Why did they have to take his knife? Dean scowled as he lugged the panicking psychiatrist down the corridor. A ten year old with tractor pyjamas and jet black eyes was setting fire to the nurses' station. A comfortable-looking middle-aged nurse was praying in the corner. Oh, that'll work, thought Dean. To stop, or not to stop? On one hand, there was no way he could save everyone without weapons, and from the sounds of Sammy's visions, it was only going to get worse. On the other hand, a huge fire would severely damage the chances of anyone surviving. He stopped, putting down Sarah, not very gently. "Hey, you!" he shouted.

The demon turned. "Dean."

"Why are you doing this?" Dean asked it, furiously motioning for the praying nurse to extinguish the flames. He pointed to the fire extinguisher and mimed using it, while he kept the demon talking.

"Why here? Why now?"

"You know why, Dean. Little Sammy's very important to us. You're not, though. We just want to kill you. Painfully. You've caused us a lot of trouble."

"You aren't taking Sam."

"Really, Dean? He's weak. He's unarmed. He's separated from his heroic older brother, who is, if you hadn't noticed, also unarmed. There is no escape."

Dean stepped forward, ready to fight the thing with his bare hands. There was a thud, and the boy collapsed.

"Alright there, dear?" The nurse smiled at him, "No-one sets my station on fire." She wiped the smear of blood from the fire extinguisher, and turned to put out the flames. The black smoke poured out of the boy, and under a door.

"Thanks," Dean nodded at her. He picked up the psychiatrist and continued down the corridor.

It was bedlam on the next floor down. Alarms were ringing, and a loud voice was telling people over the intercom to calmly follow earthquake procedure, and all non-patients were to gather in the stairwells, the most structurally sound part of the building. No-one seemed to be listening, though. People were screaming, and running around. Small fires were springing up every few metres. Debris from collapsed ceilings blocked doorways. And all of the nurses, calmly giving directions, had solid, coal black eyes.

There was nothing Dean could do. Not till he saved Sam, and found some weapons. But still, he couldn't just leave them all there. A little girl, she couldn't have been more than two, was crying for her mother. And there was her mother, lying under a large piece of ceiling, and very obviously dead. Crap. Dean scooped the girl up in his other arm, and found an unused crutch lying on the ground to give to Sarah. He didn't like to think where the owner was.

"Follow me, people," he yelled, and herded as many people as he could into the stairwell.

"Where are we going?" someone asked.

"To the cafeteria," Dean replied, "It will be safest for you there."

XXXXXXXX

Sam pushed open the door to the cafeteria. "Everyone in," he said, pushing Chase and Wilson through.

Fire was blazing. It rushed from the stoves in the kitchen, out along the counters. The agonised shrieks of a woman burning alive ripped through the air. She was trapped behind the counter, and it was too late for help; they watched as she fell to the ground and the screaming stopped. Panicked diners were hiding under tables and stampeding for the exits. One man shoulder-charged the plate-glass window. Bursting through, he fell in a shower of glass to the ground far below. And everywhere, everywhere, clouds of black smoke billowed.

Salt, they needed salt. Sam glanced at the doors to the kitchen. Crap. The flames were chest-high across the doorway. There was no way they were getting in that way. OK, plan B. He looked around. Fridge. Tables. Chairs. Water cooler. Fridge. Wait, water cooler... "Does anyone have a rosary?" He asked hopefully.

"Actually..." said Chase, pulling a string of beads from his pocket.

"You have a rosary? I thought god smote killers," House commented, unhelpfully.

"Do you know how to bless water?" Sam interrupted.

"Dude. I went to seminary school."

XXXXXXX

Chase sat helped Wilson across the crowded room to the water cooler, and sat him against the wall. He unscrewed the lid of the cooler, and dangled the rosary in the water, chanting the ceremonial Latin that he had thought was such a waste of time at seminary school. He repeated the prayer in English, just in case he'd got it wrong, and pulled the beads out. The water did not look any different. He took a cup from the dispenser and filled it.

A teenage girl approached, panicking and begging or help. But as she neared Chase, her eyes glowed black. He emptied his cup all over her face, and she flinched, her skin smoking. She glared at him, and moved away. Chase filled up another two cups, and dragged Wilson over to fill up more, telling him to give the cups of holy water to people with normal eyes, and splash it on people with black eyes. Wilson smiled agreeably, and began to fill cups.

Chase opened the fridge, propping the door with a chair. He pulled out the first bottle of water, and dipped in the rosary, beginning the chant: "Pater noster, qui es in caelis... holy shit!"

XXXXX