A/N: As always, much thanks has to go out to Lovinjackson and Deb for thier tireless efforts of putting up with my insecurities. LOL This chapter delves a little more into the hunt and ended up taking a different turn towards the end than it was originally meant to. But I blame Kripke for that...cause September seems so far away still. LOL Hope you all enjoy. I'll try and keep updating as often as I am...and in case you haven't seen already, I have a new Dean and Skye vid up at Youtube. Link to my YT page is on my bio page as always.

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The soft, almost mewling sound of a baby's cry awoke Dean and he rubbed at his eyes blearily, glancing at the clock beside him. Two am? You had to be kidding…

A soft groan beside him alerted Dean to Skye's presence and he rolled over, snaking an arm around her waist as he snuggled in close to her. He was rewarded by Skye grabbing his hand and gently moving it away. "Dean…you promised. It's your turn to get the baby…"

Damn. He had too. They'd made an agreement that if the baby woke through the night, Dean would bring him back to bed so that Skye could feed the baby there without being disturbed too much. Letting a soft sigh of resignation, Dean pressed a warm kiss to Skye's bare shoulder and slipped out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweat pants before he walked barefoot to the nursery. The baby was still crying, becoming more throaty and determined with each passing minute.

"Okay, okay, little guy….take it easy. You'll wake up the whole house the way you're going….and trust me, Bobby's not a pretty sight without sleep." Dean spoke in hushed tones as he opened the door and approached the crib. He frowned at the sight of the empty blanket that greeted him, still hearing the cries around him, but unable to locate his son.

Dean pulled the blanket aside, panic building within him. Where the hell was his son? Had something taken him? Why could he hear him but not see him?

There was a sudden growling behind him, sending a icy cold chill up his spine. Dean turned towards the doorway, realising he was completely unarmed as he saw a hellhound crouched there, the baby at it's feet. There was no crying now…the baby was gurgling contentedly as it tried to reach up for the hound above it.

"Get away from him…" Dean warned the hellhound, taking note of it's slavering jaws and how that horrible, acidic looking drool was barely missing his son as it dripped to the floor. The hound took a step forward, then leapt at Dean, catching him high in the chest. He was driven back into the crib, shattering it as he fell, feeling the dog's claws tearing open his chest, ripping into the soft flesh of his stomach as he screamed. It's jaws locked around Dean's throat, biting down with a hot spurt of blood that stopped his screams and let the last thing Dean ever heard as his throat was torn away….be the sound of his son crying.

With a startled cry, Dean bolted upright in bed, knotted up in sheets that were soaked with sweat. He felt trapped, still fighting for his life furiously as a pair of large hands grabbed his shoulders and shook him gently.

"Dean….DEAN!"

With a gasp, Dean blinked and took a shaky breath, suddenly realising that Sam was in front of him, his face full of concern for his brother.

"You okay? You with me?" Sam asked softly, not like the way Dean was shivering underneath his hands. This was something Sam wasn't used to seeing. Dean didn't show fear. He went out of his way to hide it. But whatever he'd been dreaming about had him seriously freaked.

"I'm okay….M'good." Dean nodded, still trembling and not sounding at all sure of himself. He ran a shaky hand over his short, bristle hair and disentangled himself from the sheets. " I need a shower…"

Sam was left sitting alone on the bed, frustrated as Dean disappeared into the small bathroom of their motel room. Why did he have to shut him out like that? Dean didn't have to deal with everything alone, but it was as if there was this unspoken rule that demanded he do exactly that.

There was no point in sitting there, worrying about it. Sam looked at his watch and saw that it was just after seven in the morning. In a couple of hours, they could hit up the local library and find out more about those fires. Sam wished he could just surf the internet like usual, but it wasn't up and running yet…a casualty of the demon outbreak.

So for now, they would have to resort to newspaper reports and microfiche. It didn't worry Sam in the slightest. He enjoyed the old school aspects of a case sometimes….but Dean? Oh he was going to go crazy…musty old books and hours of microfiche were not his idea of research.

It was another twenty minutes before Dean surfaced from the bathroom again, towelling his hair dry and looking more like his old self. The cloud of steam that had erupted from the room as the door had opened, told Sam that he was looking at a cold shower if he tried to have one. Rolling his eyes at that bit of luck, he decided to just get dressed instead. "Feeling any better?"

"Me?" Dean looked at Sam as though it was a strange question to ask. " Never better, dude. I'm starving though, how about we go and get some breakfast huh? I'm sure I saw a diner down the street last night."

Dean dropped the towel on the floor beside his bed as he sat down to pull on some socks and his boots. The feeling of eyes burning a hole through his back had Dean twisting to look over his shoulder at Sam. "Dude…what?"

Sam's arms were crossed over his chest as he spoke. "You. Putting on the big show of everything being just fine as always."

