Chapter 4

Here we are, folks. Last chapter. Yup, I've kept it all short and uncomplicated this time. But don't worry, there will be more stories to come, with chapter posted on a weekly basis.

Thank you all for your reviews. They were very lovely and they always made my day. I hope you'll enjoy this last one too.

Dean and Sam parked across the street from Tilly's house just as it was getting dark. The windows were lit and the place seemed quiet.

"Do you think it will come tonight?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged.

"The picture wasn't burned," he said. "However, he might have gotten there and burned it after we left. Which means that thing is already gunning for Tilly."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. If Tilly was going to be attacked that night, it would happen in a couple of hours. The attacks happened after dark, but he had managed to discover the first two had taken place more or less within the same timeframe. Marissa must have gotten home at about seven thirty (at least, she had been seen alive and well at seven) and her roommate had found the bloody room at about ten. Sandra's alarm had started blaring at nine forty-five.

Before driving to Tilly's place, Sam found a ritual he thought they could use in their Dad's journal.

"There's only one problem," he had said. "We can't do it unless the creature is already manifesting itself and ready to attack its victim."

Dean had taken that in his stride.

"Right," he said. "Well, we'll have to rethink our strategy a bit."

Sam grimaced.

"I'm not really comfortable using Tilly as bait for this. It has to be someone who can fend off the creature more or less, while the ritual's being performed."

Dean nodded quickly, seeing to agree.

"No, you're right. We'll have to get Tilly out of the way as soon as that thing's there. I'll keep it busy and you do the ritual."

Sam frowned. Apparently, using Dean as bait was just as bad for him as using Tilly.

"Dean, no," he began. "I mean, why can't it be me?"

Dean snorted.

"What, you want to be bait instead? Is this some death wish I don't know about, Sam?"

The words had been spoken in a deceptively light tone. Sam noticed the concern in Dean's eyes.

"It's just that you're as valuable as I am, Dean," he stressed.

Dean looked like he wanted to be anywhere than having this conversation. Sam had almost forgotten Dean did not do compliments. He ran from praises as if he thought he did not deserve them. Sam blamed John for that. He might forgive his father for many things now that Jess was gone, understanding him better than he had ever thought he would. But he would never forgive what his father had done to Dean, turning him into a fanatic Hunter who put the lives of everybody else – especially Sam's – above his own.

"This isn't about who's valuable," Dean said at length. "You're the geek, Sammy, not me. It makes sense that you do the ritual. The blessing you have to say is long and complicated. And you need to recite it from memory. You really want to risk me mispronouncing a word?"

Sam would have wanted to point out that, with the way Dean had hunted alone while John Winchester was off goodness knew where, it was hard to believe he was that bad at rituals and incantations. Still, ever since the two of them had renewed their partnership, they had both tacitly agreed that they each had their strong points. Sam was good at research and rituals. It was safer if he was the one doing the incantation.

"Fine," he nodded. "Whatever. You be bait. I'll do the incantation."

Only now, when they were sitting in front of Tilly's house, did Sam remember Dean's smirk after Sam had caved in and made a mental note to slap his brother over the head once this was all over, for being a manipulative jerk.

xxxXXXxxxxx

Sam was almost dozing in the passenger seat when Dean tapped him on the shoulder. He straightened up, immediately on the alert.

"Is it here?" he whispered.

Dean shook his head.

"No, but…take a look."

Sam glanced out the window in time to see Tilly getting into her car, talking furiously on the phone. She drove off at great speed.

"I don't like this," Dean muttered. "She hadn't given any indication she was going anywhere this evening when I talked to her earlier."

"Shouldn't we follow her?" Sam asked doubtfully.

Dean shook his head.

"I'm thinking there's a reason why both Marissa and Sandra were attacked in their homes and not somewhere else."

"Heitmeier's summoning them to their homes," Sam deduced.

Dean nodded, already opening the car door.

"Bingo," he said. "Get the weapons. We'll wait for it inside."

Sam frowned, but followed Dean nonetheless.

"How are we going to get in, Dean?"

Dean was already picking the lock. Sam rolled his eyes.

