Notes: First of all, really sorry for the long wait. Is anyone still waiting for this fic's update? *hears crickets* Err.. I know it's been three weeks since the last update but I had good reason. Mainly, screwy health issues. Now I won't bore you with the gory details and let's get right onto the chapter. To anyone whose been leaving comments and giving this frustrated writer a chance, thanks so much guys! You have no idea how much that really inspires me to continue this story :D


Chapter 4

Three hours earlier...
Singer Salvage Auto Yard
6:15 PM

"Are you safe?" Bobby Singer, hunter and owner of Singer's Salvage and just about the go to person when it comes to anything supernatural harrumphs a confirmation to John Winchester's inquiry.

The last time they talked may not be with the best of circumstances but he still worries about John and his boys like family, chasing John from years ago with a gun full of buckshot and yelling bloody murder notwithstanding.

Bobby downs a shot of scotch and appreciates the burn down his throat. He's gonna need more of the piss poor stuff with the way the day's turning out. "Heard about Jim and Caleb from Jeff. This demon'a yours picking off hunters on a kill list?"

Bobby's heard enough to conclude demon's going after people John's considered friends. He's under no illusion that he's managed to slip under the radar. Well, he ain't getting caught unawares by the balls by no demon that's for damn sure. He's just about done with the last of the Devil's trap on the ceiling among many others. Even the damn King of Hell, if such a thing even exists, won't be able to so much as touch one grey hair on his head.

Bobby hears Sam and Dean's voices in the background and has to hold back a dismayed sigh. For a while there he honestly believed Sam finally had a chance at a normal life. Whatever the yellow-eyed sonofabitch wants to do with Sam, he would have done well as far away from the supernatural as possible. Of course the demon just had to kill Sam's girl. There ain't nothing worse than losing someone precious to encourage revenge. Bobby's just grateful still, that it ain't Dean who burned on the kid's ceiling.

"It's not coming for you, Bobby. I'm taking care of it."

"Now, hold one damn minute. What kind of a stupid ass idea have you got in that head of yours now, John?" Bobby harps at him, knows only too well the same self-sacrificing shit the man tend to pull off when backed in a corner that he sometimes forget he's got two boys that would be plenty miserable if he manages to get himself killed.

He's met with silence until John lets out a grunt and reluctantly, like pulling teeth, tells him what he intend to do. While Sam and Dean try to save a family from another supernatural house fire and most likely end up confronting the demon that started this nightmare, John's gonna be meeting up with a demon hell bitch to hand over a fake Colt and what? Hope it doesn't notice? Man has a fucking death wish.

"Sam and Dean understands. We've agreed on it."

Bobby highly doubts that. He slams the glass of scotch against the study, far from assured after hearing the sheer idiocy spewing out of John's mouth. Jesus Christ. Not only is John risking himself, the boys are nowhere near ready to face the demon their daddy's been chasing all their lives.

"You out of your goddamn mind, idjit?"

"I know what I'm doing, Bobby."

"Fact that ya would even think this idea o' yours has a rat's chance of working make me question your mental health."

"You say the nicest of things, Singer."

"Calling it the way I see it, Winchester."

"Listen," John cuts in and lets out a weary sigh as Bobby waits for the inevitable. He's honestly relieved he ain't nowhere near John right now or he'd be shooting him down with shotgun shells just so Bobby can make himself feel better. "If something were to happen to me—"

"Don't get your ass killed. I ain't fathering your kids so you better come back in one piece."

"Bobby."

"Don't even try to sweet talk me into agreeing with your bullshit. You're pretty, John. But ya ain't that pretty." Bobby grumps and allows himself a small smile when he hears John's exhausted yet amused chuckle.

He sobers up quickly. "I mean it. Your boys need you alive. Don't fuck it up."

"I'll do what I can." John replies with an a resigned air to him much to Bobby's discomfort. It's not a promise but sure is better than nothing.

"I can call up some of my contacts if you need backup." Bobby not-so-subtly offers to which John shoots down immediately."

"I can't be responsible for another hunter's death, Bobby. Jim. Caleb. They were good men. Good friends." John goes silent, sounds choked up when he continues. "And you know up to this day I still can't face Ellen with what happened to Bill."

