A/N: I had trouble with this chapter; it didn't want to be written. Finally, it came to me as I was lying in bed, and this was the result. It's a bit improvised but hopefully entertaining all the same, sorry it took me so long to update!

"It's okay. We tried to save Rupert," Dean said flatly, reading Sam's mind. "I could've stopped you from coming here. It's not your fault."

"It is, Dean," Sam said, shaking his head. "I said things I shouldn't have said. That's the reason we're in this mess-"

"And I punched you. I'd say we're even." His eyes drifted guiltily to Sam's cheekbone, which was bruised. Sam felt anger flare at the apology.

"What the hell, Dean! We're not even! Jack's gone, and his heart is probably in Azazel's hand right now-"

"No, it's not," Dean said, his voice cracking with anger. "Don't say that. And were you listening to Yellow-Eyes? He said that Jack's heart would be last. We just need to find him before he opens the doors to the Empty."

"And if we don't?"

Dean turned away, and he didn't answer.

Sam hated the feeling of staying up all night.

Dean would probably argue that Sam enjoyed it, because he did it so frequently, researching until sunrise. That was true, Sam had pulled many all-nighters in his lifetime. But he still hated it all the same.

At the moment, sleeping wasn't an option. They didn't know when or where Azazel would be casting the spell; if he did, then the Empty would be opened up and all of the demons and angels they'd ever killed would be free to roam Earth.

They also needed to find Jack. Jack had saved Sam and Dean at the museum, and now he was gone.

Dean had also brought up the question of why Azazel hadn't tried to take their hearts. After all, he'd pointed out, they themselves didn't have a very clean ancestry.

After the museum disaster, they'd found an obscure motel in Virginia to camp out at. Both brothers had spent the entire night online, digging through every article on the Internet they could find to get some sort of clue as to where the spell would be and where Jack might have been taken.

Even Dean didn't stop researching.

Guilt pounded through Sam's veins; he remembered clearly what he'd told Dean the day before. He'd told him that it would be his fault if Rupert died.

And now Rupert was dead. But it hadn't been Dean's fault, it hadn't been any of their faults, Sam reminded himself, rubbing his eyes to refocus on the screen.

It was difficult. The words were blurring together and the white of the screen felt like a laser blasting through his retinas. Every time he rubbed his eyes, or shut them for a few moments, it was harder to keep them open.

His shoulder felt like it was on fire. It was stinging with protest at having been wrenched around at the museum. Dean had restitched some of it, but it still wasn't very comfortable.

On the bright side, he hadn't had any more visions.

Dean was clicking the end of a pen; on, off, on, off, on, off.

The sound was almost mesmerizing.

"Dude," Sam said, his voice cracking from disuse the entire night. "Do you mind?"

"It's keeping me awake."

"It's making me want to sleep."

Dean frowned. "A clicking pen is annoying. How the hell does it make you want to sleep?"

"I dunno, it's like white noise," Sam said, irritated. "Can we just finish this? Have you found anything?"

"Yeah. I did, actually," Dean said.

"What? What'd you find?"
"A whole lot of squat."

Sam sighed at Dean's disappointing answer. "The local library opens in four hours. We should get some sleep before going there."

"You can. I'm staying up," Dean said, switching his gaze back to the screen.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Really? You're going to keep researching?"

"Jack's out there. I'm going to keep searching until I find him or I drop." He looked up at Sam. "You should take a few. I won't judge."

"No," Sam said, running his hands over his face. "I'll help."

"Yeah, but you're getting over multiple injuries. And your whole psychic thing is going on. You should get some rest," Dean said, looking at him critically.

Sam snorted. "I'm not going to sleep while you research."

Dean shrugged, still watching him closely. "Whatever."

They kept at it. The sun rose and the motel room steadily grew brighter until the sky was a robin egg blue without a cloud in sight. The room became muggier as it became late morning; the air conditioner was broken and the window was jammed.

Sam rose from his chair, checking his watch. "I'm heading to the library," he said. "It should be open now. And it's too damn stuffy in here to keep researching online." He was getting antsy despite having felt drowsy earlier; for too long they had been coming up with nothing.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean said, standing up violently.

"What?" Sam said, startled.

"We've found nothing, Sam! Nothing! Jack's gone, and if Azazel gets the doors to The Empty open…" he trailed off, running a hand down his face.

"We'd be screwed," Sam admitted. "The number of both demons and angels that would be out to kill us because we killed them…" He too trailed off.

"Well, let's go to the library," Dean said stonily. "Maybe, they'll just happen to have a book explaining what to do when a resurrected demon tries to open the gates to a world of nothingness." He took an angry swig of beer, setting the bottle back on the table too hard. It sloshed out and onto the floor.