"Everything is fine."

"That's crap, Dean. How long have you been having those nightmares?"

Dean turned around more so he was facing his brother, the look he was throwing Sam warning him to back the hell off. "I said I was fine, Sammy. Let it go."

"Why, Dean? It obviously scared the hell out of you. Why won't you talk about it?"

"Because I don't want to, alright?" Dean snapped, launching to his feet angrily. He grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on, regretting losing his temper with Sam. He knew his brother was just looking out for him, but Dean didn't want to talk about the dreams, about how he saw himself die…or worse, dreamt of being tortured in Hell. It scared him deeply and Dean needed to keep that to himself.

"I could find out for myself, you know." Sam pushed softly, still watching his brother with a defiant stance to his body.

"What the hell's that supposed to me-…" Dean's eyes widened for a moment as he realised exactly what Sam meant. The link…the mental bond they had shared while Sam was missing. It had never left them. If anything, it was growing stronger, with Dean always aware of where Sam was without having to see him. It was reassuring….but not in this case. He straightened, jabbing a finger in the air towards Sam. "You stay the hell out of my head. I don't want you poking around in there…you hear me?"

"Dean…."

"No, Sam! That's final. If I want to talk about my dreams? I'll go see a fucking shrink or get so out of my skull drunk, that I don't know what I'm telling you…but you go poking around in my head? And we're gonna have a problem."

"Okay…" Sam said softly, barely audible as he gave in, his shoulders sagging.

"Excuse me?"

"I said okay. I won't do it." Sam spoke up louder, his tone almost petulant.

Dean became all smiles again, picking up the Impala keys from the nightstand. "Good. Now get your ass into gear…I'm starving. You've got five minutes or you're walking…"

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The diner was like any other they had been in over the years. Sam wondered sometimes if they did that deliberately for people who constantly lived on the road? As if changing the décor too much would upset the balance or something? Disrupt that feeling of familiarity and reassurance? Looking around him casually as they waited for someone to come and take their order, Sam wondered just how many other people in here, lived a life on the road?

Dean was fidgeting with a paper napkin, lost in his own thoughts before they were interrupted by a short, red headed waitress called Carrie, according to her name tag. "What can I get you boys?"

Before Sam could even open his mouth, Dean had jumped in, ordering enough food to feed a small country.

"I'll have eggs, sausage, bacon with a side order of hash browns…..uhhh, some fried chicken if you have any…and have you got any fresh mangoes?" Dean gave the waitress a wide, friendly grin.

"Mangoes?" Carrie scratched her head with the end of her pencil. "I think Kathy might have made a fresh peach and mango cobbler this morning?"

"Sounds great! I'll have a huge slice of that too…oh and the biggest cup of coffee you have. With cream and sugar."

Carrie made note of it all before she turned to Sam. "And you, hun?"

"Uhhh, just some bacon and eggs, side order of toast and a black coffee, thanks." Sam ordered, still wondering what the hell had gotten into Dean. The moment Carrie was gone with a brief smile for both boys, Sam looked at his brother. "What the hell, Dean?"

"What? I said I was starving…"

"Fried chicken? For breakfast?"

Dean shrugged, getting a little defensive. "I feel like chicken… what? Is that a crime now?"

"No, no…" Sam put his hands up to placate his brother, a smile growing on his lips. "But since when have you ever eaten mango before?"

"I've eaten mangos…"

"No, Dean. You haven't. The only fruit I've seen you eat? Comes in a pie filling…and you asked for fresh mango."

"You going somewhere with this?" Dean sat back in his chair, crossing his arms and watching Sam.

"You've got cravings…" Sam sniggered, finding it all too amusing.

"I do not." Dean objected. "Cravings? That's….that's what.."

"A pregnant woman gets?" Sam offered. "Dude, you wait til I tell Skye…"

"You do and you're a deadman." Dean warned, leaning forward again. He looked around them for a moment, making sure no one else was listening as he lowered his voice. "So…this craving thing….it's normal? For guys I mean?"

Sam was finding it harder and harder not to laugh, his smile becoming wider by the minute as he saw the earnest worry in Dean's eyes. "Yeah, Dean. It's normal. Relax…."

Dean bobbed his head for a moment, sharp and curt, trying to act cool. As though he had known that all along, but Sam could see the relief uncoiling through his shoulders. His brother could be so knowledgeable about the supernatural world….but make him a Dad? And the guy was completely out of his depth.

"So I was thinking we would hit up the library when it opens, find out about those fires? It could be an idea before we go out to see the guy who has the painting…" Sam offered, letting Dean off the hook by turning to business.

"Good call, Sammy. So what do you think we're dealing with here? Pissed off spirit? I mean, it sounds like the painting's haunted…"

"Yeah. We'd just better hope if that's the case, we can track down the remains easily enough…"

"Sounds more promising than all that library research…" Dean smirked.

