A/N: Finally! Sorry guys; the document manager was out of commission for a while. But now it's up and I can post.

hey, bit of promotion here: check out my Supernatural C2: 'Almost Episodes' for some other good Supernatural fics.

Chapter Five: Switch

The Beatles were played at a considerate volume, giving a background sound to the mull of the clanking of dishes, calls for orders, rings of the cash register, and casual conversation of the small practically clichéd diner. It was about dinner time, and the usual customers mingled with those just passing through. The atmosphere was warm and comforting; save for the occasional mention of a devil cat five miles north or a mishap with some frogs up at the high school. But those comments were sporadically made and quickly silenced with teasing remarks, rolled eyes, and occasional mocking taps on the temple.

Sam rubbed his sore eyes, trying to quiet their protests of being forced to stare at the laptop screen for three hours straight. How could this possibly be so incredibly difficult? All they wanted was to find a house; was that really so much to ask? Well, apparently so, because after spending the rest of the day exhausting nearly every resource at their disposal, the Winchesters still didn't have any idea where Victor Gavin's old home was.

But how was that even possible? Coolidge just wasn't that big. And how could the police have never even found Gavin's place of residence? It just didn't make sense. Dad's journal had affirmed that Gavin had indeed lived in the area, but had given no more accurate a description than that. They'd even gone back to Sarah Franklin's house to ask if she knew where to go. But Sarah, who greeted the door rather sourly because Bethany was back downstairs and within hearing range, had snappishly told them that she'd never even laid eyes on Victor Gavin, let alone where he lived. Dean had gone to try his luck at chatting up with the locals, which had eventually turned up nothing. The locals didn't like to talk about the incidents with Victor Gavin anyway. So, Sam had gone to his typically faithful Internet, but alas, it was to no avail. And that was pretty damn impressive, not to mention extremely vexing.

"How's it coming, geek boy?" Dean asked, trying to be encouraging. The look on Sam's face told him everything. "Not so good, huh?"

Sam just shook his head. "I don't get it. I mean, we can find ancient runes in about an hour, exorcism rites in half that. But we look for a house, just one house in the middle of a small town, and suddenly we're looking for the Holy Grail. How is that possible?"

Dean looked thoughtful for a moment, chewing on his cheek. Sam just sat back, again rubbing his eyes, and closed his laptop in defeat. Sam truly gritted his teeth as he did it, aggravated that his normally decent research techniques (though he had never enjoyed the talent before now) had been bested by a mere address.

"Hey, I've got it," Dean piped up suddenly. Sam looked half-heartedly over at him, hoping to hear some good news. "Maybe Gavin used a protective charm to hid his stash."

Sam stared blankly at his brother for a minute. Then stated tersely, "You couldn't have thought of that three hours ago?"

Dean grinned back sheepishly. "I was caught up in the whirlwind of excitement," he tried pathetically.

Sam's eyes narrowed back rather dangerously, but an angel in tennis shoes, a green apron, and a nametag saved Dean any further malice from his younger brother.

"Care to hear the specials, boys?"

The friendly middle-aged redheaded waitress broke the moment, with many quiet thanks from Dean. Though the abrupt interruption made the fumbling for the menu a little awkward, Dean pulled it off all right. Sam didn't pick up the menu, he just sat back and looked at his laptop, half wondering if he should try to find the house again, half still pissed at both Dean and himself for not realizing the obvious possibility that Gavin had used magic to hide his place. And that wasn't all that was making him feel so crappy; yes, the dream from fourteen hours ago was still affecting him. And it was really starting to scare Sam. He was starting to think about putting his selfishness aside and start talking about it with Dean again.

"Burger, fries, and a coke," Dean ordered with a trademark smile. There was really no point to him even glancing at the menu, given that that was practically his entire diet, along with coffee and beer.

The waitress gave a nod as she quickly jotted it down and turned expectantly to Sam, who only shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks," he replied in an attempt to be friendly back for manner's sake, but he couldn't pull it off. But the waitress didn't seem to mind; she just gave a shrug and a quick 'well, all right', and was gone.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Sam turned back to the important conversation topics. "Well, if that's the case, than only one person knows where the house is:Victor Gavin."

Dean shook his head dismissively. Why did Sammy have to keep pushing that idea? Dean knew that he certainly wasn't enthusiastic about having to go up to the prison to chat with a sadistic Satanic psycho anytime soon. "First Sam, we don't even know if he's alive anymore."

"Yes we do," Sam corrected, tapping his laptop in explanation, "He's not due for the needle until Friday. We've got time."

Dean was perturbed that Sam had even bothered to look up Gavin's execution date, but decided to not get into that. "Okay, and what makes you think he'll do anything to help us? He wants the portal open, Sam. No way in hell is he going to do anything to stop it."

"Maybe we could somehow convince him…"

"Of what? If the portal opens before Friday, what're the chances they'll keep an execution going when all of Hell is being unleashed? Gavin's got nothing to loose, so there's nothing we can bait him with into helping us. Besides, we don't need to find the house that badly. It'd be nice to have it, but if we don't, we don't. We follow the signs and figure out where the portal's located, keep it shut till the end of the week. It's that simple."

When Dean had finished, he noticed that Sam was looking at him strangely, with a small smirk at the corner of his mouth. "What?"

Sam's smirk grew a little bigger. "Nothing."

"No, seriously, what?" Dean asked confusedly.

"It's just…" Sam gave a quiet laugh. "You…you sounded so much like Dad."

Dean had to give a laugh too. "Damn, I did, didn't I?"

There was a pause of uncomfortable tension. John had undoubtedly been on his sons' minds ever since that night in Chicago. They hadn't heard from him, and they hadn't really discussed any of it between each other. Probably because each knew that it would only result in another argument. Another fight over following orders, getting the ceiling demon, being the good son, and avenging mom and Jessica. It wasn't worth it. Not yet, anyway.

