As promised--2 updates this weekend. Enjoy...

Chapter 11

Jessie was pissed. She couldn't believe the man who so eagerly accepted her help only minutes before, had just as abruptly rejected it entirely. He had no right to yell at me like that! I just wanted to help. God, I even showed him where the house was. Why do men always think they can do everything by themselves?

Jessie glanced down at her watch. Dean had been gone now for over half an hour and hadn't made any effort to assure her that he was ok.Worry crept into her mind, but she refused to give into it. He's a grown man; he can take care of himself.

She couldn't believe how quiet her surroundings had gotten, the birds weren't even singing. She longed to hear the wind whipping through the leaves of the tall trees encircling her old house, but the air was still. And she soon found herself beginning to miss the hum of the Impala, Dean's rambling, and the loud noise he affectionately referred to as music.

She turned her gaze back to her childhood home. Has it really been 13 years? She sighed as she focused on the chipping white paint and the cracked wood jutting out along the porch. The red door she was so enamored with as a child remained slightly ajar, begging her to enter, to return, and to remember.

Jessie couldn't take it anymore. The one thing she hated more than being bored was being left out and technically this was her house. Who did Dean think he was denying me the right to enter anyway? He doesn't own me! Besides, one small tour can't hurt.

With that thought in mind, she exited the car and began advancing toward the forgotten plantation overrun with ivy and smiled. I'm home.

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Sam groaned as his eyes fluttered open, quickly squeezing them shut as his mind and body began to regain their natural state of consciousness, forcing his former pain to return in waves. He couldn't move even if he wanted to. What's the point? I'm screwed anyway.

All Sam could do now is wait. He did notice that the temperature of the room had raised considerably and could feel the sweat trickling down his brow. He knew the temperature change was do to the lack of Myrah's presence. She'll come back. He wasn't sure if this was the same room from before or if she had transported him somewhere else somehow. Not like I have a point of reference.

The pain subsided some, and Sam attempted to raise himself into a sitting position. The task proved challenging. His chin rested on his chest for the simple reason that it felt like it weighed a ton and he couldn't quite bring it up. His arms refused to cooperate and support him initially, but he was determined to keep trying until they did. By the time Sam reached the desired position, he was exhausted.

He flayed his arms out trying to come in contact with something he could lean against and found a wall. With the small amount of stamina he had left, he gritted his teeth and slid his body toward it. He positioned himself so that his back was up against the wall and stretched out his sore legs slowly, pausing slightly when they came in contact with something else. An another wall, maybe? Furniture?

If he wasn't so tired, he would have caved and went over to figure out exactly what else he was sharing his current prison with, but his body screamed for a break. He rotated his head to the right, and rested it against the wall. He blinked slowly and was startled by what awaited him upon uncovering his eyes. Sam felt his heart skip a beat and a lump forming in his throat.

Gray. Not black. Gray. Sam's whole body trembled, and hope flooded over him. His once dark world was now an array of different shades of gray. Their beginning and end contrasting each other perfectly. Shapes…I can make out shapes…

The relief of his discovery brought tears to Sam's eyes. I knew this wasn't permanent. I knew it. I can get out now. I can save Dean.

Sam pushed his palms against the floor and pulled himself up. His excitement and renewed purpose overpowering the tidal wave of pain latching onto his every movement. Try and stop me now, Myrah!

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Dean felt someone shaking him, and could vaguely make out the voice begging him to respond. He brought his head up slowly, his eyes darting to and fro, as he tried to remember where he was. The movement resided as he caught sight of Jessie's sweet face masked with concern and panic.

"Dean? Can you hear me?" She sounded so helpless as her cracking voice barely finished out the question.

"Mm…yeah." Dean replied slowly as he tried to get up. Jessie caught sight of the attempt and quickly placed one hand on his waist and the other on his arm helping him rise.

Dean seemed okay considering the fall he'd taken and Jessie had almost completely given into his façade until she released her grip and Dean had to support himself.

Dean cried out as the sharp pain traveled up his leg. He would've fallen again, if Jessie hadn't have been there to brace him—only then noticing the angle at which his right leg was positioned.

Jessie bit her lower lip. How could I be so stupid? I was so concerned he'd be coherent that I didn't even check for broken bones. It took almost all of her energy to allow Dean to support himself on her shoulder and attempt to grab the old chair to set him down in. Dean was less than compliant as Jessie tried to get him to sit and let her have a look.

"It's fine! Really." He attempted to stand once again on his own to prove his point, but his leg gave out on him again. "I have to find Sam."

"We'll find him. Okay. We will, but first just let me see how bad this is." Jessie helped Dean sit down and stretched his leg out. Moving as carefully as she possibly could, she began rolling up the pant leg of his jeans. She tried not to move so slow as to drag the pain out, but every time she heard Dean wince she froze momentarily.

"Damn that hurts!" Dean gasped.

"I'm almost there. Okay? You're doing great." Her voice was barely audible as she inspected the damage. She could taste the bile attempting to surface and swallowed quickly.

A bone had managed to break free and pierce through the young man's flesh, leaving a gaping tear snapping the muscle and surrounding tissue. Jessie thanked God silently that the blood flow was minimal. For now, anyway.

"That bad, huh?" Dean muttered as he noticed the look of distress on Jessie's face. He began to shift to see the damage, but Jessie blocked his view.

"Trust me…you don't want to see it." Jessie tried to sound somewhat authoritative, but Dean wasn't having it and proceeded to brush her aside as he glanced down at the contorted bloody mess he called his leg.

"Well, that can't be good."

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