A/N: This chapter has some spoilers from 'Salvation'. Consider yourself warned.

Disclaimer: Nope. Didn't own 'em when I wrote chapter one, and I still don't own 'em.

Chapter Nine

Sam parked the car not far from their motel room and killed the engine. Okay, so he messed up. Screwed up, big time. But he was definitely going to make it up to Dean. Sam reached over to the passenger seat and took the small bag lying on it. It was too late to go to dinner, well, too late for anything other than the grimy diner anyway, and that didn't really scream 'happy birthday'. No, Sam wanted something a little more special. Lynn gave him the name of a good restaurant; he'll take Dean there for lunch tomorrow. For now, he had this little token to offer his brother. God, he hoped Dean would like it.

Getting out of the car, Sam walked over to their motel room. It was unusually dark inside. Sam looked at the time. Ten thirty. Dean couldn't have gone to bed this early, could he? He's been really tired lately, but surely, he won't go to bed this early, Sam thought as he took out the key and opened the door. He turned on the lights as he walked in the room. The empty room. Sam walked over to the bathroom, just to make sure. Dean wasn't there. Probably went to the bar, Sam assumed, Dean was one to get bored easily after all. He wouldn't want to just stay here and watch TV on his birthday. Sam hesitated whether or not to drive over to the bar and look for his brother. It was too early for Dean to be drunk enough that he'd get himself into trouble. Better make sure, though, Sam thought and took out his cell phone, only now noticing that it was turned off. That's funny, I don't remember turning it off, he thought, and turned it on.

The words 7 MISSED CALLS appeared on the screen; six of those were from Dean, one from their dad. Sam's heart quickened its pace. He tried calling Dean when his cell suddenly died. Oh, great, the battery's empty. No wonder it was off, Sam thought, cursing under his breath. He had to spend almost ten minutes searching for the charger until he finally found it and started recharging the battery. He knew it would take a while for the battery to recharge. Might as well take a shower in the meantime. At least, with the phone recharging, he'll be able to hear a call coming in.

By eleven Sam was getting pretty nervous. Dean wasn't back yet. There was no note, and he'd left no messages on his voicemail. Biting his thumbnail, Sam had made his decision. Grabbing his coat and the car keys, he headed over to the bar to make sure Dean wasn't getting into any trouble.

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Dean pounded on the door to the Alberts' house as hard as he could, but it still took a few minutes for a man to come to the door. The man seemed a little confused, and more than a little irritated. He was wearing a robe over a sweatshirt and some sweatpants, his feet clad in fuzzy slippers and his hair was sticking out in every direction. He also had a rather nasty looking baseball bat in his hand.

"What?" the man growled at him, still half asleep, but Dean didn't bother answering. Answers took time, and right now, there wasn't any. So he pushed the man aside roughly and got in the house, yelling at the guy to get the hell out of the house. He said something about a gas leak, but was already climbing the stairs to the second floor, so he wasn't so sure if the man had heard him, or if he was even listening. It didn't matter anyway. He had to get to the nursery, and he had to get there now.

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Sam made yet another round around the bar, but Dean was nowhere to be found. Finally, he went over to the bartender, asking her if she'd seen Dean today. His stomach flopped when she told him she hasn't. Cursing under his breath, Sam thanked her and hurried out of the bar, heading for the car. He pulled out his cell and dialed Dean's number for the sixth time.

Finally, for the first time, the battery allowed him to actually complete the call. He got to Dean's voicemail on the first dial tone, and cursed, shutting the phone off. He got back in the car and sped out of the driveway, gravel sputtering from under the tires. Sam's heart was pounding as he forced himself to relax and not jump to any conclusions. Maybe he just went out for a quick walk, Sam thought, maybe he's already back at the motel, he tried to convince himself as he flipped his phone open again and tried calling Dean again, but got straight to his voicemail once again. Sam cursed loudly. Well, maybe he just hooked up with someone. This was Dean, after all, Sam thought, hoped, as he sped on.

