Chapter One: Sharper Than a Serpent

Rain splattered the ground in ever increasing fury, making it even harder to see in the gathering darkness.  Hard to hear and freaking hard to walk, let alone run, in the muddy graveyard as broken headstones and potholes became obscured by water. It was the right time and the absolute wrong place to turn an ankle. Nature seemed determined to make this hunt as difficult and unpleasant as it possibly could be by adding a cold rising wind that whipped the rain into stinging pellets.

Sam swiped his face with a wet arm, slicking his hair back out of his eyes, seeking momentary shelter under a sprawling oak tree.

It had rained for the entire two days they had been on this hunt; neither one of them had a dry piece of clothing. The local weather service was issuing flood watches and there was no sign it would be letting up anytime soon.

Sam's research into the bizarre stories surrounding this hunt had told them they were probably searching for a Nukekubi, a Japanese spirit neither had ever heard of before. How the hell it had ended up in Even God Forgot Where It Was, Michigan, was anyone's guess. Just finding that information had been hard enough, trying to get information from witnesses who were reluctant to admit they had seen a woman's severed head chase down and maul someone to death with its teeth, screaming horrendously every inch of the way, was pretty nearly impossible.

Nukekubi supposedly appeared as human during the day, interacting with normal people. At night, they had the ability to literally detach their heads from their bodies and chase down their victims, screaming and shrieking. The theory was they fed off the adrenaline produced by fright, ripping their victims to shreds by biting them repeatedly until they finally died from blood loss or fright. A slow and horrible way to go.

Sam had seen pictures of the two most recent bodies; they hadn't made for pleasant viewing. They had traced the spirit back to a woman who dealt in antiques of oriental origins, traveling around the country "buying" for a firm that Sam's searching had revealed did not exist.

She had attempted to flee when she realized they were on to her, but her car had gone out of control on the rain-slicked road and she had crashed into the stone fence of the old cemetery. Bolting from the car, she disappeared through the crumbling hole the car had made in the enclosure.  Giving chase, they had never the less lost her in the rain and trees. Unfortunately, dusk was upon them, but as dangerous as she was after dark, they had to go in after her.

Thunder pounded around Sam; he could feel it through the ground where he stood, the rain was so heavy the beam from the flash stopped dead about three feet from its source. The only real light came when the air turned blue white as lightning crackled and flashed; one second bright as day the next pitch black  before Sam's eyes had time to adjust. There was fat spark of light and a sizzling pop as one bolt struck the ground not ten feet from where he stood, reminding him that standing under this tree might not be such a boss idea as he felt an electric thrill across his skin.

The thought triggered the need to know where Dean was. They had separated a short time ago, trying to cover as much ground as possible, but between the storm and the not knowing what to expect, every round object in the whole damned cemetery had taken on the aspect of a disembodied head and Sam's nerves were on  edge. He swabbed water from his eyes and swore, stepping back into the full power of the deluge. Turning, he sucked in a shocked breath as he found himself face to face with the very thing he was looking for.

 Unfortunately, it wasn't Dean. 

Shit.

He couldn't help it. Stumbling back, partly out of shock and partly to get out of reach, he slipped and went down with a wet thud, splattering water everywhere, a shard of gravestone digging into his back, tearing jacket and skin. He had the presence of mind to fire his weapon, but the shot went wild as he fell and the gun slipped out of his wet grip.

Body hanging limply, the feet dragging through the mud, the female figure before him drifted closer, coming to a halt to hover over him. Long black hair straggled by the wind and rain clung to her upper body like seaweed, clothes flapping wetly around her body. Her red lips parted, mouth stretching into a teeth-baring grin that just kept growing. Her silver eyes gleamed with anticipation as she bobbed gently before him, a grotesque cork in the maelstrom tearing around them.

Sam crabbed backwards as fast as he could, working to get to the puddle the gun had landed in, but seriously doubting that it would fire now, even if he could get to it in time. His back hit another headstone, stopping his progress with a painful jolt, hands and boots clawing up mud as he flailed to get further away.

The woman's head took on a eerie glow, her mouth gaping open with dozens of crooked teeth, her tongue lolling out to swipe lazily at them then drift back into her mouth as greenish saliva began to ooze from her maw.

Sam gulped, morbidly fascinated as her neck began to lengthen into a thinning stalk, the flesh stretching as her head rose away from her body, twisting and turning, her eyes never leaving his face. Even over the rain he could hear the popping of separating bones, her head rocking as the skin began to part.

A keening sound worse than nails on a chalkboard began to come from her mouth as the last of the ties to her body snapped away and it fell forward onto the streaming ground.  The head hung in the air,bobbing gently despite the battering blasts of wind and rain,  strands of trailing hair, tendon  and torn flesh dangling. The keening rose to a scream as it suddenly dove at him.

Sam couldn't move, couldn't do anything but breathe, so he drew in as much air as his lungs would hold, then forced it out in desperate bellow

"DEAN!"
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 Dean heard the shot, his body twisting in the direction he thought it had come from. His slight hesitation as he tried to get his bearings in the pitch blackness evaporated when he heard his name faintly over the dull roar of the rain. He bolted between the tilting headstones as lightning split the sky once again, each smack of his boots on the rain soaked ground splashing madly, slipping in the mud as he rounded the large marble headstones scattered haphazardly over the area.

The rain has lessened slightly as he ran and he could hear the earsplitting shriek coming through the air, the sound crawling up his spine like ice. Sam's voice rang out again from the left. Dean skidded to a halt in a spray of rainwater, pausing long enough to cock the shotgun and lift it to fire as he slid on the muddy earth.

"Sam!" 

Sam was backed up to a pile of grave markers, his arms up to protect himself as the head of their prey swooped at him, screaming and cackling. In a movie, such a thing might have seemed surreal and cartoonish, but in grotesque, real flesh and blood there was nothing funny about it at all.

 Dean could see the headless body lying in the mud a few feet in front Sam who was trying his damnedest to evade the head as it darted and threw itself at him, teeth snapping, demented shrieking filling the air.

Sam had managed to get to his knees, but no further as he continued to duck and bat away at her.  Dean tried to aim at  the rapidly moving creature, seeing Sam's jacket sleeve tear in several places as the thing tried to clamp down on his arm, succeeding only in catching fabric.

"Sam, get down!" Dean yelled, weaving erratically, trying to track the thing with the shotgun.

Before Sam could do as requested or Dean do more than lift the gun, the Nukekubi spun like a top and shot at Dean as lightning suddenly crackled overhead, blinding Dean with blue brilliance and deafening both hunters with an explosion of thunder. The gun went flying and Dean was knocked from his feet as the shrieking head  struck him in the chest dead on. He landed on his back with a wet smack that knocked the breath from his lungs, his body sliding back several feet before hitting the trunk of the old oak tree. Rain began to fall in sheets once again. Dean choked, sure he would drown as he fought to take in air and keep the screaming nightmare striking at him away.

Teeth snapping as it flew at him, he threw up an arm instinctively to protect his face, feeling the shocking pressure and pain as his forearm was suddenly caught by what felt like a bear trap. He arched upwards from the ground, a hoarse yell bursting from him as an acidic burn shot up his arm. The sight of the gibbering head clamped on his arm, eyes rolling in ecstasy, jaws working the jagged teeth even further into his flesh instantly took the prize for the most God-awful thing even he had ever experienced.

In the split second it took the Nukekubi to turn and attack Dean, Sam threw himself in the direction of Dean's gun, scrabbling madly through the deluge. He clawed the weapon from the muddy ground, bracing it against his body as he rose to his knees and brought the muzzle up to fire, aiming it at the headless body sprawled in the mud. The sound of the gun blast was muffled by the roar of the rain. The special rounds, loaded with ground jade, gunpowder, phosphorus, and a compound the squat little proprietor of the dank basement shop they had visited swore was so rare it had been carried from heaven by the gods, burst like firebombs when they struck the still form.

Despite the rain, sparks flew everywhere. Fire exploded outwards so brightly, Sam had to cover his eyes. The heat was so intense the ground around the body actually dried briefly, then with a sound like the sizzle of raw  meat on a hot grill the flames died away and left only ash in their place. The sudden downpour ceased and only the heavy plops of rain dripping from the trees around them was left.

Sam shook his head and dropped the gun, rushing to Dean as he rolled slowly to his side, coughing water and swearing. "Dean! Dean, are you okay?" Sam gasped. He grabbed Dean's shoulders and helped him sit up.

"Christ!" Dean yelped, jerking as though he'd been electrocuted.  The Nukekubi's head was now shriveled and twisted; without its body to return to it couldn't survive. The jaws, however, were clamped down tight, its long teeth still firmly embedded in Dean's forearm.  Getting a good look, Dean gagged, flesh crawling, but he could hardly get away from his own arm. 


"Sam, get this fucking thing off me!" Dean yelled, sitting up more and holding his arm as far away from himself as possible. "Jesus! That's the grossest thing I ever saw!"

Sam was equally disgusted and horrified, but not quite sure what to do. He reached out hesitantly. "I'm not sure…" he began.

"Cut my friggin' arm off if you have to!" Dean barked.  "It hurts like hell! Get it off me!"

Blood was starting to drip heavily from the wounds. "Hold on," Sam said, steeling himself. He carefully slid the fingers of his right hand into the thing's mouth, placing them with care against the jagged teeth. Despite the rain the skin of the Nukekubi's head now felt dried and stiff, like beef jerky.  

Which Sam would never be able to eat again after this. He carefully placed his left hand and began to pull the jaws apart slowly.

Dean growled low in his throat, eyes clenched shut, his face twisted in a grimace as the teeth slowly pulled free, barbed edges like fish hooks tearing just as badly on the way out as they had on the way in. Air sizzled through his teeth in a hiss of pain as Sam strained to part the jaws enough to get Dean's arm free.

Dean cried out as the jawbones suddenly separated at the hinge and came free, the skin and skull splitting in half. Sam fell back from the unexpected release, dropping the two chunks of skull.   Totally grossed out,  he madly washed his hands through the water pooling on the ground.

Dean clutched his bloody arm, retching as shudders racked his body.

Sam was hovering over him instantly, gripping Dean's shoulder as he choked.  "Let me see…"

Dean pulled away, "Burn that mother first…" he grunted, rocking forward to cradle his arm. In the distance he could hear more rain approaching through the trees. "Hurry! It's starting to rain again. Once we get outta this rain I'm not getting back in!" He started to push to his feet, but Sam stopped him.

"Stay here, I'll do it." Sam dug into the brush and found where he had dropped the bag with their supplies. Between the two of them and with the aid of a lot of kerosene, they managed to set the remains of the head  aflame before the rain began again in earnest.

Dean, holding his arm against his chest, kicked at the ash pile  "I'd sure as hell like to know how this damn thing got here." He was shaking noticeably, whether from the cold wetness or reaction he didn't know. As Sam gathered the weapons, which would all need a thorough cleaning after  this, Dean loaded the miscellaneous flammables back into the bag, rain beginning to pelt him once again. He stood holding his throbbing arm close to his belly.

"Let me take that," Sam said reaching out for the bag.

"I got it!" Dean snapped, pulling away and starting back through the graves to the car. The thought of the car pissed him off all over again. The Impala was fifty miles away with a broken axle and they had been forced to get a car from the local Rent-a-Wreck. The car, an elderly Caprice with a crumpled fender, was cheap and it ran, but that was about all Dean could say about it.

Sam rolled his eyes, but followed along knowing it was useless to argue.

Dean threw the bag into the trunk after the guns and slammed it shut one-handed. "God, I'm sick of this friggin' rain!" he yelled, slamming into the driver's seat, lamenting the state of their clothes, but grateful it wasn't his baby's interior that was getting soaked from their sopping garments.

They both settled back into the dry interior with groans of relief, just sitting there for a moment staring through the windshield while the rain pounded the exterior.

"Shit," Dean finally said, reaching forward awkwardly to turn on the ignition with the wrong hand. He hit the heater switch, knowing it would take the old car a while to warm up. He made a face as his injured arm throbbed with a dull ache that his shivering didn't help.

Sam reached over and took Dean's arm, watery blood dripping onto his hands.

Dean jerked back automatically, startled out of his haze. "What are you doin?"

"I'm lonely and I wanta hold hands, " Sam sneered. "Turn on the interior light and let me see your arm, you idiot, you're bleeding like a stuck pig."

"It's fine," Dean grumbled, "It doesn't really hurt."  He was lying. It hurt like a bitch. He flipped the light on and clumsily shucked his sodden jacket, throwing it in the back seat where it would no doubt mildew. Carefully pulling up his sleeves he extended his arm for  Sam's examination. Looking at it in the harsh interior lights along with the memory of how it happened made him queasy suddenly and he closed his eyes.

"You okay?" Sam asked eyeing him.

Dean's eyes popped open, "Yeah, just thinking about that…thing…chewing on me."

"I'm more concerned with what it was chewing on before it got to you," Sam gritted. "That's gotta be an infection waiting to happen."

The statement didn't do anything for Dean's stomach and he turned to look out the window, swallowing.
 
Sam curled a lip at the row of teeth marking Dean's arm, taking in the rows of deep punctures with shuddering distaste, still feeling the jaws giving way in his hands.

Dean grimaced as Sam's hold suddenly tightened painfully, his sleeves shoved roughly further up his arm. "Hey! That hurts…"

Sam looked at him, "I thought you said it didn't really hurt." Sam's fingers gently prodded the puncture wounds on Dean's forearm just above his wrist.

"It didn't 'til you did that!" Dean snarled, trying to pull his arm back, but  Sam held fast. He leaned over the seat and grabbed the first aid kit, pulling it back over the seat into his lap.

Dean stared at his arm, more annoyed than anything. "Sam…"

Sam pulled out a bottle of peroxide and a small towel and proceeded to pour it over the rather large slowly bleeding holes. As wounds went it wasn't as bad as a lot of them, but just the thought of what might have been in contact with that things teeth made Sam sick to think about it.

 Dean yelped as it bubbled and foamed, a sting shooting up his arm to the shoulder. "Ow! God, Sam! " He grabbed the towel and pressed it over the wounds, holding his arm out of Sam's reach.

"Dean, it bit you! We need to clean it!" Sam, protested.

"Thanks for the newsflash!" Dean hissed as he patted the area carefully. "You've got the touch of a blacksmith! Just dress it or let me do it and let's get the hell outta here." Dean reluctantly held his arm out again. "God knows what the hell was living in that bitches mouth."

"Sorry," Sam replied, trying to be more careful. He finished cleaning the bites and laved on the antibiotic ointment, wrapping Dean's arm with gauze  and tape. When he finished he closed the kit and dropped it back over the seat. "You want some pain killers?"

Dean shook his head, gently rubbing the bandaged area, flexing his fingers pulled on the torn muscles.

"Dean…"

"What?" Dean growled. The interior was starting to smell musty now that the heat had finally kicked in.

"Maybe you better let me drive…one handed and in this weather…"

Dean opened his mouth to retort, then thought better of it. Sam had a point and his arm was really starting to hurt. A dull burn that shot from his hand to his shoulder and back, pulsating. "Fine ," he replied, sighing. They managed to switch sides with a little clumsy awkwardness and Dean settled against the window.

Sam flipped on the headlights and wipers, trying vainly to see through the monsoon. Shooting a quick glance at Dean, cradling his injured arm, staring out the window, Sam put the car in gear and urged her through the mud and water.

Chapter Two: Cut Off

Dean lifted his head from the window, blinking drowsily at Sam as he felt the car slow. He rubbed his eyes, "What's goin' on?" He struggled to sit up straighter, his body feeling like lead.  They both squinted through the windshield at the swinging flashlight coming toward them and the sparkling blue lights of a police cruiser.

"What the hell?" Dean growled, casting a quick glance around the interior to make sure nothing that didn't need to be seen by a cop was visible.

"I don't know," Sam said, rolling down the window a few inches as a deputy sheriff, swathed in rain gear, leaned down and yelled over the downpour.

"The bridge is washed out! You'll have to turn back!" 

"Washed out?!" Sam yelled back, holding a hand up to block the rain. "How the hell are we supposed to get back to town?"

Next to him, Dean hissed, twisting his head away as the beam from the flashlight swept across his face. He held his bandaged arm close to his side, blocking it from view with the other arm. Cops were naturally curious and he was so not in the mood for pointless questions about what had happened to him if the guy caught sight of the bloody bandages.

"Haven't you been listening to the radio?" the deputy yelled. "There's a  flood warning out. If this keeps up the river's gonna be at flood stage by morning. If you wanted to leave you're about two hours too late!"

"So how do we get outta here?" Sam demanded.

The deputy snorted. "You don't from here; this is the only way across the  river! You can try to double back through Fairmont about twenty-five miles west and follow 186 back to Preston, if that's where you're going, but the roads are lousy, washing out everywhere with all this rain. I imagine a lot of them are closed now. If I were you I'd plan on spending the night in Fairmont. Better than spending it in a ditch or drowned!"

"Thanks!" Sam snarled, rolling up the window, wiping his face on his still damp sleeve. He backed the car up and turned it around, tires spinning on the slick road.

"Where are you going now?" Dean asked, massaging the back of his neck.

"Back to Fairmont, I guess." Sam glanced at Dean, who was blinking slowly. "You heard the guy. We can't get through. I guess we'll have to find a motel and ride this out. We need to get out of these wet clothes and you—Dean, are you listening?" he added, as Dean's eyes slid closed and his head rocked forward slightly.

Dean's eyes snapped open again. "Yeah. Going back to Fairfield…" he rubbed his eyes again with the heel of his hand.

"Fairmont," Sam corrected, frowning at Dean. "You okay?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I'm just…really tired. I wouldn't turn down a bed if it was offered," he admitted, leaning back against the window, closing his eyes again. "Dry sounds good, too," he murmured, hugging his arms to himself, his clothing cold and clammy.

"How's your arm?"

"Fine, doesn't hurt." Dean murmured, resettling himself against the door.

"There's bound to be a motel in Fairmont; it's not that far. If this damned rain would let up a little." He peered through the glass, awash with rain despite the best efforts of the wipers.

There was no lightning, no thunder, just rain. It was like a fire hose was pouring on them, the headlights reflected on sheets of water running over the slope of the road and into the ditches on the other side.

 He would have driven faster, but he could feel the car slide if he gave it too much gas and he knew it would hydroplane if he had to hit the brakes. Rooster tails of varying heights rose past the windows as he drove through water pooling at the sides of the road, feeling it trying to drag the car closer to the edge. He instinctively pulled the car the other way, gripping the wheel with tense fingers. It was slow going; the windshield became inundated with rain the slow wipers couldn't sweep off fast enough, and Sam was having trouble seeing the edge of the road.

He was relieved when he finally saw lights ahead, desperate to get out of the car and un-kink his muscles. Plus, the gas gauge on the car was falling resolutely toward empty and he had no desire to walk anywhere in this monsoon to get gas if they ran out.

 It was a two gas pump/mini-diner combination, but it was open and coffee was sounding good. He nudged Dean out of his slumber again, getting a filthy look for his trouble.

"What?" Dean snapped, cranky and sore.

"We need gas. Do you want some coffee? Maybe someone in here knows a way to get to Preston." Not waiting for an answer, Sam got out of the car and moved to  the back of the car to flip the gas panel open. Despite the canopy over the pumps he was still getting drenched on one side. The water swirling around his feet was at least an inch deep. Looking down the main road to Fairmont he could see other lights scattered, but no other traffic. Maybe the cop had been right, they should just spend the night in Fairmont.

The pump clicked and he returned the nozzle to the holder. Sam moved around to the passenger side of the car, peering through the window, his wet hair clinging to his face. Dean still sat unmoving, not even jerking when Sam rapped on the window, just looking up slowly.

"I'm going in to warm up and get some coffee, come on."

Dean stared at him for a moment and then nodded, reaching for the door handle. "Coffee sounds good," he agreed. Shivering, Dean flinched back slightly as wind blown rain splattered his face.

"You need to get out of those wet clothes," Sam yelled over the sound of the rain.

Dean offered him a lopsided grin, favoring his arm. "Sorry, I don't put out on a first date."

Sam slammed the car door, rolling his eyes. "Since when? I thought a first date for you was putting out."

"Don't ruffle your feathers," Dean replied, moving slowly toward the bright lights of the diner, "Just 'cause I'm easy doesn't mean I'm cheap." The words  were typical Dean, but not delivered with his usual flair.  Dean grabbed the glass door with his good hand, surprised at the effort it took to pull it open. Man. He must be tired. Warmth rushed  out at them from the interior and the drumming rain fell to a bearable dull  roar.

A bored attendant glanced up at them, then back to his comic. The small, narrow diner had four stools at the chipped Formica bar and half a dozen booths. A bearded man in his sixties, the kind you usually see hanging around diners and cafes, sat at one booth, but otherwise the place was empty, save the equally bored-looking girl behind the counter spinning her gum around her finger.

She brightened perceptibly as Sam and Dean walked in, shaking off the rain and easing themselves onto two stools.

"Lousy night," Sam commented.

"Gonna flood," the girl replied matter-of-factly. "Always does when it rains like this. Coffee?"

Sam and Dean both nodded. Dean wrapped his hands around the thick cup and held it close to his face trying to suck some of the warmth into the chill  enveloping his body.

"Helluva night to be out," the old man said conversationally. "You aren't  from around here." A statement, not a question.

Dean ignored him. Every diner in every town had a gang of old codgers who sat around the coffee shop and passed the day at the expense of strangers. Generally there was information to be had buddying up to them, but right now, the only thing he wanted to buddy up to was a mattress and pillow somewhere and be warm. He closed his eyes as he sipped at the hot liquid. Despite the sporadic shivering that hit him, he was having trouble staying awake. He held the cup in his left hand balancing the side of it against his right, unable to clasp it firmly with that hand. His fingers felt like ice when they touched his face.

