Rock music blared from the Impala's speakers as Dean loosened his grip on the steering wheel, turning his hand to glance at his watch. By his rough calculation, Alliance, Nebraska was fourteen hours southeast of the cabin, and they'd only been on the road for three. He sighed, glancing in the rearview mirror to reassure himself that Hope was still following behind.

"What's wrong, Dean?" Sam said, not looking at his brother. His head was pressed against the glass of the window, his eyes closed, but Sam didn't need to see to know that something was eating at Dean.

Dean gave him a sidelong glare, shaking his head. He'd never understand how Sam could be so intuitive and yet so oblivious at the same time. What the hell did he think was wrong? "Nothing, Sam. I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Sam let out a mirthless chuckle, lifting his head to stare at Dean's profile. "You always forget that I know you. Let me guess, even though you agreed to Hope's demand that she be included in this part of our lives, you're trying to decide whether to drop her at Bobby's and make a run for it."

"No," Dean said sullenly, setting his jaw and refusing to meet Sam's gaze. "That's not it at all."

Dammit. Was he that easy to read?

Sam snorted, shaking his head as he leaned back in the seat. "Don't bother trying, Dean. You'll lose her if you do."

"I know." Dean sighed, the note of resignation in his voice unmistakable. "But I can't shake this feeling that something bad is going to happen because I agreed to this, and if something happens to her, I'll never forgive myself."

"I know, Dean." Sam said, studying Dean's face, his eyes soft and filled with concern. "The thing is, no matter what, it's not your job to keep everyone safe. You have to believe that Hope can take care of herself, because I do. I have to. I may not love her the way you do, but she's still my friend and I want to keep her safe too. It's just I understand that there comes a time when everyone has to stand on their own two feet. It doesn't mean you don't worry though."

Dean didn't say anything, letting the conversation die between them as the sounds of road noise and the first musical notes of "Don't Fear the Reaper" filled the car. He made a noise of disgust, switching off the radio and glancing into the rearview mirror again.

"So," Dean said after several tense minutes of silence, "you wanna tell me what's eating you? You've been weird since you got back to the cabin this morning."

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line, then shook his head. No, he really didn't want to talk about that. Jealousy was not a good look on anyone, but it was especially horrible looking on Sam Winchester. "Not really," Sam said, staring out the window. He sighed, glancing at Dean before continuing. "I just miss Jessica and sometimes it hits me a little too hard."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said, knowing the words would never be enough to take away the pain of losing someone the way Sam had lost Jessica. He started to say something else but let the thought die on his lips. Dean hated empty platitudes, and he'd be damned before he used them as a crutch when he had no idea what to say otherwise.

"It's fine," Sam said dismissively. He stared out the passenger window again as silence fell between them. Dean was just about to turn the radio back on when Sam spoke again, and he froze, his hand wavering in midair. "Although, you know, I've never seen you act like that—with anyone." A small smile played at the corners of Sam's mouth as he spoke, and heat crawled up the side of Dean's neck as he cleared his throat, tugging on the collar of his shirt. "It was nice to see. I always thought Hope was good for you."

"Yeah, well—" Dean started, shaking his head as the rest of the sentence died on his lips. He glanced into the rearview mirror, his heart leaping into his chest at the sight of Hope's Porsche veering off onto the shoulder. "What the hell?"

Nausea slammed through Hope's gut like a wrecking ball, leaving her weak and sweating. She'd lost count of how many times it happened since they left the cabin, but this time—this time was different, and Hope had a hard time believing it was just from drinking too much beer the night before.

Hope took deep breaths through her nose, clenching her teeth and willing herself to not vomit in the Porsche. If she thought she was nauseous now, that particular smell would do nothing to help the situation. Hope turned up the radio, drumming lightly on the steering wheel to the song playing on the radio, trying and failing to focus on the music as her guts roiled again.

What the hell was wrong with her? Hope shook her head, letting out a low growl of frustration. She hadn't been this sick since—Hope slammed on the brakes, guiding the car to the shoulder. She didn't pay attention to whether or not Dean stopped too as she shut off the engine and stumbled out of the car, feeling her way along the side until she reached the trunk and lost the nonexistent contents of her stomach onto the pavement.