"Hey, how many times do I hafta tell ya that shit ain't your fault? Demons are as rotten as they come. Stop blaming yaself idjit. I know you know Ellen knows it."

"I have to go, Bobby." John says, completely dismissing Bobby's audition for Bleeding Heart of the Year. He's good at that. Ignoring anything good people have to say about him and dwelling and stewing on a whole ton of shitty crap.

The line dies before Bobby could get a word in. He looks down at the phone with a scowl and slams it back on the receiver.

Rude idjit.


At a motel room in Salvation, Iowa…

"Sam, you okay?" John asks worriedly as soon as he enters the room after pocketing the phone and rushes straight to his youngest. Sam's doubled over in pain on the bed, hands on his head, tugging and pulling on his hair as Dean crowds him like a mother hen.

"I'm okay." Sam answers, voice catching on a pained grunt and worsening the frantic look that seem to permanently make residence on Dean's face. "Maybe not." He hisses with a grimace and clutches Dean to him like a lifeline. His face is all up against Dean's chest while his brother's got his arms coiled tightly around Sam, hands massaging all over Sam's temple and neck, trying to soothe.

Dean looks up to John, green eyes pleading. "Dad, we can't go out there with Sam like this."

"What happened, Dean? I told you to watch over your brother." John gripes and Dean can't help but flinch. Sam's always been his responsibility and anyone can see that seeing his little brother in pain is a personal torture for him. Four years apart and Dean manages to get even more protective.

"I don't know. I thought it was a vision but he never hurt this bad. We were going over the plan when he suddenly…" Dean trails off as Sam begins shouting and thrashing that he nearly gets an elbow to the face. When his voice picks up again he's even more frantic, sounding a little ways from an anxiety attack. "Sammy? Sam!"

"He's seizing." John doesn't sound any better either as he pulls Sam to him and down to the floor leaving Dean no choice but to follow. "Sit on his legs. Dean, give me your belt. He'll need to bite down on something before he hurts himself."

John's oldest looks like he's ten again in the moment, fretting over Sammy's broken arm after falling off the monkey bars and feeling absolutely useless.

His fingers are shaking almost as bad as Sam.

"He's already hurting, Dad." Dean chokes out as he struggles with his belt and hands it over to John, careful to keep his weight on his brother.

"Don't get smart with me boy."

"I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"I know. Hey, hey. Look at me. Your brother's gonna be okay. Keep it together, Dean."

They share a look as Dean forces to get his nerves under control and nods. John claps him on the shoulder encouragingly once and goes back to securing Sam.

Dean helps him, despairing eyes fixed on his brother's red, sweaty face, the straining jaw and the gritted teeth clamped over the leather of Dean's belt and tries his damn hardest to not upchuck that afternoon's lunch. He's never gonna be able to fully keep it together as long as Sam's not a hundred percent bitchy little brother again.

"Dad, this is bad. Sammy needs a hospital." Dean says distressed, the unspoken plea loud and clear. They could bail on this now. If it's between making sure Sam's gonna be okay or going after the demon or heck, saving strangers, John should know Dean won't even think twice of choosing his brother over anything or anyone else. Stanford was one too many times for one lifetime.

"We don't have time for a hospital, Dean. You know that." John tells him with an apologetic shake of his head. "People are gonna die if we—"

"Dad, come on." Dean begs, refusing to believe Dad's seriously considering— "Its Sam."

"You said it could be a vision."

"He's never had a fit this bad while having it."

"He'll be alright. Sammy's strong, Deano."

On the floor Sam makes a noise that makes shudders rack up and down Dean's spine. Sam sounds like he's on the receiving end of torture, tears trickling down the corners of his eyes. Dean swallows the bile threatening to rush up his throat. He can't bear hearing more of this.

"Dad! Please!"

"No, Dean! Your brother's gonna be okay. And then we'll go out and finish this once and for all."

Dean stares aghast. He's no longer listening. There's a storm inside him waiting to break out. He's never felt more betrayed than he is right that instant. Not even when he had been dying and Dad couldn't bother with a message.