Sam, being Sam, turned to the old man and smiled. "No, we're passing through. Bad timing, I guess."

Given the glove, the old man slid from the booth and ambled over to the counter, climbing onto the stool next to Sam. He raked interested eyes over Dean's bandaged arm, spots of blood showing through the layers.

"Looks bad," he commented, nodding at Dean's arm.

Dean shot the geezer a look and slipped his arm back down under the counter. "Just a little accident," he said. "Not as bad as it looks."

Undaunted, the old man eyed Sam again. "Name's Archie. Where you headed?"

"I'm Sam. Preston, we have an appointment there tomorrow." Sam replied, sipping his own coffee. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Dean return his cup to the counter and rub his fingers slowly over his forehead.

"Preston?" the old man said in surprise, then laughed. "My God, boy, you'd best start swimming!" 

Sam frowned. "The deputy we talked to said we could get back to Preston on 186."

"They closed the 186 exit about thirty minutes ago. Water's ten inches deep over most of it. Cars gettin' swept off." The old guy snorted and took an indignant suck of his coffee. "Idiots and their four wheel drives."

"So, there's no way to get to Preston?" Sam asked. It was beginning to look like they were as far as they were gonna get until the rain let up and the flood danger passed.

"Well…" Archie said thoughtfully, scrubbing a hand over his growth of beard. "There's still the old road. Kinda bad condition, but folks use it as a shortcut. Still a few houses out that way."

Sam's ears perked up. "Really? Would water be blocking it anywhere?"

Archie looked thoughtful. "Shouldn't be. Not yet anyway. There's kind of a run off around there. Only floods when the river gets really bad. Been near ten years since it flooded out that way—"

"But it's drivable-" Sam broke off as his cell phone buzzed. Digging it out of his pocket, he flipped it open when he saw Bobby's name on the ID. "Hey, Bobby," Sam hunched over automatically as if that would make it easier to hear the faint, crackling voice. "Hang on—" Holding up an apologetic hand to Archie and receiving a salute with the man's coffee cup as a reply, he got up and walked toward the back of the small room, surprised when the reception actually got better. Pulling open the restroom door he stepped inside and Bobby's voice became even stronger.

"-an you hear me?" Bobby was saying.

"Yeah, the reception here must be weird. We're at a diner in Fairmont, I'm standing in the men's room." Sam rolled his eyes.

"I did some more research on your Nukekubi. Managed to get in touch with that guy that specializes in Japanese folklore-"

"That's great, Bobby, but we took care of it. The loads we made up worked perfectly. We were on our way back, but the rain has us flooded in." Sam twisted as the reception faded briefly.

"-boy's okay?"

"What? Yeah, we're okay, kinda caught us by surprise." Sam inadvertently  grimaced as he moved around the small room to get a better signal. "Dean got bit, but I cleaned it out and he says it-"

"-bit? Sam, did you say it bit Dean?"

Sam frowned. "Yeah, it grabbed him when he tried to knock it away. It was hanging on pretty tight, but we got it loose, a few teeth punctured his arm—" Sam turned to stare at the door that led back to the main room.

"Sam, listen to me!-- need to get Dean back here, fast as --can! Hell, I'll meet --halfway!"

"What? Why? What's wrong?"

Sam swore as Bobby's voice died away in crackles of static. "Bobby! Bobby, I can't make out what you're saying—" the sound ceased as Sam saw the words no connection flash on the screen. "Shit!" he spat, shaking the phone and hitting Bobby's number.

Nothing.

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Dean watched Sam move away, mildly curious, but knowing if there was anything worth telling, Sam would do so. He flexed his hand, wincing as the muscles pulled in his forearm.

Having lost his first prey, Archie scooted over closer to Dean. "Archie Pangle," he said, holding out his hand.

Dean moved his fingers in a slight wave. Shaking hands wasn't an option. "Yeah, I heard. Dean." Dean twisted his head, making the vertebrae in his neck pop. An achy feeling was slowly seeping into his joints, no doubt from his wet clothes.

"You want some more coffee?" the girl held out the pot, but Dean shook his head. Coffee suddenly didn't sound as good as it had.

"We got cake. Or I could make you some hamburgers?"

The girl's voice took on an odd, hollow tone. Dean cocked his head, looking at her, pressing a hand over his left ear, trying to block the ringing sound he was hearing. Her lips moved again, but it was a fading echo. He swallowed thickly, his good hand clawing at the bar top as his vision spun, the room suddenly too warm and the old man and girl too close.

"Boy, are you alright?" Archie said into the humming filling Dean's head. His voice sounded small and tinny, a mosquito banging against glass on a hot summer day…

"I...I don't…" Reeling, Dean stumbled back from the stool, his left hand  shooting out to catch at Archie's jacket in an instinctive need to break his  fall, succeeding only in bringing the old man down with him.

Sam banged through the restroom door in time to see Dean hit the dirty floor on his back, Archie sprawled over him and the girl leaned over the counter shrieking.

The gas clerk, looked up again briefly from his comic at the noise and then down to thumb another page open.

Chapter Three: Nowhere left To Go

Dean!" Sam exclaimed, rushing the few steps back to where Dean lay as Archie fumbled to get off him. Sam knelt and grabbed Dean's shoulders. Dean's face was white, his eyes rolling away from the harsh overhead lights to Sam.

"Dean? Take it easy…give yourself a second." Sam looked up at Archie and the girl, demanding, "What happened?"

Archie backed up, hands out. "No one touched him. He just went over all of the sudden like a sack of manure." He glanced nervously at the exit.

Dean moved sluggishly, one arm lifting from the floor, his eyelids  fluttering, trying to sit up. He made a noise between a groan and a growl, staring up at Sam in confusion. "What the hell…" He asked faintly.

"You passed out…or something," Sam replied, eyeing him closely, getting a better grip under Dean's arm. "Can you get up?"

Dean blinked, clearing his throat, "Yeah…yeah." He shook his head. "Damn…" He allowed Sam to assist him to his feet, swaying unsteadily as he straightened.

"Here," Sam said, moving Dean back to the booth closest to them and easing him down. "Put your head down," he said, putting pressure on the back of Dean's neck.

Dean did as he was told because he was still too light-headed to do otherwise. He dropped his head down and cupped his hands over the back of his neck, breathing deeply. He felt like he'd run a marathon, shaky and out of control. Gradually, the dizziness receded, but the heaviness in his limbs remained. After a few minutes he lifted his head and was not happy to find himself the center of attention, even if it was only Sam, a high school girl, and Walter Brennan's look-alike peering at him. No, he saw, even the comic book guy was watching him now.

Great.

He started to push himself to his feet, but Sam stopped him with almost no effort.

"Wait, hang on a sec. You feelin' better?"

Dean rolled his shoulder, twisting to shake Sam's hand off and stood, his body quivering. Enough that Sam could see it, but not so much that anyone else would have noticed. "I'm fine," Dean said, embarrassed, his gaze shifting erratically from one person to another. "I just got dizzy…it's too warm in here." He blinked and shook his head again, rubbing his hand over the bites on his other arm, grimacing as a sharp pain shot through it. "I'm fine now," he repeated sullenly.

Sam could tell how uncomfortable Dean was. This was not the kind of attention he liked drawing to himself; Sam took his arm. "C'mon, go splash some water on your face, it'll wake you up," he urged, tugging slightly on Dean's arm.

"No, let's just get outta here—"

Dean glared at him until Sam cut his eyes to the side. A very clear signal he wanted to talk to Dean in private. Dean stopped at the look on Sam's face. "Okay…" he relented, "maybe you're right." He went so far as to allow Sam to keep a hand on his elbow as they moved back toward the restrooms, his small audience watching every step of the way.

Once inside Sam closed the door and leaned against it, watching as Dean shuffled to the sink and jerked the cold water on, leaning down to cup water over his face, resting his weight on his elbows, eyes closed, letting the water drip off of his chin. God, just the effort to hold himself upright was almost too much; it felt like every muscle in his body was quaking with exhaustion.

"You okay?" Sam asked hesitantly. "You're shaking like a leaf."

Dean sighed, wearily shut off the water and turned to face Sam, shrugging,  staring at the dirty concrete floor.

"Dean, how do you feel?" Sam asked again, looking intently at Dean. He pulled his cell phone out, eyes never leaving Dean and began pressing buttons. As Dean looked up and opened his mouth, Sam cut him off with a sharp warning.  "And don't lie to me."

Dean rolled his eyes, reaching out and pulling some paper towels from the dispenser. He pressed them against his wet skin, then wadded the towels up and threw them in the trash. "I'm fine, Sam!" he insisted. "It was just a dizzy spell. I'm tired-"

"I said don't lie to me," Sam repeated tightly.

Dean groaned in exasperation, rolling his eyes again. "What the hell is with you?"

"Bobby called to ask about the hunt." Sam moved about the small room trying to recapture the fleeting signal, re-dialing after each failed try. "He said he  found out some new information. I mentioned you got bit and he got upset and was trying to tell me something."

Dean straightened at that, frowning, his hand closing over the bites on his other arm. "What did he say?" he asked.

"We got cut-Bobby!" Sam straightened as the connection finally went through. Sam listened intently, waving Dean off as he started to speak. "Yeah…yeah, Bobby, he is…no, he passed out...just a few minutes…What? No." A prolonged silence as Sam listened, his eyes flicking to Dean and away repeatedly. "Are you sure? How the hell am I supposed to…" More silence. "No, no…I understand. God, Bobby how are you gonna get here? Everything is flooding." Dean watched as Sam twisted to hear better, licking his lips nervously. "Okay…I will. I'll figure out something…" Sam snatched the phone away from his ear and swore at it as the connection broke again. "Dammit!" He swung wide eyes at Dean, who was leaning against the sinks, good arm still cradling the bad one. His eyes were hooded as he watched Sam's phone conversation.

"What?" he finally demanded. "What did he say, Sam?" he snapped when Sam didn't respond.

"We have to go," Sam replied, pocketing the phone. "That thing's bite…" he began reluctantly.

Dean pushed away from the sink. "What about it?" When Sam just glanced at him without answering, Dean barked, "Sam, for God's sake!"

Sam sighed. "That bite was poisonous, Dean. Bobby said it transmits some kind of  toxin that screws with the signals your brain sends to your nerves." Sam's mind was racing with everything Bobby had managed to tell him before contact had been lost again.

Dean cocked his head, "It poisoned me?" he asked in disbelief. He stared at his injured arm. "It wasn't enough that the damned thing almost chewed my arm off? It's gotta poison me too? Why the hell didn't he say that was possible before?"

 "He didn't know until it was too late, the hunt was over—"

"Great!" Dean spat. "Now what?" A horrible look crossed his face and his eyes became frantic. "Shit, I'm not gonna turn into one of those things am  I?" His hand shot to his throat. A werewolf or vampire he could maybe deal with, but to become a floating, gibbering, disembodied head…

"No! No, Dean, calm down!" Sam grabbed Dean's arm. "It doesn't work like that. But it's making you sick, and we need to get to Bobby for help or it's -" He pulled Dean toward the door once again. "We have to go. I'll tell you the rest in the car."

"No!" Dean snapped, jerking away even though the sudden movement hurt his arm. "What did he say?"

Sam made an impatient noise. "Do you really want to know?" Dean's expression clearly stated that yes he did. Sam huffed a sigh, "Fine. It starts  with blackouts, like your little episode out there, increasing lethargy, confusion, hallucinations, pain, nausea, the whole nine yards. All you're gonna want to do is sleep," he continued.

"So what's so bad about that? I get that with the flu!"

Sam stared at him, unsure if Dean was trying to be funny or not. He reached out to Dean and caught the front of his shirt, tugging gently.  "You don't get it, Dean," he said, holding on as Dean tried to pull away. "It'll kill you if we don't get help. Your brain's gonna lose the ability to tell your body what to do to keep your heart beating and your lungs moving. Your body is gonna slow down to the point you just go to sleep and you don't wake up again. It's like animals that inject poison in their prey and then follow along until the victim becomes paralyzed or dies."

Dean looked at him for a long moment. "So what are we supposed to do about  it?" he said, pushing Sam's hand off.

"We're gonna get in the car and get the hell outta here, that's what. We don't have a lot of time-" Sam moved toward the exit, not failing to notice that Dean stayed exactly where he was.

"How much time?" Dean demanded.

Sam came back and tried to grab Deans good arm. Dean once again knocked his hand away. "Dean, please! Bobby's gonna meet us. He says he knows how to counteract it, but we have to leave!"

"How much, Sam?"

Sam's hesitated, "Depends on how much is in your system and your metabolism—"

"Sam, Goddammit—" 

Eyes on the floor, "A few days…maybe." Sam replied. "The poison spreads faster when your body's at rest."

"Whadaya mean?" Dean frowned.

"You have to stay awake, Dean. You can't go to sleep. Every time you sleep or…or blackout the poison is gonna spread that much faster. That's the problem, the stuffs gonna make you want to sleep, we have to stop it. It's the  only thing that's gonna buy us time. The longer you can stay awake the slower the poison will move through your system." Sam jaw muscles bunched as he ground his teeth.

Somehow, finding out he couldn't just sleep until Bobby showed up was more upsetting to Dean than the news he'd been poisoned. Every muscle and joint in his body was aching for the release of sleep. "Sam…I'm ready to fall on my face  now," Dean said with uncharacteristic candor.

Sam's face softened, "All the more reason to get outta here, Bobby's on his way, it'll be okay. It's just for a while. We'll get some stuff to help us both stay awake." He tugged on Dean's sleeve. "Can we please just go now!"

"The rust bucket we're driving won't float, Sam. How the hell are we supposed to leave? All the roads are under water—"

"Not all of them," Sam ground out, this time he grabbed Deans arm bodily hauled him out the door  and back into the diner where their audience still waited, snapping upright at the brother's reappearance. "Give me the directions for that shortcut!" Sam snapped at Archie who nodded wildly and scrabbled for something to write on.

Dean stood there, dazedly, watching as Sam ordered two large coffees to go and grabbed an assortment of no-doze type products from a rack by the register, adding two six packs of energy drinks to the pile. Dean sank back down on a stool, wishing things would slow down a little...

"Here," Sam said, startling him, putting a cup of coffee by Dean. Paying quickly, Sam ran through Archie's scribbled directions, asked a few terse questions, nodded, and was pushing Dean out the door, back into the downpour.

Dean downed the cup of coffee quickly, mainly because it warmed him, tossing  back two of the caffeine pills. "You know these things are addictive?" he commented lightly, noting how tightly Sam gripped the wheel, squinting through the driving rain, as they headed for Archie's shortcut.

Sam glanced at him and snorted. "I think that's the least of our problems right now."

"So Bobby's gonna meet us in Prescott?" Dean asked after a short silence.

Sam glanced over at him, "In Preston," he corrected quietly. "Yeah, as quick as he can get there."

Dean nodded, "Preston, right." He took another sip of coffee and returned his gaze to the streaming window.

Sam managed to spot the sign for the turn off Archie had mentioned and guided the old car onto the broken pavement of the old road. It was narrow and cracked and, despite Archie's comments, was damned near  running in water as deep as everywhere else. Sam had to fight the wheel to keep the car from being dragged over the edge as the puddles of water from the overflowing ditches sucked at the vehicle.

The slightest increase in speed made the vehicle feel like was about to skid around uncontrollably, forcing Sam to work the brakes of the old Caprice continuously.

After fifteen minutes of this, Dean groaned suddenly, shifting in the seat.  "Stop making the car sway, man. It's makin' me sick!" He sat up more, shooting Sam a dirty look.

"It's not me!" Sam protested. "The puddles at the side are pulling the car! I can't help it if the suspension on this crate is shot!" Sam's nerves were on edge as it was and sick or not, he wasn't in the mood for Dean's complaints about his driving.

"Then stay outta the puddles!" Dean griped.

"The whole goddamned road is a puddle, Dean!" Sam snapped. "SHIT!"  He stood on the brakes, yanking the wheel to the right as the edge of the road suddenly crumbled away under the onslaught of water pouring over it.

Dean was thrown into the dash, swearing, as the big vehicle slewed around, spinning three times before it went into the ditch nose first, horn blaring as Sam's head smashed into the wheel.

Chapter Four: Lost In The Memories

Emma was reaching for the small brass candlestick with its smoked chimney that was always burning on her bedside table when the lights went out. She made a small clucking sound of annoyance and picked up the candlestick along with the box of matches that was resting next to it.

It was time to light the candle downstairs anyway, so she would just light the rest of the ones scattered around the first floor as well. It had gotten dark a lot earlier due to the rain and as often as the lights went out she simply kept candles at ready and knew their positions so well she could have lighted them all without having a candle to show her where they were, even though the candle she held was never allowed to go out.

The flicker of the flame was reflected in her merry blue eyes and set the silver-white of her short hair to glowing softly. She tugged on one of the old flannel shirts that lay about the room and slipped her stocking feet into the quilted blue slippers she always wore in the evenings to ward off the chill. 

Holding the candle in front of her, she moved carefully down the narrow, rather steep stairway, gripping the rail with one hand. She wasn't particularly concerned about falling, but whether she liked admitting it or not, she wasn't as young as she used to be and a fall was still a fall. Almost no one came this way anymore and without a functioning phone she could lay injured until she died.

She listened to the rain drumming on the roof as she moved about the room. The creek that ran along the road would be overflowing, fed by the water running down the slight slope of her land and over the road itself. It had been a long time since that had happened.

Over ten years. Her face lost some of it's animation and she closed her eyes briefly.

So long…

She shook herself and proceeded to move from one wick to the other and soon the room was soon dancing with candlelight. She went to the front window and removed the chimney from the white taper that sat on the sill. Three spares lay next to it. With a reverence she had not shown with the other miscellaneously-sized and colored candles, she took a match from the box and touched it to her lips in a gentle kiss before she struck it, resting the flame against the wick until it flared into life. As she leaned forward to carefully replace the spotless chimney, her eyes caught the sudden sweep of headlights coming down the road. They showed her the water running over the broken pavement of the narrow road and the pound of the rain. She frowned in surprise; no one ever came down the road unless they were taking it as a rough shortcut to Preston-and then it was only the locals or someone horribly lost

As she watched, the large vehicle approaching the path that led to her house suddenly veered wildly and spun several times, headlights flashing, finally sliding sideways over the side of the road, the wash of lights clearly showing the front end of the car sinking into water that had risen almost to the road itself, a drop off of at least ten feet in dry weather. The red flare of the taillights and the glow of the headlights under the water were all she could now see. Dimly she heard the sound of a horn.

"Oh, my God!"

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
 
Sam blinked, wondering fuzzily how he had gotten his head trapped in a blaring trumpet. Grunting, he lifted his head, grateful to discover it shut the trumpet off when he did so. His weight was being pulled heavily to one side and his forehead stung. Blearily he reached up to paw the liquid puddling in his eye away.

Shaking his head, he looked around, he was sitting in the Caprice, which was canted forward at an odd angle and holy shit, was that water rising over the windshield- Oh, Hell!

Adrenaline shot through him as he remembered the road crumbling away, sucking the Caprice to the edge of the road. By the dim glow of the interior lights he saw blood on his hand from the gash over his eyes. Below the dash, icy cold water was slowly rising over his boots. Sam twisted around in the seat to see Dean in a heap, half under the dashboard, moaning and swearing in broken snatches as he tried to pull himself free. The passenger window was totally submerged and water was filling the interior more rapidly on that side as it gushed out of the vents quickly covering  Dean's folded up legs.

"Dean! My God, Dean, are you alright?"  Sam grabbed Dean's arm and tried to assist him in extricating himself, his efforts were made more awkward by the fact that he was sliding to Dean's side of the car due to the angle. He finally succeeded, after a brief struggle, in getting Dean back onto the seat.

"What. The. FUCK, Sam?" Dean got out through strangled vocal chords, floundering upright.

"Are you hurt? I'm sorry, the road just gave way-" Sam looked through the windows on his side of the car. "We gotta get outta here! The car's going under the water!"

Dean stared around, holding a hand to his temple. "God…I slammed into the dashboard." He grimaced, swallowing. "Aw, shit…I think I'm gonna be sick…" Dean pressed one hand against his mouth, pushing his injured arm against the water covered window, the cold water rising swiftly up his body sending shivers through him.

"No time for that,now!" Sam snapped. His head was ringing from connecting with the steering wheel, but he had to get them out of the car and right the fuck now!  "We gotta go!" He braced himself and grabbed the door handle, pushing as hard as he could to open the door on his side. The car had slid down enough that the bottom of the door was dragging on the ground. He finally had to put his feet against Dean's door and use the extra strength to shove the door open enough to try and drag himself out.
Rain by the barrel full poured through the open door as he clawed onto the broken pavement and mud. He felt something catch his jacket and scrape across his belly as he pulled himself free, feeling the car settle that much more into the water. Sam reached back into the car. "Take my hand!"

"My foot's caught on something!" Dean grunted, pulling on his right leg. "Grab the guns!" Dean gasped, still trying to jerk his leg free. He doubled over almost into the water, gagging.

 "Dean-" Sam huffed out an angry breath, but rather than waste time arguing, yanked the rear door open and hauled out the canvas rucksack with their  equipment, throwing it away from the car to the other side of the road, then reached for Dean once more. The water was over Dean's legs now, but this time he grasped Sam's hand, managing to dislodge his foot and using the leverage to push himself toward the open door.

The car abruptly shifted away as the water rushing around it pulled it deeper. Sam yanked with all his might pulling Dean like a cork from the interior, spilling them backwards onto the road with a mighty splash.

