A routine of sorts settled on the house after that. A nurse named Rita checked on Sara regularly. She removed her stitches, opting instead for butterfly sutures. She needlessly confirmed Sara's pregnancy, made sure she had prenatal vitamins, and instructed the men on how to make sure Sara got the rest and nutrition she needed.

Sara and Bobby slowly filled out Bobby's pantry. Sara made a list of things she needed and Bobby dutifully filled it. Sara tried to give him her ATM card once, but he refused it. She thought that was odd, until she noticed a story on the computer. She found an item out of Chicago that mentioned a fire in the Winthrop building. It had taken out six units, one of them hers. Sam explained to her that they had known, but were waiting for the right time to tell her. Dean and Sam figured that Crowley or demons had done it. Investigators had determined it to be an electrical fire. Sam explained that for now, she was off the grid. It would be better if she remained that way for now. He even asked her not to contact anyone on her cell phone, reminding her of the danger she would put them in, even with a phone call. Sara had never felt so lost or turned upside down.

She and Dean avoided each other for the most part. He asked if she was feeling OK every time he saw her, but other than that he didn't try to engage her in conversation. Sara had tried to talk with him when he had come back inside that day, but he had bushed her off and she hadn't tried again.

Sam did her best to try stave off any boredom that set in. He would tell her stories of their life as hunters, patiently answering Sara's prying questions for hours. Sam seemed to know that there was a rift between her and Dean, he was attempting to bridge it- unsuccessfully.

Sam and Dean kept up their punishing hunting schedule. Dean never told her where or when, Sam did that for her. Dean would say goodbye, admonish her to be careful and then be gone. Sam would hug her gently, try to convince her that all would be well and take off after his brother. Then she would be alone with Bobby. Bobby was a busy man: he ran the scrapyard, looked after cover stories for several hunters (this activity consisted of having six phone lines each labeled with a government agency; if one of the phones would ring, Bobby would pick up as an operative of that agency. It was disconcerting to hear "Rich Ison, CDC, how can I help you?" while sitting in a farmhouse in South Dakota) plus the almost constant research he seemed to be doing. Nevertheless, Bobby would always have time for her. He seemed to step into the role of protector quite easily. He would remember to ask if she had eaten, how she was feeling, and if she needed anything. Sara would often ask what he was studying and he always told her the truth, sometimes he would pass her a text and ask her to look up with something. Bobby always tried to make sure she was comfortable. She once remarked how she wished she had a table beside the bed to set stuff on, and the next day she answered a knock at her bedroom door to see Bobby there with a table that fit perfectly beside the headboard. When she was too sick to leave her room, Bobby would come up and play cards with her. He even brought up another chair and a table to sit beside the window with the other chair. His thoughts of kindness made Sara fall in love with him quickly – she saw him as the father she desperately missed.

However, most of Sara's time was spent up in her room. The demon poisoning was working its mojo. She was sick, very sick. Very little food seemed to stay down, and her stomach felt heavier and heavier every day – as if a lead weight were settling in it. Sara only told Rita how sick she was, after she swore her to secrecy. Bobby, Sam and Dean had enough on their plates - she didn't want to add to it. Besides, there was little they could do.

Three months passed. Sara was entering her fourth month of pregnancy and she was facing another morning of feeling like she was stabbed in the stomach, nausea, and, more unsettling, hallucinations.

The hallucinations were new and frightening. Sara hadn't told anyone about them. How do you describe something that didn't exist? Every hallucination started out the same. She would hear a howl in the distance, as if someone had left a dog out overnight, her vision would being to darken, then she would hear growls outside her bedroom door. She was sure a large ferocious dog was outside her room. She wanted to scream for someone to help her, but fright paralyzed her.

Then her door would swing open and enormous black dog creature stalked in, standing by her bed. She would have called the creature a dog, but it was much too terrifying for that. It stood at least five feet tall with black fur; there were no ears – only gaping holes where the ears should have been. Long canines extended from its mouth, so sharp that the teeth cut its own lower lip. As it stood over her, she could smell the rancid breath and watch it drip drool and blood. As suddenly as the creature appeared, it disappeared. Sara could have complained that it kept her from sleep, but she didn't sleep much anyway. Every time she closed her eyes, images of Crowley and other demons haunted her dreams.