Carried returned with their orders and the food smelt as good as it looked, both boys digging in instantly. But it was the reaction Sam saw from Dean as he bit down into the mango and peach cobbler, that was the best. It was as if Dean had finally scratched an itch that had been driving him crazy. Dean closed his eyes in sheer bliss, making a soft groan of delight as he ate forkful after forkful.

Sam watched his brother, enjoying seeing him like this. It was rare and with that deal looming, Sam was willing to savour any moment with his brother, but especially one like this, seeing him be himself. Sam wanted more moments like this…

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Bored? Dean wasn't bored….bored was too simple a term for what he was feeling. This had almost become a personal torment. They'd been sat in the same small, poorly ventilated room for hours looking through so much microfiche, that Dean was getting a migraine.

Sam was in his element, but he was beginning to look tired himself. After all their searching, he had been able to find the two news articles that they needed about the fires….but nothing beyond that. The painting only seemed to have struck those two families.

"Sam, tell me we have what we need, dude. If I don't get out of here I swear, I won't be accountable for my actions…" Dean groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes for a moment.

"Well we have what we need about the fires, but that's it."

"That'll have to do then. You get any addresses for where those fires happened?" Dean asked, already thinking ahead.

"Yeah…"

"Well then let's go. Maybe it's time we checked out where the fires happened? Cause I seriously need the fresh air, man."

Sam snorted, an amused smile on his lips. "I was the one that had to read through all this stuff, Dean. I think you at least owe me a coffee for doing all the work while you sat on your ass, annoying me."

"I was offering morale support, dude." Dean told him as they stood up at last. He stretched and listened to the audible pop of his spine before he let out a sigh of relief. Sam was smirking at him, but as they left the library, Dean could see there was a tightness in Sam's back too and he fought the urge to make a smart assed comment. It had been a while since either of them had researched like that, but as boring as it had been, Dean had enjoyed being back in a library. It had reminded him of all the hunts they had done over the years and it reassured him that Sam could handle this side of it alone if Dean didn't get out of the deal.

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They drove out to the scene of the first fire, finding nothing but a empty lot. The entire house had been burnt to the ground and what had been left standing was knocked down for safety reasons soon afterwards.

Dean walked around what remained of the floor of the house, his EMF meter in his hand, looking for any signs of activity. Sam had taken the perimeter of the house, in case something had been left behind or missed.

"Sam, you got anything?" Dean glanced up from his EMF to the back of the house pad, meeting his brother's gaze as Sam shook his head.

"Nah, nothing, dude. If there was anything here? It's long gone. Maybe we should check the other house? That fire was only a week ago." Sam suggested, walking back to where Dean was standing. It was a warm, sun filled day and if the boys hadn't known the history of the land they were standing on, it would have been pleasant. But a newly wed couple and their parents had died on this spot, a little over a month ago and it was hard to think of anything pleasant, knowing that.

The next house was even worse. From the moment the boys pulled up to the curb, they could see it had been bad. There was little of the first floor of the house standing now. What remained was charred and burnt or had collapsed. Dean found himself staring, looking from the house to the new article in his hands. A family had died here. Mom, Dad and three kids according to the paper.

They'd found them all huddled by the back door, unable to get it unlocked for some reason, the parents trying to shield the children right until the end. Dean swallowed thickly, thinking of being caught in that situation, how horrible it had to have been. The fire that had claimed his mother had scarred Dean deeply enough, but now he was faced with thinking of his own family. What if it had been them?

"Dean!"

Sam's voice startled him from his thoughts, causing Dean to flinch slightly and flash his brother an annoyed look. "What?"

"I asked if we were getting out of the car or just going to sit here. You okay?"

"I'm fine. Just thinking, that's all."

"Well don't strain anything…" Sam shot back light heartedly as he opened his door and climbed out.

" Oh ha ha…. Freaking comedian…" Dean muttered under his breath, opening his own door and stepping out. They walked up to the house, Dean eyeing the burnt out shell carefully for any signs of imminent collapse before he considered letting Sam step inside.

There was a brief flicker on Dean's EMF as he crossed the doorway, looking around the ruins for any sign of what had triggered it. "Dude….check it out."

One wall was still standing, blackened, charred and showing signs of water damage too….except for one perfect square. The wallpaper was completely untouched, perfect even.

Sam examined the wall, swiping his index finger through the charred side of the wall and bringing it away completely filthy as what little wallpaper and plaster that had remained, crumbled away beneath his touch. But as he did the same to the untouched square…nothing. It was perfect intact. "Huh…"

Dean waved the EMF past the spot and watched it light up like the fourth of July. "Whatever the hell this thing is? It's left one hell of a signature behind. That report said the painting was undamaged right? No smoke damage, no water damage?"

