Point taken on the OC's, If they didn't kill all the cool demons off I wouldn't have to make up my own. :D

Chapter 2

Simon Keller stood in front of the ornate mirror surveying the damage done to his face. He winced as he prodded the bridge of his nose where it swelled into a shattered cheek bone. Waking up in that medical facility had been a waste of time. Loss of consciousness was so undignified. His beloved could heal him leaving no traces. Now that he had been seen in the ER and the police had photographed the injuries he had to let this all heal as if he were human. Questions were thrown at him, answers demanded, It had taken all he had to not climb into their minds to make them tear each other apart. All of them were so open to suggestion. It was funny really.

This body was weak. It did not fit him, as it should. He was too small, too frail. He looked down at the small thin hands and remembered his last host body. He had been strong and beautiful. The years the man had spent honing every muscle had been to Simon's benefit. He missed the speed and strength of a vessel worthy of his power. The Winchester boy had felled him in just a few blows. It was another humiliation at their hands.

The warlock threw his head back and spoke a Latin invocation to conjure his paramour.

A stream of black smoke undulated around his legs and wrapped around him like a snake, climbing slowly up his body before shooting into his mouth. The man welcomed her presence and felt the bliss of sharing his consciousness with his consort. His broken bones knit together, the pain receded across his body and morphed into a euphoric thrum. The bruises remained, after all they needed to play their part if they were to get their revenge.

The pair communicated without words, knowing each others every thought. He walked to a marble cabinet and pulled open the ornately carved door exposing a black alter. He lit the candles surrounding the pentagram and placed a picture of their nemesis on a silver disc at the center.

Did he really think this was over? That he could hide from them? They had caught his scent. Dean Winchester was already a dead man, it was just a matter of time.

Simon drew a knife and deeply slit his forearm. He allowed his blood to flow over the face staring up at him from the photo before tossing a powder of wormwood and sage across it.

Red was Dean Winchester's color, he mused. He smiled as his blood enveloped the last trace of the image. Chanting filled the room as he lay a map across the pentagram before drawing out a string of crystals. He held them over the map and they glowed red hot. Tossing a match onto his blood offering, the crystals exploded into prismatic light, dropping from his hand onto a small square in the corner of the map.

He smiled as he spied the address they had scryed for. They had him. This was the day when the Righteous Man would be cast back into the pit. In his last human moments he would see his brother die in agony, torn to pieces. They would make Dean Winchester scream and beg, as they had screamed for him on the wrack. They revel in decades of flaying him to pieces, only to start over again. Revenge would be sweet.

The black smoke slid from his mouth and wrapped around his face before shooting out a ceiling vent. His beautiful demon would find Winchester. There were so many humans with so much anger. They would coax one to end the man's life, before dragging his shining soul down and pressing so far down into the flame that no angel or devil could find it.

Sam stood in a shadowed corner of the cavernous room. Breaking into the house had been surprisingly easy, he was almost disappointed. He was at his wits end. Dean's fever had responded to the medication but was still too high. It was a temporary fix, and Sam knew his brother needed more help than he could give him. Doctors sympathetic to hunters had dwindled away, moved on, died or been tossed in jail. They had no family, no safe house to head for. God how he missed Bobby.

In desperation he had stuffed two tranquilizers down his brother's throat so he couldn't hurt himself. He looked down at the rumpled rose scrub pants in his hand and wadded them into a ball. He could feel parts were stiffened with dried blood. He never got to thank the woman who helped sew Dean up and protected them from the police. He figured he had two hours, maybe three before Dean would wake up. That would be about the time the fever would creep back up.

He watched her stretch out, then tie her hair back before tossing a sleeveless hoodie over her head. Unlocking the deadbolts she relocked the door from outside before putting ear buds in and starting at a steady run down the street.

Sam relaxed and explored. He folded the pants she had lent to Dean and placed them on an end table. He climbed the stairs, looking into each room as he passed. He found a gun safe with a combination lock and a pair of key bolts. He shook his head thinking about the shotgun and the semi automatic he had found on her at their first meeting. If she carried that around, he could only imagine what she needed to lock up.

He picked up a picture in the room he thought may be hers. Two smiling people in dappled beige fatigues stood with guns propped on their hips. Apparently there was more to Kim Christian than meets the eye. A more formal portrait of a man in Army dress blues was placed carefully by the bed.

Another photo showed the man leaning over his bride as she arched back over his arm with a blissful smile. Kim was married, a husband could complicate things. He threw open the closets but saw no evidence of men's clothing. He turned and saw a flag folded into a perfect triangle in a redwood box over the mantle. He approached it and read the brass plate on the front. Major Jacob Christian US ARMY 10/31/67-5/17/09.

Widowed then. He felt a brief rush of sympathy before pushing it back down and resuming his search. He started down the back stairs and stopped to scan the pictures of what he assumed were her family members. He was startled to see her in full uniform, apparently she was an officer also. That explained a few things, but in the end it didn't change a thing. He needed her help, and he was going to get it.