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The mother was already pinned up against the wall, but she was still alive when Dean reached the nursery. She screamed at him for help. He didn't spare her a second look as he run over to the crib and swept the crying baby into his arms. His heart raced, his throat was dry, but there was no way he was going to let this Demon win. No way. This family will not know what it's like to have their lives ripped away from them, not if he could help it.

Dean turned and was about to rush out with the baby when the crib burst up in flame, the nearby drapes quickly catching fire as well. The woman screamed in panic, still pinned to the wall. Dean hesitated. If he ran out with the baby, there might not be enough time to get to the mother. On the other hand, if he wasted the time trying to get the mother free, none of them may get out of here unscathed. Time was pressing. He had to make a decision.

And then it was made for him.

The mother dropped to the ground. Even as the fire around the room intensified, Dean could still feel the drop in temperature as the hair on the back of his neck prickled and the lights started to flicker. He held the baby tighter to his chest, screaming at the mother to run. She stared at him, shaking her head, and started to argue.

"I'll get her out, I promise, just get out of here or we'll all die!" Dean screamed at her. She hesitated, her eyes going to the figure of the man with yellow eyes that smirked at her. "Get the hell out, what are you waiting for? I'll get your baby to safety, I swear!" Dean shouted again. This time, with a slight nod, she complied, and ran out of the room. Dean had every intention to follow her, but as soon as the woman was out of the room, the door slammed shut and a wave of heat hit his face. He turned, shielding the baby with his own body as the door burst in flame. The entire room was engulfed in fire. Smoke was rising, dark and thick, and already Dean could feel the tightening of his chest and the bitter taste of adrenaline in the back of his mouth.

"You don't really think you're getting out of here, Dean, do you?"

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Sam hit the brakes hard, the seatbelt tugging him painfully at the chest and shoulder, but he didn't care. He turned off the engine, rushing out of the car and almost forgetting to turn the lights off. The twisting in his stomach, which started ever since he got back from Lynn's to find an empty motel room, just got worse as Sam looked at the motel room window and realized the room was dark. Dean wasn't there. He cried out in exasperation, forcing himself to remain calm, and ran over to the room.

He dropped the keys twice before he managed to get the door open, and made sure he checked every inch of the room before letting out another cry.

"Damn it, Dean, where the hell are you?" he screamed, trying his brother's cell for the ninth time, with the same result. This time, he left a rather colorful message on Dean's voicemail.

Okay, like it or not, Sam was panicking.

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Dean's eye darted around the room as he pressed the baby closer to his own body, trying to shield her from the intense heat. He slowly stepped back from the Demon, but the room was small, and there was no place to hide, especially with the roaring flames all around, painting everything red and yellow.

"Stay back!" Dean warned the Demon as his heart raced a mile a minute. He fought to remain calm, reminding himself over and over that this time, the Demon wasn't using his father's body. But his eyes still played tricks on him, making him see his father every now and then, sneering at him with those sick, yellow eyes.

"This child is mine!" the Demon cried.

"Oh, really?" Dean inched his way towards the burning door, "Got the paternity test to back that up?" It didn't work, the fire was just too damn hot. Dean couldn't get closer to the door. His eyes quickly searched the room for a better way out, locking on the window. The drapes were on fire, but it didn't matter anyway. He was on the second floor. He might survive the jump unscathed, but not with a baby in his arms. He couldn't take the chance. Thick smoke began to rise, making Dean's eyes water and burn, making breathing so difficult for him. He wrapped his jacket around the baby, trying to shield her as best he could. Sweat trickled down his face and back.

"So, where is that brother of yours, Dean? Where is Psychic Sammy? I don't see him here trying to help you." the Demon commented with a grin.

"Don't you talk about my brother! Don't you dare talk about him!" Dean snapped at the Demon, whose grin widened.

"He's not here, is he?" the Demon closed its eyes, as if searching for something. "No, he's not." It opened its eyes again, smirking, and for a split second, Dean saw his dad, and not the Demon. "Had better things to do, didn't he?"

