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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The two brothers were panting, harshly.

Sam had positioned himself on the bed next to Dean, actually kneeling into Dean's shoulder with a knee to try to contain his movement.

Ellis paused, her sanitized tweezers held tentatively like she was attempting some kind of horror story version of Parker Brother's Operation. One where if she hit the sides it was Dean's screams and blood to shock her and not some weird electronic buzzer. She waited for him to calm down before she proceeded.

"Dean. Shhhh. It's okay, sweetheart," she soothed lamely, watching the eloquent eyebrows raise in pain.

She gingerly pushed the tweezers into the wound again.

Dean gritted his teeth and cried out, arching his back, instinctively trying to fight, and Sam leaned more weight on him and added his hands to the mix. "Dammit Dean. I know it hurts..." Sam gritted his teeth, leaning in with all his weight. "Jesus. He's strong."

Even at several inches smaller, Dean's strength when under duress was impressive.

Ellis stopped what she was doing, her vision obscured by tears.

"Dean, please baby. I need to dig the bullet out." She wiped her tears with the back of her arm. "Sam, he's moving so much I'm afraid I'm going to slip and really hurt him."

Sam paused, still breathing heavily with effort. "It's gotta come out. We need to remove foreign debris, flush it. Keep it clean."

"I know."

Sam thought a moment. "Maybe we can restrain him a little. I can't hold him completely still."

"I don't even need completely still, I just need him to not buck wildly. I'm fishing inside him with tweezers. This can't feel good."

Ellis tried one more time, carefully probing the wound with the tip of the tweezer. She had barely touched him before Dean screamed and bucked. She jerked the tweezers away before he impaled himself on them and stood mute with frustration.

"I have rope in the impala." Sam said. "I don't see a choice."

She nodded.

The younger Winchester extricated himself from his brother, gave Dean a quick squeeze of his hand and hopped off the opposite side of the double bed. Ellis set the tweezers down on their makeshift surgery kit.

Dean turned his head to the side watching her with his green eyes, now that she'd stopped touching his wound they were heavy with pain and fatigue. His breathing was still erratic.

"I'm so sorry, baby." She put her hand in his hair.

"Sucks." he whispered. "Don't feel good."

"I know." She held Dean's large hand and kneeled by his side for a minute, placed her forehead to his as he turned to watch her. "We're right here with you."

"Yeah." he blinked lazily.

A memory of herself entangled with him on her couch flashed into her mind. He'd been all youthful enthusiasm and charisma. He looked so diminished somehow. She pressed her lips to his forehead again and felt a strange sense of foreboding. His skin felt cold. So were his hands.

Sam came back in with a draft of cool air from the front door. He smelled like fall leaves. "I have this. I also have bungee cords if we need them." He dropped them in a pile by the bed and took the length of rope, shifting for a second to get his bearings.

Ellis moved out of his way.

Sam knelt down and pulled Dean's hands up over his head.

Dean looked bewildered. "S'mmy?"

"Yeah. It's okay. It's gonna be over soon and you can get some rest."

Sam started to wrap the rope around Dean's wrists. It took a moment for Dean to understand his brother's intent but then the older Winchester panicked and tried to twist out of his hold.

"Relax. It's just me. I'm just making sure you don't hurt yourself." Sam's tone was patient.

Ellis put a steadying hand on his thigh, patted him. "Just let Sam take care of you."

Dean blinked, his eyes darted down to her and then up to Sam. "by ...tying me to the freaking b...bed? "

He winced and she saw his stomach contract with a jolt of pain.

She put her hand on his chest, could feel his heart hammering at lighting speed. "It's just a precaution. you'll be okay."

She watched Sam's back work as he knelt in front of her, securing rope into knots that she knew nothing about.

"No." Dean said obstinately. "Sam, give me my freaking hands." He slurred a bit drunkenly and pulled his wrists away from his brother.

Sam sighed, mute, but his features suffused with a building frustration.

"Maybe we shouldn't tie him." Ellis said worriedly.

"He's just being a pain. He's used to this."

"Fuck you, Sam. I am not used to this." That was clearly spoken and defiant.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just like I'm used to that."

"I'll have to ask you why Dean would be used to being tied up later."

Sam took his wrists, firmer this time and pulled them back up over Dean's head. "Dammit. Dean, quit fighting me."

Dean went silent but Ellis could see the clenched teeth as Sam worked.

Sam attached the rope to the head board and tested its strength. He spared Dean a look that spoke volumes about how sorry he was.

Dean gazed uncomfortably at his brother and bent a knee upward. "S'mmy..."

Sam stood up, dropped a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I need to secure his torso somehow."

"Sammy" the tone was pleading.

"More rope?" Ellis asked.

"No." Sam yanked at the bed sheet. "How many sheets do you have? I think this might work better."

Sam finished off the last of the knots securing Dean to the bed and checked his work. he'd folded the sheets in half lengthwise and ran one over Dean's chest to just under his rib and tied it to the bed frame.

Another sheet was over Dean's thighs, lashing them to the bed.

Dean was clearly apprehensive about the entire ordeal and Ellis stayed by his head, petting him and talking softly while Sam worked on making him secure. "The sheets have more surface area then the rope. Should keep him down more and it's less torque on him if he does struggle." Sam said, as much for himself as to explain his motives to Ellis. He looked at Dean and fought the feeling that they were about to act out a scene from Misery.

"I'm afraid to hurt him." Ellis had the tweezers primed again. She and Sam had slid her night stands together and laid out any equipment they had on them.

Sam looked up from his spot kneeling on the bed next to Dean. "I can try but your hands are smaller and I'm better at holding him."

She nodded and looked down, her hair pulled back into a pony tail, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up.

She poured some peroxide on the wound. He was still for a minute and then as the ominous crackling sound bubbled up from the dirt, he cried out. And writhed.

"Easy," Sam assured. "I know it hurts, Dean. You can do this."

Dean dug his heels into the mattress with what little movement he had.

Ellis wiped the wound with a damp washcloth, staining it red with his blood. She waited until he calmed down a moment and nodded to Sam.

Sam placed a hand to steady Dean's hip and shoved his knee onto his brother's shoulder. He nodded tightly.

Ellis carefully pushed the tweezers into the hole and tried to feel for the bullet.

Dean screamed. He didn't moan or whimper, he screamed and the cry broke on a few hitched sobs as she probed a little deeper. Sam pushed him down as he struggled against everything they had him tied down with, crying out with each writhe.

"It's okay, baby," she soothed automatically, moving her fingers, deftly feeling through the tweezers until she felt something solid and non-flesh like.

"Stop!" He panted. "You gotta stop!"

"Hang in there, Dean." Sam assured. "You're doing real good."

"Honey," Ellis said, watching the muscles in Dean's jaw clench and the cords of his neck bunch out of the corner of her vision. He yelled again, banging his head back against the pillow and she soothed him with meaningless platitudes. "It's okay. I'm almost done."

Even tied, it took Sam to keep him steady enough for her to work. She finally felt like she had a grip on the bullet and she slowly began to extract it. The wound began to bleed again as she pulled out the shrapnel.

Dean's cries had broken into random, incoherent sobs of pure pain.

Ellis set the bloody debris down and grabbed gauze to press over it, her hands slick and red with his blood. "It's okay, baby. It's okay. I promise."

Sam was still on the bed next to his brother. "Hey, you're doing good, Dean. Really good, man."

He eased up with his knee. Dean turned his head sideways away from him and stifled another sob, swallowing it into a hiccup that moved his belly and then choking on another repressed one.

Ellis pressed the gauze in.

He tensed up.

"Sam." She said, "can you hold this on here?"

Yeah. He reached over and pushed down on the wound and Ellis stood up on shaky legs. She closed her eyes and breathed through her nose repressing the urge to gag.

Her hands were shaking, her knees trembling. Keep it together, Ellis. This is about Dean, not you.

She swallowed bile, still feeling completely sick. Took another breath. Felt an image creep into her mind. Sam on his knees in mud, lifeless broken, Dean holding him. God not now. She didn't need her fucking visions now of all times.

She repressed a gasping choke of her own, felt something wind around her legs. Opened her eyes. It was Taco. He looked up at her with his yellow eyes. Yellow. Eyes. Something terrifyingly ominous hit her. She dashed into the bathroom and shut the door. Started to heave, barely had time to open the toilet lid.

She knelt there for a bit, trying to rein in the anxiety attack.

Taco jumped up on the open toilet seat, looked surprised as he nearly fell in, scrabbling for balance before he toppled off.

Sam watched Ellis bolt and felt momentarily torn about going after her, but his brother under his hands won out. He turned his attention back to Dean, who seemed even paler than before, breathing raggedly, covered in a sheen of sweat. He looked so pathetic, his arms still up over his head, tied to the headboard.

"Hey." Sam soothed, keeping pressure on the wound. He could feel the blood soaking through the gauze, staining his hands with red warmth. This couldn't be happening. Dean couldn't afford to lose more blood. Dean.

Dean's lower lip was trembling and he had his eyes squeezed shut, tears on his long dark lashes. He swallowed and Sam watched his Adam's Apple work.

Sam's back was beginning to cramp from being hunched over. He shifted uncomfortably. His heart clenched as the blood continued to seep. He yelled for Ellis.

Ellis heard Sam's panicked yell and bolted from the bathroom almost tripping over Taco.

"What?"

Sam was on his hands and knees, pressing onto the gauze. His hands red. "He's still bleeding. I...can't...get it to stop. It won't stop...he can't lose anymore."

Ellis looked at Dean. His face had gone slack. She touched him, felt how cold and clammy he was. Pressed fingers to the carotid artery in his neck. His heart was racing weakly.

"He's shocky," she said.

"He's gonna bleed out on us." Sam's voice was panicked.

"Sam, we might have to call an ambulance and take our chances with the FBI."

"Yeah...Yeah." Sam croaked.

Ellis grabbed new gauze and pried Sam's shuddering hands away from his brother's wound. She packed the clean gauze in and looked pointedly at him. "You get up and take a break. I've got him."

Sam weakly crawled over to the edge of the bed and almost fell off it in his attempt to stand up.

She turned her attention back to Dean, closed her eyes. Willed the blood to stop. Envisioned it slowing clotting, stanching. Felt herself as a part of Dean's body. As an extension of him. Pushed through the haze of pain and dullness to that bright beautiful core- found there his will to fight. He's a fighter. That's his first instinct. He was. Grit and determination and strength.

She eased herself back out and came back to her own awareness. The blood had slowed considerably.

Sam was pacing behind her. "He needs a transfusion. I'm a match?"

"Direct transfusion is really difficult." She said. "I have to access the artery in your wrist, which is next to impossible. And then we have to pray that the blood doesn't clot while it's being transfused. Bagged blood has anticoagulants in it." Ellis said, absently stroking Dean's forehead. "I have IV lines from the vet's office. And I have lactated ringer bags in case one of you assholes showed up dehydrated."

Sam gave an amused huff. He paused. "I can rob a blood bank. I've done it before."

Ellis blinked. "I'm not even going to ask you why."

"Our work is weird."

Chapter Text

Sam tried several random doors, which all seemed to be locked from the outside of the brick building until he ducked into the unlocked back entrance of the hospital marked employees only. He moved with a quick purpose, glancing around to try to orient himself. God knows that between his job and his brother and accident prone father and himself, he'd been in enough hospitals to have a grasp of the general lay out.

So, of course, this one had to be different. He cast about, trying to read the random signs all with arrows pointing in confusingly opposite directions, his boots squeaking on the floor as he walked.

Someone rounded the corner. A man carrying specimens marked with a bio-hazard symbol.

Sam tried to shrink back, but he was noticed.

The stranger approached, ready for confrontation by his posture. "Excuse me. This is employees only. How did you get back here?"

Sam put on his best confused look. "I'm...I don't know. I..." He put his hand to his head. "I..." he swayed a little bit, letting his legs go weak and acting like he was about to go down. He let himself stagger and start to drop. Surprisingly, the employee did not put out a hand to catch him.

Sam hid his shock, adjusted his trajectory and fell into the man, who finally had no choice but to drop his bag of frozen specimens and half catch him. "Hey!"

"Sorry..." Sam let his full weight lean down on the poor guy, who was at least 6 inches shorter.

He off balanced and almost fell. "Jesus, Buddy."

Sam braced himself against the hapless lab worker's shoulders and pushed himself back to his feet.

"I'm gonna get you help." The man, brushed back a lock of his black hair and reached for the pager on his belt. Sam clocked him.

He went down like a stone.

Sam snaked out a hand and grabbed the man's shirt, breaking his fall a little so that he didn't go head first into the tiles. "Sorry." Sam whispered. "I'm so sorry."

The shirt didn't fit him correctly at all, but five minutes later, Sam had what bits of clothes he could shove himself into and a clearance badge as well as bio-hazard specimen kit. He circled around like a rat in a maze, trying to duck into random rooms to avoid people, growing more and more frustrated and upset as he went until he finally, finally found the freaking blood bank. Of course it was locked.

Ellis struggled with the knots Sam had put into the rope binding Dean's wrists together. Her fingers kept slipping. "I can't get these out!"

She cursed herself for not having made him untie his brother before he'd left. Some part of her brain was aware of how fucking insane that sounded. That this was their life. Her life.

She swore and finally admitted defeat. "Dean, I'll be right back." She touched his cheek and wandered to the kitchen. Her craft scissors in the junk drawer didn't look sharp enough so she settled on a serrated knife. There was a knock on the door that scared the shit out of her. She jumped, then froze listening carefully. The knock came again.

Ellis set the knife down and looked at her gore stained hands. She grabbed a striped kitchen towel to hide them in and answered the door.

It was her neighbor. Of course it was. Her nosy fucking annoying neighbors.

"Hi Rose."

Rose tried to peer around Ellis's shoulder. She pushed her glasses back up her nose, lips pursed. "We heard an awful lot of noise coming from here earlier. Is everything okay?"

Ellis smiled. "Yes," she said, pretending to wipe her hands, careful to keep them hidden in the towel. "You just caught me doing dishes."

"We heard screams."

"Screams?" Ellis blinked. "Nope. No screams."

"Dear. It was quite obvious. We almost called the police. We weren't sure if something was happening."

Ellis went white. "No. No, don't do that. That would be...a waste of their time. It's just the cat."

"The cat?" Rose looked baffled.

"The cat's in heat."

The older woman's face was a study in confusion. "I thought Taco was a boy."

Ellis paused. "I thought so too. Imagine my surprise."

"Don't you work in a vet's office?"

"Yeah, but you know me." Ellis said breezily. "Ditzy. Blonde. Polish. It's a problem."

She heard Dean moan from behind her. It was low and panting. For a moment she hoped that Rose didn't hear it but sure enough Rose tried to look around her. "Do..." She hesitated as if scandalized. "Do... you... have a man in there with you?"

"Yeah."Another soft moan carried down the hallway. Ellis looked back at the sound. "Oops. Sounds like he started without me."

Rose blinked in shock.

"I gotta go. Thanks Rose, talk to you later." Ellis slammed the door.

Sam swore. He was beginning to think he should have tried to find a Red Cross Donation Center to break into, but he knew that there the blood was raw and unprocessed and untested. Even though he figured they screened for basic issues, he decided that a Hep C infection or some bacterial disease would be just what Dean didn't need. The blood bank at the hospital was a safer bet.

If he could get in the fucking door.

He tried swiping his badge three times, the metal door remained shut. He tried shouldering the door open. That worked about as well as he thought it would, which was to say he had about as much luck as a persistent cockroach trying to move a dining room chair.

Sam waited a minute, breathing heavily. He looked through the glass window and spotted the massive metal refrigeration unit stocked with blood. It sat just on the other side taunting him: Saying here is your brother's life-what are you willing to do to get me?

Most anything he had to do, dammit. Anything for Dean.

Sam realized he was sweating, entirely on edge. He didn't have time for this. Dean didn't have time for this.

He brushed back his bangs and waited for a moment, hoping someone would round the corner looking to enter. No one came.

Sam cast around desperately.

His gaze landed on a red fire extinguisher on the wall nearby. He grabbed it, swung the steel bottom of it at the glass and broke the window out.

An alarm went off.

He reached in, haphazardly trying to avoid catching his arm on the broken glass edges. He manually unlocked the door from the other side and charged in.

Sam started on the sealed coolers, shaking with nerves. He could hear foot steps in the outside. People approaching.

He grabbed as many type O bags as he could, exited the room and dashed down the hallway, some part of his mind wondering if he'd been caught on security cameras and if the authorities would know his face.

She cut his hands free. Helped him take them down, rubbing some circulation back into his wrists. He'd chafed them a little with his struggles. "Let's get those bed sheets off you too, huh?"

Dean had a fine tremble running through his body.

"You cold, sweetheart?" She asked, finally getting the last bit of white cotton sheet off of him.

Ellis set up the lactated ringers bag, hanging it off the headboard.

"Dean, sweetie. Stay awake."

He grumbled.

"I know. I know you just want to sleep you can't right now."

She adjusted the bag, unwrapped a clean needle and hooked it into the clear IV line.

Dean curled a little to one side with an uncomfortable moan.

"Talk," She prodded. "Come on.

His eyes floated shut.

"Where do you want me to put this? We have a couple of options... Your abdomen." She paused, surveyed his abused belly. "Let's leave that alone...Your ass." She gave him a little pat on his rump and he opened his eyes slightly.

"Huh?" He was shaking now. Shivering like he'd been outside with no jacket in February.

She leaned down and playfully touched her nose to his, trying to get a response. "Can I get my hands on that ass. What do you say?"

There it was... a very weak and tremulous smile.

"I can do the front of your thigh. I basically need a big fat muscle to get into."

"My dick." He whispered weakly.

She laughed. "Of course, honey. All muscle there."

She coaxed him over onto his back and pulled his jeans down to his knees. His legs were visibly trembling. He was wearing a pair of navy boxer briefs.

He blinked. "I was kidding about my dick."

"I know. I'm getting it into your thigh."

"Hate needles." Then with a very weak smile. "Ellis...p...porn cures."

She laughed, surprised that he even remembered that exchange from over a year ago. "I always do seem to end up with a half naked Winchester on my bed."

That made her think of John and her throat tightened. She breathed through her nose a little to calm herself and pinched the fat on the side of Dean's thigh. She slid the needle under the skin, let the roller out until she got a steady drip. She patently held the needle in place. "Just like giving it to a cat, with significantly less fur and attitude. Stay awake, Dean."

He started to drift and she smacked the other thigh. "Hey!" It resounded with a meaty crack that he hardly responded to. He was acting very shocky. His skin was cold to the touch. Ellis watched the bag slowly drain out and tried not to be lured into the hypnotic rapid drip into the clear tube. She closed the line and removed the needle. She pulled his pants back on, leaving his fly undone. Ellis gathered the wrinkled blankets and a comforter and covered him up to his chin. "Let's keep that temp up, huh sweetie?"

"Dean." She slapped his arm. "Hey!"

"Huh?"

"Stay awake."

His breathing had accelerated to shallow panting like he was having trouble getting air.

Ellis crawled into bed beside him under the blankets and pressed her body heat up to him. She put her arm across his chest and held him. "Come on, sweetheart."

He was very cold to be pressed against. She rubbed his arms. "Dean. Come on. Stay awake."

He was quiet, his adam's apple working as he swallowed. "Dad." His voice was a whisper, plaintive. A child's almost.

She felt her heart clench. Ellis felt a lump in her throat again. She choked down tears and lost, leaning her head into him and silently shedding a few tears into Dean's chest. She kept her voice steady and stroked her hand over his shoulder. "We're gonna get you fixed up. I'm sorry I had to hurt you."

"Where's S'mmy?"

"He's coming right back."

Dean swallowed. She could feel the shivering running through his big frame.

"It's okay. I'm here."

His chest moved under her arm, still breathing like he was having difficulty. His full lips parted, looking reminiscent of a landed fish.

"I need Dad." He panted, a bit panicked.

"I do too. Handsome, calm down." She could feel his heart racing underneath her hand. He was climbing up the stages of shock fairly quickly she knew. He squeezed his eyes shut and his breath caught on a groan. She debated giving him more fluid. "You still hurting, honey?"

He grunted something that may have been an affirmative. She shifted upward and kissed his cheek, then pulled him to her. Dean angled his head to rest against her breast. His hand quested blindly until he wrapped it in hers and he closed his fingers on her. She remembered how warm his hands had been on her that day several years ago. Warm and bold and entirely inappropriate.

They were so cold now. Those same elegant hands. "Hey... handsome. Talk to me."

He turned his head to look at her, his jaw trembling, teeth chattering from cold and nerves and pain. He raised an eyebrow plaintively, almost embarrassed and said. "I just want m'dad."

"You need me to call him?"

Dean's face twisted. "Can't call..." His breath caught on a moan and then his panting kept going.

Ellis sat up and felt his forehead. He was very cool to the touch. "Sam, where the fuck are you?"

Taco leapt up on the bed and settled on Dean's heaving chest. Ellis glared at him. "Really cat?"

She picked him up and he let out a protesting yowl. "He's fucking allergic to you and already having trouble breathing. You want to kill him?"

She shoved him over to the far side of the bed.

Dean groaned and shifted his legs uncomfortably. He looked close to tears.

"Sweetheart." She tucked the blanket back over his shoulders and kissed his temple. "What's wrong? Tell me."

"Don't feel...good." He said almost dazedly, his voice hoarse.

"I know."

She heard the sound of the front door and practically fell off the bed to greet Sam, knocking a very offended Taco off his perch on the side of the bed. Ellis was glad that he wasn't big enough to kill her.

Chapter Text

Sam rushed in, slamming the front door with a cold gust of damp air. He pulled several bags of blood out from under his coat.

"Thank God." Ellis grabbed a bag and put a new line into it.

Sam looked at her worriedly. "How is he?"

"Not good, Sam. Go talk to him." She said as she worked.

Sam stepped around her and sat on the edge of the bed, taking in his brother's pale complexion. "Hey, kiddo."

Dean's eyes focused lazily on Sam. "S'mmy?"

"Yeah." Sam took his brother's chilly hand, enveloped it with his. He tried to swallow his anxiety. "Ellis been taking care of you? You have to fight her off from copping a feel?"

Dean's mouth lifted into an almost smile. He looked about to retort but he kept panting through the pain instead.

"Hey." Sam said gently. "Getting hard to breathe?"

"Y..e..uh."

"You gotta be strong for us, okay?" Sam moved aside and Ellis pulled the bed sheet aside and turned Dean's arm upward. She found one of the blue veins under the light skin in the crook of his elbow and slid the needle in.

Dean jerked.

Sam soothed him. "Hey, we're getting some blood into you. Human blood." He smiled. "Not cat blood or anything."

Ellis backed off and let Sam sit with his brother. She saw the gentle familiarity as Sam dipped his head close to Dean's forehead. Had an image of them as younger boys in the same position replayed time and again. One the protector, one the child. The situations and the roles reversed over time. Something so primal. So beautiful in the moment. Friendship and brotherhood and love as old as life itself. Bonded. Bound to each other like a twin flame. Like the wax of a spiral candle twined round and around each other.

"Dean, you need to fight for me, okay? Fight for Bobby. And for Ellis."

Ellis watched the blood bag drip into the line..go into Dean's vein. Returning life to him.

She hoped.

As she looked at the boys she realized that both of them seemed diminished. Both of those bright shining souls seemed dimmer somehow. Like they'd taken a hit and not recovered from it. She didn't want to spend time thinking what that hit was. If it was what she'd feared, she wouldn't come out unscathed either. No. Best to just be with Dean.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was gravelly.

"Yep." Sam dropped a caring pat on his shoulder. So much casually unspoken male affection in the gesture.

A little color seemed to be returning to Dean's face. It had gone from a mottled grey to a pale smoothness. Even lying like he was, his beauty was simply breathtaking sometimes. Beautiful like a stretch of ocean under a blue sky. Pretty boy, she thought.

Dean turned his head sideways and patted Sam's forearm.

"Hey." Sam's tone was gentle, as if he were talking to a child. "You need me to stay with you? You want a drink?"

" 'M fine." Came the gruff growl, every bit a man, despite the boyish features.

Ellis stifled a smirk. "Sure you are. Pain in the ass."

Sam looked up at her and smiled. "He is."

"Nuh." Dean protested softly. "M aw's'me."

"What?" Ellis asked.

Sam gave an amused huff. "He said he's awesome."

By the time the second bag of blood had emptied into Dean, Ellis had fixed egg sandwiches.

"Sam," she said, ducking into the door way. "Come eat something."

Sam looked up from his cramped vigil next to Dean and gave his brother an appraising look.

"He's more stable right now. Come grab a bite. Let him sleep."

Ellis walked in and adjusted Dean's pillow, checked his pulse once more. It was markedly less rapid. "Let's get us some food and then we can try to get him to drink."

Sam nodded reluctantly and followed her out to the kitchen. He looked very tired.

"Do you want me to keep watch and let you sleep?" She asked.

"Can't sleep." Sam replied. He grabbed one of the sandwiches off a plate and ate half of it in one bite. "Didn't realize I was this hungry." He said around a mouthful.

She nibbled at her own sandwich and watched him grab a mug and wash his down with some cider from the fridge. "I need a beer." He said.

"I don't have any on hand."

"We always do. There's some in the Impala I'm sure. I think I'm gonna go move the car out of the driveway in a bit anyway, park it a few blocks over. Something about leaving it right there in plain sight is making me uneasy."

He closed the fridge and stood looking at her. Arms down at his sides.

Lost.

"Here." She gave him her sandwich.

"You're sure?" He asked, taking it hesitantly.

"I'm not very hungry."

Sam swallowed the second sandwich down almost as quickly as the first.

"Your Dad taught you boys zero table manners, huh?" She asked in amusement.

Sam swallowed and she saw a flush of embarrassment. "Yeah, sorry. Always just us guys and we had to grab stuff on the go. I learned to eat fast. Stopped wolfing my food at Stanford and since I've been on the road again..."

"It's okay. I'm just messing with you."

There was an awkward silence that hung in the air. She let the question remain unspoken for a moment before she dared venture to phrase it. "John..."

She watched Sam's face grow guarded. He looked away.

Ellis felt her heart speed up. "Where is John?"

"He didn't...He didn't make it," Sam responded, still not meeting her eye.

Ellis choked back a sob, felt like something hit her in the chest. She regained herself, her lip trembling wildly. "How?"

Sam's face crumpled. He still had his eyes focused on the window. Didn't even acknowledge her. "He..." tears stood in his eyes. He seemed to be weighing his words. "A few months back we were in a bad car accident. I was driving." He swallowed. "Dean. Dean was really hurt. I thought we were going to lose him and then he pulled through, but...Dad...didn't make it."

Ellis slid down the cupboard onto the cold wooden floor and hugged her knees. A keening cry escaped her before she was able to cut it off, muffling it into her arm.

Sam grew markedly distressed at her distress.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She didn't reply. Kept herself curled up, shoulders shaking. Gone. He was gone. And her last goodbye to him had been a fight. They'd made love and he'd left. And that was the last she'd seen of John. The last she'd touched him. The last she'd heard that whiskey voice. She'd known it at the time. Known it. Known he was leaving for a final battle and that she was just another casualty of his war. But she'd hoped. Hoped he'd show up at 2 AM on her doorstep. Banged up and lost, looking for a soft place to fall and a soft hand to patch him up. Or that he'd call some night and talk to her for an hour or two to pass the time as he drove. Her big tomcat that showed up when he needed her. And now this was how their story had ended. Silence and misunderstanding.

Sam waited where he was a minute and then suddenly he was crouched next to her, all soft eyes and soft voice. Shaggy hair and boyish face...all those soft sweet edges that made up Sam. "I'm sorry," he said, putting an arm around her that she fell into. "I...I know he meant a lot to you."

She burrowed into his arm and she felt Sam sit down beside her, wrap her in a gentle embrace that belied his size. "I'm glad he had you though." His voice was low. "He...he didn't have many people that got him. I didn't even get him half the time. But he... he had you and I'm glad."

Dean whimpered, his brow beading with sweat. He kicked against the bed with his booted heel and Ellis belatedly realized they should have taken off his shoes. She finished putting the empty blood bags in the white trash bag she'd brought in to use for cleanup and wiped her arm across the back of her eyes, still feeling weepy. She walked over to John's son and she pulled the sheet back and started to unlace his work boots. "Let's get these off you, huh?"

Dean's eyes tracked down to watch her movement. His chin was trembling, she noticed. She finished pulling off his boots and moved to his head. "What's wrong, honey? You in a lot of pain?"

His brows rose in a way that told her he was. She pressed her hand to his cheek and felt an unnatural warmth there. "You've got a fever. Fucking great."

Her exasperation woke Sam who was curled beside his brother on the double bed. He groggily opened his eyes, his hair in his face. "Fever?"

"Yeah." She said her voice tight. "I have a feeling that wound is getting infected."

Sam sat up blinking back sleep, rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "What do we do?"

"I guess flush and clean it as best we can. I have some antibiotics from the vet's in the back of my closet there. I can give him a shot." Ellis opened the closet next to her old antique dresser and swore as Taco bolted in. "Goddamn it, Taco!"

Sam got up to stand next to her. "Need help?"

Ellis was rifling through the contents, along with a ton of clothes on hangers; she seemed to have stuffed a lot of bags and boxes of items haphazardly in there. "I can find them, I hope. Here," she handed a box to Sam and edged in. Something fell off the top shelf and she swore. "Well there goes a bunch of Christmas ornaments."

Sam grimaced. "Oops."

"The goddamn cat is gonna be back there all night now." Her voice said from inside the closet's darkness.

"Need me to get him?"

"No, it's futile. There's this weird crawlspace to access the pipes back there. It might be possible to squash yourself in but grabbing the cat in there isn't. We have to wait until the asshole gets bored or hungry." She finally came out with a plastic shoe box filled with vet supplies. "Kept these on hand for your father." She swallowed and struggled for control. "Mr. Danger Prone."

"Dean is fighting for the crown." Sam replied, shoving the box she gave him back in.

Ellis set the supplies on the cracked white nightstand and pulled the sheets off of Dean. His t-shirt had dried and crusted with blood and so had his jeans. It occurred to her they should change them. But first she pulled the gauze off his side. His belly flinched at the motion and she placed a hand on the flat of his stomach. "Easy."

The wound was red and irritated looking.

"Goddammit." Ellis unscrewed the cap of the peroxide and poured it on.

Dean hissed as the peroxide bubbled up. He started to try to sit up, she could feel it in the flex of the abdominal muscles under her hand. She pressed him down into the mattress. "Stay down."

"No." He said weakly. Sam placed his hands on his shoulders, stilling him. "Easy. Easy. Just let her do it."

He cried out at the sting as she poured a little more.

"I know. I'm sorry." She replied. "I'm gonna start you on some more antibiotics. Sam, do you have a change of clothes for him? He's completely fucking gross."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." Sam's thumb absently rubbed a circle on Dean's shoulder.

"Something besides jeans? Sweats maybe? Something loose and easy for me to access."

"Well he's a jeans guy but I have a few lounge pants that should fit him."

"Okay. Thanks, hun. We may as well junk these. This blood is not coming off."

"Mmm." Dean put his arm over his eyes.

"I want to leave this wound open to the air for now. We can flush it some more in a bit."

She grabbed a pair of scissors and cut off his shirt. He stirred at the sound and removed his arm from his eyes.

"Liked this shirt." He mumbled.

"It's trashed, Dean. So are the jeans. She pulled the fabric free and threw it on the floor next to the trash bag. Taco bolted out of the closet, hopped over and started to purr and knead it. She stared at the cat. "Really, Taco?"

She stared at her furry monster, incredulous and then turned her attention back to her reluctant patient."Come on, sweetheart. Let me get you naked," she quipped.

Dean snorted at the jest and helped her pull off his pants by lifting his hips off the bed. She tried to avert her eyes a little unsuccessfully and threw the covers over his hips.

He rolled sideways. She touched his shoulder, rubbed affectionately. He felt very warm. "You're hot," she said.

He mumbled something.

"What?" She leaned over.

"That's what they all say."

Chapter Text

Dean woke up, disoriented. His breathing caught on a moan. He felt a shiver run through his body. His side hurt so badly. Burning and pounding and bones aching. He was sore as if he'd been abusing all of his muscles. He swallowed, his throat dry.

He tried to sit up and there was a hand pressing him down. "Woah, easy tiger."

With an effort, he turned his head sideways to look at Sam. Sam's hair was disheveled and his eyes ringed with lack of sleep.

"S'mmy?"

"Yeah. It's me. What do you need Dean? Thirsty?"

"You're in bed with me." Dean replied, a bit dazed. Registering that that was odd.

"Yeah." Sam shifted. "Someone needs to look after you. Thirsty?" Sam asked again. He sat up and got out of bed, rounding over to the other side. Sleepy and ruffled and soothingly familiar.

Dean furrowed his brow, momentarily having trouble processing what Sam was saying. He hadn't quite figured it out before he felt the cool rim of a glass pressed to his lips and Sam's arm snaked around his back and head, pushing him into a slight sitting position.

"Here, swallow."

Sam tilted the glass and Dean swallowed reflexively. A little went down the wrong pipe and he broke into a coughing fit broken on moans as his side flared up. Sam held him steady. "Easy. It's okay."

He was tired of people telling him it was okay when it was obviously any fucking thing BUT okay.

Sam waited until the coughing abated and then offered the water again. Dean tried to tilt his head away.

"No." His brother admonished. "Dean, you haven't drunk anything. You need water."

"Whiskey," Dean rasped.

"Water." Sam's voice was firm. "Small sips."

Dean took a few small swallows, his confusion suddenly giving way to a flash or two of memory. "We at Ellis's?"

"Yeah we are."

Dean closed his eyes against a wave of pain and he felt Sam's hold on him tighten fractionally.

He tried to keep himself from whimpering and couldn't quite muffle it.

"Hey." Sam said patiently. "Breathe through it like Dad taught us."

His father's arms were wrapped around him, Dean supported half in his lap, even though at 16 he was far too old to be this way. He the rise and fall of John's chest under the back of his head.

"Breathe, Dean." The familiar baritone whispered.

"M breathin.'" Dean responded in a petulant tone.

"No ,you're not." His father shifted Dean's weight and placed his hands over the boy's chest, keeping him pressed against his own. "Breathe. Slow, deep, and even."

Dean cried out his body arching.

"Dean."

"Yes sir."

"What did I tell you to do?"

"Breathe."

"What are you not doing?"

"Breathin."

"Come on, son." The voice turned patient but firm. "Breathe in."

Dean took in a steady breath, even though his jaw was trembling and he just wanted to curl up and cry. It was second nature to obey his father. It gave him comfort, took away his distress, the burden of responsibility. Dad would tell him what to do.

"Let it out." The low voice rumbled. "Good. Again."

His father synced his breaths calmly. His presence steady and reassuring under Dean's back.

Dean's breath broke on a sobbing gasp as the pain bled through and John's hold tightened again. "Breathe again."

"Dad..."

"What did I tell you? Slow deep breath."

He never did figure out if it was the breathing or his father's arms around him that made the pain fade.

"Breathe, Dean... you have to breathe." Sam's voice was a much softer tenor.

"M breathin." He snapped. Then peevishly. "Don't talk about Dad."

Sam's face tightened. He looked like he wanted to say something but bit it back down. He put the cup to Dean's lips again, his demeanor suddenly a bit more remote. "Drink."

Dean took a few swallows and watched Sam's expression carefully, wincing in pain as he did. Sam set him back down on the bed and put the drink down on the antique nightstand with the distressed white paint.

Dean could feel the unspoken anger in him. "What's your problem?"

Sam remained quiet, turned his back. "Nothing."

If he weren't so goddamned sick, he would have jumped in the argument but as it was he let it slide. Truth was he wasn't sure why he'd snapped. Thoughts of his Dad brought up so many swirling emotions he didn't know which way to turn.

He felt distinctly ill, which Sam must have noticed because his anger melded back into concern. "What's wrong, Dean?"

"Nothin."

Sam closed his eyes, looking as if his patience were being tested. "I..."he stopped speaking, walked around to the other side and and flopped back into the bed. The movement set Dean's teeth on edge.

There was several moments of silence before he said, ""He was my Dad too, you know."

The statement caught Dean so far off guard that he twisted his head sideways to look at his brother. Sam had his back turned to Dean, his knees bent so that he fit on the mattress.

He wanted to rebut with a "You never respected him" but it seemed like too much effort. He remained silent and trained his eyes to the ceiling, still feeling like shit.

What the fuck did Sam know? He'd run off and it was Dean who'd lived in the man's pockets for years. Dean who'd been on hunts and had his back. Dean who'd bled with him and fought with him and cried with him. Not Sam. And now Sam seemed to think he had the right to be as upset about their Dad's death as him? Well he didn't. And Dean hurt too goddamn much right now to argue with him.

Dean's jibe had hit its mark and it stung. Sam kept his back to his brother and tried to wrestle down his offended anger. He understood that Dean was in a lot of pain and Dean in pain was grumpy and unpredictable- like a wounded dog that may lick or bite you. Unfortunately, it seemed to Sam that he felt the bite more often than not. He wanted to start an argument, send off a salvo of indignant counter attacks. All he managed was the reminder that he'd lost a father too.

No. He'd never had the relationship that Dean had had with their father. Never had the unspoken comrade-in-arms-war-buddies feel that Dean had shared with him. John respected Dean in a way that he had never respected Sam. And now never would. And Sam was filled with regrets and recriminations and wishing that he'd cut his father some slack now and again. -That he'd been able to put down his wall and let his Dad in. But he hadn't. And now it was too late.

Maybe Sam wasn't suffering the same way that Dean was. But he was suffering.

He wondered what Ellis was doing. She'd taken the news hard. She'd loved John Winchester, he knew. Loved him despite his sharp edges. He wished he could meet a girl like that one day. Someone who saw all the broken sharp jaggedness of Sam Winchester and wasn't afraid to get cut on the edges. Someone like Jess. He'd had her and she was gone. Even then something told him that the chance would never come again. He bit his lip and shoved his emotions down. Now was not the time to fall apart. His pain in the ass brother needed him.

After he'd gotten his temper back into check, he stood up, glanced at Dean who lay with his eyes closed.

He started to walk out of the room.

"Where are you going?"

"Gonna take a leak. You need anything."

Dean stayed silent.

Sam started to leave.

"Don't..."

Sam halted. "Don't what?"

Dean's eyes shifted. "Nevermind."

Sam normally would have been more concerned with the request but he was too tired and pissed to give a shit.

Ellis curled up onto the couch and pulled one of the couch pillows over her head. John.

John.

The name hurt.

She thought of his ruggedly handsome face and his sad smile, the dimples just under his scruff of beard and dark lashes. Eye lashes like Dean's and dimples like his youngest. The deep rough voice.

John.

She'd asked him to stay for her and he couldn't. So he'd pulled away from her, asserting his independence and this is where it had led. Right where she knew it would.

And now his boys. His Dean. Hurt and dying and pained and hunted.

Funny that he was the one who lay dying in her bed and not Sam. Sam was the one she'd seen replayed in her visions time and again. Sam on his knees in the mud, lifeless. Head lolling, eyes closed. Sweet Sam.

Ellis sniffed and smeared the tear away that was snaking it's way down the side of her face into her hair line.

Agent Henricksen raised an eyebrow and looked up from his laptop. All his attempts to trace any calls from Sam Winchester's suspected cell phone were leading to dead ends. The kid was smart.

No gunshot victims had turned up at any hospitals or morgues nearby. And yet he knew one of his men had hit Dean Winchester. He's seen the spray of blood from the kid's side. He'd taken a solid hit.

"You'd better have a good reason to be distracting me, Smit." Henricksen kept his dark features schooled into an expression of mock sternness at the interruption.

"There's footage that turned up of Sam Winchester stealing from a blood bank at a hospital on the New York/Pennsylvania border about an hour from here."

Henricksen raised his eyebrows, a grin splitting his rugged features. "Well, damn, I guess that is good reason for a distraction. Sit down and tell me everything you guys have found." He closed the laptop and turned his attention to Smit.

Chapter Text

"Good boy. Good boy." Ellis said, cleaning out Dean's wound.

Dean's teeth were gritted. His fists clenched the bed sheets. She could see the vein in his neck pop out. He finally cried out with a strangled half-choked sound.

"I know. I know you don't feel good," she soothed.

Sam held him down, his mouth set in a grim line as Ellis flushed the wound with a cat-feeding syringe filled with peroxide.

Dean's face was flushed, his cheeks as pink as if he'd been out in the cold for an hour.

Sam remained calm but silent, using his entire body to block Dean's struggles. Ellis could feel the repressed distress pouring off of him almost as much as it was pouring off of Dean.

