Hellllooooooo! I know ya'll are out there, I can hear ya breathing. Okay, maybe not, but I can see ya clicking on the counter. g Normally, I'd be a little sad with so little feedback (except from a few VERY enthusiastic reviewers – love you guys!!), but I like this story so much, nothing is gonna stop me from posting it. Nope. You heard me. Nothing. So don't even try to get me to stop. It would be an exercise in futility. Not gonna work. (grins wildly) You're just gonna have to muddle through somehow….

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Chapter 4

Settle Inn Motel

The first thing Dean noticed was that the cement seemed a lot softer this time. He also noticed that his head seemed to be pounding in time with his heart, which was beating somewhat painfully against his ribcage. Knowing from experience when waking up with these familiar sensations, it was a very good idea to remain as still as possible, Dean opted for simply cracking his eyes open and allowing them to slowly focus on the water stained ceiling of the motel room.

Huh. He could've sworn he'd been outside.

Moving his head carefully, Dean let his eyes drift, doing a slow sweep of the room. The heavy curtains were drawn, allowing a sliver of bright daylight through the small holes near the top. The room was dim, the only other light coming from the low wattage lamp on the table.

Dean adjusted his head into a comfortable position against the scratchy pillow and watched the familiar form slouched in the chair, one arm propped against the table, cradling a slack face in a hand. Sam's eyes were open, but the glazed look as he stared at the open laptop screen indicated that he really wasn't seeing much.

Dean cleared his throat, watching with a grin as Sam jump, his elbow slipping off the table and his head dropping forward, almost connecting with the raised computer screen. With a quick shake of his head, Sam focused his attention in the direction of the sound, his eyes crinkling as his lips turned up in a relieved grin.

"Hey, you're awake." He pushed himself away from the table and stretched before making his way across the small room to the opposite bed. Perching on the edge of the bed, Dean waited as Sam ran his eyes over his brother's form, assessing his condition before asking the obvious question. "How are you feeling?"

"Like something is forcing me to up my frequent flyer miles."

Sam snorted a laugh at the reply. "You should talk to your travel agent about getting that upgrade to first class, dude."

"Tell me about it." Now that Dean was more awake, he could feel the bruises along his back and side as well as a dull ache in his hip. His head was still leading the band, but the pounding was beginning to recede to a tolerable level and Dean decided to risk moving to a more comfortable position. A low groan escaped from his throat as he pushed himself up, nodding his thanks to Sam as the younger man leaned across and shoved two extra behind his back for support.

As Dean folded an arm across his aching chest, he noticed the ace bandage wrapped tightly around his torso and raised his eyes in question.

Sam shrugged his reply. "I don't think anything is broken, but better safe than sorry, right?"

Dean nodded and settled back against the pillows.

"The gash on your head stopped bleeding on its own so it didn't need stitches. And you've got a pretty deep bruise on your hip, but…" His voice trailed off and he shifted his gaze to his hands, one squeezing the other in nervous energy.

"Sam?"

The younger man took a deep breath, his eyes wandering around the room, skimming over everything except his brother. It was clear the younger man was trying to avoid talking about what had happened. And, although Dean was sure that most of his brother's anguish on the cliff had somehow been brought about by whatever this thing was, he was equally convinced that the fears were very real.

Sam had tried to hide his growing panic that he wouldn't be able to save him. Dean had been doing the same thing. Sam wanted Dean to fight. Dean wanted Sam to survive.

Unfortunately, these two needs seemed to be mutually exclusive.

"Sam?" Dean repeated, his own gaze locked onto Sam's face. He kept his voice level and soft, patiently waiting for the younger man to meet his eyes. After a few minutes, Sam glanced at his brother, immediately lowering his head as if ashamed.

"I'm sorry."

Dean pursed his lips and nodded. "Okay. For what?"

"I saw it."

"Saw what?"

Sam took a deep breath through his nose and released it before raising his head and meeting his brother's gaze. "The boat," he explained. "The angel. From Ruth Dodge's dream. I saw it."

"Last night?" Dean asked. It wasn't what he'd been expecting, but at least it was something they could deal with. "That's what you were looking at from the cliff?"

"Yeah," Sam lowered his head again. "I saw it in a dream… before."

Dean's eyes widened in surprise. "You don't think that's something you should maybe mention before we went back to the scene of the crime?"

