least a rope and safety equipment. Dean planned on leaving a trail most of the way to the top, then heading down a steep, but safer rock pathway toward the base of the cliff. From there he could circle back toward the car while Sam and Jo wasted their time searching the caves.

At least, that was Dean’s plan.

It all changed about halfway up the hill. Dean had been following a natural pathway that might have been a game trail. There was wildlife in the wood: small animals like rabbits and mice and larger game like deer. Dean had never seen large predators here but even a city-boy like him knew that where there’s game, there are animals that feed on game. Coyotes or wolves, maybe even bears. There could be human hunters, too – not his kind of hunter but locals after sport or a free meal.

So when Dean first saw the thing caught in what looked like a bear-trap, he wasn’t too surprised. What he saw was a mass of raw flesh, one leg outstretched and trapped in the metal jaws. Dean figured it was dead before the smell hit him. It didn’t smell like rotten meat, but it seemed familiar in a disgusting kind of way. The familiarity of the stench made him look again.

Oh, God, it was human! Dean moved closer. He could make out the shape more clearly: a naked, human-shaped figure. Naked? Out here? That was weird enough that he had to look more closely. Dean covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve, trying to block out that awful smell, and took a step closer.

And the thing moved.

It stretched out a bloody hand toward him and Dean saw eyes, a face filled with pain, distorted. He couldn’t tell if it was young or old, male or female, but it seemed human.

“Help me,” it rasped.

Dean thought he’d seen the worst things imaginable in Hell, but this came damned close. He moved closer still, sliding down into the gully, his only thought to answer that plea for help.

Then he stopped, finally remembering where he’d smelled something like this before. He knew what this thing was now…and it was definitely not human.

~*~

When Dean called, Sam knew at once that something must be very wrong. Dean wouldn’t call in the middle of this game unless he was in trouble. Dean’s first words only confirmed Sam’s fear.

“Game over, Sam.”

“What’s wrong?” Sam demanded urgently. “Where are you?”

“I’m okay, Sam, but I’ve found something. You need to see this. Which way did you go? Straight up the hill?”

“More or less,” Sam admitted.

“You suck at tracking, dude! Go back to my car. Bring the large medkit and silver bullets.”

“Silver? What the hell?”

“Yeah. Silver. Take the left slope then follow the path above the gully.”

Sam wanted to ask more, but he signalled to Jo. “We’re on our way. Sure you’re okay?”

“I’m not hurt. But someone – something – else is.” Dean ended the call without explaining further.

But he’d said enough. Dean asked for silver: that meant some kind of shape-shifter. He’d found something hurt. It was unlikely to be a werewolf, since it was daylight. There were other shape-shifting creatures…what Dean had found was anybody’s guess.

Sam repeated Dean’s words to Jo as they headed back to the Impala.

~*~

The smell told Sam what they would find before they saw it. He knew that smell. Shape-shifter. The human kind. He looked at Dean, a hundred or more questions on the tip of his tongue.

Before he could ask even one, Jo shoved past him and jumped into the gully. “It’s alive!” she called. “Help me!” She dropped her pack as she ran toward it and crouched beside the cruel trap, drawing her knife.

“Jo! Don’t!” Dean shouted.

She looked up, her eyes flashing angrily. “He’s hurt. How could you leave him like this?”

“Sweetheart, that ain’t a he,” Dean objected.

She gave him an exasperated look. “We’re hunters. I get that. But that’s no excuse to torture a helpless…person.”

“It’s not a person, either.” Dean strode toward her. “And when I decide to torture something, I’ll be a lot more creative than this. Trust me.”

“Yeah, you’re badass,” Jo said dismissively. “We can talk about relative ethics later. Help me. Now!”

Sam watched Dean jump to obey and wondered why he hadn’t tried to free the ’shifter sooner. Did Dean ask for silver bullets because he meant to kill it? Then why request the medkit, too? He stared at Dean, a horrible thought crossing his mind. They’d dealt with shape-shifters before…could he be sure Dean was himself? But this scene made no sense as a deception or a trap. Why would a ’shifter call a pair of hunters for help when one of them was clearly vulnerable?

Dean hesitated when he got close to the trap, but at a glance from Jo he knelt down. He took the two sides of the trap in his hands.

“Wait a second,” Dean said, sitting back on his heels. He stripped off his coat, then his shirt. He wrapped the shirt around one hand and reached for the trap again.

Sam moved forward, pulling off his own jacket. He shook it out and laid it across the ’shifter’s body. If they were going to help, there was no sense in doing it halfway.

Dean pushed apart the teeth of the trap, his muscles bunching with the effort. His expression was simple disgust. The shape-shifter whimpered as Jo lifted its leg out of the trap. Its eyes rolled upward toward Sam’s face. It was hard to hate something in so much obvious pain. Sam found himself reaching for his water bottle. He unscrewed the cap and held the bottle to the ’shifter’s lips.

To change shape, ’shifters literally shed their skin, ripped it from their bodies to reveal the new shape beneath. It looked to Sam as if this one had been stopped mid-shift. Strips of its discarded skin lay all around, the source of the horrible stench, but instead of fresh, clean skin underneath its body was torn, the raw edges of wounds still bloody. Sam would have understood what he was seeing if the trap were silver, but it seemed to be regular steel.

“Thank you,” the ’shifter whispered as Sam withdrew the bottle.

“The leg is broken,” Jo announced. Her fingers moved across the skin; she seemed to know what she was doing. “It’s a complete break. I don’t know if I have the strength to set it.” She looked at Dean expectantly.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. They each knew more than basic first aid and in a pinch they could both improvise, trying things they’d really only learned from TV, but Sam had never tried to set a leg this badly broken. He wasn’t sure about Dean, but even if Dean knew how, would he volunteer? For a shape-shifter? Dean hated those things, and with good reason.

Dean shrugged. “I guess the ER isn’t an option. We’ll need something for splints.”

Jo nodded, a little pale. “I’ll cut some wood,” she offered, drawing her knife.

Sam met Dean’s eyes questioningly. Was Dean trying to impress Jo? Why was he willing to help?

Dean gave a small shake of his head: he would explain later, the gesture said.

Okay then. Sam looked down at their patient. “I think we should get you onto your back,” he suggested, making his tone gentle. “Can you move?”

The injured ’shifter tried. It moved weakly. Sam didn’t want to put his hands on the thing but in the end he swallowed back his revulsion and helped it roll over. He couldn’t help noticing that the naked creature had no visible sex organs. He couldn’t tell whether that was because it hadn’t fully shifted or because that was its natural form…if a word like “natural” could ever apply to a creature like this.

Then Sam remembered what the shape-shifter in St. Louis had told Becky. They believed they were a mutation from humans, perhaps even an evolution. Though he had lived with the supernatural all his life, Sam understood evolutionary biology and he thought it was at least possible. That was a disturbing thought. He moved his coat again to cover the ’shifter’s body.

“We’re trying to help you,” Sam said, looking down into the creature’s liquid dark eyes, “but this will hurt like hell.” He looked around for something to place between the ’shifter’s teeth, but saw nothing. He drew Ruby’s knife from his boot. “Here, bite down on this.” He offered the hilt.

“Can’t,” it rasped.

“Sam, make it fast,” Dean urged.

Sam knew he was about to lose his nerve and nodded. “Then take my hand,” he offered reluctantly. The ’shifter obeyed, its fingers curling around Sam’s. Sam nodded to Dean.

Dean nodded back grimly. He winced as he felt his way around the break with this fingers. The injury was clearly visible: both bones in the lower leg were broken above the ankle, the leg bent in a place it shouldn’t bend. There were puncture wounds around the break from the teeth of the bear trap. Dean grasped the ’shifter’s foot with both hands, one hand at the heel, the other above the toes. “Slow and steady,” he muttered to himself, then began to pull.

The ’shifter gripped Sam’s hand and screamed. Had it been stronger it would have tried to get away. As it was, the ’shifter writhed, unable to keep still. Dean’s hands slipped. Sam felt the ’shifter’s reaction.

“Keep it still, Sam!” Dean demanded, the strain evident in his voice.

Sam leaned over, using his free hand to hold the ’shifter down. Immediately he understood Dean’s dislike of touching it. The flesh under his hand felt…squidgy. Really gross. He pulled a face and glanced up at Dean just as Dean released the limb he held, laying it down carefully. Dean ran his fingers over the leg once more.

“It’s straight…I think it’s set right.”

“It looks right,” Sam agreed, relieved to be able to get his hands off the ’shifter. He rubbed his hands on his pants.

“Can’t believe we’re even doing this,” Dean muttered. He looked around for Jo. She was there, at the top of the gully, watching them. Her face was pale, her eyes a little too wide as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

Jo recovered quickly, though. She held up the wood she carried and jumped down into the gully. “I have splints.”

Dean took the wood from her. “Jo, can you find your way back to my car? And find us again?”

She frowned. “I think so.”

“Be sure.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I’m sure.”

“There are some canvas sheets under the back seat. We’ll need them all. Blankets, a little gasoline and…there’s a sealed tobacco tin in the trunk, right at the back. Says ‘Finest Cuban’. Bring that, too.”

“You sure, Dean?” Sam asked, startled. The tin contained a small supply of morphine. They kept it on hand in case of emergencies but their painkiller of choice, if over-the-counter meds wouldn’t do, had always been alcohol.

“I think he needs it, Sam.” Dean nodded toward the ’shifter. It lay on its back whimpering softly.

Sam tossed the keys to Jo.

~*~

A few hours later, they had a half-decent camp. Sam and Dean carried the ’shifter out of the gully, none of them willing to remain among all that stench. They cleared a space at the top of the gully, dug a pit for a fire and, when Jo returned, divided up the blankets and canvas. It was a long time since they’d slept rough like this, out in the open air. The last time, Sam realised, was at Blackwater Ridge when they hunted that wendigo.

The shape-shifter seemed much improved. An old pair of Dean’s sweats covered the set and splinted leg. They had given him a shot of the morphine for the pain. Food and drink had made a difference, too. He – Sam found he thought of it as a he – still looked like an axe-murder victim because Dean had told him if he shifted he’d get a silver bullet, but he was sitting up and able to talk, though he didn’t have a lot to say.

Sam added more wood to the fire. He didn’t know how much the temperature might fall during the night. The fire might be needed.

Jo dumped an armful of wood next to Sam then sat down beside the ’shifter. “You got a name?” she asked.

He looked surprised. “I’m Ten.”

“I’m Jo.” She offered her hand. “Ten? As in the number?”

Ten took her hand briefly. “It’s a dumb nickname. My real name is Moore but no one calls me that. Dudley Moore starred in Ten. The movie.”

“What are you doing here?” Jo asked. “This isn’t a place most people come alone.”

Ten looked down, silent. “I was…walking,” he said eventually. “Alone.”

Sam met his brother’s eyes and saw Dean thinking the same thing he was. That was a lie. Just what was a ’shifter doing in these woods? They both turned to Jo and Ten.

“Why?” Dean demanded.

Ten shook his head. “You’re hunters.”

“Not that kind.” Dean jerked his head, indicating the bear trap down in the gully.

“You threatened me with silver. I know what kind of hunter y’all are.” Ten looked up at Dean. “Am I a prisoner?”

Dean stalked toward him and crouched down. “Now why would we want to keep you prisoner?”

Ten started to say something, stopped and tried again. “You’re hunters.”

“We’re not murderers,” Jo said gently, “but we need to know why you are here.”

Ten turned to Jo. “Can I ask a question before I answer that one?” When Jo nodded, he asked, “Do you kill people like me?”

Jo answered at once, “I never have.” She looked at Dean.

“We have,” he said bluntly. “Three, so far.”

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

“Because you haven’t done anything to deserve it. As far as we know. But trust me, if I find out you need killing, I will do it.”

Ten shuddered. “Some humans do terrible things,” he said. “But you don’t hate all of them because a few are evil.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean scoffed. “I bet you’re Mother Theresa.”

“I never killed anyone. We just want to live like normal people.”

“Normal?” Dean repeated derisively.

“We?” Sam said at the same time.

Ten would only look at Jo. “My family. There were twelve of us. Now there’s just five. We came here to hide.”

“Hide from whom, Ten?” Jo asked, her voice gentle, coaxing. “Hunters?”

“Demons.”

A smile flashed across Dean’s face, quickly stifled. “Demons killing ’shifters?” he said approvingly.

“That fits with what Lenore told us,” Sam commented. “She said that Lu- that he would go after supernatural creatures.”

“So, there are other shape-shifters here?” Jo pressed. “In the wood?”

Ten nodded, clearly reluctantly. “We have…a place.”

“In the caves,” Dean said. It wasn’t a question. “You may as well tell us. You won’t get back there without help.”

Ten nodded again. “Yes. In the caves.”