Hope gagged and spit several times, forcing thoughts about the possible cause of her illness away. She told herself there was no way as she gagged again; she was just dehydrated, that was all.

"Hope? Are you alright?" Dean's voice came from somewhere behind her, and she wiped her mouth as she stood up to face him.

"I'm fine," Hope replied, her voice quivering slightly as she blew out a breath. "I'm—fine." She wasn't fine, but they had a job to do, and it wasn't like she hadn't powered through a stomach bug before during her residency. "I'm just a little dehydrated from too much beer last night."

Hope gave him a weak smile as Dean put his hands on each of her cheeks and searched her eyes, his own filled with apprehension. "If you're not feeling up to this, you don't have to go, Hope. There's always going to be another hunt," Dean said, as he planted a kiss on her forehead, both as a gesture of affection and as a rudimentary temperature gauge. Hope didn't appear to have a fever, so maybe she was telling the truth.

"I'm fine, Dean; I just need to eat something and drink a lot of water," Hope took a step back, waving him off. "I saw a sign back there for a truckstop diner a few miles ahead. I'm gonna head up there. Will you and Sam stop too, or go on ahead?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Hope," Dean said, rolling his eyes as he reached for her hand. "Of course we'll stop, I'm starving anyway." Hope flashed him another weak smile, and worry twisted in Dean's gut. She was pale and sweating, the skin of her face pulled taught across her cheekbones. Dean swallowed hard as he helped her back into the car, planting another kiss on her forehead as he shut the door.

"I'll be fine, Dean," Hope said, waving him away as she started the engine. "Go, I'll follow you." Dean nodded, and with some reluctance, headed back to where he'd parked the Impala. He glanced over his shoulder at Hope a few times, as though to reassure himself she was still there, waiting for him. Each time, Hope would smile, as much for herself as for Dean, and wave him on impatiently.

"Finally," Hope whispered once Dean reached the Impala and pulled open the door. She watched as he slid inside, and she wondered, not for the first time, how God decided which souls to simply split and which ones were more special. While she supposed she was grateful God considered her special, Hope couldn't help but wonder if all of it was nothing but a house of cards that would come crashing down around her any minute.

Hope's nausea faded by the time she parked the Porsche next to the Impala at the roadside diner, and her stomach growled and churned, declaring its demand for proper sustenance as the three of them went inside. The smell of old cigarettes and greasy diner food slammed into Hope as though she'd walked directly into a wall, and she swallowed hard, clenching her teeth again.

Breathe—deep breath in through the nose, out through the mouth. Just breathe. You got this.

Hope gritted her teeth as they settled into the booth, hiding behind the cracked plastic menu as she glanced over the offered diner fare, resisting the urge to gag at the mere thought of the greasy food. This could not be happening; she was just hungover, that was all. Hope repeated the thought like a mantra, concentrating so hard on it that she completely tuned out Sam and Dean giving their food orders to the server.

"Hope?" Dean said, startling Hope out of her thoughts.

"What?" Hope groused, shaking her head. "Oh, uh, sorry." She glanced up at the server and back to the menu. "I have some water, a short stack, and eggs. Scrambled," she added as she closed the menu, handing it back to the server, who nodded and hurried away.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked, tilting his head and frowning in concern as he eyed her from across the table. "You seem—distracted."

"I'm fine, Sam," Hope said a little too forcefully, and Sam grimaced and set his jaw as he stared out the window. "Sorry," she muttered as guilt stabbed her in the gut, mixing with everything else rolling around in there. "I'm just a little hangry, that's all."

Sam nodded but said nothing. He didn't believe that was all that was on Hope's mind, but it wasn't his place to call her out on it. He glanced at Dean, who was also studying Hope with an odd expression. At least he wasn't the only one that didn't seem to believe Hope's excuse.

The three of them sat in silence until their food arrived, sipping their drinks, and trying to ignore the growing tension between them. Once the plates were set on the table, all the unspoken strain surrounding the table disappeared as Dean stared at the mounds of food before him, digging in with reckless abandon.

Hope's mouth twitched as she watched him, thinking it was adorable how much Dean loved food. Her amusement grew as she watched Sam stare at Dean, his expression a mixture of confusion and disgust as he took slow, deliberate bites of his egg-white omelet. Hope shook her head, stifling her smile as she picked at her pancakes and forced herself to eat a respectable amount.