"No, nothing. It was perfect still."

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean frowned, looking around them. " This has to be one seriously pissed off spirit to have this kind of power."

"I think it's time we spoke with the painting's new owner, Dean. Before there's another death."

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"Just follow my lead, dude." Dean instructed Sam as they stood at the front door of the modest home in one of Frederickstown's more blue collar suburbs. A muffled barking could be heard from inside as Dean fidgeted with his tie. He hated wearing these damn monkey suits….but whatever got the job done, he guessed.

The door opened to reveal a man in his early forties with lightly greying hair and an open, friendly face that now seemed drawn and tired. His right hand was locked around the collar of a mixed collie breed that was barking furiously at Sam and Dean. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

"I'm Detective Zito, this is Detective Switek. " Dean made a show of flashing his badge without actually letting the man see it. "We're investigating the fire that claimed your brother and his family. Mr….Donahue, right?"

"Yeah, Martin Donahue. But I already spoke to some detectives about what I knew…"

"Oh this won't take a moment, sir. Really. It's more of a follow up than anything, just in case something might have jogged your memory since you last spoke to us." Dean gave his most sincere smile to the man, trying to ignore the dog that was still growling only a couple of feet from him.

Behind Dean, Sam tried to look as cop like as he could, offering the man a tight smile that indicated his regret at disturbing him again.

Martin Donahue seemed to appraise the two "detectives" on his doorstep before he took a step back. "Okay, but I can only spare a few minutes….it's really not a good time right now."

"Oh we understand completely, Mr Donahue." Dean nodded, all business as he stepped through the door, watching the dog as he entered the house.

The collie lunged for Dean again, trying to grab his hand as Dean jumped back, colliding with Sam behind him.

"Ow, hey, watch it, Dean!" Sam yelped as he was driven back into the door behind him, feeling it dig into his back.

"Sorry about that, detectives. Baxter, stop that!" Donahue shook the dog ever so slightly, then began to drag it towards the kitchen. "I'll just lock him outside, excuse me a moment…"

Sam waited until Martin was out of the room before he gave Dean a shove, scowling at him. "Way to step on my foot, doofus."

"It's not my fault, dude, that freaking dog was sizing me up like a Happy Meal." Dean objected, heading towards the living room with Sam in tow.

" You know they say dogs are great judges of character…"

Dean flipped his brother the bird, a sour expression on his face that instantly disappeared as Martin Donahue entered the room again.

"So, how can I help you gentlemen. As I said, you've caught me at a bad time. I've got to organise the funeral arrangements…" Donahue stated, remaining standing near the doorway, obviously hoping to speed things along by appearing in a hurry.

"We just need to make sure nothing was missed in your previous statements…we're following up on the investigation." Sam offered with a polite smile.

"Investigation? But I was told it the fire was accidental…just an electrical fault?"

Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes at that. How many times was that trotted out as an excuse for a fire? It was all they would ever tell his father after Mom had died…and Dean knew exactly how much crap that was. Electrical fires didn't pin people to the ceiling….and it didn't trap a whole family inside a burning house. He spied a portrait of a small boy on the wall above the fireplace and approached it, examining it closely before he looked over his shoulder at Donahue. "Is this the painting? From the fire?"

"Yes…that's it. My sister in law bought it because she said it looked like their youngest son, Simon."

Dean appraised the painting again. The little boy looked forlorn, tears streaming down his cheeks as he sadly looked out from the frame. His clothes were rough, almost dirty looking. There were scuff marks of dirt in his little cheeks and his bright blue eyes just seemed to draw you in. It wasn't the sort of painting Dean would have hanging in his house, but he was intrigued to see that the news article hadn't exaggerated. There really was no damage to the painting at all…not even to the frame. "The painting looked like your nephew?"

Donahue nodded and walked to a side table, picking up a framed family photo that he handed to Dean. "That's my brother, Joel and his family. Simon's the little boy standing in front of his father."

Dean looked at the photo, turning it slightly as Sam walked over, so that he could see as well. There was an uncanny resemblance to the boy in the painting, with the boy in the photo. Could that have something to do with it? "They look like they were a happy family…"

"They were." Donahue said a little defensively. "Joel doted on his family. They meant everything to him."

Dean nodded, recalling how the paper reported the father had been found huddled over his family, trying until the very end to protect them. "So what made you keep the painting?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Dean jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the painting. "Is it some sort of family heirloom? What?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business?"

"We're just trying to cover every angle, Mr Donahue, that's all. Is the painting valuable at all?"

"What? No! Theresa picked it up from some deceased lot auction for a few dollars…it's not worth anything. If you're implying that I had anything to do with the fire over a painting…."

Sam was standing behind Donahue, trying to signal Dean to back off. They didn't need to upset the man.