Dean looked at Sam, who shrugged. Your call. He wouldn’t tell Dean what they should do. Not when ’shifters were involved.

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam’s indecision. “Let’s all get some rest,” he suggested eventually. “When it’s light, we’ll see if we can get you back to…your friends.”

~*~

Dean took first watch, sitting back from the fire with his shotgun across his lap. It was boring, but he wouldn’t sleep well knowing a pack of ’shifters was out there and with no one on watch.

Not long before Dean intended to wake Sam, he saw Jo stir and, a few minutes later, get up. Jo hadn’t slept well: Dean had been aware of her tossing and turning all the time he’d been watching. Perhaps she just wasn’t used to sleeping this rough. Or perhaps it was more than that: he remembered Ellen’s concern and understood Jo hadn’t been sleeping well for a long time. Jo stood up, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders. She knelt beside their banked fire.

“Cold?” Dean called softly.

Jo looked his way, her face in shadow. “Yeah. And if you dare say I’m soft – ”

“Why do you always assume I’m going to insult you?”

Jo actually thought about it. “I guess because you did before. That schoolgirl crack really hurt me.”

Dean frowned. He had never in his life called her a schoolgirl. “Jo, that was a demon lying to you.”

“But you were thinking it, even if you never said it to my face,” she accused.

Dean couldn’t deny it, though he would never have said it in such cruel terms. He had thought she was too young, and too untrained to be a hunter. He got up and crossed to the fire, crouching down beside her. “Jo, I’m not going to apologise for thinking you weren’t prepared for this life. But that was then. I wouldn’t have let you come training with us if I thought you couldn’t hack it.”

His words were meant to be reassuring, but Jo flared up as if he’d insulted her…again. “I grew up around hunters, Dean. I – ”

“I get it,” Dean interrupted.

She was holding her hands out toward the fire, warming them.

“Jo, if you’re cold, we could sleep together,” Dean suggested.

She jerked her hands back from the fire and stared at him.

“I didn’t mean that,” he protested. “I mean, you’re cold. Body heat will help. You’re safe with me, I swear.”

“Aren’t you on watch?” she asked sceptically.

“I was just about to wake Sam. C’mon, Jo. You need to rest.”

She nodded, rubbing her hands together. “Okay.”

After Dean woke Sam and passed him the shotgun, he and Jo lay down together on bedding still slightly warm from Sam’s body. Sharing the bed meant they had an extra blanket, too. Jo took a while to relax, but eventually she lay against Dean’s side and allowed him to hold her.

It felt good to hold her. It felt good to lie down with another human being so close, her body warm against his. Dean did not intend to make a move on her. If he had any interest in Jo, a forest gully with Sam watching them would not have been his choice of venue. Even so, he caught himself stroking her hair. Jo sighed sleepily and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Dean?” she whispered.

“Mm?”

“What did you say earlier about vampires?”

Dean had been drifting off to sleep; her question brought him back to wakefulness. Vampires…had they been talking about vampires?

“Something about the apocalypse?” Jo prompted.

“Oh, that. According to Lenore, Lucifer hunted down the other supernatural creatures last time he was free. She thinks the same thing will happen again.”

“You believe her?”

“I don’t think she had any reason to lie. It fits with the ’shifters being here, too.”

“Do we care? I mean…”

“They’re monsters, Jo. I’d wipe them all out myself if I could so I don’t care what kills ’em. Except for one thing.”

“What?”

“You’re a hunter, Jo. Can’t you figure it out?”

She groaned. “I’m too tired to think. Clue me in.”

“They’re more dangerous when they’re being hunted. If Lenore’s right, I think we’ve got a lot more than demons to worry about.”

“Shit. Dean, what’s the good news?”

He smiled in the darkness. “There’s two hours until dawn. Get some sleep, honey.”

Jo pulled a little away from him. “Honey?” she repeated. She sounded like she’d caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Go to sleep, Jo.”

~*~

Dean tried to get up without disturbing the woman in his arms. Jo mumbled something in her sleep and rolled onto her side. He extricated himself from the blankets and headed for Sam and the ’shifter. They were arguing. Only in whispers, but it sounded like a serious fight. It had been going on long enough to wake Dean up.

“What’s the deal?” Dean demanded.

Sam turned to Dean. “He wants to shift into one of us.”

“No freaking way!” Dean’s response was automatic.

“I don’t want to shift,” Ten protested. “I have to. I can’t hold one shape forever. Shifting will help my leg heal faster, too.”

“So shift. That doesn’t explain why you want to steal Sam’s face or mine.”

“It’s easier if I have a model.” Ten gestured to his own face, which bore the scars of his injuries. “Look what happened last time I tried to shift without one. Or did you think I wanted to look like Freddy Kreuger’s uglier brother?”

But Dean was adamant. “I know how your shifting works. You have some kind of psychic connection to the people you pretend to be.”

The ’shifter nodded.

“So no way in hell am I letting you into my head. Sam?”

“Same here,” Sam agreed.

“God, I never knew you were such a pair of wusses!” Jo called.

Both men turned to see her walking toward them.

“Jo, it’s not – ” Sam started to protest.

“If you don’t want to spend another night in these woods, we have to adopt him, kill him, or take him back to his people. I vote for door number three. Sam?”

Sam looked surprised. “Yeah. Number three,” he agreed.

“Dean?” Jo turned to him.

Dean shrugged. “Sure. Walking into a den of ’shifters is right there on my list of ten things to do before I die.” He started to turn away, then glanced back over his shoulder, raising a hand as if something just occurred to him. “Oh, wait. I already did that.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“Went into a den of ’shifters?” Jo asked.

“No. Died. Jo, are you nuts?”

“I just want to finish what we started. And if you can get past your stubbornness for long enough, I think they might know some things you’d find useful. What do you think?”

“I think we shouldn’t have messed with him in the first place.”

“You’re full of shit, Dean Winchester. If you really believed that, you wouldn’t have called Sam yesterday.”

She had a point, but Dean scowled. “Are you done?”

Jo turned to the ’shifter. “Isn’t there someone else you can become? Someone you know?”

Ten nodded. “Usually, yes, but that’s what I tried to do yesterday.”

“And it didn’t work,” Jo concluded for him. “I get it. What about a photograph?” Jo dug into her jeans pocket and produced a leather billfold. From it, she extracted a worn photograph. “This man, maybe?”

Ten glanced at the picture, but he didn’t look hopeful. “It’s too small, but…” he looked at Jo, “is this a man you know very well?”

Dean knew it was Ash in the picture when she answered, “He was a good friend. He died a few years ago.”

“Then, I could take his shape from your memory of him. I mean, if you will allow me.”

Jo took a step back. “I don’t want you in my head any more than they do.”

Ten nodded, bowing his head. “I understand. But if you think about him, really concentrate, I won’t see anything else. I only need to touch your mind for a moment. I promise you can trust me.”

Jo turned to Dean, her eyes appealing for help. Hey, sweetheart, you’re the one who called me a wuss. You make your own call on this one. He shrugged. She tried Sam, but he wouldn’t help her either. Finally, she looked back to Ten. “Alright. What do we have to do?”

“Just think about him, really hard. I’ll touch you for a moment.”

Jo nodded and closed her eyes.

She was an idiot to do this, but Dean wanted out of this wood, and they couldn’t go until Ten was taken care of. He watched Ten reach out and touch Jo’s cheek briefly with the tips of his fingers. Then he stepped back and touched his own face with the same hand.

Abruptly, Dean remembered how these things changed shape. He took Jo’s arm and turned her around so she wouldn’t see him. “You don’t want to watch this, Jo. Trust me.” He held both of her arms – lightly, no force involved – to keep her back to the ’shifter as it tore off its own skin.

But in his concern for Jo, Dean failed to appreciate just how much the sight would push all his own buttons. He couldn’t look away without showing Jo – and Sam – the great gaping hole in his psyche. Ripping off its skin might be natural for the ’shifter; for Dean it was a flashback to Hell, to the hundreds of souls he’d tortured in just this way. Memories he had repressed for a year with booze and iron will rose to the surface. The scent of the ’shifter’s discarded skin reached him, but what Dean smelled was blood and sulphur. He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat, gritted his teeth and tried harder than he ever had before to keep his expression neutral.

~*~

It was a relief to Sam when the change was over. He could see Dean struggling, and thought he understood why, and he could see Jo’s impatience. It was a big improvement for Ten, too. Jo’s mental image of Ash must have been very good: Ten was an almost perfect copy, right down to the small scars on his hands from welding and penknife-cuts. Only his voice, which was unchanged, broke the illusion that this was Ash standing before them.

Finally, they were able to set off. Ten was able to walk, but not without help. Sam ended up being his crutch as they climbed the hill toward the caves. Dean walked ahead while Jo brought up the rear. All three hunters were armed with silver.

The overall terrain of the wood was familiar to Sam, because he’d spent so much time training there as a kid. But childhood was a long time ago and he saw a lot that was unfamiliar. Left to nature, the  woodland was in a constant state of change.

Ten had told them there were five ’shifters in his family, so as they came close to the place, Sam expected to see some signs of habitation. But as they drew near to the caves, Sam began to suspect something was…off. What he remembered as an area of dense woodland had been cleared. There were stumps where trees had been cut down. One one side of the clearing stood a large pile of timber, neatly stacked. The open space, cleared of undergrowth, had grass shortened and flattened by the passage of many feet.

As he spied the clearing ahead, movement caught Sam’s eye and he turned toward it. “Dean!”

Dean stopped in his tracks and signalled to Jo to do the same.

Sam gripped Ten’s arm hard. “How many?” he demanded.

“Sam, what?” Jo asked. She sounded confused.

“Look around,” he told her tensely.

Dean and Jo both took notice and Sam, too, studied their surroundings more closely, still holding Ten’s arm with a bruising grip. He saw movement behind a thick tree trunk. A figure lurking in the branches above. Another in the shadows further away. Four…five…ten…twenty. More. And every single one of them was armed. Sam saw the glint of light on handguns; one dark figure carried an axe; he saw shotguns and rifles. Hell, he even spotted a bowman. He saw Dean pale slightly as he took in the same sights.

“You son of a bitch,” Dean muttered. He drew his gun.

“Dean,” Sam warned. Even with silver bullets, they were so outnumbered it felt unreal. Sam shook Ten’s arm roughly. “If this is a trap,” – Sam had no doubt it was exactly that – “you die first.”

“There is no need for that,” a woman’s voice said clearly. She emerged from behind the woodpile. The woman was a very striking figure. Had she not been a shape-shifter, Sam would have guessed she was part Native American, part African American and perhaps with some Polynesian ancestry, too. She had long, dark hair, dark skin and exotic features, perhaps not beautiful but not a face any man would soon forget. Of course, it wasn’t really her face. She kept her hands in the pockets of her long, grey coat as she walked toward them, making Sam wonder if she held a weapon there.

Sam met Dean’s eyes, silently telling him to take the lead on this. He waited for his brother’s answering nod before he drew his own gun. He clicked the safety off but held the gun at his side, pointed at the floor rather than aimed.

Dean stepped up to meet the woman. “We’re not lookin’ for trouble,” he announced.

Sam let out his breath. Knowing Dean’s hatred of shape-shifters, he’d half-expected Dean to gun her down.

“Neither are we.” The woman’s voice carried and she looked at Ten. “But we will defend our own.”

“We didn’t hurt him,” Dean objected. We found him caught in a bear trap.”

“One you and your companions set?” she asked archly.

“No.”

“Then release him.”

Dean looked around them pointedly. “And what then? We go in peace?”

The female ’shifter hesitated.

“Yeah,” Dean smiled without humour. “That’s what I thought.”

Sam tensed. This could get ugly.

“They helped me, Gita!” Ten called to her.

She gazed at him for a moment, then her eyes returned to Dean. “We came here for safety. We are harming no one.”

“So we’ve heard,” Dean answered carefully.

“You don’t believe it.”

“I never met a ’shifter that wasn’t a killer.”

She looked disgusted. “I never met a hunter who wasn’t, either.”

“Then I guess we have a problem. See, we didn’t come here to hunt. But we are leavin’, lady. I got no problem leaving a massacre behind us if that’s the way you want it.”

“Release him and we’ll talk.”

Dean turned to Sam. He nodded. Sam thought it a bad idea, but he had to back Dean’s play. He released Ten’s arm. “Go.”

Ten took a step forward. He was tired from their long walk and moving forward without help was difficult for him, but he managed to limp those few, painful steps to the woman’s side.

Sam moved up to stand with Dean. “My brother is telling the truth. We didn’t come here to hunt you. We found Ten injured. We did our best to help and brought him to you.”

She considered his words. “Will you all give your word to tell no one what you have seen here?”