"If she gets back and catches us…"

"I'll tell her we're saving her life so she shouldn't call the cops," Dean interrupted. "She won't believe us, of course, so you'd better hope wherever she's going, she's staying the night."

They were inside the house. Unlike Sandra, Tilly had not tried to turn her apartment into a fortress. She had probably thought Heitmeier's restraining order would be enough to deter him. Sam wished he still had that false sense of security. It made life so much easier. Of course, he thought darkly, remembering what had happened to Jess, ignorance did not save you.

Dean made his way to the kitchen, looking for the salt.

"Here's how we're gonna play this," he said, as he was pouring salt in a circle on the floor. "I draw the thing out, you get inside the salt circle and start reciting the ritual."

Sam was about to protest, but Dean gave him one of his you'd-better-not-argue-with-me looks that had always worked on Sam during his childhood. Apparently, he still needed to work on his independence thing, because he did not feel at all inclined to argue with that look.

They stood silent and waited. Sam wondered what his brother was thinking. It was Valentines' Day, and Dean was spending it hiding in some girl's apartment (without the girl being there, which was probably the biggest tragedy of all, as far as Dean was concerned). Sam was certain he had planned for a more entertaining evening. Well, several months back Sam had planned to spend his Valentines with Jessica.

"You know, I was gonna give her a present today," he found himself confessing. "To show her how much I wanted her in my life."

He glanced at Dean nervously, half-expecting some kind of objection from Dean. But Dean stood perfectly still, not even looking at Sam, but obviously listening.

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked casually, as if afraid that if he showed too much interest Sam might clam up and stop talking. "What did you have in mind?"

Sam smiled, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously.

"Well, we always talked about pets, you know? And we wanted a dog – something like a golden retriever, you know? Or maybe a German Shepherd. We both liked big dogs, you know."

"Oh, I remember you fell in love with every scruffy mutt we ran into as a kid," Dean said good naturedly.

Sam snorted.

"Yeah, that does sound like me. Thing was, we were students, both with demanding schedules. Not a lot of time for big dogs with so much energy. So I was thinking of getting a cat. I had already reached out to a shelter…"

He stopped and shrugged, looking suddenly puzzled that he was telling Dean all this. Dean almost begged him not to stop, to keep offering these little insights into his former life. It was cruel, to have Sam dig up the things he had lost forever. But it would help Dean, help him look for the little brother that he had lost in this new man Sam had become.

A scratch outside the door erased all thoughts of the past from their minds. They both sat up straighter, listening intently. The room seemed to grow darker, the lights flickering on and off. When the lights settled again, there was a young man standing in front of the door. Daniel Heitmeier. But he was not alone. Something was with him, lurking in the shadows, something Sam and Dean could not see yet, but they both knew it was there. Dean had his gun trained on Heitmeier in a flash.

"Hello, Daniel," he said amiably. "Bet you didn't expect to find us here, did you?"

Heitmeier smirked.

"On the contrary, you were exactly the people I was looking for."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked.

There was something tight in his voice, as if he had realized they had been let into a trap.

"You burnt our photos, didn't you?" Dean said.

Heitmeier bowed his head.

"Only yours, actually," he admitted. "That was the first one I developed. Time was running out. I couldn't wait to burn his as well."

"There's two of us, you know," Sam pointed out, his gun trained at Heitmeier.

Heitmeier's lips curled.

"Yeah, about that…"

The lights flickered and went out. In the sudden unexpected darkness Dean heard Sam cry out. There was a grunt, then a clatter as if something had fallen to the floor. Dean had a sinking feeling it was Sam's gun.

"Sam?" he called.

"Dean…" he heard Sam's voice and then the sound of a scuffle, as Sam was fighting with Heitmeier.

Dean was ready to offer his brother help when he heard it on the opposite side of the room. The snarling breath of some giant creature. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw it. It did not look at all as he had imagined – although, in truth, he had not imagined much. Most of the monsters they usually dealt with were humanoid-shaped, some even going as far as to blend in with the humans entirely. This was something else, half-wolf half-bear, with giant scaly wings and a beak like a bird of prey. Dean spun round and fired at it. The thing barely flinched.