" I wasn't implying anything at all, sir. But you have to understand that these sort of questions have to be asked…" Dean didn't back down an inch.

"I don't have to understand anything, detective. I have to make the funeral arrangements today for my brother and his entire family. Everyone I care about died in that fire. So how dare you stand there and ask me if that damn painting had anything to do with it. If it wasn't for the resemblance to Simon, I would have never touched it. Now I think it's time you left…"

Sam stepped forward then, an apologetic look on his face as he grabbed Dean by the arm and starting leading him to the door. "Thank you for your time, sir. I'm sure we've covered everything now. We won't disturb you again…we're…we're very sorry for your loss."

The moment they were outside, Dean shrugged Sam off with a glare. "What the hell, dude?"

"What did you think you were doing, Dean? The guy's just lost his family and you all but asked if he dropped the match!"

Dean kept walking to the Impala, not even giving the house a backward glance. "He kept that freaky ass painting, Sammy, you trying to tell me there's nothing weird about that? Or the fact it looks like one of the kids that died?"

"It doesn't mean he was involved, Dean. There were no children involved with the other fire. Whatever the story is behind the painting…I don't think it involves Martin Donahue." Sam replied as he opened the passenger door and sat down in the Impala.

Dean followed suit, glancing at the house as he pulled the key from his pocket and slipping them into the ignition. The muscle car started up with a throaty rumble. "Yeah, the guy seems clean. Which is a shame…."

"What? Why?" Sam looked at Dean, completely confused.

"Cause now I feel bad about coming back later to steal that painting…" Dean stated as they pulled away from the curb.

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"Are you sure about this?" Sam whispered as he was crouched by the front door, using his thieves picks to unlock it. The boys had been sat outside Martin Donahue's house for the last two hours since the sun had set, hoping he would leave the house. Just as Dean had started to doze off, Sam had finally shaken him and pointed out Donahue's car pulling away.

"You'd rather leave the killer painting with it's next victim?" Dean raised an eyebrow questioningly, giving the street another quick scan to ensure they weren't being watched.

"I just don't know if breaking and entering is the best way to go about this…that's all." Sam replied as he finally felt the lock give way. He slid his hand inside his shirt sleeve and used it to turn the doorhandle, conscious of not leaving behind any fingerprints. "Alright…we're in."

Dean slipped in through the door, keeping an ear out for any noise that might indicate someone else was there. He slipped an EMF meter from his jacket pocket, looking for signs of activity as he approached the painting. The meter remained silent, but there was movement of another sort.

A shadow slowly moved from the corner of the living room, sliding up unseen behind Sam as the brothers stopped in front of the painting. It wasn't until the last moment that the shadow made a sound that had both Dean and Sam freezing in place.

A low, menacing growl filled the air as Dean turned slowly to see that Baxter, the mixed collie, had slipped up on them and was ready to leap at Sam. The dog had it's teeth bared as it snarled, watching both brothers intently.

"Sam, take a step back towards me, dude and stay calm." Dean instructed.

"Oh yeah, really easy for you to say, Dean…what the hell are you doing?" Sam caught sight of Dean slowly easing forward.

"I'm trying to distract it, dude, what the hell does it look like?" Dean hissed, taking another step forward. He puckered his lips and tried making kissy noises to the dog, watching to see if it's tail wagged or anything. "Hey, Baxter….who's a good dog? Come on…you know us…we're not gonna hurt you, buddy."

"Dean…Dean, I don't think it's working…" Sam warned his brother, his heart racing as he heard Baxter's growls intensify.

"Just stay back, Sam…grab that freaking painting so we can get out of here." Dean crouched down until he was face to face with Baxter. He had to remind himself that this was just a mixed collie before him and not a hell hound. It was just a stupid dog and he could damn well talk to a dumb mutt, right? Although right now he was kinda wishing he'd brought some milk bones with him…because after that run in with the possessed dog in Denver, Dean was starting to think anything remotely canine hated him just out of principal. "Come on, Baxter….who's a good boy, huh?"

Before Dean had time to shout a warning, Baxter lunged forward, knocking Dean onto his back and leaping for Sam. Sam had half turned towards the noise when he was dragged down by the weight of a dog latching onto his arm. It took a moment for the pain to hit him as Baxter bit down harder, drawing blood.

"Dean!"

Dean had already rolled to his knees by the time Sam was shouting his name. His gun was instantly drawn and he tried to draw a bead on the dog, ready to put a bullet in it before he hesitated at the last moment. Not only could he not get a clear shot, but was he really going to blow away some poor schmuck's dog for doing it's job and protecting it's home? No way…Dean could be a bastard, but he wasn't about to stoop that low.