Sam would have simply lied. He expected Dean to do the same, or to refuse. But Dean said, “If you’re not a threat to anyone, we won’t tell. But if I read one story about some poor schmuck being in two places at once within a hundred miles of here, or any mysterious suicides or inside jobs by employees with perfect records, we’ll be back. And we won’t be alone. You understand me?”

She looked into Dean’s eyes. “How do I know you are trustworthy?”

Dean shrugged. “You don’t. But we could have killed him when we found him. We didn’t. We could have left him there, and by now he’d be screaming in agony. We didn’t.”

“May I have your name?”

That was a tricky one. The name Winchester was known, mostly because of their father’s reputation  but in part because of their own. If she knew that Dean Winchester had good reason to bear a grudge against ’shifters, she wouldn’t trust them.

Jo came forward and interrupted quickly. “Harvelle,” she said. “I’m Jo. This is Dean and Sam.”

The female ’shifter nodded. “Very well, Dean Harvelle. I will take you at your word.” She smiled. “Go in peace.”

~*~

“That was insane!” Jo declared when the Impala was finally clear of the wood.

Dean laughed, and Sam thought only he heard the hysterical edge in his brother’s laughter.

“It got hairy for a while, didn’t it?” Dean asked rhetorically. “That was fast thinking, Jo, giving them your name instead of ours.”

“Are we going to tell?” Jo asked.

Dean glanced back at her. “We should.”

Sam reached out to turn the music down. “I’m not so sure, Dean. They hadn’t just arrived in the wood. Those ’shifters have been there for months. Maybe even years.”

“What’s your point, Sam?”

“If they’re a threat, some other hunter would have found them by now.”

“Maybe they did. And lost,” Dean pointed out.

“Why don’t you let me do some research first?” Sam suggested. “If I find any hint that they’re a danger, we’ll put the word out.”

Dean grinned at him. “Research? Now I know you’re back to normal.”

~*~

Six: God Has Left The Building

On the border Texas shared with Mexico, the men of an unofficial border-guard were found dead. Though no cause of death was established, the discovery was the first in a wave of violence that swept the southern part of the state like wildfire. Retaliation followed accusation and communities split along ethnic lines. Within a week, the violence escalated to such a point that the National Guard was called in. An order for martial law soon followed, but in a state where the most respectable citizens clung to their right to bear arms such an order could only incite further violence.

News from the Lone Star State was hard to come by after that.

In neighbouring Arkansas, public defender Mara Daniels followed the news from Texas with increasing alarm. Her brother – her only family – lived in in San Antonio. She called, suggesting a vacation, but she had left it too late. Travelling was already too dangerous. When the phone lines went down, Mara took a leave of absence and, telling no one her plans, packed up her car and tried to reach her brother that way.

She never got past Dallas.

Bobby Singer returned from Oklahoma with bad news and worse. He had stayed much longer than he planned in order to investigate an odd pestilence that was attacking crops throughout the state. Between that and the tornado, Oklahoma was having a bad month. Bobby was convinced the destruction of the crops wasn’t natural. He had driven through the state, stopped and examined some of the fields. It was, he reported later, as if the entire state had become unholy ground.

But even he was at a loss to explain what kind of creature could have accomplished such desecration so quickly.

~*~

Their encounter with the shape-shifters seemed to change things for all of them. When they reached Bobby’s home, they found Ellen alone there: Bobby had still not returned. At Jo’s suggestion, they set about re-arranging things anyway.

First, the sleeping arrangements. Sam and Dean moved into the trailer and helped Ellen move her things into the room Dean had made his own. The trailer was cramped, but they were both accustomed to sleeping in the Impala occasionally, and the trailer was far more comfortable than that. Jo wanted to sleep in the panic room, and since Sam didn’t need it any more, everyone agreed.

By day, the panic room became research-central. Sam and Jo got down to some serious work, cataloguing all the signs and omens Bobby had collected while Sam was ill and searching out new ones. They covered the walls of the panic room with their findings.

The four of them made a good team, as it turned out. Sam, trained by his father, had John’s gift for finding connections and links that most people, even many hunters, would miss. Jo, having learned from Ash, was very good at finding information: tracking down a person or a creature from the smallest of clues. Dean and Ellen sorted through everything Sam and Jo found, figuring out what was responsible for each incident: demons, angels, other creatures. Whenever they found something within a few hours drive, they went hunting, sometimes Sam and Dean went alone, sometimes one of them with Jo, occasionally all three of them. But they all avoided any hunt they thought would lead them to demons.

It was Ellen who identified the mysterious pattern of the Seattle flu outbreak. According to the CDC records, it was the same virus everywhere, but in most places the precautions and vaccines managed to contain it, keeping fatalities to a minimum. Yet in other places it became a devastating plague, with fatalities as high as 90% of those infected. Ellen plotted these on the map on the panic room wall and the pattern was obvious at once. The most dangerous strain of the Seattle flu was travelling in a clear, unbroken line across the continental US.

“Some kind of demon?” Sam guessed.

“I don’t think so,” Ellen disagreed. “I think this time we’re looking at something bigger.” She threw him a Bible. “Revelation chapter six.”

Sam flipped through the pages until he found the passage. “The Four Horsemen. Of course, this would be Pestilence.” He looked at another part of the display, suddenly. “And what’s going on in Texas is War. Shit, we should have seen this coming. How do we stop them? Are they demons?”

Ellen shook her head. “This is way out of my league. There is something to be found in all these books, but you need Bobby. Or maybe you can make sense of it.”

“I’ve already read most of them. You’re right. Bobby is the expert.”

“He should be back soon, Sam.” Ellen began stacking the books she had been using, closing the subject.

They both heard Dean’s footsteps on the stairs, fast and hurried. Sam turned toward the door as Dean appeared, out of breath. “Sammy!”

“Hey, Dean. Ellen was just telling me – ”

“Cas called,” Dean interrupted.

Sam stared. “He called? On the phone? He usually just…” Sam gestured vaguely.

“On the phone. He wants to meet us in Florida. Miami, if you can believe it.”

Sam scoffed. “Dude, there’s no way that was really Cas.” Castiel could simply appear in the middle of the room. He had a habit of doing so at the most inconvenient times. Cas wouldn’t phone. And he wouldn’t ask them to go to him. It didn’t make sense. Or it made just one kind of sense: trap.

“It was him,” Dean insisted. “I don’t get it, either, but I’m sure.”

Sam couldn’t argue the point in front of Ellen. She knew that an angel had pulled Dean out of Hell, but they had kept the rest of Castiel’s involvement to themselves. So he shrugged; he would argue with Dean later, when they were alone.

“So, we’re going to Florida?”

“Jo was with me when I got the call.” Dean looked at Ellen. “She wants to come with us.”

“She wants to go to the beach,” Sam said with a smile. Jo had claimed that as her “prize” for the hunt they aborted in the wood. According to her, since she and Sam found Dean, that was a win by the rules. Dean pointed out that he had given them directions but Jo wouldn’t budge. Now this phone call had given her an excuse to claim the prize again. But if this was a trap, they shouldn’t drag Jo into it.

“It’s good that Jo is willing to have fun again,” Ellen said, “but I don’t like this.”

“I’m not sure I do, either,” Sam agreed. “You know, if this really is Cas, we’ll be back in the fight. Jo’s doing well and she can hunt, but – ”

“Yeah. She shouldn’t be hunting with us. Not on this.”

In the end, though, they did let Jo join them. It was under Ellen’s rules: Jo could have her day on the beach, but it was strictly for fun. No hunting and no matter what happened, she was returning to Bobby’s place afterward. Dean offered to put her on a plane if it turned out Cas had something urgent, but Ellen insisted they drive her home. If this was urgent, she pointed out, this Castiel could have come to them.

The next day, they were in Florida.

~*~

“Three dogs with everything,” Dean said to the vendor. The smell of frying onions and cheap meat surrounded him, making his mouth water. “Make that four. Extra onions,” he added and dug into his pocket for his billfold. He handed over the money, took the hot dogs and stepped away from the stand. He spent a few moments figuring out how to juggle three of them so he could eat the fourth on his way back to the others.

He took a huge bite, torn between hunger and savouring the taste. After weeks of Ellen’s cooking he really needed junk food. Lots and lots of junk food. But halfway through his second bite, Dean saw something that made him forget about food entirely.

Castiel stood on the other side of the street, watching him.

Dean’s immediate thought was overwhelming relief. Castiel was alive! He had been gone for so long and the last time Dean saw him Castiel was about to take on an archangel. When he didn’t contact them again, Dean had been sure Castiel must be dead. Or at least…gone.

On the heels of relief came anger. Where had Castiel been all this time? Would it have killed him to pick up a phone sooner? And why drag them all the way out here for a meeting? Next came a familiar dread of what the angel might want from him this time, and then a different, colder anger. Dean held on to that last and made his way through the crowd to Castiel.

“Hello, Dean.” It was the same calm voice; the same boring trenchcoat, the same wind-mussed hair and intense eyes.

“What do you want, Cas?” The words came out more harshly than Dean intended. He actually saw Castiel flinch.

“I thought it best not to contact you at your friend’s home.” Castiel gestured to the stairs behind him: they led down into an underground storage cellar. “They are watching me, Dean. Had I contacted you there, they would have found you.”

“Bring ’em on!”

“You don’t mean that.” Castiel headed down the steps, which left Dean with very little choice.

Dean followed him into the cellar. “Maybe I do. You knew, Cas. You self-righteous sons of bitches knew what was coming. If you’d told me – told us – that Lilith was the last seal, Lucifer would still be locked up! And you didn’t just not tell me. You kept me from Sam.”

“I had – ”

“You know what? Fuck your orders! Fuck the lot of you! Angels, demons. From where I’m standing, there’s not much to choose between you.”

Dean’s words got through; he saw real shock on Castiel’s face. The angel opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. “Dean…” he began weakly.

Dean wasn’t done. He advanced on Castiel, pressing his advantage. “I trusted you. I took a vow because I trusted you. And you didn’t just betray me, Cas. You screwed everyone. The whole damn world. Do you know what’s happening out there now?”

“More than you do, perhaps,” Castiel agreed.

“And for what? For God? Do you know what your friend Zach said to me? God has left the building.”

“I’m aware of Zachariah’s views.”

“I am not on your team, Castiel. I will never take another order from you or the rest of you freaks. You want to toss me back in the Pit for that, be my guest. I’m done.”

Castiel looked genuinely frightened. “You have to stop Lucifer, Dean. You’re the only one who can and you swore a vow – ”

Dean laughed. He set the hot dogs down on a nearby box and turned to face Castiel. “Yeah, while my brother was dying I had a lot of time to think about that.”

“Sam is alive – ”

“No thanks to you. You made me swear a vow to obey God. Not you. Anna – remember her? – she told me there’s only four angels who have even seen God. I’m betting you ain’t one of ’em.” Castiel had also made him swear to obey God as he had his own father. That was a get-out clause right there: Dean had always obeyed his father…right up to the point where his orders got Sammy hurt. Since Sam almost died because the angels screwed them over, Dean figured his vow was worth nothing. But he didn’t tell Castiel that. Not yet.

Castiel nodded and closed his eyes briefly. It was as good as a confirmation. “I have faith…” he began.

“Faith’s pretty useless when your boss straight up told me he’s not working for God any more,” Dean pointed out relentlessly.

“Faith is all I have, Dean,” Castiel said softly. He turned away, his head bowed in resignation. “But I understand your decision.”

“I don’t think you do.”

Castiel turned back, hope blazing in his eyes. “Then explain it to me. I’m listening. Please.”

Dean couldn’t remember Cas ever saying please before. There were things he wanted to say, a hundred questions he needed to ask. But first he had to be sure he could trust Castiel. So he threw down the challenge.

“I’m off your team, Cas. That’s final. But…you can still be on mine. You, not the rest of those smug bastards.”

Those intense blue eyes widened as Castiel comprehended Dean’s meaning. “You’re asking me to serve you.”

“Something like that.” Serve wasn’t the word Dean would use. But he wanted Castiel’s loyalty. He needed to hear him say it. Castiel did try to get him to Sam on time. He risked going up against an archangel. He had proven himself on their side. But it wasn’t enough. Dean was beginning to appreciate his Dad’s paranoia. “Are you in?” he pressed.

Castiel met his eyes. “I am,” he said simply.

“Even if it means going up against the other angels.”

Castiel nodded. “Even if. But I will not disobey God.”

That was reasonable, but Dean couldn’t relax yet. “Then I need one more thing from you.”

He expected objections, arguments, but Castiel simply answered, “Name it.”

Would he do it? Only one way to find out. Dean said, “I need to hear it from Jimmy.”

Castiel took a step back. “You’re treating me like a demon.”

Dean shook his head. “If I was, you’d be dead. If you join this fight, Cas, you could die. If you die, Jimmy won’t survive it. We both know that. So I need to know he’s willing to take the risk. Take it or leave it, Cas.”