"You know what, screw you! Your son could be dying right now and all you still think about is your goddamn revenge!" Dean explodes at the exact same time Sam stops thrashing. Wide green eyes laser focuses on Sam, completely missing John's reaction and finds his little brother still, his eyes closed, expression lax. Dean forgets how to breathe at what he sees next. Sam's chest isn't rising and falling.

"Sammy?" Dean rasps out as he shakes him, then nearly shoves John aside to get to Sam when his brother remains unresponsive. "Sam!" He removes the restraint then proceeds to have his ear pressed against his chest to listen for a heartbeat.

For one heart-stopping moment he can't hear anything.

Then relief like a physical thing washes over Dean when Sam's suddenly gulping air like a drowning man and coughing up violently. Dean hastily pulls back and is rewarded with his brother's half-lidded, confused stare trained up at him. "Dean?" he asks, turning wide-eyed like he can't believe Dean's there.

Dean's answer is pulling his brother to a bone-crushing embrace. "Oh god, Sammy. I'm so glad you're okay." He's close to manfully crying tears but can't bring himself to care at the moment. Sam for his part clutches at him like he's afraid if he didn't hold him tight enough Dean would disappear.

The motel room door opens and closes but neither brother realizes, too wrapped up in each other to notice.

They stay like that for a good minute until Dean feels like his ribs are creaking from the intensity of Sam's embrace. Dean's big brother radar goes off when Sam won't let go. And— is his little brother crying?

"Sammy? Hey, hey what's wrong?" he asks, alarmed. "You hurting anywhere little brother?"

Sam freezes up in the hug. like he's just realizing and processing how very much he's clinging to Dean as if he's forgotten they are two grown ass adults. It didn't take long before Sam starts squirming in his hold.

"Dude, we're totally in chick flick territory." Sam says, an obvious effort to sound like the bitchy little brother he is. He's doing a fairly decent job really if it were not for the thickness in his voice and the sniffles giving him away.

Dean looks ready to swat him upside the head. It kind of stings to know Sam feels the need to pretend when it's just the two of them. He lets go of the crushing hug nevertheless and runs his hands all over his brother assessing for any kind of lasting damage. "You feeling alright?"

"Uhh, yeah I think so. I mean, my head still hurts a bit and my mouth tastes funny." Sam ducks his head, wipes at his eyes then squints at his brother. "Dean, why are you sitting on me?"

Dean only realizes then that he's fully seated on Sam's lap and gets flustered for reasons he refuses to inspect closer. "Like I had any choice when your ginormous legs were kicking up a storm. I didn't wanna get hit in the balls, bitch."

Sam's snort is automatic, then he looks around the empty room with a questioning frown. "Where's Dad? Thought he was here?"

"He went out." Dean replies flatter than a wet noodle though he still manages to look caught between anger and guilt. "Come on, up you get." He pulls himself off Sam's lap and helps steer his brother to the bed. Dean does a rubdown along Sam's arms. Kid's still spasming like crazy.

"Did— something happen?" Sam asks, voice a bit wobbly. He vaguely remembers the familiar pain he gets before a vision hits, then— Sam recoils at the reminder of what he's seen, has to do his utmost best to not fall over from legs suddenly feeling like jelly if only to avoid worrying Dean further.

Dean makes a grumpy sound as Sam's back hits the propped pillows, all fluffed up by Dean like Sam's a toddler again. "You mean besides you making a perfect impression of brain cancer stage six?"

"Dean, there's no such thing as stage six." Sam has the gall to huff at him. The little shit. And we already checked. Unnecessarily I might add. No brain tumor or anything. Just the occasional visions."

"Don't you dare make it sound like it's not a big deal." Dean says heatedly, a tick to his jaw as he sits by the edge of the puke-colored bed sheets.

"That's because it's not." Sam assures his brother and only gets an unimpressed glare for his trouble. He takes hold of Dean's hand and gives it a squeeze. Normally Dean would pull it back, no chick flick moments he always says, but he lets Sam do what he wants without any incoming joke. It only serves to worry Sam. "I got it under control, Dean."

Sam's attempt at comfort fails spectacularly when Dean gets angrier and snaps at him. "You call what happened earlier under control?!"