"Come on, you asshole!" he shouted.

He could not allow himself to be slowed down by that thing while Sam was fighting with Heitmeier. Not that Sam couldn't hold his own, but the fight seemed to be going on longer than Dean would have expected. Sam should have gotten the upper hand over someone as scrawny as Heitmeier by now. Unless it was not only a demonic pet Heitmeier had asked for when he had made whatever deal had got them there.

The thing was nearly upon him and Dean dived, crushing into the furniture. He barely ducked in time before a claw sank into the rug, inches away from him.

"Sam!" he called.

From the other side of the room, Sam's voice sounded, slightly breathless, but clear and confident, reciting words in a language Dean didn't even know existed. Dean felt the creature falter. He waited with breath held, not daring to move. Let this work, he thought. Let this work.

Then there was a crash and Sam's voice was cut off. He tried to pick up where he left off, sounding distracted and out of breath. He kept being interrupted, probably struggling with Heitmeier. It did not do to have your mind somewhere else when in a fight, Dean thought. Their Dad had taught them that over and over, had trained them mercilessly so they focused only on the task at hand, no matter what was happening to the other. But the awareness of the other's presence had always been too ingrained in them. They could never ignore when the other was in trouble.

Dean almost asked Sam to stop. To focus on Heitmeier, before he got himself killed. To let Dean deal with the creature. Then he heard Sam's voice cut off again, sounding like he was choking.

"Sam!" Dean called.

All thoughts of the creature were forgotten in an instant. Heitmeier was killing Sam, and Dean could not accept that. Not on his watch.

Unfortunately, the creature had not forgotten Dean. Now that Sam had interrupted the ritual, it was bent once more on its orders. It lashed out at Dean with beak and claws. Dean felt long blades digging into his side. He struggled, as the thing pinned him against the wall, ready to deliver the killing blow.

Things were getting fuzzy. Dean wondered idly if John would ever find out what had went down with them, if he would pause from his obsession-fueled Hunt long enough to digest the thought that his sons were dead. It sucked that it was ending like this, especially since Sam was next. Dean had never wanted Sammy to die with him. Sammy deserved his college degree and a girl and the German Shepard he had wanted ever since he was a kid. And a cat, since apparently he had wanted that too.

The creature had Dean pinned against the wall, its hold the only think keeping him upright. He saw a flash in its eyes, the hunger and the fire, and he knew that was it for him. The creature would not stop. It would follow Heitmeier's orders.

Then, as if from a great distance he heard Sam's voice. It was hoarse and breathless, but desperate, full of that stubborn will that was all Sam, that kept Sam from ever giving up, whether that was in his plans to go to university or his wish to keep Dean alive through any means necessary. The thing let go of Dean and he collapsed, blood loss making everything foggy. The last thing he heard was Sam's voice, the words strange and unfamiliar to him. It didn't matter to Dean, though. If Sam's voice was the last thing he ever heard, that wasn't a bad way to go.

xxxXXXxxxx

Sam had been struggling to keep Heitmeier contained while at the same time trying to finish the ritual, preferably before the creature snacked on Dean. It was their fault, really. They had never imagined Heitmeier would be there while the creature attacked. There had never been any traces of him in the other women's apartment, after all. Then again, Sam should have considered the possibility. They wouldn't have been in this predicament if he had. Dean's life wouldn't be hanging in the balance for one thing.

Heitmeier was above him now, his hands around Sam's throat, holding on with a strength Sam wouldn't have thought possible for someone his size. Fog was beginning to cloud Sam's vision. He knew he could not give in, though. If he did, Dean would die too. And that was unacceptable.

He fumbled with his hand until he found one of the paperweights they had knocked down during the struggle. It took his body a lot of convincing to cooperate with him. He grabbed the paperweight and slammed it against Heitmeier's head. The hold on Sam's throat slackened, enough for Sam to breathe in. Dizzy from the sudden onrush of oxygen, he missed the second time he swung the paperweight and delivered Heitmeier only a glancing blow. Still, it was enough for him to let go of Sam. He lay on the ground, trying to get his bearings.