Castiel bowed his head. “As you command.” He became very still then, abruptly, he staggered. Automatically, Dean caught his arm to steady him. Castiel looked up. The eyes that met Dean’s were the same intense blue, but the difference between Castiel’s face and that of his vessel was unmistakeable.

“Jimmy?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jimmy said. He laid a hand over Dean’s, an odd gesture.

Dean drew back. “Yeah, I did. I can’t get you back to your family, Jimmy, but if you want out, I’ll make it happen.”

Jimmy was silent for a long moment. Finally, he closed his eyes. “If Castiel needs a new vessel, he’ll go straight for my daughter.”

Dean set his jaw stubbornly. “No, he won’t. Because if he does, I’ll kill him.”

“You can’t kill an angel,” Jimmy pointed out.

“Lucifer is an angel. They keep telling me I’m destined to kill him. One more angel screws me, and Lucifer will be last on my list.”

Jimmy stared at him, then smiled. “I think I believe you.”

“You should. So, will you answer my question?”

Jimmy’s face fell. “Dean, it’s too late for me to want out.” He sounded lost. “I want out, believe me, I do, but if I can’t be with my family then the only thing I have left is what I can do to keep them safe. This is what I can do.”

Dean knew what it was like to be boxed in, to have no good choices. “Alright,” he agreed.

Jimmy studied him, his expression oddly serious. “Listen, Dean. Go easy on Castiel.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Not kidding. I know he pissed you off, but there’s something you should know. Castiel doesn’t understand why you feel angry and betrayed. He knows what he did, but he doesn’t feel those emotions. He can’t.”

Dean shrugged, past caring.

“But he can love, Dean. He loves you. So go easy on him.”

Dean stared.

~*~

Dean and Castiel walked back to join the others. Sam and Jo were sitting on a blanket on the sand, sharing a super-size cup of soda. Dean watched them from a distance, assessing them both. Sam was looking much better. He still had a way to go to get back the muscle he lost during his long illness, but the weeks of training and hunting had paid off. Sam looked healthy and tanned, the awful hollows under his eyes gone. He bore a few new scars as evidence of the self-inflicted injuries, but nothing worse than that.

Jo, by contrast, seemed unwell. In the bright Florida sunlight the gauntness of her face was even more evident than usual, her skin burned pink in spite of her heavy sunscreen. The thin top she was wearing seemed too big for her. Jo was terribly thin and her short haircut accentuated the effect.

Castiel blocked Dean’s way with his arm, just as Dean drew breath to call out to them.

“Dean. Who is the girl?” He pulled Dean back out of sight of Sam and Jo.

“Jo Harvelle. She’s an old friend. A hunter.” Dean looked at Castiel. The angel was always hard to read, but he seemed troubled, his blue eyes riveted on Jo.

“She is…” Castiel began, and stopped. He hesitated long enough that Dean thought he wouldn’t continue, but then he added, “…scarred.” It sounded as if he wanted to say something different.

Dean frowned. “Aren’t we all? She’s been through a lot, Cas, but she’s a good kid.” He started toward them again.

Castiel grabbed his arm. “You do not understand. The girl is tainted. She has been touched by a demon.”

Probably a great deal more than touched, Dean thought, remembering the little Jo confessed to him that first night at Bobby’s house. He shook his head in denial. “She was held prisoner, Cas. She went through Hell. The kind of Hell you don’t just put behind you and trust me, I know. But she’s dealing.” He shook off Castiel’s hand. “Leave it alone, Cas. Jo’s okay.” He strode forward without waiting for the angel to respond.

Sam looked up. “About time. I was beginning to think you… Cas!” He stood, passing the soda cup to Jo.

Castiel moved forward. “It’s good to see you alive, Sam.”

Sam grinned. “Yeah. You too. Where have you been?”

“Elsewhere.” Castiel answered and Dean had to stifle a laugh at the non-responsive answer.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean said. “He’s back now. But Cas says he’s being watched so we can’t be together very long.”

Sam’s smile vanished. “We’re ready to get back into the fight, I think. Is there a safe place we can meet?”

“Ilchester,” Castiel answered.

Sam swallowed. “Back there? Really?”

“Lucifer’s escape left the area…contaminated. They won’t be able to find us there.”

“What, you mean like radiation?” Dean asked.

“Of a sort,” Castiel agreed.

“But it’s safe, right?” Dean pressed.

Castiel’s eyes turned to him. “Nowhere is safe, Dean. Not even Heaven.”

“Right.” Stupid question. Stupid, stupid question. “Uh…Ilchester, then. Five days.” It would take them that long to take Jo home, square things with Bobby and Ellen, and figure out how to get into what was still a quarantined area since everyone believed a dirty bomb had gone off there.

Castiel nodded. “Five days.” And he was gone.

Jo stared. “Who the hell…?”

Dean grinned at her. “That was Castiel,” he answered.

The rest of their day out was spent trying hard to have fun, but Castiel’s reappearance, while it was good news, had put a dampener on the day for all of them. Castiel had reminded the brothers what awaited them, making it harder to forget their worries and enjoy themselves. Jo kept asking questions about Cas. She’d heard his name before, because he’d been mentioned in their discussions at Bobby’s, but she didn’t know what he was. Though Dean didn’t give much credence to Castiel’s vague warning about Jo, the warning was enough to make him wary of giving her too much information. He’d been happy to have her along while they were training, but Jo wasn’t coming on the road with them. She didn’t need to know about Cas…especially as Dean wasn’t wholly certain Cas could be trusted.

It was early evening, not yet dark, when they decided to head back. They planned to stay in a motel overnight and get an early start back to South Dakota in the morning.

Stonehenge began to play on the radio as Dean drove and he turned the volume up with a grin. Sam, for once, didn’t tell him to turn it down. He half-turned to look at Jo, who sat in the back seat, singing along, a little off-key. Then Dean joined in. He didn’t exactly feel like singing, but pretending to have fun was better than being miserable.

Stonehenge! Where the demons dwell
Where the banshees live and they do live well
Stonehenge! Where a man’s a man… 

It was a good anthem for three hunters.

The truck came out of nowhere. Dean barely had time to hit the brakes. He winced at the screech of her tyres and wrenched the wheel around as she spun out of control. Jo was screaming. The Impala was off the road, bucking and bumping over uneven ground. Come on, baby. Don’t do this to me. Dean saw the fence ahead and struggled for control of the car, cursing that goddamn truck and wishing Jo would shut the fuck up. Sam was thrown against his shoulder and he stamped down on the brake again as the wheel finally obeyed him and they came to a shuddering stop.

For a moment, Dean simply clung onto the wheel, breathing hard, his heart pounding. “Is everyone alright?” he asked.

Sam picked himself up. “Yeah, I’m – ” he began, then grabbed for the holy water under the dash. “Dean! Incoming!”

Dean saw them. Three demons coming toward them from the truck that, he now realised, had deliberately forced them off the road. He reached for the door as Sam did the same, then he remembered Jo.

“Jo? You good?”

She was white as a sheet, clearly shaken by the near-crash. “Uh. Yeah,” she answered.

Unconvinced, Dean said, “There’s holy water in the bag by your feet. If you can’t fight, stay down.” It was all he had time for: Sam was already out of the car. Dean pulled Ruby’s demon-killing knife from his sleeve as he hurried to join his brother.

Sam squeezed the bottle, spraying holy water in a wide arc as he headed for the demons. As the one nearest to him reacted, he closed in with a roundhouse punch that sent the demon flying backward. Dean had no time to see any more. He went for the second demon, aiming straight for her heart with the knife. The blow forced the breath from her lungs and she doubled over his arm. Dean twisted the knife, felt the crackle of her black soul burning out as the knife did its work, and yanked it free. Blood gushed over his hand. He spun around, looking for the others.

Sam had wrestled the male demon to the ground and was mid-exorcism. He didn’t need Dean’s help.

Where was the third demon? Dean was sure he’d seen three. Dean looked around himself, saw no one. Had it fled? Was Jo alright?

When he thought of Jo, he looked toward the car and saw movement there. Dean ran. Silently apologising to his beloved car, he vaulted over the hood, knife ready in his hand. Jo was on the ground, the demon holding her down. He was saying something. Dean caught the word bitch before he thrust the knife through the demon’s neck, severing the spine and killing the demon within.

Jo gasped as the body collapsed on top of her. She struggled to push it off. Dean helped, then offered Jo his hand. He saw her bottle of holy water on the ground beside her, the water soaking uselessly into the mud.

Once Jo was on her feet he looked for Sam. Sam was on his knees beside the body of the demon he’d exorcised, but he seemed to be unharmed. Dean glanced back to Jo, making sure she was unharmed, then walked to Sam’s side.

“Dude. You okay?”

Sam answered without looking up. “I’m good.” He shook his head, then started to get up. He turned toward Dean, seemed about to speak, but then stopped, his eyes widening.

“Sam? What’s wrong?” Dean asked, but then he noticed where Sam was looking, and he knew. The knife in his hand, red with blood. Demon blood. Demon blood saturated Dean’s shirt sleeve, too, and was drying, sticky on his hand.

Dean fought an urge to back away from the hunger in Sam’s eyes. “Sam! Snap out of it!”

He could see the awful battle Sam was fighting, his struggle to look away. Dean remembered the weeks of Sam screaming in the panic room and knew he couldn’t go through it again. He just couldn’t bear it. “Sam,” he warned. He kept his eyes on his brother. “Jo! I need a towel. Now!” He didn’t dare turn around to see if she’d obey him. He honestly didn’t know what Sam would do. This wasn’t the brother he loved. What he saw in Sam’s eyes was a feral, unreasoning hunger. They were the eyes of something he should hunt.

If it were anyone but Sammy…

He heard Jo’s approach. She handed him the requested towel without saying a word and Dean, still watching Sam warily, used it to clean the blood off the knife. Then his own hand. He stripped off his bloody shirt and wrapped it in the towel. It didn’t get rid of the blood, of course, but at least it was no longer visible.

Sam watched every single movement Dean made with an unsettling intensity. It was a predator’s look and Dean felt like prey. He shoved the bundle of cloth at Jo and walked slowly toward Sam, his arms spread wide, but ready to go for a weapon if Sam made it necessary.

“Sammy,” he said carefully. “Are you in there?” Reaching out as if to touch Sam’s arm, he stopped short of actually touching.

At last, Sam blinked and then nodded. “I…uh…I’m okay.”

Once more with feeling? Dean gripped Sam’s arm and shook him roughly. “You’re a few miles from okay, dude. Are you gonna hold it together?”

Sam swallowed hard. “I think…yeah. I’ll be okay.” He frowned. “We’d better hit the road. There could be more where they came from.”

He was right. Dean nodded, relieved that Sam was thinking clearly again. “Let’s go.”

Of course, as soon as they were back in the Impala, Jo started asking questions. Dean cut her off, telling her to save it while he was driving. The car seemed intact, but she’d been jolted around rather too much for Dean’s comfort. He could hear the familiar engine struggling as he tried to manoeuvre them back onto the road. Jo and Sam maintained a respectful silence while Dean drove. As the car reached the incline that would lead them back onto the road, Dean was afraid they’d have to get out and push, but he should have trusted his baby. She gave a lurch under his hands and then he felt traction. He whooped in triumph and steered her back onto the asphalt. He checked the rearview, but saw no sign of any other vehicles. That was good, considering they were leaving three very dead bodies behind them.

He turned the music up loud and floored the gas.

Above the field, vultures were already circling.

~*~

The motel room was a “family” suite: a king-sized bed and two queens in an adjoining room. The demon attack had them all spooked and Sam laid down protections beyond the usual salt lines: he rolled back the carpets and drew a devil’s trap in front of the door and under each window, including the bathroom window which only a child could fit through. He also pulled more weapons than usual from the trunk, giving several to Jo to place around the room where she would sleep. Just in case.

The demons had found them once. Possibly those three were just looking for fun and hadn’t known who they were ambushing, but Sam thought that unlikely. Knowing what he now knew about his place in Azazel’s grand plan, Sam was pretty sure there wasn’t a demon in existence that wouldn’t recognise the Impala, or Sam himself.

Which meant, Sam decided, that more demons would be coming for them. Except…how did they find them in the first place? The hex bags Sam and Dean both carried were supposed to hide them from demons and angels alike. Jo didn’t have that level of protection, though. Was it possible the demons found them through her? Or was it possible the attack had been aimed at Jo herself? Sam didn’t really know what had happened to Jo, but he guessed from the little that had been said that she pissed off some pretty powerful demon and paid the price. Maybe this one wasn’t about the Winchesters. But even if it wasn’t, their swift dispatch of those three on the road was a bit like erecting a neon sign: Winchesters woz here. Not their smartest moment.