The diner was mostly empty, and they ate in silence, the sound of cutlery scraping against plates the only sound between them until Dean finished, leaning back into the booth and letting out a small sigh of contentment. "Feel better?" Hope teased, pushing her plate away as she fought the urge to gag again.

"Much," Dean said, glancing from Hope to her half-eaten food. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine, Dean," Hope said, giving him what she hoped was a believable smile. "Let's get going. We have a long way to go."

Sam nodded, standing up and stretching as Hope followed, dropping a couple twenty dollar bills on the table. It was far more than the meal cost, Hope knew, but she hoped the tip would bring a smile to the server's face. Dean sighed, following Hope and Sam reluctantly out the door. Hope was hiding something; he just knew it but damned if he could figure out what it might be. There would be time to figure it out, he told himself as he slid into the driver's seat of the Impala.

Hope growled in frustration as she parked the Porsche outside the motel room. She'd battled nausea nonstop since they left the diner, and she was over it. She sighed, climbing out of the car and grabbing her duffle bag from the trunk as Dean unlocked the motel room door and led them all inside.

The room was large, with two queen beds and an armchair shoved haphazardly in the corner opposite a tiny kitchenette. There was a table in the middle of the room, two rickety chairs placed on either side of it, and Hope wondered if they were even safe to sit on. She dropped her bag on the floor at the end of one bed, then practically ran to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

Hope took deep breaths, gripping the sides of the sink and dropping her head between her arms as she wrestled for control of her stomach. She lost the battle, quickly turning on the faucet as she lost the contents of her stomach into the toilet. Hope groaned, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and resting her elbows on her knees.

"Cas? Can you hear me?" There was no answer, which didn't surprise Hope, but she couldn't help but worry that he'd ended up in another hospital somewhere. She sighed, forcing herself to stand and rinse her mouth before shutting off the faucet and returning to the others.

Sam and Dean both looked up from whatever heated, yet oddly quiet discussion they were having as she entered the room, closing the bathroom door behind her. "So, what are you guys planning to do now that we're here?"

Dean glanced away, avoiding her gaze, and a knowing smile crept across Hope's face. He didn't want to take her along, she could tell, which was fine as far as she was concerned. All she wanted to do right now was sleep. But before that, there was something else she needed to do.

"It's okay, Dean," Hope said. "You and Sam go do—whatever it is you do when you first roll into town. I'm not feeling that great anyway, so I'll just hang out here until you guys get back."

Sam's brows shot up as he stared at Hope, unsure how to process what she said. "Well, we were just going to go talk to the coroner and get a better idea of what we're dealing with, then go from there."

Dean studied Hope, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "So, what? After all that talk about doing this together, you're content to sit on the sidelines? I'm not buying it. What's really going on?"

"Nothing, Dean," Hope said, rolling her eyes as she sank down onto the end of the bed and unzipped her duffle bag. Her hands trembled slightly as she searched for her toothbrush, and she wondered for a moment if part of the roiling wave of nausea in her gut was due to withdrawal symptoms. "I just think I'll be more of a hindrance than a help right now."

"But you're a doctor, you might pick up on something we miss," Dean said, glancing at Sam, who nodded in agreement.

"Maybe," Hope said, clenching her teeth, "but I doubt it. I'm a surgeon, Dean. I haven't dealt with an already dead body since med school. I promise, I won't be nearly as much help as you'd like to think."

Dean nodded, standing up and grabbing one of the garment bags slung over the bed and headed for the bathroom. A few minutes later, Dean emerged, fastening his white dress shirt's buttons, and Hope's breath caught in her throat as she watched him put on the suit jacket. Her face must have betrayed her thoughts because Dean shot her a half-smile that left her insides in a pile of formless mush.

"Like what you see there, sweetheart?" Dean said with a wink. Sam groaned, grabbing his own garment bag and heading for the bathroom.

"You two get a room," Sam muttered, slamming the bathroom door behind him. Hope laughed as Dean wrapped his arms around her, kissing the side of her head.