All of this took its toll on her. For the first few weeks she felt as well as she could expect, but once the nightmares and hallucinations started, she turned jumpy and apprehensive. Sam asked if she was OK, and she responded that she was 'as well as could be expected'; Bobby watched her with apprehensive eyes and always told her to 'eat something'; Dean didn't say anything. The silence hurt the worst. She knew there was nothing he could do, but it hurt to know that Dean didn't even seem to care.

She did have someone to rely on though, and it came quite unexpectedly. It happened after she had been at Bobby's about five weeks. Her nightmares had started and long nights awake stretched before her. She awoke one night to the feeling that someone was in the room. Sara tried to get her eyes to focus, and when she did she saw Castiel sitting in one of the chairs by the window. He hadn't paid her a visit since her first day at Bobby's and she was concerned that he was suddenly sitting here, in the middle of the night, in her room.

"What are you doing here?" Sara asked.

"I only came to check on you." He turned to look out the window, "I do it from time to time. I just want to make sure…," he turned his eyes back to her, "I need to make sure you aren't dead yet."

"Very comforting." Sara responded dryly.

Castiel stood, "I'll go."

"No!" Sara said a hastily. "I mean….no, you don't have to go, you can stay. If you want."

"Very well." Castiel returned to the chair, "How are you feeling?"

"Ah, well. Let's see – I'm sick all the time, I try to eat, but God only knows how much actually stays down, my stomach and arms look like someone took a black marker to me. I mean look at this!" She stuck out her arms to show that the veins had started to darken, filling with the black liquid that she had been stuck with since Crowley's visit.

"The demon essence is spreading, I imagine that is why you feel…sick all the time."

"You think?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes at her, "You sarcasm is noted."

Sara raised her hands in a suggestion of surrender, "Sorry." She sighed, "Let's not forget the nightmares." Sara sat up and leaned up against head rail. She rubbed at her head, it ached.

"Hallucinations?" Castiel inquired.

Sara couldn't meet his eyes. "Yes."

"How is the child?" Castiel, always on task.

"The nurse says he's fine." She started to get choked up, "I just want him to be OK."

"He will be. It's almost time for the cleansing ritual."

Sara leaned her head back against the rail and sighed. "How long do I have to stay here?"

Castiel looked at her and then back down. "I don't know. I would discuss that with Dean."

"Yeah, sure. I'll do that."

"I take it Dean is not being communicative." Castiel didn't wait for an answer; he already knew what her answer would be. "I cannot change Dean, but please, trust me that what we are doing is for your safety and for your child's safety."

Sara decided that since she was up, she might as well get a drink of water. She threw off the covers and stood up. Looking down at Castiel she said, "I'm trying to remember that. However, I'm too busy being sick to even try to feel like a mother." She started to bathroom, but never got more than one step. The sharp pains that had been plaguing her all month struck her full force. She doubled over close to where Castiel was sitting. On instinct, she grabbed one of his hands and squeezed.

Castiel gave her a look of concern. "Are you well?"

"Yeah, fine," she bit out. "Don't mind me, just going all Rosemary's baby here."

"Does squeezing my hand help?"

"Shut up." The last thing Sara wanted to do when she was in pain was answer more questions. Cas didn't move while she waiting for the pain the pass. Once it did she moved back to the bed, the plan for a drink of water forgotten. "Thank you."

"For what?"

Sara smirked at him. "For letting me squeeze your hand, of course."

"I am glad you enjoyed it, but I am confused as to why it helped."

"It doesn't help the pain, it just helps to have someone here." Another sigh, "I feel invisible in this house."

"You're not invisible. I see you just fine." Castiel had a case of 'being too literal'.

"Nevermind." Sara lay back down. "I don't suppose you can do anything about the pain, the hallucinations, the nightmares? Because I have to tell you, there are days I would rather be run over by a truck then have to deal with all this."