Luckily for them, Dean's energy reserves exhausted themselves before she was finished and he ended up too tired to do anything more than whimper and sweat as she kept flushing. Sam let him go and stood up, looking almost faint for a moment before he composed himself.

"Honey," Ellis said, "Why don't you talk to him?"

"He's barely conscious. Doesn't even know what's going on right now." Sam countered.

"Part of him is. Let him know you're here."

Sam touched his brother's shoulder and Dean tilted his head toward him.

"See?"

Sam's face grew tighter. She saw him struggling with some nameless emotion.

"Go ahead, talk to him. Let it out, Sam. No one is here but us and I'm not judging."

"You don't understand." Sam replied. "I...I'm gonna lose it if I don't keep a lid on it right now."

"That's fine."

"No... its not. It's gonna upset him. He...he probably doesn't even know what we're doing. Probably thinks we're just..hurting him. Fuck." Sam stood up and turned away before he got control of himself.

Ellis wiped down the wound with a clean washcloth, looking at Dean's flushed cheeks. "I need to see that temperature. Sam there's a digital thermometer in the medicine cabinet upstairs. Go get it for me."

Sam swallowed, reined himself in and left the room to go find it.

Ellis tugged Dean's ear and pushed the timponic thermometer in. It beeped and she glanced at it solemnly. "This isn't good."

Sam looked at her worriedly, wearing his apprehension on his face.

"105."

"Jesus, Dean." Sam blinked rapidly and she saw some emotion chase across his features. He spun around and left the room. She followed him.

"Sam, are you okay?"

"Yeah. I just need a minute." Sam ran a hand over his face and squared his shoulders. "He's infected, isn't he?"

"That would be my guess. But we have some more antibiotics. I can just keep throwing them at him until we hit the right combination and dosage."

"105 is really high fever for an adult male, Ellis."

"Yes, it is."

Sam's face crumpled suddenly.

"Honey." She said, feeling terribly sorry for him all of a sudden.

Sam's jaw trembled along with his voice, the emotion was making his throat tighten, she could see the muscles in his neck bunch.. "I...I need my brother. I've lost Jess this year and my father... I can't...I can't, Ellis. I need Dean. I can't do this again!" He choked on a repressed swell of emotion.

"Oh, Sam. Sweetheart. Come here."

He didn't seem to know what to do at first, and then let her hug him, managing to look like a little boy despite his height. He dropped his head on her shoulder. She reached up and cupped the back of his neck in her hand, pressed him to her. -Held him, felt the shake run through his long legs. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. Shhhh."

He was warm and solid and she thought of John and wanted to cry.

He bent in half almost leaning on her for a second, his arms enveloping her. He started to break away after another moment and she didn't let him go- kept a hold of him until he submitted again and melted into the embrace. She felt the shudder again and then his body opened up and relaxed to her, his walls down a little. She rocked him slightly and he went with her. "It's okay, Sam. You need to hear this. It's gonna be okay."

He let out a weak little sound in the back of his throat.

"Shhhh. It is."

After another minute he let her go and stepped back, looking a bit abashed. Ellis wrapped her hand around his first two fingers and squeezed.

"I'm here. We're going to do everything we can, okay?"

He squared his jaw and she saw him shove the emotion back down. He was actually better at it then Dean, she thought. The more contained one. In a way, he seemed better at it than John had been. John turned gruff and taciturn and miserable. Sam was able to calmly put the emotion away for periods of time.

She, herself, was completely incapable of hiding anything.

Or was she? Because right now she was as worried about Dean as Sam was.

Dean floated back into consciousness. He was in pain, although he felt weirdly detached from it. His tongue felt dry. He was cold and sweating at the same time. He thought maybe he'd pissed his pants for a brief minute and then realized that he was just wet from whatever chilled sweat he'd had. His eyes were burning when he opened them and took in Ellis's guest bedroom.

Ellis's nasty orange cat was next to his hip, staring at him. Judging him. Or...something. He blinked and looked at the tabby. It cocked its head and swished its tail. "Ta..co." Dean swallowed. His voice felt strained.

Taco head-butted his thigh, then settled into him. He was blessedly warm and not close enough to his face to make Dean feel like he was having an asthma attack. Dean wanted his father. Realized that Dad wasn't there. Would never be there again. Had...had done something to save him. Made some unholy bargain to save him. And here he was dying anyway. Hopefully, he'd join him soon.

He could hear Sam's voice in the hallway. Floating warm and soft to him.

He closed his eyes.

If you can't save him, son. You're going to have to kill him.

Dean's head spun. How...how could his father have told him that? How could he have put that burden on his shoulders? How was he supposed to live with that? How could he hurt Sammy? And what did it mean? Sam of all people was not going to turn...turn into what? Sam was Sam. Sweet honest Sam.

A flash of his brother holding a puppy in the rain ran through his mind. Kind, warm, Sam.

His head spun again and he tried to control his breathing. He hurt so badly. He was confused. He kept seeing his father's somber face when he closed his eyes and even though he missed him, he felt the stirrings of something else there for the first time.

Anger. He felt angry.

He resented the load John had thrown on him.

For the first time. He resented it.

And it grew.

Had been growing.

The pain in his body pulled the jumbled thoughts back around. He was so confused.

He felt a cool cloth on his cheek and opened his eyes.

Ellis.

He felt a twinge of fear at her face, afraid that she was going to hurt him more. That soon that cool cloth was going to be scratching over his gunshot wound. She put her fingers to his lips and he pulled his head back a little, startled, until he realized that she was putting an ice chip into his mouth. He let it dissolve on his tongue.

He was confused.

He wanted to lean into her, let her touch his face, hear a feminine voice whisper soothing tones into his ear.

He wanted to assert himself, push her off, grumble at her to quit touching him. He'd never had mothering. He didn't need it now.

He wanted to make a witty comment, throw the flirt out, watch her bat it back at him.

He wanted to know where Sam was.

He wanted to cry.

He felt Ellis's hand ghost down his side and he whimpered in terror and pulled away.

"Easy, sweetheart."

His belly trembled as she touched him, anticipating pain.

She only looked and left him alone, murmuring some endearment.

She knocked Taco off the bed and then the cloth was cool and welcome on his forehead once more.

Chapter Text

John Winchester's face broke into a grin when he saw his son. The whiskey smile, the sad dark eyes, the flash of white teeth.

"I'm so proud of you."

"Dad!" Dean's voice caught with emotion at the sight of what he loved most in all the world besides Sammy. "I missed you so much."

He stepped forward to hug him and his questing arms went through his father. And then, caught in the grip of some invisible force, John was hauled up the wall and pinned on the ceiling.

"No!" Dean shouted as his hero burst into flames.

And suddenly those flames weren't his father burning on the ceiling-but down in Hell, burning, crying, his cheeks wet with tears. "I did it for you. All of it for you."

"Daaad!"

Dean thrashed, threw his head sideways, his breathing growing shallow, catching on pained pants.

Sam furrowed his brow and sat up from his spot on the floor. He was settled in with several cushions, an assortment of pillows, three big fluffy comforters and one purring Tom cat. "Dean." He said softly. "Wake up, man."

Dean rolled over onto his side, clutching at something that wasn't there. "Dad!"

Sam's heart broke. "Dean..." he said softly, untangling himself from the soft pile of Ellis's doting over-concern for his comfort.

Taco looked put out that he was made to move.

Dean's thrashing grew a little more dramatic and suddenly Ellis was in the doorway, sleep mussed, exhausted. "What's wrong?"

"I think he's having a nightmare." Sam approached him cautiously.

"Dean." His hand hovered over Dean's shoulder. "Dean..."

"Dad!" he whimpered, thrashing again.

"Don't let him hurt himself, Sam."

"I know." Sam said, not taking his eyes off his brother. "But I gotta be careful waking him up."

"Why?"

Sam touched his brother's shoulder and ducked as Dean's hand went out in a potentially deadly strike.

"That's why."

"Dean." Sam found an opening and grabbed both wrists. "Wake up."

A cry tore from Dean's throat and he tried to buck Sam's weight off him.

"Dean." Sam's voice was firmer. "Dean."

Dean's eyes snapped open. His teeth bared. He focused on his brother, dazed. "S'mmy?" His ragged breath caught on a sob.

"Yeah. It's me. You're dreaming."

Sam's brother panted, dropped his head back onto the pillow. "Let me go," he said miserably.

"Okay." Sam let his wrists go. "Just calm down. Easy, man."

The back of Sam's hand found his brother's forehead. "Ellis, he's still really hot. Really hot."

Dean blinked lazily, his cheeks flushed.

He wrapped his hand around Sam's arm. Sam let him, petting his brother's shoulder absently.

Ellis grabbed the thermometer, edged near the bed and pushed it into the young man's ear again. She couldn't get a reading until she tugged his earlobe down a bit to bounce it off of his ear drum.

She stopped. "105.8. Sam. I'm... I'm at a loss."

Sam's face tightened. He blinked rapidly. "We need to get him to a hospital."

"No." Dean protested.

"Dean. You're really sick. Really." Sam took a moment to realize how utterly futile and stupid it was to be trying to reason with him at the moment.

"Nuh."

Ellis stood looking at him. "I'm...I'm out of tricks."

Sam nodded, resolved. "I'm..." He paused. "You know what, I'm gonna call Bobby."

Bobby was there on the first ring. "Sam. How is he, son?"

Sam spared a glance at his brother. "He's...he's not good, Bobby."

"Where are you two?" Bobby's tone was all business. It sounded like he was in the car by the sound of a honking horn on the other end.

"We're at Dad's friend Ellis's place. We got the bullet out and gave him a blood transfusion but he's really sick I think there's a bad infection starting."

"Balls. You clean the wound?"

"Of course we cleaned the wound." Sam huffed.

"Don't give me attitude, boy."

Sam dropped his voice, chastened. "Sorry, Bobby."

"Balls. Don't act like I just killed your dog either...Did you debride the wound?"

Sam paused, a jolt of fear going through him. "We've been flushing it."

"There a bullet fragment in there?"

"I don't know, Bobby. We don't exactly have an x-ray machine at Ellis's." Sam couldn't keep the sarcasm in check.

"Well you know what? All the flushing in the world ain't gonna do a lick of good if he's still got foreign objects in that wound. Could be a fragment, hell, could be a piece of cloth that pushed it's way in when it went through his shirt. And you best not let it close around it or you're gonna be dealing with a huge infection."

"Dammit Bobby." Sam snapped, frazzled by the lecturing tone. "I'm trying, okay?"

The gruff voice came growling back. Pissed. "Knock it off, Samantha. This is Dean's life we're talking about here. So don't get all prickly with yer feelings."

Sam closed his eyes. His hand shook on the phone.

"Son, you get yourself together."

"Yes, sir." Sam said subconsciously.

"Sir? When the Hell have you ever called me sir? I ain't your Daddy, kid."

"Uh. Sorry Bobby."

There was a long suffering sigh from the other end. "You want to give me to that woman with ya while you get your shit together? She less of an emotional wreck than you?"

A smile tugged at Sam's lip and he gave his trademark little exhale through his nose, his gaze landing on her pretty little features that were pinched with stress. "Oh yeah. Ellis is just calm as can be."

He handed the cell phone to Ellis without explanation.

She looked perplexed at first and then said in a sweet voice, "Hello, Bobby."

"Sorry ya gotta shelter these idjits."

"I don't mind." She gave Sam a conspiratorial smile. "The boys are a cakewalk compared to John."

There was an amused snort. "Ain't that the truth." Bobby took an audible breath. "You wanna give me a read out on Dean? Sam's being dramatic."

Ellis furrowed her brow, instantly defensive. "Well its kinda dramatic to be here, Bobby."

"Okay, noted."

Ellis looked over to Dean's flushed face. "His temperature is hovering around 105.8. This is pretty close to a core temperature reading."

"Balls! You clean everything out? I mean you can't miss a fragment. Not one."

"I got the bullet out. We've been flushing it with peroxide. I've got him on penicillin."

"He conscious?"

Ellis looked to Dean again, then to Sam, who seemed lost in thought. "Off and on. He's very uncomfortable. Having nightmares about his dad."

"Poor kid. He stable?"

"Now that we got him out of shock, yeah."

"Is there anything you could have missed in there?" Bobby pushed again. "You making sure to keep it open to the air?"

"I don't know if I missed something." She replied, shrugging to Sam.

"You ever debride a wound?"

Ellis knew what it entailed. Didn't like the thought of it. "No."

"It ain't pretty but it'll get the damaged tissue and any remnants out. Worth a try."

"I don't know how to do it properly. Sam and I are thinking about taking him to the hospital."

"You take him there and you're going to have 10 FBI agents on your butt in a matter of minutes. Lifetime prison sentence for those boys."

"We're watching him die." She said, the emotion rising suddenly.

"Listen." Bobby was calm, forceful. "Debride the wound. Have Egghead use the laptop attached to his butt and look up some tutorial on how to do it. Do the usual to get the fever down, ice packs, cool bath. And have Sam break into a pharmacy and grab something stronger than 'cillian."

Ellis thought about her neighbor's ear infection. Rose. They could steal Rose's medication. She knew it was strong.

"Listen to me now," he said. "You got that?"

"Yes I do."

There was a weighted pause and then Bobby's tone sounded a bit suspicious. "How'd you know John? Never heard your name mentioned." He didn't seem to be happy to be out of the information loop.

"Oh, I've heard yours."

"I'm only the antichrist on Wednesdays."

"Oh good." She replied. "That's exactly what John said."

Bobby snorted with amusement. "He sure was a stubborn pig-headed bastard."

"I miss him too," Ellis replied, toying with the comforter on Dean's bed.

Bobby sighed. "Yeah. Me too. You take care of my boys."

"I will. Thanks."

She handed the phone back to Sam and went into the kitchen to collect her thoughts. Field surgery was not on her To Try List.

Chapter Text

Ellis grabbed a drink from the tap, heard something out front. She glanced in the direction of the driveway and froze at the vehicle with the government plates pulling in. She dropped the mug in the sink. The handle broke off in a spray of white shards. She raced in the direction of the guest bedroom.

"Sam!" She hissed. "Someone is here! Hide!"

There was knock on the door.

She doubled back, composed herself and answered it.

A tall black man who would have been pleasant-featured if his face wasn't composed into an intimidating mask stepped close to her personal space and flashed his badge. "Ms. Parnecki, I'm Agent Henrickson with the FBI. We have some questions about your involvement with the Winchesters."

Ellis acted shocked. "I haven't seen them in years."

"We know specifically you had a relationship with John Winchester."

This time, genuinely surprised, Ellis's eyebrows shot up. "I ..."

"Don't be coy, Ms. Parnecki. I know everything about you. I also know everything about John. The man was bad news. Grave robbing, satanic rituals, beheadings. Credit card fraud ...and his boys. His sons are worse. Charm and looks and cold-blooded killers."

Ellis paused, her hand on the door sweating, she knew her poker face fucking sucked. "I...I haven't talked to John in almost a year and a half." That much was true.

"Did you know about his involvement in any of this?"

"No." She said vehemently. "John would never."

"Oh he would. And he did. I'm sorry he played you. If he played you. You're into some strange things yourself."

"Excuse me?" Now she was pissed. What the fuck did he know?

"Rituals, witchcraft."

Ellis bristled. "I read tea leaves and palms. That's hardly weird shit."

"Then you have nothing to hide and you won't mind if we come in. And in case you do...I want to let you know we can obtain a search warrant so quickly your head would spin. The Winchesters were injured not too far from here and we have reason to believe maybe they came to ground at your place."

Ellis looked outside, past the men's shoulders. Sam had the sense to hide the car, thank God. Henricksen shoved her aside and she felt her heart constrict.

"There's no one here, and I'd rather you not be in my house." She whirled on him.

"Really? That's odd because your neighbors reported a tall good looking man coming in and out of this house earlier?"

"And that's all he was here for...the old in and out. We have a thing." Ellis said. "Now please leave."

Henricksen looked down at her. "Ms. Parnecki, you don't want to get on my bad side. I can make your life very difficult. Who is he?"

"My sex life is none of your business," she said defensively.

"It is if you are suspected of harboring fugitives. You had best cooperate."

Ellis stepped aside as he brushed his shoulder into her and barged past. Both of his men began to search around.

Sam heard the car in the driveway before Ellis's hissed warning. He peeked out of the curtain, saw the dark features of Henricksen in a government vehicle. "Shit."

"Dean." He dashed to the side of the bed.

"Huh?" Dean asked, only half-conscious.

Sam hooked his arms under Dean's and started to lift him into a sitting up position. Dean cried out. "Shhhhhh!" Sam leaned down to look him in the face. "You've got to be quiet. Not a sound. Not one. Got it?"

"Mmphf." His eyes were clearly not pulling focus. Sam took the muffled sound as an acknowledgment and helped him to stand.

Dean stood weakly on his own two legs as Sam dragged him up and sideways.

Without hesitation, Sam slung Dean's arm over his shoulders and held his weight. "We gotta move." He glanced around hurriedly for a place to duck into, noticed Dean's boots at the foot of the bed. "Fuck."

"Dean, stand. Just stay where you are." Sam carefully leaned Dean against the wall, grabbed the boots and opened the closet to shove them in. He tossed them into the mess at the bottom and remembered the open hole Ellis had mentioned to access pipes in the back.

Dean began to crumble under his own weight. Sam dove for him, grabbed his arm.

Dean's breath caught on an exhale and he crumpled against his brother's shoulder.

"Okay," Sam said, trying to push a path through the wreckage with his feet. "Come on, Dean." He pulled Dean along under his arm, holding him up. Dean stepped clumsily ahead, tripping on a box.

Sam caught him under his armpits. "Be careful."

Dean paused, trembling confused. "Where..."

Sam urged him ahead. "Dean, just go, man."

The urgency in the tone made Dean take another step forward. He put a hand over his side and hissed, his barefeet knocking into odds and ends on the floor.

"Keep walking. Come on." Sam pushed him onward.

Dean grunted. "S'mmy."

"Shhh." Sam whispered. "Keep going, Dean."

"Ugh." Dean paused, doubled slightly, trying to catch his breath, clearly disoriented and slow to respond.

"Shhh. Keep going. Walk, Dean." The younger Winchester shoved him inexorably forward.

Sam could hear voices. Ellis talking louder than she normally would, probably as a signal to them.

Dean doubled in half, breathing heavily.

Sam stepped around him so that he was in front and grabbed his arm, slung it back over his shoulder and shuffled forward, hand out, searching for an opening. And there it was, half their height but big enough to squeeze into. "Come on Dean, duck under."

Dean was shaking hard enough to be visible in the dim light. Sam pushed his head down and urged him forward. Dean went compliantly. The voices grew louder.

Certain his brother was in the hole, Sam cleared the several steps back and closed the closet door, plunging them into complete darkness. He grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket and opened it, using the weak glow as a flashlight. He headed back to the hole and slipped in after Dean.

It was cramped as Hell. He turned Dean sideways and crowded him a little deeper inside. Dean shuffled over, panting heavily. Sam finally got to a space where he could stand up, even though his nose was practically smacking into insulation in front of him. He could feel the pipe at his back. He glanced at Dean.

Dean's labored breaths were audible and he looked like he was about to pass out, sweat slicking his face. His color ashen. He bent forward again as far as was possible in their walled prison as another stabbing pain shot through him.

Sam took his forearm reassuringly. The voices grew louder. Just outside the bedroom door and then clearly inside it. Dean bit his lip, a moan escaped.

"Shhhhh."

Something scampered over Dean's bare foot in the space and his eyes shot wide. He jerked in surprise at the mouse that scrabbled with tiny claws over his skin. The movement caused him to bang his side into a pipe and he reflexively cried out.

Sam slapped his hand over Dean's mouth the stifle the sound. His muffled cry against the palm of his brother's hand turned into a dry sob. Sam pulled him close and kept him restrained. His brother was shaking against him, pale, sick.

"What was that?" Henricksen heard the cry and glanced into the vacant bedroom. "Smit, Canton, check the closet. Ms. Parnecki, you stay right here." He said, unholstering his gun and stepping in glancing around methodically, then looking under the bed.

Smit and Canton approached the closet and slid the doors open. There was a rustling deep inside. Smit shone his light amidst the piles of boxes, decorations, art supplies, pictures.

"What is in the closet?" Henricksen asked Ellis, furrowing his brow.

"Nothing," she protested from her spot. "That's my crafting closet. It looks like Martha Stewart threw up in there."

"If you're lying to us you're going to be roomies." He warned.

Sam's hand was over Dean's mouth, Dean breathing rapidly though his nose, turning grey with pain. Sam could feel how ungodly hot his brother was from his fever, wondered if he even knew what was going on. Dean had begun to sag against him, eyes rolling up into the back of his head. His weight pulled his brother off balance.

Sam moved his shoulder sideways against against the wooden frame for support and kept Dean close. He could see his brother's bare feet shifting to try to keep upright against the vertigo.

Dean put his own hands out to hang on to the wall and closed his eyes in a grimace. He'd gone very still and quiet enough to telegraph to Sam that he was aware of the gravity of the situation. Sam felt a flash of amazement at his brother's strength. Even now, he knew. KNEW when they were genuinely in trouble and tried to soldier through it.

The beam of a flashlight came very close to shining in the little opening they were in and Sam crushed in farther.

He could hear the agents moving forward, kicking aside boxes.

Canton pressed in further, looking at the maze of shit in Ellis's closet. "I don't see anything but I know I heard someone."

"We will tear apart this closet if we have to to find who is in there making noise," Henricksen warned."I know it ain't Martha Stewart."

Canton moved in deeper and suddenly a rustle came from his left. He swiveled to look, pushing a box over on accident that caused a chain reaction and went into Sam who crashed into Dean. Dean's cry was audible enough to be heard through Sam's hand.

It was joined and then drowned out by a loud yowl from another part of a closet. Taco meowed and bounced out of the darkness, startling both agents.

Canton banged his head and stepped out. "It's just a cat." He muttered, rubbing his head.

Smit shook his head. "Damn those things sound human."

Taco leapt on the wayward mouse that had made it just to the left of the closet opening and it squealed a little death cry.

Everyone stopped to look at the orange tabby. He picked up the limp grey field mouse and dropped it at Henricksen's feet.

Henricksen looked baffled at the cat and lowered his firearm. "Um. Thanks?"

Smit and Canton abandoned the closet and moved to search the rest of the house while Henricksen stood looking at Ellis.

"If I find out you are harboring known fugitives and murderers..."

Ellis stared him down a moment. "Taco, why did you try to feed this guy?"

"Make light of this all you want but we are going to be keeping tabs on you."

Ellis shrugged. "You're going to see a crazy cat lady and her boring neighbors. It's your time to waste, not mine."

"Yes it is. And I am in no hurry, Lady. By the way, you apparently have a mouse problem. Might want to take care of that before they eat your walls." Henricksen stepped over the mouse and exited the room.

Chapter Text

"No. Don't." Dean said, his jaw trembling. "Ellis, please don't."

"Oh sweetheart." She pet his short mussed hair, could still feel the heat radiating off of him like a toaster oven. "We have to keep it clean. You're infected, baby."

His brows rose into something vulnerable. "I want m'dad."

"I know." Ellis soothed. "I know. Just a little bit, okay?" She washed the wound with iodine and he flinched with a ripple of his abdominal muscles. "Just a little."

He groaned miserably, looking as if all of his sense of macho anything had been burned away to nothing in the wake of his illness.

"Easy, sweetheart."

Dean closed his eyes and cried out instinctively as the pain rose up again. "Sam!"

Sam rushed in from the other room, looking harried, his shirt askew, his belt half-buckled. "What?"

"He's in pain." Ellis said, flipping the spout down on the lid of the iodine. "He wants you."

"Dean." Sam took one of Dean's hands and enfolded it in his own. "Hey buddy, I'm here. I'm here. I was just using the bathroom. You scared the hell out of me, I almost peed on the wall."

Dean's chest was heaving. "S'mmy."

"I'm right here, Dean. I'm not going anywhere. Not at all."

"Don't." It was a petulant whine, almost a sick child's. He rolled sideways and his plain cotton t-shirt was soaked through the back with sweat.

"Hey, we've gotta let her clean it, buddy." Sam pulled him over onto his back.

"N...no." Dean thrashed weakly.

Ellis closed her eyes. "Poor baby."

Sam's eyes wandered to the soaked bed sheets, once lavender, now stained and wrinkled and wet. "Ugh. We've like killed your mattress... I'm really sorry, Ellis."

"Don't worry about that." Ellis put her hands on Dean's hip, lifted up his shirt up once more and pulled his loose lounge pants down a fraction. "Good boy." She inspected as close as she could. He was very protective of his side, trying to squirm away before she'd done anything.

"Okay." Ellis backed away for a minute looking worn.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Are you okay?"

She took an deep breath. "I just need a break for a minute. I'm so tired of hurting him."

"Yeah, me too." Sam toyed with the loose sheet. "I don't think our trip in the closet did him any good. I...I heard what Bobby said about debriding the wound. I haven't had any time to look up the technique but..." Sam left the rest unspoken.

Ellis nodded and bit back a sob.

Sam's eyebrows knitted together worriedly.

"I'm sorry." She choked. "Woman. Kinda my thing to bawl when under duress." She wiped her eyes.

"You know." Sam gave his loud little exhale through his nose. "I want to cry too. I get it."

"You can if you want. I don't care."

There was a long pause as if Sam was searching for the words. "I...I don't know, it's like I want to but I can't sometimes. It's weird... I think maybe it's a guy thing?"

"Emotional constipation."

He smiled a little, bright and beautiful and so perfectly Sam. Knees in the mud, limp, lolling into Dean's embrace.

Ellis felt her heart pound and stutter and the tears started again.

Sam misinterpreted it. "I'm sorry." He looked lost. "I'm sorry I brought him here."

"What?" Her lip trembled, she wiped her nose with her sleeve.

"We really just bring destruction wherever we go. It's like a freaking Winchester curse or something."

It is. She thought to herself. Then aloud... "I'm glad you came."

He looked guilty. "And now you have the FBI in your house. In your life."

"Oh don't worry about that." She replied, dismissively. "Worry that I'm probably going to be fired because I've used all my sick days from work."

Dean's groaning whimper interrupted their conversation. She knelt down. "I got him. Go research how to debride this so we can end this fucking infection. Afterward I have to rob my neighbor's house. Typical day in the life of Ellis Parnecki."

Sam laughed, spared his brother a worried glance as Ellis put her hand on his head again, stroking gently.

"You think they left someone to stake out the house?" Sam asked.

She shrugged. "I would." Then Ellis turned her attention back to Dean, her long hair falling onto his face before she brushed it away. "Shhhhhhh. It's okay, angel."

"Not an angel." Dean muttered.

She kissed his forehead maternally. "Sure you are."

Dean's body tightened again and he sucked in a hissing breath between his teeth. "No such thing as angels." He whispered.

"Sweetie. I'm gonna dig up the last of the whiskey. Let's try to take the edge off this while we wait." She looked at his sweet, boyish face, almost beautiful in it's symmetry and thought that she never saw anything look closer to an angel in her life.

Bobby Singer swung the old chevy van into the driveway of the little white house. It rattled and coughed, announced his arrival with a plume of black smoke that he figured he'd have to fix later. The fuzzy dice that Rufus had left on the mirror swung into his vision and he swore and ripped them down. This thing was a giant gas hog, but just about the most comfortable thing he owned, shag carpet on the ceiling and all. He scowled at the dark unmarked vehicle up the street from him and sighed. Definitely a government vehicle. They knew something or were watching for something. Surveillance. He figured at least he looked like a plumber or repair man. If he came out of her house a few hours later with some old pipe and riffraff he could make it look like he was on a call for a plumbing company. His vehicle fit the bill at least. He killed the engine and grabbed the tackle box of medical supplies, walked up the stairs and knocked.

An attractive middle aged woman answered the door. Her straight blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail. He nudged past her without introduction and closed the door. "You got a suit outside watchin."

She stared at him. "Bobby?"

"Yeah. You must be Ellis." He pulled up his sleeves, and dumped the supplies on the floor. "I'm gonna pretend I'm looking at your sink. Just play along."

He walked into the kitchen, ducked under the sink and made a show of waiting there until his back hurt, then got up and nodded. "Show me where he is."

Ellis stood a bit taken aback. "I thought you were in South Dakota."

"I was, two days ago. Started heading this way the minute Sam called me saying his brother'd been shot. I figured you idjits weren't gonna do it right. The minute you said he's got an unresolved infection, I knew I had to get up here, so I sped the rest of the way. You had some law company a bit back?"

"Yeah. Sam and Dean hid and some Agents did a quick search. I think we're in over our heads."

Bobby nodded, scratched his unkempt beard. "I tell you what, that boy goes septic you're gonna be dealing with something so far over your heads you might as well shoot him yourself."

Ellis winced. "You don't mince words, I see."

"What's the point? I figure say what you mean or don't say nothing. Where is he?"

Bobby sucked in a breath at the sight of Dean's face, simultaneously flushed and pale. "Balls."

Sam was standing on the other side of the bed, fiddling with a sheet. He looked up, bis boyish face a study of open surprise and relief. "Bobby."

Bobby nodded. "Good to see you, Sam."

He sat down next to Dean's bedside on a little antique chair and bent over, his tone kind. "Hey, son. Open your eyes for me."

Dean's lids fluttered and came open at half-mast. "B...Bobby?"

"Yeah. How you feeling?" He put his hand on Dean's forehead and swore. "You're hotter 'n hell, kid."

"I'm cold." Dean mumbled.

"You in pain?"

He didn't respond for a second, drifting out. Bobby felt a stab of concern. He seemed worse than he'd anticipated.

"Dean?"

"Hmmm?"

"You in pain, son?"

"Y..uh."

Bobby started feeling the glands under the young man's neck. He pulled down the sheets and pulled up the shirt to look at the red angry wound. "BALLS! You two numbnuts haven't debrided it yet have you?"

"I was researching the method and then I got kinda waylaid by the FBI." Sam said.

"Get all the crap out of her living room, Sam. Mind they don't see you. I got a big med kit up there. We're doing some emergency surgery right now. Where's the bathroom to wash up? We all need clean hands."

Bobby touched Dean's stomach and the effect was electric. Dean flinched away with a startled cry. "Hey. Hey easy, boy. Jus' me."

Dean rolled sideways to try to guard his belly and Ellis and Bobby pushed him back over.

Bobby palpated his abdomen a little while Ellis stood at Dean's head and soothed him.

Dean cried out and thrashed.

"He's been very overprotective of the spot lately. We've been flushing it." Ellis explained.

"Flushing it ain't gonna be good enough if there's some foreign debris that ain't being flushed out. Could have a bullet fragment although sometimes they sterilize themselves right in the barrel. It's probably the cloth from the fabric that got pushed in there or maybe some debris from his own hands if he touched it after."

Bobby took off his baseball cap and wiped his brow, steeling himself for what lay ahead.

"We're gonna really clean it now, Ellis. You got a strong stomach?"

"No." She said without hesitation. "I freak out at those ASPCA commercials. And when I get a papercut."

"Well. Hang around with these idjits, you best get one. I'm gonna need you and Sam to assist me. We're probably gonna need to tie him down. I need one of you to flush the wound while I'm working." He dropped his voice so that Dean wouldn't overhear. "I have some Vicodin in the trunk and a lot of whiskey. We can get him as sloshed as we dare but it's still gonna hurt like a bitch."

"Of course it is." She said disgustedly. "Of fucking course. Because that's all this has been for days. One big fucking Dean torture fest. Goddamn it."

He chose to ignore the tirade. "We're gonna need antibiotics. There's no way around that. I brought what I had on hand but it ain't much." Bobby's blue eyes slid to Dean and for a fraction he softened, the affection shining through his expression. "Poor kid. He looks miserable. He's...he's a good boy. Always has been. Gotta smart mouth and an attitude problem but he's gotta good heart."

"I know." She said. "Kinda like Daddy."

"Better man than Daddy." Bobby replied immediately.

She blinked, shocked. He could read how affronted she was on her face. That answered all he needed to know about their working relationship. Pretty woman, blonde haired, kinda like Mary.

"My neighbor had Cipro for an ear infection that I know she abandoned for something else. I doubt she threw them out. We can swipe them."

Bobby started sliding the nightstand around, his mind back on the task at hand. "He been eating, drinkin, pissing?"

Ellis paused. "He hasn't touched a lick of food in days except some broth I've gotten Sam to spoon him. He's drinking very little. I'm mainly keeping him hydrated with IV fluids under the skin."

"Pissin?" Bobby pushed brazenly. "His kidneys still online?"

"I think a little. But I haven't been taking him to the bathroom. That's in Sam's court."

Bobby's square-jawed face tightened with a flash of concern across his features. He took off his dinged up baseball cap and tossed it on the side of the table, ran his fingers through his thinning hair. "Balls. This poor kid."

His poor boys. His heart hurt for them, really. So much on their plates so young. "These are good boys and this past year fate's just been throwing them against the wall again and again."

Ellis looked at him and for a moment she seemed very serious and very wise and not at all the ditz he had her pegged for. "It's not gonna stop anytime soon." She left the room and Bobby stared after her wondering what the fuck that was all about.

Chapter Text

Dean's chest heaved as he drew in a panicked gulp. "D'n't. No. Bobby. No..." He rolled his head to look pleadingly at his brother. "S'mmy, tell him we don't need to."

Sam swallowed and composed his voice. He touched his brother's shoulder. "Dean, you've got a really bad infection. We're cleaning it out and you'll be feeling so much better, okay?"

"No." Dean choked, utterly terrified, even through his haze.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Well so much for the Vicodin making him loopy or relaxed. Sam, son, I need you at his head to keep him calm." He looked at Dean's panicked expression. "Well... as calm as you can. Ellis, I'm gonna need you here to rinse the wound as I'm diggin."

She looked pale.

"I can do it," Sam said.

Bobby shook his head. "She's got tiny hands, they won't be gettin' in my way. And he's gonna respond best to you, son."

Sam looked like he didn't like the verdict but nodded his assent.

Ellis still seemed as if she was trying to regroup herself.

"I'm gonna need a huge pot of boiling water." Bobby continued, all business and efficiency. "I need to sterilize everything. Everything and anything that's gonna come in contact with him. We need to wash our hands thoroughly. I need clean towels."

"B'bby," Dean slurred, rolling his eyes toward him, swallowing thickly. "I can't."

Bobby turned his attention to him a moment. "Sure you can, son." His voice was paternal.

"N...uh." Dean's face scrunched up.

Bobby sighed. "Can't reason with him. He's too sick."

Ellis took Dean's hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. She could feel the pulse pounding in his wrist. "Dean, this is going to be over really soon."

"First thing I gotta do," Bobby said aloud, his expression pulled into a scowl of concentration, "is clamp the wound open a little. He ain't gonna like this. Sam keep a good hold of him, son."

Bobby inserted a small metallic clamp speculum and opened it slowly.

Dean cried out, thrashing as much as he could under his bonds.

"Easy, boy." Bobby barked.

The young man's whole body went tense and he started trembling. "N...n..no. Please! Please!"

"Hey," Sam whispered in his ear. "Stay with me, Dean."

Dean's eyes wandered down to the source of the pain and Sam blocked his view by putting his hand under Dean's chin and tilting it up. "Don't look, buddy. Don't look. Stay with me. Focus right here."

Ellis flushed the wound a little and Dean's nose flared as he began to breathe rapidly through it, almost hyperventilating.

"God. Those pain meds haven't done anything." She said, watching his chest rise and fall rapidly.

Bobby kept the scowl on as he worked. "It's that kid's damn tolerance." He picked up a scalpel. "He can drink any one under the table. Narcotics hardly effect him unless you have enough to kill a horse. His Daddy was the same way, it seems."

He went quiet for a moment. "See now you go in and cut away any tissue around the area. I'm gonna need you to flush it, Ellis."

She swallowed, shaking.

"Hey," He looked at her sharply. "Don't fall apart on me. I need you here." His tone was a rebuke. "Sam, keep a good hold on him."

Dean's entire consciousness was filled with pain. Being moved hurt, just when he'd start to drift off, hands were moving him, shifting him. Voices talking to him, rough and affectionate. Calm and familiar. Maternal and loving. He'd been frightened earlier but then the warm fevered thoughts of his mind wandered into a Vicodin haze.

When he realized that they were wrapping him in sheets to tie him down, his eyes shot open and he struggled to get up to no avail. Sam had an iron grip on him and Bobby was lashing him to the bed frame. He started to panic again, trying to wriggle free.

"Hey." The voice said. "Dean."

It was Sam.

"S'mmy?"

"Right here, buddy."

He felt a hand on his leg. It was Ellis. Soft, soothing. "It's okay, sweetheart."

"No." He mumbled, rolling his head fitfully. "Uh."

Sam was settling in behind him, lifting his head into his lap and wrapping his arms under Dean's armpits. "I've gotcha, buddy."

Dean blinked lazily. His side hurt, he felt air brush over it and it was enough to make him groan. Hands were on his hip and he tensed, bracing for pain. And there it was, something pressing his side...into his side. He cried out as it went in and began to beg, all pride gone. "NO. Please, please!"

White hot pain lanced through him, voices were trying to calm him. He just wanted away. Away from the pain.

He started to look down and Sam's big hand caught him under the jaw and pushed his head up and back. He rolled his eyes upward and saw his brother looking at down him, mouth drawn in a grim line.

"I'm right here. Stay with me, Dean. Stay with me. You're gonna feel something-"

"Oh god!" Dean cried out and arched his head back into Sam, banging his skull into his brother's stomach. It was horrible. Felt exponentially worse than Ellis fishing the bullet out the first time. He gasped and panted and fought. Felt Sam's grip tighten around his chest and arms like a vice. "Easy, easy. Shhh. Okay buddy. Okay. I've gotcha."

He felt he was going to lose consciousness and then the sensation was out, until he felt Ellis start to flush the wound. Another cry peeled from him. "Stop! Please fucking... stop." He was hiccuping in between panicked gulps.

"Dean." Sam's grip tightened again, his arms around him in a desperate bear hug, firm enough to hurt. "Don't make me break your rib." His voice was strained with effort.

"Okay, boy. We're almost done." Bobby assured.

"See?" Sam panted, his voice soft like when he talked to a victim. "Almost done. You're doing good."

Dean struck out blindly, felt his elbow connect with something. Possibly the side of Sam's head.

There was a searing horrible internal pain again that peeled up inside of him, branched around and down his hip, into his groin, up into his ribs and his lungs. He vaguely heard himself making gasping heaving sobbing noises.

"Almost done, kid. And here it is."

Dean's body sagged like a tire that someone let all the air out of. He couldn't catch his breath. Couldn't stop making noise.

He felt Sam pat his head with a few roughly affectionate slaps. "It's over bud. They got it."

"Hey. It's over. You did good," Sam coaxed.

Dean was still making horrible gasping sounds of pain. Sam was shaking almost as hard as Dean. He slipped out from behind his brother.

"Untie him!" Ellis was scrambling for the edge of the sheet and trying desperately to get the knot lose.

Bobby started on the other set. "Jesus woman, calm down. It ain't a race. He ain't goin' nowhere." His bloody fingers loosened it.

The minute Sam was out of the way and Dean was loose, she was on the bed.

Ellis pulled Dean up into her arms and held him against her breast, muffling his dry gasping sobs into her shirt. "Shhhh. Shhhh."

Sam and Bobby looked done in.

"Balls," Bobby whispered. "That was hard. I need a drink."

Tears were standing in Sam's eyes.

Ellis rocked him absently. Dean's hands went up and fisted into the fabric, weak and trembling.

She kept him in the embrace, rubbing his back in gentle soothing circles, ignoring the fact that when leaning on her like he was a child he was fucking heavy. He pushed against her, burrowing for comfort. "We're done, baby. It's all over. We're done. Shhh."

He dropped his full weight on her which she could barely hold and his head slid down into her lap.

"I'm so sorry." She stroked his shortly cropped hair.

"S'mmy?"

Ellis looked up. "Sam, he wants you, I think."

Sam knelt on the edge of the bed, took Dean's limp hand. "I'm here, Dean."

Dean didn't respond much, his body a dead weight, slack except for the trembling that shook his big frame for a second or two every few minutes.

"That was hard and you did good." Sam assured.

Dean responded with a squeeze of his fingers in between his labored breathing.

Ellis kept petting.

Bobby walked back in and raised an eyebrow at the scene. He was done with beer and had moved on to the hard stuff. He assessed them a moment. "He okay?"

"Yeah." Sam said.

"No." Ellis replied.

"I hate to interrupt Sharing and Caring Theater, but you should probably let 'im get some sleep."