Nor Sam’s finest hour. He had been fine in the middle of the fight. His lifetime of training kept him steady: he hadn’t tried to reach for the powers he no longer had (or did he? He hadn’t tested them) but rather went straight for the exorcism. And it worked. It left him feeling drained, almost like his early attempts to exorcise the demons with his mind, but he’d done it.

It was only when Dean came near him, when he saw the blood dripping from Ruby’s knife and the blood on Dean’s hands…Sam simply lost it. He lost himself. All he could think of was the blood. He saw himself lunge for Dean, lick the blood from his skin and the vision was so vivid Sam almost believed it was real, and the Sam standing still was the imaginary one. His need for the blood was that powerful. It took everything he had to hold himself still, to not lunge, to not drink. He couldn’t speak. He could barely understand Dean’s words until the blood was gone. And even then, he could still taste it on his tongue, as if he really had done what he imagined.

How could Sam hunt demons, how could he possibly fight Lucifer, if he could be incapacitated by the sight of a drop of blood?

Obviously, he could not. But neither could he let Dean carry on this fight alone.

While Sam was finishing the last devil’s trap in Jo’s bedroom, he heard her voice in the other room.

“Can I see the dagger you used?” Jo asked Dean.

“Sure.”

Sam rolled the carpet back down over the devil’s trap. That was it: the rooms were as safe as he could make them. He headed back into the next room.

Jo was examining the symbols etched on the blade of Ruby’s knife. “This really kills demons? I mean, permanently?”

Dean nodded. “You saw it. You have to do it right: hit the heart or brain.”

“Which means,” Sam interjected, “that you’re killing the human body, too. Demons are hard on the bodies they ride; a lot of people don’t survive an exorcism. But at least that way they have a chance. With the knife, they don’t.”

“With an exorcism, the demon can come back,” Jo pointed out.

Sam nodded. “That’s the trade-off,” he agreed.

“Can’t we make more of these?” Jo asked, a little too eagerly, as she passed the knife back to Dean.

“No.” Dean slid the knife back into his sleeve.

“We tried,” Sam added. “There’s some kind of spell involved that we don’t know. Ruby always said she didn’t know how it was made…”

“And you believed her,” Dean spat.

Sam looked at him. “No, I didn’t. But she stuck to the story and after what happened in Monument I figured her demon-killing spells were best left alone.” The spell Ruby wanted to use in Monument involved ripping the heart out of a virgin’s chest while she still lived. If that was how she’d made the knife, there was no possibility Sam – or any of them – would make another.

Dean looked down, a little chastened. “Can’t argue with you there.”

Jo looked from one to the other. “Who’s Ruby?”

They looked at each other. Sam knew they would have to face this eventually. Living in such close quarters with Ellen and Jo, the only way to keep their secrets was to never discuss anything of significance. He nodded to Dean. Might as well come clean, the gesture said.

Dean nodded back, leaving the talking to Sam.

“Ruby was a demon,” he said to Jo. “She’s dead now.” Briefly, he sketched for her his history with Ruby: that she’d offered him a way to break Dean’s contract and at first he’d intended only to use her, but after Dean died she got him to trust her, much more than he should have. He skipped the part about Ruby getting him addicted to demon blood but did explain about the final seal: Ruby’s plan all along had been to use Sam to break the seal. He’d gone along with her because he wanted Lilith dead, revenge for what she’d done to Dean, never having a clue that Lilith’s death was the final seal that would break Lucifer free of the cage.

“You said you were in Ilchester to stop it!” Jo accused.

“We were!” Sam protested. “We knew Lilith planned to break the seal, we just didn’t know what it was.”

“Think about it, Jo,” Dean added quietly. “Lilith was the most evil bitch who ever existed. She was, literally, queen of Hell. Who would have thought that killing her would turn out to be the wrong thing? We screwed up. We know that. And we’re gonna fix it.” He looked at Sam.

Sam knew this wasn’t the moment to voice his misgivings. “Yes. We’re going to fix it.”

“When you can’t even manage an exorcism without freaking out?” Jo said sceptically.

So, they were there. “It wasn’t the exorcism,” Sam said quietly. “It was the blood.” He said nothing more, but waited for the inevitable demand for an explanation.

It didn’t come. Jo stared at him, wide-eyed for a moment. Then she nodded as if in response to some inner voice, and looked away. “Sorry. I get it.”

Sam doubted that she did, but he was willing enough to drop the subject right there.

They shared a bucket of chicken chased with a great deal of whiskey before Jo announced she was going to bed.

Dean grabbed the last piece of chicken, tossed the empty bucket toward the trash can and lay back on one of the beds. “Can we talk about it now?” he asked.

“Talk?” Sam repeated. “You never want to talk, Dean.”

He frowned. “You can’t pretend it didn’t happen, Sam.”

Sam sighed, knowing Dean was right. He sat down on the other bed, started to reach for the whiskey bottle then thought better of it. “Okay.”

“What the hell happened?”

“I think you know. I saw the blood and…”

“Sam, I know it was the bitch blood. I know you can’t shake it like that.” He snapped his fingers. “But you looked…”

“Like a vampire,” Sam supplied. Dean called him that before. The words, though long-forgiven, still stung.

“Like something not human,” Dean answered. “I don’t know how else to say it, man. And I can’t…you can’t watch my back if something like that is going to…”

“I hear you,” Sam interrupted. “And you’re right. I didn’t know I’d react like that. I mean, I never thought it’d be easy, but when I saw the blood on you I just…” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t know. It flipped a switch I didn’t even know was there.”

“At least that’s honest.”

“I have to be honest about this, Dean. Lenore got me clean. I knew I’d still have the craving, but I didn’t know it would hit me like that. Now I do know…maybe it’ll be easier next time.”

“And maybe next time you’ll tear the demon’s throat out,” Dean said bluntly.

Sam knew it would take a long time for Dean to trust him again, especially with this. They had slowly been rebuilding the trust between them and he had undone a lot of it with his reaction to the blood. He thought carefully before he answered.

“I won’t do that, Dean. I just won’t. You don’t have to believe me now. Just give me a chance to prove it.”

Dean was silent for a long moment, considering his words as carefully as Sam. “The problem with that, Sammy, is if I give you that chance and you’re blindsided again, it’ll be me with my throat ripped out.”

“You’re right. What do you want from me, Dean? I know how badly I screwed up, okay? More than you know, even. Maybe I can’t fix the worst of it, but I can fix things with you. Just let me try.”

Dean took a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t know, Sam. I just don’t know.”

~*~

Perhaps it was that conversation which robbed Sam of sleep that night. Or perhaps he was afraid to dream, knowing he would dream of Ruby and her intoxicating blood.

He lay in bed, acutely aware of every small sound around him. Dean slept in the bed beside him, his breathing slow and steady. Sam knew when his brother’s dreams began; the rhythm of his breath changed and odd sounds came from him, as if he were trying to speak but could not. In the next room, Jo tossed and turned. Her sleep, too, was disturbed by nightmares. At one point she cried out in her sleep, begging someone to stop. Shortly after that, Sam heard her pacing the bedroom. He considered going in there; thinking some company might help her, but she stopped pacing and he assumed she had returned to bed.

Outside the motel room, Sam could hear an occasional car pass by on the road. He heard the buzz of electricity from the neon motel sign. He heard a couple in another room yelling at each other, though they were too far away for him to make out their words. He heard the scratching of some animal around the trash cans and, once, quiet footsteps as someone walked past the room.

The footsteps made Sam tense and he slid the gun from beneath his pillow, waiting. But whoever it was kept walking, apparently uninterested in the three hunters.

Around 5:30am, Sam got up, showered, dressed and headed out to the nearby diner to get breakfast for all of them. Dean was just beginning to stir when he left the room.

If Dean wasn’t too hung over he would want to get on the road right away, so Sam ordered breakfast and coffee to go, plus a small coffee for himself to drink while he waited. He wandered over to a table near the window with his coffee. From here he could see the motel parking lot: the neon sign still flickering annoyingly, the vending machines outside the office, the cars, including the familiar Impala.

There was someone beneath the staircase that led to the upper floor. Sam frowned, trying to get a better look, but the angle was poor. He couldn’t tell if the lurker was male or female, even. But there was definitely someone hiding there. Demons again?

Sam paid for breakfast and left the diner with a large paper bag of food and three coffees on a cardboard tray. He walked quickly, aware of that maybe-a-demon still in the shadow of the stairs. He was prepared for a fight. He reached the motel room, however, without incident. Sam set the food and coffee on the concrete just outside the door, rapped a quick code on the door to let Dean know it was him and moved warily toward the stairs.

It was an open staircase and through the steps Sam could see the figure was huddled on the floor. It could have been a sham, but Sam moved closer anyway. He saw no sign of weapons, and the person didn’t seem to be watching him. He hesitated, glancing around in case this figure were bait in a trap, but he saw nothing. He rounded the stairs and suddenly recognised the battered leather boots.

“Jo?” Sam crouched down, concerned.

She didn’t move at first. Jo sat on the ground with her legs bent, hugging herself as if she were cold. She was fully dressed but her hair looked like she’d just tumbled out of bed. Her face was turned away from Sam, toward the wall.

“Jo!” Sam repeated, more sharply.

She turned her head, then, enough to look at him. “Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey? What the hell are you doing here? Are you okay?”

Jo placed one hand flat against the wall behind her and pushed on it, slowly getting to her feet. She didn’t seem to notice the stairs above her until she banged her head. She ducked, looked up, and rubbed her head where she’d hit it. “I’m okay,” she said. “I just…needed to get out.”

Sam grabbed her arms and pulled her roughly toward him, into the sunlight. Jo didn’t fight him, which together with what he saw in her eyes, confirmed his fear.

“What are you on?” he demanded.

“I don’t – ” she began.

Sam shook her. “Truth, Jo. What did you do?” When she didn’t answer, he pushed up her sleeve to check the inside of her arm. He saw marks of old needle tracks, but nothing fresh. Maybe she hadn’t injected? Then he remembered an old trick his Dad told him about: you could hide the needle marks by injecting between the fingers. Sam lifted Jo’s hand.

She snatched it away, which was as good as a confession. “Cut it out!”

Sam didn’t know what to do. Ellen’s reluctance to discuss what happened to Jo made sense with this piece of the puzzle in place. She knew Jo was an addict. Ellen must have brought Jo to Bobby’s place to keep her away from anyone who could supply her drugs, but she hadn’t wanted them to know Jo had a problem. Which meant Jo had probably been clean for a while. Sam would have to tell Ellen about this, but should he tell the others? They had agreed to no secrets for a reason, but this wasn’t his secret to tell.

It would do no good to talk to Jo while she was high. “Jo, you’d better hold it together, ’cause if Dean figures out what you’re up to I don’t know what he’ll do.”

She looked up at him, and he could see that at least some of his words were getting through to her. “Are you going to tell my mom?” she asked, pouting.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know yet,” he lied. “Come on. You can sleep it off in the car.” He took her arm firmly and walked her back to the motel room.

~*~

Seven: Crossroads Angel

When the long-anticipated “Big One” hit San Francisco, it was just one more disaster in an America increasingly convinced Armageddon was upon them. The epicentre of the earthquake was in San Francisco Bay and the resulting destruction, from the first quake, the relatively mild tsunami that followed and the series of aftershocks that seemed to spread northward along the San Andreas Fault, was worse than the most pessimistic projections anticipated. Thousands died in San Francisco alone. The full death toll was never fully enumerated.

Yet there was good news among all the horror. A small church building near the Golden Gate Bridge, which housed the Brotherhood of Enoch, an obscure Christian sect, was miraculously untouched in the earthquake, not even damaged when the bridge fell, though debris and burning vehicles scattered the surrounding area. Sect members had been holding a service at the time the quake hit and their charismatic pastor credited the Lord with their salvation. The Brotherhood of Enoch reformed in Oregon after their evacuation from the destroyed city, and stories of the miracle spread.

People needed hope and to many the miracle was proof that God was still with them, and he had a plan for The Faithful.

Many doomsday cults had sprung up across the USA in recent months; The Brotherhood of Enoch appeared no different on the surface. Yet there could be little doubt only a miracle from God could have saved them from the earthquake. In the weeks that followed the great miracle, new churches of the Brotherhood of Enoch appeared in Oregon, Idaho, Montana, Colorado and even as far east as Iowa. Unlike many, the Brotherhood of Enoch did not actively recruit members; indeed, it proved difficult to join a congregation as new members were vetted carefully before being admitted to the secrets of the Brotherhood.

Further miracles followed. A congregation in Boise were the only survivors when the Seattle flu broke out in the town; not one member of the Brotherhood even showed symptoms. A flash flood swept through Davenport, Iowa, causing a great deal of damage yet the small chapel used by the Brotherhood of Enoch was untouched by the water.

