Disclaimer: Guess. Just guess.

"What do you mean?" Dean breathed. Deena had already pushed herself to her feet and was pulling him by his jacket harder than he would have thought possible from someone of her thin frame.

"I mean," she muttered "that they know we're here and we have to go." All the voices upstairs (from the sound there were four of them) had risen into almost shouts. He again couldn't catch the words because they all seemed to talk at the same time. He thought he heard the words "what the hell were you thinking?" somewhere in there, though. They all seemed to be moving in some way.

"What do you mean, he's gone?" Dean asked, not bothering to whisper. Were they too late?

"Later. Right now, we have to get the hell out of here. They know and they're pissed." She was pushing him toward the door now, and he spun around in protest.

"I'm not leaving." He hadn't come this far to turn back now. He was getting Sam back. He started toward the stairs again, but felt a hand on his shoulder.

"They'll kill you." John tried to pull him back, but Dean shrugged his hand off.

"I don't care." John pushed his way in front of Dean and he tried vainly to shove him out of the way.

"There's nothing you can do for him, Dean," he heard Deena whisper from behind him.

"I'm not going to let him die," Dean hissed at her, and she flinched as if he had yelled in her face.

The silence stretched on before he realized it. It was total silence. Even from upstairs.

A shot rang through the air. John pushed Dean to the ground just in time to miss the bullet that would have hit its mark of Dean's heart had he not intervened.

A voice filled the room, only barely distinguishable as a voice at all. It had that tone of a pissed off demon that more resembled a hiss.

"Listen to them. Leave!" The last word resounded in the air for seconds afterward with staggering force.

Still stunned from the impact of the roar, Dean barely fought as his father half-dragged him out. As they passed through the front door he could have sworn he heard a more human voice, still hostile and barely decipherable, but with a trace of amusement and mocking, whisper sarcastically "good job, Dean."

"You should have let me go," Dean muttered angrily from the backseat as the trees around him blurred from the speed of the car. John ignored all speed limits, driving as fast as possible without getting them run over a cliff. Deena, still pale, sat in the passenger seat, having been declared by John officially unable to drive at this point in time.

"You would have died," John insisted simply. "That wouldn't have done any of us good, now, would it?"

"You don't know that," Dean insisted, trying to get his breathing back to normal. An unbearable weight bore down on his chest that left him short of breath. It suddenly hit him how similar this conversation seemed to the one he had with Sam however long ago it had been when Sam had wanted to run into a burning building. He would have laughed if his lungs would have allowed it, and merely managed a few awkward gasps of air that sounded more like dry sobs. When he thought about it, they probably were. In the rear view mirror he saw John's look of concern and dropped his head into his hands.

"I just--- he just--- I can't--- we were so close." He couldn't shut up the part of his brain telling him that he had failed Sam.

"Dean, calm down. We need to create a plan."

Dean raised his head an inch to respond. "We don't have time to make a plan. You heard Missouri, he's dying!" He was gasping for air again and had to remind himself that he couldn't have a nervous breakdown. Not now. He dropped his head back down to alleviate some of the dizziness taking hold of his consciousness. He hadn't lost it like this in awhile.

"We just need to take some time, try to make a bit of a plan while Deena tries to get the signal again." John's own voice held a note of well-concealed panic.

"It's not that easy." Deena spoke for the first time since they had left the house, her voice strained and hesitant, as though she knew in advance how they would take the news. A rock settled in the pit of Dean's stomach. "I only needed the signal to get his signature so I could track him. Once I have anyone's signature, no matter what I never lose it. His just disappeared. That's never happened before except for when the person…"

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to.

John pulled up to the curb down the street from the hotel. Deena looked as if she had gained her composure; she had more of her color back and her hands weren't shaking anymore.

Dean on the other hand had just managed to keep it under the surface. He was panicking, his blood racing, adrenaline pumping. He was pretty sure if he didn't get into a fight soon and kill one of those demons he was going to have a total breakdown. Deena eyed him warily, probably aware how close he was to cracking. Rapidly she turned her head, scanning the crowd of people along the city's sidewalk as John started to walk along the row of parked cars leading to the hotel.

"Don't go that way," Deena warned. She nodded in the opposite direction. "Let's circle around the other way."

"Why?" John asked promptly.

"They followed us. Two of them."

"Where are they?"

"Predictably, they're the ones in the total darkness. Now that's cliché. Over on the bench." Dean swept his glance over to the bench eight feet away almost to his direct right. It was around midnight, so everyone was in shadow, basically. The 'couple' sat close together. Dean couldn't see either of their faces because of the two's current game of tonsil hockey.

Dean cocked an eyebrow, turning back to Deena. "Them?" He jabbed his finger over his shoulder.

"Looks can be deceiving." They had finally separated and the girl looked over the guy's shoulder at them. She had shoulder-length raven hair and if she hadn't been a demon, Dean would have admired how hot she was. He saw her smile in his direction, and her eyes turned black for about half a second before returning her attention to the guy she was sitting with.

"Or not," Dean muttered, following after Deena and John, having to push through people in the crowd to catch up with their brisk pace. He allowed a glance over his shoulder at the demons. Peering between two heads to get a better view and walking while being jostled by the crowd was proving difficult. God, you'd think it was freaking New York City. He saw they had moved from their perch on the bench to glide swiftly through the crowd. Dean noticed they seemed to have their own portable shadow-maker or something; that was the only explanation of how they could still look menacing in the light of the neon Lenny's Old-FashionedTheatre sign.The only real defining featureshe had seen werethe girl's black eyes and the back of the guy's head. He had noticed they both wore all black. It figured. Just figured.

