Well folks...this fudging chapter nearly killed me. Argh. So much for having it posted for y'all last Thursday like I had hoped. I really don't have a good excuse other than to let Chuck Shurley speak for me when he says "Writing is hard." Yes, Chuck, it really is. I had a nearly complete draft, decided I hated almost all of it and started again. I have all the scenes in my head, but dang if it isn't hard to get them in print sometimes! :)

So begging your forgiveness for the delay... here is chapter 10~~~~~

3:40 AM Christmas Day
Pender home

Arla hadn't expected them to be easy to convince. So while they'd listened to her offer them a house with warm beds, no mold on the walls, and home cooking, she'd already begun planning her secondary assault; she figured a long list of potential complications of untreated pneumonia like bacteremia and lung abscesses would have done the trick. But she hadn't even needed to pull out the big guns. Because Dean had listened silently until she'd finished, then glanced at Sam. They'd exchanged some sort of silent communication that ended with Sam putting his head back down on his arms with a heavy sigh and Dean giving her a weary nod. She'd felt almost as surprised by his easy capitulation as she had when the girl in the motel had gone up in smoke.

It had been almost an hour before they'd finally been able to leave the hospital. She'd even managed to get both of the boys to drink some water and eat a couple crackers while they waited for the doctor's orders. Arla still wasn't sure who had been antsier at the long delay; Tommy or Dean. Because she'd forbidden Tommy from asking any of the questions he was dying to ask and, once he'd accepted her offer, Dean had been chomping at the bit to leave. Sam had been the only one not making a nuisance of himself.

Pulling into the garage after the long drive from the hospital, Arla hoped Tommy hadn't been interrogating them while he drove. She turned off the engine and got out of the SUV just as Tommy parked the big Chevy into the driveway. Quickly unlocking the side door and flipping on the hall lights inside the house, Arla turned around and headed back toward the Impala.

Tommy had the back door open and was helping Sam get to his feet. Arla watched as the kid reached out a fumbling hand for the roof of the car to hold himself steady, eyes squeezed closed. Catching her eye, Tommy motioned to the other door as he pulled Sam's arm over his shoulder. Arla nodded, watching as they began their slow trek toward the house. She reached the other door just as Dean was trying to push it open. Tugging it the rest of the way, Arla was unpleasantly surprised when he held out the basin she'd sent along with them. She'd hoped it wouldn't be necessary, but apparently someone had put it to good use along the way.

Grabbing it carefully, she set it on the trunk of the car, then turned back as Dean pushed himself to his feet. Taking in his pale face and grimace as he straightened, she pointed at the basin and asked, "You?"

"Nope." Dean shook his head, shrugging, "He was fine till your driveway."

"Ah." Arla sighed.

She hadn't even thought about that. The driveway was curved, rutted and uneven, more of a dirt path than anything else. Certainly not good for a queasy stomach. Dean slammed the door and turned away from her, looking toward the house. Arla stepped closer and reached out to provide some support, only to be stopped by Dean's raised hand. He shot her a warning glance and she paused.

"I'm fine." He said, even as he stumbled and put a hand down against the hood of the car. Casting her a sheepish glance, he added, "Mostly."

"Mmhmm." Arla rolled her eyes. "Good thing I'm married and know how to handle stubborn men." She ignored the annoyance on his face and grabbed his arm. She said, "Your bruised ego will survive. No sexy ladies around for you to impress, hot stuff. I'm taken. So you can just stop trying to amaze me with how tough you are because you're not fooling anyone."

Dean's eyes widened and Arla almost laughed at his shocked expression. She guided him toward the door, feeling him finally relax a little under her grasp. He was working hard to suck in oxygen given the exertion of walking and didn't seem to be able to catch enough of a breath to sass her like she knew he wanted to. He just lowered his head and kept his free hand against the wall as they walked. They had only made it just inside the hall when he paused forward motion to hunch over coughing.