Ellis visibly bristled. "You have a problem with me comforting him, Singer."

Bobby's brows narrowed, and he opened his mouth in a half scowl at the challenge in her voice.

Sam's eyes darted between them apprehensively, sensing some pending eruption. "He's right though. We should let him sleep."

"What, he can't fall asleep in my lap?"

The men seemed a little off put by the tone of her reply. Sam gave Dean's hand one last firm squeeze and wandered over to Bobby. "Leave it. She's in Momma Bear Mode." He said, his voice low.

"Yeah. I see she has that setting. Guess maybe there's no harm in letting her stay with him for now."

Sam nodded. "He's really hurt. I haven't seen him this bad."

He swallowed, clearly emotional, likely on the verge of crying.

"Awww Hell." The older hunter cocked his head. "Don't you fall apart too. Already got one over-reacting female. Don't need two."

Sam choked down his emotion, shoved it under, reined it back, his handsome face composing itself carefully. He nodded.

Bobby put his arm around him. "Let's get you fed, kid."

Chapter Text

Dean finally was able to rein in his choking gasps of pain, almost hiccuping as he suppressed them, his fingers clinging to Ellis's leg. He became aware of her stroking his head. Her gentle fingers along his scalp, moving slowly, carding his hair in different directions. He grounded himself with it. -With the feel of her warm denim clad thigh under his cheek. The sound of her voice, god, that sound of a female voice. He still hurt so badly he couldn't move. He tried to get his breathing to steady. Couldn't quite. It kept being drawn in in hitching shaking gasps and when his ribs expanded, his side lanced him. He kept the breaths shallow. Hummed a vocalization.

"Take your time. I'm right here." She moved to his neck, rubbing the abused muscles. It felt so good in contrast to the pain. He couldn't take anything on his side. Even the feel of his t-shirt was quickly feeling like too much.

"'Llie?" he mumbled softly.

He heard her gasp in a sob at the sound.

"Wha'?" He managed through his tight throat, aware he'd hurt her somehow.

He heard her sniff. "It's okay, baby."

Her hand moved to his broad shoulders, back and forth, gentle. He closed his eyes, something about it made him want to cry. Something about her being nice to him. It was easy to buck up and be a man with Bobby or Sam's brand of affection, easy to suck it up, an instinct really, but this...this doting safety made him want to collapse in on his pain. It felt scary somehow.

He tried to pull himself up and absolutely could not. Did not have the strength left in his body, his arms trembled weakly below his weight.

Her hand was on his forehead, testing.

"You're still very warm."

"'M okay."

Her hand went to his bicep, rubbing soothing circles, lulling him back into wanting to be weak.

"Relax, sweetheart."

He tried to swallow, his throat was dry; it hurt both from yelling and the lump in it that was there from feeling distinctly sorry for himself.

She leaned down over him and her long blonde hair brushed his face. He closed his eyes at its sweetness, reached up and brushed a lock of it with his fingers.

She smiled, took the back of his hand and kissed the skinned knuckles with a maternal air.

Dean felt confused again. A little disoriented and out of sorts. "Mom?" He mumbled softly.

The hand paused, stilled, then continued its gentle rubbing. "Yes, sweetheart."

"Hurts."

"I know. Try and relax." She started sing humming Hey Jude to him, almost like she didn't really know the lyrics which struck him as odd. But it was such a comfort that he started to drift. He emerged a few times with the pain and each time she started her soft singing. But then sometimes when he swam back up, it was Ellis Parnecki humming to him. And sometimes it was mom. He snuggled his cheek into her lap and drifted into a fitful sleep.

Sam poked his head into the guest bedroom. Ellis was slouched against the headboard looking tired. Looking somehow older then her forty odd years. Dean's head was in her lap, he seemed to be dozing.

Ellis had her eyes trained on his face, looking lost in thought. She looked up at Sam's approach.

"How is he?" Sam asked softly.

She answered in a hushed tone. "He's been drifting in and out."

"He still hot?"

She nodded.

"I got some of Bobby's antibiotics to give him when he wakes up." He held out an amber pill bottle, then padded in on his bare feet and placed them on the nightstand that had been moved about ten times that night. "Here's what we have for now. Gonna have to break into the neighbor's. Of course we're under surveillance so that should be interesting. Bobby just left for show because he's posing as a plumber. I'm sure he'll be around watching from somewhere nearby. He said we need to get the fever down."

She nodded. "We should. He's very warm."

Sam studied Dean with a rare wave of undisguised affection.

"You wanna take over?" She asked.

"No. You look like you've got him all sorted out." Sam smiled, dimples like John's. He wasn't sure why she looked like she wanted to cry.

Agent Steve Canton blinked at his cell phone, flicked his eyes back up to watch the old van with the plumber pull out of the driveway followed by a plume of dark exhaust. After the mouse in the closet and with the age of the house he had no doubt her galvanized pipes would be a costly and time consuming Son of a bitch to fix.

His mind wasn't on that, however. It was on the text that had just pinged in on his cell phone: Brandon is going into surgery tonight.

His heart beat grew irregular, his stomach tight with worry. His boy. Sick as hell. And he wasn't there. There were times he regretted having a family. There were times he regretted having this job too. But the family came with more pain.

He called his wife.

Ellis laid another bag of peas on Dean's inner thighs. He had cold packs under his arms, a cool cloth on his forehead.

Sam blinked tiredly. "Well I think that's about every frozen vegetable you have in the house."

She pressed the thermometer into his ear again, thankful she'd spent the extra money on it. It had proven useful this weekend, that was for certain. "It's down half a degree."

"Yay." Sam replied without enthusiasm.

"You want to watch him while I attempt to swipe some meds?"

"Attempt? He needs them." Sam said, "if you don't think you can get them, let me. We can't botch this."

Ellis dropped her eyes. "I've never stolen anything before."

Sam stood up, eager to be called into action. To do anything but sit. Anything but sit and be fucking worthless while his brother slowly died. "Let me. I'm good at stealing things."

She blinked. "You know, Harvard Boy, you say some shit that truly frightens me now and then."

"Stanford," Sam corrected.

"I'm sorry. I'll get my ivy league insults straight next time...we're under surveillance..."

"I can slip out the back and break into her house. No one will see me."

"Sam...I'm not so sure. She's probably home."

"Just knock on the door and distract her. I can slip in."

Ellis looked at their ailing patient's limp form, all dark lashes and boyish looks. "Should we leave Dean alone right now?"

Sam looked at him reluctantly. "I..." he seemed to reach a decision. "If we have to: yes. This shouldn't take long."

Ellis rapped on the front door and waited impatiently, a bundle of nerves.

Rose opened her door and blinked in obvious surprise since Ellis never actually attempted to seek out any of her neighbors. "Ellis? Is something wrong?"

"Umm." Ellis cast around for words. "It's Taco. I can't find him."

"You mean her? Didn't you find out he was a girl?" Rose adjusted her wire rimmed bifocals, looking prim.

"Hard habit to break. I've been calling him a boy for a year so I'm sticking to that pronoun."

"Well I'll let you know if I see her." Rose replied a little dispassionately.

Sam crept around back behind the neighbor's deck and almost slid on a pile of wet leaves and into the plastic covered swimming pool. He grabbed for a railing and righted himself, then climbed the steps of the back deck and checked the back door. It was locked. He glanced into the windows and to see if he could see anyone inside. He saw the blinking light of a television going. But no one seemed to be in the room.

He tested the window, pushing up on it gingerly. Locked. Of course. The neighbor just had to be a security freak, because why not?

Suburban. Sam tried to think of every suburbanite cliche he could muster. He cast around for likely hiding places for a spare key. He lifted a few potted plants... some large flat rocks.

Nothing.

He took out his beat up leather wallet and started to jimmy the lock with a credit card. Something Dean had taught him years ago.

Dean. His heart clenched. The only thing he really had left in this world. Dean. His hands were trembling at the thought of losing his brother. He pushed through the nerves, grounding himself in the moment , focusing on the task at hand. The lock clicked open. He crept inside the house with a dexterity and stealth that belied his size.

Rose went to close the door and Ellis grabbed the handle impetuously. "Rose...I could sure use some help looking for him."

"I have dinner to cook and a bath to take. She's a cat, she'll be fine."

"But he's in heat and hasn't been spayed yet, so I have to get him!" Ellis said with a semi-crazed desperation.

Rose gave up on the feminine pronoun. "Why don't you have your beau look for him for you?"

"My beau?" Ellis blinked dazzedly.

"The young man you had in your bedroom earlier. The one you keep making so much noise with."

"Oh." Her suddenly cool attitude clicked into place. Rose was anything but cool toward her. Nosy, overly friendly, overtly prying...a little put off by her dabbling in psychic readings... but cold and indifferent...no.

Now that she thought Ellis was a sexual pervert with young men chained in her guest room or something, it was going to be a whole 'nother story.

"He's... Rose can we talk? I'm having such a hard time."

Rose raised her eyebrow with a skeptical face that would put Professor McGonagall to shame. "I would rather not talk about your...activities, Ellis. I only wish you'd keep the noise level down. There's no need for that much noise. None."

"We were watching a horror movie and had it turned too loud. I'm sorry."

"Ellis. Dear. Don't take this the wrong way, but have you ever sought psychiatric help?"

Chapter Text

Sam slipped around the corner of the pristine little two story. He saw a first floor half-bath and made a beeline for it, quick as a cat. He dove for the medicine cabinet. It glided open on smooth hinges, giving him a glimpse of his own haggard face in the mirror before he began scanning the shelves. He started sorting through to no avail, sliding things to look behind them. He knocked some deodorant into the sink with a clatter and tried to shove it back in. It was a haphazard job and would probably come flying out again once it was opened. Luckily, he wouldn't be the one to open it.

Sam rounded the corner and bolted up the stairs looking for the next most likely place to find medications. The upstairs bathroom.

Dean woke up freezing and shaking and disoriented, his green eyes red rimmed from pain and fever. "Sam?" He whimpered, his throat working with his swallow. "Sammy?"

He pushed the cold packs off of his body and moaned, a gasping 'muh' sound. "Sam? Dad?"

He rolled sideways and pain lanced through his side and made him want to die. He seized up, locked into a fetal position until he could catch his breath. He hurt so badly. He was actually scared. "Dad?" He whispered. Then muttered in an undertone. "Daddy?"

He waited for a soft hand on his forehead and an affectionately grumbled baritone. Or big arms to pull him up in an embrace. He blinked. Wait. He wasn't a kid anymore, was he? The jumbles of time and thoughts wouldn't fall into place.

A meow greeted him and a purr as something warm pressed into his back from behind.

Cats? They didn't have cats. Had never owned cats. Was he at some random chick's place? Was he dying? He was dying. He could feel it.

The purr buzzed against his spine, nuzzling in response.

"Sammy?" He called again. "S'mmy."

He started to try to pull himself to his feet and froze with the pain of it. Curling up into a ball and groaning with the strain.

He felt the cat's paw on his ass and heard a small burr.

After a few minutes, Dean managed to pull himself up right and stand on legs as shaky as a newborn colt's. He swayed dangerously for a minute. Put a hand against his side with a hiss.

Resolutely he stepped forward, a sensation in his side heavy and stabbing and dragging through his stomach. He panted, dizzy. "Sammy?" The sensation of not being able to place where he was began to frighten him.

The cat followed along at a trot, tail held high like an orange flag making little burring sounds and cheeps. Dean narrowed his eyes, his focus swimming. He knew the cat somehow, he just couldn't quite place how or what was going on. He leaned against the doorway, sweat trickling down his forehead.

Canton loosened his tie and ran his fingers through his russet hair. He looked up once more and saw Ellis Parnecki talking animatedly with the neighbor. He wasn't stupid enough to let her draw his entire attention. It was always important to take in everything-not just the most obvious. That's how magicians used subterfuge for magic, they drew your attention away from the trick. That's how smart criminals did it too. And these Winchesters were smart. He narrowed his hazel eyes and let his gaze sweep the property. Nothing but bushes and trees and suburban houses.

Canton wiped the sweat off his brow while he tried to bring his focus back to his job and not his wife and child. It was near impossible to do...until he saw the tall figure slide around the back of the building.

He grabbed his gun and got out of the car, his regulation dress shoes scuffing on the cement as he hurried to get around the back of the house with out being seen.

Sam took the steps two at a time as he hurtled up them. He moved with an efficiency borne of practice as he scoped out the hallway and located the bathroom. He jogged in, nearly tripping over the bath mat and opened the medicine cabinet. He was greeted by Pepto Bismul, tums, toenail clippers and a billion beauty creams. He brushed his hand over the shelves anxiously.

SHIT.

"Where does she keep the medications?" He muttered, peeling open the drawers to the custom vanity. Nothing there. He felt his heart start to pound. Somewhere...she had to have meds somewhere. No one was above middle age without at least one fucking prescription for something.

Dean.

His brother was so fucking sick. Terrifyingly sick. He needed something to give him. Where else would she keep it? The kitchen cupboards? The bedroom?

Sam peeled into the bedroom, his sound muffled by the beige carpeted floors. He heard Ellis's voice from the downstairs trying to cajole Rose into talking. He just needed a little longer.

The room was traditional. Wood furniture, an obnoxiously flowered comforter. Pictures of family all over. Probably something that Sam would have hoped for his future to be like at one point. He went through the drawers of one dresser to no avail and then scrambled to the nightstand, feeling like this was a timed elimination round on a game show.

He opened the solid Amish crafted beside drawer and bingo. There were several amber bottles of varying sizes. Sam grabbed all of them and started to eliminate as he went. There were a few. Blood pressure meds. Diabetes meds. Viagra.

Well Sam now knew something about Mr. Rose Whoever.

He pawed through them looking for any antibiotic.

He didn't see any. Not one that he recognized as being an antibiotic at all.

There were footsteps on the stairs and Sam froze.

He slammed the dresser closed and looked around frantically. Left with no other option, he slid under the bed, grateful the floor was carpeted. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light but as he lay belly down on the floor, he saw it. Under the legs of the night stand, an amber pill bottle marked Cipro lay like the treasure at the end of a rainbow.

Ellis raised an eyebrow. "Psychiatric help?"

Rose pursed her lips, looking severe in her seriousness. "These...bedroom practices of yours...some women are naturally promiscuous, but really. The surrounding houses can hear you, dear. And this doesn't really seem like you. What I'm trying to say is have you ever been tested for bipolar?"

Ellis widened her eyes. "Bipolar?"

Depression, she thought to herself. She sure had that. Not that anyone knew. Anxiety. But bipolar? Where was that coming from?

"Hypersexuality can come with the mania phases."

Ellis repressed a smirk. "Rose, I'm fine really."

Rose lost some of her sweetly patronizing tone and seemed a bit more hostile. "In which case, we need to set some boundaries about who you bring into your house."

That set Ellis off. People trying to control her. Like her damned family. "I'm an adult. And I own the house."

Rose put her hand on the door handle. "This is a quiet suburban neighborhood, always has been until you moved in with your riff raffy clients coming in and out all hours of the night, and law enforcement asking questions... We told them you were loud."

Ellis sighed. "Thanks, Rose. Thanks a bunch."

Rose was on a roll with no signs of stopping. Apparently she was going to lay every grievance she'd built up over the years on Ellis right fucking now. "And those cats."

"Cat. I have one cat."

Ellis knew she wasn't popular, having nothing in common with her neighbors. It always came back to bite her in the ass on random occasions. "He pees in my bushes."

"He's a cat. Cats pee in bushes. Look Rose..."

"Don't 'Look Rose' me, Ellis. We all know you're into satanic worship and sex rituals over there."

Ellis stood flummoxed. Unsure whether to be angry or laugh. "Sex rituals? What!"

Damn. The neighbor's idea of Ellis apparently had a lot more fun than real Ellis.

"I'm reporting this to the homeowners association along with the peeling paint on your porch."

Rose went back inside and closed the door.

Shit! She thought helplessly. Definitely not enough time for Sam to have stolen what he needed.

Sam tried to silence his breathing as the foot steps approached. The legs came into view and he froze as if the slightest movement would get him caught even though he was out of sight.

The legs paused and Sam heard her muttering to herself about horrible people. He could only guess he knew who that horrid person was.

He heard the sound of something unzipping and his heart stuttered.

Oh god no! Fucking no. He didn't want to be the captive audience to an old lady strip tease. Her pants fell to the floor. He caught sight of swollen ankles and varicose veins.

He pressed his cheek to the carpet and prayed for death.

Her blouse joined the pants. She bent down to retrieve them and Sam experienced the two fold horror of A) Seeing more of her body than he wanted to and B) Knowing if she just rotated her head up about 20 degrees she was going to come face to face with him.

Luckily she didn't and shoved the clothes into the hamper near the door way. She walked out of the room.

He couldn't grab the Cipro fast enough when he heard the bathroom door close. He slithered out from underneath the bed and took off down the hall and stairs as fast as his long legs could carry him. Sam had hardly bolted out the back door and skidded to a halt with a surprised yelp as he came face to face with the barrel of a semiautomatic law enforcement-issued Glock.

"Don't move, Winchester."

Chapter Text

Sam put his hands up and stood immobile. "I..." he shut up before he said anything else, realizing he'd only be digging the hole deeper. What was funny was he was no longer even scared of the prospect of trouble with the law. He was only scared about not getting to Dean in time.

"Drop whatever is in the prescription bottle."

"Please," he begged sincerely. "I need to give it to my brother."

"Your brother will be taken to the hospital and given medical care as soon as I call this in. Turn around."

Sam did.

Canton took out his handcuffs and froze as he heard a gruff voice behind him.

"Drop your gun and let the boy go or I'll fill you full of buckshot."

Dean stumbled into the living room. The small walk was taking an incredible amount of effort. He was breathing heavily and trying to keep his balance, which was difficult with the cat meowing at his feet.

"Sam?" He glanced up and noticed Ellis's couch. Some small part of his consciousness recognized it. His panic lessened slightly at something familiar. He headed for it, flopped there for a minute and the pain in his side grew unbearable at the motion. He cried out in a few heaving gasps and fell sideways, gripping onto the green cushion, teeth bared.

The cat sat at Dean's feet and looked at him curiously, orange tail swishing in agitation like a metronome.

Dean buried his face in the cushion until he got control again.

He suddenly remembered his father was dead and it hit him in a surging wave of grief. He started to cry, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Dad. Why. Why did you do this to me?

He wanted him so badly. He wanted his Daddy.

He felt something cold and wet touch his nose and jerked back in surprise to see the cat standing on hind paws, pink nose in Dean's face, staring appraisingly with yellow eyes.

Dean grumbled and shoved it away, annoyed something had interrupted his rare sob fest.

He clambered back to his feet, dizzy with the effort, hardly able to stand. He headed for the door. He was close enough to be reaching for it when Taco wound between his feet and tripped him.

Dean went down like a sack of flour, hitting the wooden floors with a resounding thump.

He could not do anything about it. His limbs refused to cooperate and he lay there in a sprawl shaking, the cold wood under his cheek hard and unyielding.

The cat jumped up and curled up on his lower back, just above the curve of his ass.

Ellis jogged to the backyard and her heart stopped as she saw Bobby marching a Federal Agent in front of him at gunpoint.

Her mouth went agape.

"Oh my God! We're kidnapping federal agents now? Are you insane?" She whispered angrily through clenched teeth.

"He had Sam, didn't have much choice. Open the door before we're seen." Singer fired back.

Sam pushed the back door open and they piled in.

Ellis closed it on squeaky hinges and the old rolled glass pane rattled. She rounded on them. "You assholes! I'm not going to prison over this!"

Canton raised an eyebrow. "Should have thought about that before housing fugitives."

"Shut up," Bobby barked.

"I..." Ellis heaved in a panicked breath. "I can't do prison. I'll last five seconds! I'll be a prison bitch to some girl named Helga!"

"Woman, shut up!" Bobby looked done with everyone and everything. He kept his firearm aimed at Canton warily. "Sam, get me some rope."

Sam looked around, a little lost. "Yeah, I'll just pull it out of my magic rope stash, Bobby."

"Get the stuff left over from tying Dean, idjit. I saw it in the guest room. " Bobby tightened his jaw. "It's your fault we're in this mess. Can't rob a house worth a damn."

It was said like not committing burglary on a regular basis was a crime.

Sam didn't respond to the rebuke, he just disappeared into the bedroom.

There was a surprised yell and he peeled around the corner, wide eyed. "He's gone."

"What?" Ellis and Bobby asked in unison.

"He's gone!"

"How? That kid ain't mobile enough to be anywhere."

"Dean!" Sam shouted. "Dean!" He set off searching the house.

Bobby waved Canton over to a chair off of the kitchen. "Sit."

Ellis put her head in her hands, shaking.

Dean's pale form was sprawled in front of the door, legs akimbo, his eyes shut tightly. He looked dead.

Sam slid on his knees. "Dean! Dean!"

Dean stirred at the shout.

"Hey. Hey, buddy." Sam's tone was gentle, his hand on his brother's jaw. His brows rose into parenthesis of concern. "Oh God, Dean. What happened?"

"S'mmy?"

"Yeah." Sam choked back is emotion. "Oh, Dean. What did you hurt? Are you okay?" Sam began to check him over, his legs, his back, his ribs, his head. Dean bore it without protest, which upset Sam because it meant that he truly did not feel well.

Nothing seemed broken.

The cat refused to move when Sam put his hands on Dean's pelvis to feel for a problem. He tried to brush Taco off and he wouldn't budge. He did it again and Taco hissed.

Sam pulled his hand back like he'd been burned.

Taco's gaze was petulant. His bitch face more potent than Sam's own.

"I need help in here." Sam shouted, not taking his eyes off the cat.

"Kinda busy here, Sam!" Bobby yelled back.

Ellis appeared and bent down with with a choked sob of distress. "Oh Dean! Oh, baby." She touched his cheek. "What happened?"

"He was lying here. Taco won't move."

"Taco." Ellis pushed him and Taco swatted at her with a defiant hiss.

"You little shit!" She gave him a quick slap on the head and he pinned his ears and returned it angrily.

"What the fuck? Am I seriously having a slap fight with my cat?" Ellis asked. "No one is going to want to take your ass in when I'm in jail, you orange bastard!"

Sam furrowed his brow, rocking back on his heel a bit. "He's actually been pretty insistent about lying with Dean since we've been here."

"So?" Ellis asked, glaring at the cat and trying to bring her hand near him. He slapped it away again. "He was before too, back when you were sick."

"Yeah but, this is always on this side isn't it? The opposite side of the bullet. I found him curled against Dean's hip earlier and now he's kind of on his low back. But he's always on this side." Sam paused, his intuition going off with a distant buzz. "You trying to tell us something?"

Taco glared at him belligerently, clearly still angry.

Sam softened his voice and his expression. "Taco, can I look? Huh?" Sam slowly put his hand out, braced to be slapped. Taco kept his ears pinned, watching him suspiciously but didn't strike out. Sam's fingers grabbed the material at the cat's feet and tried to lift the hem of Dean's cotton t-shirt.

Taco leapt off of his spot and Sam lifted the shirt.

He didn't see anything at first.

Ellis shuffled on her knees beside him and began her own search. She pulled the loose cotton pants down a few inches, exposing the elegant curve of Dean's lower back joining into the muscles of his ass. "I don't see... wait."

She traced her hand over to the side a little. He had some scrapes and scratches on the top of his ass, near the sacral dimple in the muscle. She bent over and pulled out a long sliver of wood. The exit wound started leaking pus.

"Well that's not helping anything. How did he even get this?"

Sam thought back. "He fell into dirt in the woods. I bet when he slid he got a sliver from one of the downed logs."

"We need to get that cleaned out." Ellis said, letting the waistband snap back into place.

Sam got himself into position to help Dean up. "Come on, Dean."

He pulled his half-conscious brother up by the arm and Dean shifted with the movement, limp as a rag doll. Ellis tried to help grab his other arm and take some weight.

Dean grumbled and clumsily tried to move his feet, hampering their progress with his awkward uncoordinated lurching.

"Screw it." Sam started to bend down to toss him into a fireman's carry and remembered Dean's side. Instead, he scooped him into his arms like a child. "Ellis, make sure the bed's cleared for me."

Dean rolled his head into Sam's chest with a weary grumble.

"I know," Sam agreed as he walked.

He laid Dean down on the disheveled bed linens and looked over at the clearly unhappy FBI agent tied to one of Ellis's chairs.

Sam looked at Bobby who stood scowling in the corner, his dirty-blonde beard in need of a trim, looking like a disgruntled trucker.

"Why do we have him in here?" he asked.

"Don't trust the son of a bitch alone in the other room, Sam. So we gotta put up with him being here for the Family Meetings where I can keep an eye on him. How's Dean?"

"He's more or less out cold. We found an infected splinter in his back."

"Balls. Can the kid catch a break?"

Ellis was already tending to it, scooching the loose sleep pants down just a fraction to clean the wound. "I hope he's up to date on his tetanus."

Sam huffed. "We get so many tetanus shots, we're probably immune for life," he replied.

She pinched the skin to draw out a little more puss. Some traces of yellow infection oozed from the small wound. "Oh my God. Poor baby." She wiped it away with a cloth. "He's still hot too, Sam. We need more cold packs."

Sam picked up the discarded bags of peas. "I think he's going to need something else besides luke warm vegetables."

"Go get him some cool hand towels," Bobby suggested.

"Here," Sam tossed Bobby the Cipro."Let's get these down him."

The old hunter caught them deftly with reflexes that completely belied his appearance. That was Bobby, one giant contradiction.

Canton raised an eyebrow as Ellis pulled up a seat next to him. She was was a pretty woman, Parnecki. In a girl-next-door sort of way. She looked very stressed as she watched Bobby and the Winchester deal with the older boy's wounds. They got some water down him with some work and finally succeeded in a pill or two.

Canton''s eyes moved surreptitiously to his phone on the dresser next to his gun. It was blinking with a new message. He couldn't reach it. He wanted to respond to his wife, who was probably beside herself right now. He shifted uncomfortably and the Parnecki woman turned her gaze on him. She studied him a moment with somber blue eyes and furrowed her brow.

He glared at her, trying his best persuasion voice. "You're facing at very long prison sentence for being with these men, you know."

"These are good men," she said.

What was she, a fucking lunatic? She didn't feel like a lunatic to him. She seemed sweet, actually. He usually had a good sense of people and she didn't fit the profile of hardened accomplice maniac. Yet, the Winchesters had done some of the scariest shit he'd seen in his career. "Do you have any clue the things they've done?" he asked aloud.

"It's all wrong. The law has it wrong with these boys." She turned away and buried her head in her hands with a sigh.

Steve dropped his voice. "If we turn them in, Dean can get the medical attention he needs. He looks in bad shape here."

"He is in bad shape." She mumbled.

She stood up and walked to Dean, started to help Sam strip his shirt off and place cool towels around his neck and shoulders, under his arms.

He silently cursed his lost opportunity to persuade her.

Canton's phone blinked again. Somewhere his child was sick, dying even, and here he was with these psychopaths.

Chapter Text

Night had crept into view outside the window of Ellis Parnecki's guest bedroom. Canton had started to sweat, his eyes darting over to the lit iphone screen on the dresser. He saw and heard it vibrate on two separate occasions and then die and go still as the call went to voice mail.

A rustling grumble caught his attention as Dean Winchester thrashed a little in his fever haze, sweat dotting his brow. He looked...bad...from here, very bad. He'd seen enough men die to know the beginnings of it. The older Winchester definitely had one foot in the proverbial grave. The rest of them knew it too. The amount of care they showed to him somehow startled Canton. There was something about the way they behaved...all of them... that didn't seem to go with the narrative he'd heard about the Winchesters.

The younger brother was lying next to the eldest trying to grab a nap, but he stirred once Dean moved and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Dean. Hey. Shhh."

Dean stilled with the sound of the soft tenor and Sam gave him a pat on the shoulder and dropped his head back onto the pillow.

Bobby Singer walked back in, plaid shirt and filthy jeans, gruff and unyielding but his blue eyes softened when he saw the boy's distress. "He okay, Sam?"

"As okay as he's going to be," Sam replied a little grumpily.

Bobby turned to Canton. "You need to take a leak?"

Canton shook his head.

"Thirsty? Hungry? You should at least eat and drink something. No telling how long you're going to be stuck with us."

Canton weighed his words, knew instinctively this man would be the wrong person to try to persuade to let him go for lesser charges.

"I'll use the bathroom." He said finally.

"Okay," Bobby replied. "I'm warning you, you try anything, anything and I'll put you on your fancy ass so fast your head will spin. Then I'm tying you up and throwing you in the closet... outta sight outta mind. Got that?"

Canton inclined his head into a nod. Singer untied his ropes and slipped Canton's own cuffs around his wrists and led him to the bathroom. Bobby didn't let him shut the door, instead he left it open a crack and hovered just outside. "Screw privacy. You gotta take a piss, do it and get it over with."

He did, flushed the toilet.

Singer didn't even let him wash his hands.

"You want some water?"

Canton nodded. "Sure."

Bobby herded him into the kitchen, kicked a chair, it skidded across the tile. "Sit."

Ellis was in the kitchen boiling a large pot of chicken noodle soup. She glanced his direction, turned the soup down to simmer and sat across from him.

Bobby threw some tap water in a glass in front of Canton like a disgruntled waiter. "Ellis, keep your distance." He growled.

Ellis looked at Singer with a long suffering look. "He's in cuffs."

"You think that's gonna stop someone with his training?"

"I didn't know I was facing off with Jet Li. I'll be careful." Ellis stared at Canton for a minute.

Canton canted his head with a conciliatory whisper. "What's a woman like you doing mixed up with this crew?"

She shrugged her slight shoulders. "Lucky, I guess." She looked up to watch Bobby's body language for a moment as he turned to look back in the direction of the guest bedroom.

"You said they were good men earlier." Canton pried. "How is that?"

"They help people." Her face went tight. "There's dangers out there you don't know about."

"And you do, psychic and all?" He fidgeted with his cuffed hands on the glass. The cuffs scraped on the table.

Singer moved just outside the door way, close enough to let him know he was being observed but far enough to sink his tired body into an arm chair in the adjoining living room.

"Yes." Ellis looked at Canton measuringly.

Canton didn't actually believe in too much woo-woo, but he had had a few run ins in his life where he couldn't quite dismiss the possibility. And there was something about this woman that really made him question what he knew.

Ellis was still looking at him. It was disconcerting. "You're troubled."

He grinned, raised a russet eyebrow. "I'm being held captive by serial killers. Troubling."

"No. You're worried and it's not about you." She closed her eyes for a second, drew in a deep breath. She reached across the table and touched his hand as it rested on the warm glass of water.

He could have done exactly what Singer was afraid of, grabbed her, pulled across the table, and used her for a hostage.

"Your boy."

His thoughts of escape froze in their tracks.

She broke the contact with him and opened her blue eyes. Her straight blonde hair cascaded over one of her shoulders. "You're worried about your baby."

Canton said nothing but his face betrayed the emotion. He dropped his voice into a husky whisper. "My phone. Can you get me my phone?"

Ellis looked at him with that same measuring gaze. "I can't give you your phone."

"I just need to know what's happening."

"Do you want me to read you the texts?" She paused. "I can do that."

"Please." He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice and didn't quite succeed.

She nodded, rose and turned off the soup simmering on the stove. "It's hot. Would you like a bowl?"

He almost said no but then nodded.

She went to the cupboard and grabbed a chipped blue bowl. "Your boy has health issues. I keep seeing the hospital bed and an IV. And a scalpel, but something isn't quite right." She paused, as if thinking.

Canton sat stunned.

She closed the cupboard with and creak and ladled some soup into the bowl.

Singer heard the noise. "What are you doing?"

"Giving him something to eat. You want something?"

"Are you an idjit?" Bobby stood up and walked to the door way. "Giving him a ceramic bowl and hot soup and a frigging spoon?"

She stared at him. "What? Spoons aren't dangerous."

"Yeah, you tell me that when he rams it through your eyeball."

"Jesus, Singer. Okay." She left the spoon on the counter. "He can sip from the bowl."

She handed the bowl to Bobby. He winced at the heat against his fingers.

"Now he can throw boilin' hot soup at your face, smash this and use the shards as weapons."

Ellis stood staring. "Jesus, Bobby, where did you grow up? Fucking Alcatraz?"

Bobby's face closed off. "You got anything plastic and not stoneware?"

Canton smirked, genuinely amused by the blonde woman. He looked to Singer. "I promise not to Rambo your ass with the bowl."

"Shuddup."

Ellis leaned against the counter. "Can he have Saltines or can he use those as missiles somehow?"

Bobby eyed Canton again...and Canton could sense the intelligence of the man-even though his dress and mannerisms bespoke plebeian blue collar workman.

"I'll blast you full of buckshot if you try anything." Bobby set the bowl down on the table in front of Canton.

Ellis looked to Singer. "Do you want any, Bobby?"

"Balls. No. I wanna grab a nap."

Ellis shrugged and slipped off with a few bowls of soup.

Canton took a sip of his broth, spilling it on the table, getting to the noodles was pretty awkward with out a spoon.

Singer stood by the door way, arms crossed, watching with unconcealed suspicion. He relented finally and tossed Canton a spoon from the counter top. It hit and clattered across the table.

Canton grabbed it before it landed on the floor.

"You look pathetic trying to grab the noodles with your mouth."

Singer took the bowl and spoon away. "Come on, Benji. Back to your kennel." Canton followed Bobby gamely, noting every escape route he could.

Singer motioned for him to sit down and lashed him back to the chair.

Ellis picked up the cellphone and sat on the edge of the bed. "Want me to read the texts to you?" She asked.

Canton hesitated. "The pass code is 7598."

She typed it in with her thumb.

"The ones from Jeanne?"

"Yes." He could feel a thrum of nervous anticipation rush through him.

His eyes slipped to Sam Winchester, who had a spoon to Dean's mouth trying to coax him to eat. The elder brother looked really bad. Very pale and sickly. His lips pressed in a firm line.

"Dean." Sam whispered, "come on, buddy.

Canton looked back to Ellis.

"The surgery has been moved up to 8 pm, " She read. Then, "Why aren't you calling?" A pause before she read the third text. "Steve! This is your child. Answer your phone."

Canton's heart did a thump. He swallowed down an emotion.

Ellis's gaze softened. "Do you want me to send you a text back?"

He nodded. "Tell her I'll call as soon as I can and I love her."

Ellis typed the the message and hit send.

"You have a voicemail." She dialed to retrieve it and held it up to Steve's ear. His wife sounded like she was barely holding it together. Brandon had taken a turn for the worse and they weren't certain if the surgery would save him.

Canton felt nausea building. He swallowed convulsively.

Ellis hung up the phone. She looked guilty. "I'm so sorry."

"Let me go," he whispered. "I won't turn you in." He almost meant it.

Ellis reached behind the chair he was lashed to and touched his hand again. She knelt down at his side and looked up, her face a study in compassion. "Breathe."

He listened to her.

"That's it. Just breathe." There was a pause in her speech and something about her inflection changed. "It's not what they think it is." She sounded almost trancelike. "His system isn't failing from the disease. It's failing from the medication they put him on."

He stiffened. "What med?"

"The new one. I see a yellow pill. Take him off it. It's not kidneys, it's his liver." She broke away, blinking toyed with the cell. She dialed and held it next to Canton's ear.

He heard his wife pick up. "Sweetie. I can't talk long. Tell them to take him off the new medication and recheck his liver function."

Chapter Text

ean's fever stubbornly refused to go down more than a degree or two. It seemed to want to hover at 104. Bobby scrubbed a hand over his beard. The kid refused to eat. Dean not eating was almost an unheard of event. Nothing put the kid off his appetite. Bobby had seen him eat through nerves and pain and the friggin stomach flu. Sam had gotten him to take a few sips of broth and water. That was it. Bobby's worry had turned to fear.

Canton was deadly quiet, lost in his own thoughts. Bobby didn't even know what the hell they were going to do with him. Sam and Ellis had taken a break out in the kitchen.

Bobby looked at his boy, felt a wave of paternal concern wash over him. He walked over to the beside and settled his weight there. "Kid?" There was no response. Just that young face lying pale and tired.

He leaned down and gathered Dean into his arms, hugged him for a moment, dropping his unkempt beard to the young man's fevered head. He closed his eyes against a wave of pure emotion. "You hang in there, idjit. No choice to quit, you hear me? Your daddy would have kicked your ass if you quit and I will too, I swear. I swear if you die I'm gonna follow your ass up there and kick it from cloud to cloud until you don't know what happened. Got it?"

Dean remained limp for a moment and then the green eyes slid open and the full lips gave the slightest twitch before he went still again. Goddamn kid had always been a heart breaker. Bobby just hoped he wasn't about to become a literal one. Because to lose this boy... he couldn't think of it. To lose either of these boys, but especially this one. This little ball of light and mischief John Winchester had brought into his life two decades ago. Bobby hugged him again, felt Canton's eyes on them and felt illogically pissed that somehow this moment was being observed. This moment meant only for Dean. Even though the FBI agent was tied to a chair and wasn't going anywhere of his own accord.

Bobby set Dean back down.

Canton's cell went off.

Bobby looked at the man and walked over to grab it. "Gettin' messages?"

"Can you check mine. Please?" Something felt earnest about the request, so Bobby pressed in the passcode he was fed and looked.

"Says: Brandon is coming out of the coma! It's a miracle we caught the problem. How did you know? I love you, Steve. Our boy is going to be fine."

Canton's eyes welled and he choked back a sob. Bobby watched him impassively for a minute.

"Your boy sick?"

He watched Canton's adam's apple bob as he swallowed and nodded. "He's been very sick but I think he's going to be okay now."

Singer tossed the iphone back on the table. "Good to hear it. Your boy is going to be fine. Don't know about mine."

He needed a drink.

Canton had watched the exchange between the two fugitives with a quiet reverence. He felt intrusive, as if he shouldn't be allowed to glimpse into this snapshot of love between the old man and his boy.

He tried to remind himself that even murderers love someone and yet...he was trained to read people, that was his job. And he didn't read 'dangerous' from any of them. The closest was Bobby Singer, but that was more a gruff exterior than any real threat.

Canton twisted his wrists under his bonds. Unfortunately Singer knew how to tie a knot.

Ellis wandered in and she watched Bobby for a minute, then looked to Canton. "You need anything? You okay?"

"I'm fine." He replied.

The town was quiet. Deserted. Drizzle, mud. There was Sam. Ellis's heart warmed at the sight of him. But he looked exhausted and there was Dean and Bobby too. Then a warning. A shout. Sam Winchester crumpled to his knees in the mud. Those sweet, kind eyes closing. The head lolling limp against Dean's shoulder. Dean gripping him, looking panicked at the blood on his hand. "It's not even that bad."

"...That's my job. Look after my pain in the ass little brother..."

The Light went out of the younger man.

"SAAAMM!"

Ellis awoke with a sob, her heart was racing. She sat up in bed, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Sobbed again and slapped her hand over her mouth, not wanting to wake anyone up.

The house was quiet, still. Rain drizzling outside the window. Pattering against the sills. Softly. Softly.

She sat up. Taco wasn't beside her like he usually was. She figured he was probably busy tormenting one of the men.

She slipped out of bed, still in her jeans. She hadn't changed anything but her shirt in days. She'd lost track of time. She had no idea how long the boys had been here: Three days? Four?

She crept down the stairs of the old house. Bobby was sleeping on the couch, the torn bill of his baseball cap over his eyes.

She could tell he didn't care for her much. Thought her a fool.

But, oh, he loved those boys. Loved them. She could see his entire energy shift when he was near them. He was a drunk curmudgeon but he loved those boys. And he would stick with them. He wasn't going anywhere. And so she supposed she was obligated to love him too- even if the feeling wasn't mutual.

She crept into the guest room to check on Dean. He was asleep though he didn't look very comfortable, a little pained crease between his brows. Sam was crowded into the double bed behind him, legs scrunched awkwardly. Taco, as predicted, was lying on Sam's neck like an orange mink stoll.

She wandered into the kitchen and was surprised to see Canton there tied to a chair. She startled quietly.

He blinked when she walked in and she turned on the light over oven hood.

"You scared me." She whispered. "Singer moved you?"

"Yes." Canton rolled his neck.

"I'm sorry about this." Ellis said.

"Yeah," he replied. "Me too." There was silence as he took her in. "I need to thank you. How did you know about my child?"

"Psychic." She replied. "Kinda what I do."

"How is the Winchester boy?" He almost sounded concerned.

"Sleeping."

He nodded, his auburn hair falling into his eyes. Now that he wasn't putting up a mask of authority, he had kind hazel eyes. "Gut shots are painful. And dangerous. He really should be in a hospital."