The sloshing sound suddenly turned into a different kind of sound; one that was more viscous. The scenery changed, the motel room changing to the cramped interior of a home.

A large window showed that it was nighttime. Rain was pounding on the sidewalk outside of the house. There was a beautiful view; the ocean was a mere thirty feet away, and there was a picturesque walkway next to it. There was a street sign next to the house, which was sitting on the corner. The letters were difficult to see through the limited visibility of the pouring rain.

The sound of people in the house was masked by the pounding rhythm of rain. They were in the corner, dimly illuminated by a few candles that were lit.

Jack was strapped down to a table. His hair was damp with sweat. There was dried blood on his forehead, but he seemed perfectly aware of every movement of his captor.

Azazel was moving steadily around the room. He had painted a sigil on the wooden door that led to another part of the house with blood. It was intricate and foreign; in addition, hanging on the door were bits of flesh and hair.

The foul scent of corpses wafted through the air. There was a sack sitting on the floor near Jack, and sticky stains were splattered all over the bag. It looked limp and lumpy.

The demon finished tinkering with the sigil and picked up the sack, dumping it unceremoniously onto the floor in front of the door. He struck a match and lit the heart on top; instead of the fire flickering out upon meeting the damp surface of the heart, it lit like it was made of gasoline.

Jack was watching Azazel warily, his eyes quickly following every step the demon made. His eyes were murderous, but weak; there was nothing he could do against Yellow-Eyes.

Smoke rose up from the pile of hearts and soaked into the door, which turned blacker than night.

Azazel turned to face Jack and he didn't waste time in plunging the knife into the nephilim's chest, carving and hacking through Jack's screams and carelessly pulling his heart out. He tossed it at the door, which glowed bright red as the heart hit it with a sickening, slopping sound.

Jack's screams ceased as the house began to shake and Azazel laughed with satisfaction, reaching forward to open up the door.

"Sam!"

Sam couldn't move; the scent of the burning hearts and the echoes of Azazel's laughs and Jack's screams were ringing in his ears.

Cold water splashed onto his face and he choked, flying upright. Dean's hand was on his shoulder, his eyes slanted with concern.

"Dude, snap out of it!" Dean said forcefully, gripping his shoulder even tighter, and Sam took a deep breath. He realized he was shaking, and immediately steeled himself, pulling himself away from Dean.

"Charleston," he said in between breaths. "I saw a street sign for the East Battery. It's where Jack's been taken, it's where Azazel is going to open a door to The Empty."

"Why Charleston?"

"I don't know, I just saw that they were there! It was the part we stayed in when Dad took down that ghost of the lawyer when I was twelve-"

"How much time do we have?"

"I don't know, there wasn't a clock or anything - but," Sam said, reaching for his laptop, "It was raining hard in my vision."

"So let's check the weather for Charleston," Dean said, comprehension on his face.

Sam did a quick search for the forecast for Charleston.

"There," he said triumphantly. "Tomorrow night, a bit after dusk, it's supposed to start raining."

"Alright," Dean said. "I'll pack the car." He picked up his gun and twirled it in his fingers. "We've got a demon to gank."

Dean maneuvered the Impala onto the highway with expertise, the wheel sliding smoothly under his hands. The speakers were rumbling with the rhythm of Free Bird. He rolled down the windows so that the balmy Virginia air whipped through the car; Sam's hair was a whirlwind in the heavy wind of air.

Speaking of Sam - his brother's entire disposition looked tense. Dean didn't blame him; the visions didn't look very comfortable. Sam had barely spoken the entire ride, instead focusing on keeping ice on his ankle, which had swollen since he'd twisted it in the kitchen in Montour Falls. A plum and olive colored bruise decorated the side of his face, courtesy of Dean's angry punch, and once again guilt flared through him.

They arrived at Charleston later that day, when the city was beginning to light up with nightlife. Dean checked them into their motel, which was pricier than usual because Sam wanted to be in town and close to where Azazel would be.

"Well, we've got twenty-four hours to kill," Dean said, throwing his bag down onto the bed closest to the door. "How about we hit up a bar? When was the last time you hooked up with a chick, anyway?"

"No. Not tonight, Dean," was Sam's stoic response as he flopped onto the bed and immediately took out his laptop.

"Alright, Grumpy," Dean said, slinging his flannel off so that he was clad in a tee; it was stuffy and warm in Charleston. "You can be a stick in the mud. I'll go have fun."