Cringing at the harsh coughs, Arla eased his arm over her shoulder and wrapped her arm around his back. As soon as she had done so, he leaned heavily against her and she knew exactly how beat he was. Thankful he was a little bit shorter than his giant of a brother, Arla held onto him until he'd caught his breath and was able to start moving forward again. It was slow going and she couldn't wait to get him off his feet and give him another neb treatment.

Tommy came around the corner a moment later. He asked, "You ok?"

Arla nodded and said, "We'll make it. Sam?"

"In bed." Tommy smiled, meeting Dean's concerned eyes. He said, "He was asleep before his head hit the pillow."

Dean blew out a relieved breath, then let his head drop again. Arla said, "Good. One down, one to go. Can you go grab the medications and the neb machine?"

"On it." Tommy nodded, hurrying past them.

"Almost there," Arla encouraged, listening to the wheezing breaths Dean was taking. "Just around that corner. Nice comfy bed. Sounding pretty good right about now, I bet."

Dean nodded but didn't even try to speak. Squeezing his arm, Arla guided him toward the guestroom. It was hard to believe it had been almost ten years since the girls had lived at home. Time had a way of flying by too quickly. She pointed Dean to the correct door and wondered if his mother missed him as much as she missed the twins. Entering their old room, Arla was grateful that Tommy had finally made her repaint and redecorate it to be a lot less girly. Somehow she didn't think the brothers would have appreciated the pink walls and adorable teddy bear curtains the girls had sewn as fourth-graders.

She saw Sam curled up on his side, expression still tense and pained even in sleep, and guided Dean toward the nearer bed. Finally reaching it, he sat down heavily, sucking in shallow breaths while blinking slowly and staring at his brother. Arla made a pile of pillows at the head of the bed as Dean yanked his boots off. It didn't take any coaxing to get him under the covers, resting against the pillows.

Tommy walked into the room and quickly set the nebulizer machine and a plastic bag on the bedside table. He said, "I'm going to go grab some water and a box of tissues. Medicine's there. Anything else?"

"Thanks." Arla acknowledged, setting up the breathing treatment as Dean coughed into his sleeve. "Probably better bring the basin back in here, hon. Just in case."

"Yes, Doctor Pender." Tommy said, winking at Dean. "She always gives me the dirty work."

Arla lowered the mask over Dean's face, then smacked Tommy on the rear as he turned to leave. She rolled her eyes and said, "I told him not to retire. He could have been out chasing criminals instead of helping me."

Dean gave her a weak smile, but immediately turned back to check on his brother. Arla followed his gaze, then said, "Our girls are close like you two are. Sara and Amy. They're a bit older than you, both married and busy raising my grandbabies. Off on opposite sides of the country. But still as close as ever."

Looking back, she wasn't surprised to see Dean's eyes were closed. She smiled and tucked the blanket around him. While she waited for the neb treatment to finish, Arla did a quick check of his pulse and respiratory rate. Both were elevated; not exactly a surprise. At least he didn't feel fevered. She checked on Sam and found that his vital signs were within the normal range and his fever seemed to have broken as well.

She sat silently on the edge of Dean's bed until the treatment was over. He didn't even stir as she gently removed the mask and set it aside. Turning off the light, she tiptoed out of the room. Tommy met her in the hallway with his arms laden. She took the basin from him as he set the boy's backpacks and duffle bags inside the room. Rinsing out the basin in the adjoining bathroom, Arla left the bathroom light on and set the basin on the floor between the beds.

"Anything else?" Tommy asked from the doorway.

Arla put her hands on her hips, taking a last glance around the room, trying to make sure she had all the bases covered. She looked back at Tommy and whispered, "Get the chicken out of the freezer."

"What?"

"They're going to need something to eat later. The chicken needs to thaw so I can make soup." She reached for one of the packs on the floor and said, "I'm going to start their laundry and then we're getting some sleep while we can."

Tommy yawned and said, "Good. Because I know we used to pull some wild all-nighters, my dear, but I'm an old man now."