"I don't see where we have much choice."

"Those men aren't going to stay out of prison, I'm sorry to say."

She sighed. "We can try. Do you want some tea?" She asked, padding over to the oven with her little bare feet and putting on a tea kettle, listening to the click, click, click of the stove before the gas lit.

Canton wiggled his wrists behind him. "Kind of hard to do in my current state."

Ellis put her head in her hand, betraying her exhaustion. "I don't know what we're going to do with you."

"I'm surprised they haven't killed me yet, honestly."

"I already told you, the boys don't kill people."

Canton shook his head. "There's a trail of bodies behind them that attests otherwise."

Ellis looked at him hard. Held his gaze. "What you've seen of these men... Does your instinct tell you that is true? When you look at them, do you see serial killer?"

"No," He admitted and she saw the flicker of doubt behind his eyes, "but not every serial killer looks like one."

She pushed further. "Your instincts don't warn you about most of your criminals?"

He held her gaze, then dropped it, declined to answer.

Ellis sighed, pulled the tea off of the stove top and poured a couple of mugs. "You're still worried about your child."

"I should be there with him."

She smiled absently, images playing swiftly through her mind like shuffling a deck of playing cards. "He's a good boy. Likes to paint. Loves his dog." She furrowed her brow. "He'll be okay. He'll outgrow the seizures. Now they've switched the medications...you'll see some improvement."

She saw Canton's mouth fall open a little. He closed it again.

"How did you meet the Winchesters?" He asked as a deflection, trying not to be spooked by how accurate she was. "You don't seem like you fit."

"John showed up at my door needing help with a witch."

He snorted. "A witch?"

Ellis turned and dunked the tea bags into the water. "Yep. She was involved in a spate of missing teens."

"Vigilante justice. Is that what they do?" Canton asked. Things falling a little more into place.

"Not exactly...Sort of." She turned around and eyed him again through long light brown lashes. "I shouldn't be talking to you. I know you aren't on my side."

"I want to be." He said, surprised that somewhere deep down, he meant it.

"Why did Bobby move you in here?" She leaned her elbows behind her on the formica counter top.

"I think he wanted privacy with the boys and now I'm also at a good angle for him to watch me from the couch."

Ellis snorted. "He'll have a fun time with that with his hat over his eyes."

She looked at him somberly and he could somehow feel the power in her tiny little frame. "Steve, Let them go.

"You know I can't do that." He countered.

"I know you can."

He didn't respond. His lips set in a firm line.

She moved forward and touched his face. He flinched. But she kept her touch gentle, soothing, as gentle and soothing as the woman herself.

She closed her eyes. Let the waves wash over her. "You wanted to do this job because of your father's murder."

He felt himself startle under her hand. "You hold justice very close to your heart. Almost as close as your family. But justice was your first love."

She pulled away and watched him.

He knew his eyes betrayed how shaken he felt. She patted his arm and walked over to get her tea, sipped it, like she hadn't just gone in and poked a raw nerve.

She brought the mug over to him and sat down at the table. "Well this is awkward." She surveyed his bound form and took another sip. "You want me to hold it to your lips?"

He colored, felt a bit humiliated. "Not particularly."

"You have to be thirsty by now."

"If it means being spoon fed like a baby, I'll pass."

She shrugged took another sip out of her chipped mug. "Okay. Jesus, of course I'm hungry at," she looked to the clock. "4 am."

She walked over to the counter grabbed a plate as quietly as she could, then a bagel that she didn't bother to toast- a knife, and some butter. She started to butter it as she headed back to sit down, moving stiffly.

"You look tired," he said.

"I am." She replied. "I've been doing nothing but looking after Dean for several days."

"I shot him." He said evenly.

She stopped with the bagel half way to her lips, the knife clattered against the plate as she knocked into it with her elbow.

"It was meant to be a kill shot, but I missed."

She looked upset. Then nodded. "I'm glad you missed."

He didn't say anything. "I tripped on a branch while I was lining up the shot. You know...if I'm AWOL for too long they're going to come looking for me."

"Yeah," she responded. "I know."

She took another bite but suddenly seemed to lose her appetite. Imagining Dean gunned down like a deer must have upset her.

They both heard Dean's voice come from the other room suddenly.

Low and desperate. "Sammy!"

Ellis dropped the bagel to the tabletop and jogged off to check on him.

Canton watched her dash off, his chair next to the table, so tantalizingly close to the knife. He pushed off against the floor with his toes as quietly as he could, canted the chair backwards, thankful for Dean's distraction. It was only a few minutes before he managed to get the fingers of his bound hands to grasp the knife blade.

"Dean, hey. It's okay. I'm here. Shhh." Sam soothed. "Come on, buddy." He took Dean's face in between his hands and realized with a pang that his temperature felt even hotter.

"Sammy..." Sweat stood out on Dean's brow.

Sam wiped it with his sleeve. "I'm right here, kiddo." He felt a wave of despair sweep over him. He didn't know if he'd ever seen Dean this sick. Perhaps in this much danger, but not this...helpless. Even with a fatal heart condition he'd dragged himself around like the stubborn ass he was. This fevered pain was something else entirely. He'd been reduced to helplessness. So much helplessness that he didn't seem to care that he was helpless. Normally that type of vulnerability drove Dean crazy and he tried to compensate by pushing through it or being a grumpy asshole. But lying here like a fevered child was different. Entirely out of character. And it was beginning to scare the hell out of Sam.

Ellis skidded into the doorway, followed by Bobby.

"What is it, boy?"

"I don't know." Sam said, still holding Dean's head. "He woke me up yelling for me. His..fever is really high. I don't think the Cipro is helping like it should be." Sam let his worry show for a moment. "I don't know what to do."

"Sammy." Dean whispered.

"Hey. I'm right here."

"Hurts." Dean grimaced, his eyes still closed.

"Okay. Okay." Sam ghosted his fingers over his brother's hair. "Where Dean? Show me where it hurts?"

Dean kicked out, his bare feet tangling the sheets.

"Maybe we should run a bath," Ellis said. "Sam, can you get him in?"

Sam nodded. "I don't like the idea of getting his wound getting wet with bathwater though."

Bobby entered the room, boots scuffing against the wood floor. He reached forward and grabbed the edge of the cotton sheets. "We wet these with cool water and wrap them around him. Every 20 minutes, we rewet them." He untangled the sheet and yanked it off.

Dean stirred. Sam's hand absently dropped a few pats to his shoulder with an easy affection, as if he was thumping a golden retriever.

"I don't understand." Sam's brows drew into a worried line. "Do we not have the right antibiotic? I mean Cipro is like a black box atomic bomb medication."

"Balls." Bobby grumbled. "Don't worry about that now, Sam, get him undressed." He headed toward the bathroom with the sheet and stopped dead.

The front door to the living room was ajar.

He dropped the sheets. "Balls! Canton got out. Couldn't have been more than a few minutes ago. I'm going to see if I can find him." Bobby cast about for his rifle. "Couldn't have been gone too long and gotten too far on foot. Course he probably already called us in."

"His phone is in the guest room." Ellis said, watching him with a frown of worry. She walked over and grabbed the sheets, looking guilty.

Bobby found his rifle under the couch where he'd stowed it and looked up. "How'd he get out anyway? That knot wasn't something he should have gotten out of." He pushed off the couch with a groan, his knees popping as he stood back up.

"I may have left a knife on the table." Ellis whispered.

Bobby fixed her with an irate stare, his jaw twitching. "You idjit! You good as let him out!"

"I didn't let him out!" Ellis shot defensively.

"Why'd you leave a goddamn knife where he could get it? I warned you bout what he could do with a friggin spoon!"

"What were we gonna do with him anyway, Bobby?" Ellis retorted. "We had to let him go at some point."

"Yeah, at a point when he don't have the two boys here and Dean dyin!" He slammed out the front door, leaving Ellis holding the pile of sheets awkwardly until she heard Dean's mumbling from the other room.

She blinked back tears. "Okay honey. I'm coming."

Bobby looked out in the dimness of the almost dawn. This was going to be impossible, a cat and mouse in a virtual maze of suburbia when he had no clue what direction the man had been heading.

Bobby looked around for any clue that might have given away where the pain in the ass had gone and swore to himself. What the hell had John seen in the woman? She wasn't that fine fine piece of ass that it made up for her utter cluelessness.

He scanned the dew covered grass and pavement for any prints that may give him a clue as to where the man had headed...a disruption in the dew, a print in the moisture. He saw nothing.

Nothing. Of course, he was dealing with a man trained in this shit. He most likely wouldn't be that sloppy.

The sun was creeping up, which meant the Stepford housewives would be sending their kids off to school soon. He doubted the suburban neighbors would be okay with a strange man wandering around the neighborhood with a rifle. He opened the back of his shitty travel van and pulled up the musty shag carpet, to reveal his stash of weaponry. He switched out his rifle for a pistol and tucked it in the front of his pants. Goddammit. They were all going to prison. Well, if Dean made it. He had the stray thought cross his mind that maybe it would be a mercy if he didn't.

Kid knew how to take care of himself, sure. He knew how to fight. Knew how to carry himself. Had been in sketchy dive bars since he was a teen. So that would be a bonus, but a boy with Dean's looks getting thrown into maximum security?

What would happen to him? Did he even want to think about what would happen to him?

Bobby closed the van's back doors and swore as it creaked and refused to latch. At least two of the doors had wonky locking mechanisms. He jiggled it and it finally shut.

Bobby scanned the surroundings and saw that the government issued car was still across the street. He smirked to himself. Apparently his tactic of letting the air out of all four tires and pouring salt in the gas tank had proven useful. Sometimes it paid to be a paranoid old bastard.

By the time Ellis returned with her damp, gross mess of sheets clutched to her chest, Sam had wrestled Dean out of his top. The older brother's chest moved rapidly in and out as if he were having trouble breathing.

Sam was distressed. "What's happening?

"I don't know, Sweetheart." Ellis said, annoyed that her shirt was slowly growing damp. Thank God she'd worn a dark colored top to bed or Sam might have been treated to a wet t-shirt contest he probably wanted no part of.

"Dean's gonna die and I'm going to prison." Sam said under his breath. "I hope I get the death penalty."

"Honey." She said calmly. "Don't say that." She had her own anxieties about what was going to befall them all. "Get his sleep pants off and we'll wrap him up like the world's coldest burrito."

Decency made her try to avert her gaze when Dean was naked, but even so, she got a glimpse of him before she spread the sheet over his form. She felt a brief pang of guilt about where her thoughts strayed.

Sam tucked it around him snugly and Dean stirred and grumbled a protest.

"I know it feels gross," Sam said, making a face. "But we need this fever down, Dean, okay?" He tucked the sheet under his shoulders. "You're doing really good. I know this is hard."

"S'mmy."

"Yep," Sam soothed as he tucked the blanket under his brother's chin. "I'm right here. I'm not leaving you, okay?"

Dean's brows rose into an expression of discomfort. Ellis wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, but body heat wouldn't help the cause. And she suspected, neither would interrupting the boy's bond. She watched Sam drop a few pats onto Dean's shoulder. "Hey buddy. You remember when you had that really bad fever in Idaho? What were you, like ten? Dad threw you in the shower and dumped a bottle of alcohol over you."

Dean inclined his head toward the sound of Sam's voice. She watched Dean's rather weak aura respond a little. And that's what was concerning her most, how small he'd become. How contracted.

Dean's life force had always been big, strong: carried a look at me! I'm awesome! vibration.

It wasn't powerful like Sam's. Sam's seemed composed of raw power that at times spooked her a little with its intensity... but even without that element of power, Dean's was bright and beautiful and big. And now it was growing smaller and smaller and smaller. Diminishing by the hour. Until there would be none. And without it, no Dean.

"Keep talking to him, Sam."

Sam raised an eyebrow and kept up his story. "You don't get sick often but man when you do, you go big. Hey Dean." He retucked the sheet as Dean stirred. He cast about for words for a minute. "Did I ever tell you I slept with Kathy Munroe in the backseat of Baby? You remember her?"

Dean's aura responded, expanded. He actually lazily flicked his eyes open under his dark fringe of lashes.

Sam met it with a smile. He patted Dean's head once more. "Thought that might get your attention."

He smoothed the sheet down again.

Ellis walked over and pushed the thermometer into his ear. "It's high but it's 103. 5. That's better than it has been."

"Nasty wet sheets for the win," Sam said, rubbing at the headache forming at his temples.

Chapter Text

Bobby walked the perimeter of Ellis's house, searching for clues on Canton's current whereabouts.

He found nothing. "Balls," he grumbled under his breath. Just what he friggin needed. Now the question became several fold. Did he continue to search for Canton? The bastard couldn't have gotten too far...yet. And aside from knocking at a house at 4 am and asking to use a phone, which may be met with suspicion from a strange man without I.D., that really only left a few places nearby where he could head. Most notably a Gas N' Sip mini-mart not too far away. He'd probably be dodging through people's yards and not walking along the sidewalk or road where it'd be relatively easy for Bobby to get him. Thank God Bobby had had the sense to keep Canton separated from the cell phone or the game would have been over before it had begun.

Bobby walked back to his van, noted the rust from the South Dakota winters that had begun to eat at the body to the point of disintegration near the tires. He opened the creaky door that refused to latch properly and started the car. Only thing he could think of was to head to the mini-mart, hide, and see if Canton showed up. If he didn't catch him then another question cropped up.

Should he go back to the house and sit with Dean, Sam and that moron, Ellis, and await their inevitable arrest? Or should he escape? He couldn't really head back home now. Not like the bastards wouldn't have his name and face to go by. Not too long before they'd show up at Singer's Salvage and arrest him. Balls, they were stuck. Almost utterly checkmated. He was probably better off being an outside man- but that meant leaving Dean. What if the boy didn't make it? He looked so bad. Bobby couldn't even think about it without a nervous tightness in his chest.

He was mulling over his options as he started to pull away from the driveway, the van belching smoke as it shuddered backward. He'd just pulled onto the road when he felt the press of a gun against his temple. Bobby stepped on the breaks, his jaw tight.

"Keep driving nice and normally, Singer. We're going right to the nearest police station. Thanks for keeping a stash of loaded guns back here by the way. Came in handy."

"S'mmy?" Dean's voice was weak and gravelly. His mouth dry.

"Yeah, Dean. I'm right here." Sam reached over from his side of the bed and gripped his bicep. "I'm not leaving you."

Dean's eyes fluttered open lazily and Sam could see that he was at least partially lucid, although they were sleep laced. Dean focused on his brother's face for a minute, blinking heavily. "What's goin' on?"

"Aside from you trying to die on me, nothing much."

Dean's mouth twitched into a lopsided grin. "Wh's this?" He asked after a moment, pulling ineffectually at the wet sheets. "Cold."

Sam tucked them back under his chin, noting that Dean was trembling. His eyes closed again, the dark lashes ghosting against the pale, lightly freckled skin.

Ellis walked in and glanced at them. "He awake?" She asked softly.

Sam nodded, sitting up. "Kinda. He's shaking."

She walked over, dropped her hand to his forehead. "Still feels warm." She took the thermometer and pushed it into Dean's ear.

He grumbled a protest.

"This is the best damn investment I ever made. Figured I'd end up using it on your father. Without it, we'd have had to be shoving something in his mouth or less pleasant places every 20 minutes the last few days."

It beeped. "103." she read. "That's better. Way too high, but better."

Dean's eyes fluttered open. He focused on her a moment.

"Hi, baby." She smiled gently, kneeling down and kissing his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

His eyes closed again. The trembling more marked.

"Maybe we should get him out of the wet sheets and back into clothes?" Ellis picked at a corner of the fabric.

She looked at Sam and he shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Dean, you want the sheet off, honey?"

He hummed.

"I'm taking that as 'yes.' Get him up. I'm going to change the sheets anyway so you guys aren't lying in a pile of ick." She paused. "You think Bobby caught Canton?"

Sam set his jaw. His dimples deepened, not from a smile, but from the flex of the muscles in his face as he huffed a breath. "If anyone can, it's Bobby." Sam leaned over to urge Dean to try and sit up. "Ellis, can you throw me the pants?"

She tossed him the pair of grey cotton drawstrings.

Sam caught them. "Hey Dean. Wake up." He said, pulling him to a sitting position.

Dean cried out as his abdomen flexed at the movement.

"Shit. Sorry."

Ellis grabbed his other arm to steady him.

Dean was alabaster pale except for the flush of fever on his cheeks.

"You kinda steady him here for a minute," Sam said. "I'm going to grab a towel from the bathroom."

"We've trashed most of them," she replied, holding onto Dean's arm. "Sweetheart, stay with me."

He leaned his head into her with an uncomfortable groan.

"I know, baby." She whispered. "I know it hurts. You're so brave."

He grumbled something.

She leaned closer to his mouth. "What, sweetie?"

"B'llsh't."

She kissed his forehead.

Sam came back, his shoulders squared in a determined manner. "Okay, I'm gonna help him stand. Can you just wrap this around his waist? And then I'll take him to the bathroom. I can clean him up a little, get him changed into the pants."

Sam threw the lounge pants over his shoulder and bent at the knees to lift Dean. "Okay Dean," Sam said. "Count of three to lift you. I need you to lock your legs, okay."

Dean's eyes fluttered. "One, two, three." He hauled him up and the sheets slid down to the floor as Dean's weight slumped against Sam. Sam made a face and braced him up, in an A-Frame hug, hips away from his brother's. Ellis wrapped the towel around Dean's narrow waist and tucked it in...caught a glimpse of his ass before she secured the towel.

Sam tossed Dean's arm around his neck and started forward. "Walk. You gotta walk, buddy." Dean swayed and Sam adjusted to keep his balance. "Come on, buddy." Dean's hands went up and he clung desperately to Sam's shirt, his teeth bared in grimace for a second before he got control of the pain and started to move.

Ellis felt so badly for him. For both of them

She started tearing the wet, bloody, sweat, puss-stained sheets from the bed and threw them on the floor in a heap. Taco leapt on them happily and began to knead the fabric with his paws. She spared the cat a disparaging look. "You are a fucking weirdo."

She thanked God that she had a waterproof mattress cover on the bed. A few minutes passed while she struggled with securing the new fitted sheet. The corner popped up and she swore. Commotion came from the direction of the bathroom.

She wandered over to the half-closed door. "Sam," she pushed and peered in.

Sam was sitting in an ineffectual pile on the floor next to Dean who was lying nearly passed out with his head in his brother's lap.

Sam had managed to wrestle him into his sleep pants but he was still topless, wearing only his brass amulet around his neck. Sam looked up, all hopeless worry. "He's throwing up."

"No! Oh God." Ellis knelt down and traced her hand along Dean's lower back.

"There's nothing in his stomach so it's just bile." Sam whispered.

Canton kept the gun trained on Bobby's temple from his kneeling position on the floor of the van to the back left of the driver's seat. "You should be careful with faulty door locks, Singer. Anyone could just break into your vehicle."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Just tell me what you want me to do."

"Keep driving where I say to go. I told you, we're going to deliver you right to the police office."

Bobby stepped on the gas a little and Canton grabbed the car seat with his free hand to steady himself. "I'd suggest driving carefully so I don't slip and shoot you in the head."

The wrinkles around Bobby's eyes deepened as he squinted. "Might as well. Prison ain't exactly where I was plannin' on endin' up."

"And yet you hang out with the Winchesters."

Bobby shook his head. "That's cause you're wrong about them. Missin' the mark completely. That's a common problem for idjits."

Canton stroked the trigger of the Remington he'd found in Bobby's stash. "Judging by the shape the older boy is in, I'd say I didn't miss the mark at all."

The wrinkles around Bobby's eyes tightened and he took a breath through his nose. "You best hope that boy don't die..."

"I have permission to shoot to kill either Winchester."

"You best kill me too then."

Canton eyed him. "Is that a threat?"

"What do you think?" Bobby growled.

Canton didn't pursue the subject. "How well do you know the Parnecki woman?"

"Bout at well as you do." Bobby grumbled. "Enough to know she's a damned fool."

Bobby started to slow down and Canton nudged his shoulder with the gun. "No, no."

"This is the police office."

"I'm not delivering you to a po'dunk One Man Office so you can escape, Singer. We're going farther than this."

Bobby continued on. "Can't believe that damned woman let you anywhere near a knife."

They drove several miles in silence, passing a broad expanse of field. Canton looked at Bobby again, studying him. They were almost an hour outside of town. "You mean that about the boy, don't you?"

Bobby shot him a poisonous sideways glare. "What about it?"

"Pull over."

Bobby's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Pull over. "Singer reluctantly swung the van onto the dirt shoulder, black exhaust spewing behind them like an exorcised demon as it slowed. The rumble under the tires stopped.

"Cut the engine."

Bobby looked into the field. "This ain't no police station."

"Get out."

Bobby set his jaw.

"I said out."

"I ain't gotta make this easy for you." The old hunter growled.

"Out, Singer."

Bobby cut the engine and swung open the door, stepped out of his shitty salvage. So this was how he was going to die. Shot in the melon by some asshat in a suit. Figures.

Canton followed him out, backed him away from the car. The wind blew at Bobby's thinning hair. Not such a bad way to go, really. Protecting his boys. Except he wasn't really protecting them until he at least took a go at Canton. The muscles of his thighs tensed, waiting for an in. And suddenly, Canton was jerking the barrel of the pistol back toward town. "Go."

Bobby's mouth worked. "Huh?"

"I said, 'Go.' Don't make me say it again, Singer. Shouldn't be too far back to town."

The bafflement on Bobby's features was plain to see even under the shaded rim of his baseball cap. "Why?"

"That foolish woman... You ask her why. She bought you all time." He drew a deep breath. "Now go. Take care of your boy and I'll take care of mine."

Bobby stood still for a moment.

"Go before I change my mind."

Canton climbed in the van and started it up. Bobby watched the choking plume of black belch out the back as it rolled of. He turned to walk back to town. Not many things threw him. But Bobby Singer was completely thrown by the turn of events. And pissed that his was aching and the weather was shitty.

Sam's eyes were red rimmed like he'd been crying. He wiped his sleeve across his nose.

"I've got the sheets changed." Ellis said calmly. "Let's get him back into bed. Antibiotics can be really hard on an empty stomach, Sam."

Sam bit his lip and nodded, looking so much younger than his twenty three years.

"Dean." He tried to get his brother to stir. Dean lifted his head a fraction. "We need to get you back into bed. Come on."

Dean blinked blearily. His bit of lucidity seeming to have disappeared. He pulled himself partially to his hands and knees and Ellis saw the grey pallor pass over his features and knew he was about to be sick again. She knelt down and helped brace his stomach with her hand as he dry heaved. She could feel the tight spasm of the muscles through her palm as she pressed one hand against his torso and one on his back, steadying him through the fit. Each heave ended on a high pitched gasping sob that hurt to listen to.

Sam kept him from falling sideways with the force of his retching.

When the fit was over, he collapsed moaning, reflexive tears tracking down the side of his face. Ellis bent down. "Oh, sweetheart."

She had a sick twist in the pit of her own stomach that had nothing to do with the bit of saliva pooling on the tile. She leaned over, grabbed a hand towel from under the vanity and wiped Dean's mouth. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay." She wasn't entirely sure if she was speaking to Dean, Sam, or maybe even herself.

He was ebbing. She could feel it. Judging by Sam's upset, he could too.

That Dean essence was contracting. More and more. More and more.

And somehow this was it. This was Dean shutting down. Giving up.

She looked at his cheek pressed against the tile. His eyes lidded heavily. He was done.

Completely done.

Ellis backed away as Sam gathered him up under the arms and hauled him to his feet. Dean fell heavily into his brother's embrace like a sack of flour. Sam tightened his hold under his armpits and shuffled him back ward out of the bathroom and then pulled him up into a bridal style carry. Dean was almost unresponsive. It was only the moan of discomfort that let them know he was conscious of anything.

Sam laid Dean down on the bed. His boyish face a study of stoicism but his energy giving off an aura of stress.

Ellis wanted to break down but somehow knew from that energy that Sam was skating on the edge of one and so she kept herself together. It wasn't an easy task. They were running out of time. She needed to think of another option quick.

Chapter Text

The last thing Dean remembered was Sam and Ellis hovering over him. He remembered talking for a few moments. Then Sam moving him into the bathroom. It took some wrestling and slow uncoordinated movements from Dean to get his pants back on and then suddenly a wave of vertigo and nausea hit him. He retched and it was horrible. His side was on fire with each unproductive gag. Sam was holding him to keep him from face planting. Somewhere he could hear his voice. "Jesus Dean!" Then "Okay. Okay buddy. Hang on, its okay. I'm right here. I gotcha." and then everything went dark. And the pain lifted sightly. He found the dark was peaceful. Alluring. So much easier than fighting all the time. He was so tired. Very tired.

He swam back up to the surface for a moment and there was a woman's hand rubbing circles on his bare back and then the nausea crept up and he was heaving again. He wanted out. Out of this physical body. Just out. By the time Sam started to lift him, Dean let the blackness take him.

Ellis knelt down next to Dean and leaned her forehead against the side of his cheek. Their skin touched and she closed her eyes. "Sweetheart. You have to hang in here." She whispered to his ear, her lip grazing the smooth skin.

There was an almost imperceptible shift that told her he was slightly conscious. "I know there's pain but Sam needs his big brother."

She kissed the little worried pained crease between his brows. She pushed her hand through his soft mussed hair, each stroke soothing. "You have to stop doing this to me, huh? John did this enough. You gotta play it safer than he did, okay?" She swallowed against the lump in her throat. "Your daddy loved you so much. So much."

She circled her thumb around his scalp. It still smelled like shampoo, but also fall leaves and dried sweat and a little bit of must from hiding in the closet. She leaned her head against him again, wishing she could somehow let all the love she felt for him buoy his strength. Could she? People had been sitting next to death beds since time immemorial flooding the ill with love and it never did anything. Did it?

She lifted her head. "Sam."

Sam was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed, his back to the wall, looking terrified and somehow very fragile.

"Come here."

"You need my help?" He asked, starting to stand. "Get him some water?"

"No. Come here."

He wandered over, brow furrowed in that distinctly Sam way. She saw him spare a glance at Dean and the emotion lit his features from the inside. "He...he looks terrible."

Ellis was still kneeling. She grabbed the chair leg and slid it over next to him.

"What?" Sam put his hand on the back of the chair, perplexed.

"Sit."

"Ellis..."

She hardened her voice. "I said sit."

He sat. The chair was too small for him. It was mildly adorable. She took Sam's hand and set it over Dean's limp one.

"You want me to..." He paused. "Hold his hand?"

"Yes." She replied. "Yes I do."

Sam looked apprehensive. "Why? Are you gonna hurt him?"

"He's already hurt, sweetie."

Sam was looking around the bedside for clues. "What are we doing?"

"Just...sit with him a while." She patted Dean's spiky mussed hair again. "I'm going to get some supplies."

Sam caught on and couldn't keep the hope from his voice. "You have a healing spell?"

She looked at him pointedly. "Honey, I'm a psychic, not Harry Potter. And I didn't deal with the devil to get powers, so no."

He looked a little crestfallen. "Sorry. I was hoping you had some magic rocks like you used on me or something."

"Not for this. This isn't a curse, just a nasty bullet wound but I have some folk remedy, Woodstock new-age hippie shit." She shrugged, looking a bit desperate. "Can't hurt. I can clear his aura. Clear the room of all the pain that's been here for days. Buoy our own attempts to help him. In the meantime. Sit here with him. Show him you love him."

Sam gave her the puppy-eyed look. "He knows that."

"He needs to feel it. Hold his hand. Talk to him."

"He's unconscious."

"Sam." Her tone was firm.

He responded to it by gathering Dean's warm fingers into his own. He felt a twitch of movement. "Hey. I'm here, buddy."

He looked so weak. So diminished and strange, almost like he was failing.

Ellis left the room.

Sam turned back to Dean, feeling a little lost. "Hey." He said again.

The hand twitched. So did the edge of Dean's mouth.

"You here with me? I, uh, cleaned most of the blood out of Baby. She looks good again. Thank god for non-upholstered seats, you know?"

Dean's eyes blinked open and Sam felt a surge of relief. "Hey buddy. Hey."

He closed them again with an uncomfortable moan. Sam pulled the sheet back to recheck his wound, his fingers gentle on the warm red skin around it. Definitely infected. "I know this hurts a ton. I get it." Sam patted his brother's broad chest. "You're doing good. You gotta hang in there for us, okay?"

He left his hand there a moment and could feel the pulse irregular under his palm. He felt a jolt of panic. He kept feeling, his eyes closed, measuring beats. Dean definitely had an arrhythmia. A pronounced one.

"No." Sam whispered. "God, Dean, no. Don't do this to me, man. Please."

He watched Dean's slow hitching breath.

"Baby. Let's talk about Baby, huh?" Sam asked, waiting for a reaction. "She needs some maintenance, you know. So you have to do that. I can barely do an oil change." He huffed. "You've always been so good with cars. And girls. Two things I just never could compete with you on, so I just never tried. I used to watch you get under that hood next to Dad and just, it was like you belonged there, you know..." He trailed off, suddenly conscious of his rambling. "You stay here with me, Dean."

Sam's knee started to jitter up and down and he let go of Dean and wrung his hands together, pressing nervously on the joint of his thumb.

Ellis returned with a worn basket of shit thrown haphazardly together. The basket itself had seen better days, pieces of it were beginning to come unwoven. She set them on the dresser near the foot of the bed and rifled through the contents. It looked like a hippie expo had exploded.

Sam looked up at her curiously.

"I'm going for every stupid, New Age, cleansing, healing, purifying bullshit I can think of." She said. She set a small handful of incense in a glass and lit it, then opened the window a crack. "Let's clear this room." The smoke began to snake lazily toward the ceiling behind her.

"Here." She tossed him a small brass bell. Sam caught it with a stifled clang of metal and stared at her, flummoxed.

"Ring it. Get up, walk around and ring it."

His mouth opened in slack incomprehension. "I..."

Ellis looked at him, seemed to be taking in something about his mental state and shifted tracks abruptly. "You know what? You need cleansing too. Your aura is like a murky swamp of bullshit right now."

"Um. Thanks?"

"Go take a five minute shower."

"What?" He asked, clearly confused.

She took the bell from him. "When you're in there, just let the water wash everything away and breathe deeply, okay?"

Sam didn't get up to obey.

"Sam." She said gently to break him of his reverie. "Do you trust me?"

He huffed. "Of course."

"Then just go do it. Namaste and all that shit."

Sam stepped under the spray of the shower, at first annoyed that he was being asked to do this instead of being with Dean but then the moment the warm spray hit his knotted shoulder muscles, he sighed and dropped his head against the cold tile. He took in a deep breath and let it out, tilting his head back under the spray. He could feel the grime washing away. A little fraction of the stress as well.

Some part of his mind still wanted to escape back to the relative ease of Stanford, even though deep down in his heart, he had an inkling that this was his life now. That he would go down hunting. Go down in exactly the way he swore he wouldn't.

And Dean. Dean was so far twisted around and destroyed about their father, he couldn't leave him. Simply could not. There was still the demon to kill. The thing that had taken everything from Sam. His mother, his father, his future wife... The Yellow-Eyed Demon was the only thing keeping him going right now. He needed something to take out his frustrations on. His fury. That fury that he kept bottled up, simmering beneath the surface, aimed at someone or something most of his life it seemed.

The water ran clear down his body, the warmth trailing down his muscles, plastering his hair to his head. Comforting.

He shut it off.

Sam returned, freshly showered to find Ellis waving a lit bundle of white sage over Dean. She had candles burning, music playing softly. He could smell oils and had no doubt that she'd anointed Dean as he lay there. The scent reminded him of his own sojourn in this guest bed a year or so before. She moved to Sam and waved the sage around him, muttering some half-sensical prayer.

Sam stood amidst the wafting smoke. "Dean would so not approve of this if he was conscious." He remarked with a wry smile, looking around. "I knew you had an inner hippie in there somewhere."

"Shhh. Sam. This is bullshit, but it's bullshit I have to concentrate on."

He fell silent and looked at his brother, who remained still and quiet. Lying on his back- a sure sign something was amiss as Dean habitually slept twisted on his stomach, sometimes his side, wherever he dropped out of fatigue. A bed, an armchair, a floor...Very rarely his back.

Ellis set the sage down on a plate, still smouldering and took a deep breath." He's in so much pain I'm having a hard time cleansing anything...So this is going to seem weird but I feel like you need to tell him what he means to you."

Sam huffed. "Do you know how much he hates chick flick moments? It makes him uncomfortable."

"Do you know how much he craves affection and doesn't know it?" She asked, her eyes on the young man lying before her. "He needs nothing more than that. But he resists it because it scares him a little."

Sam looked at her and said nothing.

Ellis shook her head and sat at the edge of the bed. "Do you know how long it took me to get your father to accept any affection at all?" Her one was laced with a fond annoyance. "He was such a pain in the ass and so afraid to be loved."

Sam's eyebrows rose. "I... I never even thought about that." He shrugged. "Weird to think of your dad that way, you know."

She smirked. "As human?"

"No." Sam dropped his gaze. "I dunno. Just...being intimate with someone...he never showed us that side much."

Ellis seemed as if she was feeding him a piece of something he wasn't privy too. "He was emotional. He was an emotional man like your brother. He tamped it down. Tried to stuff it, so it came out sideways. With drinking and anger." She paused, surveyed Sam. "Did Jess get you to do it?"

Sam's brows rose in shock at the sound of her name spoken on someone's lips. "Do what?"

"Your walls...your shell... Did you let her in?"

Sam considered. "Yeah." He nodded. "As much as I could, yeah."

"Couldn't be totally honest, huh?"

"No." His voice held a bitter tone. "My life...just doesn't allow for that."

"Did it scare you to do it? To let her in?"

Sam felt a little uncomfortable with the way his thoughts were turning. Jess was not healed territory but he owed it to Ellis to answer her questions. "A little."

"Did you let her love you?"

Sam shifted. Still uncomfortable at the line of questioning, at being laid bare. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"You miss it?"

He wished she'd stop. Stop pushing, stop making him think about this.

He answered. "Yeah. Yeah I do."

She was relentless. "Do you wish you were back at Stanford?"

Sam didn't speak and he knew that Ellis saw she'd hit a raw spot. He swallowed. "Rather than this?" His voice was a little thick. "Yeah. But... I wouldn't want to give up Dean. And I'd've had to. Normal life can't work with a hunter popping in and out of it."

Her lips curved up into a reluctant smile. "Tell me about it."

He almost smiled.

Chapter Text

Sam leaned his head very, very close to Dean's. His bangs fell with the gravity and brushed his brother's face. He brought Dean's hand up between them, squeezed it. The sunlight from behind the blinds washed them in a soft glow and Ellis caught her breath at the beauty of it. So much love. So much affection hidden behind the exterior, behind the reserves of masculinity. Here were two men who would die for each other, she was certain of it.

Sam was completely engaged in Dean. "Don't leave me, okay?" His lower lip trembled and his voice grew thick. "You hear me? You...you never get that I need my big brother. I do. I need you." He blinked. She could feel the he distress rise in him. As if somehow giving voice to his feelings made them more real.

"Sam," she said softly. He turned his head to look at her, embarrassed. She touched her hand to his shoulder, reluctant to crowd into their space. "Don't share your fear. Just your love. Don't think about losing him. Think about how much you love him. Feel that warmth in your chest that spreads outward, that happy safe feeling, that urge to want to tease him or thump him on the back... or tease him and knock him into the wall so you can laugh at him. Because you love him. You love him. Remember how much you love him. All those years together. All those days of just you and him. Two of you on adventures. You two against the world."

She saw his face grow red with tears and he squeezed Dean's hand.

"You feel that emotion right there?" She asked.

He nodded.

"You feel that and you send it to Dean. Send all of that to Dean."

A tear broke loose and cut its way down his cheek. He pressed his lips together.

She almost wanted to join in and add to the energy, but instead she sat back and watched their bond. She saw Sam's energy shift a little, more tears coursing down his cheek.

"Don't share that, Sam. That's pain. Send him the love without the pain."

"I'm afraid to lose him." He responded brokenly.

"Don't think about 10 minutes from now. Think about now. Think about being with your brother in this moment. In this space. Feel his hand in yours. His life force there."

She could see Dean responding to it, his aura expanding with his brother's attention.

She saw their history, the two of their souls intertwined, sometimes afraid to open fully for fear of the hurt that they could inflict upon one another. They were fully capable of hurting each other, and how. There was a pattern. Sam closed off and Dean rebuffed. And then Dean closed off and Sam rebuffed. Again and again and again. But then there was moments of time with the two of them fully open to each other. Moments where their auras opened and expanded and glowed in one another's presence over a bottle of beer under the stars. Moments when the love between them made them both better than what they were without the other.

Even now.

Sam watchful over the bedside, bent close, talking to his pale still brother.

Beautiful. In that moment, they were beautiful.

"Dean, Goddamn it. Dean." Somewhere Dean was aware of Sam's voice. It felt very distant though.

It bothered him. Sam was hurting. He knew he was the reason for it. Like he was the reason for so much pain. Sam's pain and Dad...Dad's pain. Dad in pain.

His thoughts spun to his father.

John was stretched on a rack, spread eagle, strapped down. His face covered in sweat, tears streaming down his cheeks. His breath coming in gasps of pain. Then sobs of pain as something cut into him.

"Dad!" His father's distress abruptly out-weighed Sam's and Dean's focus pulled towards it.

The vision faded to black and he could hear Sam again, talking. A gentle litany of something. Something soothing that made Dean want to push away from the darkness where his father lay and bring his attention back to his body. But God, his body hurt so badly. He didn't want to be in there. This was so much better.

He felt a warm grip on his hand and knew somewhere on that physical plain, it was Sam. Even if he wasn't understanding the words, he could feel the intent. The emotion of Sam taking that bond that tethered them to each other and tugging it. Gently at first, then sharper. Snap, snap, snapping it to get his attention.

He heard John's cries again and headed back out yelling for him in the void. "Dad!"

But suddenly there was someone in the darkness. A figure, vague and shadowed at first, then closer. Fair haired, a vision in white.

"Mom?" He breathed in a reverently hushed voice.

She placed her hand on his jaw and Dean looked at her in wide-eyed wonderment. Some of the pain he felt escaped his eyes and rolled down his cheek.

"Shhh. Sweetheart." And she sounded like Ellis somehow. "Dean, what are you doing here?"

"I don't know. Looking for Dad. I can hear Dad." He was nervous, distraught. Eager to help his father escape.

"Oh, sweetheart." The back of her hand stroked his jawline, tracing as reverently as a lover. "You don't want to go there."

"But he's there because of me!" Dean shouted back and the anguish made his voice crack.

"No. Don't go there." Her eyes were calm and sad. Very wise and very blue.

"I have to..." he protested. Why didn't she understand? "I want to talk to Dad."

She paused, the beginnings of age lines around her mouth visible as she drew her lips into a solid line before asking, "Who do you love more?"

Dean's jaw trembled. "Wh..what?"

"Who do you love more?" She cocked her head. "Your father or me?"

"Don't make me choose." He stuttered, torn with emotional pain. "Don't..."

"Tell me... Is it me?" Her voice was soft, soothing and understanding. "Tell me, angel."

Dean looked into her big blue eyes and then tried to glance past her toward where he'd glimpsed John. "I..."

"Choose, Dean." She prompted. "Make a choice."

Dean felt his heart start to race. "I don't... I don't know."

"Choose. Me or your father?"

"Mom..." he said, an unspoken request to leave the question alone in his voice.

"Choose."

His full lower lip trembled. "I don't know." The stress rose in him, making him feel anxious under the strain. Like he wanted to bolt. "Don't make me."

John was there again suddenly. Not being flayed. Or tortured. Standing there in the darkest of shadow, his dark hair blending in with the blackness, watching Dean with his sad eyes.

"Dad." Dean walked past his mother and jogged over to his father. He threw his arms around his father's neck and fell into the embrace. Somewhere very distant he was aware that someone was hugging his body. Cradling him.

His father's lips brushed his temple at the same time someone's lips ghosted over the skin of his tired body.

"Dad." Dean's voice caught.

His father pulled him tighter. "Shhh."

"Why?" The question was out before he could stop himself. "Why, Dad? Why did you fucking DO this to me?"

John broke away and studied Dean with a stern look that telegraphed his annoyance with his son's tone.

Dean didn't care.

"Why, Dad?" He choked up. "I didn't... I was ready to go. You should have let me go."

"You weren't ready to go." His dad answered solemnly. "You weren't ready to stop fighting, Dean."

Dean's jaw trembled. His eyes leaking tears again. He hated crying in front of his father. Well anyone, really. But he wanted Dad to think him strong.