"Holy crap…" Sam whispered, lying there, almost beyond the ability to react, his heart thudding, abruptly aware of how much his head hurt. Rain was blasting into him so hard it actually stung, the cold wind whipping his drenched clothes He laboriously rolled himself over to give his face some protection.

The old car suddenly shifted to its side like a sinking ocean liner. With a creaking sound that could be heard over the drone of rain as water filled the interior, it disappeared under the surface, the only evidence of its existence the faint glow of the headlights as it sank.

Taking with it the stimulants Sam had purchased to help Dean stay conscious.

To buy them the time they needed to get to Bobby in Preston so save Dean's life.

And now they were trapped, drowning, at the side of the road.

And Dean was gonna die…

Next to him, Dean lay face down in the river of water pouring over the road, his body shaking. He coughed and pushed himself up slightly, his muscles trembling. "…you…okay?..." he wheezed, reaching over to clasp Sam's arm.

Sam closed his eyes against the dizziness that rolled over him. "Yeah," Sam finally said, but Dean couldn't hear him over the downpour. "I'm just great."

Dean rolled onto his back, limbs flopping loosely in the pool they were lying in. "What can I say, man…this is just… turning into…one of those days…" He coughed and after an abortive struggle managed to push himself up on his leaden arms. He was so cold…

"Dean, all the caffeine stuff…everything went into the—" Sam cut himself off as Dean's eyes suddenly rolled upwards and he  fell bonelessly  against Sam. "Dean!" Sam grabbed Dean as he began to slide limply back to the ground, raising him up and shaking him. "Dean! No! Wake up!" Lowering him to the road, Sam knelt over him,  pinching Dean's face and slapped him lightly, "Wake up!" He dug a thumb into Dean's sternum and was rewarded with Dean jerking back and gasping, choking on the rain he inhaled.

"What…"

"You blacked out again," Sam told him, pulling Dean into a sitting position so he could breathe. A flash of light caught Sam's eye as he did so and he held his hand over his eyes to shield them from the rain as he swept his gaze over Dean's heaving shoulders.

A house!

Maybe three hundred feet away on a small rise, he wouldn't have been able to see it at all through the rain, save for the soft wavering glow of light coming from the windows of the ground floor. A house meant shelter and lights meant people…

He splashed to his feet, hauling Dean up with him. "C'mon!"

The water was above Sam's ankles now and still the rain poured down. Dean's knees didn't want to hold him up, but Sam gripped him with determination, his own hands shaking so badly from the wet cold it was all he could do to hang onto Dean.

"C'mon where?" Dean groaned, crossing his arms over his chest, his injured arm a solid burning ache from fingertips to shoulder, his body literally shuddering with cold. His eyes wouldn't focus and every tug of Sam's hands washed him with vertigo.

"Hopefully somewhere dry!" Sam yelled, "There's a house!" Sam grabbed Dean's chin and turned his face to the flickering windows. "See? All we have to do is get there, you can make it!"

Dean gave Sam a shove, "Never said…I c-couldn't!" He stumbled forward and almost went down, but Sam managed to keep him upright. They both staggered drunkenly through the rising water. Sam reached down and grabbed their bag, shouldering it.

The water was deep enough to make walking difficult, the ground so saturated with rain it sucked their feet down almost like quicksand. Just as Sam figured they'd have to crawl, they staggered onto the slightly higher ground about one hundred feet from the steps leading up to the porch. From there it was a short stumble to the steps. They both grabbed the rail and heaved themselves up the stairs. There couldn't have been more than six, but to Sam, his muscles burning with exhaustion, it felt like fifty.

Dean went to his hands and knees and collapsed on the wet boards of the porch, near the wall, swiping out at Sam as he reached for him. "I'm okay!" He snarled, coughing.

Sam let him be and made the last few steps to the door, lifting his hand to knock on the wooden panel.

The door jerked open while his hand was still raised. "Jesus Christ!" Sam yelped, spasming away from the door.  He was stunned to see a short figure swathed in yellow rain gear, holding a wide pink umbrella, incongruously trimmed with gold tassels and a lantern style flashlight in front of him. If Santa Claus had suddenly appeared Sam couldn't have been more nonplussed.

Dean looked up from the floor to see what the hell, swiping rain out of his eyes.

A pair of bright blue eyes regarded Sam for a few seconds, widening as they  took him in. The umbrella tumbled to the ground and was caught by the wind, rolling off  the porch and down the stairs, barely missing Dean.

The next thing Sam knew the figure had thrown itself on him, clasping him in a crushing hug, crying out. "Ben! Oh my God! Ben! I knew you'd come home!"

Chapter Five

Sam, arms spread wide, staggered back a few steps as the yellow-clad woman threw her arms around him, locking him in a death grip, murmuring endearments. He was suddenly dizzy as his steering wheel-induced headache shot up to an eight on his brain's Richter scale.

"What—" he stammered, bewildered, squinting against the pain, bringing his hand up to his  forehead.

He was reluctantly released and the woman stepped back, sweeping the yellow rain hat from her head, revealing short white hair and brilliant blue eyes. Tear tracks marked her cheeks and she wiped at them, laughing slightly.

"I'm sorry," she said, clasping his arm with a hand that trembled. "I've been so worried, I thought you were never—" She pressed fingertips to her lips,  getting herself under control; making a sound that was half laugh, half cry. "I've burned a candle in the window for you ever since you left..." Her hand gestured toward the white taper glowing in the window behind them.

She stretched the same hand out to his head, which was almost out of her reach, causing Sam to flinch back. "Your head is bleeding! My goodness! That must have happened when the car went out of control. Come in the house, you're sopping wet and freezing!" She turned abruptly and rushed back inside, leaving a welcoming wedge of light from the open door spilling onto the porch.

"Sam…" Next to him, Dean had made it to his knees and was using the rocking chair to pull himself up, unsteadily. "Are you…okay? …what the hell was that…all about?" Dean could barely talk through chattering teeth, but he'd seen Sam sway back from the woman and the blood trailing down from his forehead.

Sam immediately went to Dean. "Yeah, I'm okay. I just hit my head when we went over the edge. It's okay."

"Who the hell…is Ben?" Dean would  have pulled his arm from Sam's grip but it wasn't worth the effort. He glanced at the doorway; the warm yellow glow of candlelight burst into a hot, brilliant orange as flames belched forth from the opening, curling toward him. Dean cried out, throwing his arms up, falling back into Sam. " Look out!"

Sam, startled by the sudden yell and the unexpected shift of Dean's weight, stumbled backwards and almost off the porch. "Dean! What's wrong? What are you doing?" Sam looked around frantically, but saw nothing more menacing than the pink umbrella, lying forgotten on the wooden floor.

Dean hesitantly lowered his arm from his face, frowning as he saw only the soft light of the candles, his heart beating harshly against his ribs. Sam pulled him toward the open door again, puzzled by Dean's reluctance. "Dean, c'mon, let's go inside where it's dry. You're freezing."

Dean wore an expression of wary confusion, his eyes darting from the open door to Sam. "No, why are we going in there?" he asked, pulling back. "We should leave…we have to go…aren't we meeting Bobby?"

Sam licked his lips uncertainly, concern drawing his brows together as he realized Dean truly didn't have a clue about what had just transpired. Confusion and memory loss, Bobby had said. God…

"Dean, we can't go. We lost the car, it went into the water. Remember?"

Panic widened Dean's eyes. "The Impala?" he choked. "We lost the Impala in the water? We left her there?" He tried to twist away from Sam, ready to run out into the rainy darkness. Only Sam's grip kept him on the porch.

"No! Nonono! Shit, no, Dean! Calm down. The Impala's safe, she's in the garage where we left her!" He pulled Dean forcefully back around. "It was that old bucket we rented, not the Impala."

Dean's facial muscles worked as he stared into Sam's eyes, "Not the Impala?" He cast another look behind them. "We lost the car?" He turned back to Sam. "Aren't we meeting Bobby? How're we gonna meet Bobby in Priestly if the car's gone?"

"Preston, Dean. It's Preston. I dunno, we'll figure something out. Please, come on inside," Sam tugged on Dean's shaking form. Sam didn't have any idea how they would get to Bobby now, and couldn't spare the brain space to worry about it until he got Dean inside and warm. "We gotta get you dry." He blatantly ignored the fact that  he, too, was ringing wet and cold.

With great reluctance, Dean finally allowed Sam to push him through the door. Looking around at all the candles filling the room with shifting shadows suspiciously, Dean started coughing again, hugging his arms to himself. His whole body was starting to ache to the bone. He fell into the first chair he  came to. The room seemed terribly warm to him considering how cold he was. He let his eyes close, rocking forward in the chair.

Sam hurried back out and grabbed the weapons bag form the porch. He closed the door and dropped the bag behind the couch. He didn't want to ruin the woman's upholstery, but he had to sit down. Settling for perching on the edge of a chair he pulled out his cell and snapped it open; water dripped from the case and he really wasn't surprised when it failed to respond. He sighed in frustration, glancing over at Dean, hunched up in the chair, eyes closed, his breath moving in and out in soft moans that Sam doubted Dean was even aware he was making.

"Dean, open your eyes."

Dean jerked, eyelids fluttering. "What…"

The woman bustled back through the door with an armload of blankets and clothing.

She said, dumping the load on the couch, "I saw the car go off the road. I was going out to make sure you were alright. That old road washes away every time it rains. I'm so glad you boys aren't hurt." As she spoke, she sorted through clothing and pulled out various items. "These are some your fathers things-"

Startled, Sam stared at her as she rattled on, shooting him small smiles and looks.

Your father's things? Who did this woman think he was? Her son?

The whole situation suddenly became bizarre in the extreme and he was at a loss as to how to deal with it.

"-You've grown so tall, but he was a big man, I think they'll fit you well enough; you have to get out of those wet things."
 
She seems harmless enough…
 
"Excuse me," he interrupted desperately, "Can I use your phone?"

Emma laughed, "You know the first thing we lose when it storms is the phone!" She clucked her tongue.

Sam groaned and rubbed his eyes.

"Take a candle and these clothes and change, the first aid kit's still under the sink. I've got coffee brewing and I'll make you boys some sandwiches and soup to warm you up. Go on now!" She looked over at Dean, who was shivering violently, grimacing, as he continued to cough, then back to Sam. "Benny, dear, you haven't introduced me to your friend."

Sam stared at her uneasily. "Uh…this is Dean."

She made a face. "Honestly, I don't know where you get your manners!" She smiled at Dean who was regarding both her and Sam with suspicion. Dean's eyes, Sam  noticed, were glittering, fever bright.
 
"Hello, Dean, I'm Emma, it's very nice to meet you," Emma said. She cocked her head, studying Dean and concern added lines to her face. "Are you alright, dear?" She stretched out a hand toward Dean's face.

Dean twisted away from her touch, shooting Sam a desperate look. Pain throbbed in his arm, twisting his stomach. "I don't…" He brought the back of his hand up to his mouth, swallowing thickly.

Emma recognized the signs and stepped out of the way, "If you need the bathroom it's right down the hall …" she said.

Dean nodded his thanks and pushed out of the chair. Sam stood as the door slammed down the hall.

"Poor thing…" she murmured. "Is he alright? This kind of thing is so upsetting; I hope he wasn't injured in the crash."

"No, we were both pretty lucky," Sam said, looking where Dean had vanished. "But he's really sick…we were on our way to Preston to…meet a doctor." He absently began to sort through the clothes. "I don't know how we're gonna get there now. We don't have a lot of time."

Emma stared up at him. "Oh, my. Is he that ill?"

Sam glanced down the hall again, pulling in a long shaky breath and nodding shortly. He couldn't say the words aloud; it would make it real. They'd lost the car, the drugs, phone contact… they were trapped in a flood twenty damned miles from salvation—might as well have been the moon… the only way it could get worse he couldn't deal with.

 "I'm so sorry," she murmured, laying a warm hand on his arm, her eyes suddenly  dark and serious. "It's terrible when you realize you may lose someone important to you. You must be very close."

Yeah… close as brothers, Sam thought. He smiled faintly at her, "Yeah…" He held up the clothes, "I'll get him into some dry clothes. Thank you."

As he moved down the hall Emma spoke again. "He seems much nicer than that Spencer boy you used to hang around with."

Sam turned to look at her, but she was moving into the kitchen again.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 Dean knelt on the floor, his head resting on his uninjured arm, hot tears of exertion burned his face, soaking into the cold, wet sleeve of his shirt. Chills racked him, his  muscles aching. He sure as hell didn't feel any better after the incredible convulsions he had just gone through. He fought the overwhelming desire to just lie down on the floor and lose himself in the beckoning pull of sleep.

He sniffed, coughing and spitting. He couldn't sleep though, Sam had said so.  He just wished he could remember why, but Sam wouldn't have said so if there wasn't a damned good reason. Sam wouldn't put him through this without a good reason… right?

They'd get in the car and meet…no, wait…the car was gone…into the water…but not the Impala, some other car, why were they driving another car…maybe it had been the Impala and Sam just didn't want to tell him...

The thought set his heart to beating faster. He shuddered, clearly remembering the feel of the icy water rising over his legs. God…I'm so tired...  He lurched forward as his stomach knotted again, tightening his other muscles painfully.

Behind him there was soft knock on the door and a creak as it opened.

"How you doin'?" Sam asked softly, dropping the clothes on the floor. He squatted down by Dean and rested a hand lightly on his back.

Dean twisted his head to look back at Sam, his eyes red rimmed and bloodshot. "I think I got food poisoning or something." he groaned, rubbing his forehead with the side of his hand.

Sam closed his eyes. "You're sick, Dean, You were poisoned by a bite on your arm, that's why you feel bad. See?" He gently touched Dean's bandaged arm.

Dean flinched at Sam's touch, looking down as if he had never seen the bandages before, rubbing his bad hand with his good one. "Oh…yeah…I guess…I guess I forgot…" he blinked and shook his head, fighting the cobwebs smothering his brain, trying to focus his thoughts. It was like grabbing at sand: the harder he gripped, the more that slipped through his fingers.

"Can you get up?" Sam asked, seeing a violent shiver rock Dean. "You need to get into some dry clothes. That lady, Emma, gave me some."

Dean struggled to get to his feet with Sam's help. Sam flushed the toilet and put the lid down, settling Dean down on it. He grabbed a glass by the sink and filled it with water, handing it to Dean who accepted it with care, rinsing his mouth out and spitting into the sink. Dean reached up and massaged the back of his neck. A dull pain radiated from there to his eyes then returned in an unpleasant game of chase.

"Can you get your shirt off while I change real fast?" Sam asked his own muscles quaking with cold. Dean desperately needed to be warm, but Sam had to take care of himself in order to take care of Dean.

Dean glanced up and nodded, taking a button and trying to force it through the sodden fabric. His fingers felt clumsy and unresponsive and he was only working on the second button when Sam, dressed in the heavy sweatshirt and dark blue work pants he had pulled from the pile of clothing, had squatted down and swiftly undone the buttons for him, peeling the cold fabric from Dean's arms.

Dean opened his mouth to protest that he was friggin' capable of dressing himself, but all he really wanted to do was curl into a ball; anything to find some warmth. Telling his muscles to move was just too much effort.
 
Sam forced him back up and tugged a t-shirt over his head, working Dean's uncooperative arms through the sleeves. "You okay?" He asked anxiously as Dean's teeth chattered. "Put this on." He added a long sleeve Henley with holes around the collar and a thick flannel shirt. He untied the waterlogged boots Dean was wearing, cursing mentally at the strange way Dean always tied them, finally managing to tug them off. The wet socks went next. Sam was shocked at how icy Dean's skin felt and he quickly pulled the pair of thick mismatched socks he had found over Dean's feet.

"Stand up," Sam ordered, grasping Dean's arms. Dean mechanically did as he was told, although Sam could feel  Dean's fingers clutch into his shoulders as he stood, trying to stay upright. Sam quickly unfastened Dean's  jeans and forced them down his legs.
 
"We're…up the creek," Dean said in a low shaking voice, "aren't we?"

Sam didn't look up, just helped Dean balance as he got the jeans the rest of the way off. He grabbed the rust colored pants he had found in the pile and made Dean lift his feet so he could get them on. He wasn't enthusiastic at the effort it would take to remove the wet boxers and opted to leave them on, allowing Dean a little dignity.

"We'll figure something out," Sam said. The pants were going to be too big for Dean, but since the only place he was going was bundled in blankets back to the couch, Sam didn't consider pants falling off to be an issue.

"Dude…I gotta sit down…" Dean groaned, slumping.
 
Sam caught him and eased him back down.  "Better?"

Dean nodded shortly, his head swimming as the room moved slowly around him. He felt something heavy wrap around him and realized Sam was pulling a blanket around his shoulders. He clutched at it gratefully with his good hand. He didn't think he would ever be warm again.

Sam scrabbled under the sink for the first aid items Emma had said would be there and found tape, gauze, scissors and some other things he needed, putting them up on the counter within reach.  "I have to put a dry bandage on your arm," Sam said reaching for Dean's wrist.

Dean glanced at him, but surrendered his arm. "Sam…"

"We'll figure something out!" Sam repeated, more harshly than he meant to, as he cut the wet bandage from Dean's arm. The row of bite marks on Dean's arm was red and swollen, but there wasn't anything Sam could really do but put ointment on them and wrap his arm up again. He didn't dare give Dean pain killers for fear they would put him to sleep. His own head was splitting but he couldn't take pain pills in front of Dean knowing Dean couldn't have any. "I don't know what, exactly, but…" Sam grit his teeth as he worked on Dean's arm. "Just gimme some time and I'll think of something!"

Dean blinked in surprise as Sam's voice rose, jerking back at Sam's sudden roughness. "Time's kinda the…issue here…isn't it?" He swallowed, closing his eyes. "You said it. No car…no drugs…Dude, I feel like shit…" He paused as Sam looked at him. "I'm goin' downhill fast, Sam…"

Sam angrily tore off the last piece of tape and stuck it down. "Don't you do this, Dean!" he snapped. "You always do this!"
 
"Do what…?"

"We're in a jam and you try to make it be alright, like it's no big deal, because you're the one who's hurt! If it was me instead of you, you'd never give up on me…why is it supposed to be so easy to give up on you?" Sam threw the tape down and leaned over the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He jerked on the water and grabbed a washcloth, wetting it and wiping it over the blood that had dried on his face.

Dean licked his lips, "I'm just saying—" he wanted to help Sam fix his head, but he  realized there was no way he could stay on his feet that long; it took all he had to keep his mind from wandering, staying focused.

"Well, don't say it!"  Sam barked, dabbing at the gash. "We'll figure something out!"

Dean fell silent and after a moment Sam sighed and lowered the cloth. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to yell, but we haven't hit worst case scenario as far as I'm concerned. I don't know about you," he added, trying to lighten the atmosphere a little, "but I don't hear a fat lady singing yet." He went back to the gash, wincing as it stung.

Dean watched him, thinking that Sam must have reopened the gash because blood was suddenly streaking down the side of his face and dripping from his jaw. He jerked back in shock. "Sam!"

Sam fell back from the sink, his hands cupped under his chin to catch the blood now pouring down his face and pooling in his palms, spilling through his fingers to the floor in a  growing puddle.

Dean shot to his feet, the blanket falling to the floor and tried to catch Sam's arm as Sam reached for him with a bloody hand. Sam blinked through blood-filled eyes, going to his knees. Blood ran into his mouth and he coughed a spray of scarlet on Dean.
 
"Sam!" Dean screamed.

Chapter Six: The Price

Dean grabbed Sam, going down with him to the floor, his heart thundering in his ears, seeing Sam's blood everywhere he looked, drowning in a freezing scarlet sea. Dean's limbs thrashed, muscles pulling so tightly he felt the fabric of  Sam's shirt rip as his fingers twisted into it.

"S—Sam…" he managed to grind out between his teeth. The back of his head smacked repeatedly into something hard. Everything turned red, pain tearing through him like fire; searing up the back of his neck and into the base of his skull, each passing second a new adventure in agony. Inarticulate noises filled the air that he could not associate with himself. The taste of blood burned his tongue.

"Dean! Dean, wake up!" Through the roaring in his ears he could make out the frantic sound of Sam's voice but he couldn't make himself respond. He felt his upper body being lifted and shaken roughly, his face being pinched.

The next time his head hit the floor the impact was muffled and made a dull thud when he hit it. He knew his eyes were open, but he saw only crimson swirls edged in black. Something hard was shoved between his teeth and he couldn't stop himself biting down.

Gradually, the roar faded and he could hear Sam's litany of, "It's okay, Dean, it's okay, open your eyes. You're okay…" repeated over and over as the sensation of hands running over his face and chest began to overcome the hard feel of his muscles locked in battle with each other. His breath came in strangled gasps and grunts as he struggled to bring his body back under control, the red finally fading from his sight, revealing Sam's desperate features.

His heart was slowing now and his perspective widened to include the concerned features of a white haired woman hovering over Sam's shoulder. He jerked back in clumsy surprise, spitting whatever was in his mouth out, seeing a wooden handled hairbrush fall away, the handle deeply bitten. Sam held him down to keep him still.

Sam's face relaxed in relief as Dean's eyes opened and closed in slow blinks. What the fuck happened? Dean wondered blearily. He reached up a shaky hand and brushed wetness from Sam's cheek, bringing it close to his eyes to reassure himself it was indeed clear and not the blood he had seen.

"Are…are you crying…" Dean asked hoarsely.

"No…No!" Sam replied, hastily swiping at his face. "Don't be stupid."

"You were bleeding…" Dean's eyes roved over Sam's face.

