"You know, we should probably wait a bit." Sam whispered to Dean who was crouched down, picking at the back door lock.

"Why's that?"

"Well, less chance of being caught during the night. And not to mention we're going on a hunch."

"A hunch? Sam, why else would there be a wiccan symbol hidden under a bush?" Dean asked.

"Exactly, it's not much to go on. I just think it'd be safer at night; it's not like we're in a rush. Besides, they could be coming home any minute."

"What the hell is with ya, Sammy? Since when were you so nervous about something like that?" Dean paused his lock picking to look over his shoulder at his brother. Sam sighed, shifting onto one foot.

"I dunno...I just...have a bad feeling about this."

Dean studied Sam for a second. It was rare for Sam to say something like that; and when he did, usually something bad did happen. Dean hesitated. Maybe he should listen to Sam's advice and come back later. But he wanted this job to be over. He really really hated witches and the sooner this job is over the better. If they just took a quick peek around inside, then the job would be solved quickly; maybe even in one day.

"It'll be fine." Dean reassured, resuming his lock picking. Soon the doorknob clicked and Dean stood up, turning the knob and letting the door open. Both boys withdrew their guns but kept them low, close to their side. Dean entered first, then Sam. They had walked into a small room with a washing machine and dryer in the corner. Dean walked through the doorframe on the other side of the room and around the corner into a small hall leading into a living room. The wood floor turned into white carpet when they entered the fully furnished living room complete with black leather couches, glass coffee table, and a fire place with a flat screen TV hanging over top. Across the room, up three steps was another level where a large kitchen was. There was little doubt this place was designed by a professional.

The house was completely quiet. To their right were two sets of stairs, one leading down to a lower level and one leading up to a higher level.

"I'll check downstairs, you go up." He whispered to Sam who nodded.

Dean walked down the stairs quietly, thankful for the carpet which helped him in being absolutely silent. He reached the bottom to find himself in a basement.

Dean scrunched up his nose in distaste; a witch definitely lived here. Old glass bottles filled with unknown substance covered the wooden shelves and counters and the floor was covered with witchcraft books. There was a small table in the center of the room with a couple candles, lit, arranged in an arch around two bowls. One bowl contained a red liquid, most likely blood. The other one was filled with thumbtacks.

Dean took a couple steps into the room, eyeing the dish of thumbtacks. There were several other dishes found around the room; all filled with either needles, nails, syringes, or broken glass.

"Someone likes pointy things..." Dean mumbled to himself, walking around the table to get a look at some of the bottles that sat on the shelves.

Dean froze, his hunter sense tingling. Someone was approaching from behind. He waited a second or two before spinning around, his gun aiming at the first person he saw. Before him stood a woman, well dressed, long red hair, and cold gray eyes. Her pretty face was pulled into a scowl, her hands bunched into tight fists. Dean kept his gun aimed at her.

"Who are you?" He demanded.

"The last person you'll ever see." She answered, her voice cold. Dean frowned but before he could do anything more, she whipped her hand at him, throwing some kind of dust at him. It got into his eyes 

and he lowered his gun a little, trying to wipe away whatever she threw at him. He heard her start speaking some strange words and cursed under his breath; she was putting a spell on him.

Despite the irritation in his eyes, he forced them open in a squint and aimed his gun at her again. Before he even had the chance to fire, a sharp burning pain shot through his head and eyes. He screamed in pain, the gun dropped from his hands as he stumbled back, eyes closed tightly and his hands pressed to them. It was like someone had stuck a red hot iron bar into his eyes. He lashed out for something to catch hold of before he fell and managed to grab onto the counter, pushing bottles and other objects off. He heard them smash against the ground.

He screamed again, he screamed Sam's name for help. He could no longer hear the witch as he slipped to his knees and fell over onto the ground. Pain shot through his arms and hands as he landed on the broken bottles and whatever else was sharp that was knocked off the counter. He couldn't force his eyes open because of the pain and couldn't do anything more than curl up on his knees, pressing his arms to his eyes since his hands were throbbing with pain already.

He heard thumping from above of someone running down the stairs. Sam, he heard his cry for help.

Sam ran down the steps as fast as he possibly could go without tripping; his heart thumping faster than his steps. The scream he'd heard from downstairs was no doubt Dean's.

"DEAN!" He yelled, hitting the bottom into the basement, gun ready. He took one glance around the room, checking it was safe, until his eyes fell on Dean.

Dean was huddled on the ground, his arms pressing against his face and he was swaying forward and back in pain. There was blood running down his arms and hands and he was kneeling in a mess of broken glass, large carpentry nails, and blood.

Sam's stomach turned over and his heart became the lump in his throat. He ran over to Dean, not caring where his knees came down in the mess.

"Dean!" Sam took Dean's shoulders, trying to see Dean's face. "It's ok, Dean, I'm here." He reassured, taking hold of Dean's forearms to pull them away from his face. Dean whimpered and Sam let out a sharp breath when he saw the blood flowing from Dean's closed eyes. "Oh my god, Dean, what happened!?" Sam asked, wiping away some of the blood.

"Witch..." Dean managed out through the pain. "She...threw...dust or something." He groaned, his hands falling on Sam's shoulders for support. Sam glanced around the room again and spotted the open door he hadn't noticed before. He sprung to his feet, grabbing the gun he had dropped to the ground, and ran over to the door; after the witch.

He stepped into the room, waving his gun around for her. He spotted the wooden stairs on the other side of the room that lead up to a wide open door leading outside. He ran up the stairs and out the door, keeping his gun low now. He glanced around. The door lead out the side of the house and to his right he could see the impala, still parked on the side of the road.

The witch was nowhere in sight and the red Volkswagen was gone. Sam swallowed and flew back down the steps and back to Dean, in the same position as before.

"Alright, Dean, we've got to get out here." He said in a rush, moving behind Dean and hooking his arms around his waist. He grunted as he heaved Dean to his feet, who tried to help in any way he could, still breathing hard with pain. Sam pulled Dean's arm over his shoulders and wrapped his other arm around Dean's waist. Dean pressed his free arm to his eyes again and was bent over slightly.

"C'mon, Dean." Sam said. "Let's get back to the impala." He pulled Dean along, taking most of his weight. He had to turn sideways to pull Dean through the open door towards the stairs. "It's going to be ok, Dean, ok?" Sam said making sure Dean stayed with him. They reached the stairs and Sam instructed Dean to lift one foot. Dean groaned trying to comply with Sam but the pain in his eyes was only getting worse; it was hard to think. "That's right, one step at a time." Sam said gently, going slow for Dean's sake despite the urge to just drag him along.

When they finally made it to the top and outside, Sam pulled Dean towards the impala.

"We're almost there, Dean, almost there." Sam glanced at his brother several times, picking up the speed.

When they finally reached the impala, Sam set Dean to lean against the car as he pulled the backseat door open. He took hold of Dean's arms and gently guided him down onto the seat.

"It's going to be ok, Dean." Sam said, trucking Dean's legs into the car. "Dean..." Sam said, looking at his brother. Dean didn't respond, still hunched over, one arm pressed to his face. Sam's expression changed. "Dean..." He said again, hopeful for a response. Dean didn't even move. Sam swallowed, closing the car door and running around to the driver's seat and jumped in. He couldn't get the keys into the ignition fast enough to the start the car.

The impala squealed away from the curb and sped away towards the hospital.