John studied him. "So why are you stopping now?"

"I... I'm tired." Dean's boyishly handsome features seemed suddenly delicate. "It hurts."

The dark brow furrowed in disapproval. "You make my sacrifice worth nothing? How dare you?"

"No!" Dean protested, stunned. Horrified by the accusation.

"Yes." John pointed to him, his voice raised in that tone he used when he was genuinely pissed off. "I died for YOU, Dean. So that YOU can live. So that you can take care of Sammy."

Sam. The name brought a flare of pain. Bright. Sharp.

"Dad..."

"Why are you here?" The voice was stern. Begged to be answered.

Dean's face scrunched up in pain. "Because it hurts, Dad."

"You don't think I hurt? Being ripped to shreds day after day? For you. And you throw my gift back in my face?"

"No!" Dean felt himself dissolving under his father's fury. Small, insignificant. A foot soldier being dressed down by his commanding officer. "Dad."

John stood nose to nose with him, his large frame looming. "Then get out of here and go do your damned job!"

"Dad..." Dean begged. He wasn't sure what for. Permission to stay? "Please." He knew that he would find no quarter from his father. But he tried anyway. "Dad."

"Dean. Take care of Sammy. Go do your job."

"It's too much." He protested, his voice husky.

His father grabbed him by the shoulders. "It hasn't even BEGUN to get hard yet! It hasn't even BEGUN. Go back and DO your damned job!"

Dean let himself be shaken and stood small and pale in front of the stronger man. The man he hoped to be. The man who'd never shirked away from any duty.

His father stepped back into the dark and faded.

"Dad!" Dean called frantically.

His mother was there again, touching his shoulder gently. "Who do you love more?"

He whirled on her, his face anguished. "Why do you keep asking me that? Stop!"

"Choose, Dean."

He thought of mom cutting the crusts off bread and rocking him at night. Making him soup when he was tired.

But then he thought of Dad when he was still a kid. Holding him in his lap, lips pressed against his hair. John's big comforting warmth snuggled against him in a motel bed. Dad picking him up from school. Dad limping home from a hunt. Dad pushing him harder. Yelling at him for lying. Teaching him to drive. Teaching him to shoot. Teaching him to be a Man. Dad. Hard and soft and tender and terrible...and Dad.

Mom was a memory. Dad had raised him.

He started to say something and suddenly a barrage of images flitted through his head.

Crawling into Sam's crib, the only thing he hadn't lost that night in the fire. Sam holding his hand to cross the street. Playing in the back of the car together. Walking home from school. Sam's adoring eyes on him as he helped Sam with his homework back before the situation was reversed and Sam helped him with his. Sam's look of pride as Dean took on bullies at school. Like he was a friggin hero. How had he not seen that? How had he never seen those looks? Those looks of awe. Like Dean was a knight charging a dragon.

Sharing Sam's first beer with him. Giving advice to pick up girls. Sneaking into concerts they hadn't paid for. And movies they sometimes had.

His mother's voice shook him out of his reverie.

"Choose."

"Sam!" He yelled at her. "I choose Sam, all right!"

A ghost of a smile curved her lips and she disappeared.

"Mom?" He hadn't meant to make her go.

And then he heard that voice. Soft and soothing and Sam. "Dean...please. Please, Dean. Don't go."

There was a brightness before him. A feeling of peace and safety and familiarity and utter LOVE. He knew about the lore of heading into the bright light. Knew that's what he shouldn't be doing. But Sam's voice was coming from that direction. And that utter sense of pure love. As strong as anything he'd ever felt. There was pain wrapped in that love.

He stopped.

Felt the sharp jerk and tug of the love. The urgency there.

Dean squared his shoulders and headed into the light.

Dean's eyes snapped open and he took a sobbing, shaking breath as as wall of pain hit him.

His brother gasped in surprise and pulled him tighter to his chest, rocking him, his face scrunched. "Dean. Oh god. Dean."

Dean could suddenly feel Ellis on the other side of him. "It's okay, sweetheart." He wasn't sure if she was speaking to him or Sam.

His back arched in pain under Sam's grip.

Ellis put a hand on Sam's taut shoulder. "Sweetheart. Don't share the distress. He's wanting to stay with you. Don't put the desperation there, okay. Calm down."

Sam's face scrunched and he nodded.

"Pretend you're a parent and you don't want your child to know something bad happened. Hide it. Just share love." She breathed deeply and said almost with reverence. "So much pain wrapped in the love between you two."

Dean was pouring sweat suddenly. As if someone had drenched him in a bucket of water.

"Wh...what's this?" Sam asked, shifting under him. The imprint of his brother's dampness soaking his shirt.

Ellis touched Dean's forehead. "I think his fever is breaking. He doesn't feel as hot suddenly."

Dean's frame trembled. He moaned and turned his head into Sam's shoulder.

Ellis rubbed his back.

Sam looked up at her with his worried eyes. "Do...do you think this means it worked?"

"I hope so."

"S'm." Dean mumbled softly, abruptly pushing off his brother's chest.

Sam didn't let him go but looked down with concern. "What?"

"Lemme go. Gotta take a piss."

Sam huffed.

Ellis rolled her eyes. "I liked him better sick."

Chapter Text

Bobby was footsore and thoroughly pissed by the time he managed to hike back to someplace with a phone where he could call a taxi. The expense of the taxi ride did little to help his mood by the time he reached Ellis's.

He shook off the chilly damp mist that had soaked his clothes and ran a hand over his beard as he approached Ellis's little two-story.

Thought of Dean chased away some of the pissiness as he turned the door handle.

Sam was standing in the living room, looking tense, alerted by the noise of the front door.

"How is he?" Bobby asked as he stepped into the house. The kid looked like he'd been through the wringer. He was poised awkwardly, clearly afraid that Bobby may be FBI and looking unsure as to what his course of action should be. Sam was openly relieved to see him, the expression turning to one of trust. "He's better. He's asleep." He looked around. "No Canton? You were gone for hours?"

"Canton and I came to an understanding." Bobby said, shrugging off his canvas jacket.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Do I want to know what that means?"

"Means John's girlfriend is as lucky as she is dumb."

Ellis crossed her arms in the doorway. She'd overheard. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby shook his head. "Just callin' it like I see it." He was too. His whole life he'd shot from the hip and told people the truth. Pissed off a good deal of them. John being one of 'em. But those that stayed stayed and those that didn't... Well he didn't have time or inclination to pussy foot around a subject just to maintain a friendship.

Ellis shook her head and walked back into the guest room with an air of wounded dignity.

Sam watched her go and looked around to Bobby. "She's really nice, you know."

"Don't mean she ain't an idjit."

Sam gave him the puppy look. The look that played his damn brother like a fiddle. It didn't work as well on Bobby.

"Sam, if you want someone to blow smoke up her ass I'm the wrong guy." He started toward the bedroom. "Dean's fever down finally?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. He's looking looking a lot better."

Bobby shouldered past him and peered into the guest bedroom. Dean was sleeping, but he did look less like death.

Bobby nodded. "Good. Scared me there."

"He scared all of us."

"You make sure you get him to eat somethin." Bobby pulled out his cell. "Canton stole my damn van. Gonna have to hitch a ride home with someone or rent a car." His brows pulled down like it was the worst idea in the world. "Own a damn salvage yard and gotta rent a car."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Wait, he stole your van? I thought you two had come to an understanding."

"We did. It involved stealing the van and leaving me smack dab in a field in the middle of nowhere."

The kid raised an eyebrow. He looked more like one of those teen heartthrob posters every day, Bobby thought wryly.

"I have so many questions." Sam said, "Number one being why would anyone want to steal that thing."

Bobby sneered. "Haha. Hilarious, Sam. You should take that one on the road."

"Your lack of concern means no FBI are gonna show up at the door?"

"Doubtful." Bobby looked down at the cell as he spoke, scrolling through contacts. "He had me right where he wanted me. Made no sense to let me go otherwise."

"You don't need to rent a car." Sam rested his hands on his narrow hips. "You can drive with us in the Impala when Dean's better."

"Drive cross country shoved in the back seat with you idjits? I'll pass. I got a contact in Jersey owes me a favor. I'll call him. As long as Dean ain't gonna die, I'm not sticking around."

Ellis was folding clothes into the dresser. "Sam," she said. "I washed some of your clothes. They're in this drawer." She shut the dresser and pushed past Bobby.

He could feel the air of hurt indignancy about her. Felt the smallest shred of remorse.

Bobby walked over to Dean and put his hand on the boy's forehead. He felt much cooler. Bobby felt a flood of relief surge through him like a belt of good whiskey.

Dean stirred and opened his eyes. He pulled focus on him. "Bobby?" He asked.

Bobby's jaw tightened as he fought down some nameless emotion. "Yeah. It's me." He cocked his head, his voice was stern. "You behave for your brother, you got that?"

Dean had already started to drift back to sleep. Bobby gave him a pat on his cheek. ""Yer the biggest pain in the ass ever."

Ellis had managed to get Dean propped up on some pillows with Sam's help earlier. She held a protein shake to the young man's pale lips. His head rolled into her arm a little and he squinted his eyes at her. "Wh..."

"It's some nourishment. Take a sip." She tipped it and didn't give him a choice.

He swallowed reflexively a few times and batted at her hand with the mix weakly.

"No." She said as if she were chastising the cat. "Come on. Few more swallows."

She tipped it again.

Dean swallowed and turned his head with a groan and a petulant grumble.

"Okay. Good enough." She set it on the nightstand and smoothed back his hair.

Sam poked his head in.

"How is he? Get anything down him?"

"A little." She held up the shake. "He just loves this."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, he loves all my health shakes."

She stood up and cracked her back. "Switch shifts? Bobby gone?"

"Not yet. He's waiting on a friend."

Ellis limped out of the room, her leg half asleep. She gritted her teeth against the numb lightness of it and headed to the kitchen.

Bobby was on the couch with a glass of whiskey, feet propped up on the coffee table. Taco was also on the coffee table staring him down.

Bobby looked over to her, taking in the limp, eyes shadowed by the rim of his baseball cap. "You get mauled by a tiger or what?"

"Huh?" She asked, thrown off balance by the odd remark. "No. Foot fell asleep."

"There's something wrong with this cat." Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Course there's something wrong with every cat. But this one is weird."

Taco scented his chin on Bobby's boot then resumed staring.

"Yeah," Ellis said shaking out her leg. "Well..." she hesitated, at a loss for words. "Whatever."

She started in toward the kitchen again, gritting her teeth again at the pins and needles sensation.

"I ain't gonna take back that you were stupid."

She stopped and looked back at Bobby on the couch.

He drained his whiskey glass and looked at her directly. "Cause you were. Coulda got us all thrown in prison forever. Hell...still could've. We don't know."

"Canton won't tell." She said assuredly.

"You're certain of that, huh?"

She nodded, pulled herself up fractionally.

She saw him look at her differently for a second. He exhaled through his nose. "Yer a good woman though. And you take care of my boys."

"John's boys," she said, because she was feeling taciturn and offended still.

"Yeah well..." Bobby set the glass down on the floor. "Don't know if you got the memo but John's dead. They're my boys now."

Ellis's face crumpled.

Bobby saw the effect it had on her with some surprise. "Balls. You really loved that bastard, didn't you?"

"I..." she choked on her words for a moment. Wiped at her eyes, frustrated as hell.

"We all did." He said. There was a long awkward pause. "He was stubborn as a mule and a royal pain in the ass. And he didn't help things with that damn...tongue...of his...but he was a good man."

Ellis turned away. "So you two have a lot in common."

She heard his snorting laugh as she left. She disappeared into the sanctity of her little kitchen and opened the cupboard to grab a glass. John's chipped and abused kitten mug teetered out of the shelf and fell. Ellis made a desperate grab for it but it cracked against the counter before it fell to the floor and shattered.

Steve Canton looked Henricksen straight in the eye and lied to him. He lied elaborately and thoroughly with so much conviction that even he'd almost believed it. No Winchesters had showed at Parnecki's place. He'd stuck around for an extra long time because he thought maybe there would be a lead. All there was was an older man that she was obviously having some sort of tryst with. He'd had his car ruined by neighborhood pranksters on the way back. Canton had gone AWOL because he'd been conversing with his wife about his son's near death experience. Yes, he knew it was a fireable offense. He understood his job could be terminated. He could accept that.

Henricksen had leaned back and watched him with an expression that clearly showed he didn't believe a damn word that was being said. But he didn't fire Canton. He took him off the Winchester case and gave up Parnecki as a possible lead.

Canton took the news in stride and then hurried off to the hospital, ready to burn whatever vacation days he had coming.

Chapter Text

"You need a bath, sir." Ellis touched her nose to Dean's playfully.

He smiled, full of cheek and it was breathtakingly adorable. "You gonna help me?"

"Maaaaaybe. Don't you want Sam to?"

"Yeah. Hot chick or my brother. Super hard decision."

She laughed. "You're feeling better." He still looked so pale, the freckles stark against his nose, and a little more gaunt than usual, the planes if his face just a little sharper than when he had his weight on.

He gave a weak smile.

Ellis ruffled his hair and he leaned into it, eyes closed. "Who am I fooling? You're still feeling like crap but you can't help your mouth making promises that body can't keep."

"My body can do everything just fine," he grumped.

"Of course," she said, checking his bandage. "Except like walk and eat and bathe yourself alone."

"Technicalities." He mumbled.

"How is the pain?"

He cleared his throat, winced with the movement. "Not so bad right now. Sore though."

"Where?"

"Every freakin where."

She looked at him appraisingly. "How much do you remember the last few days?"

Dean's brow furrowed. "All of it?"

"That's unlikely."

One brow remained raised. "I remember getting shot and Sam takin me here. And..." his eyes lost focus for a moment as he tried to recollect what had happened. "You diggin the bullet out." He winced. "So not fucking cool, by the way."

"I'm sorry." Ellis smoothed the bedsheet.

"You barbarians never heard of whiskey."

"Too dangerous to give you at that point, hun."

He furrowed his brow. "...wait." he focused on a point behind Ellis, then drew his gaze to her face, green eyes searching. "Was...Bobby here?"

"Yes, he was."

"Where'd he go?"

"Back home once he knew you weren't going to die on us."

There was a hush where he seemed to be processing something. He started to speak and then reined it in and his mouth opened silently for a second before he closed it.

"What?" Ellis cocked her head.

Dean gave a crooked half grin to cover his embarrassment and dropped his eyes. "Nothing."

"It's not nothing."

"Almost asked if Dad was here. Kept thinking I saw him." He looked at her, his eyes sweeping her features. "Did Sam tell you? Do you know?"

She bit her lower lip, keeping her voice steady. "I know."

Dean gave a mirthless almost chuckle. "Sucks. Kept waking up thinkin' he was here."

She nodded, her hair over one shoulder. "You had a very high fever. Dangerously high."

Dean blinked.

Ellis pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. "Still feel a bit warm but nothing like you were."

She sat down on the edge of the bed, propped another pillow behind Dean so he was able to sit up a little further. He winced.

"Do you remember any of the spell?"

"Spell?" Dean looked genuinely surprised. "You used a spell on me?"

"Nevermind."

Dean gave her a rakish grin. "Was it a porn cure? Did you have to get me naked and oiled?"

She laughed despite herself and shook her head.

"Fine." he quipped. "Go ahead and save those for Sam. See if I care."

She batted him fondly on the shoulder, then stared straight ahead for a minute, stifling tears.

Dean face grew concerned. "What? What'd I say?"

She shook her head.

Her tears had completely taken the wind out of his sails. He looked guilty. "It's dad, isn't it?"

She dashed the tears away with the heel of her hand and nodded.

Dean's face closed off. "Yeah." He shifted to try to get up and winced, completely stuck.

Ellis turned and threw her arms around him. Dean raised an eyebrow and sat where he was. After a second he put his arm around her and nosed her hair.

"I... I loved him, Dean." She breathed into his collar bone.

"Yeah." He said into the top of her head.

She laughed into his chest suddenly. "God, you're as eloquent as he was."

There was a long pause and then Dean replied, "Yeah."

Ellis looked at the young man lying on the couch. She wondered if he'd made it there himself. Some of his color had returned. His short hair was tousled, a little more disheveled than when he usually styled it. His spatter in of freckles across his nose was just barely visible in the light along with his high cheekbones and the line of his jaw.

He looked up at her through his long dark lashes, blinking lazily.

"Do you have any clue how handsome you are?" She asked.

His lips reflexively twitched into an almost smile at the compliment. "I'm awesome."

She leaned over and kissed his hairline. "Yes. Yes. You are, sweetheart."

"What's a guy gotta do to be called baby?"

"Get shot in the stomach."

Dean snorted. "Yeah. Fuck that. Nevermind. Hey Sammy...Ellis thinks I'm handsome."

There was a huff from the corner of the room where Sam was hunched over his laptop. "Tell her I'm sorry about her terrible taste in men."

"You're just jealous because I'm the hot one and you know it."

Sam let the gibe roll off his shoulders in a way a girl never would have. "Well I can walk to the bathroom by myself. I win."

Dean scowled at him. "Shut up, Sam."

"Don't make enemies of me or I will never escort you to the toilet again." He replied without looking up.

Dean frowned. "Hey...That's...blackmail...or something."

Ellis snorted, shook her head at the exchange. "Honey, can you eat something for me?"

Dean nodded. "I'm friggin hungry."

She ruffled his hair and left him alone with Sam.

Dean was only quiet for a minute before boredom prompted him to pester his brother. "What are you doing."

"Research."

He perked up a little. "A case?"

"No." Sam said, sparing him a glance. "On keeping your wound cared for. There's a lot of information about it."

Dean shifted. "I gotta take a piss."

Sam flipped the laptop shut and walked over to offer Dean his arm. Dean took it with ill grace and dragged himself up with a grunt. It left him breathless. "This friggin sucks."

Sam helped steady him and Dean batted at the offending hand. "Get off. M fine."

"Dean, you're not fine which is why I'm helping you out here in the first place. So do us both a favor and cooperate."

An expression crossed Dean's features that said that he didn't like that logic at all.

Sam saw it and gave a huff and a shake of his head as he swung Dean's arm over his shoulder. Dean yanked the arm away after a few steps. "Dude. Give it a rest."

Sam threw his arms up. "Fine. Face plant. See if I care. You won't be the pretty one after you knock put your front teeth and break your nose on the wood floor."

Dean shot him an affronted look and kept limping toward his destination. He felt Sam take a firm grip on the back of his shirt, opened his mouth to protest and felt his knees almost buckle. He swayed and Sam caught him. Dean regained his equilibrium and pushed off him. "Why am I so pathetic right now?"

"Umm I don't know..." Sam let out one of hid annoyed huffs. "You were shot in the stomach, almost bled out, got a massive infection in two different wounds. Have barely eaten anything in like 4 days. Had a horrible fever and almost died."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Almost died, huh?"

"Yes. Yes you almost did." Sam shot back a little emotionally.

"Okay. Easy." Dean patted his back with a casual affection. "I didn't, okay."

"No, Dean it's not okay."

Dean set his jaw. "Well I'll make sure that I don't inconvenience you with the scare next time. Cause it was a friggin' picnic for me!"

Sam's nostrils flared and he took a deep breath. "You scared me."

Dean waved him off and stumbled into the bathroom, closed the door.

Sam sighed and leaned up against the wall. Unable to shake some feeling that he had a hard road ahead of him. That they both had a hard road, one with twists and turns they hadn't even seen yet.

Dean's voice floated to him from the other side of the door. "Sam, stop hovering like a weirdo out there. Let a man piss in peace."

Taco stalked over with a casual air and wound around Sam's feet. His ears flicked to listen to Dean's voice with fascination. He abandoned Sam's ankles, wandered to the bathroom door and stuck a paw under it.

Sam laughed.

"I hate that cat." Came floating from the other side of the door.

"Well it loves you," Sam replied, watching the haunches shift and land sideways as Taco flung himself to the ground like an errant toddler. He reached his paw under the door as far as it would go.

Dean opened the door looking a little pale and Taco got up and bolted.

Sam raised his brows. "Are you alright?"

Dean nodded. "Just feel kinda weak," he said, leaning against the door way.

Sam offered him his shoulder and Dean begrudgingly took the silent offer to help.

"I'm not doing this again. Not taking any more bullets."

"Please don't," Sam agreed.

Dean shuffled forward, eyes half closed. "Feel like shit."

"Yeah. I get it." Sam said.

"Shower sounds so good right now."

"I think you're going to face plant in the shower, dude."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. He looked to Sam and went quiet.

"What?" The younger asked.

"I scared you, huh?"

Sam nodded, his face went tight.

Dean gave him a look that told Sam there was more he wasn't saying.

Chapter Text

Dean stepped into the warm bath Ellis had drawn for him using a towel bar and the adjoining sink for leverage. His foot fall made a gentle wave while the water moved around his calves. He eased himself to sit on the edge of the tub. The porcelain was cold on his ass and he winced. He slowly tried to lower himself in, slipped, and caught himself on the edge of the tub with a hiss and a splash.

The door opened at the commotion. "Sam!" He snapped belligerently. "Get out."

Ellis snorted and closed the door behind her with a soft click.

He flushed, a bit embarrassed at the mistake. "I thought you were Sam."

"I can see where we are easy to confuse."

Dean smirked and leaned back against the porcelain, arching his knee and spreading his leg a little, not the slightest bit shy, in fact perhaps a little amused at the way she was trying to avoid staring at him.

"You need help?" She asked. "Sounds like you fell in."

"The landing was a little rocky," he said, his elbows propped against the back of the tub. He winced.

"Still hurt?" she asked.

Ellis wandered to the edge of the bath. She leaned in and grabbed a purple mesh bath poof and a lavender scented body wash, then tried to hand them to Dean. He wrinkled his nose, hesitated to take them. "You have anything normal? You know like bar soap."

"I'm a lavender bath poof girl. This is what you got." She set them on the edge of the tub.

Dean took them, squirted some of the liquid soap onto the poof and ran it over his shoulder. He worked slowly and gingerly, feeling the pull and protest of his abdomen as he moved.

She studied his face. "You okay, sweetheart?"

"M fine." He said. "Just sore." He couldn't even bend to reach his legs, he was certain of it, so he settled with washing his chest. The effort took the wind out of him and he leaned back against the tile, his respiration heightened. He felt a surge of frustration. "This is bullshit."

Sympathy crossed Ellis's features and that frustrated Dean more.

"Don't look at me like that." He protested petulantly. "I'm fine."

"There's nothing wrong with needing help."

"I don't need help." He bit out, splashing water over his shoulder to rinse it. He had no clue how he was going to manage to wash his hair but he suddenly felt annoyed and then just as suddenly too tired to care. He leaned back against the wall, his head contacting the tile with a small thump.

Undeterred, Ellis walked over and sat on the edge of the tub. Wordlessly, she used the tumbler to rinse him off. "It's okay, sweetheart."

"Ellis..." Dean said, his eyes closed. "Don't."

Without warning, she dumped the next tumbler over his head and he sputtered, jerking in surprise. He looked at her balefully, his hair plastered in a dark mess on his forehead. The water dripped off his chin. He blinked.

"You." She said cupping his face tenderly. "Are the biggest pain in the ass. Just sit still and let me take care of you."

He wiped the water off his face with his hand. "I'm not five."

She let her gaze drop down his body, linger suggestively and then brought it back up. "No...No you aren't." She winked at him.

He furrowed his brow but didn't return the flirt. It was so uncharacteristic of him that she was concerned. "Honey, what?"

The set of his jaw belied his frustration. He looked away, the dampness glistening off his shoulder. He bent his knee up a little further, raising it out of the water some.

"Dean?"

"Just leave it okay, I've reached my mothering limit!" It came out a little harsher than what he'd intended. He was so bored and frustrated and feeling worthless.

Ellis looked truly hurt by the rebuke. She blinked back tears and stood up. "Fine." She tossed the tumbler into the water with a splash. "Wash your hair yourself." She turned away. "Call Sam if you need help getting out." She closed the door with a louder slam than was necessary.

Dean blinked, swallowed at a lump in his throat. Great. Now he wanted to break down like a chick.

He bit his lip and wet his hair with the tumbler. Then managed to squeeze the shampoo onto his hand. It really hurt to raise his arm above his head and try work any type of lather. He was starting to regret being a bitch to Ellis.

A woman rubbing his scalp. There could be worse things in life.

By the time he'd gotten soaped up, everything was on fire and he was exhausted with the effort.

The door rattled and Dean figured it was one of them to check on him but instead a white paw flicked it open and Taco sauntered in. Dean narrowed his eyes and then ignored him, dumping the water over his head to try to rinse it. It seemed to be taking forever. Taco sat on the edge of the tub and Dean had the impulse to fling water at the cat to get him off. But he didn't. Instead, he leaned his head back against the tile and wiped the dripping shampoo out of his eyes. Taco reached in and swatted at the water with his paw, fascinated with the small waves caused by Dean's movement. "When we're gone you take care of Ellis, okay?" Dean said suddenly.

Taco stopped, considered. Stared at Dean with wise yellow eyes, then leaned back and lurched sideways on the slippery surface, fell off the edge of the tub into the water. He flailed hysterically and Dean tried to jerk away from claws and limbs before the cat scrambled out and ran out of the room like a rabid hairball.

Dean put his hand over his side with a groan. That had not helped with his pain level at all. Dumb ass cat. He grabbed the towel bar and hauled himself up with a shout of pain. Then, with some effort, wrapped a luxurious powder blue towel he found hanging with the guest towels around his waist and staggered out of the bathroom. He barely made it to the bed before he collapsed onto it on his stomach still wearing his towel.

Sam looked up from his spot on the couch at the door slamming. He cocked an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"I don't know, Sam." Ellis said, heading to the kitchen.

Sam paused a moment and then followed her. He hung in the doorway awkwardly, looking like a child someone forgot to pick up from school. "What happened?"

She waved him off, eyes brimming.

He stood looking sympathetic. "What happened?"

"I just..." she paused, drew in a breath, let it out slowly. "He snapped at me and I'm being an emotional wreck. Feeling pretty unappreciated right now."

Sam's brows knitted together in his signature golden retriever look. "You just have to cut him some slack. He doesn't mean it, Ellis."

"I just. I... "she paused. "I don't know." She pulled out a chair and sat on it, put her head in her hands.

"He's embarrassed." Sam offered.

"I don't think Dean gets embarrassed about nudity." Ellis said into her hands.

Sam huffed. "No, not about that. About needing help. He's hurt and he's frustrated and Dean doesn't do well with those. He lashes out. Its a pain in the ass, believe me, I know." Sam paused with the distinct air of reloading his verbal arsenal. He wandered in and poured himself a drink of Bobby's left over whiskey sitting on the counter. He took a drink and looked at the glass like it held answers. "Dean has had a lot of things happen to him beyond his control..." Sam looked back in the direction of the bathroom. "And he's prideful. Really independent."

Sam took another sip. "He doesn't want his autonomy taken away." He paused, judging her reaction.

Ellis nodded wearily. "I know, Sam."

His brows knitted together. "You don't though." He said passionately. "Things just happen to my brother all the time that aren't his fault and I get really angry for him."

"I know, honey." Ellis sat her forehead against the table, her blonde hair pooling over the place mat there.

"He's been trying to be," Sam stopped and huffed, "an adult since he was still still a kid."

She looked up at him. He was open and honest and standing a little casually. "Been hitting the whiskey, huh?"

Sam blinked. "A little."

She smiled knowingly. "I was thinking a loquacious Sam was probably a buzzed Sam."

He looked away. Still sober enough to be a bit bashful at her observation. "He doesn't mean it is all." He ran a hand over his face.

She nodded, suddenly tearful again, pissed at herself for reacting the way she did when Dean hadn't really done anything wrong. He just didn't want to be bothered is all. He clearly wanted to be left alone to lick his wounds just like she wanted to lick hers right now. And he had the right to. God knows he'd been thrown sideways by fate to a ridiculous extent.

Sam didn't seem to know what to do with her emotion. He cleared his throat. "Just thought you should know that."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

He seemed still in the mood to talk. As if his reserves were slowly fading with the liquor. "I don't know what I'd do without him... He's having a really hard time with Dad's death. He doesn't say anything but I'm watching him, you know? Like I can see it all over him. He's not okay and I'm not okay." He looked up at her. "...and you're not okay. No one is okay." He drained the rest of the whiskey. "I'm starting to feel this. Now." He put down the glass.

She sighed. "Don't you start dealing with things the way your father and Dean do."

"He, he took a tire iron to the car. Had just repaired it and..." Sam shook his head. "He mangled her."

Ellis seized on the description. "His car? The black one?"

A cascade of that first vision of the Winchester boys went through her mind.

Dean hugging a broken body of a young man. His cries lost on the wind.
Sam on his knees in the mud. The light going out of him.

Dean smashing the body of a black classic car with a tire iron. The anger and rage and pain emanating off of him in waves.

Dean being torn apart by some invisible force dragging him down as he cried and fought desperately to get away. Crawling his way across the floor, a spurt of blood flying from his shoulder, terrified desperate.

And then in a quick succession of flashes, horrible distorted faces, blood, cries, torture, Dean bound to a table- hooks and flails and sharp objects and hanging suspended from chains, the world hot and surreal...and then a flash of light, blinding in the darkness... absolutely blinding, the dark shadow of wings looming against the wall and then away from that horror.

And after... Dean aged and weary. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, his jaw tight buried in a world of pain and whiskey. Lost and tired and utterly empty.

And the vision played again. Sam on his knees in the mud. The light going out of him. Ellis gripped her head with a strangled cry.

"You okay?" Sam asked, very much alive and standing two feet in front of her with his whiskey glass.

"Headache," she lied. "Sam...the car. The black Impala."

He furrowed his brow. "Yeah, Dean's Baby."

Her heart dropped and she remembered her conversation with John years ago. Her telling him a piece of what she saw and him saying with a snort, "Would never happen." Yet it had. Somehow it had. Which meant the rest of her haunted shit show had credibility. How could she even tell him? What could she say? Don't go out in the mud? She was so tired of her fucking visions. This one was so persistent and so fucking useless. "Be careful." She said. "You and Dean, just be careful when you are out there."

"Ellis we're hunters. Careful isn't really on the menu."

There was a scrabbling of nails on wood and Taco came streaking by, dripping wet. He ran behind the table.

They looked at each other.

"Was that the cat?" Sam asked.

Chapter Text

Ellis poked her head into the guest bedroom. Dean had collapsed into a prone pile on the mattress. A blue towel wrapped around his waist. He still had some shampoo lather in his hair.

She crossed her arms, considered for a moment and then went to the drawer and pulled out another pair of Sam's lounge pants and a t-shirt. She tossed them on the bed next to Dean and he stirred. "Hey." He said blinking, his voice gravelly. He wiped a hand over his eyes. He shifted and she watched the muscles in his back work with the movement.

She turned to leave.

"Hey." He said again, trying to lever himself up onto his elbows. He gave up the struggle and flopped back down onto his stomach. "I think this antibiotic you guys have me on is making me feel like shit."

"Yeah well it's strong so it might be." She replied coolly. "You have a few more days on it though." She turned to go again.

"Ellis." Dean said softly.

She paused and looked at him. "What?"

His mouth worked silently as if he didn't know what to say. He looked distinctly miserable. "You want me gone? Cause Sam and I can pack up..."

"Jesus, Dean, you can't even stand up on your own. Don't be a moron."

She approached him then, her entire demeanor softening. She still didn't know where she stood with him but right now. And despite her talk with Sam, she was still a bit rebuffed. She sat on the end of the bed. "Need me to get Sam In here to help you get dressed."

"No." He reached out for her hand and grabbed it. He pulled her off balance a little. He let her go without saying anything.

She furrowed her brows, utterly confused. "You okay?"

"M fine." He twisted his head away from her, set his cheek back down on the bed.

She paused, hesitant to push and yet not wanting to leave. "You in pain?"

"M sore."

"Sorry." There was a very long and awkward pause. Ellis stood up. "I'll go get Sam."

"I'd much rather have you put your hands on my body then be manhandled by a Sasquatch." He said.

She halted. "Is that so?"

He turned his head and rolled to his side just slightly, gave her an appeasing smile. "Yeah."

Her eyes traced over the beautiful curves of his calves and thighs and the way his ass shifted under the towel when he moved. "I thought you needed personal space."

"Nah." He gave her another boyish grin. "Get all up in my personal space, it's fine."

Ellis felt a wave of relief wash over her. She sat back down on the bed. "I dote on you because it makes me feel better."

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I've spent the better part of a week torturing you and that's hard on me. So when I dote think of it as being for me, okay?"

His mouth pulled down into a considering frown. He made a face that said fair enough.

She put her hand on his shoulder and ran it down his back. He closed his eyes and groaned under the touch. "You've had a really shitty week, baby."

"Not the shittiest in recent history." He said. His towel came askew and he adjusted it. "I miss m'dad."

Ellis's eyes welled.

Dean rolled himself over slightly, saw her tears. "I know it's overwhelming to see me naked. A lot of women cry the first time. Just take a moment and take it in."

Ellis snort laughed and slapped his arm.

Dean grinned as if it were a triumph to get her to smack him. "Men pay a lot for that service and here you are giving it to me for free." He waggled his eyebrow. "Maybe next time you'll take me over your knee."

She put her hands on his shoulders. "Do you want a back rub?"

He hummed happily and settled back onto his stomach, closing his eyes. Ellis's hands worked the soft skin, slid down to his shoulder blades. She found a knot with her thumb and gently worked at it while Dean held his breath against the pain.

She felt the knot soften and moved to the other side, her fingers dancing over the skin, then pressing in gradually. Soft slide of skin over muscle and bone. So easy to go into a trance touching him like this. A Dean that she did not recognize. Eyes narrowed, the mischievous warmth gone out of them. Drowning himself in whiskey. A Dean that reminded her of John. She was grateful that Dean couldn't see her tears. She moved her hands down to the gentle curve of his mid back. Stroked him. Soft. Loving. She traced her fingers over the divots in the muscle on either side of his lumbar spine just above his ass. "You have Dimples of Venus."

"I did what to Venus?"

"Dimples of Venus." She traced her thumbs over them tenderly. "They're a ligament attachment point." She sank her thumbs into the muscle. "They're very sexy. They're supposedly a mark of robust health and a high libido."

He smiled-a flash of his other dimple, the faint one on his cheek. "Well, that's obviously true."

"Supposed to mean a good blood supply to the pelvis." She dropped a little lower, her fingers teasing under the towel. She fell into silence, a concentrative little frown on her face as she worked.

"Keep telling me about my sexy butt dimples please." He said congenially. "Do I have the option to get a Happy Ending?"

She slapped his rear. The terry cloth transformed the spank into a dull thump. She caught his self satisfied-smirk in profile as he turned his neck a little.

She took a breath and moved her hands back up to his mid back, feeling gently. "You broke these ribs at one point."

He grunted an affirmative. She settled her hand there, then started to move back up to his shoulder blade, felt the heat rising from him into her palms. He ran warmer than her. She made a few large circles with her fingers until she felt the heat even out under her touch. Dean relaxed fractionally, contented under her ministrations. "That feels awesome," he muttered. She moved back up to his collarbone and gently worked there until she felt more pliability edge its way into his muscles. "Relax." She soothed. "I've got ya."

He hummed. "Where did you learn this?"

"No where. I'm just moving where you need me to...You broke this left collar bone too."

"How can you tell."

"If there's trauma it just feels different to me. Like the sound when someone holds down the dampener pedal on a piano. It's the same note but it's altered. Your father had those all over his body. Little dampener pedal notes. It gave him a different song."

He winced.

"What?"

"It's my Dad. Gross."

"I didn't mean it that way, weirdo. We only got a chance to be intimate one time." Her voice sounded wistful. "But he came in here busted up all the time over the years. I had to play nurse a lot."

Dean went quiet. "I never knew."

"Never knew what?"

"That he came here after hunts...for R&R."

She snorted. "Free medical care. He always got hurt."

Dean smirked. "Bet you liked playing nurse.

"There are worse men to play nurse with." She conceded fondly. "Come on," she said. "Let's get you into your pants and top. You need my help?"

Dean rolled onto his back. "I can't do a sit up."

"I know." Her fingers went to the wound on his abdomen and he flinched as she touched it.

"Awww, come on." He gritted his teeth and sucked in a sharp breath. "Don't paw at it."

"Just checking on it, sweetheart."

He blinked, looking up at her with long dark lashes and the deceptive innocence that always crossed his face when he was being earnest. "I think I remember a little." His eyes slid sideways.

"A little of what, honey."

"Bein' sick... It hurt really bad..." he swallowed and turned his head fractionally away and the healing cut on his forehead caught the light. A souvenir from his car accident. "Dad told me to come back."

"Your father?" Ellis's voice was hushed. "Was it really him?"

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. It felt like him." He blinked rapidly, turned his head a fraction further to hide his emotion.

She touched his arm and a jolt of electricity that had nothing to do with Dean's sex appeal shot through her. Suddenly she knew-KNEW-what had happened. It took her breath away in a horrified gasp. Shook her to the core. She stepped back.

Dean looked concerned, "What?"

"Dean." She could see the tubes and IVs and tangled machine wires in her mind's eye. The gash across his forehead. "You were supposed to die, Dean. You didn't make it out of that accident alive."

He gave her a nervous smile. "Course I did. I'm right here running my mouth." He frowned, watching her start to come apart a little. He lifted his head off the bed with a groan. "Ellis. Hey."

"He's in pain. He's... Oh god, what did he do?" Her face contorted in misery. "What did he do, Dean!" She grabbed her head in a way that felt reminiscent of one of Sam's migraine attacks.

Dean felt something foreboding rise in his stomach. "Sammy!" He shouted. He tried to get off the bed, but couldn't quite. He flopped to his side like a landed fish. "Ellis, sweetheart." He reached out for her. "Sweetheart, listen."

He pressed his other hand into his stomach with a grimace.

Her respiration shot up until she was taking giant gulping sobs of breath. Somewhere near the door way Taco gave a distressed meow, his fur still damp.

"Calm down." Dean tried again. Ellis was out of his reach, pacing, hyperventilating. She cried out in agitation, a sound of pure stress. Dean had never heard anything like it out of her before. Her hands were caught in a blonde tangle of her own hair as if she were trying to keep the thoughts in her own mind from splitting her head open.

"Sammy!" With a Herculean effort he pulled himself to his feet, catching the towel before it fell to the floor.

Sam jogged to the doorway and bounced off the door jamb, misjudging the clearance he had and catching his shoulder. He looked stunned for a moment before he shook it off and regained his balance. "What? What happened? Dean?"

"It's not me. It's Ellis." Dean gestured toward her, made a grab for his towel as it came loose with the movement.

"Ellis!" Sam made a beeline for her, put a hand on her slight shoulder. "Woah. Hey." He hovered ineffectually while she shook, her face contorted into a silent sob. "What's wrong?"

"Sam, go to the kitchen cabinets and see if you can find any of her meds." Dean barked.

Sam looked up. "What meds?"

"I don't know..." he snapped. "You're the genius. See if there are any tranquilizers." Dean lost his battle to stay upright and sat heavily back onto the bed, visibly upset at his own uselessness.

Ellis's knees buckled and Sam made a grab for her arm, seizing her before she collapsed totally. "Hey." He tucked her against his chest, feeling the shivering pain go through her and herded her over to the bed. His voice took on a gentle tone. "Here. Stay with Dean.

Dean pulled her down with him, wincing even through his adrenaline surge. She huddled into a ball.

"Hey, it's okay. Sam used to get these migraines." He said calmly, brushing her hair back. "You'll be okay."

"Dean..." her voice was a broken sob.

He threw his arm over her. "You'll be okay, honey. Just give Sam a minute."

It wasn't long before Sam peeled back into the room with a few Xanax and a glass of water. He pulled Ellis up without question and tried to push them into her hand. "Here."

She didn't listen, her jaw trembling, eyes shot wide, looking at a spot behind his head. Sam pried her mouth open and shoved the pills in. "Swallow." He said firmly, tipping the glass up to her lips. She did, grabbing for the collar on his blue and beige striped button up. Her hands taut and desperate. Sam pulled her to him, up almost onto his lap. Her blonde figure almost as small as a child in comparison to his own tall frame. She was shaking, still worked into hysterics. Sam restrained her, pressing her into his chest, his hazel blue eyes soft. "Shhhh. It's okay. You're fine. I'm here." His bangs fell into his eyes as he looked up. "Dean's here."

"John." She whispered brokenly. "He's hurting. They're tearing him up!"

"No. Shhhhh." Sam said, somehow remaining calm.

He looked helplessly to Dean. "What's going on with her?" Sam asked.