"I'm fine, Dean. I'm okay, you were hallucinating—"

Every muscle in Dean's body was putting in a rude request for attention; even the act of breathing hurt him. His eyes began to drift shut again.

"No!" Sam exclaimed, jerking Dean again. "Open your eyes, Dean!"

"Too tired…"  Dean's eyes did snap open as he was hauled roughly to his feet. His trembling  legs were incapable of bearing his weight and he sagged immediately; only Sam's grip keeping him upright.

"You don't get a choice!" Sam barked. "You have to stay awake, Dean!" He pushed Dean up against the wall and held him there. "You had a seizure or something. You gotta stay with me!" Sam viciously dug a thumb into Dean's sternum again, drawing a sharp cry and a shove from Dean.

"Dude!" Dean yelled. "That hurts!" Even though he slumped back against the wall, the cloudiness was gone from his eyes and he looked around in bewilderment. "Where the hell are we?" The throbbing in his chest from Sam's dig had given him something to focus on, albeit painful as hell. His whole body ached to the bone in a cold, sick way, a different kind of hurt that kept trying to pull him down, down so far he knew he would never get up again if he allowed it to overcome him.

Sam caught Dean as he stumbled forward, breaking his fall. "I got you... It's okay, just stay awake." Sam eyed Dean closely. "You still feel sick?"

Dean swallowed and shook his head. "Just…kinda shaky…"

Sam hooked one arm around Dean's waist, grabbing the blanket with the other. "C'mon, then, let's get outta here."

Dean stretched out his other arm to the wall. "I can do it. Just gimme a second…"

Sam waited as Dean gathered himself. Dean flinched as he caught sight of Emma hovering in the doorway, watching him with wide eyes.

"Are you feeling better, dear?" she asked timidly but with obvious concern. She stepped back out of the way as Sam moved forward with Dean. She reached out to help, but Sam could feel Dean pull away from her as they passed.

"I got him, thanks," Sam murmured with a thin smile.

Dean eyed her suspiciously. "I'm fine," he growled in a low voice, adding in a soft hiss to Sam, "Who is she?"

"Her name is Emma," Sam replied patiently, guiding Dean to the kitchen area, he had a feeling sitting up might be a good idea for a while. "She's letting us stay here until we can figure out a way to get to Bobby in the morning if--when—it stops raining." Sam pushed the door to the kitchen open with his knee and helped Dean up the shallow step into the kitchen and over to the square table in the center of the room, settling him in a chair. "She's a little confused, but I think she's okay and we don't have a lot of choice. Here," he draped the blanket over Dean's shoulders. Now that the last episode was over, Sam could see that he was shivering again.

Dean pulled the blanket around himself, grateful for the additional warmth. He felt slightly more focused as he gazed around the kitchen, the flickering candles making the room seemed smaller and cozy, the drum of the rain outside safely shielded from them. He rubbed his chest absently, still feeling the painful punch of Sam's thumb. The past half hour or so was a dream-like blur.

A lighted hurricane lamp with a brass, flat-sided base reflected his face back to him and he frowned at the slightly warped image, the damning circles under his eyes, the slump of his shoulders. He shoved the lamp away, the stretch of muscles causing an aching burn. Resting his elbows on the table put his head in his hands, massaging his temples. Dragging his tongue over dry lips, he winced at the sudden sting the movement produced in his mouth.

Sam sank into a chair across from Dean, noticing the grimace. "What?"

"I think I bit my tongue."

Sam leaned forward slightly, "You want me to take a look?"

Dean stared at him, his expression of dismay almost normal. "What? It's my tongue, Sam, not like you can put a bandaid on it!"

He attention shifted as Emma entered the kitchen, casually ignoring Dean as  if he were not an object of interest.

"I'm sorry for the mess," Sam said over his shoulder to Emma, eyes still on Dean's unsettled expression. "I'll clean it up in a little while; I'd just like to keep an eye on Dean, make sure he's okay."

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean said sullenly.

Emma tutted, "I remember how messy boys are, especially when they're sick." She set two large crockery mugs on the table and poured coffee into them. "It's all taken care of. Have something to warm you up." She indicated the mugs. "I've got some soup and sandwiches about ready."

"Thank you," Sam said, feeling a little guilty. "We really appreciate your hospitality." He pushed a mug at Dean. "Are you hungry?"

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head emphatically. He wasn't sure he could keep the coffee down but he needed something warm inside to try and counteract the chills sweeping through him. He took an unsteady sip of the brown liquid and set the mug back down to keep from spilling it, hands cupping it tightly.

Sam was shocked when the plate put in front of him was accompanied by a soft  brush of fingers through his hair and the gentle touch of warm lips against his temple.

"It's so good to have you home," Emma murmured, resting her forehead briefly against him. "I was so afraid you'd never come back."

Sam's heart sank to his shoes and he forced himself not to pull away, unsure of how to handle this situation. On the one hand, Emma was obviously confused and seemed harmless enough, but he knew from bitter experience you don't anger the crazy person, no matter how gentle they seemed.

Would playing along with her fantasy be so bad? Especially if it helped Dean?

When he looked up Dean was staring at him with an unmistakable what the fuck? look on his face. Sam shook his head slightly, which, even in his somewhat befuddled state, Dean correctly interpreted as let it be.

Dean lowered his eyes and took another sip of the coffee, which was the strongest he had ever tasted and damn near snarled at him. It didn't seem to be doing much toward keeping him awake, though. He could feel himself drifting again.

 Sam was starving and decided to eat the sandwich and soup. Going hungry wouldn't help Dean and he was starting to seriously flag energy-wise himself. It was going to be a long night and napping wasn't an option. He opened his mouth to speak sharply at Dean when he saw his brother's eyes shutter slightly, but Dean pulled them open again and tried to appear more alert.

Emma sat down next to Sam with her own cup of coffee. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable in the living room, Dean? You could lie on the couch. We could move in there. Ben used to eat in there all the time even though it irritated his  dad." She leaned toward Dean and stage whispered. "Actually, I think that's why Ben did it, just to irritate his dad." She laughed softly as Dean gave her a shaky smile, flicking his eyes at Sam.

"No, ma'am," Dean replied. "I think I'd like to stay here for a while. I don't really feel like lying down." Like hell he didn't. Emma started to pat his hand, but he managed to move it away without looking to obvious.

"I can tell you're stubborn, like Ben," she directed an indulgent smile in Sam's direction. "You ask him to do one thing and he would immediately want to do the opposite."

Dean actually smiled, "Yeah, that sounds like S—Ben…" He rolled his eyes over  to Sam, widening them slightly in a shrug.

Sam sent him a dirty look and took a bite of his sandwich.

Dean was a little sketchy on what was actually going on with Emma, but decided to play along if that was what Sam wanted. The distraction, if nothing else, helped him keep thinking, kept him alert.

"Tell me about Ben," Dean asked suddenly into the growing silence. Sam almost  choked.

"Dean-" Sam began.

Emma, on the other hand, seemed pleased and immediately got up from the table and went into the other room.

"Dean, what the hell?" Sam snapped through his last bite of sandwich.

"I'm humoring her," Dean replied, but not even how lousy he felt could  totally hide the glint of amusement at the fun he was gonna have at Sam's expense. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Dude…she thinks I'm her long lost son or something! We can't take advantage of that!"

Dean eyes narrowed slightly and he glanced around. "It looks like we already have. It's okay for you, but not me?"

Before Sam could respond Emma was back with a handful of framed photos which she displayed before Dean's astonished eyes.

"Holy shit," he murmured, picking up a photo, his hand shaking ever so slightly. The photo showed an older man standing next to a younger man who was wearing a somewhat strained smile. The young man in the picture was younger than Sam, with shorter hair, but  excepting that, he could have been Sam's twin.

Wordlessly, green eyes round in surprise, Dean handed the picture to Sam. The  frown faded from Sam's face as he scanned the shot, his own eyes widening in disbelief. The three other pictures showed the same young man at various ages, but it  was like seeing his brother at different stages of his life and produced a creepy sensation just under Dean's skin. He pushed the pictures at Sam, wiping his abruptly sweaty palms on his jeans. Suddenly, looking from the pictures to Emma's face, a look of longing softening her features, this wasn't so funny anymore. His body began to shiver again and  he gathered the blanket more tightly about his shoulders.

Emma lifted one photo and traced her fingertips over the glass. "You were so  young," she said softly. "Hardly more than a boy, really. It's been so long. I've missed so much…"

Not exactly sure why, Sam said quietly, "I'm sorry."

She glanced at him and smiled, easing herself back into a chair, slowly, as  if her joints hurt. In the wavering candle light her features seemed much older, more careworn. She shook her head slowly, reaching across to cup her small hand over Sam's much larger one.

"I've had a long time to think about it, to reflect." She smiled again, sadly, "To stop being angry. At both of you. What happened was inevitable. You were doing what you thought you had to." She raised her eyes. "I know it's difficult to understand, but your father was doing what he felt he had to do. I hope some day you'll recognize that and maybe you can forgive him for driving you away."

Sam went cold. A chilling sensation of déjà vu rolled through him. "He…drove…me away…"

"He didn't mean to, you have to believe that. He just couldn't understand why you were so determined to find a life away from here. Why you never felt like you had a place here, that it wasn't enough. He couldn't make himself let  go."

Sam cast about in his mind for something to say, to stop this confession before it became to real, too much like staring in the mirror. He shot a look at Dean who was staring at Emma, then flicking his eyes suddenly at Sam.

"That night you left, it rained, like it is now, dark and cold… the fight you  had with your father, the things you said to each other…about responsibilities…" She touched shaking fingers to her lips and closed her eyes.

"You have responsibilities to this family, Sam! To me! To Dean!" 

"You two never seemed to see eye to eye…" she said, shaking her head slowly again.

"What's it gonna take for you realize I'm not like you and Dean! I don't fit in. This isn't my life!"

 Sam rose suddenly and stalked over to the sink gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles. This was unbelievable. He willed her to be quiet, not to verbally play out this bizarre copy of a scenario he had already lived once.

"And then he told you if you wanted to leave, to leave—" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But if you stepped out the door not to come back…"

"If you want to leave, leave…" John turned back to Dean, trying to stem the flow of blood from the gash on Dean's head where he had struck the wall after being shoved away by both John and Sam. "But if you step out that door, don't come back!"

"I ran after you…tried to stop you…" Emma's voice broke.

"Sam! Please, God…Sam, don't leave! Not like this!" Dean clutched Sam's arms with shaking hands, standing barefooted in the pouring rain, body racked with coughs, blazing with fever. Sam could still feel the burn of his skin as he brushed Dean's forehead with his lips, saying goodbye…

 Emma raised tear filled eyes. "You said you didn't have a choice…"

"I don't have a choice…" Sam whispered, turning into the rain, away from  the Dean's torment, away from everything. Never hearing the splash as Dean's body hit the ground...

Behind Sam, staring with panicked eyes as Emma's words brought that horrible  night back to life, Dean began to wheeze, staring after Sam's retreating form, feeling the icy bite of the rain on his hot skin, his throat closing, his  lungs tightening, fingers twitching to grip an inhaler he hadn't possessed in years.

Sam whirled to see Dean clutch his chest, the blanket sliding to the floor as he rose from his chair, rocking forward.

Emma jerked back, startled, tears streaking her cheeks.

"Dean!" Sam was around the table in a heartbeat. "Dean, breathe!  C'mon—"

Dean sucked in a ragged breath; the back of his head felt like it was on fire. He caught himself on the table, trying to break his fall as Sam grabbed him. "Don't leave…" he whispered, lost in his memories, his nightmares, eyes wide, pupils blown as he searched Sam's face. "Please…"

"I'm not going anywhere," Sam replied bitterly. "I swear. Everything's gonna be okay."

Dean, hung his head, his good arm braced on the table the injured arm curled against his chest. He swallowed uneasily, feeling the room sway. "I think…I need… just for a while…" he looked up at Sam, eyes bloodshot again, "I'll stay awake…I promise, I just gotta…"

Sam nodded, licking his lips, "I know, Dean, c'mon, you can lay down for a while." Sam turned back to address Emma, his heart jumping as he saw her head fall back, her arms falling limply to her sides.

"Emma!" he cried. Crap! "Dean, sit back down for a second!" He hastily helped Dean back into the chair and rushed around the table to Emma's side, talking her hand and patting it.

"Emma? Emma, are you alright?"

Her eyelids fluttered and her hand came up to her face, as she straightened in the chair. "Oh, my..." she murmured, looking both surprised and embarrassed. "Ben, oh! I'm so sorry, it's nothing, just one of my spells…" She flapped her hand in front of her face. "Really, dear, I'm fine…"

"Are you sure?" Sam asked, looking between her and Dean, who had his head pillowed on his arms, rolling it slowly back and forth, making those soft sounds again.

"Of course, really, it's just the shock of the evening…take care of your friend…I'm fine." She pushed at Sam's arm. "Help the poor boy get comfortable." She smiled at Sam and nodded, patting his hand.

Sam sighed. "Just sit here for a minute, okay? Let me get Dean settled."

"Certainly, dear, I'll sit right here." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Sam returned to Dean and once again levered him out of the chair. Dean's  knees nearly buckled and Sam had to brace himself.

"Sorry…" Dean whispered, trying to force his body to respond to the commands he was sending it. His legs felt as though they weighed tons and it was all he could do to drag them along, even with Sam's assistance.

"It's okay," Sam reassured. "Just a few feet and we'll be there." He moved slowly through the open kitchen door and into the dim interior of the front room, supporting as much of Dean's weight as he could. "Watch the step," Sam said, going first.

Icy cold wetness closed over his sock covered foot as Sam lowered it down and  he jerked back in shock.

The entire front room floor was awash in at least three inches of water.

 Chapter Seven: Inch By Inch

Sam yanked his foot back out of the water with a gasped, "Oh, my God!" staring at the water rippling gently over the floor as it came in under the door. Odd items that had been lying on the floor were now half submerged or floating lazily on the surface.

"What is it?" Emma called from the kitchen.

Sam heard a chair slide back. "Water's coming in the house!" He called back over his shoulder.

Dean caught the doorframe with his hands and hung there. "Get the guns…"

Sam splashed across the floor and grabbed the rucksack of weapons he had stashed behind the couch and tossed it on the cushions. It dripped, but was fairly waterproof up to a point. The water was freezing cold as it crept up his pant legs. He yanked the bag open and pulled out a large flashlight. He shoved the curtains aside, knocking the candle on the sill to the floor where it extinguished with a hiss, and opened the window. Sticking his head out, he flashed the light around and was horrified to see the porch and yard had vanished under the encroaching water; only the tops of bushes and trees sticking out. A quick look down send adrenaline shooting into his system as he saw the water level outside was only a few inches below the window sills. He slammed the window down.

The water had risen at least fifteen feet in a little over an hour and it was still raining. Sam guessed the river had more than hit flood stage. He turned, grabbing the bag and sloshed back to the kitchen where Emma stood behind Dean, who looked on the verge of collapse.

"We have to get upstairs!" Sam snapped. "The water's coming in fast. The whole bottom floor's gonna be under soon!" He seized Dean's arm to keep him from sliding down the door frame and into the rising pool covering the floor. Dean groaned and clawed for a hand hold.

Emma shook her head. "No, it's alright; it never gets any higher than this,  not in the last ten years…"

The sound of the front door bursting open as it gave in to the pressure of the water against it turned them all. Water rushed in through the opening in a  wave that sent them all stumbling back into the kitchen. The roar of rain filled the house.

Dean went down as Sam lost his grip and Emma fell backwards into the table  with a shrill cry. Sam staggered back into the stove but managed to keep his feet. He abandoned the gun bag and lunged for Dean, who was face down in the water, struggling to raise himself. The water was at least a foot deep and getting deeper with each passing second. Sam hauled Dean to his knees as he choked on the filthy water, coughing and  gasping for air.

"C'mon!" Sam yelled desperately. "We have to get higher!"

Dean climbed Sam's body. "Help her!" he yelled hoarsely, jerking his head toward Emma. She lay slumped on her side, near the table, lying half across a  chair. "I'm okay. Help her!" Dean fell against the table, using the somewhat sturdy structure as a brace and pulled himself on top of it, rolling on his side and coughing.

Sam went to his knees and pulled Emma up out of the water. Blood ran from a small gash where she had hit the table. He glanced up at Dean who lay on the table, shaking. Sam gathered Emma's small body in his own shaking arms and stood with an effort, weighed down with all the wet clothing. "I'll be right  back, Dean!" he said, waiting until Dean opened his eyes and acknowledged him.

"Get her up-s-stairs!" Dean gasped. "I'm n-not going an-anywhere!"

Sam nodded and as quickly as possible made his way through the now knee-deep water to the stairs. Emma began to stir as he climbed. "It's okay," Sam said as her eyes fluttered.

"What…what happened?"

"I'm just taking you upstairs, out of the water." Sam replied, gaining the upper floor finally. He carried her into the first room he came to and helped her sit on the side of the bed. She lifted a trembling hand to her head.

"Will you be okay for a minute? I have to get Dean—" Sam was already halfway to the door. She stared up at him in obvious confusion, but finally nodded. Sam pounded down the stairs, almost losing his footing as he splashed into  the water, alarmingly now over his knees. Struggling to hurry, he waded back  into the kitchen.

In the sputtering light from the candles, Sam's searching eyes found his brother. Sprawled on the table, his back pressed against the now-soaked wood, chest heaving, Dean looked eerily like he was laid out for sacrifice.

Sam leaned over him, slapping his face lightly. "Dean, come on, open your  eyes! We gotta go upstairs." Dean's head rolled loosely, his body shivering, but he didn't respond. Sam's heartbeat sped up with each passing second that Dean failed to open his eyes.

Sam pulled Dean upright, "Dean!" he yelled and slapped Dean as hard as he could, twice, one side and then the other, the sound like a rifle shot to Sam. Dean's head snapped back after the second strike. He threw up an arm to  block a third hit and swayed in Sam's grip, blinking in bleary astonishment.

"Dude… d-did you… hit me…?"

Sam laughed in relief. "I sure as hell did and I'm gonna do worse than that if you close your eyes again! C'mon, we gotta get outta here!" He helped Dean  down from the table into the freezing water, pulling one of his arms across his shoulder, hooking the other around his waist to begin the three-mile slog upstairs. Sam paused to shove the flashlight in his pocket.

"It's cold!" Dean gasped, trembling.

"I know," Sam agreed, his own legs starting to go numb from effort as much as cold.

"Did Bobby come?" Dean asked breathlessly. "H-hope so…I'm not feelin' so hot…"

Sam braced himself to take as much of Dean's weight as he could. "No, Dean, Bobby's isn't here yet," he said with bitter patience, moving them slowly across the shallow lake of the front room to the staircase. Each step was an agony of  effort, Dean clutching the railing and pulling himself up one step at a time even with Sam's assistance.

"You can make it, Dean, just a few more steps…"

Dean gave his body an irritated shake. "I know…I can make it…" he growled,  wheezing for breath, gritting his teeth against the sharp ache in his muscles  every movement brought him. He swayed against Sam, his knees almost buckling, fingers digging into the worn wooden railing to catch himself. "I'm just so…goddamned tired…"

Despite Sam's efforts Dean slumped into the railing, sliding down to the steps with a low groan. The back of his head felt like it was burning, sending red hot blasts of fire down his spine. He curled his arms over the back of his neck and rolled his upper body forward, moaning as he did so.

 "Dean, no…please, we have to get higher, the water's coming in!" Sam's voice took on a frantic edge as he pulled at Dean trying to get him up.

Dean's muscles writhed like snakes under Sam's hands, contracting and twisting themselves into knots. Dean arched back in agony as they pulled, his hands closing on the stair balusters in a death grip. He cried out as his body began to shudder through another seizure, so much worse than before it made the last one seem gentle by comparison.

"Dean! God, Dean…hang on…" Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's lurching body, struggling to keep his brother from crashing into the steps or the railing. Dean's head slammed back into Sam's shoulder so hard Sam thought for a second it  had dislocated. Gripping Dean as tightly as he could, trying not to hear the sounds coming from Dean as he raged against his own body, Sam grit his teeth and closed his eyes, praying for this to end.

"It'll be over soon," Sam whispered brokenly, not sure if Dean could hear him. "You'll be okay…"

There was a loud crack as Dean's spasming hand, wrapped tightly around the baluster jerked wildly, pulling it from its mooring and inadvertently thrusting it back toward Sam's face. Sam grabbed Dean's wrist and held it against their  bodies to protect himself as well as Dean, the broken post still gripped in Dean's fist.

After what felt like decades, the water slowly gaining step after step, Dean's struggles began to slow, falling to spastic jerks and twitches, his cries and grunts of pain becoming slow, deep gasps and groans as he came back to himself, his face worn from effort 

"J-Jesus…" Dean choked, his face pressed against Sam's chest as he hung limply in Sam's arms. He made an attempt to swipe his eyes, but couldn't lift his arm enough. "I thought you said…I'd just go…to sleep…Dude…this is not…sleeping…" Dean let his head fall and just breathed for a moment.

Sam gently shifted Dean into a more comfortable position, watching the water creep over the step below them. "I'm sorry," he said, "I don't know what to do…to make it better…" Sam was tired, stressed, and emotionally worn out from listening and watching Dean suffer while he stood by helplessly, unable to offer anything more than small physical comfort and swiftly-waning hope ""C'mon," Sam prompted, reluctantly, after allowing Dean a few moments recovery. "We have to keep moving. The bottom floor is almost flooded; we have to get higher."