The pastor and founder of the Brotherhood of Enoch called himself Ezekiel. He travelled between the churches, spreading his message of hope in all the fear and chaos. Only in Butte, Montana was there any negative news about the Brotherhood of Enoch, and that so minor it was ignored by almost everyone: a child fled from a congregation while Pastor Ezekiel preached, babbling to those who found her about a man with bright red eyes. The girl was obviously disturbed and few took her ravings seriously. A miracle, after all, was a miracle.

~*~

As soon as the sound of the Impala’s engine died away, Ellen rounded on Sam. “Come on, then. Out with it.”

Sam wasn’t surprised Ellen saw through the pretext. Dean and Jo were going in search of some ingredients for Sam to make hex bags. The need was real enough but the true reason for the errand was to give Sam a chance to talk to Ellen and Bobby about what happened on their way back from Miami. About Jo.

He leaned back against the window sill, meeting Ellen’s eyes briefly before he glanced at Bobby. “We stayed at a motel last night,” he began. “Jo snuck out in the middle of the night. I followed her, and…” he looked directly at Ellen, “I caught her doing drugs.”

Ellen showed no surprise. She nodded grimly. “I was afraid of that.”

Bobby rose from his seat, staring at her. “You knew?” he said incredulously.

“Of course I knew! She’s my daughter.” Ellen turned to Sam. “What happened? Do you know what set her off?”

It was an interesting assumption, Sam thought. “We, uh, ran into some demons. They forced us off the road. I’d guess that was it, but…” Sam frowned, seeing the flaw in that theory even as he said it. “Ellen, the only place she could have gotten hold of drugs was in Miami. But that was before the fight.”

“You boys promised me you wouldn’t let her out of your sight,” Ellen accused.

“We didn’t, much. A couple of bathroom breaks and Jo went for soda once. I didn’t think she was gone long enough…but I didn’t know she had a problem, Ellen. You should have told us.”

“She’s my daughter,” Ellen answered stubbornly.

Yeah. Sam understood. Ellen was protective of Jo, as much as Sam and Dean protected each other.

“Tell us,” Bobby said.

Ellen flinched. She stood abruptly and walked toward the library. She stopped. She turned to face them both. “You don’t have kids. Neither of you. When Jo went missing and then they found what was left of Nan…you have no idea what I went through.”

Sam nodded. He remembered hearing about Jo’s disappearance at the time. But when it happened, Dean was in Hell and Sam didn’t care about anything except finding a way to save his brother’s soul. He felt guilty about that now. Maybe if he’d been paying attention he could have helped.

“Sam, I thought she was dead, or worse,” Ellen said, giving Sam a meaningful look. “Maybe you know how that feels.”

“I do,” he agreed.

“Then, out of the blue, she called me. She said she’d escaped and she was okay, but she wouldn’t tell me where she was. She wouldn’t come home. So I knew she wasn’t okay.”

When Dean got out of Hell, the first thing he did was try to find Sam and Bobby. How would Sam have felt if Dean came back, but went into hiding and wouldn’t speak to him?

“How long was Jo…?” Sam asked cautiously. He wasn’t clear what happened to Jo when she disappeared. The most likely explanation was that she’d been possessed, but if that were the case how had she escaped? Sam knew from experience that it wasn’t easy to shake a demon once it took hold of you.

“Eight weeks,” Ellen answered. “Maybe more.”

“My God,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“Possessed?” Bobby asked.

“Jo won’t say much about it, but I don’t think she was. They held her prisoner. They…hurt her.” Ellen’s voice broke and she swiped at her cheek with one hand.

Sam crossed the room in a few strides and reached out to her. He wasn’t sure she would accept it, but Ellen swayed toward him and Sam held her close, giving her what comfort he could. He wanted to say It’s okay, but that would be a lie. After a few moments Ellen pulled away from him, and Sam could see her struggling to pull herself together.

“Ellen,” Bobby said, “when she called you, are you sure Jo was really free? It could have been smoke.”

Ellen nodded. “You’re right, it could have been, but I don’t think so.” She took a deep breath, sank into a chair and resumed her story. “I know how to find people. But Jo knows how to disappear. It took me months to find her. When I did…” She took another deep breath. “Jo was in Chicago, strung out on drugs, selling herself to pay for that shit. She ran from me.” Ellen’s voice broke again.

“You took her to Kane,” Bobby said. His tone was harsh, and there was a look on his face like he had just figured something out, and didn’t approve.

Ellen nodded. “He helped me get her clean.”

Bobby snorted. “Help? Kane’s methods are – ”

“Brutal, yes. But she needed it, Bobby. You didn’t see her. She was…I don’t even have the words.”

Bobby looked at Sam. “I’ve seen it, Ellen.”

Sam swallowed, reluctant to speak. But they should have told Ellen sooner. “Jo’s not the only one with an addiction,” Sam confessed. “Bobby told you I’ve been sick. That’s why.”

Ellen shook her head. “I thought John raised you with more sense.”

He did, Sam thought. “Well, I wasn’t into crack or heroin, Ellen. I was…” he hesitated, but forced himself to continue, get it out in the open. “I was drinking demon blood.” Briefly, Sam explained what Azazel did to him as a baby and the powers it gave him. Power over demons. He could exorcise them with his mind, no need for devils traps or Latin rituals, and with enough demon blood, he could do more. He could kill them.

“I didn’t know it was addictive,” he explained, “not at first, and by the time I figured it out I didn’t care. I needed the power to stop Lilith.” Sam met Ellen’s eyes, needing her to believe him. “In the end, I screwed that up, too, and kicking the habit was… Fuck. There aren’t words. I should be dead. I’m clean now, Ellen, and I plan to stay that way. But it’s a struggle.”

“It would be,” Ellen agreed.

Sam expected her to ask what really happened in Ilchester; she had to realise Dean had been very selective with the truth when he told her his version of events. But the apocalypse, it seemed, was the last thing on Ellen’s mind.

“You’ll understand,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “that after hearing this, I don’t want Jo within a hundred miles of you boys.”

That was a bit harsh, especially including Dean in her prohibition. Dean wasn’t to blame for Sam’s mistakes.

Sam nodded, accepting his part in the blame. “I think Dean has been helping Jo, but I agree with you. She shouldn’t be around us.” He didn’t say it was because he was worried about Dean, not Jo. Dean already carried an unbearable weight on his shoulders. He didn’t need responsibility for two recovering addicts on top of that.

“I’ll find somewhere else we can stay,” Ellen said.

“No, you won’t,” Bobby insisted. “Ellen, you and Jo are welcome. The boys will be leaving tomorrow. If Jo fell off the wagon so easily, she’s in no state to be hunting, and she needs a place she feels safe.”

~*~

Dean looked down at the small collection of ancient coins, bones and herbs with distaste. He watched Sam drawing arcane symbols on the table with a piece of chalk.

Dean set out five candles in the places Sam indicated and lit them, one by one. “I thought you were through with the psychic crap,” he commented.

Sam was crouched down, examining the lines he had drawn. He glanced up at Dean. “This isn’t psychic ability. It’s just magic. They need the protection, Dean.”

“Dark magic,” Dean corrected, ignoring the last part of Sam’s statement because it was true. He and Sam still had the hex bags Ruby made for them, and though he hated to admit it, they were effective. But Jo, Ellen and Bobby had no such safety net, and they needed it.

“No darker than some of the rituals in Dad’s journal.” Sam straightened and laid a piece of black cloth, cut into a rough circle, in the centre of his sigils and carefully placed each of his ingredients inside. Then he spoke a few words in Latin. The candles flared briefly. He sealed the hex bag with a cord, set it aside and reached for the next circle of cloth.

“I told Ellen everything,” Sam reported as he worked. “About the demon blood, and Jo.”

“What did she say?”

“That she doesn’t want Jo anywhere near us. Meaning me.” Sam broke off to enspell the next hex bag. As he knotted the cord, he added, “It’s just as well. We’ll be back on the road soon, so – ”

Dean interrupted. “That’s Jo’s decision, don’t you think?”

Sam stared at him. “You want her with us? You’re the one who said…”

“I know what I said. But think about it, Sam. That girl’s been through Hell. It ain’t something you just bounce back from.” Sam should know that. They didn’t talk about it, but Dean’s brother wasn’t an idiot. Sam knew Dean still had nightmares. He knew Dean didn’t drink whiskey like soda because he liked the taste. Dean felt for Jo. Her Hell hadn’t been as literal as his, but what those demons did to her was damned close. Looking in her eyes felt like looking in a mirror sometimes. Sam wasn’t an idiot, but he didn’t get this.

Sam offered him one of the hex bags. “It’s your call, dude. But if you ask Jo to come with us, you get to fight Ellen. Give this bag to Jo. She needs it either way.”

Dean took the bag. “I hate to ask, Sam, but are you sure this will work?”

Sam didn’t take offence. “I learned the spell from Ruby. She said it would keep both angels and demons from finding us. I’m sure it’ll work for demons. I never had a chance to test the ones I made myself on the angels.”

“Good enough.” Dean nodded. He watched Sam get another bag ready. “Sammy,” he said quietly.

Sam stopped. He looked at Dean and waited.

“She wants a chance at the demon who hurt her, Sam. We can both relate, can’t we? You got your shot at Lilith. Maybe it didn’t work out so well, but don’t tell me it didn’t feel good to whack the bitch.”

Sam grimaced. “For about two seconds, yeah.”

“Dad got to help us kill Yellow-Eyes. And I got my shot at Alastair. Jo deserves her chance, Sam, and she won’t get it under Ellen’s wing. So it’s Jo’s call, not mine. But I’m gonna back her play even if I do have to go through Ellen to do it.”

Sam nodded. “Even if taking her shot gets her killed?” he asked.

“Her call,” Dean repeated.

“Okay. I’m in.”

~*~

“Are you done talking about me behind my back?” Jo demanded before he was even through the iron door. Jo was dressed for bed in a loose-fitting t-shirt and, as far as Dean could tell, nothing else. She was sitting up on her bed in the panic room.

Dean pulled up one of the folding chairs. “We were talking about you, sure,” he admitted. “But I said nothin’ I wouldn’t say to your face and you could have joined us if you wanted to.” He held out the hex bag. “Here.”

She took it and turned it over in her hands. “It doesn’t look like much.”

“It doesn’t have to. Keep it with you. In a pocket or around your neck. It will hide you from demons.”

“Thanks.” She twisted around and tucked it beneath her pillow.

“We’ll be leaving at first light. If you think you’re ready, if you can handle it, you’re welcome to come with.”

“You want me with you?”

Dean sighed. “Listen, it won’t be easy. Me and Sam still aren’t used to hunting with a third. Well, except our Dad, but that’s…” He shrugged, knowing he didn’t have to say it. Jo Harvelle was no John Winchester.

“We made a good team in the wood,” Jo smiled.

“We did. In fact, I think you saved our asses on that one. But what we’re going into now is gonna make that stand off look like a walk in the park.”

Jo said firmly, “I’m coming with you.”

Dean admired her determination, but he had to be sure she understood. “If you come, you’d better stay off the drugs. What me and Sam are into – ”

“You’re into something huge. I know that.” She nodded, but then looked up at him defiantly. “But where do you get off telling me what I can do? You think I haven’t noticed how much you drink?”

Dean hadn’t thought she noticed. “Sweetheart, I don’t drink when I’m on a hunt. I ain’t worried about you getting high when we have some downtime. I’m worried about you being strung out in need of a hit when we need you. I already went through that with Sam.”

Jo took a deep breath. The look in her eyes warned Dean he wouldn’t like what she was about to say. “Dean, was I strung out in Miami? Or before? Did you have any clue?”

He answered honestly. “No, you weren’t strung out. Yes, I had a clue. You’ve got needle tracks on your arm, Jo.”

“Okay, yeah, I do. But I’m not an addict, Dean. You have no fucking clue what I went through. Sometimes I just…I need help to get through the night. And alcohol doesn’t help me. I hate the hangover.”

He didn’t believe her, but he’d made his point. That was all he could do. “Alright. If you can keep it to downtime, I’ll stay out of your business.”

Dean turned away from her, then, and as he looked around for a way to change the subject his eyes automatically went to the display on the panic room’s iron walls. He was reminded of hunting with his father, the collection of press-cuttings, pictures, handwritten notes, maps and diagrams was so much like the displays John always collected when he was hunting something. But there were differences. The press cuttings were computer printouts, not cut directly from newspapers. The handwritten notes were mostly post-its; Dad’s were always written on motel stationary or, frequently, on gas station receipts. Many of the maps were hand-drawn and lacked Dad’s precision. There was also a lot more information here than John ever displayed at one time. This wasn’t a hunt. It was an attempt to collate information on hundreds of incidents across the continental US; a way to search not for a creature, but for a pattern in all the chaos.