"She had a vision of Dad and flipped out." Dean's brows were knitted together.

Sam nodded. "I'm not sure if she's even with us right now... Ellis." He took her face in between his big hands. "Hey."

She pushed away from him and fought to stand up. He kept his hold on her. "Ellis. It's Sam." He repeated patiently, his voice softening into the tone he used for victims they dealt with. "Are you here with me? Ellis?"

"John..." She whispered.

Dean visibly winced at the name.

"Hey," Sam coaxed. "Ellis come back. It's okay."

She shook her head tearfully.

"Yes," he assured, his finger under her chin to tilt her head up and try to catch her gaze.

"I'm scared." She was trembling, the shaking seizing her like a nervous chihuahua.

"Nothing to be scared of," Sam said patiently, rubbing her arm.

"Don't leave me." She said softly.

"Hey," Dean said from his spot on the bed, curled onto his side to watch the action. "You've never left us. We're sure as hell not leaving you, sweetheart."

Chapter Text

Sam kept Ellis against leaning against his side. "The meds should kick in soon."

Her jaw was trembling. She nodded then whimpered and shook her head to clear it.

"Are your visions always this bad?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

She didn't answer, lost in a trance again. Sam looked over her head to Dean. "How did you know where to find the meds?"

Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose. "When we were here last..." he faded.

Sam blinked, feeling distinctly buzzed now that the adrenaline was wearing off. "Last?"

"Dude. You know when."

Sam seemed to not be grasping what he was talking about.

"When we came here when you got hit by that freaking hex." Dean narrowed his eyes. "Dude, are you drunk?"

"Been drinking, Not drunk."

"Awesome. So I can't move enough to put on freaking clothes. Ellis has gone all Fiver on us. And you're drunk."

Sam still had Ellis tucked under his arm. She'd gone a little quieter. He turned his attention to her. "Feeling any better?"

She slumped against him and closed her eyes for a minute. Sam kept rubbing her arm. "Fiver?" he asked his brother.

"Yeah." Dean replied.

"The psychic rabbit from Watership Down. You read Watership Down?" The tone betrayed his incredulity.

"No... it was a freaking awesome cartoon, Sam. Killer rabbits. So cool." Dean reached for his shirt and grimaced. "We should totally hunt that Black Rabbit of Inle though. That thing needs rock salt up its ass."

"Be careful," Sam admonished.

"I'm not actually hunting the Black Rabbit, Sam."

"No I mean getting dressed."

Dean gave him a glare. "Mother hen her. She needs it. Leave me alone, dude."

Sam scooched Ellis up farther and gently laid her recumbent on the bed. "I'm gonna help get Dean dressed while you rest. Okay?"

She swallowed and didn't say anything.

Sam grabbed the shirt. He hauled Dean up and he gave a protesting cry with the movement. "Oh god. Warn me next time, Kevorkian!"

Sam ignored the jibe, still supporting most of his older brother's weight. "Head," he said pushing the t-shirt over Dean's head before he had a chance to say anything else.

"Arms." He grabbed an arm and shoved it through the sleeve holes.

"Get off!" Dean protested. "Freaking bitch! I'm not four!"

"I'm trying to get this done efficiently so I can get back to Ellis, Dean." Sam said shoving Dean's other arm in the hole.

Dean cried out.

"Sorry." Sam apologized, realizing he must have been too rough.

"You freaking suck." Dean fell back onto the bed and panted for a minute.

Sam grabbed the sleep pants and went for Dean's leg.

"NO!" Dean barked, recoiling fearfully. "You're about as gentle as a steamroller. Give me a minute."

Sam tossed him the pants. "Okay, Donald Duck. Tell me when you want bottoms to go with that t-shirt." They landed on Dean's chest and he tilted his chin to look down at himself. "I'm wearing a towel, dude."

Sam was back to Ellis, a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Any better?" He asked.

She lay on her side silently, tears streaming down her face. Her complexion red. But her breathing had calmed. She nodded fractionally.

"Okay," Sam nodded and sat in the chair facing the bed. He tipped his head back with a wince and closed his eyes. "I have a headache."

"Oh, cry me a freaking river." Dean snapped. "I feel like somebody stomped my side." He reached out to touch Ellis and she rolled over and curled into him. He kissed her blonde hair, his entire demeanor softening with the contact. "It's okay, sweetheart." His voice was a soothing paternal rumble. "We gotcha."

He took a breath of her lavender scent.

Taco leapt up on Sam's lap with a burr. Sam pet him absently. "I didn't know she was on anxiety meds."

"Yeah, well. When she was possessed the demon told me some stuff...said she kept anxiety meds in the kitchen cupboard." He left out that the meds were because of him. He nuzzled his jaw, which was starting to get a coat of stubble, against her forehead.

"A vision set this off?" Sam queried, opening one eye to look at Dean.

"Yeah," Dean said quietly. "I think she's hit her stress overload for the week."

"We definitely don't seem to be good for her stress levels...Or our own. Poor Ellis." Sam ran a hand through his mop of bangs. He watched Dean with her and his eyes took on a contemplative melancholy.

Ellis snuggled into the crook of his neck.

The boy's eyes met and Sam looked away.

"Did she find out what happened to Dad?" His voice was hushed.

Dean gave an imperceptible nod. "I've got a good guess what was in that vision." His hand stroked through her hair absently. He let it play through his fingers.

Sam scratched Taco's ear. "She asleep?"

Dean touched his nose to hers. "Sweetheart?" He said softly. She responded with a lazy blink of her eyes that told him she was partly conscious but may as well be unconscious. "Mostly." Dean said, wincing as the pain that had been partly dulled by adrenaline seemed to be coming back.

"Why would a demon tell you where her anxiety meds were?" Sam asked suddenly.

"I don't know, Sam. It also told me about her sexual escapades with Dad in detail."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Ewww."

"Precisely. They tell you shit because demons are demons." Dean studied Sam's face and registered his uncharacteristically juvenile response to the details of his conversation with possessed Ellis. "...You are a terrible drunk. Don't make this a habit."

Sam blinked. "I'm not drunk, dude. I'm a little buzzed maybe."

"Yeah, well your IQ has dropped about 50 points..."

"Oh, so I'm as smart as you right now."

Dean rolled his eyes. Then snorted. "Probably." He seemed to think for a minute, the crinkles around his eyes deepening as he narrowed them. "Sam."

Sam looked up and could see Dean measuring whether or not he should vocalize something. Whether or not Sam would remember it in the morning. Sam cocked an eyebrow.

Dean scrubbed a hand across his eyes and went back to touching the top of Ellis's head with his chin. He abandoned his question. "This feels good."

"What does?"

"Having a girl in my arms. Even if she's roofied."

Sam snorted. "Yeah." He said. "I miss it."

Dean's answer was typical of him. "You should get laid."

Sam huffed in derision, then went somber.

"Alright what's with the mopey face?" Dean asked, his arm absently stroking Ellis's back as she curled against him.

"I'm just. I just..." he trailed off, tongue tied. "When this is all over."

"What is this?"

"This..." Sam swept his arm around the room. Taco followed it with his gaze from his spot on Sam's lap, contemplated attacking it. "I... we're just treading water man. You know, barely keeping our heads above the surface with sharks circling. Like if the sharks stop circling and we pick a direction...I'm not sure I'm gonna make it to land before I drown."

"Sam, don't be stupid."

"I think about it, Dean."

"Think about what?"

"Everything. Mom. Dad. Jess. Stanford. The cases we've done. What I did when I was possessed." He teared up.

"Dude, that wasn't even you."

"I know. But it was my body. I just." He grimaced, grabbed his own hair. "These powers and what Dad said to you about me and the way I feel and then to think I could lose you and...I cant." He broke. Swallowed hard.

Dean looked stunned by the long-winded confession. His mouth opened slightly. "Dude, you are NOT allowed to drink anymore. God. What a shit show."

Sam's jaw trembled a little. His mouth went tight and he averted his gaze.

"Oh come on, stop that. You look like I kicked your freakin puppy."

He felt Ellis give him a little tug on his shirt. "Be nice." She slurred.

He watched Sam give a slow nod and swallow the emotion back down.

"You can't think about that stuff, man. It'll drive you nuts. Put it away. We'll hit one problem at a time."

Sam huffed a deep breath, suppressing a shudder.

"You're good, Sammy. You're a freaking golden retriever. You aren't going to go darkside."

Sam started to open his mouth.

"You're not." Dean snapped. "Not. Dad didn't know you like I do."

Sam bit his lip.

"No one knows you like I do. Maybe not even you."

"I do things that surprise you, Dean." Sam countered, shifting. Taco clung to his lap like a sailor on a rocky boat.

"Yeah." Dean admitted. "Sometimes you do."

"Choosing Stanford surprised you."

"No." The voice was suddenly subdued. "It didn't."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"I hoped you weren't going to go. But I knew you would." Dean dropped his gaze to contemplate Ellis's hair. Cleared his throat and abruptly changed the subject. "So what spell did she use to heal me?"

Sam shifted a little again, and Taco who'd been forgotten on his lap snuggled up closer to his stomach and purred. Sam picked him up and leaned over to sit him on the bed beside Ellis. "Go comfort your mother. Earn your keep because you sure aren't earning it mouse hunting." Taco gave him a shocked and betrayed look, a few pieces of shedding fur catching the light along with the dost motes in the air.

Taco head butted Ellis's back and curled up in the curve of her lumbar.

"Wasn't really a spell." Sam clarified. "She cleared your aura. And we said some stuff to you."

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "What stuff?"

Sam shrugged. "Feelings. You wouldn't have liked it."

"You talked to me about feelings? That was the big plan?"

Sam shrugged. "It worked."

"What did you say?"

Sam started to walk off. "I gotta pee."

"Dude," Dean's tone grew a little sharper. "What did you say?"

Sam paused, looked at his brother measuringly. "Nothing you don't already know and nothing you want to hear."

Sam left the room.

Ellis woke up tangled in Dean's embrace. She laid there for a long while, slowly drifting back to consciousness. She opened her eyes and looked up to see his face boyish and relaxed in his repose. She didn't want to move. He was warm and safe. And heartbreakingly handsome. She shifted a little and he woke with her movement. He blinked lazily, his green eyes olive in the dim room. "Hi, sweetheart," he said softly.

She put her head against his chest again.

"Ellis, I gotta move my arm."

"Oh," she took her weight off of him as he shifted.

"How are you doing?" He asked, rolling his shoulder a little, careful not to move his abdomen.

"I feel really tired. Like I've been beat up."

Dean dropped his gaze. "I have something to confess...That's cause I beat you up."

Ellis went with it. "Oh yes. That explains the bruises." She pushed her hair out of her eyes. -Figured maybe she should sit up but she didn't want to leave Dean's solid warmth. "I'm sorry." She said.

"It's fine." He replied.

She felt like a weak moron. But then when she thought of John as she'd glimpsed him: face contorted in pain, crying, her heart clenched again. "I'm so embarrassed."

"You've had your hands everywhere on my body but up my ass this week." He responded. "Don't give me embarrassed."

A smile teased the corner of her mouth. "Nothing to be embarrassed about. You have a nice ass."

He picked up the ball with the flirt, grinned cockily. "Yeah. All that grave digging. Builds definition. Emphasizes those ass dimples you like."

"Dimples of Venus." She corrected.

He smirked, dropped his gaze down her body. "You have those?"

"No." She replied. "Just a normal back. No Venus there."

He turned a little somber, pulled her close under his arm. She gratefully went with it. God, he felt so good. She hadn't been with a man since...she blinked away tears, felt the anxiety threaten again. What had John done? What. Had. He. Done.

Dean seemed to pick up her thoughts. "You know what really happened to Dad, don't you?"

She stiffened. "I think I do." Ellis braced herself for the truth. "What happened?"

Dean looked away and she saw a shadow of anger pass over his face. Sheer anger. He didn't answer.

"You shouldn't be alive," she declared.

"It wasn't fair to do to me what he did. I didn't deserve that. I didn't deserve to carry this." He acted like he wanted to get up and she could feel him shift to pull himself up.

She put a hand on him, could feel his heart hammering under her fingers, the repressed emotion traveling through him humming like a live wire. So much hurt resentment, indignant anger. "Sweetheart, stay down."

He let her push him back, his jaw tight and she could feel the sudden dislike of her being close to him. He didn't want to be touched. She removed her hand and pulled herself away.

"He did what he did out of love for you, honey."

"Yeah, well he's got a shitty way of showing it." Dean snapped. "As usual."

She couldn't argue with that. "He does." She tried to lighten it. "So do you."

It didn't work, he looked at her, clearly wounded. Mute with anger.

She sat up. "With Sam, I mean."

Dean's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Did you know about this...before?"

"Know about what."

"Dad. What he was gonna do." This time Dean did pull himself up with an effort, cynicism written on those gorgeous features. "Years ago when we were trying to get it on...you flipped. You had a melt down. What did you see. You knew Dad was going to bargain for me didn't you?"

"What?" She stood up. Surveyed him sagged against the head board, indignant. "No, Dean I didn't. You think I would have just flipped out like this If I'd known for years it was going to happen? That I wouldn't have tried to stop him-"

Dean's expressive face betrayed a hurt that made her reflexively tear up and she realized how he'd taken that remark with a belated regret.

"Thanks for that." He said.

"Angel, that's not what I meant."

"Don't angel me!" He snapped. "I'm not a fucking angel, Ellis! I'm far from it. I drink and I whore and I hurt people and wreck lives! That's who I am. And dad gave himself up for me so I could keep on doing just that!"

She started to cry and she saw Dean's anger flare at the tears. He turned away, breathing heavily, jaw tight. "What the hell did you see?" He asked flatly.

"I told you!" She cried. "Years ago, I told you."

"You said you saw me beating baby with a tire iron. That happened." He said quietly. "I forgot that you told me that until just now. If you're keeping something from me..." He struggled to get up.

"Dean," she reached across. "You're going to hurt yourself."

He batted away her hand.

"Sam," she blurted. "I saw Sam!"

His green eyes shot wide and he stopped after he hauled himself unsteadily to his feet, gripping the same headboard he'd been lashed to days ago for balance. His knuckles were white, his pendant swinging from its thong with the movement. He'd gone dead still. "What about Sam?"

"I don't know! I told you... it makes no sense. He's he's in the mud on his knees. You're holding him."

Dean's face went starkly pale. "Did...did I kill him?"

Chapter Text

"Sam," she blurted. "I saw Sam!"

His green eyes shot wide and he stopped after he hauled himself unsteadily to his feet, gripping the same headboard he'd been lashed to days ago for balance. His knuckles were white, his pendant swinging from its thong with the movement. He'd gone dead still. "What about Sam?"

"I don't know! I told you... it makes no sense. He's he's in the mud on his knees. You're holding him."

Dean's face went starkly pale. "Did...did I kill him?"

"What?" She staggered back. "No! I don't know...why, why would you even think that?"

"Was...was he..." Dean closed his eyes, swallowed, barely got out the last word in a wounded whisper, "evil?"

"I don't know!" She shouted, then registered what Dean had actually said. "No...he was Sam. Sweet, lovely Sam. Sam's not evil...Why the fuck would you even think that!" The accusation hurt her deeply for some reason.

Dean ran a hand through his hair "...just somethin' Dad said." He fumbled, picked up his anger again. "Don't...I don't know. I don't fucking care! He should be here dealing with Sam. Bein' with you, not me."

She softened. "Dean. Sam loves you so much more than he ever loved his father. He needs you in a way he never needed John. John knew that."

"I don't want to talk about Dad, Ellis." The tone was bitter. He didn't say anything else. Swayed a little in his t-shirt and gray lounge pants. "What happened to Sam?"

"I just told you I don't know."

"You're lyin. Why are you lyin? Why is everyone lying to me! If something happens to Sam... I can't." He broke off, tired, swaying on his feet. He switched his train of thought without warning. "You'd have talked him outta saving me..." his voice was low.

"Not saving you...bargaining with..." she paused, still not clear what exactly John had bargained with.

"Demons." Dean said. "He made a Crossroads Deal with a demon."

Ellis closed her eyes against a wave of pain. She wasn't entirely sure what a Crossroads Deal was, but she had a guess. "A deal of what, besides his life..." She didn't want to know the answer.

Dean met her eyes, a little surprised. "He sold his soul for me, Ellis."

She felt a tear slip down and she scrubbed it away. Nodded. She swallowed a wave of nausea when she thought of what he was going through.

Dean lost his war with standing upright and doubled with a groan, catching his weight on the mattress.

She dashed around the bed to steady him, put her arm on his back. "You should lay back down. You're not well enough for this."

"Well enough for what? Leaning here like a loser?" His face was obscured from her as he drew in a gasp of pain. "If I die from this what he did will be worthless."

"You aren't going to die from this."

He gave a tremulous smile. "Wish I would though. Sometimes."

"Shut up. Don't be an ass."

Dean turned his head sideways and gave her a narrow eyed glare that reminded her of her glimpse of him in her vision. Wary, closed.

"Your father loved you," she told him.

"I just said I didn't want to talk about it." He stood up again and she could feel his frustration at his weakened state rolling off of him.

She ignored him. "He loved you, Dean! He wasn't always fair but he fucking LOVED you!" How could he even be questioning that right now?

"Ellis, leave it!"

They broke off guiltily as Sam stood in the doorway, hair tousled. Bleary eyed. "Why are you two yelling?" He pushed his hair back. "Can you fight without screaming?"

Dean turned his frustration on him. "That's what you get for holding your liquor as well as a 5-year old girl."

"I nearly went through that entire bottle of whiskey, Dean." He surveyed his brother with blood shot eyes and blinked. "What did I walk into here?"

"Nothing." They said in unison.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Clearly." He gave Dean a silent, knowing look. Ellis caught the exchange but didn't quite know what it meant.

Dean's breaths were coming quickly like he'd just finished jogging.

Sam crossed over and stepped around Ellis. He took Dean under the arms and straightened him. Dean went white with pain. "Stop being a jerk and lie down." Sam muscled him onto the bed and Dean fought petulantly. Sam grimaced and restrained his brother's angry flail of arms. "Are we done?" He asked.

"Sam, Get off!"

Sam put him down onto the bed, grabbed his arms and laid him back.

Dean looked pissed that he couldn't struggle hard enough against his brother to even give Sam a hard time. He glared at him mutely from his recumbent position on the bed, every muscle keyed up for a fight.

Sam gave him a hard look back.

Ellis stood quietly. Still rather unsure what she was feeling. Her images of John haunting her. His handsome face twisted in pain.

"Dean, listen to your brother." She chided.

"You aren't my mother, Ellis!"

"You're right because your mother would probably slap your smart mouth." She muttered.

Dean turned his glare onto her. "My mother never hit me."

The boys still looked ready to fly at each other. She put a restraining gentle hand on Sam's arm. "Sweetie. Let him be."

He wasn't really paying attention to her, still mutely keyed up at his brother. Something was going on between them in the silent exchange.

Finally Sam stepped back. She saw Dean visibly relax, roll his shoulder.

There was tension thrumming there. Some sort of mutual mistrust that had not been there when she'd last seen them.

Ellis gathered a few of Dean's piled clothes, his discarded jeans from when they'd first shown up several days ago. His bloody shirt. There was no saving that. She threw it into the kitchen garbage.

She heard a faint ringing and paused, eyebrow cocked, listening. It was muffled but it was there. She wandered over to the couch, saw Dean's oversized leather jacket there. She reached into the jacket, grabbed his cell and looked at the name.

Bobby.

She answered.

Bobby seemed surprised to hear her voice."Ellis?"

"Yes?"

He paused and she could feel the tension from the other side of the phone.

"Is something wrong?" She asked.

"Just...if he ain't answering and you are..." There was a pause. "He okay?"

"He's in the other room being a bitch to Sam."

There was an amused snort. "He's feeling better then."

"I liked him better helpless."

"You would." There was the slightest note of scorn in the voice.

She tried not to bristle at it.

"You're the mothering doting type." he declared. "Healthy Dean don't exactly take to well to bein' doted on."

She didn't say anything.

Bobby picked up on her lack of verbal banter. "Something wrong, Ellis?"

"It's been a rough week." She answered wearily.

"Was a rough week when I was there, that didn't make you shut up any."

"Goddamn. They should take you overseas as our diplomatic relations specialist."

"Just callin' it as I see it." He paused, his tone softened. "What's wrong?"

"I found out what happened to John."

"Oh." Bobby paused. "Boys tell you then?"

"No. I had a vision. They came clean a little after."

"Those visions of yours are pains in the ass, aren't they?"

Her eyes focused on the wall. "Yeah. Especially when I don't know what they mean."

"You ever see nice stuff? Or just the bad?"

She had a flash of Bobby alone and drinking at his desk. Photo of a woman in front of him.

"Who's the woman."

"What?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "The blonde."

He paused. She could almost picture the wrinkling of his nose. "I ain't got a blonde here, Ellis."

She shook her head. "She's in a photoframe."

He went quiet. "Yeah. So that answers the question. You don't see anything good."

Sam on his knees in the mud, the life gone out of him.

"No I don't." She blurted. "I see pain and death and misery and shit I'm fucking powerless to stop. And it fucking sucks!" Her breath came faster.

"Okay. Easy."

"How do Demon Deals work, Bobby?"

"Well I don't know, Ellis. I ain't made any lately."

"Quit snarking at me! I know you're the resident demon expert from the boys."

"Well there's tons of lore on them... usually you get what you want for certain amount of time. And then you die and they take your soul. You know that. I mean tales of makin' the bargain and then trying to beat the devil are everywhere. There's always a finite time limit and a deal made. Half the time the gift ain't even much of a gift in the end. It's usually a bad shortsighted deal...and no one beats the devil, Ellis."

"Johnny did." She reached down to pet the cat who had come in at the sound of voices. He was sitting amiably at her feet, listening to her talk.

"Huh?"

"I'll bet this fiddle of gold against your soul 'cause I think I'm better than you."

He snorted in derision at the song lyrics. "You're getting your lore from the Charlie Daniels Band?"

You just said no one ever beats the deal...I just thought of it."

"The Devil Went Down to Georgia ain't reliable research material."

"I know, Bobby!" Her tone was exasperated like he'd been badgering her.

"Vision of John really shook you up, huh?"

"Yes." She went quiet. "They... He's being tortured, Bobby."

Bobby's intake of breath was audible.

"He's..." A tear slipped down her cheek and she fought to keep her voice steady. "They're ripping him up." She swallowed. "Oh God, I'm gonna puke."

She pictured John in her arms, loving, warm alive. And the image of him being flayed crept in. She gripped the cell phone harder, shaking a little. "How is that even possible? He's dead, he doesn't have a fucking body."

"I don't know."

"We need to get him out."

"We can't drag him outta Hell. Not like you can just march right down there and pull him out."

She was silent again.

"Ellis, don't you go getting stupid ideas. You don't bargain with demons and you don't go fiddling with portals to Hell." His voice became stern. "Do you got me?"

She didn't say anything at first.

"Do you got me?" His voice grew sterner. "I ain't foolin'!"

"I'm not going to bargain with a demon. I'm not an idiot. That's...that is shortsighted. Nothing's worth that."

She heard a sound, looked up to see Sam halted in the doorway. His mouth was slack and he looked upset.

"Shit."

"What?"

"Sam, talk to Bobby."

She walked over to him, shoved the phone in his hand and dashed to the bathroom to throw up.

Sam watched her go and put the phone to his ear. "B...bobby?"

"So your fun vacation continues, huh?"

Sam gave a snort. "Yeah. Its...it's awesome."

"Dean better?"

"He's better enough to be a jerk."

"So she was saying."

Sam bit his lip, eyes going soft. "You get home okay?"

"Yeah. Great freaking ride cross country with a hunter who pissed and moaned the whole way. How's his pain level Sam?"

"It's...he's tolerating it."

"How's yours?"

Sam snorted. "I'm tolerating it."

"John's girl sounds like she's falling apart."

Sam glanced in the direction of the bathroom. "She had a rough night."

"Keep an eye on her, Sam. Don't let her do anything stupid."

Ellis rested her cheek against the porcelain bowl and tried not to think about what germs were on it. She wasn't sure how long she was there before there was a step and Sam knelt beside her. He placed a big hand across her back. He looked at her with his kind eyes.

Knees in the mud, the light going out of them.

She gagged again and spit into the bowl. "Sam, I'm fine, go on. I'm being gross."

"Hey." His voice was soft. He ran his hand over the back of her head. "It's fine. Ellis, you've had to clean my vomit, Dean's vomit, our sweat and tears and blood." He knelt down next to her, the porcelain tile hard against his knees. "Talk to me."

She shook her head and flopped backward onto her ass, back against the wall paper.

Sam flushed the toilet and shifted to face her. "You've helped us so much. Just let me know what's going on. I wanna help."

She couldn't even speak. Shook her head.

Sam took her hand. His was so large hers felt like a child's in his warm palm. "I know that these visions are shaking you up. What are you seeing?"

"Sam. Don't do this."

"What happened to Dad has been hard on us." Sam said. "I feel so guilty about how much we used to fight."

Ellis looked down at their hands. "I can't imagine you fighting, Sam."

Sam ducked his head and huffed with a show of dimples. "I really gave him a hard time. I just...things were so unfair. And I always resented that."

Ellis wrapped her hand around one of his fingers. She could see a glint of amusement with how tiny they were. John loved her small-boned hands.

"He's in pain, Sam. I can see but I can't do anything about it."

Sam winced. Went quiet. "You know how you said to Bobby nothing would be worth a demon deal?" His eyes moved furtively In the direction of the bedroom. "I... I'm not saying it was worth it. And...and I'm fucking mad at him for doing it. It was a shitty goddamned thing to do to us...but then sometimes..." Sam's eyes watered a little and he swallowed and shook his head with his little huff. "I look at Dean and I'm glad he did."

Chapter Text

Sam winced. Went quiet. "You know how you said to Bobby nothing would be worth a demon deal?" His eyes moved furtively In the direction of the bedroom. "I... I'm not saying it was worth it. And...and I'm fucking mad at him for doing it. It was a shitty goddamned thing to do to us...but then sometimes..." Sam's eyes watered a little and he swallowed and shook his head with his little huff. "I look at Dean and I'm glad he did."

Sam paused. "Oh my God, that sounds awful to say."

"No, it's not." She said, almost flatly, eyes staring ahead. "You love your brother."

"I...I loved my father too. It didn't always seem it but I do."

"I know. But not like Dean." Her eyes were unfocused.

There was a pause. Sam didn't protest. "Ellis.. what were you guys saying about me earlier when I walked in on you?"

"Me and Bobby?" She asked.

"No... you and Dean." Sam studied her face. She looked worn, weary. "You saw me die, didn't you?" He ventured.

Ellis turned her head. Her expression said it all.

"How?" he asked, his voice hushed.

She shook her head, sadly. "I don't know."

Sam swallowed, the muscles of his throat visibly working under the skin. He nodded with resignation even though his shoulders were tight.

Ellis slid out of her upstairs bed and crept down the hall, slowly down the steps. Sam was alseep on the couch, his big frame scrunched in an uncomfortable looking way accommodate his size. She watched him sleeping for a moment, the gentle expansion of his chest, the brown bangs flopped into his eyes. Sweet Sam. Taco had smushed himself into the crook of one of Sam's arms and had his little face buried in there.

"Was...was he evil?" Dean's question echoed in her mind.

Why the fuck would John ever suspect Sam of being evil? Everything in the boy bespoke good. And why the hell would he throw that weight onto Dean's fragile shoulders?

John always thought the young man was capable of more than he really was. Duty called Dean to answer the challenge, made him rise to the occasion, but he did so at a cost to his stability. He must have hidden it well to his father because John never saw the precarious balance his elder son often fought to maintain.

She slipped by the couch and into Dean's room.

He was asleep too. Resting on his back. He still looked uncomfortable

And she felt concern that his stupid wound wasn't healing. Yet she'd been cleaning it and it did seem to be getting better.

She shadowed into the room and headed for Dean's duffle. There on top of it was what she was looking for. His oversized leather jacket. She picked it up, fingered the leather. Well broken-in and supple.

Dean's breath caught and she froze, but but a minute later he started a normal rhythm again that told her he was still asleep.

She crept back upstairs, holding it to her chest, and flopped down onto the floor, pulling her legs up and placing it over her lap. She took a deep breath of the scent of it. It smelled like leather and whiskey. A little bit of smoke. A lot of whatever the hell Dean used as a deodorant and the collar bore the traces of his aftershave. She closed her eyes. Breathed to center herself.

Was he here? Or was all trace of him obliterated by Dean wearing this jacket for so many years now?

She let the impressions flow through her. She felt Dean very powerfully on this jacket. His scent, his vibration. She could feel his sense of betrayal. His aching love. His instability. His pride. His self-doubt and recrimination that he hid so well. A strong impression of his sex drive: Like me. Please like me. I'm good at this. Touch me. Show me approval.

Hours in the car. Hours upon hours in his Baby. Sam and Bobby and things he loved. John. Love for John. Hero worship. She followed the John Thread. Grasping on. John, where are you?

This had been his father's jacket. She knew it. John had worn it for years. Where was he? She couldn't quite get a hold of an impression of him. There. There he was. Something underneath the confusion and sheer life force of Dean. Something quieter. And sadder. That fucking WEIGHT that John carried with him. She saw an impression of a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and knew it had to be Mary. That was all that she could really find of his left in the leather. The rest was obscured by Dean. Dean's young, impulsive energy was just so much louder and more recent than his father's.

She tried to think of what else would have John on it. The car? But then the boys had had that for so long now too.

She sat wrapped in the leather jacket, almost dozed off. Caught herself. She wiped her hand across her forehead and quietly went back down stairs, slipped into Dean's room again and set the jacket down.

"You cold?" Dean's rough voice nearly startled her enough to almost lose her balance. She jumped reflexively.

"No." She replied quietly, trying to get her heart to stop hammering. "Putting laundry back is all."

"Well, I hate to break this to you, but you can't really wash leather." He'd pulled himself up into an almost sitting position, his shoulders leaning against the headboard.

She paused, completely unsure what lie she should even come up with. "I..."

"Just want to lie with my manly musk, I know." Dean said. "I can tell you you aren't gonna find anything worth stealing in my pockets. Some condoms and maybe a pack of Jolly Ranchers."

She flushed, almost affronted. "I wouldn't steal from you."

"Wanna tell me why you're going through my stuff?"

"No." She replied with a nervous smile. "Not really."

Dean looked annoyed and then seemed to give in. "Fair enough."

She raised an eyebrow and walked over to him. Dropped a hand on his forehead. "Your fever feels gone."

He let her touch him and she trailed and hand under his jaw tenderly before she broke contact.

"Whatever your hoping to find, Ellis, it's not in my jacket."

"I wanted to find your father."

Dean looked skeptical. "He's definitely not in my jacket."

"Not like that dipshit... His essence. I wanted something that belonged to him."

"Why?"

She fumbled for a lie. "To hold him. Feel him."

"Ellis, he's dead." There was definite bitterness to the tone. "No holding him now."

"It doesn't work that way for me. I can feel impressions through objects."

Dean's face betrayed worry. "Should you be messin' with that?"

"Honey, it's what I do." She leaned over. "Let me get a look at that wound."

He groaned but relented as she pulled the shirt up his skin and checked on his injury. "Still hurt?" She asked, glancing for the first aid kit on the floor.

"Not as much." Dean replied, "until you dump fucking peroxide on it."

"I'm sorry, honey. I know it hurts." She leaned over and grabbed the brown plastic bottle with the white id.

He clenched his jaw at the sight of the peroxide and let out a sharp breath of air through his nose.

"Relax."

"You know you keep saying that. Relax Dean while I pour molten lava into your side. Relax while I dig into your stomach with a chainsaw." Dean frowned. "Why can't I have porn cures like Sam?"

She snorted and poured some of the peroxide onto the wound. Dean's teeth clicked shut and he gripped the sheets.

She touched her hand to his bicep. "Easy, sweetheart."

"This fucking sucks." He groaned.

She dabbed it off with some clean gauze and he untensed as the stinging stopped. "Butcher."

"I can think of other ways I'd like to make you groan. They don't involve peroxide. Or chainsaws. Or molten lava."

Dean laughed, despite himself. "Where's the fun in that?"

She gave a little exhaling huff reminiscent of Sam and threw the gauze into a small plastic bin next to the bed.

Dean was looking at her intensely.

She turned around. "What?"

He reached up and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "You're awesome." Just like John, recalcitrant and horrible one minute, needy and loving the next.

She flushed at the compliment. "So are you."

"Well I know that. Give me some credit." He smiled and it was so nice to see-that smile.

"What did you feel off the jacket."

She shrugged. "You."

"Me?"

"Yeah. You've worn it so much for so long I can't feel John on it much. Just you."

"What do I feel like?" She met the mischievous green eyes.

"Like Trouble."

He looked delighted in his adorable Dean way.

She patted his shoulder.

"I've got Dad's dog tags in my duffle." He told her suddenly.

Chapter Text

Ellis sat at the table with Sam and Dean, her tea cup warm between her hands. "I got my call today. I'm officially fired. No more free vet supplies. Surprised it took them this long."

Sam looked guilty. "Sorry."

She shrugged. "It's fine." She took a sip. "I can always sell my body."

Dean snorted into his coffee cup.

Sam looked horrified.

"Loosen up, Sam." She nudged him with her elbow. "I'm not gonna prostitute myself. No one's gonna pay for my skills, believe me."

Dean smirked again, clearly enjoying his brother's discomfort.

She caught his eyes. He still had shadows under them but his face at least had some animation to it, if not more color.

She returned the smirk. "I'm gonna sublet Dean as a gigolo. I think it will have quite the demand."

Sam gave an eye roll. "Must be a lot of desperate women out there."

"Of course there's a hitch in my plan," she surveyed Dean. "Pretty sure he has to be able to walk first."

Dean frowned. "Don't need to do no walking, baby."

"Honey, this may come as a shock to you but we prefer our men mobile. I know. I know. It's so weird. But it's true. Hip movement is a nice thing to have as well."

Sam's dimples showed as he sipped his tea. "What did you put in this, Ellis? It's really good."

"Cinnamon, cloves, horsetail."

Dean stopped drinking, took a long swallow. "Horse tail?"

"The plant." Sam replied. "My God, Dean. Pick up a botany book."

"Oh excuse me, bitch. Didn't know I'd have to identify freaking dandelions in my job. Oh wait...I don't."

Sam shook his head. "You know why Bobby is so amazing at what he does?"

"Umm... because he's friggin Bobby?"

"Because he educates himself all the time. About a variety of subjects."

"Stuff the Stanford, Sam. I ain't buyin." Dean said a bit harshly.

Sam looked a little crestfallen momentarily before he covered it.

Ellis suddenly felt badly for him. Here he was, an impressive stag of a young man, but all it took was a rebuke from Dean and all she could see was remnants of little brother.

She had an image of Young Sam. Lonely. Withdrawn. Always left behind. Never taken seriously. She had the urge to touch him suddenly. To make skin contact and have him let her in more. She repressed it with an effort. If she let herself, she'd be laying a hand on his arm uninvited. Touch was how she saw the world. Handsy. She'd always been handsy.

Taco jumped up onto her lap. She pet him absently, happy to have something to keep her hands busy. She thought of John. She thought of John frequently. But now...now his memory would haunt her, she was certain of it.

"You two wanna play cards?" She asked.

They looked at each other, then at her. Dean nodded. "As long as it's a real game and not Go Fish, yeah."

"So 52 Card Pickup is out of the question?" she teased. Ellis snapped her fingers and pointed. "Sam, the cards are in that drawer. Get them for me, sweetheart."

He stood up, all long limber elegance and got them.

"Dean," she admonished. "Drink your horsetail."

Dean only lasted one round of Rummy before he looked even paler and not able to hold himself up very well. Sam helped escort him to the couch to lie down and returned. "Poor guy." He said, sliding back onto the chair. "He doesn't deal well with being infirm at all."

"It's hard on him." She agreed. "He's always been a fast healer and able to push through pain. Everything is a NOW type of response. I need to be better now."

"Yeah," Sam started to shuffle the cards absently. Ellis watched him with interest. His hands were big enough to make the deck look small. Shuffle, shuffle, break, shuffle, shuffle, break. She could feel her mind being pulled toward the cards.

When he stopped, she reached out and took the cards, split them herself and began to deal them in a Celtic Cross Tarot formation.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Shh." She said.

She dealt them one by one. King of hearts. Covered by Three of Spades. Her mind translated the suits automatically into their Tarot equivalent: King of Cups covered by Three of Swords. And the spread revealed itself. Spades. Clubs. She blinked. It had to be the worst reading she'd ever seen. Heartache after heartache after heartache with no end in sight. No space to come up and breathe. Something in store for Sam that was dark. So dark.

She realized he was looking at her. She cleared her throat. "You have some trials up ahead. You need to stay strong for them."

He looked crestfallen. "More trials? I'm about done already."

She resisted telling him that it had hardly begun. That she was getting flashes accompanying these cards that were far too dark. Darker than she'd seen. Even darker than what a hunter normally would see. Something bad was on the horizon.

Ever observant, Sam read her expression. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she covered.

He reached across the table and took her hand. "Hey. You're getting that look again."

Things flashed through her head with his touch. The car accident. A funeral pyre. Sam in tears, Dean silent and angry. And then something else. Something about Sam that was different. Powerful. An underlying hint of taint that didn't belong in someone like him.

"Was he evil? ...Something my Dad said."

No. Sam was not evil not would he ever be evil.

Bobby. A gun with a long barrel. An iron railroad, crisscrossing back and forth. Yellow eyes that made her shudder. A showdown. A gate broken open and darkness, sheer darkness surging forward. Something released from that so incredibly terrible. So consequential they'd never be able to pick up the mess. "There's an iron road." She said. "A broken iron road. It's bad to break it. It's so bad."

On her lap Taco stirred and took interest. He sat up and eyed the cards, then put out a little white paw and batted at them. They skidded across the table, breaking the formation and jumbling them up.

"Woah, Hey Ellis." Sam ignored Taco's card assault and gave her hand a little shake. "Come back. Don't get lost where ever you are."

She snapped back, breathing heavily. She took her head in her hands, disoriented, head achey. "Oh God, these suck."

He looked concerned. "You okay?"

She nodded.

"You see Dad again?"

She shook her head.

"What's the iron road?"

She wrinkled her forehead. "I'm not entirely sure. There's a portal." She didn't even know what the hell that meant even as she said it.

"A portal. A portal to what?"

"I don't know. Something evil." She put her face in her hands to take a breath. Taco nudged her hands with his head, demanding attention.

Sam looked down at the cards. "That doesn't help much, unfortunately."

"I know." She moaned. "Everything's useless. It's all jumbled and makes no sense."

"Are your visions always like this?"

"No." She responded. "That's why I was able to tell Steve Canton that his son was on the wrong medication."

Sam paused. "That's why he let us go."

She nodded. "I just can't make head or tails of anything I pick up with you or Dean."

"Except that I'm gonna die."

"Sam." She looked at him. At his sweet boyishly handsome face. "They don't always come true, baby."

"This one will." He said with certainty. "I've always known it." He gave a little exhale. "It's why I didn't want to hunt."

Ellis stood up and sent Taco off her lap with a thud. He stood tail thrashing with affronted dignity. She put her arms around Sam. He seemed surprised by the affection at first but then sank his head into her chest and put his arms around her. Even with him sitting down he still came to her shoulder.

"They don't always come true." She said. He didn't answer. "They don't."

"I know." He responded. There was a pause. "Ellis. Don't go looking for my father. It's too dangerous."

"I know," she responded.

But she never gave him her word that she wouldn't.

Chapter Text

"I don't know. I love Matt Damon." Ellis said from her spot on the couch. Dean had laid down on it and had his head in her lap. She toyed idly with his short hair, running fingers through it.

Sam felt a weird pang in his stomach. Layered. The first was a longing. An utter stomach-clenching yearning for tender hands carding through his hair. The peace of lying against Jess on a day home from school and work.

The second was something else entirely. A wish that Dean could know that feeling. He seemed so content to be there, legs folded to fit his bulk on the old couch, but he looked relaxed. Warm. Safe. By his eyes rolling occasionally into the back of his head, he was enjoying the impromptu scalp massage too. Sam wondered if Ellis even knew she was doing it. They had a comfortability together that made him wonder how long Dean and their father had stayed with her while he was at Stanford. And what the nature of their relationship had been. It seemed platonic but there was definitely heat behind the flirting.

"Bourne Identity was pretty awesome." Dean admitted. "I still say he's an Ivy League Douche." Dean opened his eyes to look at his brother as he said it, challenging, teasing.