He pushed slowly to his feet and did his best to help Dean back to his. Dean tried, but his screaming, exhausted muscles wouldn't cooperate. The fire was building up in his head again and he knew it was only a matter of time before he was locked in yet another seizure. The thought should have sent his heart racing but instead it seemed to be pounding in slow, heavy thumps he could feel behind his eyes.

Dean sank back to the steps, groaning as his knees buckled. "I don't think…I can…walk…" he ground out. "My legs…"

Hating himself, Sam heaved Dean back up, his own muscles straining with the effort. "You want a choice?" he snarled into Dean's face, using his own weight to hold Dean against the wall. "Okay, here they are. There is no fucking way I'm gonna drown inside a house and I'm not leaving you on the stairs. You don't go up, I don't go up, so what's it gonna be?"

Dean looked up at Sam with anguish in his eyes. "Sam…"

"Walk or be dragged, Dean, doesn't matter to me."

Dean blinked dazedly, his eyes were getting bloodshot. "I thought… it was my choice…"

Sam tossed his head to get the wet hair out of his eyes. "I lied," he responded curtly. "So get your ass moving!"

Dean's head fell forward, hitting Sam's chest, his fingers closing on the cloth of Sam's shirt, "You're an asshole," Dean said in a breathy gasp, jerking the fabric, but to Sam's surprise and relief, he felt Dean pushing against him, trying to move. Once he was trying, Sam helped as much as he could, murmuring noises of encouragement when Dean faltered as they fought their way up the steps. Every movement brought a sound of pain from Dean, a low groan, a gasp as he lifted a foot and tried to raise it to the next step, a growl as he struggled to pull himself forward, Sam bracing him as well as he could.

After an eternity they made the upper floor landing and they both paused to rest, leaning into each other.

"I don't know…about you…." Dean wheezed, eyes closed, still clutching Sam's shirt. "But I'm not…having fun…anymore…"

Sam laughed despite himself. He straightened with an effort, putting an arm  around Dean's waist and half dragging him over to the bedroom where he had left Emma. "It'll get better," he replied. "You're gonna get in bed with a woman now."

"Yeah?..." Dean questioned casually, "Sounds good…I like older women…but no threesomes, dude…I work…alone…"

Chapter  Eight: Coming Down

Emma was no longer on the bed when Sam reached the room, but he barely spared her a thought at the moment. As Sam pulled Dean's sagging form across the floor, trying to keep from tangling his own feet in Dean's, a loud creaking groan filled the house. Sam could feel the shudder of it through the wall his hand rested on.

Dean craned his neck to look up. "What the hell was that?" He stretched out a hand to the door frame and allowed himself to lean against it, giving Sam a break. He braced his back against the wood and rubbed his eyes, sniffing.

Sam rested his hand lightly on the stair rail, feeling minute movements. He cocked his head as the slow creaking sounded again. Sam pulled the flashlight from his pocket and flashed it down the stairs. The water was still rising. Considering the pressure of it against the walls of the old house he had a fair idea of what was happening. "I think the water is eating at the foundation," he said tersely, going back  to Dean and putting an arm around him.

Dean shook his head. "What?"

Dean was doing his damnedest to carry his own weight, but his legs were becoming less cooperative with each passing second, his signals to lift his feet and step forward were somehow being misinterpreted as knee buckling and clumsy stumbling. He was unwilling to admit to himself, let alone Sam, that the reason his limbs were no longer as responsive was due to the fact that he was losing sensation in them, at least as far as controlling them went. He sure wasn't having any trouble feeling the cold wetness soaking him.

Sam pulled him across the threshold. "The Goddamned house is coming down around us." Sam clarified in a disgusted snarl. "Why the hell not?" he continued bitterly, hauling Dean to the bed. "All we need now is twenty-five foot freshwater shark and we've got the next big movie deal cinched!"

"What are you…talking about? What shark?" Dean's breathy question brought Sam's attention back to the present and he shook off his momentary insanity.

"Nothing," Sam muttered, easing Dean down on the bed. "You wanta lie down?"

Dean shook his head, making a low growling sound, allowing Sam to help him sit up against the iron headboard. Dean let his head fall back. Every muscle in his body ached and twinged; every pain he felt seemed to be shooting to the back of his skull.

"Bobby'll be here soon," Sam's words carried an assurance he was beginning to doubt, but he wouldn't let it show in his voice. "It'll be dawn soon, just hang in there a little longer. Everything'll be okay."

Dean's coarse laugh of contempt ended with thick coughing. "Whatever you have to…tell yourself…" he gasped. Dean was shaking now from cold, his limbs icy as Sam helped him shift into a slightly higher position.

Emma appeared next to Sam, two heavy blankets in her arms. Her wet clothes had been replaced by a heavy flannel shirt, jeans and a pair of boots; she wore a thick purple sweater over it all.

Dean squinted upward at a slight flutter of light in the gloom over the bed. As he stared, it grew and became a yellow glow pushing back the darkness, swiftly taking on a human aspect.

Sam felt Dean stiffen and glanced up to see what had riveted Dean's  attention, seeing only the barely-visible ceiling.

Legs twisted awkwardly, arms outstretched, blonde hair spilling across the ceiling; Dean could even see the movement of the white gown in the heat from the flames as they swept over his mother's pinned body, her mouth moving in a soundless scream. 

Dean cried out, lurching upwards as blood from the slash across her belly dripped onto his upturned face, his arms reaching frantically. "NO!" he yelled. "NO!"

Shocked, Sam grabbed Dean, who struggled with more strength than Sam would have thought possible under the circumstances. "Dean! No! There's nothing there! Whatever it is, it's not real!" What the hell was Dean seeing?

"Mom! God…help her!"

 Sam froze for a few seconds, oh, God, horrified, unwilling to look for fear he might see it too, before he managed to fight Dean back down to the bed. "She's not there, Dean. You're imagining it!" He grabbed Dean's wrists. "I swear, there's nothing there…there's nothing there…it's not real…" He repeated it like a mantra.

Dean felt a blanket descend over him, held in place by strong arms that did their best to keep him steady as he jerked, heard low words being murmured that meant nothing and everything as fire burned through the back of his head… Dean crushed his hands into his eyes to block out the sight.

It's not real, it's not real, IT'S NOT REAL!

 "That poor boy…" Emma murmured, one hand coming out to brush Dean's wet hair.

Sam resisted the urge to tell her not to touch Dean, that Dean didn't like to be touched, concentrating instead on the gradual slowing of Dean's jerking muscles, hearing Dean's moaned exhalations of breath.

"Sam…"

"Yeah, Dean, I got you."

"…not real…" Dean whispered, closing his eyes, snapping them open again to search wide-eyed over the now bare ceiling. "Jesus…" he moaned, he dropped a shaking hand over his eyes, his body shuddering. "I can't take this…" he caught Sam's arm. "When's Bobby coming?" Dean's eyes searched Sam's face. "Shouldn't he be here…by now?"

Sam looked away. "Soon," he replied after a few seconds, returning his gaze to Dean's bloodshot eyes. "He has to wait 'til dawn, but he'll be here soon. It's not long now."

Dean's eyes closed and he nodded, biting his lip. 'I'm thirsty," he said, his voice rough. "Can I…get some water?"

Sam almost laughed; they were surrounded by water, up to their asses in it. Hysteria ran a cold finger down his spine. "Yeah, I'll get you a drink. Be right back."

He patted Dean's arm and rose to get the requested drink.

"I'll get it," Emma volunteered, laying a small hand on Sam's arm. "Stay with your friend." She smiled gently.

Sam's return smile was genuine. "Thanks. It's okay, Dean," Sam leaned close, his fingers kneading into Dean's upper arms.

"I don't…don't know if…I can do this…much longer…" Dean coughed, his eyes squeezing shut.

 Sam shrugged, watching Dean breathe. "Just take it easy," he said softly.

Dean ignored the scrutiny, content to be breathing, incapable of anything more. He could hear the drum of the rain on the roof, louder here, on the upper floor…

Emma returned with a glass of water and held it out to Sam, her hand shaking  noticeably. "I'm sorry there aren't any more clothes for you and your friend," she gestured loosely at the door. "Everything was downstairs."

"It doesn't matter," Sam murmured, turning back to Dean and offering him the glass. He helped Dean tip it up to take a few small sips when a loud crack, like a gunshot, reverberated through the house. All three turned to stare at the bedroom door as creaks and groans floated  from from above them.

Emma turned to Sam. "What is that?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "The foundation is caving in, I think," Sam answered, "You said the water had gotten this high before," he addressed Emma. "If the foundation was already weakened by that, it's not gonna take much pressure to tear it down." He looked at Dean, but spoke to Emma. "The water is still coming in, we can't stay in here."

Emma laughed. In the darkness of the room it sounded harsh and unnatural. "And go where?"  she demanded.

Sam looked around helplessly; there was only one way left. "We have to get on the roof. Even if the rest of the house falls, hopefully the roof will stay afloat. When it gets light we need to go up there anyway, the water is still rising. It'll be in here soon-"

"It's not safe," Emma replied shortly. She walked over to the window and tugged on the faded fabric. "I know you're angry, but just wait until the rain stops. It'll be better then."

Sam frowned, confused. "We don't have that kind of time, I don't think." He replied.

Emma made an impatient noise. "Why do you have to be so stubborn?" she demanded, turning to glare at him. "Give your father a chance to calm down so you two can talk this out. If you two would only talk-" She pressed her hand to her mouth and turned back to the window.

Sam floundered as he realized they were not having the same conversation.

"Neither one of you can see the other's point of view. He's not trying to keep you prisoner, he worries about you, what can happen to you on you own…and  yes, I know, you're an adult you can make your own decisions." Emma's voice took on a tone of weary understanding. "He's your father, Ben. He just wants what's best for you!"

"Emma…" Sam set Dean's glass on the bedside table, pausing to pull the  blankets tighter around Dean's body. Dean's dull, heavy-lidded eyes followed Sam as he got up from the bed and walked over to Emma. The groans of the house rose and fell around them as Sam moved across the floor, certain he could feel it give slightly beneath his feet.

Emma had begun to rub at her arm, still staring out the window into the stormy darkness. Rain smacked the glass in a noisy patter.

He needed to get her attention "Em—uh… Mom… we have to go," Sam said softly, loathing himself for doing it but needing Emma to come back into the room with them, trying to take her arm.

"No!" She snapped. "Not until it stops raining and you have time to cool off! Look what happened before!" She wept openly. "All this time I've waited for you, prayed for you, kept a candle burning for you and all you can think about is letting it happen again!" She threw herself against him, clutching at him in a frenzy. "I can't bear it! All these years since that night, alone… your father…never knowing if you were coming back—"

Sam felt his arms close around her small body without thought, as she trembled and sobbed against him. Couldn't stop the words as they spilled from  his mouth. "I'm…sorry…"

With a loud report, the window suddenly exploded inwards, showering both Sam and Emma with broken glass. He turned to protect her instinctively, feeling the sting of cuts opening on his skin.

Emma screamed as they both went down in a heap, the entire room twisting sideways. Furniture crashed, candles fell, extinguishing as they hit the ground, glass breaking as photographs fell to the floor. The wood planks beneath their feet separated, the bed sliding to one side to come to rest with a crash on the opposite wall, accompanied by Dean's shout of surprise.

"Dean!" Sam yelled over the cacophony of shrieks and bangs the house was producing in its death throes.

"I'm okay!" Dean called back across the now pitch black room. "Where are  you?"

"Stay there!" Sam ordered. "I'm alright, just wait!"

Dean lay as still as his trembling body would allow, listening to the now sporadic creaks and cries as the house settled into its new position. He couldn't tell how far everything had tilted but the head of the bed was resting against the wall now and trying to raise himself into a sitting position was almost impossible.

"Sam!?"

"Right here!"

Dean flinched back, blinking, as a lighter burst to life close to him. Hollow  with shifting shadows, Sam's face appeared skeletal. Dean felt his reality slip at the sight and he fought to maintain the weakening hold on his own mind as flames burst from Sam's empty eye sockets. It's not real….it's not real… He threw an arm over his eyes, making a strangled noise. "Not real—"

"Hang on, Dean!" Sam pulled Emma onto the tilted bed where she lay limply next to Dean, but with her head at the high end. He also came up with a candle which, when lighted, fought the darkness back into the corners somewhat. He rested the holder against the wall. "C'mere." Sam grunted. He braced his feet on the sloped floor and caught  Dean's hands, tugging him up and around so that he was lying on his stomach staring into Sam's eyes, braced on his forearms. "You okay?" Sam asked.

 "Sure…" Dean gasped. "I don't know what…we've been…worried about." They both paused at the sound of water pouring into the darkened room. "Well," Dean continued, with a brittle laugh, his head dropping down to his arm. "How much…worse can it get?"

Sam heard the telltale crack overhead and threw himself over Dean without thought. A wide split opened above them as the ceiling was torn down the center and one half fell almost all the way to the bed, broken rafters punching through thin drywall, covering the brothers and Emma with wood, dirt, boards from the attic floor, and numerous cardboard boxes and trash.

Chapter Nine: Murphy's Law

The room was pitch dark except for the feeble glow of the single candle, the air was thick with swirling dust from the attic and wind-blown rain was coming through the shattered windows and the gaping holes that had opened up in the wall.

Dean shifted under the weight of Sam's body sprawled over him, trying to rock his brother enough to be able to draw a breath. His good arm was pinned between their two bodies and just thinking about trying to move his injured arm made him sick, but he didn't have any choice.

"Sam…" Dean groaned, in a shaky voice. "You okay?" He grit his teeth and lifted his throbbing arm enough to let it fall on Sam's back and forced his numb fingers to close on the fabric of Sam's shirt and pull. "C'mon, dude…no sleeping for you…either." He was trying not to let his rising panic at Sam's lack of response get the better of him, but if Sam were hurt, they may as well all kiss their collective asses goodbye.

Abruptly Sam groaned and jerked, shaking his head.

"Agh…thank God…" Dean murmured in relief, trying to see Sam's face through the veil of darkness, drawing in air as Sam suddenly pushed off Dean, coughing. "You alright?" Dean rasped, reaching out for Sam.

"What the hell happened?" Sam asked, feeling the back of his head. He reached over and grabbed the remaining lit candle, holding it up.

"I think…the ceiling fell in," Dean supplied, straining to see where Sam was putting the light.

Two ceiling beams had fallen into the room, hanging from their braces on the far wall. Several others had buckled in the ceiling, but were still fairly high  up.

"Christ..." Sam breathed, standing to hold the candle higher, looking into the attic. He could just make out some crates and boxes hanging on the edge of  the opening. The closest beam had stopped its downward movement two feet above where Dean was lying on the bed. Sam had lost count of the number of times they had tempted fate since this  nightmare had begun. If it hadn't been for Dean, right now Sam wasn't sure he wouldn't welcome the peace he assumed a quick death might bring.

Pushing away the black thoughts he knew were being brought on by exhaustion and desperation, he turned back to the bed. The fact that he could feel the cold water swirling around his feet hardly seemed worthy of notice. He could hear Dean grunting with effort, punctuated with short groans.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, bringing the candle closer, seeing Dean  floundering to get to his feet.

"…sick…" Dean choked, grasping the broken beam to try and pull himself up. His muscles pulled against each other as he tried to lever himself up, his injured arm refusing to respond at all.

Sam grabbed him and pulled him off the bed, assisting him a few feet away before allowing Dean to go down, retching, his hands and knees half submerged in the oily water.

"What…what's happening?" Emma's weak voice suddenly broke into Sam's concentration.

Dean, lost in non-productive heaving, fully occupied just trying to balance  on his knees and one hand, felt Sam waver. "I got it…" he gasped. "Help her…"

Frowning grimly, Sam circled the bed. Careful of his footing, he snatched up a candle he saw floating in the water and dried it off by rolling it across the bedding. He pressed the tip to the other burning candle, hearing the sizzle before it burst into flame, adding a small additional glow to the room. He jammed it in a crack in the wall, wedging it tightly.

Emma's wide frightened eyes softened as Sam came into view and she grasped him in a frantic hug. He gripped her tightly as she clasped him. "Are you alright?" she gasped.

"We're fine…at least as far as that goes. Are you alright?" He studied her face as well as he could in the dim, shifting light.

She nodded, "I think so." She gasped again as she looked over and saw the roof structure falling into the room. "What happened?"

The both looked up as Dean suddenly flopped back onto the bed, face down, trembling.

"Dean-"

"Le' me 'lone…" Dean moaned thickly, face buried in the blankets, muffling his voice.

"Dean…"

"I can't…Sam," Dean said, voice breaking, "Leave me…God, please…it hurts…too much…." His hand clawed at the back of his skull. If he could just dig out the fire…

"Dean, we're gonna get out of here!" Sam snapped. Dean's head rolled back and forth in a slow denial. He pulled Dean's hand away."Look at me—" Dean whimpered and tried to pull his hand back, but Sam held on. "Look at me, Goddammit!" Sam barked.

Head wobbling unsteadily, Dean lifted his face and stared at Sam with dull eyes, shot through with red. "Please…Sam…"

Sam felt his heart thudding at the sight of Dean's face in the weak light, the circles under his eyes like swatches of black, pain lines creasing his face, making him appear both older and younger, muscles in his jaw bunching as he ground his teeth. They locked eyes, challenging the power they each had over the other.

Dean wanted to say to hell with it. His life wasn't worth much to himself anyway; it's only value lay in how he used it to protect his younger brother. Right now that meant Sam getting away and if that meant Dean stayed behind then so be it. He was so tired, an anchor dragging Sam down. To just close his eyes and never move his aching body again, no pain, no trying to think through the mud his mind was wading in, to just sleep, was an overwhelming desire, stronger than almost anything he had ever experienced.

But staring into those damned, blue-green eyes that he could deny nothing,  Dean knew without being told, if he didn't get up and follow Sam wherever the  hell it was he thought they could go, if he opted to lay here and die, Sam would lie down and die with him and that was not an option. Dean moaned and dropped his head back down. "I fuckin' hate you…"

Sam's teeth glittered in a sudden grin. He reached out and squeezed Dean's shoulder. "I know," he said, with a relieved laugh, "I know."

Emma caught Sam's arm as he rose to study the collapsed ceiling once again, pulling the candle from it's holder in the wall, barely noticing the hot wax as  it spilled down his hand.

"What are you doing?" She asked plaintively, brushing the hair back from her eyes.

"Is there a way to get into the attic? I mean stairs? We can probably get up  there through here, but I think it might be too dangerous. I'm not sure this would hold up against our weight." He reached up to push gingerly at the beam by his head. It gave slightly and plaster crumbled around them. He decided  experimenting might not be such a good idea.

He had to hold the candle down to see how deep the water was getting. The floor was definitely canting to one side, he was standing, but could sense his body leaning forward to compensate. The floor had acquired a springy movement and he could almost feel it sinking beneath him. "We can't stay here," he said again, a sense of urgency coming over him.

"We can't go in the attic," Emma said suddenly, staring wide eyed into the opening in her ceiling. Her hand crept up her throat.

Sam turned to look at her, the tone of her voice alerting him. "Why?" he  asked. "Why can't we go into the attic? The house is coming down. If we're lucky we can get onto the roof. It'll be dawn soon, we need to get where we can be seen—"

"No!" She declared. "I won't go up there!" She turned her head away and crossed her arms.

Sam shot a look at Dean who had lifted his head again to watch this exchange. "I'll help you, I won't let anything happen to you—" Sam began.

"You're just like your father!" She cried. "You can't let anything go, you never could! You have to question everything!" She made a fist and hit the  bed.

"Emma," Dean's voice was raw. "He's right—"

"No! I never go in the attic! Ever! You left! I was alone with him…you don't know, Ben!" She covered her face with her hands. "You think you do, but you didn't. The night you left…my God…the night you left…" She broke off, sobbing.

Sam sank down next to Emma on the bed. He rested a hand on her shoulder and kept it there even as she tried to flinch it off. "Emma…" He looked back at Dean, who watched through half closed eyes. Turning back to Emma, Sam took a breath. "Mom…why can't you go in the attic? What's up there? I need you to tell me," he added softly.

Emma stood suddenly, brushing her fingers over her face and taking a deep breath. "It'll stop raining soon," she stated, straightening her clothes with small tugs and smoothing gestures. "I'll make some coffee, you and you're friend must be hungry—"

Sam caught her arm. "We aren't hungry," he replied, trying to pull her around. "The kitchen is under water. The whole house is almost under water. We can't go back downstairs, we have to get higher—" He broke off as the house shifted again with a low groan and a series of shuddering creaks. He grabbed her other arm to stop her from falling as she stumbled sideways.

She fell next to him on the bed with a cry. Sam threw himself over both her and Dean as more debris rained on them from the ceiling. He managed to shove Dean from the bed, a hoarse yell coming from him as he fell sideways into the cold water with a splash.

 With a loud crack the lowest hanging beam suddenly slammed down where they  had been moments before, grazing Sam's side as it hit, just missing Dean's arm, collapsing the bed, large chunks of plaster smacking down on them.

Emma screamed as Sam swept her from the bed into the water next to Dean seconds before a trunk and several boxes fell from the opened ceiling, falling onto the destroyed bed. The trunk fell open, the contents spilling out onto bedding, the feeble glow cast by the two candles still managing to light the scene revealed .

Sam could hear Emma screaming, was dimly aware of Dean's gasped invective,but staring into the shriveled eyes of the withered corpse sprawled six inches from his face, his scare circuits long since blown and exhausted beyond reason,  Sam couldn't help the sudden overwhelming urge to laugh.

Chapter Ten: Climbing up the Down

Sam crammed a knuckle in his mouth and bit down hard to keep the laughter from bubbling out of his mouth at the sight of the shriveled corpse sprawled onto the bed from the open trunk. He knew he was exhausted, totally stressed out  and trembling on the edge of hysteria, but seriously…

Really…

I mean…fuck… This was just TOO much.