"I do." Sam retorts stubbornly. He's always hated seeing his brother twisted up over anything that has to do with him. Like he's failing Dean somehow. "It's something that's happened before. I told you I can handle—"

"You stopped breathing, Sam!"

Sam stares, stunned. There's silence until, "What!"

"Your heart stopped. I thought you died!"

Sam's mouth works but no word is forthcoming until he settles on his brother's name, as per usual when crap proves to be too much and Dean's name is the only thing that makes sense.

"Why did Dad went out, Dean?" Sam manages after a minute of tense silence. When the shock of knowing this curse could actually kill him subsides, he can't understand why their father would leave. "If you thought I was dying, why did he up and left?"

His brother won't talk let alone look at him.

"Dean!"

"I snapped at him, alright?" Dean says finally, shoulders tight and fist clenched on one thigh.

"You..? Snapped at dad?" Sams asks dubiously.

Dean's never questioned Dad before, even when he left for college. Sure, Dean pleaded with him to stay. But Sam could no longer breathe with the way their lives were. He asked Dean to come with him, and that only resulted in rejection. When he hit puberty, Dean's always picked Dad over Sam. Sam was no longer the first choice as much as it hurt to admit because Dean was already a hunter and Sam's the freak in the family always fantasizing about a normal life. So to hear him actively snapping at their father is a little hard for him to process.

"I thought you were dying." Dean starts, one hand rubbing over his mouth as he lets out a heavy exhale. "You were seizing, Sam. Your eyeballs were up to here and I just… I begged him to bail. To get you to the hospital. Screw the plan. And he looks at me," he glances at Sam unable to continue.

Sam feels anger practically burn him from the inside as he makes the connection, has to physically keep his fists close to his chest or he might end up denting the wall. He breathes through his nose and forces to detach himself from the situation. Pretend it's happening to someone else. He's not doing a very good job at it. "He chose the demon over me, did he?"

"Sam, I'm sure Dad didn't really—"

"And there you go again, Dean. Always defending Dad. Justifying all the crap he throws at us!"

Dean can't formulate a comeback and settles on Sam's name instead, the look in his eyes pleading for Sam to not let what happened blow out of proportion. Sam feels rightfully indignant. He wants to lash out, but the more he looks at his brother's face, the more he feels the anger melt away.

Dean seems to have aged a good ten years. For a while there Dean must have thought Sam's dead for good. Sam puts himself in his brother's shoes and can't really fault him for wanting a ceasefire. Dean looks properly traumatized. The experience must have emotionally exhausted him no matter how much he claims to be adverse to feelings. Sam could never say no to his brother when he's open like this. None of the blustering and macho crap.

And to be perfectly honest, Sam feels just as exhausted. Feels twisted and knotted up without hope of ever getting straightened out, like nothing's ever gonna be the same again. The things he'd seen before the vision hit, before he saw and felt the girl choking on her own blood, what the ever loving crap was all that?

"You know what? Fine. Whatever. I don't care." Sam huffs and waves a hand in dismissal as he jostles his brother with his right leg playfully, hoping to distract him from thoughts of Dad. The distraction isn't just for Dean but for himself too.

Sam has to force back a smile and pretend annoyance when Dean grumbles about pointy knees and being too old for footsie ya great big girl.

"Sammy?" Dean eventually asks.

"Yeah?"

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean."

"You're kind of still pale and twitchy, dude."

"It'll get better." Sam replies, voice clear and steady, or at least he tries to be. Dean catches his trembling fingers, expression begging to differ. He tries to pull it back, but Dean's hold is like an iron-clad grip. "Dean, let go."

"Not until you tell me what's got you so shaken up." Dean shoots back, green eyes imploring.

I'm proud of us.

The words resonate in his heart, in his thoughts.

Sam screws his eyes shut and shakes his head, resolutely trying to get rid of the image that has been burned to his retinas. Now that he's got nothing else to focus on, his mind treacherously latches on the next worse thing. The personal recurring nightmare of his big brother dying in his arms.

It feels like a memory, like it's something that's already happened to him, something that he's always actively trying to forget.