"Dean, get it off me!" Sam was rolling on the floor, trying to hit Baxter, trying to pry him loose as the pain became more and more intense. He could feel blood sliding down inside the sleeve of his shirt, before there was a yelp and the pressure was suddenly gone.

Sitting up, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, Sam could see Dean dragging Baxter across the room by his tail. The collie whipped around with a speed and agility that caught Dean by surprise and he let go of Baxter, losing his balance and falling hard on his ass. Instantly, the dog was in his face, Dean having just enough presence of mind to grab Baxter by the collar and hold him at bay as he felt the collie's teeth graze his left cheek. With a growl of frustration and sheer anger at this mutt having hurt his brother, Dean flipped himself backwards, dragging Baxter with him and hurling the dog towards the kitchen. He heard the collie hit the floor and watched it slide a few feet, collecting a kitchen chair along the way with a yelp.

There was no time to worry about whether or not he had hurt the dog. Dean stumbled to his feet and rushed to the kitchen door, pulling it shut. Only seconds later, he heard Baxter slam against it, barking furiously. "Sit, Ubu, sit….bad dog…" He muttered, reaching up to touch his cheek and pulling his fingers away with blood on them. "Son of a bitch…"

Dean headed back to the living room, finding Sam removing the painting from the wall. "Sam…Sammy, you alright?"

"I'll be fine. Can we just get the hell out of here, please? The neighbours could have already called the cops after all that noise."

"Sam, you're bleeding!" Dean was immediately by his brother's side, pulling away the torn remains of his jacket and trying to get a good look at the wound. "Let me see!"

"Later! Dean, we need to get out of here." Sam pulled his arm away and cradled it against him. "I'll be fine, really."

Dean nodded uneasily, not at all happy with how things had played out. This was supposed to have been simple…and now he'd gotten Sam hurt. They slipped out the front door, still looking to see if any of the neighbours lights were on, if anyone was watching them. Thankfully the street was still quiet as Sam and Dean climbed into the Impala, throwing the painting in the back seat and getting the hell out of Dodge.

xxxxxXXXXXxxxxx

By the time Dean pulled into the parking space outside their motel room, his cheek was throbbing and painful, but it was nothing compared to the tightness in Sam's face. It was obvious his brother was in a lot of pain, nursing his injured arm close to his body and trying not to jostle it as they climbed out of the Impala.

Dean made sure he retrieved the first aid kit from the trunk of the car before he followed Sam inside, throwing the painting angrily on a bed as he passed. He wanted to take a freaking shotgun to the damn thing, maybe take out some of the frustration he was feeling about not even being able to protect Sam from a stupid dog.

"What the hell were you thinking, Dean?" Sam demanded as he shouldered open the bathroom door and made his way to the basin. He peeled off his jacket and then began on the shirt, hissing in pain as it stuck in places to the blood that was slowly congealing.

To say the wound was nasty, was an understatement. Sam could see multiple puncture wounds, some of which had gone to the bone. Blood was still weeping from them, dripping into the sink as he held his arm out to get a good look at what damage had been done. The arm had been torn in some areas, deep bloody grooves criss-crossing his forearm.

Dean entered the bathroom with a bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide and clean bandages. "I don't know, dude. It worked for Riggs in Lethal Weapon Three….I figured it was worth a shot. It's not my fault Cujo thought you looked so tasty." He moved in closer and inspected the wound, his stomach knotting up at the sight. "Jesus, Sam…this is gonna hurt like a bitch."

"Just do it already." Sam growled, bracing himself.

Taking a breath to try and calm himself, Dean poured the peroxide over Sam's arm, watching the wounds bubble and fizz in contact with the liquid. Sam snarled in pain and jerked backwards, smacking his head on the mirrored cabinet that hung above the basin.

Dean grabbed his wrist gently and took another look at the arm. "Some of them are going to need stitches, Sam." His voice was soft and full of regret, hating himself for inflicting pain on Sam.

Sam shook his head. "No stitches, Dean. This'll heal on it's own, dude." For once, he was grateful to have demon blood in his veins. It wouldn't heal as fast as Dean's wound, but it would still heal without stitches and right now, Sam was all for sidestepping any extra pain if he could.

Dean nodded, stepping back. " Look, that peroxide might have washed the crap out of those wounds, but I'd still like to pack them with antiseptic cream before I bandage them, okay? Who knows where that fucking dog's mouth's been? Take a shower and get cleaned up…I'll grab us some beers to drink before we go out and torch that creepy ass painting."

"Long as you're paying…" Sam quipped tiredly. He could see that Dean was blaming himself for what happened. " You bring back anything lite and I swear I'll kick your ass."

Dean gave his brother an affronted look. "Come on, Sam…give me some credit, man."

"Just bring back the beers, jerkwad….and I'd put a sticky plaster over that scratch on your face too. You look you got mugged by Lassie." Sam grinned, pushing Dean out of the bathroom with his good arm.