He put a hand on the side of her face and moved to kiss her, but she backed away. "No," she said, immediately regretting it when she saw the look of confused hurt in his eyes. "I want to, believe me," she said, biting her lip as she stared at his mouth, wanting nothing more than to wrap his tie around her hands and kiss him until he was nothing more than a puddle of goo in her hands. Hope cleared her throat, forcing herself to look into his eyes.

"It's just, until I know what's going on with me, I don't want you to get sick too," she said, sighing. "So until this passes, no kisses for you."

Dean groaned, pressing his lips to her forehead. "That might just be impossible, Hope. I think I might be willing to risk it," he teased, trailing his fingers down the side of her neck and sending shivers of pleasure and desire through every inch of her body. "Besides," he murmured as he pulled her closer, planting kisses along the trail his fingers left behind, "there are so many other places to kiss besides your mouth."

Hope's blood thrummed in her veins as his breath tickled the sensitive skin of her shoulder, and she thought she might just die right there in Dean's arms. She supposed there were definitely worse ways to go than that as she tilted her head to give him better access. The bathroom door lock clicked, bringing Hope back to reality. "As much as I would love to continue this," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Dean's cheek as she untangled herself from his arms, "you two have work to do. Now go, before I change my mind and Sam has to spend the rest of the night in the car."

"Fine," Dean grumbled, smoothing down the front of his jacket and ignoring the bulge beneath his belt. "C'mon, Sammy," he groused, striding out the door. Sam groaned, rolling his eyes as he grabbed his suit jacket from the hanger and throwing it across his shoulders as he closed the motel room door behind him.

Hope let out a breath, the faint memory of Dean's lips still tingling her skin and drawing an involuntary smile across her face. She didn't know how he managed to pull such a primal reaction from her, but she hoped it never ended. She sighed, grabbing her toothbrush and heading for the bathroom to brush her teeth, where she promptly gagged on the toothbrush.

"That's it," she grumbled, turning off the faucet and grabbing the room key and her phone. There was a drugstore on the corner only a short walk from the motel, and the fresh air would do her some good. As she walked, she breathed in the warm evening air, feeling oddly at peace given her current situation's uncertainty.

Was this really how she'd pictured her life? It was a question she'd asked herself a million times since Cas had zapped her out of the hospital. Hope smiled at the thought because, of course, it but it wasn't as though she could've imagined a life with Dean anyway. The very nature of his life demanded flexibility and impermanence, two things which Hope was sure she was not. Why had God chosen the two of them to bind for all eternity? It was a question that plagued her even now, and she had a feeling that what happened next would not bring her any closer to finding an answer.

Hope reached the parking lot of the drugstore, and she took a steadying breath as she squared her shoulders and walked to the door, passing a young boy sitting alone on the sidewalk. He couldn't have been more than eleven years old, and he looked up at her with dark green eyes. Hope couldn't help but be fascinated by how much they reminded her of Dean's eyes. "Hey, buddy," she said, flashing him a soft smile, "what are you doing out here by yourself?"

The boy shrugged and gave Hope a shy smile. "My parents said I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Ah, well," Hope nodded in agreement. "Your parents are very wise. Where are they?"

"At work," the boy said, shrugging again as he stared at his shoes. "They work a lot."

"Well, what's your name? Mine is Hope," she said, crouching to be eye level with the boy. He stared at her, his head tilted to one side as he studied her face. Hope got the uneasy feeling the boy was looking through her, and she fought the urge to break eye contact.

"Jesse," he said after a short silence. "Does this mean we're not strangers anymore?"

"I think that's exactly what it means," Hope said, glancing across the busy street to the diner on the opposite corner. "Hey, are you hungry? I'm starving."

Jesse grinned and nodded, taking Hope's offered hand. Hope ignored the little voice in her head telling her that she was only delaying the inevitable, and eventually, she'd have to stop running away and actually turn and face the questions she had.

Well, I don't have to do it right now. Hand in hand, the two of them crossed the street at the light, settling themselves into a corner booth. Hope stared at the menu, suddenly ravenous. "So," Hope said, "what sounds good?"

Jesse was quiet for a moment, then set the menu down and pointed to the chili fries. "Can I have that?"

"Sure, you can have whatever you want. It'll be our little secret," Hope said with a slight smile. Jesse grinned at her, nodding enthusiastically.

