Title: Moonstar

Ch. 10: A Delicate Balance

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Only get pleasure, no money. Welcome to the world thru my eyes.

Summary: Dean is crashing after a string of bad jobs. One last, terrible incident pushes him over the edge. He's on a downhill slide and the Moonstar is the last place he needs to be.

A/N: Thank God, I am back online and it wasn't my computer! First of all, having been down since Sunday I have had to post and try to follow the reviews at work but was unable to respond to them all personally as I really enjoy doing so I would first like to say I read them all, treasured every one and appreciate the time it took for you all to review. Please accept my huge virtual bear hug as a personal ta to each of you. There were so many I just couldn't answer them all this time or I wouldn't have had time to write. You make my life and my writing that much more enjoyable. Thrilling, actually.

Second, there are references in the last chapter and in another coming up eventually, that have to do with my story Rituals. Hopefully, if you've read it you'll pick up on them. This is not a shameless plug for that story and I think the chapters will be enjoyable without having to read it but it might mean more if you get a chance to check it out beforehand. Suit yourself.

On with the show!

Sam trudged down the stairs, irritated and worried. He didn't like leaving Dean in his current state but it looked like all he was capable of right now was sleeping. He needed to rest so Sam didn't really have a problem with that.

Linda turned with another smile as Sam reluctantly walked up to the counter.

"Where's Dean, sweetie?" The unlit cigarette bobbed as she spoke. He wondered why she never actually smoked it. She wore the usual skimpy top, her cleavage billowing out of the neck as she rested her bosom on the desktop and leaned forward. Deep in the crevice he could see what looked like a butterfly's wing curving across one rounded hump of gelatinous flesh. Linda seemed oblivious to the effect she was creating.

David came out of the office behind her and grinned at Sam. Sam hastily forced his eyes upward.

"Hey, Sam, I saw Dean out earlier working on your car. He have any luck?"

Sam shook his head. "No, it still won't start."

"Oh," David frowned. "Maybe we need to get it towed to a shop."

Sam shook his head emphatically. "No, not unless Dean, okay's it. That car is his baby. He doesn't like anyone touching it except him. He barely lets me drive."

David laughed. "I had a car like that once, I understand. Say, where is Dean? Weren't you guys supposed have a look around this morning?"

Sam's mouth tightened. "Yeah, well, that's what I need to talk to you about. Dean isn't feeling very well—"

"I told you!" Linda interrupted, clapping a hand on the desk. "I told David last night that boy looked sick. What's the matter with him?"

Sam hesitated. "It's kind of a long story," he began. He scratched through his hair. "The last few weeks have been kinda rough, especially on Dean. I thought it's mostly he's just tired but now he's coming down with something and he cut his hand pretty bad the other night changing a tire. I think it may be getting infected." He pushed a piece of paper back and forth on the counter as he talked. "We were gonna take a break for a few days when Dad called about you guys needing some help. Dean insisted we come here first." Sam rubbed his eyes. "I'm really getting worried about him. He's so damned tired, he running a fever, I'd be happy if I could just get him to eat." He tried to toe the line of how much information was enough but not too much.

Linda frowned and glanced at David. "You should have said something to your dad, Sam." David said, straightening up. "This could have waited. He would have understood."

Sam couldn't stop the bark of laughter. "I'm sorry." He murmured at their looks of surprise. "My dad's changed since you knew him, I think. Besides Dean would have insisted we come no matter what. That's just how he is."

"There's a doctor's office in town, maybe you should take him." Linda offered, eyestoward the upper floor. "Sweetie, don't worry about us, you need to take care of Dean."

" He wouldn't go unless he was bleeding to death and even then I'd still have a fight on my hands." Sam shrugged, playing with his paper. "Anyway. Dean's asleep right now. I fixed his hand back up and I think he'll probably sleep most of the day. I was thinking I might go down to that historical society and do some more research, there's some stuff I want to check out after looking at the papers you have. I just kinda hate to leave Dean alone."

"Well, sure, sweetie. It's just a 10 minute walk from here. Would you like me to check on your brother now and again?" Linda was just so damned nice. David stood behind her nodding. "There's some canned soup in the kitchen, maybe I can get him to eat a little later."

Sam was grateful but embarrassed. "I hate to ask you to do that--"

"Sweetie, you're trying to help us, let us help you a little. It's not your fault Dean is sick. I don't mind. It'll give me something to do besides work on these damned books."

"If you really don't mind, I'd appreciate it a lot." Sam admitted. "We're here, I feel like we need to be doing something to help you, I'm just sorry the timing was off. Dean'll, probably feel a lot better tomorrow." He shrugged, "If not, I guess I'll have to force the issue." Sam scruffed his hair again and glanced at the stairs. He was still reluctant to leave but sitting in their room all day watching Dean sleep would accomplish nothing other than making Sam feel less guilty.

"No trouble at all," Linda assured him. "Give me your cell phone number so I can call you if I need to and here's a number you can call to check on him." She scribbled a number across a yellow sticky note and held it out to him. "David, can tell you how to get downtown, everything is pretty much on two streets. I know you haven't had breakfast yet. Stop at the grill and get something to eat. Give them your name. We have a tab, we gave them your names to add to it. And don't worry about Dean, we'll keep an eye on him for you." She reached out and patted his hand.

"Thank you, that's really nice. I will." Sam gave her his cell number, and pulled his jacket back on.

David motioned him to the back doors, "C'mon, I'll give you directions, you get lost, everyone knows the place. Just ask someone."

