OK. I should be doing Physics homework, but instead I'm updating. Hope you enjoy this more than I'm currently enjoying my Physics grade LOL!
"Three, four, better lock your door."

"That thing just doesn't give up!" Jo yelled as she nearly tripped for the tenth time since leaving Elm Street. Dean's corpse had been chasing the hunters through the small town that they had found themselves in, chanting the disturbing rhyme as he went, never running, but somehow seeming to keep up with them as they rushed past darkened homes and shops.

"Five, six, grab your crucifix…"

Sam reached behind him and grabbed Jo's arm, yanking her roughly down a side alley, sloshing through puddles of what he hoped was water. The buildings on either side of them were tall, probably shops or apartments, and had fire escapes leading up to windows.

Without pausing to consider the fact that this nightmare version of his brother might be able to operate a ladder, Sam pushed Jo up, following close behind her. She got to the landing and attempted to open the window, but it wouldn't give.

"I can't open it," she hissed frantically as Sam reached the landing behind her. They glanced back down to see their pursuer wrapping clammy hands around the bottom rungs on the ladder.

Sam practically ripped off his hoodie as Dean started climbing the ladder. He wrapped the jacket around his hand and hit the window, shattering it. He brushed broken glass from the frame and helped push Jo through.

"Seven, eight, better stay up late."

He glanced back once at the thing Freddy Krueger had caused his brother to become before following Jo. They stood together in a small, cramped room with a door standing opposite the window. Slowly, Jo approached it, Sam following close behind.

"Open it," he urged.

The blonde did as she was told, wrapping a pale hand around the brass doorknob and turning it, pushing the door open, and staring out into a bare hallway. Sam looked out past her, searching for a way out as he heard the clanging of old boots against the metal ladder.

Farther down the hall, there was a series of doors, set up Scooby-Doo style, one across from another. Without thinking, Sam grabbed his counterpart's hand and pulled her down the hall and through one of the doors. He glanced quickly over the darkened room, and, finding nothing that could possibly pose a threat, slammed the door and bolted it shut.

"What are we gonna do?" Jo moaned, sinking to the floor and leaning her back against the door, "I didn't sign up for this."

"We're not gonna panic," Sam whispered, holding out a hand to help her up off the ground, "and we're not gonna rest until Freddy's dead. He's gonna pay for what he did to your mom and Dean."

Sighing, she held out her hand and let herself get dragged back to her feet. "What if he gets us before we get him?"

"He won't," Sam reasoned, trying on a strained grin, "I'm the nice guy and you're the virgin, remember?"

"I'm not a virgin," she hissed.

"Token blonde, then," Sam shrugged, marveling at the girl's honesty as footsteps sounded in the hall outside the room.

"He found us," she whispered frantically, stepping closer to Sam until she was practically pressed against him. The flimsy door began to rattle in its frame as strong fists, fists that had knocked out more than one bully for little brother in their time, pounded against the wood.

Sam and Jo stepped back, melting into the shadows of the room, trying to hide from something that couldn't see them, something that should have been dead. He could feel her trembling and knew in that instant that she hadn't done much hunting in her absence. That, or she just wasn't cut out for the job.

She looked up at him with wide eyes as he wrapped strong arms around her, holding her close, promising without words to keep her safe from the horror that was bound to come breaking through the door at any second.

And then the pounding stopped. The building fell silent, save the sound of the hunters' harried breathing. They looked at each other, uncertain, and snuck toward the door, careful to step lightly, to avoid giving away signs of their presence.

Sam disengaged his arms and shot Jo a glance that she understood clearly. She pulled her machete from her side, wondering if she could really cut off Dean Winchester's head if it came to that. No amount of pain John had caused her family could possibly justify the action.

She didn't have much time to think, though, as Sam pulled open the door and stepped aside in one fluid motion, allowing her a clean shot at the blood-drenched corpse that stood in the doorway.

"Nine, ten," Dean hissed through a mouthful of blood, "never sleep again!" He smirked, such a familiar expression on a face that would have been handsome, if not for the rivers of blood and missing chunk of skull, and disintegrated, turning to dust before their eyes.

Sam and Jo glanced at each other as the form of the older hunter fell at their feet in a neat little pile of ash. They barely had time to notice the figure that had been standing behind him before it attacked.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean leaned back on the old couch, shifting uncomfortably as the still-damp cushions leaked blood onto his jeans. He propped his feet u on a tottering pile of books, never once taking his eyes from the still forms of his brother and Jo, as Ellen joined him.

"All that blood," the older woman whispered, grimacing as she settled back and the new stitches in her stomach pulled tight.

"But no cuts, no scrapes, no nothing," Dean pointed out, barely stifling a yawn and stretching his arms over the top of the couch. He let himself relax for a brief moment, sinking farther into the battered cushions, his head lolling back, hands falling limp, fingers barely brushing Ellen's shoulder. He straightened up immediately, his hands flying to his lap as if he was a five-year-old who had been caught trying to sneak a cookie before dinner.

"You know," Ellen said softly, noticing his sudden change in posture, "it's a big enough couch, and it's gonna be a long night. You might as well get comfortable."

"I'm fine," he insisted, "really."

"All right," she shrugged, leaning back with a groan and setting her feet up on the pile of books next to his, "suit yourself."

"I'm suited."

"Good."

"Good."

"How long?"

He turned to look at her, fixing her with a confused gaze. "How long?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "how long?"

"It doesn't matter," he said as he realized what she was talking about, "I told you. Nothing matters anymore, not as long as Sammy's safe. And he is. And I'm almost outta time."

"Unless Sam comes through."

"He won't. He can't. I'm not gonna let him."

"Because he'll die?"

The younger man's surprise was apparent in his face. "How'd you-?"

"Everyone has their secrets, including Sam."

"He's been going behind my back? Even after I told him… Why?"

"Contrary to your own belief," she sighed, "you are important to some people. We will miss you."

Dean blinked, apparently shocked. "You mean, you…?" He never got a chance to finish his question as she turned abruptly away to look back at the sleeping hunters. A flash of red that didn't belong caught his eye and Dean followed her gaze.

He was on the floor before he'd even realized he'd left the couch, the pile of books his feet had been resting on mere seconds before had toppled, spilling ancient texts across the hardwood. He knelt at his brother's side, reaching out a careful hand toward the younger man, unsure of what to do as tiny beads of blood dripped onto the floor from the four shallow gashes on Sam's face.