They gave the server their order—chili fries and chicken strips for Jesse, a bacon cheeseburger and tater tots for Hope. She chuckled to herself as the server retreated away from their table, unable to remember the last time she'd actually had a bacon cheeseburger before she met Dean. The best estimate she had was her freshman year of college. After getting into the science classes required for her degree, the thought of eating a heart attack on a plate became less and less appealing.

Hope and Jesse ate their food, and Hope listened intently as Jesse chatted about the things eleven-year-olds were interested in. Her phone buzzed, and she dug it out of her pocket, typing a quick response to Sam.

"Hope?" Jesse asked, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. Hope set her phone down, turning her attention to Jesse as it buzzed again.

"What's up, kiddo?" She said, glancing at the text from the corner of her eye. Another victim, a girl, died from mixing pop rocks and coke. Headed to Elk Creek to follow up on a lead. You okay?- S. Hope tapped a quick response and locked the screen, shoving the phone in her pocket.

"Do you believe in magic?"

Hope chewed her burger slowly, lost in thought. "I'm not sure anymore. I didn't before, but I've learned there are things in life that can't be so easily explained away. Why do you ask?"

"Because I think I can do magic," Jesse confessed, staring blankly at his plate. "I think about things and they just sort of—happen."

Hope's heart skipped a beat as she swallowed the bite in her mouth. "What kinds of things?"

"Well, a couple of weeks ago, while I was at school I had this idea that mixing poprocks and coke would make an awesome mouth volcano. A couple days later, half the kids in my class were out sick, and I overheard the principle telling a teacher that it was because of that."

Jesse leaned back against the booth, staring at his hands. "I didn't mean to hurt anybody, I just thought it was funny. The same thing happened with my friend's babysitter. He joked about putting itching powder on his babysitter's hairbrush and I told him about this story I'd read where that happened and the person scratched all the way into their brains. And then—"

"Stop," Hope said, holding up a hand and giving Jesse her most reassuring smile. "That stuff was just a coincidence, Jesse. You didn't hurt anyone." She hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt as Jesse shook his head and avoided her gaze.

"But I did do it," Jesse insisted, gazing up at her with pleading eyes, "I know I did. My parents don't believe me, but I think you do. Don't you?"

"Jesse, I—" Hope started, pushing her plate away as she let out a sigh. "Yes, I do. You see, my friends and I, we help people that are special. I think we can help you too."

"You think so?" Jesse asked, his expression pleading as he searched Hope's face. She nodded, smiling at him.

"Definitely," she said, standing up and paying for their food. "C'mon, let's get outta here and go meet my friends. What do you say?"

Jesse searched her face a moment longer, assessing the possibility of danger behind her words. The corner of his mouth lifted as he slid out of the booth and stood next to her. "My house is only a couple of blocks from here," he said quietly. "C'mon, I'll show you."

Hope nodded, letting him lead the way. Ten minutes later, they entered the tidy living room of a two-story Victorian-style house. Hope pulled out her phone, tapping the address to Dean. By the time his reply appeared on her phone, Castiel was standing beside her, brandishing the demon blade.

Jesse backed away, his eyes widening in shock and fear. Hope stood between Castiel and Jesse, shaking her head. "What the hell are you doing, Cas?" she demanded, holding up her hands.

"Hope, get out of the way," Cas replied, taking a menacing step forward. Hope squared her shoulders and stood up to her full height, refusing to budge. "That thing is a Cambion, an abomination. He will be the one to destroy the host of Heaven with a single thought."

"No," Hope growled, glaring up at Castiel with fury shining in her eyes. "That thing is an eleven year old boy, and I won't let you murder him because of what you think he might become, Cas. You'll have to kill me first."

Castiel glared at Hope, his jaw set in a rigid line. "Move, Hope." He raised the blade, taking another step forward as Hope closed her eyes and braced herself for the fight she didn't want. Jessed let out a soft cry, throwing his arms across his face. Hope opened one eye, glancing around frantically. Castiel was gone. In the place where he'd stood only seconds before, a toy figure dressed in a tan trenchcoat and holding up a tiny blade.

"Did you do that?" Hope asked incredulously, bending and picking up the figure from the ground.