Giving him a quick kiss, Arla said, "Young at heart, Tommy. Always young at heart."

"Doesn't help me keep my eyes open after being awake for, what? Twenty hours now?"

"Just get the chicken then go to bed." Arla pushed him gently down the hall. She yawned and whispered, "I'm right behind you."

3:40 AM Christmas Day
Somewhere near the motel

She had no idea how long the creature had been torturing her, but it seemed like an eternity. Raquel had given up trying to ask questions, given up pleading for him to stop. It took far less effort to simply let him do whatever he wanted. Finally, though, the thing paused. It shook its head and stepped back.

Licking its lips, the thing said, "Time for a snack. Don't go anywhere."

Raquel watched in disbelief as it turned and took off running into the darkness. Deciding not to waste a single second, she immediately got to work. Looking up wasn't easy given the way her hands were bound, especially as stretched out as she was, but twisting painfully, she managed to visualize where the iron chain was bound to the tree. And she was shocked to realize that the chain wasn't attached to an iron hook but simply to the protruding stump of a broken off branch. The stump was thick so she wasn't going to be able to yank it off the tree. But at least it wasn't an iron hook. If she worked hard enough, there was a chance that she would be able to get the chain up and over the stump.

Huffing out a frustrated breath after tugging at the chain for a few minutes, Raquel lowered her head and took a moment to gather her thoughts. Even if she were able to get the chain down from the tree, what was she going to do after that? There was nowhere to run. For 365 days she'd roamed the motel property, the woodsy area around it, down to the highway and back again. Never had she been able to take one step further. So she couldn't exactly flag down another traveler and ask for a ride. She wouldn't get very far.

So Raquel stopped fighting. She stared down at the dirt and watched as her silent tear drops splattered into the dirt. It made her think of the rain. The rain of that day. Christmas Day.

365 days ago…

Christmas Day, 2004

An abandoned motel, secluded and off the main highway, wasn't the last place in the world that Raquel Alonzo would have wished to find herself on Christmas Day, but it was certainly close. Sitting in the passenger seat of the shabby Geo Metro, Raquel wrapped her arms around herself; each drop of rain doing its part to sing along with the sad serenade of her life. Trembling less from the cold and more from the never-ending ache in the deepest part of her heart, she stared straight ahead and waited.

The car was so small that she could feel the tension vibrating off of Peter from where he sat in the driver's seat. It was almost as if the little Geo's engine were still running; the jumping of Peter's right leg had the entire car shivering. The rain pattered, she trembled and Peter thrummed with worry, or anger; she was never sure which anymore.

And they sat.

Raquel didn't move, but let her eyes take in the sight of the run-down motel. It might have been a cute place once, but now it just looked grey and depressing. So maybe this is the perfect place for us after all. She blinked back the wetness in her eyes and brought her gaze back within the car. Not that inside the car was less depressing. Because inside the car was her and her husband and three years of pain, betrayal, heartache and a finger that used to have a diamond on it.

With her thumb, she scratched at the underside of her finger, feeling the phantom sensation of her wedding ring. It was a silly thing to regret given the long list of things she regretted, but she did regret throwing it across the yard the day Peter had come home and told her he'd lost his job. Again.

It had been raining that day, too, Raquel shook her head at the thought. Maybe the rain had started the day he'd asked her to marry him. Sometimes it seemed like it had been raining for all three years of their troubled marriage.

She took a deep breath and said, "I'm going inside."

Peter didn't answer, didn't move. So she just grabbed her backpack and got out of the car. The door to the nearest motel room was wide open and she walked toward it, feeling the music of the rain dull as it hit her hair and shoulders. Her tears joined in with the song as she crossed the threshold of the motel room. Standing there, just inside the door, Raquel didn't even see the room; didn't smell the mold, didn't see the stains on the carpet, didn't see the graffiti on the walls.

