A/N: I would've had this up earlier, but the site wouldn't let me upload it, but it has now, so here's the next part!

Chapter 15

It was dark, cold and musty. There were no sounds around except that of a wind shouting outside. He was in a building, or so he figured. He didn't feel the wind, so therefore it was the only explanation that he could think of. There were wires binding his wrists and ankles, the same type of wires that Kacey had been tied amongst.

He drew in a shuddering breath, trying to force away the excruciating headache that had claimed his skull and refused to move out. He swallowed a lump in his throat and opened his eyes slowly. There was no light, only pitch black surrounded him. It was so dark that his eyes wouldn't adjust to it. The lack of sight made him feel dizzy when he moved his head. He managed to suppress a small yelp that bubbled in the back of his throat and instead, he gasped.

There was a shifting movement nearby; he listened to it, not making any further noise. A sharp object was drawn slowly across his ribs beneath his arm. He felt it prick through the skin and leave a trail of blood where it darted over him. Sam tried to bite off the small moan of pain that slipped past his lips. A cold hand was pressed against his mouth and he felt an icy breath struggle across his face. His skin was sticky from the damp feeling in the air and he inhaled the sharp scent of old earth that hadn't been disturbed for a while.

"Hush, don't speak." The voice that greeted him was more or less a whisper and it scratched in the owner's voice like shifting gravel.

Sam twisted his head away from the hand and it slithered across his cheek as cold mud would do. He winced at the sharp bolt it sent through his neck, but he didn't care. The wires sliced deeper into his skin as he shifted and he could feel them digging their way in to draw blood. He concentrated on the cuts, trying to guess how deep they were. They were deep enough to hurt like hell, but he didn't think they were there to threaten his life. At least he hoped not.

The point of the previous object was once again pulled gently across him, just enough to cut the top layer of skin on his lower arm. Sam winced, but didn't allow the pain to escape past his vocal cords. He squinted into the darkness, looking for a shape, a shadow, anything. He couldn't see. A hand was lain against the side of his head and his world blossomed in pain. From within the pain, he saw the demon's foggy shape and the two eyes watching him in stormy silence. Then it spoke, the same gravelly voice that had told him no to speak.

"It's nearly over." Then it vanished and Sam was left gasping through the pain that clouded his vision.

It was still dark, and he let the threatening tears burning in his eyes fall to his cheeks before blinking them back. Where was Dean?


Dean's head was resting against the passenger window of John Winchester's truck. The older son's eyes were closed gently and his cheeks were beginning to flush a pale shade of red. John pulled up outside the cemetery and his dark gaze drifted to where his son shifted at the stopping of the vehicle. Dean's eyes slid open and he shook his head lightly to banish the cobwebs.

"We're here." John replied gruffly and unbuckled his belt.

Dean straightened and disguised his discomfort. He didn't want to show weakness, his father wouldn't approve. Still, it was clear that there was pain burning within the man, even through his stony exterior expression. John reached out a hand to brush gently against Dean's cheek to test the fever's progression. It was there, but it wasn't extreme. The heat danced beneath his palm and despite the deep concern he felt for Dean, he reached into the dash in front of his son and pulled out the bottle of painkillers he kept there. His eyes skimmed the label and he saw that it also helped to relieve fevers.

John quickly pulled the cover off and shook two of the tablets into his palm. He grabbed a bottle of water off the seat next to him and handed it to Dean with the pills. The younger man took the offerings silently and downed them both in a matter of seconds. He grimaced as the warm, stale water touched his tongue, but ignored it. At least it was wet and it would work to quench his parched throat. He replaced the cover onto the empty bottle and tossed it back down before stumbling from the truck. John followed suit and met his oldest at the back.

It took less than three minutes for both men to be armed and ready to go in after the youngest Winchester. John took the lead, keeping his son behind him to provide protection. He kept tossing flitting glances back to see if the man was still coming and found, with mounting pride that Dean was pressing on despite the way he was feeling. John had to admire his boy for determination and strength, as well as the way he vowed to keep Sam safe, no matter what. For a split second, John felt a pang of regret at leaving his sons to fend for themselves, but he quickly dismissed it as being necessary to his mission. He wouldn't risk the lives of his boys. However, he seemed to be doing that anyway. He kept moving. His feet pressed noiselessly against the ground as he made his way deeper into the graveyard. He could still sense the demon's presence and Dean's stealthy behaviour told him that his son did as well.

John stopped and scanned his eyes over the grounds. There was very little to give away the demon's location. The thing could have been anywhere, watching them, waiting to pounce. His eyes darted back to where his son stood on shaking legs, but hiding his weakness and he nodded his approval. Dean's expression of quiet uneasiness didn't change and the man's eyes shifted from stone to stone and crypt to crypt. John pressed on, with Dean close behind.


Flashes of his father and older brother dashed through his mind as the headache of a vision took hold on him. He saw his father step inside an open crypt and Dean followed. The vision faltered and switched to focus on the men inside. The dark of the cemetery loomed behind them through the open door, and John Winchester's face was set in a grim expression of readiness.

Dean wavered on his feet and slightly doubled over, pressing a hand against his stomach. The man's face paled, but he straightened quickly and gasped a bit. The father figure turned to his son and there was nothing, but worry written in his determined eyes. He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder and the younger Winchester nodded without speaking. John's hand sought out Dean's cheek and pressed gently against it. Words were exchanged, but they were silent so Sam couldn't understand.

Dean shook his head in the negative, his eyes looking stung at whatever John had said. The older man kept a stern look locked on Dean's face, but the determination of the other brother didn't whisper away. It remained, and his mouth moved. Sam heard it this time.

"I'm fine, dad. I'm not going to leave without Sammy." Dean's cheeks were pale beneath flushed skin.

"Dean, you know how much worse this is going to get." John returned.

"Yes, I do, but I want to get Sam back just as badly as you do. Besides, you need someone to watch your back." Dean said firmly.

"Stay behind me, and that's all you do is watch my back. I'll take care of the demon; you just get Sam back to the truck. You got that?" John responded sternly.

Dean's expression never wavered.

"Yes sir."


Sam came reeling back to the darkness with a nagging pain in his head. His father was there? Since when did he take time out of his apparently busy schedule to come and help his sons? Sam couldn't recall a time that matched that description. He didn't know if he was glad his dad was there or not, but he knew one thing, after seeing Dean's condition, Sam had one more thing to worry about and that was weighing heavily on his mind.

The silence of the darkness continued around him, and he thought that maybe the demon had finally left for a while. He only hoped it would give Dean and his father enough time to get him out of the dark.