"Shut up!" Dean didn't have the time for that. He couldn't afford to listen. He had to fight to find a way out. He started coughing on the smoke, noticing that the baby was coughing, too, though not as badly as he was.

"They still don't need you, do they?" the Demon went on, "Why bother, Dean? You know, the thing about martyrs, they die. And people forget about them."

"Oh, screw you!" Dean snapped, blinking the tears away and keeping his stinging eyes on the Demon. Time and air were running out. "No, seriously, try it. It might make you nicer, you know? Find some nice demon lady, get her all nice and drunk. Might get that chip off of your shoulder…"

"Funny, Dean. But then again, you always were a joke, weren't you?" the Demon deadpanned, "The little comic relief, making fun of the situation just to get someone to notice you were there…"

"Hey, at least I'm not the pyromaniac child molester…" Dean coughed, his lungs craving fresh air. He found a small trash bin and threw it as hard as he could against the window, breaking it. Cool air started sipping into the room as the smoke slowly started to leave. It was a start, but Dean knew time was running out. He made another lunge at the door, or what was left of it, trying to ignore the pain in his chest. But the Demon got in his way.

"You don't really believe you're getting out of here, do you?" the Demon asked, and the serious, nonchalant tone of his voice made the blood in Dean's veins freeze. He swallowed, suffocating, and coughed, trying again to better protect the baby against the smoke and flame. "The fire's too hot, Dean," the Demon went on matter-of-factly, "you'll never make it."

"Watch me!" Dean shouted.

"What about the baby?" the Demon asked. There was no patronizing, no anger to his voice. It was casual, concerned almost. And that scared the hell out of Dean. "You'd rather kill her than give her to me?" the Demon asked, "I can get her out of here safely, I can give her a life. You'll only get her killed." The Demon went on, and Dean swallowed hard, the pain in his chest intensifying. "Can you really do that?" the Demon asked seriously, "Are you really going to kill this child just so I won't win? Are you really that desperate to have some victory over me?" it demanded. "Even if I don't get her, there will be others, Dean. There will always be others. You cannot stop me."

"I'll get her out!" Dean shouted with a confidence he didn't really feel. The Demon looked at him. There was almost pity in his look, and Dean clenched his jaw in anger.

"You'll die." The Demon said simply, "You'll both die." Dean coughed again, his lungs screaming for air, his head spinning, his chest constricting, his eyes burning from the smoke. But he wasn't going to let the Demon win. He'll get this baby back to her mother, even if it kills him. He didn't care anymore.

"The only one dying tonight is you!" Dean shouted, his hand reaching to the back of his jeans, pulling out the gun he had hidden there. The colt. He clenched his jaw, his arm steady as he aimed it at the Demon and fired once. The Demon disappeared, evaporating, the bullet going straight through where it had been just a second ago. But it didn't matter. It bought Dean the time he needed. He ran to the burning door, kicking it open as he tried his best to shield both himself and the baby, and ran out of the house as fast as he could.

He almost couldn't believe it worked. He almost couldn't believe the Demon fell for that, fell for the fake gun. He had prayed that it would work, that the Demon would disappear just as it did back in Salvation. He had counted on it, it was his only hope. And it worked. He didn't care that the Demon got away, he didn't care about much anymore. He got the baby out, he saved that family. The rest he'll deal with later.

The baby's mother cried in panic when he got out of the house, the father rushing over to him and grabbing the baby from him. Dean's head was spinning. He coughed, trying desperately to bring oxygen to his deprived lungs. His chest was on fire. He couldn't breathe. Glancing up, he could barely make out the figure staring down at him through the broken window in the burning nursery. And the pain in his chest intensified. Dean gasped, falling to his knees, his hand grasping his chest as he tried desperately to draw breath. He was barely aware of someone holding him by the shoulders, someone talking to him, asking if he were all right, before he passed out, oblivious to the sounds of the approaching sirens.