Dean was shaking his head and chuckling as he left the bathroom, content that Sam wasn't pissed with him. The smile left his face as he saw the painting lying on the bed. He was really looking forward to burning that miserable looking thing….

An Hour later……

The back lot of the motel was perfect for the burning of the painting. Dean wasn't taking any chances this time with it. Not only did he slash it to ribbons inside the frame, but he stomped and kicked the frame into kindling as well before a liberal amount of salt and lighter fluid was poured all over the remains.

"Good riddance.." Dean toasted, clinking his bottle of beer with Sam's before he flicked a match and used it to light the rest of the matchbook. He dropped the flaming pack on the painting and watched it burn, hoping that would be the end of that….cause he sure as hell didn't want to track down the grave of some little kid and dig it up.

"So how are we going to know it's over?" Sam asked, taking a sip of his beer. "Do we keep an eye on Donahue for the next couple of days? Check that the house doesn't catch on fire?"

"Couldn't hurt I guess?" Dean agreed. "Maybe Donahue will report the painting stolen or something? I mean…there can't be a fire without the painting, right?"

" I guess not."

"Then we're done, dude. We kick back for a couple of days, make sure that everything's sweet and head home." Dean was already grinning at the prospect. Just the word home was enough to make him smile and he could see by the look on Sam's face that his brother was thinking the same. They stayed until the painting was nothing but ash, making sure it was destroyed.

"You wanna order pizza? I'm starving…" Sam said suddenly as they walked back towards the motel.

"Double pepperoni, double cheese." Dean added, his own stomach rumbling at the thought.

xxxxxXXXXXxxxxx

The room was quiet other than the silent murmurings of the TV in the corner. Dean had fallen asleep a couple of hours before, shortly after Sam. Each brother was sprawled out on his respective bed, tangled up in the covers.

Sam was snoring lightly, while Dean was silent, rolled on his stomach, one hand under his pillow with a knife like he had always done before the days of sleeping with Skye.

The combination of beers, pizza and Dean's recent nightmares had driven him into a deeper sleep than normal. He didn't feel the bed dip slightly as the small body climbed into it and slid under the covers with him, shivering slightly from cold. It wasn't until Dean felt a puff of icy breath against his bare chest that he stirred at all, barely awake as he mumbled, "Connor, you okay, little dude?"

"I'm scared…everyone's gone." The tiny, fragile voice whispered.

"S'okay, Connor…I'm right here. Snuggle up if you're cold." Dean mumbled again, his eyes still closed. It took another few heart beats before Dean's eyes flew open and he looked into the tear stained ghostly face of the little boy from the painting. "What the fuck? How? What?"

Before he could move or pull away from the kid, there was a sudden flash of heat and Dean threw himself backwards, his arms flying up to shield his face as the boy erupted into flames in front of him. The covers were tangled around Dean's legs, fire spreading along them with such speed that Dean had no hope of disentangling himself from them. He could feel his sweat pants catching alight and yelped in pain and fear as he tried to beat out the flames.

Sam bolted upright at Dean's shout and looked in sheer horror at the sight of his brother on fire. Flames had engulfed the bed now and were engulfing the bedcovers wrapped around Dean too as he fought to free himself and put out the flames. The smell of burning flesh met Sam's nostrils as he flew out of bed, dragging his blankets with him and tackling Dean.

They rolled across the floor, Sam tearing desperately at the covers tangled around Dean as he heard his brother screaming in pain. The sound cut straight through Sam's heart and he all but snarled as he grabbed the covers and tore them like tissue paper. Dean was freed at last, curling up into as much of a foetal position he could with his burns. He was shaking, shock already taking over.

All around them, the room was on fire now, flames licking at the beds, the curtains, moving up the walls and along the ceiling like something alive and hungry. Sam cringed at the sight of Dean's burnt legs and torso. He didn't want to touch that skin and cause Dean any more damage, looking around frantically for something to wrap around Dean. Lying near the bed was Dean's leather jacket and the instant Sam saw it, he knew Dean would want that saved too. It was Dad's and something like that was irreplaceable. Grabbing the jacket, Sam gently wrapped it around Dean as he picked his brother up and stumbled for the door. The flames seemed to chase them, surrounding the doorframe, blocking their path of escape. Sam could see now why the families had died….why they should have escaped but didn't.

But that wasn't happening to them. Sam wasn't ready to die in some crappy motel room with his brother. Fire had claimed their mother…had claimed Jess. It wasn't taking Dean. Sam wouldn't allow that. He took a step back and focussed on the door, pouring his anger, his rage at it. It exploded outwards, missing the Impala as it arced over the top of the muscle car to hit the parking lot behind.