She batted Dean on the shoulder. "You be nice to your brother."

"Why would I do that?" He asked.

"Because I said so." She responded with a bit of a dare to challenge her authority.

Sam smirked. "Well Dean, the Ivy League Douche is now a millionaire. How do you like them apples?"

Thump!

The bang from the upstairs startled all three of them. Sam felt his heart speed up at the sound. They turned to look at each other. Sam snapped into Hunter Mode, rose quickly from the recliner, and was followed by Ellis. He reached to the coffee table and grabbed Dean's ivory handled pistol.

He motioned for her to stay back and mounted the steps with unusual grace for his size.

Another clatter.

Sam swung around to face the noise coming from Ellis's library and found a single book on the floor. A large, thick book with leather binding and yellowed parchment pages clearly revealing it's substantial age.

He looked over at movement and saw Taco perched on the top shelf of the old white painted built-ins. Everything they contained was completely askew now. Taco had pushed over the heavy Horsehead bookend as well. That had clattered and landed in the corner. Sam would be surprised if it hadn't dented the old wooden floor.

Taco stopped moving and stared Sam down, then started slinking along the top of the books, clearly enjoying his made up game of balancing on the half toppled covers.

Sam put his gun down and tucked it into the back of his pants.

"It's just the cat!" He shouted down.

He could hear Ellis's voice answer faintly. "What did he break now?"

"Nothing. He just knocked over some books. I can put them back."

She appeared at the stairway. "Just leave it, sweetie. I have a fucked up way of organization."

"Okay." He said, bending over to pick up the marble horse head. He set it on the old desk in the back of the room. Ellis's library reminded him of Bobby Singer's. A couple hundred old dog eared books of lore and, in her case, occult phenomenon. He'd love to get a hold of some of them. Probably would now that he knew it existed. For all the time he'd spent at her place he'd never really explored her upstairs. He picked up the fallen book and flipped it over. Ancient Myths and The Feline Mystique.

He snorted. "Nice choice, Taco."

He tucked the book under one arm and walked over, stood on his tiptoes toes and seized Taco off the shelf.

Taco looked affronted. He flailed until Sam tucked him under his other arm and carried him out like a fuzzy hostage. He set him down. "Go on. Get."

Taco glared at Sam and sat down at his feet. Sam nudged him gently aside with his stockinged foot and closed the french doors to the library. He started down the stairs.

Ellis had moved into the kitchen. Dean was shifted into a different position on the couch.

Sam set the book down on the coffee table and looked at his brother. "Hey that's a pull out couch you know. Want me to unfold it so you don't have to lie all scrunched like that?"

"Are you kidding?" Dean asked. "I am so fucking sick of lying on my back in bed I'd take this thing if it was the size of a love seat."

"Fair enough."

Dean looked toward the kitchen. "You think she's alright, Sammy?"

Sam followed the gaze. "No." He said honestly.

"Me either."

Sam was bored and had taken to reading The Feline Mystique. There was a lot of lore about cultures that once worshipped cats as Gods. And then cultures that reviled them as witches, like the Europeans in the dark ages, who would put cats in wicker baskets and toss them into bonfires. There was some sort of poetic justice that the Bubonic Plague, a disease spread by vermin, swept through Europe, fueled in part by lack of cats to control the rodent population.

But whatever the civilization, all of them attributed something supernatural to them. There were a million powers associated them. Protection, stemming all the way back to Bast in Egypt. Luck-good or ill- Prophecy, Omens, Astral Travel, the ability to cross dimensions. Guardians of the Underworld. The list went on. It was actually pretty fascinating stuff and Sam was absorbed.

"I read that a long time ago." Ellis said, sitting down at the table next to him.

Sam looked up, his bangs starting to fall into his eyes. She reached out and brushed then aside. "You need a haircut."

"So Dean tells me."

Ellis looked at what he was reading. "Taco would pick that book, wouldn't he?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah. Of all of them to pick."

"He does have a habit of throwing books onto the floor up there. A mouse got up there once and World War III mouse won and I was picking up books for a week. Sometimes I kind of let him choose what to read for me. If he knocks it down I take a look. Kind of like tarot. If you're shuffling and a card falls out, it's trying to get your attention."

"What do you think he's trying to tell you?"

Ellis glanced at the book and laughed. "That he's a God. Therefore deserves canned cat food."

"Reasonable guess." Sam said, his dimples showing. They reminded her of John.

"You have your Dad's smile." She said without thinking.

Sam flushed. "Yeah? I always figured Dean looked more like him."

"He does. But you have his smile. His dimples."

Sam ducked his head with a flash of teeth. "I'm glad I got something of his."

"You got more than you think." She reached out and touched his knee, gave it a little squeeze. "He loved you, Sam."

Sam looked like she'd punched him in the solar plexus. He gave a startled little huff of air. "We fought so much."

"He loved you." She stood up and tenderly leaned over and kissed his forehead.

Sam closed his eyes in pain and nodded.

The house was quiet again; it was night time. Both the boys were asleep before the crack of dawn, which was a nice change. Ellis sat down in her room, cross legged in a circle. John's dog tags clutched in her hand, cold but warming quickly with the heat from her hands. She had five candles lit. Five colors for the elements. A pentacle in blue chalk on the floor.

She could feel John on these tags. Even though it was cold and less satisfying then the feel of the jacket, the metal held the vibration well and he was ON them. Really on them. There was that steady, weighted John Winchester presence. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, uncertain of what she was actually looking for or hoping to do. Maybe just to touch his mind, let him know they were here. They loved him.

She saw flashes of two young boys. One with freckles and green eyes. The other with a shaggy mop of brown hair. Saw John come to get them from a babysitters, both boys running to him like he was a celebrity. She saw a father. John scooping them up in his arms, a genuine smile on his handsome face. God, she missed that face. Missed him so much.

She saw a lonely man. Hunched over a bottle of whiskey, head in his hands. Missing his wife.

She saw a hunter. Dangerous and methodical.

She saw a victim. John was a victim of all the cases he'd seen. All the torn bodies and blood and nightmares.

She saw all this. But this wasn't what she was looking for. She was looking for him now.

"John, baby, where are you?" She muttered, her breath warm in the coolness of the air.

And then she saw him. Stretched out on a rack, mouth twisted in pain. Tears streaming down his face. Surrounded by darkness. By EVIL. Fear thrilled through her. Took her breath. Evil. She'd never encountered evil like that. So much of it in one spot. What could she do? It was too awful to see. She broke contact, unable to take the feeling and fell sideways into one of the candles. Her hand skidded through the chalk circle and the errant candle snuffed out without her being able to close the spell properly.

She was crying. Taco walked into the circle and watched her passively. "I don't know what to do, Taco. I can't leave him there." She sobbed. "I can't!"

She pulled herself up, tried to close the spell and ground herself. Taco settled into her lap and she cried into the orange fur.

Chapter Text

Dean walked slowly into the kitchen of his own accord, huffing with the effort. He flopped himself down onto a chair and stared miserably at the cupboards. Sam paid him no heed from his spot in the corner.

Ellis tilted her head to look at him. "Hi, sunshine."

He gave her a bitch face she thought only Sam was capable of.

"What?"

"Nothin. Getting sick of fucking dragging around like this. I'm capable of limping in between three rooms. I'm comin' out of my skin."

She frowned. "I'm sorry." She knelt down before him to take a look at his injury. He pushed her hand away very protectively "Don't."

"But Dean."

"DON'T. I don't want you friggin pokin it!"

"That's what she said." Sam said from his corner of the room without hesitation. He was leaning his back casually against the counter. He had his head buried in The Feline Mystique again.

Ellis laughed and Dean looked annoyed.

Sam looked up from the yellowed page. "Oh come on Dean, you walked into that one. Like smack into it."

"Shut up, bitch."

"Dean, be nice to your brother."

Dean shot her a frustrated glare.

"Honey, what's wrong?" She didn't like his color. He almost had a grayish tint to his skin and his expression spoke volumes about how well he didn't feel. It was worrying. Overall he had been improving but now he looked like he'd slid backward in his recovery.

"Nothin."

"You don't look like you feel well."

"I don't!" His tone was petulant. "I can hardly walk."

She dipped into her ever present stash of tea. "What kind do you want?"

"Johnny Walker."

She rolled her eyes, went for the cupboard instead and poured the slight bit left over from Bobby's stay into a glass, set it in front of him. "Here. Hopefully this improves your mood."

Dean took a sip and clutched his head with a wince.

"What is it?"

"Headache. Fuck." Dean abruptly knocked the chair over in a dash to the kitchen sink. He started to heave into it. His back locked up as he convulsed. Sam dropped the book to the counter with a noisy clatter and helped support him.

"Dean! What's wrong?" he asked.

"Puking." Dean said, spitting.

"Why? You were doing so well."

"Needed to puke." Dean coughed. "Looking at your face."

Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean spit again.

"What's going on?" Sam asked Ellis.

She watched Dean, horrified. She shrugged and righted the tipped chair. "I don't know."

Sam pulled Dean to him, he led him to sit back down. His brother's face was pinched.

"How are you feeling?"

"Great Sam. Totally ready to run marathons and shit..." He took a breath through his nose. "Feel woozy."

Sam put his hand to the forehead. "No fever." He pinched his brother's jaw open, wincing at the smell of his breath. He started to feel under his jaw and along his neck, presumably for swollen lymph nodes.

"Sam get off!" Dean batted at him.

"Chill out!" Sam exclaimed, stepping off.

Once he had his personal space back, Dean looked weak again.

"Okay." Sam's tone grew stern. "You need to get back to the bed."

"Sam, fuck off. "

"You do need to lie down." Ellis sifted through her cupboards and threw a few tablets of Alka Seltzer into a glass of water.

She handed the fizzy mix to Dean. "Go ahead, swallow it quick. It will settle your stomach."

He looked at her with betrayal and quaffed the drink, then gagged again.

She took him by the back of his neck and squeezed. "No. Swallow it, honey, keep it down." Her tone was calm. "Keep it down."

He swallowed violently a few times, eyes watering. Sputtered. Put his hands on his jeans and gasped noisily. "This fucking sucks."

There was a slamming noise behind them and Taco sent the thick tome of feline lore flying off the table onto the floor. They all startled reflexively.

"No. No. Shit!" Dean shook his head and launched himself at the sink again. He made an unproductive gagging sound and brought up foamy white water that ran down his chin like baby drool. He spit it out. "Awesome."

Taco was staring at Dean with a strange intensity, yellow eyes flicking over his form.

Ellis grabbed a clean hand towel and hurried over to him. He looked pathetic clinging to the sink, spitting into it. She reached over and wiped his chin with the cloth and Dean bristled. "Stop!"

She rolled her eyes, fought the urge to strangle him with the towel. She shoved it at Sam. "Take care of your damn brother."

"Taco, leave Dean alone." She grabbed him off the counter and he flailed with his white feet, still staring at Dean.

Sam watched them leave and gently offered the towel to him. "Here, man. You look rabid."

Dean wiped his chin with his shirt sleeve.

Sam backed away with with a look of disgust. "Well. There's that I guess. Here man, keep your effluvium to yourself." He set the towel next to him. Dean pushed away and sat heavily back down. "Something is wrong, Sammy." He choked. "It's not just my side. I've got a headache and I'm cold."

"Want tea?"

Dean shrugged. "Bullet will solve the problem quicker."

"I'm not Old Yellering you, Dean." Sam gave him an unamused glare.

"Goddammit!" The boys both looked in the direction of the closed bathroom door then back at each other.

Sam shrugged. "Do we ask her if she needs help?"

"I'm not going there," Dean scoffed. "That was a pissed off sound."

Ellis came out a few moments later. "I'm gonna knife the next person who leaves the toilet seat up. I'm fucking serious. I'm sick of falling in the toilet."

"'m sorry, Ellis." Sam began.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You could, like, look before you sit down."

Ellis turned on him rather annoyed, her dander up. "Don't you dare start that shit. Just put the lid down next time."

"Dean..." Sam lowered his voice. "Women and toilet seats, it's a thing. Just say you're sorry."

"I'm not sorry." Dean hissed back. "Why don't they look before they sit?"

"I don't know. But they don't." Sam watched her leave the room. "Just...Some things are not worth the fight."

Dean had a stubborn look like he didn't feel good and everything was worth the fight.

Sam still wanted peace in his life. "Dean, please. Please, be nice. She just got fired for us, man."

Dean went sullenly silent then seemed to snap back to himself. "Sorry, Sam. Haven't been sleeping. Kept waking up."

"No wonder your immune system is tanking, dude."

"And then I've been cold all freaking day."

Sam touched his forehead and Dean jerked away. "You don't have a fever."

"Yeah, I know." Dean ran a hand over his face. "But I don't feel well at all, man."

"I believe you. You don't look like you feel too well. I think we need to sneak you into a hospital somewhere, honestly. Something is wrong."

He shook his head obstinately. "No."

"Whatever dude."

"Ellis isn't acting right." Dean said, in an attempt to change the subject.

"No, she's not." Sam agreed. "Neither are you."

"Sammy, drop it!"

Sam's jaw tightened and he gave Dean a look that showed that he was ready to do anything but drop it.

Dean massaged his temple, feeling irritable and weak.

"Come on." Sam took hold of his arm and hauled him up off the little wooden seat. "Let's get you horizontal."

"That's what she said." Dean quipped, then yelped as his sore side gave a protest.

"Easy." Sam soothed.

They shuffled into the living room, looking like they were drunk with Sam bracing against Dean's swaying movements. "Bed or couch?" Sam asked.

"Couch."

Taco was watching them from his spot on the coffee table.

Sam set Dean down and stepped away.

Scratch that. Taco was not watching them.

He was watching Dean.

He seemed fascinated by...something. Taco took a few steps forward, scooched under the table and waited.

Dean settled into his pile of blankets and pillows.

The contours of their softness felt good against his tired body. He was so tired. And so annoyed. He couldn't shake the sudden chill that seemed to have settled on him out of nowhere. In fact, he'd been feeling considerably better, if not still weak until last night. Then as if someone flipped a switch, his shitty sleep pattern made him feel awful again. The head ache was a constant pressure around his skull. It was making him nauseous and grumpy.

He'd stiffly dropped himself into a comfortable position. Taco slinked forward another few feet.

And pounced.

Ellis's damn cat landed hard enough on Dean's stomach that the breath went out of him and he startled. He reflexively elbowed Taco off of him but the cat leapt back up, swatting around his head. Dean ducked under his arms, using them as a shield and shouted gruffly. "Sam! Get it off before I kill it!"

"Taco!" Sam made a grab for the cat. "Hey! Come on, man." He seized Taco around the torso and picked him up.

Taco kept swatting at Dean's head.

With a burst of strength, Dean sat up, breathing heavily. He ran a hand across his eyes. "Damn cat." He narrowed them suspiciously, watching. "What the hell is wrong with it?"

Taco was still gyrating in Sam's grip and then went still like a kid's smashed birthday piñata.

"Drown it please," Dean muttered.

Ellis jogged in, alerted by the shouts and commotion. "What happened?"

Dean flinched. She'd clearly heard Dean's muttered curse on the cat. "Cat tried to kill me." He snapped, brushing his hair back into place.

Sam looked at her placatingly, still holding a defeated Taco. "Taco pounced on him." His brother explained as he handed the tabby over and Ellis took him into her arms. Taco snuggled into the crook of her neck and Ellis pressed her lips to the fur. In that moment, she looked for all the world like a 12 year old girl with her kitten.

Dean felt a little guilty for being rude to her today.

"Taco probably knew Dean was being an asshole." She said affectionately.

The guilt evaporated. "You know Ellis if you don't want us here..." He snapped.

"Hey, hey!" Sam stepped in between them both. "Hey," he said, brow furrowed. "Hey. Calm down guys. It's...it's been a really rough week and we're all tired and grumpy. Let's not say things we don't mean."

Dean saw Ellis's little jaw tighten. She wanted to go after him verbally, he could feel it.

Fuck her. He hadn't done anything to her stupid cat. Not one damned thing.

Her lips pulled into a pout.

"She doesn't want us here, Sam." Dean muttered, eyes on Ellis.

He saw Sam grimace and give him a 'just shut up, please' look.

"If I didn't want you here I'd tell you to get your asses out." She responded. "I just don't like being snapped at in my own house and I certainly don't like you saying you're going to drown my cat!"

Sam turned to her. "Ellis. He didn't mean that." His voice had gone very soft. He was laying on every bit of Sam charm he had. "He's sick. You know this isn't Dean."

Fuck him. This was him. He was just sick of everyone's shit, that was all.

Dean watched Sam try to negotiate.

"This week has just sucked and he's dealing with it in his grumpy way. And he's not going to hurt Taco. You know that."

She set the cat down and Taco slinked off, his eyes searching the room.

"I'm going to go take a nap." She said. "I didn't sleep last night. Sam can you take care of Dean's injury? Maybe give him a garbage bag to use if he gets sick again?"

Sam nodded.

She waved a hand half-heartedly in their direction.

Sam walked over and batted Dean in the head.

"Hey bitch!" Dean struck back and missed. "What the hell was that for?"

"For being an asshole to her. We're IN her house Dean. She got fired for us." Sam reached for Dean's shirt and he recoiled.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm checking the wound."

"It's fine." Dean jerked the shirt out of Sam's hands.

"Fine. You know what?" Sam backed off. "I'm fucking done right now too. I'll come check on you in a bit."

Dean wanted to meet the rejection with anger. But he wasn't feeling pissed suddenly. The head ache had lifted. "Sammy?"

"What?" Sam turned irritably. "You know what, I've been cutting you a break because I KNOW you feel like shit. I know. I get it. But maybe you need to stop and think about the fact that this hasn't been easy on us either."

Dean stopped. He'd been ready to apologize but now his pride didn't want him to.

Taco had slunk back around and had his eyes fixed near Sam. Then suddenly made a u-turn and skittered toward a curio cabinet in the corner.

Sam softened. "It's okay. I'm sorry." He rubbed at his forehead. "I have a tension headache or something myself. I'm gonna go crash for a nap." He paused. "You really ought to be nicer to Ellis though. You keep snapping at her. And...she doesn't have to help us Dean."

Dean nodded. "I know. I just get so fed up with being fussed over."

Sam's brows went into something plaintive and sad. "Let yourself. It's nice."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Since when have you had someone fuss over you?"

Sam dropped his gaze and rubbed the back of his neck. He looked sideways. "You forget I had Jess."

Dean felt that like a punch. "Yeah." He said, chastened. "I did."

"It was nice to come home to chocolate chip cookies and hugs when I didn't feel well."

That made Dean feel even worse, the subject broaching into territory he wasn't comfortable with. What if scenarios and why not scenarios. "Do you need me to bake you cookies, Sammy?"

Sam huffed his not quite laugh but it didn't touch his eyes at all. It made Dean feel guilty. Reminded him that he was just a consolation prize. That if Sam had had his rathers he'd be tucked in bed with a leggy blonde right now. He tried not to hold it against him.

Maybe he'd have felt the same way if things had worked out between him and Cassie? No. Probably not. Hunting was his world.

Sam's deflated posture was still there as he turned away. "I'm gonna go lay down."

Dean cleared his throat. "Hey. Take Pet Semetary with you, will ya?"

Taco was still hunting nothing in the room. Sam scooped him up and he fought him for a moment, eyes still fixed on the corner.

Sam frowned, followed the gaze.

Dean tracked them. "What?"

"I just don't get... never mind. I'll catch you in a bit."

Sam left the room.

Dean suddenly felt very alone.

Chapter Text

Ellis bent down to pick up the Feline Mystique book that Taco seemed to have a hey day tossing onto the floor. He'd toppled it off again sometime during the day. She put it back onto the counter and glanced out the kitchen window.

The moon was full, shimmering pregnant among the clouds flitting across her face. Different phases corresponded to different magical workings. The full moon was potent. Ellis needed potent. She glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. The boys were still awake. Their habit of hunting things at night left them with weird sleep patterns. Night owls. Although left to his own devices, Sam seemed to turn in a little earlier than his brother.

It was going to be challenging to cast without them catching on to her.

Ellis rifled through her drawer and grabbed some of her supplies. She was just going to have to be quiet. After the events of earlier, the boys had tiptoed around her. She was secretly glad to see that Dean hadn't thrown up again over the past several hours. He still hadn't eaten much though.

Sam and Dean were watching TV and discussing the merits of some bullshit martial arts fight scene.

"I'm going to bed guys."

Sam turned his head toward her, looking over the recliner. "Night Ellis."

She stopped to look at their dear faces, Sam lazily wedged into the recliner and Dean, still pale, sprawled across the couch. She felt like committing them to memory in case something went wrong. In case.

She edged up the stairs and out of sight.

"Dude, Jackie Chan is a poser."

"What are you even talking about?"

Dean opened his mouth to rebut and stopped.

Sam's eyebrows knitted together as we waited on a response.

"I..." Dean put his hand to his head.

"Hey man? What's wrong?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing, just dizzy and tired suddenly."

Sam got up and helped lift Dean's legs into a more comfortable position on the couch. "Better?"

Dean nodded.

"What's been going on with you, man?" Sam's voice was casual, but the concern was easy to read.

"I just feel so friggin weak."

"Is your blood sugar okay?"

"I dunno, Sam." Dean grumbled. "Do I look like a blood sugar meter to you?"

Sam tossed Dean a pillow, grabbed another one and tucked it underneath his brother's legs. "I might go out and buy one. I'm worried."

"Don't be." Dean put the pillow under his head.

"But I am."

Dean gave him a long suffering glare. "Sam, the last thing that's gonna kill me in this job is my blood sugar."

Sam looked away and nodded, unable to argue with that one.

Ellis sat amongst a circle of candles. There were five differently colored pillar candles to correspond to the five elements, but also tea lights around the circumference. The pentacle was redrawn in blue chalk.

She took a breath to center herself, drawing in her power. Taco sat within the circle facing her. He'd joined her of his own accord, which wasn't really that unusual. He liked to play the Familiar and tonight he seemed particularly interested in every thing she'd done.

Ellis wasn't entirely certain what she was even doing. She knew she wanted to get the message to John about the iron road...but even if she couldn't, even if she could only touch his mind for a moment. Just let him know she loved him.

She closed her eyes, long blonde lashes sweeping over her skin and settled in, the dog tags were in her hand. She breathed and let them guide her. Their cool metal warmed to her touch. She found the essence of John in them and followed it.

Saw his face. Smelled his scent, whiskey and leather and Old Spice. She heard his voice, deep and rough. She felt his lips, soft among the stubble of his face.

She remembered his body pressed against hers. The little dampener notes on his skin. She thought of John.

John Winchester.

The beat up hunter who'd shown up at her door years ago, looking for help with a case.

John.

That she'd nursed back to health time and again and watched leave time and again. Only to show up at her door months later, battered and frayed like an old stray Tom Cat.

She had been his port in a storm and she had been fine with that. Somehow she felt the need to play that role again. She wanted to send out the lighthouse beam so he could find it in the darkness.

Ellis did the same as before...descended her consciousness down... down... she felt the Evil...it almost made her turn away, come back up, but then she felt John in the midst of that evil, like a candle in the forest at night. His soul so flame bright in a place that held only darkness.

She stopped. Held back by something. She could only observe. Only know what he was going through. But she was a spectator. She wasn't actually there.

But somehow Taco was.

John Winchester drew in a shuddering breath. The torment in Hell was not constant. No. There were pauses. Reprieves. A cease in the torment so that you could remember what it felt like to feel the brief cessation of pain. Usually his body ached and burned from what he'd just been through. His throat raw from screaming. But there would be times when if he lay still enough on his rack, there was almost the absence of pain. Like wetting the lips of a man dying of thirst. It was an invite for more. There were times when Alastair left him alone. Just enough time to remember what the absence of pain felt like. Just enough time to leave him alone with himself to think.

The ache in his back was the only thing that he felt now. And his throat raw from yelling. He didn't understand how that worked. Knew he could not possibly have a physical form ...and yet here he was, bound to his body.

His rasping breath filled the darkness where he lay. A shuddering in and out. Tears tracked down the sides of his face, but they were drying now. Strange how this body that was here and yet not here cried and bled and pissed and puked just like the one he'd left on earth.

John's wrists ached from his bonds and he rotated them within the leather cuffs. Felt blood snake down his arm from the chaffing.

Alastair had been particularly brutal that session. John had cried and begged and shouted for him to stop. At first he'd not wanted to give the bastard the satisfaction. But Alastair had broken that resolve a while ago. What he hadn't succeed in doing was getting John to take his offer to cease the torment by ripping apart other souls. John put every ounce of intractable stubbornness that had carried him through his life on earth and channeled it into defying that one request. He would not become a demon. He would not taint his soul to become the thing that had killed his wife. He would not take the bargain.

John's breaths slowed at last and something seemed to catch his eye in the dimness. A flash of orange. Something that didn't belong here in this place of death and torment and tears. Something...Something not evil. He'd almost forgotten what that felt like. He tried to twist his neck sideways to see what it was, felt the protest of his muscles.

A cat stepped out of the darkness, insubstantial and almost not there. There but not there. It flickered as it advanced slowly toward John, yellow eyes locked on his face, paws stepping in a slow swerving manner. John felt a surge of emotional pain at seeing something other than the hideous. The cat was beautiful. Just an orange tabby, really. But beautiful beyond measure in the darkness he'd been thrust into. It shimmered and flickered with the movement before it became slightly more substantial as it pulled closer. Velvet paws treading on the dimness under them.

Somewhere in the back of John's mind a glimmer of recognition occurred. Something faint like a past life memory. He knew this cat. It approached the rack and sat down purposefully in John's sight, stately and elegant. Curled its tail around its legs.

He met its eyes. They were hypnotic. Beautiful. The slit pupil expanded, leaving only a ring of yellow. Pools of blackness. But not the blackness of the pit. The blackness of a calm night in the countryside. He remembered the countryside suddenly. Ribbons of road stretched out before him, gently rolling hills, sun and wildflowers. Blue skies and clouds. He swallowed thickly. It had been so long since he'd remembered such things. He blinked. Wanted to cry.

His lips parted and he fell into the cat's eyes more. And he saw a blonde woman. Not Mary. No... she looked nothing like Mary really. She was delicate and pale. He tried to place her. She did something to him. Her image.

Gentle slide of her hands against his skin... Ellie? He'd forgotten Ellie. Hadn't thought of her since he'd been taken here. His whole world had become pain and fear and defiance and anger. He held on to the memories of his sons and his wife and everything else had disappeared until he only recalled Dean and Sam and Mary.

But there was Ellis too. Or there had been, before, with her fading in and out of his life. There when he needed to take from her. Ellie. Ellis Parnecki. Ellis.

He felt another swell of emotion. Nostalgia. Suddenly the cat fell into place. Her little orange cat.

Taco. This was Taco.

The breath left his chest. What did this mean? The cat clearly didn't belong here.

"Taco?"

Taco didn't move. Sat challengingly. Flicked his tail. John kept his focus on the cat's eyes and he saw something in them. Something that pulled him from where he was. Free of his bonds. He stepped into the yellowness of them, glowing like two full moons and lost himself. Swirling. Moving. He followed Taco down a long hall of rock and darkness, like a cavern, twisting and turning to a gate. A gate opened. A gate thrown asunder with demonic forces tearing out of it into the welcoming night air.

He knew it was May somehow. Not far off from Sam's birthday. The Devil's Gate would open in May. He understood that. Time held no meaning in the Pit. It ran differently. Slower. Slower. A molasses pace that bore no resemblance to the real world. Yet somehow the moon phases from topside bled into the Underworld. He knew the phases...could feel it ebbing and flowing. Waxing and waning and full. He knew.

And then suddenly he was jolted back into his body. Back into his bonds pinioned on the rack and he knew that in actuality he hadn't traveled at all.

Taco was sitting there still and the yellow eyes blinked slowly. A look, a clear. "Do you understand?"

The Gate would be opened in May. Bide his time. Yes he understood. He nodded silently, a dip of his chin.

The essence of Taco stood up on quiet white paws. Strode sideways and slowly stepped into the veil of darkness and was gone.

Not a moment too soon. He sensed Azazel's approach.

The cat gave him something to hold onto while his intestines were ripped from his body.

Chapter Text

Ellis watched them for the space of she knew not how long until she saw Taco leave. She stayed with John. Then saw something half- formed and hideous hiss out a greeting in a strangely accented voice. "John, Johhhn, Johhhn. Are we done crying now?"

John's gaze was defiant and Ellis saw his jaw clench in anger.

"Let's stop playing, John. Aren't you bored of this game?"

"Fuck off." John's voice was gruff.

"Oh you like to play so rough, don't you? Really, I just want to enjoy our time together. But you insist on making this difficult."

Ellis heard the shick of a metal blade, heard him muttering a song. "Heaven, I'm in heaven and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak..." he ran the blade over John's chest, slowly tracing down...further, further. Ellis saw his respiration speed up in anticipation and she tried to pull her vision back but couldn't.

The blade sunk into his belly. John yelled out and so did she, a cry torn from her throat.

The scream from the upstairs was so loud that both men startled from their respective places. Sam was up the stairs in a flash and Dean, with a strength born of adrenaline, not far behind.

Sam burst through the bedroom door, and skidded to the edge of the Pentacle and took stock of the spell work- the burning sage, the candles, fluttering wildly in the wake of the draft he'd created by throwing the door open. Taco jumped out of the Circle at his approach.

Ellis seemed trapped within the Circle. Her eyes were closed, she was still crying out. "NO!"

"Ellis!" Sam yelled, afraid to interrupt. He put his boots to the perimeter formed by the candles. "Ellis, follow my voice. Come back."

Dean burst into the room huffing. He cocked an eyebrow. "What the fuck is going on?"

Ellis saw the hideous shadowed face turn toward her, halt the progress of his knife. "Well. John. Do we have a voyeur? A spectator to the show? What should we show her?"

Dean surveyed the scene a moment. "Get her out!" He shouted.

"I can't, Dean." Sam replied, still at the edge of the circle, looking like he wanted to break it, but restraining himself. "She's in the middle of a spell. We don't know what will happen if we interrupt."

Ellis screamed again, writhed, collapsed with in the sanctuary of the candles.

"Well we know she's gonna get hurt if we don't interrupt." Dean grew upset at their inaction, every muscle screaming at him act. "Sam, we gotta do something."

"I don't know, Dean."

She cried out again in a shrill scream.

"Get her out!" Dean shouted again, poised to move.

Sam hesitated, still weighing the cost.

Dean kicked aside the tealights and dove in.

"Dean!"

The elder Winchester grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her out. Ellis was a convulsing dead weight. The set of dog tags clattered to the wooden floor as he moved her. She went stiff with one last scream and her eyes snapped open.

Dean collapsed on his ass next to her, every ounce of strength gone. "You okay?"

Ellis's eyes were wide, startled.

Sam gave a glance in the direction of the broken circle, seemed surprised by the dog tags, then knelt down to take her by the arms.

"Ellis." She didn't respond.

Dean furrowed his forehead. He fell back onto his elbow panting. "What's wrong with her?"

"You jolted her out of a trance, Dean. It's traumatic to the mind to be jerked out of that deep a meditative state."

"Oh yeah...excuse me. I guess It's not traumatic to be killed in a meditative state."

Sam paid him no heed. "Ellis." He said soothingly. "It's Sam. Follow my voice back. Come back to us. Can you hear me?"

She jerked in his arms.

"Ellis. Follow my voice."

And suddenly with a sudden loud gasping intake of breath, Sam saw her eyes take focus.

"Sam!" She started to cry immediately.

He pulled her into his arms. "We're here." She clung onto his chest for the space of several minutes before she stopped.

"What happened?" He asked.

"I got too deep..." she drew a ragged breath, "...into the spell. It wouldn't let me go. I couldn't get out."

She looked around and her eyes betrayed her distress at the circle of half lit tealights. "What happened?"

"Dean dove in and pulled you out."

"Shit."

She twisted out of Sam's embrace and crawled back into it. She muttered a few words to hastily bring the spell to a close and opened the Circle with a gesture of her hands. "Dean. You can't break a sacred circle during a spell!" She said from her cross-legged spot.

Dean was still lying back, half-winded. "Oh excuse me. Next time I'll let you convulse and die. What is with you two?"

She started to say something and Sam cut in. "No. No he's right, Ellis. Something was really wrong and neither of us know how to close out the spell. Someone had to do something. It would've been better if he could have stepped over the candles, but he was acting quickly."

Dean thumped his head back against the wooden floorboards and groaned. "What happened? What were you doing?"

She drew a deep breath and looked away. Her porcelain skin betrayed a rosy flush of embarrassment. "I... I was trying to communicate with your father."

The Winchesters swore in unison.

"I told you that was too dangerous!" Sam raised his voice. "You promised you wouldn't."

She shook her head. "No I didn't. I said I knew it was dangerous."

Sam stopped and she watched him replay their conversation and realize that she hadn't promised anything.

She looked at him for absolution, stung by his disapproval. "I had to try, Sam."

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "You can open a door to hell?"

She shook her head. "No. I just...I wanted to talk to him. I was hoping I could."

"Did you?" Dean turned his head sideways, hope in his voice.

"No." She put a hand to her forehead.

"You didn't draw his attention... you drew the attention of something bad, didn't you?" Sam asked, putting two and two together as rapidly as always.

She nodded, her heart speeding up. "Yeah. Yeah I think I did."

Dean cleared his throat. "It didn't like follow you back, did it?"

"No. Definitely not." She said.

"Did you see Dad?" Dean's voice was hopeful.

Ellis looked down at the sweet, earnest features and shook her head. "No."

He nodded, swallowed tightly.

She sat for the space of a few minutes trying to collect her breath. Her face was pale, shaken. It took her the space of a few more moments before she blinked and seemed to come back to the present. She was weak and trembling and not at all okay with anything she had just seen. Horrible demonic face looking at her, trying to keep her there. Keep her from leaving. And it had all been for naught. She couldn't reach John. She never felt so defeated in her life.

She looked over at Dean's exhausted face.

"How are you angel?" She asked, crawling the few feet between them on hands and knees. She settled down to pet him for a second. Then collapsed beside him, lying next to him.

"M tired." He closed his eyes. "And I'm not an angel. Stop calling me that."

"Okay, angel." She looked up at Sam and winked.

He seemed too preoccupied to get the joke. "Ellis, you can't do this. Something really bad is going to happen." He bent down to retrieve the fallen dog tags.

"I know," she groaned. "I know." She rolled to her side on the hard floor, threw her arm over Dean. "Sam, come join our exhaustion pile. It's nice down here."

As if on cue Taco crawled into the small space between their bodies and flopped down.

"See. Even the cat agrees."

"Did you close the spell properly now?" he asked. "Can I put out the candles?"

"Yes," she mumbled.

Sam started slowly extinguishing the candles. Snuffing the flame with his fingers. "That was beyond reckless," he lectured.

He wasn't wrong. But she could see by the tone he employed where he and John would have locked horns immediately if Sam had pointed out his father's shortcomings like that.

"I won't do it again."

He turned to look at her, his hand hovering over a tealight. "I need your word."

She drew a deep breath and nodded, swallowed lump in her throat. "I promise."

"Good."

Sam snuffed out the last candle.

Chapter Text

Dean lay sprawled on his stomach on the guest bed. His breathing came shallowly.

Ellis stood in the door way in a pair of yoga pants and a v-neck and observed him. She felt like she'd run a marathon earlier. She was tired and out of sorts. Every time she closed her eyes she saw John's belly laid open with a knife. That was going to haunt her for some time.

Sam on his knees in the mud.

She shook her head to clear it.

Ellis watched Dean's broad back expand in shuddering increments. She walked in and sat on the edge of the bed. It dipped down under her weight.

"Sweetheart?" She touched her hand in between his shoulder blades, just visible beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt. She didn't like the impression she got when she touched him. Weak. Flickering. "I put the cat away so he'll stop attacking your head."

Dean hummed an acknowledgement.

"Honey, roll over and let me get a look at you." She said, her thumb hooking in the waist of his cotton sleep pants and pulling them down just enough to get a look at the spot where the splinter had been. She didn't see anything new. Or frighteningly infected looking.

She touched the spot with her hand. He flinched a little.

"Does this hurt?"

"Everything hurts," he mumbled.

There was no warmth there. No redness. Nothing to indicate an infection, although it still hadn't healed.

He rolled slowly onto his back. He was pale. Very pale. Almost ashen.

She checked his pulse, pressed her fingers to his carotid. His heart was working steadily, though a little fast and thready. His freckles stood out on the bridge of his nose, stark against the pallor of his skin, lending him a distinctly boyish air.

"You look really sick."

"Don't feel too great."

She leaned her ear on his chest to listen to his lungs.

"No offense, Ellis, I'm not in the mood." He rumbled under her.

"Shhhh. I'm listening." She listened to the respiration. No crackling. No phlegm. She picked up her head and checked his forehead with her hand. He felt cool to the touch. She pulled up his shirt.

Dean's eyes had closed and he let her, lying pliant.

His wound didn't look worse. Hadn't healed like it should have though either, the puncture still open in the layer of muscle.

"What's wrong with you, baby?" She asked, setting his shirt back down.

Dean blinked lazily. "Dunno."

"I'm sorry you don't feel well." Ellis paused. "When Sam gets back from the grocery run I think we need to think about taking you to the doctors."

Dean grumbled.

She got up to leave and he reached out for her, caught her hand in his.

She turned around.

"C'mere." He tugged her over.

She walked a bit closer and then resisted. "What?"

He didn't say anything but didn't let go of her hand. "Can..." he cut off the sentence and looked really young and vulnerable. He swallowed.

She understood what he wanted but would never voice suddenly.

"You don't want me to leave?"

He shook his head.

She lifted the blankets and slid in with him. His arms went around her and he slid a little lower, then curled sideways and rested his head against her breast. She held him, petted his hair. Knew with a sinking feeling that if he was seeking out this kind of attention he was feeling very, very ill.

"It's okay, baby."

"Just feel so sick. And miserable."

"You are sick and miserable."

"Yeah." He pressed in deeper, seeking her warmth.

She tightened her hold on him.

"Why do women feel so goddamn good?" He asked, his voice muffled into her shirt.

"Because you're a man?"

"Huh." He said as if the thought never occurred to him. "Yeah. Guess so."

"Men feel pretty damn good to me." She carded her fingers through his hair.

He smiled into her breast. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

"I feel good?" The flirt was lazy, half-serious.

She smirked at him and pressed her lips to the top of his head. "You know you do."

Ellis felt a brush of cold sweep over her and looked to the window to see if a draft was there. It looked like it might not have been shut as tightly as it should have been.

She felt his Deanness flicker. It startled her. Something was wrong.

"Dean, baby. Stay awake." She told him.

He pulled away with a grimace and held his head with one hand. "Not gonna be able to fall asleep with this head ache."

She furrowed her brow. "Is it bad?"

"It's not good." He replied.

She heard the front door open, finally. She got up to go greet Sam, eager to consult with him about how ill Dean was.

"Sam. I..." She paused as she took in a few unfamiliar figures in the doorway. A jolt of adrenaline went through her.

An unfamiliar voice bellowed. "Put your hands in the air!"

"What the hell?" Ellis yelled, startled.

Two officers stood just inside the doorway, weapons drawn and at the ready. "I said put your hands up!"

"What are you doing here?" Ellis asked. Her heart suddenly jack hammering in her chest. This was it. Game over. Checkmate.

The older of the two approached aggressively and Ellis put her hands up in surrender.

"Your neighbor called in a report that two men fitting the descriptions of wanted felons were seen coming and going from this house." The cop explained. He was a big burly man with a mustache, all aggression and muscle. The partner beside him was a younger, thin blonde.

"Haskell, go check out the rest of the house."

The blonde dipped his head in acknowledgement and headed off to the bedroom.

"My neighbor called?" She asked, brow furrowed.

"Yes. I'd stop talking if I were you."

Her neighbor. That two-faced fucking bitch. Ellis wanted to go pour bleach on her flowers, key her car and rip out the pages of a Penthouse magazine and tape them all over the house. Hell, if she got out on bail, she would do just that. She was going to prison anyway, might as well go out with a bang.

She heard raised voices from the other room and then Dean came staggering out, his hands cuffed behind his back. He could hardly keep his feet. He looked blue.

"Please call an ambulance." Ellis begged. "He's very, very sick."

Dean took a few drunken steps, swayed dangerously. She instinctively started toward him.

"M'am stay where you are."

Ignoring the warning, she dove for him when he started to stagger sideways, taking part of his weight. He was so heavy he made her reel with his bulk.

"For the last time. Put your hands up!"

"He's hurt." She yelled. "Please."