Sam sprang up. He was swaying on his feet and black spots still swam in front of his eyes. Still, all he could focus on was Dean and the creature that had him pinned against the wall ready to deliver the death blow. Sam took a deep breath and resumed the ritual. His voice was hoarse and every word felt painful to his raw throat. But he held on, allowing the verses to take hold of him.

He finished. The creature let Dean go abruptly and turned to him. Sam tensed, wondering if the thing would not attack him now. He had finished the incantation, so it was free now to do as it pleased. And maybe that included getting rid of Sam and his pesky rituals before it went back for Dean.

But it was not Sam that the creature attacked. It was Daniel Heitmeier. Sam watched in horror, frozen in place as if under some kind of spell as it pounced on Heitmeier, ignoring his useless cries. Within minutes, Heitmeier was dead and the creature had left nothing but a dead husk behind.

Sam did not spare them a second glance. He bounded towards Dean. He was lying faced down and had not moved since the creature had let go of him. Sam could already see a pool of blood under him. Gently, he turned Dean to face him and felt his heart freeze in his chest.

"Oh god," he breathed. "Oh Dean."

This was bad. The kind of bad that would have required an ambulance or, at the very least, a hospital. But there was no way Sam could call an ambulance to a stranger's house, with Heitmeier's mangled body and the burnt out creature right beside them. As for the hospital, Dean's injuries would have needed explaining. They usually used animal attacks in such cases, but they were in a relatively big town with no wilderness in sight. No hospital would believe a wild animal had strayed so far from its regular territory. Even if Sam said it was a feral dog, it would not work. No dog could have done so much damage.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. Dean needed help. He needed Sam to get him help and fast. Any help would do, before it was too late. And suddenly, Sam knew. He smiled.

"Don't worry, Dean," he said, even though his voice was shaking slightly. "Don't worry. I know what to do."

xxXXXxxxx

For a long time, Dean floated in some unknown dream of shadows and claws. There was pain, but it was usually distant and muffled, as if he was too far gone to be aware of what pain was. There was Sam's voice, too. He often heard it, calm and controlled for the most part, but with an edge of panic behind it. He wondered for a long time what had Sammy so scared.

When the confusion cleared and he finally opened his eyes, it was probably morning. He was in an unfamiliar room – definitely not the one at their motel, it was too big and the bed was too comfortable. The windows were large and sunlight filtered through them. He watched the patches of sunlight on the wooden ceiling, until he drifted off again.

The next time Dean woke up it must have been several hours later. The pain was back, not as unbearable as before, but still not enough for him to feel comfortable. His eyes drifted to his right and he spotted Sam fast asleep in a chair by his bed.

"Sam?" Dean called.

He tried to call, at least. His throat felt parched and dry from disuse and the word set off a coughing fit which of course made the pain spark. He blacked out for a while. When he was finally back, Sam had his hands on his shoulders, once more talking to him in that voice that wanted to appear calm but was so full of worry. Sam handed Dean a glass of water, which Dean took gratefully. His hands shook, but when Sam tried to help, Dean waved him off. To his eternal gratitude, Sam did not push.

"Thanks," Dean said once he had drunk the water and realized he was feeling more human. "What the hell happened?"

There were dark shadows under Sam's eyes.

"What do you remember?" Sam asked.

Dean thought hard. Whenever he woke up injured, one hunt seemed to blur into the other. He had trouble remembering what had gone wrong this time, sorting through too many memories of too many attacks until he finally got to the right one.

"Heitmeier," he remembered. "And…uhhh…his pet was trying to slice me in two."

Sam's eyes darkened even more.

"He nearly succeeded. I managed to pull Heitmeier off me and finish the ritual almost too late. I thought you were already dead."

"I'm obviously not," Dean said. "And we're not in the hospital."

Sam shook his head.

"There would have been too many questions. But I remembered Pastor Jim had a doctor friend in the area. I called him. He helped. We're at his place now." He paused and rubbed his face tiredly. "We've been here for four days."

Dean gaped at Sam. He could not believe he had lost that much time.

"Must've been bad," he began tentatively.

Sam refused to look at him.

"Yeah it was…Doc said it was really touch and go for a while…but you're awake now. You need time to recover, though. No hunting. Doc said rest for three weeks, Dean."