Sam shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "I thought it was a fluke, man. I'd spent hours researching Ruth Dodge and read about twenty accounts of that damn dream. And after seeing that statue, I just figured…"

"Okay," Dean waved a hand in understanding. "I get it, Geek. You figured your dork brain was free associating or something."

Sam chuckled. "Or something."

Dean shifted against the pillows and winced as a few more bruises made themselves known.

"What exactly did you see in this dream?'

Sam raised both hands as he tried to recall the vision. "I don't know… it was pretty much like I read in the articles. I was on this cliff, and there was a boat with a blonde woman in it. She was calling to me –"

"Wait, she spoke to you?"

Sam frowned as he forced himself to remember. "No. Not with words or anything, it was more like… she was inside my head or something. She was beckoning me to come to her…" he looked up, his hands held up in frustration. "That's it, dude. That's all I remember."

"And what about last night?"

Sam took another breath and closed his eyes as he tried to recall the events at the cemetery. "It's all pretty much a blank. I remember watching you get up close and personal with the fence, then… nothing." He opened his eyes and looked at Dean, frustration evident on his face. "The next thing I remember I was hanging off the edge of a cliff, you pulled me up then passed out." He shrugged. "I've been wracking my brain all night trying to remember something – anything – but I've got nothing."

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. If Sam didn't remember his little speech, Dean sure as hell wasn't about to remind him. He'd sidestep that little landmine without a moment's hesitation, thank you very much. He relaxed a bit, the thrumming in his head beginning to fade. "Why you?"

"Huh?"

"Why you?" Dean repeated. "We were both at the cemetery, both near the fountain… why you and not me?" A thought suddenly occurred to him and he opened his eyes, staring intently at Sam. "Think it could be because of your whole shining thing?"

Sam's lips turned down in a frown and he shook his head. "I doubt it. I haven't had a vision since we killed the demon. I think that whole psychic thing was tied to him."

Dean accepted the explanation and closed his eyes again. "Still, why you? The hot chicks usually go for me."

Sam snorted a laugh. "Except you aren't real fond of the water... that's it." Sam stood suddenly and moved back to the laptop.

Dean opened his eyes and followed his brother, waiting patiently for an explanation.

"It's the water." Sam turned toward the bed, his arms held out beside him punctuating his conclusion.

"The river?"

"No." Sam rushed back to the bed and plopped down on it, leaning forward toward his brother. "Not the river, the fountain. It's the water in the fountain."

Dean was shaking his head in confusion. "What about it?"

"The first time we were there, you went over to check out the cliff," Sam's voice was rushed as he tried to lead Dean through his explanation. "I went over to the fountain. Right before I called to you, a drop of water hit me."

"So what, Sam. It's a fountain. Fountain's splash," Dean said slowly as if speaking to a child.

"Fountain's splash from below, Dean. This drop hit me from above."

"From above?"

"Yeah. Like it came down from the angel's chalice itself."

Dean narrowed his eyes as his brain began to see where his brother was going. "So you think the water from the chalice is, what… cursing people?"

Sam nodded. "Cursing them, marking them, whatever you want to call it." He stood and began to pace as he began to piece some things together.

"What?" Dean asked, his eyes following the younger man's movements.

"In the dream, Ruth Dodge said the angel offered her the 'water of life.' She didn't die until after the third time, when she told her daughters she had accepted the drink. The angel in my dream was carrying an urn that was filled with water." He looked up sharply as a memory clarified in his mind. "She wanted me to drink it."

"Okay, so this thing uses the fountain to mark its victims, trying to make them drink from her urn and they what? Jump off the cliff?"

Sam nodded. "To get to the boat. They have to step off the cliff to get to the boat. The angel – or witch or whatever it is – has the urn with her on the boat."

"Okay," Dean was willing to go with it. It made sense. Besides, it was more of an explanation then they sometimes had. "So how do we stop her?"

"Break the urn." Sam's response was quick and sure, and Dean nodded in agreement. "We just need a way to draw her out without having to step off the cliff."

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah. Not really up for that again." He tightened his arm across his chest as he let the situation trip around inside his brain. Remembering the feeling of being watched, the feeling of being followed, an idea formed. ""If you're right and the water from the fountain is what's 'cursing' the victims…" He shrugged and raised his eyes to his brother's. "We bless the water in the fountain."

Sam's face broke into a slow smile. If the water was blessed, maybe it would counteract the curse – destroy the witch's means of summoning her victims. "That might work. If nothing else it should piss her off."

Dean returned his bother's grin with a matching one of his own. "Kind of a Winchester specialty."

TBC