"I-I didn't mean to," Jesse said sadly as he glanced up at Hope with tear-filled eyes, "he was going to hurt me, and you too. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Hope said, setting the figure on the fireplace mantle as she took a deep breath to steady her skipping heartbeat. Jesse watched in silence as Hope turned to study him.

"Why did you do that?" Jesse asked, tilting his head as his eyes bored into Hope's soul again. "He would've killed you to destroy me."

"Because," Hope replied, swallowing hard, "you're only a child, and I have seen nothing that makes me believe you are something evil that must be destroyed. Our future isn't written, Jesse, and you don't have to become anyone other than who you choose to be. As long as you remember that, and be very careful about what ideas you share with others, everything will turn out just fine."

Jesse opened his mouth to respond just as the front door exploded behind Hope, embedding shards of wood and glass into her skin. Hope turned, ignoring the searing pain as she once again placed herself between Jesse and something that threatened to harm him. A woman with black eyes strutted through the doorway, grabbing Hope by the throat and lifting her high above her head. The demon ran a razor-sharp fingernail across the underside of Hope's jaw, a feral grin spreading across her face as blood welled, dripping warm and wet down Hope's neck.

"This little gift is just for you," the demon growled, throwing Hope across the room as Sam and Dean appeared in the doorway. Hope collided with the wall, her head hitting the molding with a sickening thud as she fell limp onto the floor, unconscious.

"Hope!" Dean yelled, ignoring the demon and running toward Hope. The demon flicked her wrist, slamming both Sam and Dean against the plaster wall, sending a shower of debris into a pile below them. She closed her fist, and the two hunters grunted as they struggled to breathe.

"Stop it!" Jesse shouted, "let them go!"

The demon looked at Jesse over her shoulder, squeezing her fist tighter. "Why would you defend them, son? They were going to kill you. Them, and their little pet project over there. They're afraid of you, Jesse."

"No," Jesse said, shaking his head, "you're lying. And I'm not your son."

"Why would I lie to you?" The demon replied. "Jesse, I'm your mother. It was that whore over there who lied to you." Dean struggled harder against the demon's grasp, his face purple both from lack of oxygen and outrage. "Let me guess, she told you that her and her friends here could help special people like you, right? You're a demon, like me. All they want to do is murder you, that's the kind of help she was talking about."

Jesse's eyes narrowed as he glanced at Hope's unconscious body lying on the floor, then at the toy figure of Castiel on the mantle. That couldn't be right, he told himself. Hope had tried to protect him, twice, he was sure of it.

"Jesse," Sam grunted, his eyes bulging slightly as he struggled against the demon's grasp. "Jesse, Hope didn't lie to you. That's not," Sam gasped, forcing himself to keep going, "that's not who she is."

"Shut up!" The demon screeched, cutting off more of his air supply. "Stop lying!"

"Stop," Jesse said, glaring at the demon. "I want to hear what he has to say." Jesse nodded, freeing Sam and Dean from the demon's hold.

"But," the demon protested, and Jesse silenced her with a look.

"I said," Jesse growled, "I wanted to hear what he has to say, so sit down and shut up." A chair slid across the room, and the demon collapsed into it, unable to speak. He turned his attention to Sam and Dean, regarding them with a suspicious glare.

"Was Hope telling the truth? Do the three of you help people like me, or just kill them?" Jesse said.

Dean cleared his throat, glancing sideways at Sam. "Look, Jesse," Dean said absently, staring at Hope's unconscious body and losing his train of thought as he crossed the room and knelt by her side. He fought back the tears of rage and despair as he pulled her into his arms, caressing the side of her face as he tried to rouse her.

Sam watched Dean for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Here's the thing, Jesse. It really just depends on who the person is. Some special people like you do nothing but hurt innocent people on purpose, and that makes them monsters that have to be stopped. My brother and I are the ones that do that. But I think Hope saw something different in you, Jesse, something she believed was worth saving."

Jesse nodded, glancing toward the mantle where Hope had set the figure of Castiel. "And who was he? He threatened to hurt Hope if she didn't stand aside and let him kill me. When she didn't move, I didn't know what else to do, so I turned him into something that couldn't hurt her."

"That," Sam said, chuckling softly as he picked up the toy, "was a misguided friend of ours. I promise if you turn him back to himself, he'll never try to hurt you again."