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Sam sat on one of the beds, racking his fingers through his hair and forcing himself to relax. It wasn't working. Every passing minute brought to mind another worst-case-scenario. Think, Sam, you have to think! Just relax, and think, dammit! Dean wouldn't just leave, he wouldn't just disappear. He checked his cell phone again, to make sure he didn't miss any messages from Dean the last ten times he'd checked. He hadn't. Okay, now what? Dean, damn it, where are you?

Sam got up from the bed and started pacing the room, biting his nails. He had already asked the desk clerk if she had seen Dean leaving, but the clerk told him his brother hasn't been to the office since her shift started, and that she wasn't paid enough to keep watch over the rooms. She was damn lucky there were other people around or Sam would have throttled her right then and there.

Nearing the end of his rope, Sam tried Dean's cell again, leaving another colorful message on his brother's voicemail. He tossed the phone angrily at the bed, and then cursed when it slipped off and fell. For a moment, Sam considered just leaving it on the floor, but he needed to keep recharging the thing. Grunting angrily, he stomped over to the side of the bed, picking the offending phone off the floor. It was then that he noticed the tiny ripping of the top page on the motel's complementary note pad lying next to the phone. Sam picked it up, taking a closer look. The top page had been ripped off, and there were some markings on the second page. Sam pulled the drawer on the nightstand so hard he unintentionally yanked it out altogether. Cursing loudly, he searched the floor. There, rolled under one of the beds, was a tiny pencil. Finally, something was going his way, Sam thought to himself. He ran the pencil back and forth over the page until he could read the after-print of the message written on the top page. It was an address, and it looked like Dean's handwriting. Sam almost cried out in joy. That is, until he realized he had no idea where that address was leading him to. Unlike his brother, he didn't know the map of the entire freaking country by heart. Reaching for his phone, he called Lynn, asking her for directions.

Sam slipped, nearly nose-diving straight into the pavement in his hurry to get to the car. He cursed, straightening himself, and got in the car. Slamming the keys into the ignition, he stepped hard on the gas pedal, leaving a trail of dust and gravel behind him.

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Dean woke up in the emergency room. He had an oxygen mask on his face. His bruised ribs bothered him, but not nearly as much as his raw throat or the pain in his chest. He started coughing, grimacing at the pain in his throat, his hand reaching for his heart. He couldn't breathe.

A second later, two lovely nurses came rushing to his side, not that he'd noticed, being too busy suffocating and all. One of them pushed him gently down back on the bed while the other fiddled with something behind him, apparently raising the bed to a sitting position.

"Here, is that better?" the first nurse asked, but Dean just shook his head, pressing his hand harder against his chest, gasping. The nurses exchanged a look. One of them slipped a blood pressure sleeve on his arm to test his blood pressure.

"Sir, can you tell me your name?" she asked.

"Dean." Dean gasped weakly. The nurse read his blood pressure, telling the other to go get one of the doctors. The other nurse quickly disappeared down the hall.

"Well, Dean, don't you worry. We're gonna take extra good care of you." the remaining nurse promised, "It's not every day we get to help a real-life hero." She smiled at him. "Now, you really need to relax, all right? Just take deep breaths." She told him in a kind, calm voice.

"My chest…" Dean breathed, closing his eyes. The nurse narrowed hers.

"You have chest pains?" she asked, and Dean nodded. He meant to ask how the baby was doing. She had been coughing a lot, he hoped she was alright, but right now, all he could think of was the pressure in his chest. The doctor arrived a second later, attacking Dean with a barrage of questions.

Dean answered as best he could, telling the doctor about his heart problem, too hurt and tired to deny his pain and growing panic. An IV was stuck in his arm and he was given something nasty to drink while they connected all sorts of wires to his chest, monitoring him. He kept coughing, and a nurse brought him some water. Finally, he managed to ask about baby Joy.

"She took some smoke, but not nearly as much as you did." the nurse smiled at him, "She's going to be just fine." Dean gave a weak smile, closing his eyes, too tired to keep them open. "Is there someone I can call? Family perhaps?" the nurse offered. Dean shook his head slightly, letting sleep and exhaustion claim him.