Dean had the sneaking suspicion Sam had added an extra week to the Doc's assessment. He would deal with that later, though.

"Awesome," he said. "We can go spend it somewhere quiet. Just the two of us, right, Sammy? Unless Dad sends us more coordinates, of course."

Sam's jaw clenched. Later, Dean would find out that Sam had sent his Dad a voicemail telling him Dean was badly hurt and, if Dad didn't want to come see his son, he could at least have the decency of not sending them on Hunts for about a month (Sam, apparently, loved playing dangerously). And because Sam was a passive-aggressive little bitch when it came to their father, and since, apparently, that full ride to law school had not gone to waste, he had also followed up with a text message, as well as several e-mails to Dad's known contacts. Unfortunately, John Winchester could be just as passive aggressive when it came to Sam and incredibly single minded about the Hunt. A day after Sam's message – and a day before Dean had woken up – Dad had followed up with a message of his own, this time on Sam's phone: a series of coordinates followed by a terse: You can handle it on your own. However, Dean would find all of that in a couple of weeks. Now, he only got the abridged version.

"He did send me coordinates," Sam said. "I checked out what it could be and forwarded the info to Caleb. He's dealing with it as we speak."

Dean was actually glad their father had decided to avoid contact with them. If Sam had pulled a stunt like that with Dad around, it would have meant war. He did not even know if he should be pissed at his brother or impressed.

"Sam…" he began, shaking his head.

Sam shrugged his shoulders innocently.

"Hey, you're the one who taught me I should work smarter, not harder," he said cheekily. The spark in his eyes faded as quickly as it had appeared. "You should get some rest. You had a bad time."

"I've been resting," Dean pointed out.

He eyed Sam carefully, noticing the paleness in his face and how his hands shook slightly. No doubt, Sam had not been sleeping much in those four days. In fact, Dean was willing to bet he had interrupted was must have been the first time his brother had slept since he had brought Dean there.

"You should sleep too, Sammy," he said.

Sam nodded. He sat back in the chair and placed his head on the bed. Dean shook his head.

"In a bed of your own, dude," he added.

Sam waved a hand lazily without lifting his head.

"Come on, man," Dean insisted. "You're too tall to be comfortable sleeping like that."

Blindly, Sam reached out for Dean's hand. He tapped it briefly, as if telling Dean he knew what he was doing. Then, his hand went limp. Sam was fast asleep. Dean snorted.

"Right," he muttered. "I should mind my own business, shouldn't I?"

It baffled him at times, the kind of matter-of-fact loyalty and affection Sam gave him. He wondered if he would ever know his brother's mind. This was the same guy who had rebelled against everything their family stood for, who had abandoned them at the first chance, who had come back only because he had no choice and even now talked about going back to school once everything was done. Yet it was also the kid who trusted Dean to lead him right even when he argued with Dean's decisions. Who looked Dean in the eye and calmly said words like I'd die for you as if that was one of the facts of life that could not be questioned. Who stayed by Dean's side when he was injured, standing guard and making sure at the same time.

It was easy, Dean realized, easy to believe Sam did not care as much, just because he sometimes wanted a life of his own. But Dean was starting to see that a life of his own did not mean a life without Dean. If it had dawned on him earlier, perhaps they would not have been so torn about Stanford.

Sam's hand twitched in his sleep, his fingers brushing slightly against Dean's own hand. Dean settled down more comfortably, ready to go back to sleep. Maybe tomorrow he would convince Sam to actually find a bed. And he was looking at three weeks of vacation. Maybe he should take Sammy somewhere geeky. The kid deserved a treat.

I know, I know, mushy ending. I couldn't help myself. That's it for now. I'll have the first chapter of a new story (also early seasons case-fic, I've got the monster picked already :) ) up hopefully next Sunday (might be later though, I'm getting the vaccine later next week, so I don't know how much sense I'll be making on Sunday – which is why, incidentally, I chose to end this one sooner instead of having you wait an extra week with a climax or giving you a chapter of potentially fever-induced weirdness.. Anyways, it will be up as soon as time and other external circumstances allow it).