Dimly, he was aware that Emma was still screaming, could hear her splashing through the water to push herself face first into the corner.

"Holy shit!" Dean's shocked yelp as he tried to haul himself back onto the bed, shoving the corpse's leathery arm away, cut through Sam's haze like a jolt of electricity.

Sam shook himself like a dog, feeling the world shift back on its axis instantly, Dean's continuing foul-mouthed litany a surprising point of comfort, grounding him.

"…of a friggin' bitch!" Dean finally ended on a wheezing cough, his body still trailing in the water, arms and upper body balanced on the edge of the bed .

One thing Sam knew about Dean was that he hated to be startled, and a body in a trunk falling out of the ceiling definitely fit that description.

Sam rolled his sodden body up. Emma's cries had fallen to choking sobs in the background; he needed to check on her but first things
first.

"You okay?" Sam asked Dean, catching him under the arms and hauling him upward, his muscles still trembling from reaction, but more under control than not, except for what had become a constant shivering from the cold water.

Dean jerked away weakly, "I'm not laying next to that!" his intended smack to knock Sam's hand away barely grazed Sam before it fell to the bed. Dean slumped face first into the wet bedding with a groan, clutching his head with both hands.

"Shut her up!" he pleaded. "God…my head…."

Sam wavered for a second then splashed over to Emma and touched her shoulder. 

"Emma…?"

Her shriek at Sam's touch startled him into stumbling backwards. As she whirled and launched her small body at him, fingers clawed, face twisted with  hatred, they both went down in a tangled heap, water geysering around them.

"You killed him!" She screamed, both of then choking on filthy water as she forced him down with shocking strength.

Sam, hampered by the knee deep water and the fact that he didn't want to hurt her, struggled to get his feet under him, clamping her wrists in his large hands and forcing her back.

"You couldn't let him go! The one good thing in my life and you destroyed it! You took it from me!"

She had moved beyond hysterical and was now full-on berserk, her screams rising, louder than the tortured moans of the house falling in around them, her struggles redoubling as she tried to throw herself at him yet again.

Sam felt, more than saw, Dean's arm shoot across his, Dean's fist landing against Emma's jaw in a clumsy punch with a wet thunk.

Emma relaxed instantly, her head sagging to the side, her body collapsing as Sam struggled to keep her from falling into the rising water. Dean's body fell against Sam's back as his own strength failed him and he went to his knees.

"Dean! You hit her!" Sam cried in outrage. 

"Yeah…well… stopped screaming, didn't she?" Dean gasped. 


Sam had to admit  Dean had a point. He sighed and swept Emma up on  his arms, depositing her on the bed once more, brushing debris away to clear a space.

"Jesus…one damned house on this friggin' road…and it belongs to some psycho bitch killer with a body in her attic?" It was all Dean could do to keep his head out of the water as he floundered. Controlling his body was becoming a real issue. The last thing he wanted to do was to start seizing in this fucking lake. He clawed for the bedside table, grateful when he felt Sam's hand's grip his arms and pull upwards.

"C'mon," Sam ground out, his own strength starting to wane.

He guided Dean back onto the bed, settling him next to Emma's slack form. Dean immediately slumped sideways, catching himself on his forearms, face a few scant inches from the withered body. He closed his eyes and shoved weakly at the head which snapped off and rolled from the bed to bob languidly in the water, dried out eyes staring upwards.

"Oh, holy Christ…gimme a break…" Dean moaned, burying his face in the wet blankets.

"Dean! What the…" Sam made a disgusted face at the macabre sight and gingerly lifted the head by its sparse hair, noting, despite himself, that the hair was stiffly matted in places. He frowned as he gently placed the dripping head back in the trunk. Grimacing, Sam quickly, but carefully, gathered the body back into the remains of the trunk then pulled it off the bed. It sank into the water, but he was still able to drag it along toward the hall and out the door into the room across the way.

Dean pushed himself up slightly, watching this activity. "What are you doin'?" 

Sam closed the other bedroom door and returned to Dean. "I don't think she needs to see that when she wakes up," he replied. 

Returning to the bed, he sank down on the edge. His eyes caught a tiny flash of reflected candle light on something metallic by Dean's head.

Reaching out, he snagged the object, coming away with a chain that dangled a small medallion. Moving closer to the faint light of the candle, he rubbed the small disc between his fingers. Holding it out to the tiny flame, he squinted at the inscription on the back of it in the weak light.

For Benjamin, my light, my love. 

Once more Sam felt laughter rock him. 

The body in the trunk was…Ben.

Of course…

Who the hell else could it be…

She waits years for this kid to come back and he's been here all along…

It crossed his mind that perhaps he and Dean had been in a wreck and he was even now lying in traction somewhere caught in the throes of a morphine-induced nightmare.

He found the thought oddly comforting.

"Dude…what?" Dean's hoarse voice, shaking with cold, broke him out of his reverie.

Why were their realities always so much worse than their nightmares?

"The body. It's Ben…her son." Sam gestured with the necklace.

Dean snorted, closing his eyes. "Of course it is," he wheezed. He coughed and shook his head. "She killed his ass when he tried to leave… …hell…the husband's probably up there somewhere…"

Sam shook his head, still fingering the medallion. "I don't think so, Dean. I don't think it's that simple—"  He carefully set the necklace on the bedside table, wedging it so that it wouldn't slide into the water.They both stiffened as the house shifted again, its wail of agony a living thing around them. The house was dying and it was gonna take them with it.

It may have been his own exhaustion, but it felt like the floor was swaying with every step he took. The drum of rain through the holes in the wall had quickly become a sound he barely even noticed, his lower legs and feet leaden with wet and cold, his body crying out for rest. He sank down on the bed next to Dean, closing his eyes.

He started when cold, trembling fingers closed weakly around his wrist and tugged. Turning, he smiled thinly at Dean's wide green eyes, trusting and understanding, despite the pain in his face.

"It's okay," Dean said softly, pulling on Sam's arm again.

Sam took a deep breath, his frustration and fear as he looked at Dean bringing him even closer to the breaking point. "I don't know what to do…" he  finally whispered, voice shaking. He swiped clumsily at his eyes as they burned suddenly and hot tears spilled down his face to mix with the rainwater.

"Dad'll be here soon. It'll be okay…" Dean rasped, his head falling against Sam's shoulder.

Dean's words caught Sam's  breath in a choked sob, staring down at the back of Dean's head. His fingers carded through Dean's spiky, wet hair.

God…they had to get out of here…

He straightened resolutely, rubbing his face and sniffing. "Open your eyes, Dean," he said in a firmer voice, reaching down to shake Dean, who groaned and tried to pull away.

"Bitch," Dean mumbled, pushing against Sam's leg.

This time Sam's short laugh was real. "Jerk," he replied, suddenly feeling much better. This wasn't over yet. Not by a fucking long shot.

Sam eased out from beneath Dean, rose and sloshed around the end of the bed to Emma side. He sat on the edge and gently patted her face, calling her name softly.

Her head jerked suddenly and her eyes popped open, regarding Sam with such  pain he couldn't bear to look. She began to cry, her hands rising to cover her face as she sobbed, years of grief held back pouring out of her at last.

"My God…" she wept. "He killed my baby…and left him like that…"

"Emma, I'm sorry…" Even conscious of the fact that they were running out of time, Sam couldn't help himself. "What happened that night?" he helped her sit  up, seeing Dean roll to his side and watch them through half closed eyes.

"It was awful," she gasped. "I can't believe I just…made it go away…" She began to sob harder and Sam reached out to hold her against him, offering what little comfort he could.

"William...my husband, was a hard man…so tough with Ben, his expectations of  him." She pulled back slightly and wiped her streaming eyes. "They fought all the time." She looked up at Sam. "I tried to stop them, make them listen to what the other was saying," she shook her head and fresh tears flowed.

"The night Ben told me he was leaving, we all got into a terrible  fight…William…I know he was just angry, he'd never lifted a hand to either of us…but he hit me when the fight was at it's worst, knocked me into the table." She covered her face. "The things he said to me—to Ben!" Her shoulders shook anew. "I'd never seen him like that!"

"It's okay. Go on," Sam encouraged, his eyes moving upward as another groan rolled through the building and the ceiling shifted slightly, particles of  plaster and wood sprinkling down gently.

Emma sniffed and stared up at Sam. "Ben grabbed William's gun and threatened to shoot him if he touched me again. God, I tried to stop him, but I was so  dizzy from hitting the table." Unconsciously she traced her finger down a thin white scar over her eyebrow that Sam could see even in the weak light from the candles.

Her eyes fell to the bed, drifted briefly to Dean, then back to Sam. "You look so much like him," she said. "When I saw you, I thought—" She shook her head. "My God, I'm so sorry—all this time, all these years…"

"Did William kill Ben?" Sam asked gently.

Emma's hands fluttered and her eyes darted to the floor and back.

Sam knew whatever she said, she would be lying, not to keep the truth from him, but from herself. He had no doubt she had seen everything but even now refused to accept it. "I must have passed out. When I came to I was lying on the couch. It was dark  and they were both gone. There was a note on the table from Ben saying goodbye and that he…he loved me." Her voice thickened. "That he would be back…" She looked up again, eyes swimming. "I lit a candle for him, every night. Waiting for him to come home…William never came back…and tonight when you came…you look so much like him…" Her hand drifted up to cup Sam's face. "I thought you-he had come home."

"Did you ever go into the attic after that night?" Sam asked, allowing the touch even though her fingers were as cold as ice.

Emma hesitated, then gave a short erratic nod. "Once… I had to…to get some blankets when the heat went out… the winter after they left me and… I opened the trunk… and…" She shook her head as if banishing an image. "He said was coming back, you see, so there was no way he was laying there, in the trunk… all this time…" She bit her lip. "I left him there… and now…" She cast about the room with searching eyes, whispering. "I waited all this time… for nothing." She bit her lip. "I found him and I just… left him there to—" She slid her feet off the bed into the icy water and stood, hands pressed to her mouth.

"Don't." Sam said, touching her arm. "Whatever happened wasn't your fault. No one can blame you for making something awful like this just go away. You were just trying to protect yourself. There's nothing you could have done to change what happened."

She looked at him, surprised, but sank back down.

Sam glanced at Dean who laid back on the bed, breathing harshly, an arm thrown over his eyes, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He reached out and shook Dean lightly. Dean made a soft sound as if the tiny movement pained him terribly.

"Dean, you still with me…" Sam asked, trying to make it light sounding, as if the obvious answer was yes.

 "I'm not…feelin' so hot…" Dean managed to get out. His eyes opened slowly, his gaze unfocused as he turned toward Sam. "Back of my head…s'on fire…" his hand fell to the bed and he turned his face away.

Sam's face tightened. He looked around the room, trying to decide the next course of action. The water was just below the top of the bed now, it was almost floating and he could sense the lean of the room. It was just a matter of time before the pressure of the water against the old house took it down. They had to get higher.

"Who are you two?" Emma's quiet question startled him. She regarded him with clear, gentle eyes. "I know you're not my son, I've deluded myself for ten years. My boy is dead. I'm through pretending, hiding inside myself."

Sam shrugged, "My name is Sam, this is my brother, Dean. We were trying to get to a friend of ours for help. Dean's…" Sam bit the words off. Saying it made it true. "If we don't…we don't have a lot of time." He pressed his fingers to his forehead to try and collect his thoughts. "Our friend will be looking for us. It'll be morning soon; we have to get to the roof. The house is coming down." He paused. "I'm sorry about your son. I can't imagine what this  has been like for you, but my brother is…he's gonna…" Sam closed his eyes and forced the word out, "die…if we don't get out of here and I can't let that happen."

Emma drew herself up. "Then we better get moving," she said, wiping the last traces of tears from her face.


Chapter Eleven: Welcome to My Nightmare

"C'mon, Dean," Sam grunted through chattering teeth. "Time to go."

He appreciated Emma's added strength as they raised Dean up and pulled him into a sitting position, ignoring his groans and noises of protest. Sam was quite sure Dean couldn't have fended off a rabid kitten at the moment, let alone he or Emma.

Dean's head fell forward and Sam braced him with a hand against his chest, which Dean immediately clamped with one of his own hands to help hold his body in place.

"Steady," Sam encouraged, trying not to wince as Dean's fingers dug into the back of Sam's hand. He tried to catch Dean's eye to offer him a smile, but they remained down, his breath coming in smothered gasps.

Dean's muscles jumped and shook, trembling with cold and pulling against each other as he fought to control them. The room was moving in a sickeningly slow spin and he couldn't keep his eyes open. He felt he had become part of the sounds around him as the house moaned in agony, its foundations steadily weakened by the flood waters eating away at it, sinking metaphorically to its knees, its body mortally wounded by pressure, wind and rain.

He and this damned friggin' house were both gonna be sucked down into the mud and die.

"S…Sam…" he clutched at Sam's shirt, half-frozen fingers failing to catch at the fabric.

"What? Dean, what?" Sam asked anxiously, sinking thigh-deep in the water, anxious to see Dean's face, instantly angry when he did. He knew that look and a coldness poured through him that had nothing to do with where he was.

"You gotta…leave me…" Dean's hoarse, broken voice, his eyes, begged Sam. "Please..."

Sam stood immediately and tried to haul Dean's leaden body up. "I don't want to hear it!" Sam snapped. "Just shut up! Nobody's gettin' left! Now get up!!"

"Sam…don't…don't be stupid…" Dean tried to resist, but he was no match for Sam's angry strength as Sam yanked him upward.

"NO!" Dean growled, letting his legs go limp, no real effort required there, bringing them both back down on the bed. "Save her…save yourself—" Air whistled through his teeth as they clamped down, shuddering tremors rolling over his body.

Sam put his face in Dean's. "We've had this conversation!" He snarled. "We're not having it again! Now get your ass UP and help us get the hell out of here!"

Worn hands suddenly closed over Sam's and he looked up into eyes, shining with icy determination even as the blue seemed to have been leeched away by time.

"Stop it," Her soft voice carried over the sound of the wind and the shrieking of the house.

Staring at her, slowly, Sam's hands relaxed and Dean sank back into the soggy bed.

Emma leaned over Dean, her tone a gentle remonstration. "He's not going to leave you, why are you trying so hard to leave him?" she asked, reaching to cup her hands against Dean's cold, pain twisted face. To Sam's surprise Dean's dull green eyes rolled to Emma's face.

To Sam's surprise Dean's dull green eyes rolled to Emma's face.

"You won't make it…with me…I want him to make it…" Dean choked. "Help him…make him see…it's too late for me…"

"Dean…" Sam broke in.

"It's never too late," Emma stated flatly, cutting Sam off. "There's always hope, even if it's just keeping someone else's hope alive, even when it's hoping for something that isn't going to happen." She stopped and tears filled her eyes, spilled over, dropping with heated stings to Dean's face. Her voice shook. "Even if it's deluding yourself by lighting candles for a lost child you just want to come home."

Dean stared at her, his eyes flicking from her to Sam and back.

"Light a candle," she whispered, leaning close to Dean's ear. "If not for your sake, for your brother's. You may have lost your hope, but don't take his."

Emma straightened, stumbled slightly as the floor shifted, catching herself on the edge of the bed. Her own body was numb with cold, but her voice was steady even as her hands shook.

"Everything is going to be okay," she said in a firm voice. "Sam's going to take care of you. He'll have you out of here in no time."

Dean swallowed, shivering, some of the tension leaving his muscles. He closed his eyes and nodded shortly, lower lip clamped between his teeth. His eyes opened again and fastened on Sam, doing his best to glare. He coughed and cleared his throat, lifting his arm as best he could. "What the…hell…are you waiting for?" he forced out. "Help me…up."

Sam's face split into a relieved grin and he clasped Dean's hand with his, sliding an arm along Dean's elbow to support him as he and Emma worked to get Dean to his feet; Sam shouldering the bulk of Dean's weight and Emma doing her best to help.

"Thank you," Sam murmured, looking at her with a level of gratitude those words would never adequately express.

She smiled tiredly. "No one else needs to die here. Least of all the two of you."

Sam yanked the candle out of the wall where it was in danger of being extinguished by the rising water, indifferent to the hot wax he couldn't feel running down his hand.

"C'mon," Sam prompted again, pushing them forward, toward the door, trying to hold the candle high enough to offer something to light their way.

"S-sure…" Dean gasped, gripping their hands weakly, making the effort to take some of his own weight. "We're doin' great…"

He could feel things moving under the water against him, his mind instantly conjuring writhing tentacles wrapping themselves around his legs, pulling him from Sam's grasp and down into the icy blackness, water pouring into his lungs as he choked and struggled…

"Dean!" Sam barked as Dean suddenly tried to wrench away with a hoarse cry. "Calm down! We got you, it's alright! It's okay!"

Dean rocked against them, struggling for balance that simply wasn't there, but then the suckers fell away from his body and he could move his legs again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head and ground his teeth together.

It's not real…

IT'S NOT REAL!

"The attic stairs are to the left of the upstairs bathroom. They stick, you have to pull hard." Struggling slowly through the swirling water, Emma gasped out instructions.

Dean was gripping her left hand so hard she was sure her bones were breaking as pain shot through her arm. Sam wrapped an arm around Dean's waist and tried to take as much of him as possible.

"You okay?" Sam asked Emma as she caught herself on the door frame.

"I'm fine!" she assured breathlessly.

Sam had never been in a shipwreck, but he couldn't help but feel a kinship to people struggling down corridors that were filled with water, trying to get high enough to keep from drowning.

The walls of the hallway swayed and twisted in the wavering light from Sam's candle; pieces of the ceiling cracking and falling away to drop on them as they fought their way to the end of the hall where a cord with a handle dangled, knotted end dancing.

They were half-leaning on the wall as they staggered forward, the tilt of the floor worsening with each step, their footing becoming more and more precarious.

The rope pull of the attic stairs dangled within reach and Sam stretched out a hand to grasp it. As his fingers closed on the plastic handle the entire hallway, walls, floors and ceiling suddenly corkscrewed and gave way beneath their feet in an abrupt drop to the right that threw them in a heap against the opposite wall. The candle vanished with a hiss and blackness buried them.

Water surged around them, rushing past them in a muffled roar, mixing with the deafening screams of rending wood and exploding glass, current doing it's damndest to suck them back the way they had come.

Explosions of light from outlets and light fixtures fizzed and sparkled sending sparks flying as the hallway was alternately brilliant with light and plunged into total darkness.

Floorboards buckled around them. Sam felt a long, burning tear along his legs from what had to have been nails sticking out of the boards. Emma screamed as she was thrown into Dean, tearing both from Sam's desperate grasp. Dean went under, gasping and cursing.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, struggling upright, grabbing the first splintered piece of wall or some such his hand encountered in the darkness. He reached blindly for the sound of Dean's flailing body and Emma's cries, trying to get his hands on anything living.

Another shriek of wood came from behind and unseen, the attic stairs spilled open, unfolding like a demonic tongue, the end
striking Sam's head as it fell, knocking him senseless. Invisible in the flickering darkness, his body tumbled into the icy maelstrom of the hallway.

Emma braced her feet against a section of ruptured floor and grabbed at Dean's arm as it smacked into her, bringing him to the surface where he coughed and spluttered. The hall light exploded over them and she took advantage of the brief light to push Dean to her left.

"Here!" she cried,."Grab the door frame! Hold on as tight as you can!"

Obtusely, she was grateful for the buoyancy the water gave to Dean's much larger body, allowing her to move him with greater ease. She helped him get his arms around the door frame that had torn free from the ceiling and wall. It gave slightly, but appeared be at least somewhat firmly attached.

Still choking, Dean's hands slipped and Emma pushed him back roughly. "You hang on to that!" She yelled. "I don't care if it's the last damned thing you do, you hold onto that and don't let go until I tell you!" She half fell back into the water, letting the wall take her weight.

"Did you get the stairs down, Sam?" She called out, brushing the wet hair from her eyes. She twisted to look behind them, squinting. "Sam?"

Dean clutched the doorway as tightly as he could, cursing himself for his weakness, feeling the pull of the water around him, so cold and tired, so ready for this to end, alone he might have released his hold and let it take him where it willed, but Emma was right, he couldn't do that to Sam--

Dean's eyes popped open. Sam hadn't answered Emma's question.

Where was Sam?

"SAM!" He yelled, feeling his grip relax.

Emma's voice rang out at the same instant, a bizarre echo of Sam's name screamed into the darkness surrounding them.

"Sam!" Dean yelled again, "Answer me!" He pushed away from the wall, reaching into the blackness. The strength of the water tearing by was almost too much for him and he choked again as he went partly under. Something hard crashed into him then swept past as he shoved weakly against it.

"Emma! Where is he?"

"I don't know!" she cried, floundering away, sending another wash of water Dean's way and submerging him once more.

Emma cried out as she banged into the dangling staircase.

"What is it?" Dean shouted.

Emma ignored him and cast about with her hands grabbing into the water. "Sam!?"

Her hands encountered cloth and she clutched at it, pulling it toward her, grateful for the weight that told her she'd found him. She could feel and hear him coughing as his face went under and she struggled to keep his head out of the water.

"I've got him!" She shrieked, dragging Sam back the short distance she'd covered before she collided with Dean. He grabbed for them as their bodies struck him, pushing him back into the door  frame. He wrapped an arm around it as best he could, good hand clutched in the collar of Sam's shirt.

Sam moaned and shifted in their joint grip.

Thank God, thank God…

"What happened?" Dean gasped, trying to see if Sam was injured. It was still dark but it seemed he could make out the faint print of Sam's flannel shirt.

