It was the sound of Connor crying that awoke Skye. She sat up in the armchair, disorientated for a moment as she took in her surroundings and wondered why everything was dark? Reaching for the lamp beside her, the switch made a small click as it was flipped, but there was still no light. The tv Skye had fallen asleep watching was now dark and silent. No power at all it seemed.

Outside, a storm rumbled overheard, lightning crackling across the sky and lighting up the room briefly in a brilliant white flash before everything became black again.

Stumbling through the darkened house, Skye found her room, making her way to the portable cot only to find it empty. "Connor?"

Her heart picked up pace as Skye turned and felt her way blindly through the house, her way illuminated from time by lightning before the thunder would explode afterwards, rattling the windows and shaking the entire house to it's foundations. "Connor? Where are you?"

As she reached the room where Dean had been lying for the past week, Skye saw John pacing back and forth in front of the window, Connor curled up his arms. The scene was almost angelic looking as John's wings unfurled for a moment, then drew back in behind him as he looked over at Skye, a sheepish expression on his face. "Sorry, I thought I'd let you sleep a little longer before I came and got you."

Skye shook her head lightly, holding up a hand. "It's okay, I was just a little freaked with the power being out."

"There's a storm coming…" John's voice resonated in the room as he rocked Connor in his arms with ease, recalling a time he'd done the same with both his sons. His eyes glowed lightly each time the lightning lit up the room and Skye felt her breath catch in her throat, seeing the way he was looking down at Connor with such warmth and affection.

"Yeah, the thunder and lightning kind of clued me into that. Any change in Dean?" Skye went to the bed and sat down on it, taking Dean's hand in hers and wishing he would squeeze it back.

"No. Nothing yet." John was paused by the window, his back to Skye now as he watched the landscape outside.

Skye looked back at Dean and traced the line of his jaw with a finger tip. They'd been holed up in an old farmhouse miles from anywhere for a week since Skye had taken Dean from the hospital. There were no signs of change, nothing to give her hope that he would wake again at all. Except for John. He kept a constant vigil over Dean, rock solid in his belief that Dean would wake up…because he was Dean. He was a fighter, a soldier….a Winchester. He didn't know how to give up.

Another rumble of thunder shock the house and John crossed the room, holding Connor out towards Skye. A thick line of salt still surrounded the bed, protecting Dean and forcing John to stop just before it. "Here…take him."

Skye got up and gently took Connor in her arms, then laid him down on the bed beside Dean. The little boy immediately curled into the source of warmth next to him and Skye's throat tightened, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes.

"Stay behind the salt line." It was an order not a request.

Skye gave John a puzzled look. "What? Why?"

"Storm's coming." John nodded towards the window where thunder and lightning still crashed, rain pelting against the glass in a steady beat that spoke of high winds outside.

"It's already here..."

"No." John cut her off with the sharpness of his answer. "That out there? It's just the smoke screen." He slipped out the door, leaving Skye standing watching the storm outside with a growing sense of fear. A smoke screen for what?

John returned a few minutes later with an armful of supplies. He threw Skye a pump action shotgun, watching her catch it easily and cradle it. "It's full of solids. Blessed cold iron to be precise. Same with this…" John tossed Skye a forty-five automatic she instantly recognized as Dean's from the engravings along the barrel.

Next was a heavy leather journal, followed by a sharpie. The latter making Skye raise an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"I've marked the page you need. There's a set of protective sigils I need you to mark out within the circle of salt. It'll keep them from getting to Dean."

"Who, John? What the hell is going on?"

"Why do you think I made you get Dean out of that hospital?" John demanded, his wings unfurling to snap the air around him in an irritated gesture. He went to the window and stared out, lifting a hand to brush his fingers against the glass for a moment as he watched the rain trailing down in thick rivulets. "They want him. The other demons. They know that Dean's the key to controlling Sam. They're going to try and take him the same way they took all the others." His head snapped towards Skye, his eyes glowing faintly.

"The others?" Skye watched Dean for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He looked so peaceful, Connor curled up against him. The realization of what John meant was like a bucket of ice water in her stomach and Skye placed a hand to the bed as her knees threatened to buckle. "The coma patients…that's what's been happening to them?"