All she saw was a black space with nothing but the pain and emptiness of her life painted across it. Raquel heard the car door slam and a moment later felt a hand on her shoulder. She didn't shrug it off and Peter took another step closer. His left hand ran up and down her left arm as he pressed up behind her; his right arm wrapping around her waist. He hadn't embraced her like this in months. Her backpack fell from her hand as she relaxed against him, turning her face toward his, tears soaking his collar.

Peter turned her around and drew her into his arms. Gently, he tilted her face up and she was surprised to see a gentle smile on his haggard face. She couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled.

He said softly, "I love you, Raquel. You know that, right?"

She nodded slowly, tears rolling down her cheeks. He kissed her forehead, then pulled her closer. Head resting against his chest as he stroked her hair, Raquel whispered, "How did this happen?"

"Hey, hey," Peter shook his head, his breath warm against the top of her head, "we're done with that question. Remember? We know how it happened." His voice was bitter, but gentle. "We can type it up on a freaking spreadsheet and make a powerpoint of how it happened."

Peter's voice broke and, had he not been holding her up, Raquel would have gone to her knees. She felt his chest heaving as his arms tightened around her. He whispered, "None of that matters now, Raquel. New start. We promised. We decided. Together. We're going to do this together. Please, baby… Please. I can't do this without you."

Raquel couldn't speak, couldn't answer him. He guided her to the edge of the bed and she sat down heavily, pressing her hands to her eyes. Peter knelt on the carpet in front of her and tugged her hands away. She forced herself to meet his eyes and saw the same agony reflected on his tear streaked face. He was right, of course, they'd talked it to death and beyond. Every angle, every what could have been and what if, every paralyzing memory of what had happened. What she had done. All that talking. All that yelling. All the blame, the anger, the immeasurable sorrow had done nothing except rip them apart.

She reached for his hand and squeezed it. A flicker of hope lit his eyes. He fumbled in his pockets and pulled something out. It was huge and blurry and beautiful through her tears and Raquel couldn't even begin to comprehend what she was seeing. Pressing her free hand against her mouth, she shook her head. Peter smiled through his own tears, holding the ring up.

"It took me three days to find this." He said, brushing her hair over her ears. Glancing at the ring, then back at Raquel, Peter added, "If I give this back, will you promise not to throw it across the desert?"

Raquel burst out laughing despite the tears. Peter grinned and she let him slide it back where it belonged. He kissed her hand then said, "Raquel, I can't do this without you. We've tried that. "

"I know." They'd tried just about everything in fact.

"New start." Peter said firmly. "That's what we decided. And that's all that matters. A new start. Right here, this moment, on this rainy Christmas day. I don't care what happens next. You know that? I don't care what happened last week, last year. And I don't care what happens next. Because I love you, Raquel. Always have, always will. Nothing could ever change that."

Raquel stared at him. He'd said it all before. Several times actually, but somehow she'd never believed it until right at that moment. Peter had searched for three days to find her ring. He was taking her to a new start, far from the pain and memories of their past. She nodded slowly, squeezing his arm.

He smiled and cupped her cheek with his hand. Peter said, "Whatever happens next, whatever we face, we'll get through; you'll get through. You just have to forgive yourself. Because I already have."

That had been the last thing Peter had ever said to her. As soon as he'd said those words, promising her a future and forgiveness for what she'd done, a monster had come up behind him and dragged Peter into the parking lot. Fighting with everything she had, Raquel had tried to save Peter, but the monster she would later learn was named Gethen had thrown her across the parking lot. Her head had cracked against the pavement and the last thing she'd seen as the blackness had swallowed her had been Gethen eating Peter.

Raquel shook her head, pushing those dark memories away. Her thoughts returned to her predicament and the creature. The creature had said time for a snack and suddenly she knew without a doubt that it hadn't meant a PB&J. That thing, that monster, was out there getting ready to eat some poor person. Some innocent, unsuspecting person just like Peter. And Raquel couldn't let someone else die that way. So she jumped, as well as she could given her uncomfortable position, and tried to get that chain off of the stump. It took ten attempts before she got it free.