The waitress came back and set Dean's food down. She again asked Sam if he wanted anything, and again he declined. She advised him to just call her over if they needed anything else, and went back to her job.

Dean launched into his burger ravenously enough to make Sam cringe. They'd skipped lunch, and Dean had only had coffee and a bite of concrete donut for breakfast, so he was starving. Finally, however, he took notice of Sam. Sam had eaten as little as he had, if not less. Big brother instincts clicked on.

"You sure your okay?"

Sam nodded, but only looked blankly out the window, his mind elsewhere. "Just not hungry. That's all."

"You sure?"

Sam gave him a dubious look. "After watching you eat, I don't think I'll be hungry for a while."

Dean scowled at him and defiantly took a huge chomp of his burger, relishing it as he slowly chewed it.

Gavin sat in the middle of his cell, bathed in moonlight. He held in his hands a single black candle. His eyes remained fixated on the dancing flame as he meditated. He would need all of his strength to pull of such a spell with so little power left.
The brothers had gone back to the hotel, deciding that all they could do was wait for the portal to broadcast another sign. Dean had hit the sack quickly, feeling rather ill from how fast he'd wolfed down his burger. Sam, however, was doing a little night-reading with Dad's journal. He wanted to give it another once over before finally turning out the light. But, it was no use. He was convinced now that Gavin had cast some sort of charm to keep his old home hidden. The good news was that whatever he'd left there must be preserved; the bad news was that it would probably stay there till kingdom come.

But Sam kept reading. And it wasn't because he actually thought he'd find something. He didn't want to have the dream again, and he had a sickening feeling that that was exactly what was awaiting him if he drifted off to sleep.

Finally, Gavin blinked, breaking out of the meditative state. He blew out the candle and set it down by the other items he had put on his right. Gavin reached under his bunk and took out a beer bottle and a rag. The bottle was filled with a clear liquid; human sweat. There was a great deal after ten years. Gavin dabbed the rag in the bottle and began painting a symbol on the floor.
What am I doing? Sam thought to himself. I can't let some dream freak me out. I don't even know what it means.

"I'm not going to run from this," he stated resolutely as he closed the journal.

He put the journal down on the floor, rolled over to turn out his light, then settled onto the mothball smelling mattress to try and get some sleep.

The symbol looked similar to a yinyang, except that the yin and yang had separated, putting emphasis on each of the shapes as individuals. When the symbol was finished, Gavin picked up the shank.

"Masters, it is your loyal servant," he greeted quietly as he used the crude shank to slowly cut open his left palm. The blood shone black in the shaft of pure moonlight. As blood dripped onto the symbol quite liberally, Gavin began to quietly chant in an ancient language, a tongue lost to the sands of time that had only survived through the magic it offered.

Now the symbol began to faintly glow. Gavin watched in anticipation as he chanted. Soon the blood disappeared and the symbol continued to glow. The payment had been accepted. Gavin's cold eyes glinted with excitement.

He set the shank down and exchanged it for the mirror. He placed it at a specific angle with the moonlight, letting the light hit the map he had placed next to the symbol. The map was of Arizona. A circle had been drawn clearly encircling the area around Coolidge and Florence.

Gavin could feel the magic beginning to work; the room had suddenly gotten a little warmer and there was an odd tingling in the air. He proceeded to take out a long cord that had 39 knots. He quickly took the last free space on the cord and tied the final 40th knot. The air became more energized. Gavin quickly got up and stashed the cord behind a pipe. The cord was an extra precaution, but Gavin hadn't wanted to take any chances. It had to remain hidden.

Gavin returned to the symbol, watching excitedly as it glowed a little brighter. This was the point in the ritual when he could make a request. And he gladly did so. He had given a lot of thought to the request throughout the day. It had to be brief, yet specific. What he really wanted could not be easily translated, but he had managed to find a phrase to fit his purposes.

So, in the ancient, powerful language he quietly requested: "One like me. One like me. "

The symbol suddenly glowed much brighter. Gavin looked directly at his image in the mirror. It was warping, changing. Gavin smiled with an evil happiness. Suddenly, a force shoved him backward until he was pressed up against the concrete wall of his cell. But his smile did not fade. Even as he lost control of his body, the smile remained plastered on his face.

Sam suddenly woke up in a panic. He hadn't had the dream, he was sure of it, yet that feeling… Something was very, very wrong.

All of a sudden, Sam felt an unseen force press down on him. He had to gasp for air. His eyes widened in fear. What the hell was happening? He tried to call out to Dean, who was fast asleep a mocking three feet from him. But Sam couldn't move his lips or tongue; he couldn't move at all!

Then the pain came. An extreme, horrible pain. If this was what the dream had foreseen, it had barely given him an inkling of what the pain was like. This wasn't just skin being ripped off. It was being burned away, grated away, clawed away. Sam couldn't scream physically, but internally he was. Screaming and screaming in the horrible pain.

Suddenly, the pain began to dull a little and he felt like he was being lifted, floating. No! He was being taken away! It was just like the dream! Sam desperately tried to fight, but he suddenly had no sense of where he was, what he was.

Floating up, up, up… And then he got the sense that he was moving very very fast, over a vast distance.

Then he hit something. Strange; he couldn't actually feel anything… But there was an impact, of that he was sure. Because the impact was so strong that it knocked him out on contact.

Victor Gavin's body lay still in its cell. It spasmed suddenly for two seconds, and then stilled all over again. It slumped limply against the wall and to the floor.
Sam Winchester's body lay still in its bed. It jerked suddenly, like something had hit it. A black band appeared around each of its wrists. Then its eyes popped open.