Jessed eyed Sam dubiously, then changed the subject. "What does she want with me?" He nodded toward the demon Jesse held restrained in the chair. "Is it true, am I a demon?"

"Yes," Sam admitted, glancing at Dean again. "But you're also human, Jesse, and you choose who you want to become. No one else can do that for you."

Jesse glanced over his shoulder toward Hope and Dean, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "She said the same thing," he said with a small sigh, "I'm going to have to leave, aren't I?"

"I'm afraid so," Sam said. "Demons and angels both will be searching for you now, and they know you're here."

Jesse nodded. "Okay," he said finally, raising a hand and exorcising the demon from his mother. "Just let me say goodbye to my parents."

Sam nodded, watching as Jesse trudged up the stairs. His heart broke for the kid, understanding all too well the lonely feeling of being different from everyone else around you. Hope stirred in Dean's arms, and Dean's exclamation of relief jerked Sam back to the present. He rushed to their side, getting there just in time to see Hope blinking like an owl up at him and Dean.

"What happened?" Hope asked, groaning as she tried to sit up. Dean released her, although everything inside him screamed at him to grab on and never let her go.

"Jesse," Sam said, holding out an arm to help Hope to her feet. "He sent the demon back to hell, and he's going to disappear after he says goodbye to his parents."

"He's already gone," Castiel growled from the corner. "He put everything right in town before he left."

Dean stood, rounding on Castiel. "Did you seriously threaten to kill Hope to get to Jesse? Seriously, Cas? What the hell?"

"Dean," Hope said quietly, placing a hand on his arm as she held Castiel's gaze. "It's fine. He was only doing what he thought he had to."

"No, Hope! That's not okay!" Dean said, shaking off Hope's hand and starting toward Castiel. "If you ever threaten her again Cas, I swear to God—"

"I apologize, Dean," Castiel said, still staring at Hope because he understood who he should actually be apologizing to. "Hope was right about Jesse and I should've listened to her."

Hope nodded, giving Castiel a slight smile. "It's all good, Cas. Nobody got hurt, so everything is good. Let's get outta here." Hope grimaced as she stumbled toward the gaping hole that used to be the front door, waving off the three looks of concern lobbed her way. "I'm fine, guys. Let's just go."

Dean followed Hope out of the house, grumbling about how she most certainly was not okay, and Hope rolled her eyes, refusing to engage further. Every joint and muscle in her body screamed at her movement as she slid into the backseat of the Impala, but she ignored it. Some whiskey or painkillers and she'd be right as rain again.

By the time they got back to the motel, Hope's entire body was bathed in a sheen of sweat and she stared straight ahead in a delirious stupor, seeing and hearing nothing going on around her. Dean parked the car, glancing back at Hope as he pushed the door open.

"Hope?" Dean said. Hope didn't respond, didn't see his expression flicker from concern to bewilderment and land directly on terror. "Hope, talk to me."

Hope closed her eyes, falling over on the seat of the Impala. Dean stood up, yelling for Sam, who appeared in the doorway of the motel room. "Sam, I don't know what's wrong. She just passed out and she won't respond to me."

Sam opened the other door, leaning inside over Hope as he pressed a tentative hand to her forehead. "She's burning up, Dean. What the hell happened to her?"

"Do you think Jesse did this?" Dean demanded, anger rising beneath his ribcage. He swore under his breath to everything holy he would scour the ends of the earth to find that brat and make him pay if anything happened to Hope.

Sam shook his head, dismissing the notion. "No," Sam said with absolute certainty. "Hope risked her life to protect him. He wouldn't hurt her. She's probably just got the flu or something. Let's get her to the hospital and go from there." Dean nodded, sliding back into the driver's seat and spinning tires out of the parking lot as Sam directed them to the nearest hospital.

They reached the emergency room, and Sam parked the car as Dean carried an unconscious Hope through the sliding doors, demanding help as he laid her on the nearest empty gurney. His mind flashed back to the last time he'd seen her this way, and he cursed himself for not insisting to go straight to Bobby's house and let them handle this case alone.

The nurses and doctors pushed him gently back, rolling the gurney behind a curtain as Sam appeared next to him, dropping the keys to the Impala into his hand. "Sam?" Dean glanced at him; his voice was little more than a broken whisper now.