"This is your last warning. Hands up or I will shoot."

"You're going to shoot an unarmed woman?!" Ellis cried, genuinely upset. She saw the expression on his face read the danger signal. Yes. He would do just that. Asshole.

She let Dean go and he collapsed onto his knees then onto the floor. His face was blue. He seemed to be having trouble breathing, taking in shallow pained breaths.

Haskell paused. "Should I call it in?"

"Search the rest of the house."

"You don't have a warrant." Ellis tried. She was going to be crucified in court if they found half of her witchy paraphernalia.

Dean could hardly breathe. He looked sick as hell. Like a fish taken out of water for too long.

"Please." She begged. "Please."

"You have the right to remain silent." He moved forward to cuff her and suddenly there was another man in the door.

"FBI. Put away your weapon."

Ellis looked up. She recognized the auburn hair immediately. Canton.

The cop turned, leveling his weapon at the new intruder. "Excuse me?"

Canton flashed his badge, his federally issued Glock pointed at the cop. "This is my jurisdiction. I've been called in. This is Agent Henricksen's case. Thank you for the arrest. I have it from here."

The cops both seemed unsure.

Canton bristled. "I have federal authority over you. Don't make me call in your badge numbers. -And uncuff the suspect on the floor. He needs medical attention, not handcuffs."

Haskell knelt down to uncuff Dean.

"Do you need our assistance?" The dark-haired man asked.

"No, I have back up coming."

The mustached guy in particular seemed loath to leave until Canton barked an order to get out.

They left out the front door and Ellis breathed a broken sob of relief and bent over Dean. "Baby."

He was shuddering, having having a hard time drawing air.

Canton holstered his weapon. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know." Ellis's nimble hands were roaming his body looking for something that felt off. "How, how are you here?"

Canton knelt down next to Dean and expertly tipped his head back. "Come on buddy," he coached. "Breathe."

Dean did, in a long gasp.

"He needs a hospital." Canton said, shifting his weight onto his left knee.

"Won't you guys be alerted?" She asked wryly.

He gave her a genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I guess we might."

The door swung open and Canton drew his weapon with lightening speed.

"Woah!" Sam dropped the bag of groceries and threw his hands into the air in surrender. There was the sound of a shattering glass jar from inside of it. Food tumbled out onto the floor.

His eyes widened, at the sight, then fell to Dean. "What happened?"

Canton put his gun away and Sam dashed over to Dean and knelt next to him. "Dean. Dean!"

"S'mmy?"

"Yeah buddy. We're gonna get you help." Sam replied, still unsure what was wrong.

"Sammy!" Dean's back arched in pain. He rolled to his side with a gasp.

Canton sat back on his heels. "What the hell is wrong with him?"

"I don't know." Ellis replied.

"Buddy. Dean, buddy. Shhh. I'm here." Sam balanced on his knees. The hard wood digging into his knee caps. "Hey, I'm here."

Dean grabbed his wrist. "Sammy? Hurts."

"Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong with you." Sam coaxed.

"Dunno." Came the gasped answer. He blinked and his face scrunched almost like he wanted to cry.

Sam ran his fingers through his own hair, and stood up, shifting weight from foot to foot. Clearly distressed and thinking. "How about we call an ambulance? I'm done with this. Something is wrong. There's some kind of complication or something."

"You're still wanted." Canton reminded, not aggressively, merely stating a fact.

"I think I'll take that chance." Sam grabbed his cell, saw that the battery was dead.

He cursed and became aware of an insistent clawing and yowling from the bathroom. "Where's the cat?" He asked.

"I locked him in the bathroom earlier for harassing Dean."

"My phone is dead. Where is your cell?"

"In the bathroom charging, I think." She responded.

Sam walked over and opened the door.

Taco launched into the room with a scraping of claws on wood and darted to the couch. He hissed at Dean's prone figure loud enough to actually startle Canton.

"What the fuck, cat?" Ellis snarled, clearly pissed at the he behavior. She went to knock him off.

"Wait!" Sam yelled.

"What?" She paused mid-shove and the cat slithered out of her grip darted between her and Canton, smacked Dean's head, then leapt off and ran after nothing.

Dean took a deep gasping breath and Canton steadied him, holding his head. "That's it fella. Deep breath. That's how it's done." He tilted Dean's head again to widen his throat.

"The cat." Sam huffed. "It's so obvious."

"What?"

"The cat is chasing something. He's been acting like this for about two days now which is when Dean took a turn for the worse."

Ellis furrowed her forehead. "He's..." She put together the sudden regression in Dean's recovery. Taco's weird behavior. The cold draft. The mood changes from everyone. "Something is in here and it's affecting Dean."

Canton lifted his head and stared at them. "Come again?"

Sam ignored him. "Taco can see it. Because he's a cat."

Canton gave up trying to make sense of the conversation and slid his hands under Dean's shoulders to open up his lungs a little. He'd settled into a more regular breathing pattern. His color looked less ashen.

Ellis nodded, feeling pieces fall into place. She looked down at Dean. "He's breathing now."

Sam disappeared into the kitchen.

Canton raised an eyebrow, hands still under the elder Winchester. "Wanna clue me in on what's going on?"

"Only if you want to tell me why you're here."

Canton nodded. "Fair enough."

They both looked up as Sam approached with a canister of Morton's salt. The cardboard was a bit dinged and frayed, revealing it's age and how much Ellis liked to cook.

"What?" Canton stared in incomprehension. "We making dinner?"

"Back away for a minute, guys." Sam ordered.

They complied, Ellis rising to her feet and Canton gently setting Dean down and following suit.

Sam began to lay a salt circle around his brother. "Give Taco free reign for now. It's clearly not on Dean at this second. I'm laying a circle to keep him safe while we figure out what the Hell this thing is and how to deal with it."

Canton looked at Ellis. "Ghosts? You're talking ghosts here?"

"Not necessarily a ghost," Sam said, still working.

"You guys really are crazy. And here I thought they were mistaken about you."

"You saw yourself what's happening." Sam replied, standing up.

"Why is it going after Dean?" Canton asked.

"Because," Ellis said, "the weaker you are, the easier prey you are to the supernatural. Dean is mentally and spiritually and physically drained right now."

"Yeah," Canton said skeptically. "This is above my pay grade."

Sam evaluated the finished circle. "Why are you here?"

"I was in the neighborhood on another assignment. I figured I'd come back for my cell phone and to check on the car Singer gave flat tires to. Don't even know if they towed it yet...there's another case out this way anyway. I wanted to say thank you to you." He looked at Ellis. "My kid is doing better than he has in years. I owe you."

"You're welcome."

"Anyway, I was in the area and the call came over the APB. I thought you could use my help."

Sam blinked. "So you aren't turning us in?"

"No. I'm covering for you. But you're going to have to get out of Ellis's place here once you have your brother stabilized. You have nosy neighbors and it's not going to be long before Henricksen gets word and comes snooping around again."

Dean was lying relatively quietly now.

Sam looked to Ellis and cocked an eyebrow. "Now to figure out what the hell it is and why it's here." He looked around the room as he thought. "I'd say it's from jumping into the circle last night but it started the day before that."

Ellis felt a surge of guilt. "Oh god. The night before I did a spell and knocked over a few candles. Something probably came through with me then. Fuck this is my fault."

"No." Sam said. "Don't start that. Dean does that too. It's no one's fault. Just a shitty break, okay?"

She didn't say anything.

"Okay?"

She nodded.

"It's probably not even the stupid spirit's fault. It's more than likely just doing what they do."

Canton looked between them baffled. "What, like drain your brother's energy?"

"Exactly." Sam said.

Chapter Text

Sam furrowed his brow, the phone pressed to his ear. "Uh huh. Yeah Bobby. Okay. I got it."

He leaned over Dean, careful not to disturb the salt ring. "He's resting now." Sam put a heavy hand on Dean's shoulder. His brother was quiet, his head propped up on a pillow, his eyes half closed.

"I don't see any marks, no. Of course he's wearing clothes but I don't think there's anything on him." Sam checked the back of Dean's neck, rolling his head a little. "Nope. Nothing there." He furrowed his brow and listened to Bobby's methodical line of questioning.

He moved and slid the cotton pant leg partly up Dean's calf. "No. Nothing on his leg either...He's a lot quieter in the circle right now than he has been. He's been so sick the last few days." Sam paused and huffed. "The last few weeks, yeah."

"He was eating. He hasn't since this thing's been bothering him... No. His color isn't so good. He looks like he has pneumonia. His skin has that grey tone to it." Sam wrinked his brow in thought again, shot a look to Ellis who was listening a few feet away.

"He's breathing okay now. He wasn't earlier. No. I can't sense anything. Ellis hardly can. She told me she feels a draft now and then. The cat sees it for sure."

Sam rested his hand absently on Dean's knee. He rubbed at it with his thumb. Gentle circles.

He went quiet. "What?" Sam breathed, his shoulders tightening. "Bobby I don't want to use Dean as bait." His voice grew agitated. "I don't care! There has to be another option."

Canton rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Never a dull moment with the Winchester Parnecki gang."

Sam didn't look amused. He finished pouring salt on the window sills in the guest bedroom. "Just make sure to seal the door when I tell you."

Sam efficiently ran a line near the sliding doors of the closet. "Remember. We don't know what this thing is. We don't really know it's MO. Or if its hostile or timid or..."

"Imaginary." Canton quipped.

Sam's jaw tightened. "Are you on board or not?"

"I'm on board. This all just seems slightly insane."

"Boys." Ellis said. "Don't fight." She walked into the room dressed in a long flowing robe, with a velveteen hood. She had mascara, eyeliner, red lipstick. Her hair loose.

Sam's breath caught. "Ellis. You look..."

"Human?" She joked.

"Really pretty." He said. "Like a goddess."

She did looked stately as she moved to the center of the room and gathered herself. "I usually don't care for this stuff but every now and then if I need a little extra oomph, dressing the part helps."

Sam breathed deeply. He set an EMF Detector on one side of the doorway. "I'm about ready."

"Go get Dean," Ellis said.

Sam walked out, steeling his nerves.

Dean was still laying in the salt circle, pale and tired. He squatted down next to him. "Hey, Dean."

"Huh?"

"I'm gonna move ya, buddy. Okay?" Sam's tone was light but his voice almost caught. He shifted over him and gathered Dean under the armpits. "Can you try and stand for me?"

"Dunno."

"Come on buddy. I gotcha. One, two, three..." Sam lifted and Dean cried out at being moved.

"I know. Shhh." Sam soothed.

Dean locked his legs trying to keep his balance.

"Atta boy." Sam praised. He kept his grip on him and tried to get him to walk. Dean clearly couldn't. He sagged uselessly between his brother's hands.

Sam bent down again. "I'm gonna lift ya. One... two... three..."

Dean groaned.

His head lolled into Sam's chest.

"Dean..."

"Yeah..." the voice was low.

"I...I'm gonna take care of you, okay."

Dean didn't respond but a hand slipped around Sam's neck.

Sam's jaw tightened. Jumped. Every instinct told him to put Dean back into the circle. Every impulse he had said "protect your brother."

Sam walked back into the guest room and set Dean onto the bed. He saw Ellis look up from her spot, concerned. He could sense every bit of her fiercely strong maternal instinct wanted to coddle him.

She reined herself in and ducked her head back down, looking like a druidic statue in her long cascade of black fabric.

Sam put a pillow under Dean's head. "Just get some rest, okay?"

Dean's hand snatched at Sam's arm. "Don't leave."

"I'm not leaving." Sam assured, looking at the rock salt shot gun he had tucked into the corner. "I just gotta go to the other side of the room."

"Kay." But Dean didn't let go. "S'mmy."

"Yeah?" Sam asked, patting him absently, looking around, aware he needed to be elsewhere but loath to leave dean.

"Think maybe I'm dyin."

Sam's eyes squeezed shut. "No, don't say that. You just don't feel good right now. But you're gonna be okay, I promise you. I'll take care of it. I'm gonna take care of you. Okay?"

"M sorry."

"You got nothing to be sorry for."

"Sam," Ellis said. "You need to get into position. It's not gonna harass him if you are right there as protection."

"I know." Sam prised Dean's hand loose from his arm. "I gotta go. I'm gonna be right in the corner. Okay?"

Dean's hand fell to his side. "Better off without me, Sammy."

That halted Sam dead. Made him feel a flare of anger. "Don't ever say that!"

Ellis and Canton looked in his direction at the outburst.

"Don't ever say that. You're what keeps me going. I got nothing besides you! You got that?"

Dean didn't respond.

"You're my best friend. Don't ever say that. You hear me?"

"Kay." Dean said finally.

"Jerk." Sam said heatedly and stalked to his corner.

"Bitch." It was a whisper.

A long time passed and nothing.

They'd all gotten bored.

"I'm thinking," Ellis said, "it's not going to come in if we're all in here next to him. Kinda like if we set a trap for a rabbit and sat next to it the whole night."

Canton shrugged. "Well I'm tired of standing here with a carton of salt in my hands."

Sam furrowed his brow. "Yeah. I think you're right. But it's invisible and what if it attaches to Dean and we don't know?"

"That's what the K2 meter is there for."

"What if it doesn't give off an electromagnetic field?" Sam countered worriedly. "I don't think Dean can be energy vampired again. He's really, really weak."

"I know." Ellis gave a glance in the young man's direction. "I think we're out of options."

"I mean it's been draining him this whole time without us knowing. What if it does that and we don't notice?"

Ellis shrugged. "Sometimes you gotta roll the hard six."

Sam furrowed his brow. "Huh?"

"Sorry. Never mind."

"Cylons," Dean mumbled.

They all turned their attention on him. "Huh?"

Steve Canton leaned over to look at him. "He said cylons?"

Ellis smiled proudly. "Even half dead he knows my pop culture references," she said with a touch of pride.

Dean seemed to notice Canton for the first time. His eyes pulled focus and he stiffened.

Canton saw the look and gave him a reassuring smile. "It's okay."

Sam stood debating. He looked to his brother and back to Ellis. Set his shoulders in a way that she had come to understand meant he had come to a hard decision. He nodded. "Let's roll the hard six, Starbuck."

She blinked in surprise.

"Dean isn't the only one who watches T.V."

The three of them settled into the living room.

Sam looked uneasily at Canton. "So how long before they notice you're missing?"

"Don't worry," he replied. "I've covered my bases."

Sam scratched the back of his neck. He looked almost shyly in Canton's direction. "I'm glad to hear your kid is doing okay."

Canton nodded, the look of appreciation genuine. "Thank you, Winchester...for what it's worth I'm sorry for putting the bullet in your brother." He grimaced. "Really sorry."

Sam nodded tightly. "You were just following orders."

Ellis glanced nervously in the direction of the bedroom. "What is taking that thing so long? I honestly thought that putting Dean in there alone would be like throwing blood in the water for sharks."

No sooner had she said it then the EMF meter gave the slightest little blip.

Sam looked at the room, every muscle on edge. "You hear that?"

"Yeah."

He got up. "That's signal enough for me." He started toward the bedroom and could see Dean on the bed.

The door slammed shut.

It launched Sam into action. He threw himself up against it and grabbed the handle, pushing as hard as he could. It didn't budge.

A harsh cry from Dean rang through from the other side.

Sam slammed his shoulder into it. "Hang on, Dean!"

Canton launched himself over the recliner and joined him, throwing his weight against the heavy wood.

"Shit." Sam gasped, redoubling his efforts, now strong from adrenaline.

Canton caught his eye. "Wait on three. One, two, three."

They both slammed into at the same time with brutal force. It barely gave.

"How the hell is a door this strong?" Canton yelled.

"It's not. It's the spirit!" Sam shouted, feeling almost frantic.

They slammed into it again and Sam felt something crack in the wood. Again, and it fell open with so much force Sam went sprawling onto the hard wood floor inside. His chin smacked the floor.

"Quick, the salt!" He said, taking the blow and pushing himself up.

Ellis hurtled over him, moving with surprising dexterity in her long robes as Canton grabbed the salt canister and poured a line down at the doorway, creating a trap.

Dean writhed for a moment. He cried out. Nothing was visible.

Sam grabbed for his shot gun and fired it in his brother's direction, above his head. The salt spattered against the opposite wall and Dean went quiet.

Canton's eyes were wide.

"Where is it?"

"I don't know," Sam replied, eyes tracking uselessly around the room. "Be careful. It's trapped, no telling what it will do if it gets piss-" the sentence wasn't even out of his mouth when a force threw him sideways with enough force that he skidded across the floor on his shoulder.

"Sam!" Ellis began chanting something in Gaelic. Then there was a bright flash of sulfur and herbs lit in a chalice. "Back to the veil I send thee."

The cup whizzed out of her hands and smashed into the wall, spilling it's contents like confetti. She yelped in surprise.

Suddenly Taco was in the room, pouncing after something only he could see.

Sam pulled himself to his feet, tacked the cat's eyeline and fired again.

The attacks disappeared for a moment.

Switching tracks, Ellis continued the chanting. No use fighting something invisible if it could be helped. "Reveal your form."

Something flickered near the bed. It was hovering over Dean. Insubstantial and dark. A swirling mist of grey like a pall of smoke.

Sam reloaded. He shot in that direction again and it dissipated for a second, like a disturbed patch of fog before it was back again.

Ellis kept her chanting up. Rapid fire Gaelic. She seemed to transform from the little woman Sam knew into something almost beautiful and powerful as she built steam.

Taco was on the bed swatting at the smoky mist, but he only seemed to part it with his paw before it swirled and reformed.

Dean's breathing had become gasping, cut off, silent attempts like a landed fish.

Sam was out of shells. He tossed the gun aside and grabbed the canister of salt from Canton. He tossed some at it. "Get away from my brother!"

It did the same swirling dissipation that it did under Taco's paw. He tossed the salt again. "Get away from him."

Ellis kept her chant and it started to pull toward her. It was stretching itself to cling to Dean.

"Get away from my brother." Sam stepped forward, his words measured and menacing.

Ellis's voice was strained as it fought her. A tendril of it pulled into a bowl she had cupped in her hands. "I'm sending you home."

It pulled at Dean and his back arched under it. He cried out. Still short of breath.

Sam tossed the salt again. It rained over Dean but had little affect on the entity, which still seemed to be growing darker an and stronger, holding onto him like a pit bull locked in a dog fight.

Dean sobbed a few pitiful breaths... and Sam felt a surge of fucking rage that this was happening to Dean- a surge of protective ire. Something that made him want to fight and shred and rend apart anything that threatened his sibling. Something fierce and paternal at its core. How dare it hurt Dean?

"Get away from my brother!" He bellowed loudly enough that Canton startled. The power surge from Sam blew it sideways and it's grip on Dean tore away like the foundation of a house in a hurricane. It was sucked into Ellis's bowl and swirled there until it disappeared with a blast that knocked Ellis and Sam backward with the force of it.

They landed on the floor, panting.

Dean's gasp of sucking breath was audible even over the tumult. Canton leaned himself up against the wall for support before his legs gave away.

Ellis whispered a closing chant from her spot on the floor. "So mote it be, it is done."

The air changed. She felt the shift. She closed her eyes to stem the tears and looked at Sam, stunned at the fucking power she'd felt from him. That was not normal psychic energy for anyone to possess. And it was wild and unchanneled and born of rage. Rage and love, which is what tempered it.

She looked at her scraped elbow and winced. Sam met her eyes and she knew he was thinking what she was, and he'd startled himself a little.

"I think we rolled the hard six." He panted.

Then he was pushing himself to his feet and he dashed the few strides over to his distressed brother.

"Dean!" He gathered him up into his arms. "I'm here, buddy. Just breathe, okay? Just breathe. That's it."

Dean took a shuddering gasp. He was shaking, trembling like a leaf.

"Calm down." Sam whispered calmly, almost paternally, "let's not waste that energy with adrenaline. Okay? Hmmm? Save that fight."

Dean gasped again. Another weak sob.

"I'm here. I've gotcha." Sam pushed his fingers in his brother's damp hair. "I'll do the fighting for ya. Okay?"

Ellis shed her robe and wandered over to them. She lay a hand on Sam's head and kissed the top of it, dropped the other hand to Dean and knelt down. "Good boy. It's okay..." Her voice was gentle. "Good boy. Stay with us, Dean."

Chapter Text

Sam looked at her, his brown shag of bangs in his eyes. "He's having trouble breathing."

"I know." Ellis watched Dean's chest rise and fall too quickly. "I think it's stress. Sam talk him down."

"Hey." He bit his lip. "Dean calm down, huh?" He took his brother's hand. "It's gone. You're okay."

Dean took another audible gasp.

"Okay, sweetheart. Okay." Ellis soothed. She laid a hand on his solar plexus. Felt it heave under her. "Shhhh." She whispered, sending him calming could feel his distress. Fear from not being able to breathe earlier. The violation of it tapping into his life source and taking it. "Okay, sweetheart." She said, listening to the loud breaths. "Sam, tilt his head back a little."

Sam tilted his head to open his airway, and coaxed his jaw open with his thumb. Dean's gasps slowly turned deeper. Then slower.

Ellis felt his chakra warm slowly and the galloping, erratic pulse steady under her touch.

She and Sam both gave gasps of relief. Ellis left her hand on him. "Sam, keep contact. Let's let him kind of tap into our energy and take what he needs."

Sam looked decidedly emotional for a minute until he manned up and nodded. "Can people do that?"

"Yes all the time. Ever feel drained when someone walks into the room?" Her own voice was a little shaky.

"Yeah."

"Or you're drained and they come in ...and you feel better after a bit but they get a little tired?"

"Yeah."

"Then you psychically vamped them. I think everyone does it to some extent. Dean needs to do it right now. So just let him take what he needs." She was so spent herself she was almost swaying on her feet, but she was nowhere close to dead like Dean was.

Canton edged over to them, peering into the little huddle. "Is he okay? Need me to call an ambulance.?"

Ellis waved him in. "Steve, put your hand where I have mine, okay? You're stronger than me right now."

She backed off and Canton knelt and placed his palm down on the center of Dean's abdomen.

Ellis swayed and crumpled.

Canton sat at the table, looking like the survivor of a train wreck. "What the hell was that back there?"

Sam stood, leaning his elbow heavily on the counter. "That was our lives."

Canton ducked his head, a little ashamed. "I'm...I owe you an apology, Winchester."

Sam shook his head. "No you don't...you're just doing your job, really."

Canton ran this thumb absently over the face of his dead cell phone that he'd retrieved from the guest bedroom. "I need to get back to my family and also I really shouldn't be here for long. Neither of us need to be caught in each other's company. Jump ship here as soon as you and your brother are able to. The longer you're here, the more you put Ellis in jeopardy if she gets caught housing you. I really don't think Henricksen is done with her."

Sam nodded. He stepped forward and extended his hand.

Steve Canton stood up and took it, warm and solid and strong and gave a quick shake.

"Thanks for the apology, man." Sam said earnestly.

Canton gave him a smile and walked out of the room.

Canton wandered over to Ellis, who had collapsed onto the couch. "I have to go." He told her. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Thank you."

"No." He said. "Thank you. I have my boy now. I can never repay you."

She smiled, her tiny lips turning upward. "That is my pleasure."

Steve Canton bent down. "You take care." He grasped her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you."

"Go on." She said "...go hug your boy."

He smiled at her, turned on his heel and left.

Dean's eyes fluttered open and Ellis's guest bedroom came into focus. He felt like he'd been hit by a mac truck. He wrinkled his nose, aware of his own sweat. He lifted his head, confused for a minute. Ellis's cat was pressed into his side like a fuzzy heating pad. He could feel his sinuses reacting to it. He gave Taco a little shove. "Get."

Taco opened his yellow eyes and glared at Dean in annoyance. He rocked with the motion of the shove but didn't go anywhere.

"Come on, cat." His voice sounded like he'd been gargling gravel.

Maybe he had. He felt like it. He tried to push himself up. He had to pee in the worst way.

"S'mmy? Ellis?" He coughed.

He looked over to his left and finally noticed Sam, completely asleep on the hardwood floor under a coverlet with a pillow. That had to be uncomfortable.

"S'mmy?" He said again.

Sam stirred and then jolted awake. "Dean! You okay?"

"Yeah, sasquatch. Gotta take a piss." He sat up and waited for the dizziness to settle. Sam was on him in the space of a second, hands under his arms. Dean batted grumpily at him. "Sammy, I'm fine. Leave me alone."

"Like hell I am. Come on. Stand up."

Dean did, almost toppled into Sam, stuck out a hand to steady himself using his brother's chest as a wall. "This is total bullshit." He grumbled.

"You're lucky to be alive." Sam said.

"Yeah. Feel totally lucky."

He shuffled toward the toilet, slammed the door on Sam's face and wandered in. He stood there for a minute, one hand out, using the wall as support while he tried to pee. It wasn't working. He had a quake running through his legs that kept him from relaxing enough. In the end he had to sit down like a fucking chick.

"You okay in there?" Sam asked.

"No, Sam. I drowned in the toilet." He responded, pulling himself up on the vanity. He caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked like dog shit. Pale, circles under his eyes. He'd lost some weight. He looked kinda like he had when he'd had his heart condition from the Rawhead. Good times.

He leaned on his elbows over the sink, a bit winded.

"Dean."

"Goddammit! Give it a break, Sam."

He was too tired to flush. He turned on a quick stream of water to wash his hands and used Ellis's tumbler to rinse his mouth. He fished in the medicine cabinet for some mouthwash and swished it around for a few minutes, spitting, still holding himself up on the vanity edge.

He felt so weak and tired. Not like he was dying like the past several days. And not like he was going to die from the gut shot either. Just tired. Drained. He needed time to just recharge his batteries. His stomach growled.

He staggered over and opened the door. Sam was standing just on the other side like a dog with separation anxiety. "Dude. You need counseling. I'm not going to fall into a time vortex while takin a piss."

Sam took his arm. "Don't say that. These days anything seems possible." He hauled Dean back toward the bedroom and Dean noticed Ellis passed out on the couch. That struck him as odd. "Why is she on the couch?"

"The spell to save you took a lot out of her. She kinda collapsed there after."

"Spell?" He searched his memory.

Sam huffed. "You don't remember?"

"No." Dean shook his head.

"Something psychically vamped you."

Dean looked disturbed and wrinkled his nose.

"It's why you started feeling so sick again."

"What the hell was it?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know but it put up a hell of a fight going away. That's why you're so weak right now."

A shadow passed across Sam's face.

Dean thought maybe it was better not to ask.

Ellis opened her eyes, felt a hand petting her hair. Dean's handsome face swam into focus. "Dean?"

He gave her his roguish half smile. He was sitting on his ass in front of the couch so that their heads were mostly level.

"Hey," he said lowly.

"How long have I been out?" She asked, starting to sit up.

He leaned back against the couch. "I dunno."

"Baby, what are you doing up?" She let her hand trail over his shoulder before she patted it gently. "Where's Sam?"

"Sasquatch passed out in the guest bed next to me. I got sick of spooning with him."

Dean scooted onto the couch with a grunt and tucked her under his arm. "Figured I'd rather spoon with you."

She went into his chest with a sigh. "How are you feeling?"

"Like roadkill."

"I'm sorry." She said.

He dropped his chin sleepily on top of her head.

"Do you need me to do anything?" She asked.

"Just nap with me." He said, lying back on the couch. He pulled her with him.

God, he felt so good.

She hugged his arm as he spooned up behind her, warm and solid. It was a snug fit.

"I'm so sorry." She whispered.

He nuzzled her ear affectionately. "Bout what?"

"I let that thing out when I didn't close the spell properly."

He sighed. "Been through worse."

She felt a lump in her throat because that was true, she knew it and God it shouldn't be. It was not fair that it was nothing but the truth.

"Ellis don't cry about this. I'm fine." He said from behind without looking at her. She wondered if it was the hitch in her breath that gave it away or if Dean just knew her well enough to know she would bawl over a guilt complex.

She twisted in his arms to face him. They were very close, her pressed against the length of his body. She watched his pupils dilate a little. She wanted to kiss him so fucking badly. Instead, she touched his cheek tenderly. Dean closed his eyes under it...almost in pain. Poor baby. Tenderness hurt him. It always had. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

He blinked. "I wouldn't even be alive if you didn't give us a place to stay." He said earnestly. His breath ghosted over her cheek. It smelled vaguely of mouth wash. She was suddenly aware that hers must have smelled like dead fish since she'd been sleeping so long. Maybe the pained wince was her breath.

He leaned forward into her space, closed his eyes, that gorgeous full mouth opening a little. It was an invite.

She didn't take it. He was so fucking sick and battered, he barely knew which end was up, and she was still drunk from the spell. It would be taking advantage in the worst way. But oh God, they were going to get into trouble with him pressed against her like this.

She squirmed up above him a little and kissed his forehead. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. She pulled him to her chest and held him.

His arms went around her and she felt a hitching breath. She kissed his hair and held him wordlessly.

The hitch came again. He was emotional. She circled her hand on his back, resisting the urge to ask him what was wrong. Knowing it was hard enough for him to be experiencing these feelings without verbalizing them. Also knowing that it was his utter exhaustion making him want to cry.

"Let it out." She whispered very quietly.

He shook his head, still pressed into her chest. She could really feel him now. Her hands were one conduit but being pressed against him like this was a whole different type of opening up to impressions. She'd always chosen the men she'd had sex with very very carefully...aware of this very thing. Aware she was going to feel whoever she made love to. Really feel all of him.

Dean's embrace was almost needy. Like he couldn't pull into her closely enough. His instinct was to channel that into sex drive but that wasn't what he wanted at all, really.

Her shirt was suddenly damp under his cheek and she knew he was crying.

She didn't shush him. He needed to open this valve just just a little bit. Let out some of that steam over his father.

Sam on his knees in the mud. The life going out of him. Ellis powerless to stop that. God how was he going to deal with that? She wasn't sure he could.

She clutched him back with a surge of distinctly maternal fierceness, wanting to protect him from the world.

"It's okay. I'm here."

"What's wrong with me?" His voice was muffled by her small breasts.

"Nothing baby. You've had a hard week. You're so tired."

He was stifling himself, trying to rein it in. He needed to let the valve open. She stroked his back again. "You're such an incredible man. Your father would be so proud."

That did it. There was a stiffening, a hitch and then an audible sob, followed by "fuck!"

"He is." She said into the spiky hair. "I am too. So is Sammy."

"Ellis stop."

"Brave. Kind. Dutiful...sexy." She put in playfully.

He snort laughed and went silent again.

She let his pain flow through her and dissipate and she returned Love. The gift of every Woman to Man. Or perhaps it was just her role as healer? She wasn't sure. It felt tangled up to her.

He quieted after a few more minutes.

"I love you," she said, not sure how he would receive it. She felt him respond to it. A little shocked pleasure at the praise but then a distinctive discomfort.

"Yeah. I'm awesome." He sounded sleepy. She didn't say anything. He shifted a little, moved his arm. "Ellis."

"What?"

"You're awesome." His breathing evened out, grew a little deeper. His arm grew heavy and he relaxed his weight onto her and slept.

She turned around in his arms so that he was behind her and settled her head onto a pillow. She could have left but Dean felt damned good to be pulled close to. And now that he was tired and out of it she could appreciate the feel of him solid against her without worrying about any repercussions.

She fell asleep herself.

Chapter Text

The three of them did little but sleep for the next few days. Sam seemed to recharge his batteries the quickest. He was up and cleaning up their mess within 24 hours.

He picked up the cat lore book for about the hundredth time that week and set it on the table. Ellis and Dean were sitting there, both looking distinctly hung over.

Ellis raised an eyebrow as the action kicked up little motes of dust that caught in a slant of sunlight through the kitchen window.

Sam sighed. "The cat seems fairly obsessed with cat lore."

Dean snorted. "Go figure." His voice was still gravelly. "Ellis, why don't you have coffee like a normal human?"

"Tea is better for you," she said.

Dean bit his lip. "Doesn't taste as good."

"Coffee tastes like ass you're just used to it." She rebutted.

Sam's eloquent brow was furrowed. "Ellis?"

"Yes honey?" She asked, her head leaning on her hand. Somewhere to their left the cat jumped on the counter.

"Taco was with you in the circle."

"Yes, he does that."

"You said you couldn't get through to Dad." The tone wasn't accusing but it was enough to put her on the defensive.

"No." She said a little guardedly, lifting her head, clearly wondering where he was going with that observation.

"I think the cat is trying to tell us something..." Sam said, watching the orange fur as Taco jumped off the counter and sauntered back to his food bowl near the refrigerator. "Did Taco get through?"

She didn't have to reply because Dean looked at him as if he were stupid. "The cat?"

"Well," Sam began, rationally. "I've been reading that cats can cross dimensions and they're associated with the underworld, some cultures believe..."

"Sam." Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Give it a rest, man. What the fuck is a cat gonna do in Hell? Like how would that even help Dad?"

Sam shrugged. "It wouldn't. I was just wondering if maybe he made it through when she didn't."

Ellis's expression was unreadable. "The spell didn't work and I'm not doing it again. Whatever demonic thing I drew the attention of was horrifying." She shuddered.

"I didn't say to do it again, I just wondered..."

"I saw Taco there." Ellis cut him off with the affirmation.

Dean's mug clattered. "There? You saw Dad? Where was he? What was happening?"

"Nothing." She lied. "It was too vague. Very dark, so hard to make anything out."

Sam gave her a knowing, measuring gaze that told her that he was on to her. But he said nothing about it. Didn't call her on it. Instead he picked up a roll of paper towels. "Well you two chill here, I'm gonna go clean the bathroom."

"Good," Ellis said, appreciative of the distraction. "I'm sick of Dean pissing on the floor."

"I do not piss on the floor." Dean fell for the bait.

"You have terrible aim."

"I do not!" Dean bristled. "It's probably Sam."

"To be fair I was pretty wasted the one night." Sam admitted, grabbing the Windex underneath the sink. "But Dean has shitty aim." He closed the cupboard and walked out.

"What's in the tea?" Dean asked, his face a bit sleepy. "I feel kinda chill."

"It's my mystery blend."

"That's comforting." He brought the rim to his lips and took another sip. She watched his throat work for a second. He looked a little better, had some color to his face. He blinked those impossibly long eyelashes and looked up at her. "The other night..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. I kinda trapped you on the couch with me."

She smirked. "I don't mind. At all. Not like being pressed against you is a bad thing."

The corner of his mouth lifted, his eyes lit up at the approval. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I was a total pussy. I just don't know what was wrong with me."

"Honey. You've almost died...twice this week. It's been pretty traumatic...for all of us. Let alone you."

Dean looked emotional for a second and dashed away anything in his eyes with his hand before they even had the chance to form into tears. "It's you." He joked. "I get around you and suddenly I'm a pussy."

She set her mug down and took his warm hand. It engulfed hers. She gave it a squeeze before she let go. "No you aren't. You just feel safe enough to show me what you're feeling."

"Which is like a PMSing chick, apparently."

Ellis was somber, a bit thoughtful. "Men often reveal parts of themselves to women that they don't reveal to other men."

Dean smirked. "We sure do."

Ellis slapped his arm. "I'm not talking about your dick, you ass."

"Don't show my ass to other men either."

"Dean!" Ellis started to laugh despite herself. "You know what I mean. You've grown up with all men. You can show me a different part of you."

"Can show you all the parts of me." He replied, still flirting.

She dropped her gaze in an appreciative gaze down his body. "I think I've seen them all this week."

He frowned. "That's not fair. Eveythin' was out of order."

"Oh it's all in good repair now?" She asked, smiling.

"It's gettin' there," he said. "I think it's back in service."

"I'm not going to ask how you know this."

"Bein pressed against a girl all night kinda wakes up the merchandise." Dean whispered as he took a sip of tea and locked her with big green eyes.

She flushed a little. "You're bad."

"I thought you said I was a good boy." He smirked. "I distinctly remember you saying I was a good boy."

"Only when you're half-conscious."

He gave her his roguish smile. "Fair enough."

It was a relief to watch Dean improve. Sam too on some level. She could see stress leaving him now that he knew he wasn't going to lose his brother. Ellis was distinctly unhappy to see them go. She thought about how she could live with the Winchester boys happily if it weren't for reality intervening.

Dean and Sam had all their shit packed. They shrugged on their coats. The feeling of parting was heavy in the air.

Ellis shoved a bag of cookies at Sam. "For the road." She eyed Dean. "You sure you feel okay to leave?"

"Yeah. I'm good." He grabbed the cookies from Sam and scarfed one before Sam wrestled them back.

Ellis hugged Dean and he pulled her to his chest and wrapped her tight in his arms. She felt him kiss the top of her head. She clung on. Felt like this might be the last time she saw him. She suppressed tears, the lump in her throat so tight it was actually painful.

She thought of the broken angry man she'd seen in her visions. Such a far cry from this ball of life. Of light.

"Be a good boy."

"I'm always good," he said, with a little shove of his hip into hers. Oh god, how she wished she could've had a taste of that and still lived with herself in the morning.

"I'm sure you are." She said.

He gave one last squeeze and stepped back. "Meet you at the car, Sam."

Sam pulled his father's dog tags out of his pocket. "Here. Before I forget." He dropped them into Dean's hand.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "They're not mine, dude."

"Yes." Sam said. "Yes they are. Take care of them."

Dean gave a quick duck of his chin in acknowledgement and walked outside. The screen door banged shut behind him as he made his way down the stairs, still a bit carefully, still a bit stiffly.

She looked at Sam. Sweet Sam. Knees in the mud. The life going out of him.

She threw her arms around him. He went willingly into her embrace.

"Thank you," he said.

"Anytime, Sam. I mean anytime." She tightened her grip on him. So hard it hurt her arms. Couldn't bear to think of this sweet light going out of the world. Couldn't bear to think of him dying when she'd been warned and couldn't figure out how to stop it.

"I love you, Sam."

She felt his surprise and then he said, "We love you too."

"Be careful out there."

"I'll be as careful as I can. Thanks, Ellis." There was a tug on his pant leg of his faded jeans and Sam broke away and looked down in surprise. His handsome face lit up. "Hey Taco." He said congenially, all dimples and charm. He gently picked the cat up. "Thanks for your help, buddy."

Taco butted his head against Sam's face with a happy buzz.

Sam handed him back to Ellis, gave her a wave and a duck of his head and was down the steps. He came around to the driver's side and she saw a quick argument with Dean, who was behind the wheel. Sam tossed his duffle into into the back and then bodily shoved Dean across the seat with his shoulder. Dean tussled with him weakly, gave him a small pop to the head in protest, before settling into the passenger seat, sulking. Sam situated himself behind the wheel, started her up and they were gone.

Ellis clutched Taco to her and tried to fight the warning in her heart that the boy's trials had just begun.

Ellis woke with a start in the night. It had been months since she'd seen the boys and she thought of them often. Wondered how they were. They were terrible at keeping touch. Worse than their father had been.

The window was open, letting in the early May breeze. She'd broken into a cold sweat. Her sheets were drenched. She almost would have blamed it on hormones, except for the pounding heart and empty feeling in the pit of her stomach that warned her it was something else entirely.

Taco stirred from his sleep at her feet and blinked at her, his yellow eyes luminescent in the dark.

She dashed away tears that she didn't remember shedding. She stood up and grabbed her light silken robe, wrapped it around herself. Debating fixing some toast and hot chocolate-her go to remedy for anxious nights passed down by her mother. And suddenly a flicker of light like the reception on a black and white TV that was having trouble tuning in caught her eye at the foot of the bed.

She froze. It flickered again.

A male figure.

And then suddenly, surrounded in a rich white light like moon glow, John Winchester stood there. All dark hair and stubble and handsome whisky-sad looks. Her breath caught on a sob of his name. "John!"

His face and presence brought a fresh stab of longing and pain and missing him with all her might. Missing his voice. His touch. Him.

He blinked, his mouth curving into a dimpled smile filled with fondness. He cocked his head to look at her. The affection there was unmistakable.

"Are you here?" She choked, closing the gap between them. "Are you really here?"

He gave her his slight nod and glanced to Taco, who stood looking at him from the bed.

His grin broke into an actual smile. White teeth and charm. Tall and handsome. Just like he'd been in life.

Then his attention went back to Ellis. He looked down at her little form and held up a palm. She put hers next to it. Could feel the coolness in the air. She could almost hear his thoughts. Love those little hands, Ellie.

"Are you free?" she breathed.

He flickered. Stepped back with a smile. Inclined his head in a nod that said "yes" and then, insubstantial as a swirl of moonlight, John Winchester flickered and left in in a flash of starshine.

Ellis let out a sob. Then another. She stumbled back and sat on the edge of the rumpled bed. Taco walked over, put a testing paw on her thigh and then hopped up and curled into her lap.

They watched the moon go down together.

The End.