Looking in the direction the monster had disappeared, Raquel ran into the darkness.

5 AM, Christmas Day
Pender home

It wasn't always a nightmare that woke him up; sometimes the good dreams were just as bad. Because there was always that inkling of something not right nagging at him until he woke up with his arms as empty as his heart. This time, it wasn't just the pain of Jessica's death that overwhelmed him. Sam pressed his hands to his head and wondered if it were actually possible for someone's head to explode. Dean would say it was just an urban legend, but Dean's brain wasn't currently trying to press out through his ears, so how would he know anyway? Sam had to force himself to take a shallow breath now and then because the act of breathing itself only increased the pain tenfold.

As bad as that was, far more alarming was the realization that he had no idea what had happened or where he was. He was in a bed, that much he could figure out despite the thundering in his skull. Other than that, he had no clue. Sam's first instinct was to call out for his brother, but beyond the awful headache, he was so nauseated that opening his mouth seemed a very bad idea. So he just pressed his face against the pillow and prayed for the end to come soon.

Although his eyes were squeezed shut, he could tell a light had been turned on nearby and he hoped it was the light at the end of the tunnel because anything else was going to kill him. Sam heard movement and tensed. He really needed to get his eyes open because whatever it was could be a threat. He hoped it was just Dean. Footsteps approached and someone, not Dean, spoke his name extremely softly and he managed to get his eyes open. The room was dark, dimly lit from somewhere in the distance. A shape, not Dean, moved into his line of sight and he blinked, trying to figure out of there were really two women standing in front of him.

"Sam?" The voice repeated, still soft as falling snow. The women, woman, knelt in front of him. "What's wrong? Are you feeling sick again?"

Yeah, that too, he moaned, pressing his eyes closed again. He felt a hand on his wrist and jerked away. Looking back at the woman, he asked, "Who are you?"

Whoever she was, she looked even more concerned now. She said, "I'm Arla Pender." The way she said it made Sam suspect she thought he should know who she was. But he had no clue. Her worried voice went on, "Can you remember where you are?"

Frowning, Sam wondered why that was such a complicated question. It shouldn't have been hard. Thinking for a few seconds, he remembered a plane. A demon. So Pennsylvania? No, that didn't sound right. They'd gone south after that case. Poltergeists. He finally whispered, "Arizona."

The woman seemed relieved. She nodded and said, "That's right. Do you remember the hospital?"

Hospital? Um…no. Sam wished she'd go away.

"Sam?"

"No."

"Do you remember the motel?"

Why couldn't she leave him alone? It hurt too much to think. He closed his eyes again and asked, "Where's Dean?"

"He's sleeping right over there." Sam forced himself to look and confirm that his brother was where she said he was, then looked back at the doctor when she asked, "Sam, is your head hurting?"

"Yes." Please will you just shoot me or something…

The woman gently touched his shoulder and said, "I don't think you're up to taking any Tylenol right now, but I'm going to give you another dose of the medication they gave you in the ER for the nausea. Once we get the nausea under control, we can do something about the headache."

Sam heard her words but none of them were making any sense, so he just closed his eyes and listened as she moved around. After a few seconds, she was back at his side and saying something about putting the tablet of medication under his tongue. He thought that was a very bad idea but she insisted and he just hoped she was ready for him to throw up all over her. But he didn't throw up and very gradually, he felt some of the nausea disappear.

Although the pain wasn't diminishing in any way, some of the fog seemed to be lifting and he started trying to piece together disjointed memories. He still had nothing but a blank spot when it came to being at a hospital, or how he'd gotten…wherever he was now. But at least he finally remembered the doctor and her husband finding them at the motel.

For a few moments, he zoned out, then he heard the doctor speaking softly and tried to pay attention, "…try to relax. It'll be a bit cold, but I think this will help."