"I don't know," Emma wheezed, her eyes closed. "I think the…the stairs fell and hit him, they're down but…all twisted."

"Sam, c'mon m-man…" Dean coaxed, teeth rattling. Dean clearly saw Sam's eyes flutter. Dean spared a bleary look around.

It was getting lighter.

Grey light was filtering into the hall from the open bedroom doors, now twisted out of their frames.

Dawn was upon them.

Emma blinked as she realized the same thing, her posture taking on a watchful alertness. She reached over Sam to touch Dean's arm.

Dean's head had fallen to Sam's shoulder and he glanced over. "Wh-what?"

He could dimly see the water swirling around Emma's shoulders. She was looking up, on hand gripping the door frame the other Sam's arm. Sam coughed and began to splash in an effort to get his feet under him, groaning.

"It stopped raining…" she spoke so softly it was almost lost in the rush of water.

Dean's eyes snapped heavenward and he strained to listen. The steady pound of rain was indeed gone.

"What the hell…" Sam pressed a hand to the back of his head. It felt like someone had belted him with a two-by-four. "Something hit me-"

Dean's head rolled against Sam's chest. He lifted a limp hand to pull Sam's tangled hair. "We need to get on…with this rescue mission…dude. Nap time's…over. You…okay?"

"I think the stairs fell on you," Emma said thinly, resting back against the wall. She rubbed her arm. Even freezing cold, she could still feel pain shooting down her left arm. There was a tightness in her chest she recognized.

"I'm okay," Sam said shaking his head. "Is it getting lighter?" He managed to get his feet under him, but it was like standing in a shoulder deep pool, the natural buoyancy of his body making staying upright difficult. Dean slumped against the bit of doorway, head hanging, painfully shifting himself as Sam moved away from him. The current had slowed but it was still an effort to move against.

Sam gave his attention to Emma. She rested against the collapsed wall, eyes half closed, taking choppy breaths, rubbing her left arm. He frowned, looking at her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Dean lifted his head at Sam's question to blink at them both, experiencing an odd sensation of being outside himself. Sam, Emma, and the hall shifted in and out of focus. A sharp ache slithered up the back of his neck and he closed his eyes, biting back rising nausea, willing the clench of his muscles away.

Emma blinked and looked up. "Just one of my spells," she said, smiling weakly. "This has been…a busy day for me. Everything… will be fine soon."

Sam watched her a moment longer. If something was really wrong there was nothing he could do but try get her out of this along with Dean and hope help arrived in time.

No, help would arrive in time. He refused to accept any alternative.

He glanced back at Dean. Dean was watching him through half closed eyes. His head moved in the tiniest of nods and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly upward before his face twisted back into a grimace.

Turning, Sam half-swam toward the stairs, hanging lopsided from the ceiling. He grabbed them and pulled. They swayed from side to side, but seemed well enough anchored above them. Satisfied, he allowed the water to carry him back to Emma and Dean.

"They should hold long enough." He rubbed his forehead, trying to ignore the pain in his head from the blow the stairs had given him. "We need to get moving." He reached out for Emma's arm.

"No," she protested, pulling away. "Help your brother; let me rest for a moment…please." She turned to look at Dean. "He needs you to help him. A few more minutes won't matter…to me."

Sam finally nodded and went to Dean rather than waste time arguing. "C'mon, let's get you up the stairs." He pulled Dean up with an effort. Dean fell against him, almost taking them both under. If Sam's balance in the water was dicey, Dean's was non-existent.

"More…fucking stairs?" Dean mumbled unhappily, eyeing the loathsome object. To him, the twenty or so feet he had to cross to reach it might as well have been a mile "I'm too tired." He fisted his one working hand in Sam's shirt. "Let me sleep down here…"

Sam shook his head. "Not a chance. Bobby'll be there soon. We gotta go."

Dean closed his eyes, his head falling forward. "You got any aspirin?" He groaned into Sam's chest. "I got a hangover…like you wouldn't believe…"

Sam put his arm around Dean's waist. "It's upstairs. All you gotta do is climb up to get them."

He started them walking against the current, a few faltering steps. Sam legs shook and trembled. Dean was almost pure dead weight. He put Dean's hands on the narrow hand rail of the attic stairs. Dean went to his knees in the water, but managed to hang on.

"One step at a time," Sam urged, somehow managing to push and carry Dean, both of them grunting and gasping at the effort, up the swaying, creaking stairs, ending up sprawled on the sloped, buckled attic floor.

"You okay?" Sam asked slowly raising himself to his hands and knees.

Dean's only reply was a noise followed by a quivering intake of air.

Faint light came through the cracks in the roof and ceiling, enough for Sam to fumble his way quickly through the immediate boxes, remembering Emma's comment about getting blankets out of the attic.

A few steps and he located several dusty quilts strewn along the floor. He gathered up an armful, fairly certain they lay where they had fallen after Emma's discovery of her son's body in the trunk.

He hurried back to Dean, who had curled into himself, shaking uncontrollably. Laying several of the quilts on top of his brother Sam leaned close.

"Keep your eyes open, Dean," he begged. "Just a little longer. I'll be right back." He watched until Dean's eyes flickered open and he turned his head a little to look at Sam.

"G-go…" Dean forced out, his exposed hand fisting at the effort it took to say even that much.

Sam instantly swarmed back down the twisted stairs, cursing as the cold water shocked him all over again; stunned he hadn't grown used to it by now.

There was enough light to see down the hall now and it took less than a second to realize Emma was gone.

Heart thudding, Sam launched himself forward. "Emma!" He pulled himself through the water calling her name, moving toward the open door of the spare room where he had left the trunk containing the body of her son. The closer he got the faster his heart beat.

No, please…

He hung in the door, staring into the early morning gloom.

Water lapped over the end of the bed, swirling around the mostly submerged trunk. The lid was still on and Emma lay on the bed next to it, half in and out of the water. One hand rested against the part of the trunk that still remained
out of the water.

"Emma…" he said brokenly, the words catching in his chest. He stumbled forward, tripping on some unseen item under the water and splashed the rest of the way to the bed. Reaching out he stroked the hair from her cold face with a shivering hand.


"Emma?"

Her eyes slowly opened and she smiled. Her blue eyes so bright they appeared to almost glow. Her hand came up slowly and she pressed it to his face. "Sam…" she murmured.

"Let me help you," Sam said trying to get an arm under her to help her rise.
"We have to go. It's just a little ways-"

She shook her head still smiling and gently pushed his hand back before returning it to his face. "I'm right where I need to be," she said softly. Even over the water moving around them and the continued creaks of the settling house he had no trouble hearing her.

"You have to come with us," Sam insisted. "We can make it, help will be here soon, everything will be okay-"

"Sssshhhhh. Hush now. Everything is okay," she replied. "Everything is fine now. Take care of your brother. Don't forget, He's waiting for
you." She reached out and touched the corner of the trunk. "I've waited all this time for my son to come home. Thanks to you, he finally did." She took a slow shuddering breath, her eyes fluttering. "Remembering what happened, I realize that he's been waiting a long time for me. I need to go where he is" She gave a soft low laugh, another gentle smile curved her lips, her thumb brushing against Sam's cheek. "Who knows? Maybe he lit a candle for me…"

The smile still curved her lips, her thumb still stroking his skin. "Ben," she whispered, "My love…my light." Her hand grew still and as Sam watched her eyes, there was no other way to put it.

She went away.

Gone to find Ben…

"No…" Sam murmured, clutching her hand. "No…Emma…" he bit his lip, throat aching.

For her, this nightmare had ended.

But not for him.

He quickly turned and slogged across the hall into the room they had all occupied. The medallion lay where he ad left it and he snatched it up, returning to Emma's side. Reaching out, he carefully wound the silver chain around Emma's limp fingers then leaned forward and pressed his lips to her cheek. "Thank you," he said softly.

He took a deep breath and pushed away from the bed, swiping roughly at his eyes. He paused at the door, but denied himself a last look back. Pushing into the hall against the current rushing past him, he struggled back to the stairs.

"I'm coming, Dean!" He shouted, needing to be heard over the water, over the destruction and needless dying. He grabbed the rail and pulled his exhausted body up, out of the water and back to the fight to keep his brother alive.

Chapter Twelve:  Like Cookies

It seemed as though the water was trying to drag him back as Sam wearily hauled himself up the twisted attic stairs. His legs were
numb with cold and each one felt like it weighed a ton as he lifted it from one step to another, one hand desperately gripping the thin rail that ran along one side and clutching at the steps with the other to aid in pulling himself up.

Finally, he managed to drag himself through the opening and onto the attic floor, collapsing, body shaking from effort, feeling selfish for needing even a few seconds for himself.

Opening his eyes after a moment, he squinted into the shadowy gray light, just able to make out Dean's still form lying a short distance away, the blankets still heaped over him. One arm trailed out, fingers curled into his palm, the top of his head just visible.

Gathering the shreds of his remaining strength, Sam crawled over to where Dean lay and shook him. "I'm back," Sam said hoarsely, "Let's get the hell out of here."

Dean's head rolled loosely as Sam pulled him back over, his limbs too relaxed, his eyes closed, features slack.

Sam shook him again, harder, with no result, his heart starting to pound. "No..." he murmured, adrenaline pouring into his system so fast it was painful. "No, no, no…Wake up, Dean! Wake up!"

He let Dean's body settle back to the floor, straddling him and frantically searched for a pulse, pressing cold fingers to Dean's throat, so cold he wasn't sure he could have felt the light beat even if it was there.

Button's flew, rattling across the floor, as Sam tore Dean's wet shirt down the front and pressed his ear to his brother's bare chest, holding his breath, listening.

There…a beat…

Slow and faint, but there, nonetheless. Relief flooded Sam, leaving him lightheaded. "Wake up, Dean!" he barked, digging his thumb into Dean's sternum once again with brutal force. "Open your Goddamned eyes!"

Dean came to with a startled cry of pain, scaring both of them, arm smacking weakly against Sam's hand, thumb still dug into Dean's chest.

Sam's head dropped back to Dean's chest as Dean gasped out, "Holy…shit…"

Thank you…Sam sent skyward. Thank you…

His gratitude was short-lived, however, as the next second Dean made a gagging sound and his body stiffened beneath Sam's, then suddenly arched upward. Unprepared for the sudden movement, Sam was thrown to the side as Dean began to thrash uncontrollably on the dirty wooden floor, lost in a grand mal seizure that made his earlier seizures mild by comparison.

Sam scrabbled back to him and shoved the wad of blankets under Dean's head to keep it from thudding into the bare floor as he seized, trying to stay out of the way of his brother's flailing limbs. He shoved nearby objects aside to keep Dean from hitting them.

Blood began to trickle from Dean's nose and ears, drops flying as he jerked and twisted helplessly. Sam stretched out his hands, then pulled them back, horrified and uncertain of what, if anything, he could do to ease Dean's torment.

"God…Dean…" he murmured an eternity later as the spastic movements of Dean's body finally began to slow, easing into sudden jerks and shaking that allowed Sam to come closer and try to offer some comfort.

Wiping tears from his own face he hadn't realized had fallen, Sam gingerly raised Dean's upper body and slid one leg under it to support him as he pulled Dean closer. Awkwardly, he used the still-wet fabric of his shirt to try and wipe the blood from Dean's face, his own body shivering with cold, his hands trembling as he worked.

"C'mon, Dean," he encouraged in a shaky voice. "Open your eyes…please…" Dean lay limply in Sam's arms, residual spasms making his muscles twitch. "Just a little longer. We're almost there…"

Dean grunted softly, shifting in Sam's grip. He gasped in a sudden lungful of air and coughed, his uninjured hand jumping up, smacking Sam's chest lightly, sliding weakly back down as his eyelids fluttered.

Sam made a noise between a sob and a laugh and shook Dean lightly. "Wake up, man, c'mon…you can do it. Hell, gimme a dirty look…something…" He gave Dean's body another sharp shake.

Dean's eyes snapped open as he gasped again and caught Sam's shirt with his good hand. "Jesus…" he choked. "God…don't jerk…me around." The words flowed out with his breath, unable to expend the effort of drawing breath just to speak. He grimaced. "Everything…hurts…"

Dean's muscles burned and ached from pulling against each other, every movement a new adventure in agony, each blast of pain like a lightning bolt shooting through his body to strike at the base of his skull.

Sam pressed his mouth to the top of Dean's head, closing his eyes, hating himself for what he had to do, unsure who was trembling the worst, him or Dean. "We have to get outside," he said, forcing the words out with a resolution he didn't feel. "We can't stay here. Bobby won't be able to-"

"He's not coming, Sam!" Dean blurted in frustrated anger. "I'm not an…idiot." Dean coughed again. "How can he find us? He doesn't…doesn't even know where…we are-"

"We have to try, Dean. Someone'll find us, even if it's not Bobby," Sam knew he was babbling, trying to say anything that would stop Dean from embracing what had to seem like blessed relief at this point. "Then we can get hold of him and everything'll be okay. But we have to get on the roof-"

"I can't…"

The sight of the tear that escaped from Dean's eye almost broke Sam. "Yes, you can!" Sam insisted. "You can because you have
to!"

Dean moved his head in a short negative, his eyes closed. "No…" he said, voice cracking. "You don't…I can't…move…my legs." His voice died away to a hoarse whisper.

Sam didn't think he could grow colder, but he was wrong.

The light spilling through the attic window was growing brighter, a small diamond shape that moved slowly across the floor to remind Sam that time was not their friend. Whatever the hell else, they had to get onto the roof.

"I'll be right back," Sam said softly, casting a look around as he moved Dean off his legs as gently as he could, even though the slightest movement caused Dean to cry out as his tortured muscles rebelled, sending jolts of fresh pain up his spine to sear his skull.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "Keep your eyes open," he ordered, giving Dean a sharp tap on the cheek as his eyes began to close. He piled the blankets over Dean again, bunching one under his head, murmuring apologies again for causing him pain.

Dean forced his eyes open, trying to distract himself from the pain in his head. It wasn't a big improvement as the room appeared to be undulating slowly, succeeding only in making him more nauseous than he already was.

Staggering slightly as he rose, Sam steadied himself on a pile of boxes and began to rummage in the junk piled around them, mindful of the sloping floor.

"Whayadoin?" Dean slurred, watching him blearily.

Sam glanced back briefly, offering him a thin smile, grateful Dean was at least showing some interest in what he was doing. "I'm gettin' us outta here. I'm freezing my ass off and I wanta see some sunshine."

"mmmm…"

Sam rummaged among the boxes and junk scattered about, typical attic crap, the miscellaneous collection of a lifetime of stuff not good enough to be seen, but too precious to throw away. Under a dusty tarp he found a pile of rusty tools, including a sledge hammer which he snagged excitedly, thinking that it should work nicely to get them through the sheathing and shingles. The window opened straight from the end of the house and afforded no way to get safely onto the roof.

"You still with me, Dean?" he asked sharply, moving to a spot just to one side of the brick fireplace rising out of the floor. Bracing his feet, Sam hefted the sledge, stunned at the effort it took to lift it for a swing, having to make two efforts to raise it enough.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, pausing when he got no response, looking back at the lump of blankets where Dean  desperately wanted to go to his brother, but the best way to help right now was to get them out where they could be seen. He had to hope that now the storm had broken, rescue teams would be scouring the flood areas for victims.

Dean's head jerked up suddenly, wobbling unsteadily. Before Sam could say anything else Dean managed to twist his body over so that he was resting on his forearms as he gagged again and began retching weakly.

Grimacing, since there wasn't a damned thing Sam could do to make it better, he swung the sledge hammer clumsily at the slanted underside of the roof, feeling a certain victorious satisfaction as the heavy head of the hammer slammed straight through the old boards, sending several of them flying outward. Cold air blew in through the new opening.

The momentum of the swing carried Sam along with it as his waning strength failed him and he stumbled forward, barely catching himself before his head struck the ends of the nails that stuck through the wood, holding the shingles in place.

Swearing, he stepped back, readying himself for another swing even though his arms were vibrating from the first blow. Lifting the hammer was almost beyond him and his muscles shook with the effort, the tool wobbling in his grip. He yelled as he swung, splintering a wider opening and then again before he had time to think how damned hard it was. This time the blow cracked the sheathing
enough for Sam to let the hammer fall with a thud and use his hands to shove it away, making a space large enough for him to get through.

Sam angled his body and stepped onto the roof, pausing for just a moment to savor the sight of the rising sun's rays shooting through the tiny openings in the clouds, tingeing them with yellow and red. The wind was cold, but not intolerable, and he was pretty sure if he could get them settle by the chimney and bundled in the blankets they would stay relatively warm, wet clothing not withstanding.

Allowing his gaze to drop to the surrounding area slowly revealing itself in the growing light Sam couldn't help drawing his breath in sharply.

Other than the tops of taller trees, Sam saw nothing but water. The house upon which he stood was drowned in water halfway up the second floor windows. In the rising light he could make out debris flowing past: trees, crates and other unidentifiable objects, several vaguely familiar shapes he finally identified as the bodies of cows drifted nearby. He shivered and looked away and pushed back
through his opening into the attic.

Dean lay where Sam had left him, slumped on his side. He had tried to pull the blankets back around himself and his head was almost buried in them.

Without thought, Sam knelt next to him and gently shook Dean's shoulder. "C'mon, Dean-" he began.

Dean flinched backwards with a hoarse cry, arms flying out, one hand catching Sam in the mouth, splitting his lip, before Sam could get out of the way. "Ow! Dean—Dean it's okay, it's me!" Sam frantically grabbed Dean's hands as he
flailed them. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."

"Where'd you go?" Dean gasped, his hands gripping Sam's shirt, looking around wildly.

"I made an opening to the roof, we're going out. The sun's coming up. It'll warm up a little, maybe. We'll take the blankets with us." Sam wiped at the trickle of blood from his mouth.

As he spoke he positioned himself so that he could grasp Dean under the arms and pull him up. Sam couldn't help but see that even though Dean was twisting around his legs didn't move. He wasn't gonna be walking anywhere and Sam knew without trying that there was no way he could carry Dean, not in his current state of exhaustion.

"Dean, I'm gonna have to drag you," Sam said with a defeated sigh.

Dean stiffened, shaking his head, "No…"

"I know it's gonna hurt. I'll be as gentle as I can—" Sam laid a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed.

"Bobby…can help when he…when he gets here," Dean replied, breathlessly, pressing his fingers to his forehead, grimacing. "You wait for him…out there...I'll be…okay…here." Dean blinked rapidly, his head rocking back.

"No!" Sam said more sharply than he meant to. "We stay together! You're coming with me, like it or not." The thought of leaving Dean terrified Sam; the fear that the next time he saw his brother he could be…

Mouth set in a grim line; Sam gathered up the three dirty blankets and walked over to the hole in the roof, tossing them out. Determinedly he strode back to Dean and grabbed him under the arms pulling him toward the ragged hole,
deafening himself to the sharp sounds of Dean's pain.

"Sam…God, please…" Dean clutched at his head, unable to fight Sam and unable to help. He started to choke, blood running from the corner of his mouth.

There was no way to get them both through the hole so Sam stepped through then reached back and with every bit of strength he had left dragged Dean out onto the roof, leaving him choking and gasping, in a heap.

Sam quickly gathered up the blankets and hauled them to the side of the chimney that faced the rising sun, commanding the broadest views of the area around them. He spread them out then went back to Dean. Moving him more gently this time and with soft words of encouragement and apology, Sam finally got them both on the blankets. Leaning against the brick, he settled Dean between his
legs, Dean's upper body against his chest, his head resting on Sam's shoulder.

Sam reached around and awkwardly pulled the blankets over them both, his arms crossed over Dean's chest, their bodies pressed tightly together as Sam tried to get some shared body heat going between them. It reminded him of the times he had held Dean through his brother's drunken moments of weakness but unlike those times, more than a killer hangover was waiting for Dean if he closed his eyes
and let sleep take him.

With great care, Sam wiped the blood from Dean's mouth, then rested his head against Dean's, trying to stop both their shivering. Sam's eyes roamed around them, trying to see if anyone was approaching.

After a moment, Dean coughed, then croaked, "Dude…stop…cuddling me…"

Sam snorted, "I'm not cuddling, I'm trying to keep us warm," he stated, tightening his grip, the tremors in Dean's body rising and falling in intensity. "Deal with it."

"Sam?" Dean said after a brief silence.

"Yeah?"

"Where's Emma?" Dean's voice was low and hesitant, as if he already knew the
answer.

Sam closed his eyes as they burned, unable to get he words past his throat. "She didn't make it," he finally forced out in a shaky breath. His next words after some thought were steadier. "I'm not sure she wanted to."

"She was nice," Dean murmured, "Dad's gonna be pissed" he added out of the blue.

Sam stumbled trying to follow the sudden shift in conversation. "About what?"

"We lost…the guns. Under ten feet of…water." Dean words were punctuated by soft moans as he breathed.

Sam looked down at him in disbelief. All they'd been through and Dean only thought about the guns? The possibility of Dad's displeasure? Sam sighed and shook his head. "They were just guns," he replied. "Not even the good ones. We got more."

"Soldier always…takes care of…his weapons…"

Dean's fading voice snapped Sam to. He gave Dean a shake and pulled them both more upright despite Dean's sharp groan of protest. "Talk to me," he ordered.

"Wha…?"

"Talk to me, we need to stay awake."

"Stop pulling…on me…talk about what?" Dean's voice took on a note of impatience and he rolled his head against Sam. "I'm too tired…"

His head hurt, an unending, throbbing ache up the back of his neck and down his injured arm. He wanted to close his eyes to shut out the slow unfocused roll of his sight, but every time he did, Sam jostled him and made him open them again. He was trying desperately not to throw up any more and Sam wanted him to talk? He was so tired it felt as though his body was sinking into the roof on which they lay, becoming one with it.