He almost had a heart attack when he felt someone pull him into an alleyway and nearly ended up landing a punch right on his father's nose.

"Nice, Dean," John commented when he had calmed down. "Did you see them?"

"Barely. I couldn't give you a correct description of either, except she has black eyes and was hot in an evil-demon way and the he seriously needs to brush his hair or something."

"Were they following us?" John asked, barely waiting for Dean to finish his previous statement. Dean nodded.

"I think we should split up," Dean said, quickly so John wouldn't cut him off.

"No." Dean was starting to think that was his father's favorite word these days and just liked coming up with excuses to use it.

"Look, we just circle around the area a few times, try to lose them. Meet back at the hotel. It's not that dangerous."

"No. When we split up, nothing good ever happens."

"We've got a better chance. Got any brilliant ideas yourself?"

John was silent.

"You go with Deena, dad. I'll go alone. There are two of you but I have the Colt." He addressed Deena. "Did you get anything from Sam yet?" She probably would have told him if she had. He had to ask, though. Predictably, she shook her head. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he forced out the words "Alright, then" and walked off, leaving Deena and John behind.

He took a right turn while he heard John and Deena turn left on the same route.

It was empty in the small street he had turned onto. Quiet too, leading no one to believe that there was a huge crowd of people merely yards away. It didn't look wide enough for a car to pass through from what he could see. It was hard to tell judging by the total darkness. It was the middle of the night and there were no lights anywhere nearby.

At least he could tell generally where solid walls were, so he didn't worry about knocking himself out or anything as he made his way cautiously down the alleyway.

It wasn't long before he heard the footsteps. Glancing behind him, he saw a vague outline. Judging by the general build of it, he could tell it was the guy. When he moved it was harder to see him. It didn't help that the guy was wearing black. He quickened his pace and turned his gaze back to his front, where he just managed to miss hitting a wall with full force before turning tipsily to the right. He heard a small chuckle behind him, which pissed him off even more. Nobody laughed at him like that since Sam left and it made him wish even more that he could turn around and kick the crap out of this asshole. He held the Colt ready just in case.

Five minutes later the guy still matched his pace and no matter how complicated he made his turns or how quiet he made his footsteps, the rhythmic sound of boots hitting the ground met his ears. On top of that, he was pretty sure he was lost.

At one point, when he was trying to decide whether or not that was a car he had heard, the footsteps came to a stop and he could no longer see the dark shape behind him. His hand tightened around the Colt. If it was a fight this bastard wanted, it was a fight he would get. But, unexpectedly, as Dean continued walking the footsteps did not return nor did anyone attack him, though he did just barely manage to conceal the fact he had a gun as he stepped around a corner and saw a person standing there.

Still cautious, he walked along the main road, where the crowds were finally dispersing. Stopping to check his location a few times, he managed to find his way to the hotel. Searching his surroundings one last time, he went to their room on the first floor. Not many people were staying at the hotel and the hall was absolutely deserted.

Deena and John hadn't shown up yet, and Dean felt the first twinge of nerves.

Dean immediately walked into the bathroom, turned on the tap and splashed his face with water. If anything happened to Deena or John it would be his fault, like so many other things in his screwed up life.

Too tired to stand anymore, he sunk to the ground, leaning against the wall for support and dropping his head into his arms. He looked pathetic, but he just didn't care. He was alone, so he felt no need to keep up appearances any longer. He had been trying to conceal his emotions, his panic, from everyone. He thought he had done a pretty good job up until this point.

Everything was pressing in around him. He felt like he was being smothered.

They didn't have time for sitting around doing nothing. Not at this point. Deena had lost the signal. That had only happened when someone had died. He just couldn't picture Sam dead, he couldn't. When he did, all rational thought escaped him.

For the second time that night, he found himself short of breath. He had an uncontrollable lump in his throat, his eyes were burning, and he just wanted to give up.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't fall apart like this, for Sam's sake. He needed to be logical, he needed to be reasonable. One part of his brain told him to haul his ass off the ground and do something, but all the other half asked for him to do was sit here and fall apart like a child.

He had already started down the second road and he was finding it hard to pull himself back. He slowly quieted his dry sobs, took a deep breath, splashed some more cold water on his face, and headed back into the main room.

Automatically, his eyes traveled to the protective circle on the ceiling. It was already delicate because they would obviously raise eyebrows using something more permanent like marker, so they'd had to settle for a grease pencil. It had taken forever, but it left room for mistakes. Part of the main circle had been smudged off. Dean immediately grabbed the pencil off the bedside table and stepped up to correct it. Keeping his hands busy usually helped when he was going through a problem.

He heard a knock from outside the window on the pane, but when he checked he reassured himself by seeing the rather large branch knocking on it.

As he connected the two bits of line, it hit him like a train, knocking all air out of his lungs. Why had this only come to him now? He almost dropped the grease pencil out of shock. He tried to tell himself he was wrong, he couldn't be right.

It was like he was getting a fast forward of all the key points the evening had offered. The guy in the shadows. The girl. He hadn't seen either of their faces, but he remembered certain moments. The girl had to crane her neck to see over the guy's shoulder. Because the guy had been freakishly tall. He'd had untidy brown hair. Deena lost the signal before the other demons started yelling at Meg for doing something. The voice that had hissed at him at the door.

"Hey, Dean." He didn't turn around. He knew what he'd see when he did. Bracing himself, he climbed down from the bed.

"Miss me?"

Author's Note: I guess I left it at a bit of a cliffhanger there. Please review! Ilove to get people's feedback. I have most of the next two chapters done and I'm working out the outline for the next part. (which I only have a general idea of, I'll admit) In terms of the show, if chapter two was the season premiere, this would be around the second or third episode. Again, please review!