Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form. Oh, and the song, 'Until It Sleeps' is by Metallica. Am I supposed to say that too?

Author's Note: Just a warning, this one is kind of...morbid, in a way. But it's an idea that followed me like a sad puppy dog until I finally wrote it.

Warnings: Just echos of morbidity (is that a word?) and some language

Sirens were screeching and cops cars were swerving down the street, blaring their sirens as loud as they could, not caring that it was two in the morning and normal people were trying to sleep. The commotion was centering around number thirty-three, Dayview Drive, which wasn't anymore out of the ordinary than the number thirty-one or the number thirty-five houses that it was sandwiched between. In fact, hours earlier when the sun was going down and shades were being drawn and weary occupants of the home were trudging off to bed after a particularly tiring Monday, it had been as average as any of the other Dayview houses.

That was because the poltergeists that occupied the place didn't start kicking until eleven-thirty.

Amidst all of the rescuers who were running around the place, loading family members onto stretchers and rushing them off to hospitals and throwing the word 'medevac' around far too often, Sam Winchester sat in the hallway of the home, still clinging to the little body.

The EMS woman had tried to reason with him. "Just let us take her, sir," she said, pleading with him. But Sam shook his head, unable to let her go. God, she was so tiny, so fragile. If he didn't know any better he would have said that she was just sleeping. Toddlers slept a lot, didn't they?

His brother had been sitting next to him. "You've said it before, Sam," he whispered, "we can't save everyone. Plus, we killed the poltergeists, right? They can't hurt anyone else."

"I know we can't save everyone," he choked out, "but I really wanted to save her."

"Sam, please, just put her down. No amount of holding her is going to make her breathe again."

Sam swallowed and shook his head. "The family…"

"They have three other children, Sammy."

"That won't take away the pain of losing this one," he whispered.

Dean sat there for a second before he shook his head in agreement. "No," he said, "it won't."

Sam rocked the body a little bit, as if cradling the dead body would somehow help the baby. "If only I had done something that could have saved her…moved quicker somehow. I mean she was right there, and if I could have just grabbed her before that thing –"

"Sam, you can't torment yourself with this. Let it go. Well, go of the baby first, and then let this go."

Sam shook his head, aggravated. "You think this is funny? How can you be making a joke at a time like this? This kid is dead because of me!"

"Marshall Hall," Dean said, "is dead because of me!"

Sam looked away from his brother and stared blankly. He pulled the child a little closer to his chest instinctively, just a little fraction, but Dean noticed it. "Are her parents still here?"

"They had to Medevac the Mom to some hospital, they took the Dad and the other kids to some place closer."

Sam nodded. "But they're going to be okay?"

Dean shrugged. "Hard to say. Miracles happen, I guess."

Sam snorted. "Except here," he muttered, moving the body a little bit again.

"Well, how often to miracles come by us?"

Sam shrugged, and groaned as the EMS came over again. "Sir," she said, her voice pleading, "you really need to give us the child."

"Hey," Dean cut, "give us a second, will ya, Curly Sue?"

The woman (who had actually looked nice enough) went on rampage, but Sam cut her off after the second, 'you shitheaded bastard!' "It's okay," he whispered. He gently loosened his grip on the child and the woman took the baby in her arms.

"Come on," Dean said, tugging on Sam's forearm, "you ready to go home?"

Sam sighed and looked down at his shirt which was covered in blood. Her blood, he realized with a shiver. "A shower would be good."

"Let's go home then, dude," Dean said. He released his grip on Sam as his brother stood up and they made their way towards the door. As they crossed the street towards the Impala, he saw neighbors peer through their curtains and come out onto their porches, wrapped tightly in bathrobes wearing fuzzy slippers on their feet.

Sam slid into the front passenger seat and slammed the car door, sighing. He started at the time on the dashboard – 3:26 am. Slowly, the green digital numbers became fuzzier and fuzzier…fading from view…the world swirled…

It grips you so hold me
It stains you so hold me…

What was up with the Metallica?

It hates you so hold me
It holds you so hold me

"Oh God," Sam thought, "not this again." He opened his eyes and realized three things – that it was day, that Dean was screaming along with the music ("Until it sleeeeeps!" he shouted, finishing the verse), and that he'd had that stupid dream again.

Dean looked over and saw that his brother was awake and turned down the music a fraction. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," he chuckled.

Sam frowned and shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable.

"What's eating you?"

Sam, great communicator that he was, didn't say anything. His tongue was too heavy. God, that had been nearly two months ago, but every detail of his dream was exactly as it was the night of…

He'd had the exact same dream nearly every night. That is, when he wasn't having instant replays of Max blasting his brains out.

He took a deep breath and shook his head. "Nothing," he said, "just keep driving."

Dean shrugged and turned the song back up a little bit.

"I'll tear thee open make you gone
No longer will you hurt anyone
And the hate still shapes me
So hold me until it sleeps"