Sam walked through he back gardens, down the steps and past the church with the bell tower. There were no sidewalks except downtown and every step was downhill. As he walked his stomach began to growl and he realized he probably ought to grab a quick bite. David had said the grill was two blocks off Spring Road and to the right. Starving himself, he decided, wasn't helping either of them

He couldn't help but be taken in by the old buildings as he walked, many of them hanging right off the mountainside. Staircases ran zig zag at every level from the street to the top floors. Rickety looking decks of every size festooned the buildings and every open area even slightly large enough to park a car had a sign that read. "Private Parking, Violators Will Be Towed."

As he got closer to the small downtown area, several open spaces where buildings had once stood had been leveled and were now being used for timed parking. The streets wound around like a snake and some dropped at such a steep angle Sam had trouble walking down them. Buildings were built on top of buildings, extended out from the sides and sunk down in the low areas until it seemed there was no place left to build. It was beautiful in a weird sort of way and fascinating.

Many of the stores were filled with artwork and antiques. Just as many also had signs that said "closed for the season" or "out of business". All in all, though, it was very pleasant and many of the people he passed waved or spoke.

As he walked along in the cool of the morning, several people were already strolling the old granite walks, looking in the store windows or having coffee in the outdoor cafes'. He spotted the Grill, across the street from the Spring Park Hotel and crossed the empty road to get some quick breakfast.

Linda glanced at her watch and decided to take a peek at Dean to make sure he was all right. She was tired of figuring construction costs versus probable profits over a given span of time. She tossed the soggy cigarette she was mouthing and shifted her bulk to the stairs.

Sam had left their room door open slightly and she pushed it open a trifle more and peered in. Dean lay on his back, his bandaged hand draped over his stomach, the other hung off the bed. His face was turned away but he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. She stepped into the room, pausing to look down as she crunched into a thick line of white powder spilled across the doorway.

What the hell?

She bent with an effort and brushed her fingers through the crystals and brought them close to her eyes.

It looked like…..salt.

Dean moaned softly in his sleep, brushing his face with his bandaged hand. Soft voices hung on the edge of his consciousness but he couldn't rouse himself enough to hear what they were saying.

The room grew colder as the mist began to swirl in gentle folds about his bed. He shifted uneasily and his eyes fluttered open as the dark haired woman leaned close to him once again. He could see other figures drifting behind her but could make out no one individual.

His breath caught in his throat as the smell of honeysuckle and death filled his nostrils. Heart racing he tried to pull away but it was useless. She pressed herself against him, her body sinking once again into his. She was gentler this time, as if she realized that her first effort had been to harsh, but he whimpered nonetheless . He struggled against being shoved aside, back through that door and into the blackness that terrified him. She sensed his terror, but her need supplanted any desire to ease him from it. She needed this body. But she needed to wield it with more skill, more care.

Dean's body sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Dizziness kept his form still for a moment until the ungodly thirst became too much and he stumbled into the bathroom. He drank glass after glass of water until his stomach hurt and still the thirst was unabated. Drawing breath was like inhaling needles and he couldn't swallow his throat was so parched. He gagged over more water, finally vomiting it all into the sink. He hung there, choking, to shaky to move. His head splitting.

After a few moments, he raised his eyes. The reflection in the mirror as she lifted Dean's head revealed a white face, circles under the eyes, breath heaving in and out. This body, she became aware, was weak from illness, exhaustion, lack of food and the nightmare ravages of it's own mind, but still it would have to do.

Gradually, the breathing calmed and he slowly straightened up, studying the reflection more closely. Using the bad hand clumsily, the now wet t-shirt was pulled off and dropped on the floor. Hands moved lightly up the thighs and tracing over the hard muscles of the belly and chest, up each arm and finally along the lines of this man's face.

For a long time she stared into the green eyes, aware that her invasion was tearing apart his ability to maintain his sense of self. That her need to share this body was burning out it's little remaining strength, weakening the carefully constructed defenses, there to protect him from the demons of his own creation. They raged within him, clawing, wailing for release, almost overwhelming her as she took control, even as he was forced to relinquished his control and was dragged down by them.

So lonely…frightened….so much guilt and pain…so consumed by darkness…so vulnerable…

The very vulnerability was what she had waited so long to find. Someone who could not push her away, so anguished they were incapable of it. Someone whose pain equaled her own.

The eyes narrowed and turned from the mirror. He moved across the room to the door, silent in his stocking feet. The door was ajar but he paused at the crooked salt line with a look of distaste. Sighing, he turned and moved back toward the closet. Thirst still overwhelmed him and he snagged a water bottle that was sitting on the table and taking a swig, using this bodies knowledge and instinct to sharpen her ability to use it . His skin felt cold and he shrugged into the shirt lying on the bed, not bothering with the buttons.

This body's strength was waning and only her own urgency stayed it from collapse. She needed this body, she had waited so long now. She prayed this man's remaining strength could keep him free of his own private hell long enough to help her escape hers.

Since she couldn't cross the threshold she would have to go another way, and now thanks to the hand she held up to her face, that way was no longer barred.

Sorry, not a lot of hurt in this.. Got to move it down the road some first. Hard to write 'cause I couldn't figure out how to do it from her POV and still have it be Dean, so forgive any inadvertent confusion or whatever. I could have rewritten all day and I don't think it would have improved it. I probably went a little too far trying to convey whatever I thought I was trying to convey. This is kind of short but couldn't continue the next part without it being too much for one chapter. Besides I'm so excited I can post from home again I just had to get it up!