"Sammy what did you see?" Dean asks worriedly when Sam continues to unknowingly stew in his fears. Blood and tears and four words like a mantra. It was the only thing that kept him going. The only hope he's got of ever getting his brother back. His gaze finds focus as the shaking register and he finds Dean, no blood, not dying. Real. Alive.

He doesn't want to tell Dean whatever it was he saw, because Sam refuses to call it a premonition of the future, yet at the same time he's increasingly getting desperate to not be alone in the knowledge. He needs Dean to be there and tell him it's gonna be alright.

"Among other things?" Sam can't almost say the words, scared shitless that if he gives it voice it's gonna be reality. "I saw you die."


Dean stares at Sam in silence, the confession catching him off guard. Dean doesn't fear death. Not really. At one point he's even made peace with the thought of dying when he got electrocuted back in Nebraska, and with the way their lives are, Dean's accepted that reaching his thirties is very unlikely to happen. His little brother was already able to prevent one premonition from coming true where Dean was supposed to get shot in the head by the Miller kid. How often was Sam going to be able to keep on doing that?

Truth is, he worries not for himself but for Sam. He's already seen his brother's potential for crazy, fucked up shit when Dean's life is on the line. Just like what happened with the faith healer. Up until the present there's still residual guilt over the person who died in Dean's place. But Sam didn't care then for some poor shmuck dropping dead. Because Dean lived and that was all that really mattered to his brother.

Dean reflects on that and finds, not surprising, that he'd be just as uncaring for anything else as long as he could keep Sammy safe and alive. He'd seriously just thought the family and the demon and even Dad irrelevant for a second back there if it meant rushing Sam to the hospital and making sure he's okay.

It should probably worry Dean just how ready he is to drop everything and everyone else for Sam, but can't imagine his choices going any other way.

Sammy always comes first.

"What do you mean you saw me die?" Dean finally asks, fingers closing around Sam's pulse point, too fast for Dean's liking. "You mean like with the Miller kid?"

Sam jerkily shakes his head. "No, didn't feel like that. It's like, with Max it felt like it was something that I could prevent. That it didn't really happen yet. I just had to stop him to save you."

Dean lets that process. "What makes this different then?"

"I can't really explain it, Dean." Sam admits with a frustrated groan. "There's something here." He says, placing a free hand against his chest, curls it to a fist. "That I'm pretty sure wasn't here before. It hurts. A whole fucking lot."

"That's it. I'm taking you to the nearest hospital." Dean says as he moves to get up but Sam stops him with a hand on his wrist.

"Dean, no. It's okay. I'm fine. It's not like that kind of hurt."

"Then what is it, Sam? Cause from where I'm standing you need medical attention. You just had a seizure, Jesus H. Christ. And you're shaking like a goddamn leaf."

"I saw you die, Dean. In my arms! And there wasn't anything I could do about it." Sam retorts heatedly, hazel eyes misting with tears that just about stabs Dean right there in the fucking heart.

Sam pulls his brother back to him, looking so broken in the moment that Dean can't do nothing but follow with the least minimal complaint. Every inch of him is screaming to comfort his little brother, to throw his arms around him and rock him back and forth just like when Sammy was six and for several nights had woken up screaming from a nightmare from the Shritga attack. He settles for cupping Sam's cheeks and bringing their foreheads together. God, seems like forever since the last time they were able to do this. "Sammy, come on. I'm here. I'm not dead, alright? You're not gonna get rid of me that easy, baby brother."

"It felt real. It was too fucking real. "There was too much blood. For a while there I thought—" Sam buries his face against his brother's neck the second Dean wraps him up in a hug. He can't quite suppress a choked sob from escaping. "It scares the crap out me, Dean."

"You're gonna be okay." Dean soothes, rubbing his hands gingerly across Sam's back. "We're gonna be okay. As long as I'm here Sammy, nothing bad's gonna happen."


John returns to the motel room and finds his boys waiting on the bed, sitting too close for his peace of mind. But John reluctantly lets it go, especially when Dean wouldn't even look at him and Sam's so obviously trying to be civil. He appreciates the effort. He's already gonna be ashamed of how he's acted for months to come.

He hands over a water bottle which Dean quickly snatches before he could get it to Sam. Alright. So he deserved that.