Jo moved up to his side as Dean examined parts of the display more closely. She said nothing at first, just observed what he was doing. Last year, everyone had been very clear about what was going to happen if Lucifer busted out of the cage. Hell on Earth. Literally. Well, what was happening was bad, but it wasn’t Hell. Dean knew the difference. Did that mean the angels were exaggerating? Or was Hell still to come? Lucifer was thousands of years old; perhaps he wasn’t in any hurry. But that didn’t feel right. Dean had nothing to go on but instinct, but his instinct told him that as bad as things were, it was supposed to be worse. The other side was being held up by something. Maybe Lucifer wasn’t as powerful as they all said. Maybe those dicks-with-wings had finally stepped up to the plate. Dean didn’t know. But something out there was helping.

He saw a post-it on which Jo had written angel? in red ink. Sam had crossed the word out and beneath it he had written X Demon. Dean wasn’t sure what the X meant.

He pointed to it. “What’s this one in Montana? You and Sam have a disagreement?”

Jo plucked the post-it from the wall and pulled down the article it covered. “It’s Ezekiel. The pastor of the Brotherhood of Enoch.”

Dean frowned, not sure she’d answered his question. The name sounded familiar. “That so-called miracle in San Francisco?”

“Yeah. We’ve been tracking the activities of the church. In the lore, most angels have names that end with E. L. Gabriel, Raphael…” she glanced at him slyly, “Castiel.”

So she’d figured that out. Dean gave her a grin, but said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

“There’s an angel Ezekiel, too. Given what happened in the earthquake – that really was a miracle – I thought this guy might be an angel. Until Sam found this.” Jo handed him the article.

Dean skimmed it quickly. At a gathering of the Brotherhood in Butte, Montana, a child fled the chapel in terror, babbling about a man with red eyes. Now Dean understood the post-it. X meant crossroads. A demon with red eyes meant a crossroads demon.

Then the implications crashed down on him. “The Brotherhood isn’t a church. It’s a demon cult. They’re selling their souls so the apocalypse won’t touch them.” Bad deal. Very, very bad deal.

“That’s what Sam thought. There’s other evidence of the Brotherhood surviving things no one else did. Ezekiel’s message is all about the chosen – meaning his people – who will be saved from the end of the world.”

“And they will be. Until they go to Hell.” Dean shuddered. It was diabolical. Demons playing on people’s fears, promising salvation, but only in exchange for damnation.

“He’ll be in Iowa next,” Jo volunteered. “It’s on our way to Maryland, isn’t it?”

It would be, but they didn’t have time to hunt if they were going to make their meeting with Castiel.

~*~

It was a long drive to Maryland from South Dakota, but Jo found travelling with the Winchesters a lot of fun. Unlike their earlier trips, they were expecting a hunt at the end of this journey and yet there was nothing serious about the brothers during the drive. They spent half of the time bickering about the music or whether to stop for a bathroom break, or Godzilla vs Gojira or whether the car they just passed was a Ford or a Chevy or some obscure memory from their childhoods. It could have been irritating, but after about two hours of it Jo realised that the constant bickering was both how they passed the time on what would otherwise be a boring journey and, in a strange way, it was how they showed they loved each other. Once she understood that, she enjoyed listening to the pointless arguments and even joining in when they let her.

The other half of the time, the conversation was serious. They talked about what they expected to find at the end of their journey and their plans for various contingencies. They discussed past hunts and in the brief moments they forgot Jo was also in the car, past loves. Occasionally they would seem to realise simultaneously that the conversation was heading toward something they didn’t want to say aloud and there would be an awkward pause. A minute later, they’d go back to bickering about inconsequentials. But mostly, the conversation flowed easily and constantly.

Jo learned a lot from listening to them. She had already known the broad outline of what happened the previous year – the broken seals, the angels and demons at war – but she hadn’t realised how much of it centred on the Winchester boys. Jo knew there were details the brothers were not revealing, but she didn’t mind. She knew enough.

She also learned how much their father meant to them, even now. She wondered if they even realised how much they talked about him. It was usually just a passing comment. Remember when Dad… Dad would agree with me… Dad always said… You sound just like Dad, dude. Usually, the comment was met with a roll of the eyes and a whatever from whichever brother hadn’t spoken, but both brothers did it. Had Jo not been a hunter, she would have said their father’s spirit must be with them in the car. But of course, that couldn’t be true.

~*~

Jo bent down to lean in the Impala’s window. “Ezekiel is in town,” she reported. “The deacon told me that services are only for members of the Brotherhood. Usually Ezekiel only speaks to the third circle, but tonight’s service is special. All Brotherhood members can come.”

“We’re not in the Brotherhood,” Sam pointed out. He offered her a Starbucks cup. “Cappuccino, as requested.”

“Thanks.” Jo accepted the coffee.

“We can go in as potential recruits,” Dean suggested.

“That won’t work,” Jo disagreed. “I asked. They do take in new members but it takes weeks to be accepted. The meeting is tonight.” She sipped the coffee.

Sam shrugged. “I guess we’ll need to go in through the back door. Or the roof.”

“Maybe,” Jo nodded, “but I don’t think we need to. Their security isn’t all that tight and there’ll be a crowd tonight. If two of us pretend to be a couple and the third creates a distraction, we could get inside.”

Sam nodded. “You think we’ve got time?” he asked Dean.

“Not for a hunt,” Dean answered, leaning over so he could see Jo, too. “We can stay for tonight’s meeting and check this guy out, but if he’s what you think we’ll have to plan the hunt on our way back from Maryland.”

Jo climbed into the back seat. “I think it’s important, Dean. We might not have another chance to get close to him.”

Dean fired up the engine. While he drove, they talked over their plans.

All the information they had gathered about Ezekiel and the Brotherhood of Enoch supported their belief that Ezekiel was not human. But there were no photographs of the mysterious cult leader. There were few reports of what it was like inside the Brotherhood. It was possible, if unlikely, that this was just one of those weird cults that spring up from time to time, with a leader who was weird and twisted, but not actually demonic.

But how do you test for possession without revealing yourself to the demon? Salt and holy water were not exactly subtle and there was no possibility of sneaking into the church before the service to plant a few devil’s traps.

“I could do it,” Sam said as Dean pulled in to the side of the road so they could continue the conversation without shouting over the engine.

Dean’s response was predictable. “Sam, no.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Sam challenged.

“Sam, it nearly killed you. I’m not gonna let you – ”

“I don’t need demon blood for this, Dean. Just me. Ruby…” he broke off, still unable to say her name without mixed emotions. “If I can get close enough, I’ll know.”

“I don’t like your psychic thing, Sam.”

“Neither do I, but I’m stuck with it. So let’s use it.”

Jo leaned forward, resting her arms on the back of their seat. “You’ve got a demon-detector in your head?” She grinned at Sam.

Sam returned her smile. “Technically, it’s in my blood.”

“Cool. Well, it’s got my vote.”

“Fine,” Dean agreed reluctantly. “Now, how are we going to get you both inside?”

~*~

Dean pushed his way through the crowd, shouldering people aside as he moved. The Brotherhood members waited in an orderly line to get into the church; this crowd was outsiders hoping to get a glimpse of the famous miracle-worker. Some of them cast looks of annoyance in his direction as he pushed by. That was okay; Dean was supposed to attract attention.

Jo was right about the security here. There were two Brotherhood deacons on the door, but as far as Dean could tell they were just ticking off names on a list as the members entered. Occasionally they asked for ID, but not often. Dean made his way toward them.

By the time he reached the front of the crowd, both deacons were watching him. As he approached the door, one of them moved to block his way.

“Whoever you are…” he began.

Dean pulled out his fake FBI ID. “Special Agent Mosely,” he announced.

“I don’t care if you’re the President. You can’t enter. This is a sacred space.”

“I’m not interested in going inside,” Dean said. “I need to talk to you both.” He gestured to the side, indicating he wanted to talk in private. “Please. It won’t take a moment.”

“We’re a little busy,” the second man protested, but he moved aside as Dean asked.

“I can see that.” Dean reached into his jacket and withdrew a photograph from his pocket. “Have either of you seen her?” he asked quietly.

Both men looked at the picture.

“Her name is Alex Jefferson. She ran away from home a few days ago,” Dean went on. “We believe she’s coming here.”

“Haven’t seen her,” the second man said.

Dean glanced around as if to make sure no one could overhear. People were still filing into the church even with the deacons distracted. Sam and Jo were almost at the front of the line.

“Listen, the FBI has no interest in stepping on the civil rights of the Brotherhood.” Dean gave them his best trust-me smile. “This girl is under-age and she’s very confused. You sure she hasn’t been here?”

Both men were certain, which wasn’t a surprise, since Dean’s story wasn’t even slightly true. The photograph was one they downloaded from the internet; the name was made up.

Dean returned the photo to his pocket. “Okay.” He offered the first man a business card. “If she shows up, you be sure to give me a call. This kid needs help. She was seeing visions of angels, for God’s sake.” He laughed.

The man nodded. “No problem. She shows, we’ll call.”

“Thank you. You’re both patriots,” Dean said with a final grin. He turned away from them as Sam and Jo disappeared into the church.

Job done. Now it was up to Sam.

~*~

The church was a meeting hall with a stage up front and seating laid out in neat rows. There were no religious symbols at all. The podium on the stage was decorated with a plain, blue cloth.

Sam led Jo to a seat near the front of the room, on the opposite side from the podium. He wanted to be close to the stage, but he didn’t want to be in Ezekiel’s line of sight. And he very much wanted to be within reach of the exit; there was a fire door on this side. Jo sat on the aisle.

While they waited, Sam watched the front of the room. He could see people moving around another room behind the stage; was Ezekiel among them? He couldn’t tell. If Ezekiel was going to speak from the podium, he would be close enough for Sam. Most demons pricked at his senses, with or without the demon blood. It had always been true, but he hadn’t really been aware of it until Ruby began teaching him. Now he could usually tell when a demon was close. There were a few exceptions; oddly, Ruby herself had been one of them. If she wasn’t in a body he recognised, Sam could never tell it was her. There was a chance Ezekiel would be an exception, too. If that happened, Sam would use his power. Without the demon blood, it would give him a hell of a migraine, and he wouldn’t be able to do much. All he needed, though, was to grasp the demon, just a little, with his mind. Enough to prove it really was a demon in there. It was possible Ezekiel would feel him doing it, but Sam thought that, especially without the demon blood to power him up, he would be able to keep his touch feather-light.

Just in case he couldn’t, there was holy water in his pocket and in Jo’s purse. But Sam’s real worry wasn’t the demons. The Brotherhood of Enoch functioned like a cult. The people would defend their prophet, false or not, and there were about three hundred people in this room. So far, Sam couldn’t sense any demons among them.

Jo leaned in to whisper, “There are more people here than I thought.”

Sam whispered back, “I know. Three hundred souls. I really hope this guy turns out to be an angel.” If Ezekiel turned out to be a demon, all three hundred of these people were going to Hell.

Jo nodded unhappily. “It’s possible, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. Most of the angels I’ve met are total dicks. I don’t really see them helping people.” Lucifer was an angel, too. Sam knew that Uriel had been trying to recruit other angels to Lucifer’s side; he didn’t know if Uriel succeeded, but he had to assume at least some of them saw humans the way Uriel did. If Ezekiel was an angel, it didn’t mean these people were in any less danger.

The service began like a traditional Christian worship. They sang a hymn, one Sam remembered from childhood weekends spent with Pastor Jim in Minnesota. Then a man rose from the front row of seats to lead an opening prayer. The prayer took a long time and the congregation responded with spontaneously murmured words: Hallelujah, praise Jesus, amen but it was respectful and quiet. The crowd didn’t get worked up. Sam found it unusual, but not disturbing.

The next speaker acted as a kind of warm up act. He called the congregation his brothers and sisters. He spoke of the miracles they had all witnessed and promised they would see more, though he was vague about the when. Sam had known about some of the miracles he mentioned: the church spared from the earthquake in San Francisco and the group spared from the deadly Seattle Flu. But there were others that were new to him. A member of this congregation had been blind and could now see. Another was dying of cancer and had been healed. A child born with a congenital heart condition was now healthy and sound.

The blind see and the lame walk, Sam thought. No wonder these people were so easily taken in. Most Americans were raised on such stories from the Bible. To see them literally come to life, while the world around them was ending…who could Ezekiel be but Christ, returned at last? Sam almost hoped it were true.

The speaker reminded them all they were living in the last days, but the Brotherhood had nothing to fear. It went on for at least twenty minutes but finally he got to the point and introduced their leader, the great prophet, Ezekiel.

Ezekiel was greeted by thunderous applause from the congregation and shouts of Praise Jesus and He is with us!

He was an ordinary looking man. His dark hair and eyes suggested some Hispanic blood, but his skin was white, even pale. He wore a plain suit and a tie. He could have been any small-town businessman.