He didn't want to talk. He wanted to lie quietly, let go of the pain, the cold, the sickness; to sleep, wrapped in the warm safety of his brother's encircling arms. God, to just close his eyes and sleep…

"Dean!" Sam's sharp voice called him back once more, along with yet another agonizing shake. "Open your eyes, talk to me. Please…" Sam knew his voice was getting desperate, breaking, he could feel Dean slipping away. He searched his brain for some topic that would interest Dean. "Tell me about Mom," he blurted.

Dean's eyes opened and closed slowly, but he turned his head up slightly. "Mom? Like what? I've t-told you…all about her…before…" Dean's upper body stiffened suddenly under the blanket and his fingers dug into Sam's arm as a spasm tore through him.

"Tell me again," Sam encouraged, "It'll keep us busy 'til Bobby comes." Sam felt his exhausted frustration take the form of tears that rolled into Dean's hair. He let them fall.

"Tell me how she looked, I've seen her picture, but you tell me what she looked like to you, what she was like." He disentangled a hand from the blanket and stroked Dean's hair with the back of his fingers, trying to ease the increasing grunts of pain that were forced from Dean's lips.

"She…she was…pretty…" Dean said, drawing on a four-year-old's memory. "Laughing…all the time…especially…with Dad." Dean's hand fisted again, his body arching against Sam as he sucked air through is teeth. "…shit…"

Sam's eyes searched the water rushing around them, no promise of help, no sign of anyone. No hope...

Please…

"Her hair…" Dean continued in a weakening voice, eyes fixed on a point in the distance, "Was so soft…like silk. So warm…"

Dean shuddered through another breath, his face suddenly relaxing. He swallowed, his eyes rolling up to Sam "Thank God..." he groaned on his exhale, relieved surprise giving a tiny lilt to the words, his head pressing more heavily against Sam's chest.

"What?" Sam exclaimed, looking around, thinking Dean had seen something.

"It's okay...it doesn't…hurt anymore…" Dean's voice fell to a whisper, a weak smile curving his lips as he stared glassily up at Sam.

"Dean!" Sam cried, sliding out from under Dean's body to kneel over him, feeling the tense lock of Dean's muscles relax under his panicked grip. "No! Dean…Stay with me…don't go to sleep!"

Dean rolled his head back and forth, "You did good...Sam…proud of you…"

"Dean!"

"I remember…she…she smelled like cookies…" Dean's teeth glittered briefly as his smile widened. "You woulda…liked her…" He lifted his hand to Sam's face, fingers just managing to brush against Sam's skin before falling bonelessly back to the blankets with a dull thud.

"No…NO!..." Sam heard a roaring in his ears as Dean's eyes slid shut, body going limp in Sam's grip and no amount of frenzied shaking roused him this time.

"NO!"

Chapter Thirteen: Ties That Bind

Dean's head rolled loosely as Sam gathered his brother's limp body to him. Crouched over him, alternately stroking Dean's face and hair and shaking him roughly, demanding in heaving gasps that he stop this shit and open his eyes, right the fuck NOW! Sam could feel how cold Dean truly was.

Dean, stubborn bastard he was, refused to give in to Sam's demands for the first time ever and lay there unmoving, his face bereft of color, eyes half closed, lips slightly parted, a trickle of blood drifting slowly from the corner of his mouth.

It wasn't fair…

They'd tried so hard…come so close…if they'd only had a little more time…

Unconsciously rocking, holding Dean against him, Sam became aware that the roaring in his ears had grown into a rhythmic whoop whoop that finally pulled his eyes upward as a helicopter painted to look like a huge skull swooped down at him to hover about twenty feet above the roof. The wind from the whirling blades almost rolled Sam from his perch.

Goggle-eyed with disbelief, mouth falling open, Sam threw himself down over Dean as a harnessed figure tumbled from the craft, hitting the roof on both booted feet, balancing with the agility of a cat, a canvas bag in its arms.

Dumbstruck, Sam could only stare as the figure jerked back a hood, allowing long twisted dreadlocks to spill out, revealing a round face with wide brown eyes and a look of deadly intensity. He was easily as large as Sam, but bulkier.

"MOVE!" the man thundered, pulling Sam's not inconsiderable weight off of Dean with surprising ease and shoving him away. Sam fell backwards onto the roof, barely catching himself, the rough surface of the shingles digging into his palms, stunned at the sudden shift in circumstances, his brain still trying to catch up.

Instantly the figure knelt by Dean's unmoving form, grabbed a knife from a sheath on his leg and slit the dirty bandage wrapped around Dean's injured arm, revealing the purpled angry flesh beneath.

Still overcome with bewilderment Sam gaped before he managed to gather his scattered wits. "What the hell are you doing!" he shouted, lunging forward.

Sam felt his arms grabbed from behind as another figure descended behind him. Panic leant him strength and he struggled for a few seconds until beard scraped the side of his face as a voice shouted to be heard over the beat of the helicopter blades.

"Sam! Calm down, it's me, Bobby! It's okay!"

Sam literally sagged at the sound of Bobby's voice in his ear, his knees buckling, taking them both down. "God…Bobby…" His hands closed on Bobby's vest. "You're too late…" He turned to look back at Dean and the man working over him. "We didn't
make it…"

Sam was suddenly shaking with chills that went beyond cold. Exhaustion and the freezing, hungry tension of the last 24 hours were catching up with him in one huge blow, his muscles refusing to respond to his commands.

"What are you doing to my brother?" he shouted, trying to go back to Dean, but Bobby held tight, still speaking tightly against Sam's ear.

"Let him be Sam, Case knows what he's doing-"

"Case…?"

Sam watched helplessly as the imposing figure of Case finished his hurried examination of Dean. Reaching into the canvas bag, the man snatched up a syringe filled with a yellowish liquid, sporting a long, thick needle.

Moving swiftly Case rolled Dean roughly onto his side, pushing Dean's head as far down as he could.

As Sam watched in horror, unable to free himself from Bobby's grip, Case stabbed the needle in at the base of Dean's skull and rammed it in as far as it would go, plunging the yellow fluid home.

Sam felt his stomach turn inside out; Bobby's arm's tightening even more around him. Words poured low and fast from Bobby's lips but Sam couldn't make them out. He was falling and there was nothing he could do to stop himself.

And then Dean screamed.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Leaning in the doorway, a thick mug of coffee gripped in his hands, Sam watched as Dean slept heavily for the third day in a row. Dressed in three layers of shirts and a heavy sweater, Sam was still cold, wasn't sure he would ever be warm again. The sound of Dean's scream still rang in his ears, a fading echo that wasn't fading nearly fast enough.

Sam had allowed himself to be hauled into the bizarre helicopter and belted in, then Dean had been taken up, limp as a rag, to be draped across Sam's willing lap. Bobby and Case had lumbered aboard, Bobby sitting across from Sam and reaching out to grip Sam's knee. "It'll be alright, son," he yelled over the beat of the rotors. "He'll be alright."

Sam's eyes rested on Bobby for a moment and then rolled to Case who offered another blinding smile and nodded. "We got the bitch in time," he added. "Just."

Sam glanced up at the pilot. The only feature he could see was long blonde hair and a set of headphones. Male or female was anyone's guess and it really didn't matter.

After that primal scream of agony Dean had fallen back into unconsciousness again, but this time he breathed in smothered gasps. Leaning his head back, eyes not quite closed Sam relished the mad beat of Dean's heart under his hand, too tired to do more than watch the miracle of Dean's chest rising and falling in stunted breaths.

"How…" Sam started to say, but then decided how didn't matter either.

All that had mattered was lying in his arms.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

"What are you doin?"

Sam jerked as Dean's thin voice startled him. He turned in the chair, blocking the laptop.

"You're supposed to be resting," Sam objected, getting up to help Dean over to the couch. "How the hell did you get down the stairs without me hearing you? You could have fallen!"

"I didn't, so it doesn't matter," Dean growled, pulling his arm away once he was down. His balance was shot to hell, vertigo coming and going like the tide only without the regularity. One minute he was fairly stable, the next getting to know the floor much more intimately than he cared to. Case had assured him it was a lingering side affect and would go away soon, as would his general weakness. He tired very quickly still, even though it had been a little over a week since he and Sam had been rescued from Emma's roof.

Case had replied to Sam's questions about the shot he had given to Dean with a flat, "You don't want to know."

He repeatedly assured Sam that Dean would make a full recovery, he just needed time. Case and his pilot had kept to themselves for two days, checked Dean, gobbled down a few quick meals, then climbed aboard their skull copter and vanished into the sky; Sam never did find out the pilot's sex or name. Case didn't offer it and Sam was reluctant to ask since the pilot never spoke and Sam couldn't tell anything through the veil of long hair and bulky clothing.

As to how Bobby and his odd friends had located Sam and Dean, Bobby merely stated it was the scariest fucking search he had ever been on and no way in hell would he EVER be doing it again. As to why Case had helped, "They owed me one," was all Bobby would say.

"I'm tired of sleeping," Dean complained, biting off a huge yawn and rubbing his eyes. He was too tired to move around much, but if he stayed in one place for to long without moving he would inevitably go to sleep. Dean knew Sam had only just stopped watching to make sure he woke up again.

"You hungry? It's about lunch time." Sam asked, so engrossed in his research he had skipped breakfast and was consequently starving. For one of the few times in his life Dean had to be coaxed into eating. He said everything but peanut butter tasted like cardboard
so Sam had rounded up every peanut butter flavored thing he could lay his hands on in an effort to get Dean to eat enough. Over the last few days Dean's taste had begun to broaden again and he had accepted other offerings.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe…I dunno…" He looked vaguely interested.

"Well, since you're down here, you wanta come in the kitchen with me while I make something?"

Bobby had gone to town and they had the house to themselves. Sam was grateful for the refuge and the chance for Dean to get back on his feet, but he was starting to go stir crazy, unable to believe he was actually looking forward to getting back on the road. He just had one thing to take care of, if he could figure out a way to do it without Dean.

Dean nodded, happy to be anywhere that kept him awake a little longer. He felt much better, but had the sense to realize he was still climbing uphill. Even so, if all he was gonna do was sleep he could do that on the road. He hoped Sam would agree, if Dean could just figure out a way to bring it up without Sam going all mother hen. Dean had had about all he touchy-feely he could stand.

"I've got it!" He snapped, shaking off Sam's hand, yet again, as they moved toward Bobby's kitchen. "Seriously, Sam. I'm okay!" He sank down on the wooden chair at the battered old table and propped himself on his elbows, irritably running his hands through his hair ragged hair.

Sam rolled his eyes and set about making a couple of sandwiches. He thin sliced a banana on Dean's and slathered it with peanut butter and a little honey, hoping Dean wouldn't notice the additions, or at least not object to them. Quickly he threw together a ham sandwich for himself, poured two glasses of milk and set it all down.

Dean eyed the sandwich suspiciously and glared at the milk, but drank some anyway, well aware that he was going to earn Sam's wrath if he didn't at least make an effort.

Sam took a huge bite of his sandwich and did his best not to stare at Dean as he nibbled disinterestedly at his. As Sam opened his mouth Dean spoke, cutting him off.

"I'm eating the damn thing, cut me some slack—what the hell did you put on this?"

Sam ignored him and they ate in silence for few minutes.

Finally Dean dropped the last quarter of the sandwich on the plate and shoved it away. "It was good, Sam," he said at Sam's look. "I just don't want any more." As a peace offering he drained the last of the milk and set the glass down with a slight bang, rolling it between his hands.

"So did you find him?" he asked.

"Find who?" Sam said, with such false innocence, if Dean had been a dog he would have barked at Sam.

"Emma's rat bastard husband, who else?" Dean groaned softly and dropped his head on the arm resting on the table as the room suddenly slid out of focus.

Sam started to get up, "Dean?"

Dean lifted one hand, "I'm okay, it'll pass. Gimme a minute."

Sam sat back down and watched Dean intently.

After a few moments, Dean lifted his head and shook it, blinking. "God, I hate that," he said. His eyes moved back to Sam. "You didn't answer me."

"Answer what?" Sam hedged. He grabbed their plates and carried them to the sink.


"Sam, don't play stupid, it doesn't work for you. I know you've been looking for him. You gotta stop falling asleep on your laptop." He snorted as Sam's look of chagrin. "Dude, I'm sleeping like twenty hours a day right now, what the hell do you think I do when I AM awake?" Dean heaved himself to his feet, pleased when the world didn't instantly shift on its axis. "So let's get this show on the
road, I think we've been playing in Bobby's sandbox long enough."

"Dean, I was gonna check it out on my own, I'm not sure you're up to traveling any distance yet—" Sam's argument was an obvious last ditch effort, but he played it gamely.

Dean snorted again and shuffled toward the door. "Bite me," he replied. "You know I'm gonna crash as soon as you turn on the engine." He turned at the door and gave Sam a drowsy smile with a touch of the old Dean at the corners. "I promise, we find him, I'll stand back and watch while you kick his ass." He jerked his head at the stairs and winked. "I'll even let you carry my duffel bag."

Still grinning, Dean crossed back to the stairs and started pulling himself up, pausing every few steps, but making it on his own.

Sam hung in the doorway watching.

"You can make it, Dean, just a few more steps…"

"I know I can….make it…"

Dean stopped halfway up and looked back at Sam. "You aren't gonna try to carry me?"

Sam's smile was genuine as he shook his head. "You're doin' fine. Just fine."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

It hadn't been that hard to track down Emma's last name and wander through the usual maze of records to locate one William Henry Phillips, last known address, Dover, Minnesota.

Sam was tenacious if nothing else.

The trip had been harder on Dean than they had both expected, exhausting him, but Dean had insisted they make the trip in one drive. As they pulled up in front of the ratty apartment building, Dean was asleep in the back, wound in an old blanket, his jacket bunched up under his head.

Sam eased the car to a halt and looked over the area. Overfilled trash cans littered the sidewalk, two people sat on the ground in front of the building passing a bagged bottle back and forth. He could hear different people yelling, loud TV's and music blaring, all over the sounds of nearby traffic. He wasn't positive, but pretty sure the woman lounging on the corner wasn't waiting for a bus.

Dean groaned and shifted uncomfortably. "We there?" he said hoarsely, untangling himself.

Sam nodded. "Guess so. You wanta stay here, get some more sleep?"

Dean just looked at him.

Sam held up his hands. "I was just checking, I know you're—"

"Tired, yeah," Dean finished for him, "Play another record, Sam." He pushed himself up and jerked open the door. "I'm friggin' tired of having you tell me I'm tired, so cut it out!"

Sam sighed and got out of the car, consulting some scribbles on a piece of paper.

"So which apartment does this mook live in again?" Dean asked, popping his neck.

"Four eighteen," Sam replied. "I hope they have an elevator." He started up the steps with Dean trudging along behind him.

Sam wasn't really sure what he intended to do once he met William in person, he just felt the need for some type of closure. They had only Emma's hazy and inconsistent recollections as to what might have actually happened that night. But Ben's body had been real, and his money was on Emma's version.

Emma and Ben's bodies had made the Odd But True news. "Dead woman found after flood, wrapped in the arms of a long-dead corpse…" But no one had seemed really interested in trying to find out exactly what the hell had happened when there were so many other immediate life-threatening issues to deal with after the flood.

Dean planned on following Sam's lead on this one. They both owed Emma their lives one way or another and that was a debt he wanted to pay.

There was an elevator, a creaking wooden box at the end of a long stained hallway reeking of old grease, sweat and cigarette smoke. Closing the doors of the elevator by hand, Sam imagined a shriveled old man at the bottom of the shaft, hand pulling the thing as it inched upwards. Eventually it deposited them on a dirty landing. Sam forced the doors open and stepped out.

The smell was worse in this hallway and it was even dirtier than the ones below. There wasn't a breath of air and it was hotter than hell. Trash was strewn everywhere and several of the apartment doors stood open.

Sam looked around in disgust. "I can't believe anyone lives here…"

Dean stepped up next to him, making a grossed-out noise. "God, it stinks up here!" he covered his mouth and nose with his hand.

Sam moved down the hall reading the numbers. The smell got stronger as they got closer and by the door of four eighteen it was overwhelming. The door was ajar and Sam, with some trepidation, pushed it open with his foot. Both he and Dean gagged and stumbled back coughing as a cloud of rot swept over them.

"My God…" Sam gasped, pulling the fabric of his jacket over his mouth and nose. "You okay?" he asked, glancing back at Dean, doubled over against the wall, trying not to vomit. Dean waved a hand and nodded, coughing.

Sam stepped into the apartment warily, drawing his gun mainly because it made him feel better. He became aware of a low buzz that he traced to an overstuffed chair that was facing away from him. He looked back as Dean came in, elbow over his mouth and nose.

Dean's eyes widened as he looked around. Every surface he could see was covered with a greasy looking black smudge, he could smell smoke in the air, even over the miasma that filled the room. He grimaced as he went over to Sam, both of them approaching the chair with great reluctance, both pretty damn sure of what they were gonna find.

William had to have been dead for at least a week. The chair in which he sat and a large part of his body were charred black. One arm and his legs ended in burnt stumps and the skin that was visible was twisted and blackened, where it wasn't covered with flies, gleefully digging for whatever flesh remained and depositing their eggs. His mouth was open in a wide silent scream and whiteness
squirmed within.

Sam turned away, nausea choking him.

"Jesus…" Dean gagged. "What the hell?" Keeping his eyes resolutely away from the corpse itself, his own stomach rolling, he scanned the floor around the body. The floor was covered in the same smudgy film, but otherwise no sign of fire was visible beyond the chair itself and its grisly occupant.

Sam finally managed to force himself back under control and joined Dean in his search for clues.

"It's like spontaneous combustion," Sam said thickly. He swallowed and closed his eyes briefly. "Nothing else is burned." The arm that had not burned hung out of the crumbling remains of a plaid flannel shirt. The fist at the end of the arm was gripped tightly around some object.

"What is that?" Dean asked softly, trying not to inhale.

"I dunno…" Sam said, taking a pen from his pocket and carefully working it between the clenched fingers. After a distasteful few moments he managed to dislodge the object and it fell to the floor.

They both stared at it.

"It's a candle," Sam murmured. He reached out rolled it with the pen.

"Maybe the guy set himself on fire," Dean said rather doubtfully.

"This candle's never been lit," Sam replied, "It should have melted from the heat or at least left an imprint of his fingers." He pushed the virgin candle again. "Whatever the hell did this burned hot and fast." He glanced up at the ceiling. Not a mark.

A tiny glint on William's chest caught Sam's eye as he stood. Frowning, Sam reached out with his pen and snagged it, pulling.

"Oh, jeez! Sam, what are you doing?" Dean exclaimed as he watched a long string of something pull free of Williams charred body and then the rest slip from his mouth, maggots tumbling out as Sam continued to pull.

Dean, beyond disgusted, couldn't watch, but couldn't turn away either as Sam lifted the dangling object free.

A small medal turned at the end off the silver chain and when it stopped spinning Sam read the inscription that faced him.

For Benjamin, my love, my light.

"Son of a bitch," Sam murmured.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Back outside, they both gulped the fresher air and felt a huge need for a hot shower,

"We'll call the cops when we get outta here," Dean wheezed, leaning over the hood with his head buried in his arms.

Sam nodded, "Then let's go." He slid behind the wheel while Dean got in the passenger side.

"Whadaya think really happened to that bastard?" Dean said as Sam started the car. "You think Emma did it? Cause, Dude, unless they each had one of those necklaces…"

"I don't know," Sam replied, "Whatever happened, he deserved it." He put the
car in gear and eased out of their parking space.

"How can you be so sure?" Dean asked, pulling his cell out of his pocket.

"I dunno. It feels right…somehow. Good." Sam thought about it. "I feel good." He shot a look at Dean. "How about you? How do you feel?"

Dean lowered the phone and squinted. He felt alert. For the first time in days. He actually felt pretty good, too. Vindicated in some bizarre fashion.

"I'm starving," he finally said. "Let's get something to eat and find a motel."

Sam laughed. "Whadaya wanta eat?"

"Anything without peanut butter," Dean replied, lifting the phone to his ear. "Yes, I want to report a body…"

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

They'd eaten and managed to locate a motel that had gotten one star with a point broken off in the Fleabag Motels of America Where To Stay List.

Dean was so weary at that point he didn't give a damn where they stayed and had collapsed on the couch and fallen asleep almost immediately.

Sam had left him be after a quick reassuring check and taken a fast shower. Out, dry and dressed in sweats and a worn t-shirt he stood looking over at Dean, remembering how close he had come to losing him. The feel of Dean's body, limp and lifeless in his arms making his heart beat faster.

It had been too close.

Dean roused himself as he felt Sam sitting down next to him on the battered old couch. Blinking sleepily, he shifted into a sloppy sitting position to give Sam some more room, watching in idle curiosity as Sam set two glasses on the table, and between them a stubby candle he had gotten from God only knew where.

"What's this for?" Dean asked, rubbing his eyes.

Sam poured a finger of whiskey in each glass and held one out to Dean, making sure Dean had a grip on it before letting go.

Dean sat up a little straighter, brows drawn together as he watched Sam solemnly light the candle with Dean's Zippo.

In the glow from the candle Sam's eyes glittered as he looked at Dean and held up his glass.

"For her," Sam replied softly.

Dean's face softened and he leaned forward to tap his glass against Sam's. "For Emma," he  agreed, tossing back the drink, blaming the burn of the liquor for his watering eyes.

END