"How are you feeling, Sammy?" John asks nevertheless because he isn't going to be cowed by his own son even if he's already seeing the two of them ganging up on him for the foreseeable future. Looks like his eldest's finally decided whose side to take.

"Fine." Sam answers, and then opens up about his vision with a name that stops John cold. "Dad, you know a hunter named Ellen?"

He whirls around and looks at his sons gravely, at Sam moreso. "How'd you come by that name?"

"Meg." Sam says as John stares at him uncomprehending. "In the vision I just had. She was calling you on the phone and— she called the woman Ellen. She's got a daughter. Jo, I think was her name."

John curses and looks ready to fly off the hinges with the news. "You're saying it's going after her? You're sure?"

"Yes, Dad. I'm sure. And it's not it. Them. There's more than one demon." Sam says, one hand coming up to rub at his forehead. Dean's readily there kneading at his brother's temple, whispering words of assurance if some parts he's hearing are anything to go by.

"I'm fine, Dean. Just a headache."

"Just a headache isn't really very assuring, Sammy." Dean says, hovering.

"There's also a girl. Blonde." Sam resumes.

"That'd be her daughter, Jo." John says like haven't they established that already?

"No, I know Jo. It's— the other girl's different, Dad. She's younger. I saw her. In a mirror."

"Mirror?" Dean asks, suddenly invested in what Sam's saying enough to tone down the hovering. "Like Bloody Mary kind of deal?"

"No, Dean." Sam's bitchface makes an appearance. "Like, she… I was looking into the mirror? I think I was seeing things through her eyes. Like I was inside her."

"Something you wanna tell us about, Sam?" Dean leers with matching waggling eyebrows. The inappropriate dick.

Sam shoves a hand to his brother's face. "Get your mind out of the gutter, dude. So as I was saying," He continues, looking back at John who's watching Dean with almost the same exasperated air to him as Sam before focusing back on his youngest. "I think she was just waking up? She seemed confused where she was. Seems like she's covered in blood. Not sure though, she didn't linger looking at her reflection. But I felt her stagger to a small table like I was really there. And then I saw this." Sam says fingering the amulet on his brother's chest. "I couldn't be mistaken. She had the exact same one Dean. Down to the dent… here. Yeah, exactly on that spot."

"So what are you saying?" Dean asks, not really understanding where the conversation is going.

"I don't know. I just found it weird." Sam answers, then biting a lower lip adds, gaze trained on his father and brother. "Since she kept repeating Dean's name."


"Singer Salvage. State your business, I ain't got all day." Bobby greets upon the fourth ring, tone as grumpy as ever Ellen feels some of her nerves uncoil after hearing the voice of a good friend. The past few hours has been draining to say the least.

"You need to get out more often you grumpy old man."

"Ellen?"

"Who else?"

"I've been trying to reach you all night, woman."

"We can't all be sitting in wait for our phones to start ringing, Bobby. I was busy." Ellen replies with a huff. There's a scrape of a chair and then grunting from the other hunter. Ellen raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "What ya doing?"

"Finishing up the Devil's trap I've painted on the ceiling. Listen, you and Jo and that blonde little girl need to leave the Roadhouse fast."

Bobby's tone has Ellen's spine going rigid. "Did something happen?" she asks in alarm. Then backtracks, open mouthed. "Bobby, how do you know about Mary Jane?"

"That the kid's name?"

"Yes."

"Did you have two girls without me knowing?"

"Ha. Ha. Answer the question, Singer."

There's another grunting, then grumbling followed by a satisfied exhale. She hears the faucet run. "It's Sam. Don't tell a soul, but the kid's been having visions, premonitions if you will, and he saw you tonight."

"Sam's psychic?" Well, that— actually might explain a few things about her guest.

"Seems like it." Bobby confirms.

Ellen's gaze travels down to the unconscious girl on her bed, tucks a stray hair from a sweaty forehead behind her ear. She leans forward to take her hand. Sighs in relief. She's no longer burning up. The bleeding and healing seems to have stopped altogether as well. She's gonna be needing another change of clothes. The one she's currently wearing is beginning to cake in blood. Ellen feels a headache coming.