"I would bring you back if that happened. Being hit by a truck, I mean."

Sara had to roll her eyes at this statement. "Of course you would."

"But to answer your question, I cannot help you until the cleansing ritual." Castiel stood up, it was time to leave. "But I will check in on you, if you would like."

Sara nodded, sleep was edging in on her. She couldn't keep it at bay, no matter how terrifying the impending nightmares are. She would rather Dean were here, but he seemed to barely notice what was going on with her.

Dean couldn't Sara off of his mind. Despite her admonition that he 'didn't have to do anything' he was doing all he could to ensure the safety of her and the….his child. A child, a son - he can't even think about that right now. He and Sam had been all over the country looking for demons that might have to way to Crowley, he was determined to see that bastard burn once and for all. He did it to keep his mind off of Sara. He could see she was suffering, she tried to hide it from them all – but she was bad at it. He knew what it was like to want to lick your wounds in private, so he made sure everyone gave her plenty of room. Besides, she didn't need him right? However, that didn't stop him from pestering everyone in the house for information on her.

He'd even cornered Rita as she was leaving one day and tried to pump her for information. She had laughed at him and asked, "Why don't you ask Sara?"

"I'm asking you. Just tell me how she is."

"I can't tell you. Sara relies on me for medical advice. That's a relationship of trust, I need to make sure she knows she can tell me anything she wants to." Rita turned to continue to walk towards the car.

"C'mon." Dean ran after her and grabbed her arm. "Look, you don't have to give me chapter and verse, I just need to know she's OK."

Rita had short black hair that framed her face, it gave her hard look. Coupled with her glare at Dean, she looked downright formidable. "One, get your hand off of me, son." Dean complied quickly. "Two, I think anyone with two eyes can see how she is. She looks like she just rose from the grave. But she's coping, she's a fighter. And three," Rita narrowed her eyes, "If you really want to know how she is, why don't you stick around and find out?" With that Rita stalked off to her car.

Dean let her go. He'd walked into the house and slammed the door so hard that Sam and Bobby had looked up at him. "You break it, you bought it." Bobby told him.

"Thanks, I'll remember that." Dean walked into the den. "And, for the record, your nurse or friend or whatever she is – she's a real peach."

Bobby set down his book and laughed. "I don't know what happened, but Rita ain't the type to take shit off of no one. Even you, hot shot."

"It's not like I was asking hard questions, I'm just trying to see how Sara is doing."

Sam glanced at Dean from his computer screen, "What did she say?"

"Nothing. Not a damn thing." Dean ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I can see she's not doing well, but damn…" He let the sentence hang in the air.

Rita was right, Dean was gone a lot. Maybe he was running, but that didn't stop him for killing every demon along the way. He was frustrated as hell. Frustrated at the situation with Sara, frustrated that Cas was still walking around full of purgatory souls, and frustrated that Crowley hadn't been ripped to shreds yet. When he did manage to make it back to Bobby's, he would quietly pump Bobby for as much information on Sara as possible.

After three months, he'd had about enough – and that's when he discovered that Cas was visiting Sara.

It happened by accident. Dean was doing his usual bedtime routine of sips of whiskey while sitting on the bed. He was trying to clear his head – Jim Beam did a good job of that. Tonight, he was too keyed up for even whiskey to help. They had returned from tracking down a high level demon. He hadn't wanted to talk, but Dean had special skills in that area. After two hours, the demon was begging to be sent back to hell. Dean granted him his wish, after he had gotten some information on Bela. In two weeks, Bela was going to be back at the Devil's Gate. Dean and Sam were going to track the bitch down. In the end, he didn't know if it was the whiskey or the months of tension, but one thing became very clear to him while he was sitting in the dark. He needed to talk to Sara.

He still had his jeans on; he grabbed a t-shirt from his bag and went down the hall to talk to Sara. He raised his hand to knock when he heard a moan. Dean knew the difference between a moan of pleasure and one of pain and this moan clearly had pain written all over it. He abandoned his plan to knock and threw open the door. He could imagine a lot of the things he would find on the other side of that door – except the one he actually did see.