He woke up twenty minutes later, the pressure in his chest gone for the most part. The IV was still attached to his arm. He forced himself up from the bed, asking for the AMA papers. Half an hour later, Dean was slouching in a cab on his way back to the motel.

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Sam could hear the sirens long before he could see anything. He smelled the smoke as he got nearer, and his heart nearly leaped out of his throat. He parked the car a little farther down the block, the fire engines blocking the way. There was quite the crowd around. Sam got out of the car. His legs felt like rubber, his heart pounded in his chest, as if trying to break free.

"What happened?" he asked one of the many people in the crowd.

"Fire." The man said, as if it wasn't painfully obvious. Sam watched as an ambulance drove away, lights flashing, siren wailing. It was so cold he could see the vapor of his breath.

"Someone got hurt?" Sam asked, feeling the bile rising in his throat.

"Yeah, seems so." The man answered him. "Looks like there's still someone in the house, though." the man added, and Sam quickly turned to look at the house, squinting, forcing his eyes to see through the blaze and smoke, but he couldn't see anything. His hand reached to his coat pocket, fondling his cell phone. He needed Dean right now, he needed his brother to tell him this wasn't the Demon, that they weren't too late yet again. He needed Dean to tell him that everything was going to be okay, that they would catch that thing and make it pay. Most of all, he needed Dean to just be there and be okay.

Sam took a few steps back from the crowd, pulling his cell out of his pocket and dialing Dean's number for the thousandth time. Please, Dean, just be okay… Just pick up the stupid phone and yell at me and tell me what a horrible brother I am for forgetting your birthday, just please, pick up… But Dean didn't. Sam had his suspicion as to why. He needed to make sure, though, and so he walked back to the crowd.

"Poor family," he said, standing next to a woman who seemed quite shocked.

"You said it," she whispered, her hands on her cheeks as she watched someone else's life go up in flame. "You think that baby's gonna live?" she asked. Sam's stomach lurched.

"The baby?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Yeah," the woman said, "I think she wasn't breathing when they got her out. I think that's what the ambulance was for. And they say someone's still inside… Dear lord, I hope it's not Truman. He's such a nice neighbor…" but Sam wasn't listening to her anymore.

The house was on fire, there was a baby involved, his brother was missing, and those damn visions kept him in this town. Sam barely made it to the side of the road before he tossed up everything he had eaten that day, and then continued to dry heave until he almost passed out.

Sam smiled, thanking the EMT for the water. Someone had found him retching his guts out and told everyone he was inside the house and that something was wrong with him. Sam protested, but the EMT still took him to the remaining ambulance, giving him something to drink. He told them again that he was never in the house. The EMT smiled.

"I know," she told him, and his brow creased. "No offence, but you don't really smell like smoke." She laughed at his reaction. "Feeling better now?" Sam smiled at her.

"Yeah, much better." He lied, "I think it was the smell." He said. She shrugged.

"No problem." She said. "You can stay here, lay down until you feel better." She offered. Sam smiled at her.

"Thanks." He said, and was about to say he was ready to leave when he remembered something. "Say, I heard the baby was hurt in the fire. You know anything about that?" Sam asked. The EMT didn't look at him, she was staring at the firemen working on the house.

"Yes, I heard it on the radio. She was a little cyanotic when the medics got to her, but she's going to be just fine. She was looking better by the time they took her and that guy to the hospital." She said offhandedly, and Sam suddenly felt like throwing up again.

"The other guy?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes. The father, I think. He didn't look so good. Took a lot of smoke before they got him out."

"Well, thanks." Sam said, and the EMT turned to look at him. "I feel better now." Sam lied, stepping out of the ambulance. He started to walk away, and then turned and asked, as casually as he could, "Oh, hey, what hospital did they go to?"

TBC

A/A/N: Just a little reminder, reviews are a really really nice thing. And if I get to 140, you're all getting a really long chapter next time... ;)