Mary Jane's been having nightmares. The room's a mess from whatever ability the kid's got. Ellen even nearly got brained by a lampshade from trying to help. Kid's telekinetic or something. Ellen's just thankful Jo didn't get to see any of that or she would have freaked.

With the crazy theories she's been having for the past hour, Ellen supposes that if that shit is real, the supernatural powers could be genetic.

"John just found out. He ain't too happy with it. Looks like the boys have been keeping it a secret."

"Yeah, when's John ever happy with anything? Jesus. I actually called to ask you to come over, and Sam said he saw us in this vision of his?"

"S'what I was told." Bobby replies, then asks. "You wanted me for something?"

"Yes, it's about the girl and not something we can simply talk about on the phone. Got some things I need you to look over too." She pauses, then cautiously adds, not sure if she'd like an answer or not. "Bobby, did they say what was happening to us in this vision?"

"Didn't get to the specifics but it can't be good. John was in a hurry. He just asked to make sure you and your family left to a safe location. I've fortified the house. You're gonna be safe here until this shitstorm blows over."

"Thanks, Bobby." Ellen can't help but think back to the photograph. "But that's a five to six hour drive and the girl? She's not fit for travel."

"She sick?"

"You can say that."

"All the more reason to get started then. Kid's gonna be a sitting duck if those demons arrive."

Ellen's blood pressure just about skyrockets. "Demons? Why the hell didn't you say that the first time?"

Seriously, what demon is stupid enough to go into an establishment crawling with hunters? Unless. Oh, Ellen could just smack herself. Because she didn't want anyone hearing the girl's nightmare-induced screams and accidentally coming across her supernatural gifts if she gets another fit, she instructed Ash and Jo to close up shop early for the night.

"Don't take it out on me. John didn't say anything about demons but with Jim and Caleb dead, it was the natural assumption. And between you and me, you're closer to Caleb's place."

"Jim and Caleb are dead?" Ellen exclaims in shock. The night seems to be getting shittier with every passing second. "Demon got to them?"

"Ya got that right." Bobby says with a heavy sigh. "Demons got wind of the Colt."

"The Colt? I thought that was just myth?"

"Not anymore. John took it from Elkins. Guy's dead last I heard. Vampires. The demons are threatening to kill anyone that's ever had any contact with John if he doesn't hand it over."

Ellen's silence as she lets herself process Jim and Caleb's death. The hunter community is a tight knit group despite so called lone wolves like John appearing every once in a while. She feels the loss like any other friend. She resolutely does not think about Bill.

"John can't honestly hand something that important over."

"He ain't. Idjit's got a stupid idea of handing over a fake and hoping for the best. But that was before Sam started seizing with visions of the future."

"Seizing?"

"Yeah. And from what I heard it was bad."

"Does that happen often?" Ellen asks concerned as she goes about preparing, throwing immediate necessities to a duffel bag. Then again, if Sam's visions were life threatening she doubts she'd have been able to look at a picture of him at age thirty one.

"Don't know. But John says he's not allowed to go anywhere but at the motel. I can just imagine how that conversation went down."

"I bet." Ellen agrees. She might not know Sam on a personal level, yet, but from what she heard about Stanford, kid's got a temper to match his father.

"You packing yet?" Bobby asks, worry and impatience bleeding through the line.

"Stop harping at me like my grandmother, Singer. I'm already—" Ellen trails off as the only light in the room flickers, Bobby's voice suddenly coming in and out like static by her ear. "Bobby? Bobby, can you hear me?" No answer.

The line goes dead. Ellen's head turns to the direction of the bedroom door as she hears a crash downstairs followed by Ash's scream.


A/N: So... that happened. I'm really anxious about this chapter since it's the first time I've written pre-apocalypse Sam and Dean. Like, I've written in small doses Supernatural fics but they're usually after Season 1 or 2 and the codependcy is just... really overflowing. Season 1 was still the uhhh "reconnecting" phase so to say, so I'm not sure at all if I'm pulling them off just fine? Really do hope didn't just manage to butcher characterization. Also, John. *twiddles fingers*

A/N2: Like it? Hate it? Please do let me know. I'd LOVE to hear what you guys think of the story so far. Good? Bad? Worse? Click the review button below. It'll only take a moment of your time. Thank you :)