Sam nodded, placing his hands on Dean's shoulders and guiding him to the waiting room, just as he'd done the last time Hope had been in critical condition. "She'll be fine Dean, I promise. Hope is a fighter."

Dean nodded dumbly, collapsing into a nearby chair and staring at the wall in front of him. He didn't even have words for how much he hated this, to feel this helpless while someone he loved fought for their life just down the hallway. He covered his face with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I told you, Sam. I told you I had a bad feeling about this trip."

Sam rolled his eyes, letting out a sigh as he settled into a chair next to Dean. "Yes, you did say that." He didn't say anything else; what else was there to say? Nothing could possibly shake Dean's belief that he shouldn't have agreed to Hope's terms. He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the pounding headache that started behind his eyes.

They waited for hours like this, Sam fighting a headache while Dean alternated pacing the waiting room and fidgeting in the seat next to Sam, all while muttering under his breath. Under any other circumstances, Sam might've told him to shut up, but right now, he figured that conversation would go about as well as trying to baptize a cat. A doctor appeared in the waiting room doorway, glancing around the half occupied room. Half a dozen hopeful faces turned toward her at that moment, and she double-checked the chart she carried.

"Who came in with Hope Bennett?" Dean stopped pacing, bolting toward the door with Sam on his heels.

"Me," he said, his heart hammering wildly in his chest, "Er, we did."

"Are you friends or family?" The doctor said, staring at them both expectantly.

"We're—" Dean started to say 'friends,' but Sam interrupted him.

"We're family," Sam said with more confidence than he felt. "What's going on with Hope, Doctor?"

"Well, we've run a battery of tests and so far we can't figure out exactly what's wrong with her. Her symptoms are presenting like scurvy, but the high fever suggests a virus of some kind," the doctor opened the chart, flipping through a couple sheets inside as she spoke, "we're treating her with antivirals and Vitamin C injections, but there's only so much we can do, given her condition. If the fever doesn't come down in the next 24 hours, I'm afraid we might lose them both," the doctor said, closing the chart.

"I'm sorry," Dean sputtered, "did you say, both? What are you talking about?"

"You didn't know?" the doctor said, frowning at the confused expression on Sam and Dean's faces. "Hope is pregnant."

"Wait—what!? Sam and Dean said in unison. The doctor took a step back, her eyes widening.

"I see," she said, rechecking the chart. "It's not surprising you might not have known. Hope probably didn't know herself. It says in her chart she's only around seven weeks gestation. Is one of you the father?" The doctor looked up from the chart expectantly, and Sam took a step backward, his hands raised in defense as he pointed at Dean. "So—not the giant. Got it," the doctor muttered, making a note in the chart.

After a brief pause, she closed the chart again, her gaze darting between them. They've moved her upstairs, room 406. You can see her whenever you like."

Dean stared at the doctor in stunned silence as she turned away. He hadn't heard a damn thing since the doctor dropped the mother of all news bombs on him. Hope was pregnant? The collar of his shirt suddenly felt too tight, and the walls in the hospital were closing in on him. There wasn't enough air in the entire atmosphere for him to take a single deep breath and the world spun around him in slow motion. He couldn't breathe, and the only coherent thought that went through his brain was run.

Dean bolted from the waiting room and down the corridor toward the elevators without a word or backward glance. For a moment, Sam watched after him in stunned silence, believing Dean was running toward Hope. It wasn't until Sam saw Dean press the lower floor button on the pane that he realized Dean was running away. "Dean!" Sam called, jogging to catch up to him as the elevator doors opened and Dean stepped inside. "Dean, where are you going?"

"I can't deal with this, Sam," Dean said, shaking his head as the door slid closed. "I need some air, and to be anywhere but here right now."

"Dean—" Sam started, but the elevator doors slid closed, cutting off his words. "Dammit!"

Sam jabbed a finger into the panel, muttering curses under his breath as he waited for the elevator doors to open again. He was torn between going to Hope and going after Dean, and he settled on going to Hope. Sam knew his brother well enough to know that when Dean got like this, no one would find him until he was ready. Sam just hoped whatever way Dean decided to blow off steam wasn't as self-destructive as it had been in the past. He was about to become a father, after all.