A cool cloth was pressed to the back of his neck and he almost cried in relief. It didn't eliminate the misery, but it was a step in the right direction. Exhausted, he slowly felt his tense muscles begin to relax as a gentle hand massaged his shoulders. It didn't seem possible, but eventually some of the pain began to ebb and he could feel the pull of sleep.

Sam fell asleep with Jessica's name on his lips.

9:30 AM, Christmas Day
Pender home

A sudden coughing spell woke Dean from a deep, comfortable slumber. When he finally stopped coughing, he lay back against the pillows feeling as if there were a weight over him. Comfortable and warm, he almost let the inviting warmth pull him back under, but something was nagging at the back of his mind and it wouldn't let him rest. It took several half-hearted attempts to get his eyes open. Most of him just wanted to stay asleep because when he'd been asleep, he hadn't felt the stabbing pain in his chest every time he took a breath, or the raw burning in his throat.

But there was a small part of him that needed to take stock of his situation and was desperately craving a drink of water. So he forced his sticky eyes open. Staring at the white ceiling of the unfamiliar room, Dean eventually remembered where he was and what had happened. The curtains were drawn, but the room was still dimly lit by the daylight outside. Daylight? He squeezed his eyes closed again for a moment, rubbing his chest. It had been pitch dark when they'd arrived at the Pender's house. How long had he been asleep?

Forcing his eyes open again, he looked to his right. Sam was sleeping the sleep of the dead and looked more relaxed and at peace than Dean could remember seeing him…well ever since Jessica's death. On his back, mouth half opened and breathing deeply, he looked like he could sleep for a year. Given how little sleep he'd been getting recently, Dean figured he was due for a long winter's nap.

Rubbing his eyes with fumbling fingers, Dean lifted his hand and had to blink a few times to bring the face of his watch into focus. 9:30 AM? They'd slept almost six hours? It didn't even seem possible. Granted, six hours wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, but after the misery of the past twenty-four hours or so, six hours felt like an eternity.

Taking a careful breath, Dean grimaced at the pressure in his chest and considered trying to go back to sleep, but then he remembered the girl at the motel. She'd been terrified and trying to warn them. Whatever had burned her bones had not done so out of the goodness of their heart. Something was out there and there wasn't anyone else who could deal with it. With a sigh, Dean summoned his strength and forced himself to sit up a little higher against the pillows. He was lightheaded and it felt like his entire body weighed a thousand pounds. Gathering his strength and catching his breath, Dean pushed aside the warm covers and slid his legs over the edge of the bed.

It took a few minutes of sitting there, hands gripping the edge of the bed, head lowered, before he could catch his breath again after another coughing spell. He fumbled for the box of tissues on the nightstand. Spitting a mouthful of nasty rust colored sputum into the tissue, Dean groaned again and tossed it into the trashcan. He hadn't felt sick to his stomach until right then. Swallowing hard, he forced his queasy stomach back into submission. So much for that drink of water…

Once he was breathing a little easier, and some of the lightheadedness had worn off, Dean pushed himself to his feet; one hand against the wall for balance as he took a slow step forward. He leaned down and brushed his fingers across Sam's forehead, relieved to not feel the heat of fever anymore. Sam didn't stir under his touch and Dean gently pulled the quilt up higher over his shoulders.

Straightening up, Dean glanced around the room. On the wall he saw some pictures of little girls in matching party dresses and vaguely remembered Arla saying something about having daughters. The door was open to the hallway and he noticed their gear stacked next to the door. On top of a little desk just inside the door, he was surprised to see a couple of neat piles of folded clothes. Raising an eyebrow, he carefully made his way across the room and grabbed his clothes. His clean clothes.

"Arla Pender, you are a saint." He muttered, heading for the bathroom. Shower first and then a plan. Because it was past time he figured out what was lurking in the woods behind that motel. Shaking his head, Dean snorted, "We would pick the haunted motel. Of course we would…"

Hope this was an ok chapter after a long wait and that you can all forgive me for taking so long! :) Cheers!