The noise from the congregation was distracting. Sam couldn’t tell what Ezekiel was. He tried to stay calm. There was plenty of time. He and Jo would have to sit through the entire service anyway; leaving early would attract the attention they were trying to avoid.

Ezekiel opened a leather-bound book and began to read. Immediately, Sam understood how he had attracted so many followers. Ezekiel didn’t look like anything special, but his voice was mesmerising. A rich baritone that filled the room like an opera singer’s command performance. Whenever he paused, the silence in the room was complete. You could hear every shuffle, every breath.

The book he read from looked like a Bible, but the verses were nothing Sam recognised. He described signs of the end of the world, many of which seemed awfully familiar. Then he closed his book and spoke to them directly. He talked about the ones who would be saved. It sounded a lot like the kind of Rapture theology preached in tents to crowds of ignorant racists, but Ezekiel wasn’t promising the “chosen” Heaven. He was promising they would survive to inherit paradise on Earth.

It was a powerful message. Sam could feel the congregation responding. But the message was a lie. Ezekiel’s demonic nature tugged at the demon blood in Sam’s veins. He could almost smell the sulphur. Sam wished for the power he had the previous year, to send this son of a bitch to Hell before he could entrap more souls. But those powers were gone.

“We were right,” he whispered to Jo when it seemed safe.

“I know,” she hissed back.

Something in her voice made Sam look at Jo. She was watching Ezekiel as if hypnotised, but she was shaking with fear. Sam had forgotten she had good reason to be afraid of demons. He reached for her hand and she let him take it. Her skin felt cold to the touch.

Sam had lost the drift of Ezekiel’s sermon. He was saying something about fear.

“…and won’t we do anything for it? No matter how depraved, how disgusting, for those false promises, we do it! Fear makes us build our own prisons. Don’t you know it? You live in a tiny little box, only coming out after dark. Well, I am here to tell you there is nothing to fear! You can be free of worries for the future, free from fear…”

Beside him, Jo made an odd, choking sound. Sam saw tears in her eyes. He squeezed her hand. “Jo, are you okay?”

She shook her head, evidently not trusting herself to speak.

Sam was at a loss. He couldn’t have a conversation with Jo without being overheard. But if Jo was going to melt down, they were going to attract a lot of attention. He had to get her out of here. Then he realised there was one thing he could do. He slid his free hand into his pocket. He closed his eyes, trying to tune out Ezekiel’s voice and concentrate. By touch, he sent a text message to Dean: 911. At least, he hoped that was what he’d done. He didn’t dare pull the phone out to check. But Dean would understand any message at this point meant trouble.

Jo met his eyes silently, her cheeks wet.

Ezekiel was still talking. “But you, my brothers and sisters, you are chosen!” On the last word, he seemed to look directly at Sam. “Through you, when the bright star of morning rises, we come to paradise on Earth!”

Sam caught his breath. Bright star of morning was one of Lucifer’s names. The cult leader’s eyes were fixed on Sam and Sam knew he had been recognised. The muscles in his back and shoulders tightened. Now he wanted to get out every bit as badly as Jo did. But more powerful than the desire to run was his desire to rip out the demon’s throat and gorge on his blood.

As Ezekiel’s eyes met Sam’s, the demon froze for an instant. Sam knew he had been recognised, but the recognition went two ways. This wasn’t just a demon. It was a demon Sam knew: one he’d exorcised before. Sam could almost hear the rush of blood in his veins. He could do it right this time. He could kill him and save all these people. All he needed was a taste… Sam began to move.

An alarm blared through the church. Fire!

Dean, Sam thought with mingled resentment and relief. People around them rose and looked around in confusion. Sam stood, too, pulled Jo up and headed for the nearest fire exit. He had to get out before he gave in to his hunger. They were not alone in running, but they were ahead of the crowd. Sam shoved the fire door open and they were outside in the dark street.

Immediately, Sam felt better, the craving for demon blood receding. It was still there, but he could control it now. He checked on Jo with a glance; she was keeping up. Together, they ran for the Impala.

~*~

They stopped at a truck-stop diner just after sunset. Over a meal of cheeseburgers and fries they debated whether or not they should keep driving through the night. Jo volunteered to do some of the driving but Dean instantly vetoed the idea. They had another day to reach Ilchester; they could afford to stop for a night’s rest.

Sam was pretty sure Dean just didn’t want to risk letting Jo drive his baby.

The found a motel and paid for two adjoining rooms, as before. They laid down salt, as they always dis, but Sam didn’t create any further protection.

“Aren’t you going to draw devil’s traps?” Jo asked. She seemed nervous since they fled the church.

“Do you still have the hex bag I made for you?” Sam checked.

“Yes, but – ”

“Then don’t worry. The demons won’t be able to find us. Salt is good enough to keep out random supernatural things.”

“Well…okay. Goodnight.” Jo seemed unconvinced.

Sam waited for her to close the connecting door between the rooms, then sat down on the bed. “Dean.”

Dean nodded as if this was something he expected. “What happened?”

“You know what happened. But there’s something I haven’t told you. I didn’t want to scare Jo; she’s freaked out enough as it is.”

“You jonesing for another hit of bitch-blood?”

Sam grimaced. “I was, but that’s not it. Ezekiel, the demon…I, uh…”

“Spit it out, Sammy.”

“I recognised him. He’s one we’ve met before. And, Dean, he’s not a crossroads demon. That story about a man with red eyes…maybe I’m being paranoid but I think it was meant to draw us in.”

“How could you recognised him in a new meat suit?”

“My psychic thing. I know the ones I’ve exorcised.”

Dean stared at him. “Alastair?”

Sam heard the fear in Dean’s voice. “No! God, no. Alastair’s dead; he’s never coming back. But you’re close. It was Samhain.”

“I thought you sent him to Hell.”

“I did! Hardest exorcism I’ve ever done. I guess I didn’t bury him deep enough. He…he’ll be coming after me, Dean.”

Dean nodded. “I guess he will.”

“And it gets worse. Right now, he’s collecting souls. But when he’s done collecting…you know what he can do.” Everything they hunted: zombies, werewolves, vampires, ghouls…Samhain had the power to summon all of them. He could make the world a horror movie. Come to think of it, what was he waiting for?

Dean was frowning. “Playing pastor isn’t exactly Samhain’s MO, Sam. Are you sure about this?”

“I was just thinking the same thing. I’m as sure as I can be, but…you’re right. It is weird.”

“Well, either way, I guess he’s next hunt on the list. Are you okay, Sam?”

Honestly, Sam knew he was in for a bad night. But he hadn’t given in to the hunger. This was the second time, and he hadn’t given in. So he simply shrugged. “Yeah. I could really use a drink, though.”

Dean tossed Sam his hip flask.

~*~

After Jo said goodnight to the brothers she spent time laying down protections of her own around her room: a devil’s trap beneath the window, holy water stashed in strategic places around the room and a ring of salt around the bed as well as the door and window. No matter what Sam said, without it, she would never be able to sleep.

Finally, Jo crawled into bed, closed her eyes and did her best to relax.

She woke screaming!

It was her recurring nightmare, but Jo woke in an irrational terror. She struck out in the darkness and her flailing hands hit something. She heard a grunt.

Jo drew in a breath to scream and grabbed for the knife she slept with. Before her fingers found the hilt, a hand closed around her wrist.

“Jo. Jo, settle down. It’s just a dream.”

She was in too much panic to recognise the voice. She only registered it was male and therefore a threat.

“No! Not again!” she tried to scream the words but terror closed her throat, reducing her voice to a whisper. Her hand closed over the knife.

“Jo, it’s Dean. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

She had enough sense to let go of the knife instead of stabbing him somewhere painful, but she shoved him away with both hands. “Get off me, you jerk! What the hell are you doing?”

Instantly, his weight was gone from the bed. She heard his voice from further away, calm and reasonable. “You were screaming for help, Jo. I thought something was in here.” He snapped on the overhead light.

Jo recoiled from the sudden glare, but the light did help. It grounded her in reality, in the present. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down and hugged herself tightly. Finally, she looked up at Dean. He was half-dressed, wearing an old t-shirt and boxer shorts. There were socks on  his feet, but no shoes. He watched her warily.

Taking a deep breath, Jo pulled up the comforter to cover herself. “Sorry. I…I’m okay.”

Dean raised both of his hands, demonstrating that he was unarmed. “Can I sit?”

There was nowhere for him to sit except the bed, but Jo nodded.

Dean walked around the bed and sat down beside her. He was quite close to her, but not so close they were touching. “Jo, you’re not okay. I want to help, if I can.”

No one could help. Jo shrugged. “I have bad dreams. About what they did to me.”

Dean nodded, his expression serious. “Yeah. Me, too.”

“I’m scared,” she confessed. “The demons are everywhere, Dean, and they’re getting stronger. Ezekiel knew me, he’ll… I can’t go back.”

He frowned. “Back? Jo, why would you be worried about that? You…” He broke off abruptly. Did she imagine he was a little pale? “Jo, you didn’t make a deal, did you? Sell your soul?”

Jo’s stomach felt hollow as she realised he had been assuming that for some time. “No,” she answered, “I didn’t sell my soul.” It was the truth, but it felt like a lie.

“But…?” he prompted, his eyes narrowed.

Jo shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

“Not if you won’t tell me.”

She felt cornered. She had to tell him something. In a way, she wanted to. Dean might understand, and she needed that. Her mom sure didn’t get it. Any of it.

“I never knew why they took me,” Jo said. She spoke very quietly, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear. “They killed Nan. Why didn’t they kill me, too?”

“Hard to know with demons,” Dean commented.

“At first, they kept me in a box. Like a coffin. Like the place you found me when that ghost in Philadelphia took me underground. They’d pull me out when they wanted to…to hurt me, then shove me back in. I was stuck there, in the dark, in my own stink, couldn’t move or see…”

Dean shifted closer to her. “That’s a new level of nasty.” He offered her his arm and after a moment’s hesitation Jo allowed him to hold her. She laid her head on his shoulder.

“I don’t know how long I was in there. When they finally let me out I was so weak, and hurting, I was ready to do anything they asked. If they wanted my soul, they could have had it, Dean. But they didn’t want that.”

“What did they want?”

Jo swallowed the lump in her throat. “I can’t…I can’t talk about that. It was…too much. When I got stronger, I tried to say no and they locked me back in the box. Only this time it was worse. I hate what I did, Dean, but – ”

His arm tightened around her shoulders. “I told you before, it wasn’t your fault, Jo. You did what you had to do. You survived.”

“I’m not sure I did,” Jo whispered.

Dean shifted a little, tucked his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up, meeting her eyes. “You survived,” he repeated.

His face was very close to hers. Dean’s breath was warm on her skin. Jo thought he was going to kiss her, but he made no attempt to close that last centimetre of distance. Jo squirmed under his intense gaze. What was he waiting for?

The moment her mind formed the question, Jo knew he was waiting for her. It was weird; she didn’t remember Dean showing this kind of sensitivity before. In fact, he’d been kind of an ass. But now he was careful never to touch her without her consent, never to push her too far. Maybe that was why she felt safe with him.

Jo stretched her neck and touched her lips to his. It was easy, far easier than she expected. Dean drew her closer to him and kissed her lips, but his kiss was light, almost brotherly. He drew back, questioning, then smiled and kissed her again. This time there was nothing brotherly about it. Dean probed gently with his tongue and Jo responded, opening her mouth to him. Her mind was tense as she struggled to concentrate on Dean and not remember a demon’s hands on her, but her body had not forgotten desire and she felt warmth pooling in her centre.

Jo moaned softly as Dean’s lips left hers. He kissed a path along her jawline, nibbled on her ear then ran his tongue down her neck. Jo trembled, her body tingling, anticipating where he would touch her next. But when his warm hand cupped her breast, suddenly it wasn’t Dean’s hand any more. It felt different, and when she opened her eyes, it wasn’t Dean she saw. He had tricked her, and now she was lost.

“No,” she whimpered, pushing at him weakly. “Please, please stop.” It was hopeless. She was trapped again. Tears of despair filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, but the hands touching her were gone.

“Okay,” Dean’s voice said softly. “Okay, Jo. I’m sorry.”

“Dean?” Jo moved away from him and pressed her back against the headboard. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “I’m bein’ a jerk. You’re not ready and you don’t need my issues. D’you want me to go?”

On her side of the bed, Jo could see the bag she had shoved half-beneath it. She had three hits left. If she took some now, she’d be coming down by morning and could sleep it off in the car; they wouldn’t be in Maryland for hours.

“You know what I’ll do if you leave,” she warned him.

Evidently he’d reached the same conclusion, because he said, “Not my business. This time.”

“Will you stay? Please.”

Dean nodded. “Okay.”

~*~

Go on to Chapter 8 and Epilogue.