Sam wasn't far behind it, carrying a barely conscious Dean to the Impala and laying him gently in the backseat, using Dean's leather jacket to cover him and keep him warm. "You'll be okay, Dean…you'll be okay. I've got you."

He slid into the driver's seat, realising the keys were inside the room still. "Fuck!"

Sam climbed out again and rushed to the doorway, one arm held up to try and shield his face from the heat. He closed his eyes for a moment and sought out the keys with his mind, seeing them on the floor near the side table. Without hesitation, he called them to his hand and was rewarded a moment later. The skin on the palm of his hand was seared for a moment by the hot metal of the keys…but Sam ignored it, hearing fire alarms coming closer by the minute. People were starting to come out of their rooms and into the parking lot as Sam got back in the Impala and backed the muscle car away from the room as it was engulfed.

There was no time to worry about what had started the fire, what they had lost inside the room. Sam needed to get Dean somewhere so he could treat his burns. He glanced in the rear view mirror, panic fluttering in his chest as he saw that Dean hadn't moved. His breathing was choked and wheezing, tears forming in Sam's eyes as he realised that Dean's lungs must have been burned as well.

"You're gonna be okay, Dean. I promise. You're gonna be alright. I'm gonna take care of you. It's my turn now. It's my turn now…" The last part was almost a sob as Sam stabbed down on the gas pedal, heading for another motel, any motel.

xxxxxXXXXXxxxxxx

It was almost sunrise by the time Sam carried Dean into their newly acquired motel room. There was no amount of prayerful thanks Sam could give that would be enough to thank God for letting Dean's wallet - and therefore his fake credit cards - be inside a side pocket of his leather jacket.

It had allowed Sam to rent another room, buy more medical supplies for Dean. Essentials they needed as he laid Dean down in a tepid bath so he could try and clean him. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes before Sam blinked them away, angry with himself as he gently sponged the dirt, soot and dead skin from Dean's body. Already he could see minute signs of repair and although it seemed hypocritical, he still sent up a prayer of thanks that Dean could heal himself thanks to his father's demonic blood.

The burns were red and raw, the skin peeling away over Dean's chest, right arm and his legs. Sam had bitten his lip, his stomach knotting up as he cut what was left of Dean's sweat pants from his brother. More skin had come away with the material and Sam was grateful that Dean was unconscious now and not feeling this pain. He added the tiniest amount of peroxide to the water, hoping it would help kill any infection and protect Dean.

As he gently swiped the sponge across Dean's face, Sam bit back a bitter laugh at the thought his brother would be glad his face had escaped being burnt. "Can't ruin those looks, huh, Dean? Girls the world over would go into mourning…" Sam said softly as he brushed one large hand affectionately over Dean's hair.

There was still a wet wheezing to Dean's breathing, the shaky, troubled rise and fall of his chest was terrifying for Sam to watch as he tried to tell himself that he could help Dean through the pain….as long as he made it through.

In the back of his mind, there was a voice screaming at him to get Dean to a hospital, that he didn't have the skills to save Dean and was only going to watch him die here. With shaky legs, Sam left the bathroom, leaving the door open so he could see Dean at all times as he went and picked up the phone. Dialling the number that was engraved in his memory, Sam's heart was pounding in his chest as he heard Bobby's voice.

"Singer's Auto…"

"B...Bobby, is Dad there?"

"Sam? What's wrong, son?"

" I….I need Dad, Bobby. Please…" Sam was finding it all but impossible to keep the tremble from his voice as he spoke now. He closed his eyes and dropped to the bed behind him as he heard the phone exchange hands and the deep, worried tones of John Winchester over the line.

"Sam? What's happened? Where's Dean? You boys alright?"

"Dad…" Sam choked for a moment, fighting to get some strength in his voice. This wasn't like him, dammit. He wasn't a kid anymore. But then, Sam had never dealt with anything like this. Not burns on this scale, watching Dean lie there so silent, so still. Barely alive. He had watched Dean die once in his life and the memory of how that had hollowed him out was so raw and painful still. Sam couldn't face that again.

"Sam, where are you? Answer me, son. What's happened?"

Sam could hear the fear in his father's voice and it hit home that every call he or Dean had ever made in the past to their father's voicemail would have elicited the same fear. Because John wasn't some cold, driven hunter…he was their father. "Dad…it's Dean. He's… he's hurt. Badly hurt. I don't know what to do...I think I'm gonna lose him."

"Where are you? I'll be there by nightfall."

Sam felt tears sliding down his face again as he gave his father the address of the motel before he hung up the phone. Barely making it back to the bathroom before he sank to his knees beside the bath, Sam gently laid a hand on Dean's unburned shoulder. "Hold on, Dean. Dad's coming…."

xxxxxXXXXXxxxxxx

A/N 2: I couldn't help myself...I'd gone too long without some decent hurt. LOL Feedback is love, people...