"Sorry if I'm a stick in the mud," Sam said, his voice angrier than Dean expected. "We have bigger problems at hand!"

"Yeah, in case you forgot, sublimation is kind of my thing, dude," Dean said lightly, in no mood to appease Sam's sulky attitude. Albeit, Sam was right, but he still didn't feel like brooding in the motel room over things that they couldn't control at the moment. "You should try it. It might wipe that frown off of your face."

Dean knew that he was instigating Sam, but he didn't care; they'd been cooped up together for the past few weeks without very many breaks.

"Want to know why I'm frowning?" Sam said, his voice low. "Because Jack's gone. And the demon that killed Mom and Jess is back, and is plotting to end the world - again. Not to mention my damn ankle, bruise, head, and stitches are all killing me, so pardon me if I don't want to go to a bar and throw lame pickup lines at girls!"

"Calm down, princess," Dean said, keeping his voice light. He sensed that if he retaliated again, they'd be in a full argument.

"Besides," Sam said, ignoring Dean but calming all the same, "We need to plan how we're going to kill Azazel."

"We'll just have to exorcise him. We don't have anything to kill him with."

"Except Jack," said Sam, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. "Jack's a nephilim. He helped to kill Dagon, remember?"

"Through Cas," Dean said, though a small feeling of hope rose in him. "We could call Cas-"

"Cas is in heaven right now," Sam reminded him. "We only have twenty-four hours. Besides, I think Jack could kill a Prince of Hell on his own now. I mean, he's much stronger than when he wasn't even born yet, right?"

Dean's heart suddenly sunk. "But Jack's weak right now. He used all of his mojo fighting Azazel the other day. There's no way that he could just take him out now."

"In my vision he wasn't able to fight back," Sam acknowledged. "But what if we charged him up?"

Dean understood immediately. "What, like let him touch one of our souls and then wipe out Azazel with a twitch of his finger?"

"Exactly."

"Cas said it's like handling a nuclear weapon and that you could explode really easily. Jack's never touched a soul before," Dean said, considering his brother's imploring expression. "Well, we've got nothing to lose, right?"

After sleeping for a solid five hours to compensate for their previous all nighter, they got up early to prepare for Sam's vision to unfold. They scouted out where Jack and Azazel would be, and Sam was unsurprised to find that the house was empty; there were no candles, no hearts, and definitely no Jack.

"Here's what we're gonna do," Dean said over their lunch as they ate across the street. Clouds were beginning to drift in for what would become rain that night, and Sam kept anxiously checking his watch, afraid that they would somehow miss Azazel's appearance.

"I'll let Jack touch my soul, but there's no way that's going to happen with Azazel there. You should improvise some crap about how Azazel ruined your life or whatever to distract him."

Sam frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"

Dean took a massive bite of his burger and swallowed it so quickly that Sam was surprised he didn't choke. "I mean, get all emotional. 'Because of you, my brother and I had to face Lucifer!' or 'I still miss Jess everyday!'. Something along those lines."

"I still do miss her every day," Sam said quietly. Dean's words hadn't been intended to bring up old feelings of grief but it struck him like a spear nonetheless.

"Obviously, those things are true," Dean said quickly, backpedaling, "but if you can use them to our advantage that'd be great. Just so I have enough time to tell Jack what to do and get him charged up."

"What if it doesn't work? What's Plan B?" Sam mused, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"Plan B is that we cut Jack free and run with our tails behind our legs," Dean said bluntly. "If we don't die first."

Nighttime seemed to come quickly, what with both of their tense anticipation for the night. They had camped out on the beach across the street from the dark house, waiting for the sign of light from the candles that Azazel would be lighting. Dean had meticulously cleaned all of their weapons, whether out of belief that it would help or simply compulsiveness Sam wasn't sure. As for himself he had spent the remaining hours researching for anything that would help them at all, even trying to call Cas again, but the angel didn't answer.

"Sam, look," Dean said suddenly. A faint, warm glow was flickering in the window of the house. "That's our cue." He tossed Sam a gun. "That's loaded with devil's trap bullets. It won't do much against him, but it should slow him down."

Sam nodded his thanks and cocked it, following his brother towards the house and Azazel.

TBC

A/N: Apologies for the short chapter. I was going to include more, but I have to leave for work and I couldn't let this sit another day. I also reread this and realized how it was way too quick paced, but I really needed to get things moving, so I'm very sorry if this wasn't as enjoyable to read!

Thanks for reading! I am so grateful for everyone who is favoriting, following, and reviewing - it's so inspiring for me! Hopefully the next chapter will be out by Tuesday, and if not then, then definitely by Thursday. Thanks!