"They're the perfect vehicles." John stated without emotion. "Completely defenceless against possession. But not Dean. They're not getting him. Now taking that pen and start marking out the sigils on that page. Then double the salt line and stay in there, no matter what happens."

" What about you?"

" No matter what happens. You hear me?" John snapped, feeling a glimmer of satisfaction at the way Skye flinched. Good, that meant she was listening.

Skye did as she was instructed, copying out the sigils from the book, the sharpie squeaking softly as it traveled over the wooden floorboards. The salt line was next before Skye knelt on the bed, the shotgun in her hands as thunder exploded overhead with such a crack, that she almost missed the sound of the back door being kicked in. The whole house had been salted earlier that day…but maybe the storm had blown the protective line from the door, giving the demons the opening they needed.

Skye held her breath as the smoke like form snaked into the room and traveled around the bed, careful not to touch or cross the salt. It formed a shape that resembled a human figure if it could have been carved from smoke. The figure looked towards John and it's lips drew back in a strange facsimile of a sneer.

John faced it steadily, his wings spread out behind him, arms folded across his chest as he waited for it to make a move.

The figure cocked it's head and studied Skye for a moment, then drew a finger slowly across it's throat and gave the echo of a smile. John was on the move barely a second later, placing himself between the figure and the bed. "Get out."

The figure tried to slide past John, but found it's way blocked at every turn as John moved with lightning fast reflexes. "I said get out…"

With a silent snarl, the figure dissipated, leaving the room in a snake like trail before John allowed himself to relax just a fraction.

"Thank God that's over." Skye sighed, her knuckles white as she gripped the shotgun tight enough to almost leave crimps in the metal. Connor moved ever so slightly, cuddling in closer to Dean, one tiny arm splayed across his chest.

"It's not over. That was getting the layout of the room for the others. The first wave." John turned, a lightning flash illuminating his face for an instant.

"The first wave? You make it sound like some sort of video game!"

" Yeah…except you don't get another shot after game over, here." John gave Skye a dark grin. " Stay inside that salt line and shoot anything that moves….but watch out for me."

All hell broke loose a moment later as two men and a woman suddenly burst into the room, armed with knives and a pitchfork. John intercepted the older of the two men, locking his hands around the pitchfork and wrestling him backwards towards the wall.

Skye brought the shotgun to bear on the younger man as he skidded to a halt just outside the salt line and snarled at her. He was in his late teens, sandy blonde hair framing a face that would have been handsome except for the oily black eyes staring out. The knife in his hand flashed as he flipped it to grasp the blade, then threw it at Skye. Pure reflex saved her, the shotgun flying up to knock the knife away before it could bury itself in her flesh. A loud blast sounded a moment later as the shotgun discharged, a deep red wound blossoming on the man's chest before he crumbled to the floor.

Skye swung the gun towards the woman and fired, catching her high in the shoulder and taking off her arm in an explosion of red. The impact spun the woman away into the wall before she collapsed. Skye could feel the bile rising in her throat, her stomach rolling.

Connor was screaming now beside her, his tiny hands clutching at Skye's shirt, clinging to his mother in sheer terror.

From the foot of the bed, the blonde man staggered to his feet again, blood oozing from his mouth as he took a step towards Skye again.

"Take him down!" John bellowed, barely avoiding being impaled by the pitchfork before he grabbed his opponents head and gave a sharp twist, tearing it clean from it's shoulders.

Skye raised the shotgun again, her eyes as wide as saucers with fear as her finger snapped on the trigger and the blonde's head vanished in a cloud of blood and brain matter. The body slumped the ground instantly, a smoky form erupting from the stump of the neck and sinking into the floorboards.

John was ready for the woman as she got back to her feet shortly afterwards, her severed stump still losing blood at a rate no normal human would survive. He took her down the same way he had the older man, removing her head from her body with a brutal efficiency that reminded Skye he was more than human himself.

Skye clamped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, trying desperately not to throw up. All she could smell was gunpowder and blood, her ears still ringing with Connor's screams before she dropped the gun to the bed and scooped her son up in her arms. Murmuring to him softly, Skye rocked back and forth, trying not to look at the carnage before her.

