Back to basics...tormenting the boys. Takes place early to mid-season 4, well before the events of Lucifer Rising. Please review, then head to my website to review my review of your review. :)


The mouth gapes wide as ever to let pass its evil saying

Dante, Canto XXX

Sam's eyes traveled across the page, but he wasn't taking in the words. He'd read the same sentence about five times and none of it had sunk in. Something was gnawing at the back of his mind, setting his nerves on edge. His adrenaline was peaking and ebbing, and several times he had to take a deep breath to slow his heart. With a sigh, he snapped the book shut and flipped it into the back seat.

Dean was staring at the road, eyes glazed, and it was clear that his mind was elsewhere. He was sporting a healing shiner, a gift from a feisty young bartender who responded to his come-ons with a fierce right hook. Not that it deterred Dean, who ended up taking the girl home anyway. But Dean had been quiet all day, glassy-eyed and clumsy in his movements. Sam chalked it up to a whiskey hangover, or just plain lack of sleep. He nudged his brother in the ribs with his elbow. "You want me to drive for a while?"

Dean gave a little shake of his head, as though waking from a dream. "Huh?"

"You don't look so good. You want me to drive?" Rather than brushing off Sam's offer, Dean pulled to the side of the road. Sam furrowed his eyebrows. Not a good sign. Dean wasn't one to relinquish control of his steel-and-glass baby without a fight.

Dean stepped out of the car, shrugging deeper into his leather coat against the bite of the fall breeze. Sam unfolded himself from the passenger seat and joined his brother leaning on the bumper of the Impala. Out of the corner of his eye he scanned his brother's face. Dean was pale and wan looking. He just looked bone-weary. Sam spoke quietly, like a hunter trying not to spook his prey. "What's up?"

Dean shivered inside his coat. He was silent for a long moment, and then shook his head. "Don't know." His voice was low, nearly inaudible. "Something's wrong."

A cold fist twisted in Sam's stomach. "What do you mean? What is it?"

"I don't know. I just feel like…" Dean stopped, his face blanching white. "I feel like something is here…it's trying…" He brushed his palm across his eyes and fell silent.

"What is it trying to do?" Sam's pulse rate jumped and he instinctively scanned the area, alert for movement, for danger. But his eyes flew back to his brother as Dean spoke, his voice strained and strangled.

"It's trying to get inside me…" Dean gagged and dropped to one knee, his hands fluttering up to his throat.

"What the hell?" Sam bent and grabbed Dean's elbow, trying to lift him back to his feet, but it suddenly seemed like his brother weighed a hundred pounds more than he should have. "Dean…Dean, what's happening?"

Dean gasped, his lips moving soundlessly. Sam leaned closer, clutching Dean's shoulder. Dean was huffing in a breathy whisper. "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend…us in battle…"

Now truly frightened, Sam joined in. "Be our protection against the malice and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. Amen." Dean's lips continued to move, but Sam could not hear his voice, only chesty rattling breaths.

Sam tried again to lift Dean, but Dean was dead weight, a sack of bricks, and Sam wasn't able to pick him up. "Hang on, Dean," barked Sam, and ran to snatch the keys from the ignition of the Impala. He popped the trunk and grabbed a flask of holy water from a mesh pocket. He sloshed some into his palm and dropped back down next to Dean. He began to recite the prayer again while making the sign of the cross on Dean's forehead with his wet fingertips.

With hands trembling, Dean clumsily grabbed the flask from Sam and brought it to his mouth. Most of the water splashed down his chin, but as soon as he got enough to swallow, his whole body gave a convulsive heave and he began to shudder. Sam grabbed him and pulled him against his chest, clutching Dean with all his strength.

With one last powerful convulsion, Dean collapsed back into Sam's arms, completely still. A trickle of blood welled in his nose and dripped down to streak his chin. Sam wiped the blood away with his thumb. His own hands were shaking with fear and adrenaline. "Christ, dude," he gasped. "What the hell was that?"

Dean didn't answer, just rolled onto his hip and puked copiously. Sam's stomach clenched, because the vomit was black as tar, thick and viscous. "Jesus," he breathed, his heart hammering.

"This…s'is bad, dude," slurred Dean. "Somethins wrong…" He coughed and spit out another mouthful of foul tarry vomit. "Really wrong…"

"We're getting you to Bobby." Sam forced iron into his voice and looped his shoulder under Dean's armpits. He heaved up, expecting to heft Dean's full weight, but his brother came up with little effort, as though he had dropped 100 pounds in the last two minutes. He dropped Dean to a seat in the passenger side and dashed to the driver's side. "Hang on, bro."

He slammed the car into drive and floored the accelerator, fishtailing back onto the road. The engine purred as he roared back the way they had come, back toward Kaydee, Montana. "Hold on, Dean. Just hang tight." Sam flipped open the glove compartment and snatched out a rosary. He threaded it into Dean's lax fingers. "Come on, say it again. Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle…" Dean didn't speak, but his lips moved along with the words. His eyes were closed and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead like pearls.

"Thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls…"