He listened closely before heading back down the stairs and edged around the corner as she unlocked the door. Before stepping into the house she poured the rest of her water bottle over her head and shook herself off. She walked into the kitchen and rubbed a towel over her face. Stretching again she paused in the doorway. Sam thought that he had been discovered.

She jumped up grabbing for a bar over the high doorway and missed. "Damnit!" she said trying again and sliding off. She took off the hoodie and dried her hands with it before jumping again and catching the bar. Groaning she began to do pull ups, switching her hand grip frequently to work different muscles. She dropped to the floor with a little huff and shook out her arms. As she bent to pick her up her hoodie she caught sight of something pink and bloody on the end table. "Oh Shit." she whispered.

She bolted up the stairs, but Sam was too fast. He caught her before she crossed the landing. They didn't fight like the first confrontation they had, he simply shook her hard and pressed a hand over her mouth.

"Stop, I just want to talk, and there is no one else here so you might as well save us both time and listen. Are we good?"

She shook her head NO and started to struggle again. He held her against the wall and let her fight him for awhile. He remembered to avoid her teeth and watch for head butts. She was already tired from her run, and she soon went limp and tried valiantly not to tear up in frustration.

I'm going to uncover your mouth, ok?

She nodded yes. He dropped her and stepped back.

"I know who you are. You are Sam Winchester. Your brother Dean is the one we sewed up. Have you ever Googled yourself? NO? Well you should. No last names necessary, just put in Sam and Dean. Its a fountain of information. Your brother is quite handsome when his face isn't hamburg, the pictures are just wonderful...especially the mug shots. Wait let me see if I remember. Murder, actually multiple murders, larceny, bank robbery, desecrating a corpse, vandalism, impersonating a police officer, OH and a federal agent, assault with a deadly weapon, arson...should I go on? You are a pair of sociopaths. I assisted a matched set of damned serial killers!

"Don't believe everything you read." he said

"Is it true?"

"Some of it."

"Awesome. What do you want." she said backing away against the wall.

Can we go downstairs? He coaxed.

"NO."

"Then its your room." He advanced toward her .

"We'll go downstairs." she said sliding past him and grabbing the banister.

"I already took the gun out of the safe, and the one in the desk." He pulled her gun out of his pocket and pulled out the clip, dropping it on the floor.

She spun on him furious. "What do you want Sam." I have money, but you have already been in the safe, and if that is what you wanted you'd be gone.

"I need you to help Dean. There is something wrong with him, he has a fever and is hallucinating. The wound we dug the blade out of is bad." "He had some kind of seizure or something."

"Excuse me if I am repeating myself but "CALL AN AMBULENCE!" If you had done that three days ago when I told you to, he wouldn't be in this state now! He was laying on a concrete floor with an open wound, what did you think would happen?"

"Please Kim, I know I have no right to ask you but I need help. You are a nurse, maybe you could see something I'm missing. I left him alone and he is unprotected. I gave him some pills to make him sleep because he was hallucinating and hurting himself."

"What did you give him?" She said worrying for the injured man, wondering why she cared.

"Uhhh, whiskey, tylenol, and diazepam. Thats it."

"Whiskey? God why?" She yelled.

"So he would take the Tylenol!" Sam yelled back at her, running his hand over his head in frustration.

Did you take his temperature?

Of course I did. It was 105.2. So I threw him in a cold shower and made him drink tylenol mixed with whiskey.

"Was he awake when you left ? Can he keep anything down? Does he know who you are?"

"He ate OK for a couple days but not yesterday, he mostly slept and said the antibiotics were messing with his stomach. He knew me on and off but not so much when I left. I need to get back there." She didn't respond or meet his eyes. He felt anger flare to match his panic and boxed her in between his arms against the wall.

"Sam let me make something perfectly clear. I am not a doctor."

"I know that." Sam said pacing away from her.

"I can't practice medicine."

"I'm asking you to look at him, just come and look at him." he said coming way to far into her personal space.

"And do what?" Kim yelled in frustration.

She wanted to help them, she didn't know why but she wasn't afraid of this man. Dean had reminded her of so many of the boys she had seen in Iraq, that was why she didn't call the police when they ran. It was why she had wondered about him these last three days. She knew this story was going to have a bad end, she could just feel it.

"Help me! I'm just asking you to help me!"

"To do what? If I tell you he is going to die without a hospital, will you let me get him help? You can run. I'm sure with the two of you separated and with the way he is beaten up like that no one would recognize him."

"NO." Sam said heading for the door. She wasn't going to help he had to get back to Dean. There had to be another way, and he would find it.

"Look, Sam," she said, grabbing his arm as he passed. "I won't agree to go with you, that would be aiding and abetting a fugitive, two fugitives, but if you were to... compel me to, you know, go and look at him... I couldn't be held responsible. So if you were to insist then what could I do?

"What? Wait. You want me to ...uhhhh...OK." "Get in the car now or I'll .. make you?"

"Where is he." she said grabbing her bags.