John dragged the bodies from the room, ignoring the red smears that trailed across the floor. He watched Skye as he returned, his face impassive as she looked up to meet his gaze. "You can't hesitate with them. You take them down first shot."

" They're people, John."

" Not anymore. They've been possessed. The demons will use those bodies, keep them moving while they can. Only way to get rid of the demon inside is to make the body useless to them. It's not pretty and it's not something you should ever have to do….but it's the only way Skye. One of them gets over that line? And you, Connor…you're both dead. They only want Dean." John hoped he was getting through to her.

Skye held Connor a little tighter, horrified to think that her precious little boy was in so worthless to these demons. "Stop it."

" Why? Cause you don't want to hear it? It's the simple truth, Skye. You're not important to them, neither am I. But right now we're all that's standing between the demons and Dean. You have to be able to pull that trigger."

More footsteps echoed from the back of the house and John drew himself up, his wings spread as he charged out the door. " Stay behind the salt line!"

Skye tucked the shotgun in against her so she could hold it with one hand while she held Connor with the other. Her jaw was set now, fear being replaced with a determination to protect the ones she loved. Mama bear mode in full swing.

Two figures charged into the room. One of them appeared to be more mountain than man, a solid mass of muscle and hair wrapped in flannelette. Skye sucked in a breath sharply and pulled the trigger. The massive man ducked with a grace that surprised Skye and jerked something out from behind his back. He had one of the bodies from before, the older man's it appeared….and he flung it across the floor, Skye swearing loudly as the body slammed into the foot of the bed, breaking the salt line.

John was in the doorway in the next instant, launching himself at the large man and wrapping his arms around his waist in a bear hug as he tried to pull him back out of the room. His wings swirled out to try and steady him as the huge man spun and threw himself backwards, slamming John against the wall behind him.

Skye heard the air explode from John's lungs and winced at the sound of ribs cracking.

A hand locked hold of Skye's hair, wrapping it around and dragging her from the bed. Skye was barely able to detach herself from Connor to save him being pulled with her, her hands flying up to try and pry herself from the iron like grip that held her.

Her attacker was wearing blue striped pajamas and in one moment of pure insanity, she was reminded of Arthur Dent and wondered where his towel was?

A knife swept down towards Skye's chest and she was forced to let go of her hair to try and block the attack. One hand locked around the blade, feeling it bite into her fingers while the other grasped her attacker's wrist and tried to push the knife away.

Blood was welling up from the numerous wounds as the blade sliced in deeper, causing Skye to gasp in pain. She held on, her grip slipping, watching as the knife dropped closer to her throat.

Behind her, she could hear John yelling, clawing and pounding his fists into the massive man that still had him held against the wall.

A gunshot rang out and Skye flinched, blinking as her face was suddenly awash in blood. She dropped to the floor, freed from her pajama clad attacker as he collapsed with half his head missing. Skye rolled and looked towards the bed, her heart stopping in her chest at the sight of Dean kneeling up with Connor held against his bare chest, the shotgun gun held firmly in the other.

John sagged to the floor, one wing hanging broken as his attacker turned and fled now that Dean was awake.

The room became quiet other than the soft sobs from Connor as well as Skye and John's ragged breathing.

" Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?" Dean demanded, turning the gun to cover the thing with his father's face.

" Dean?" The name wasn't so much spoken, as slipped out like a breath of air. Skye couldn't believe she was seeing him there, that he had just saved her, Connor…everyone really, just the way he always did.

But as she watched, she could see the fire leaving his eyes, a tremble setting in his body before he sank back down to the bed, still holding Connor, although the shotgun was starting to waver now.

Skye was on her feet quickly, rushing to the bed and catching him, carefully allowing him to lean against her as the rest of his strength faltered and gave out. " It's alright…it's okay, Dean. I've got you."

For a moment, Skye expected to see Dean pass out again. He looked so drained, so confused by everything. "Where's Sam? Where the hell's my brother?"

Dean looked straight at Skye, expectantly. His brow knitting with concern as he received no immediate answer.

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So…how's that for image? Shirtless Dean? ;-) Hope you guys are liking this so far?