I quietly mouth the words to the exorcism over again. I want to make sure I've got the pronunciation right. Luckily, the entirety of the ceremony is not too long, only about a page. Still, with next to know experience with this, I'm pretty nervous. Plus, unlike Dean and Sam, I was never ordained, not even online, so I'm not too convinced this will work. Still, it's the best we can do. And Dean's already blessed me, so hopefully that will help. Funny, I've never been blessed before. Hope God won't hold my lack of devotion against me here.

"Here." Dean says, coming over to where I'm standing near the passenger door of the Impala, handing me a box of salt he's retrieved from the trunk.

I take the salt, but between the journal, the salt, and the flashlight I'm using to read, I'm running out of hands. I could load this stuff in my backpack, but I'd feel more comfortable if I kept them nearer at hand and someplace easier to get to. I wish I'd thought to bring my army jacket with its big pockets, but it's packed in my trunk. I look to Dean for help since he's the one who's done this who knows how many times before.

"Dean, got any idea how I can carry all this stuff?"

Dean looks at me balancing stuff between my hands and ducks into the backseat of the car. He digs around for a minute before he emerges with a jacket. It's a dusty green jacket with a strange dark stain on one sleeve that makes me raise an eyebrow, but I don't say anything. It's got pockets, so I can't complain. I set the stuff in my hands on the roof of the Impala so that I can take the jacket and slip it on. I unbutton the pockets on both sides and slide the journal in one and the salt in the other. I feel strangely like I'm suiting up for battle. I look to Dean for guidance, not sure what to do now, and find him looking at me strangely.

"What?" I ask, shifting uncomfortably.

"Nothing," Dean says, shaking his head, but still looking at me the same way, "it's just…I spent forty bucks on that jacket and it looks better on you."

"Uh…sorry…or thanks, maybe?" I reply, not sure how to take that.

A weak laugh escapes Dean's lips and he kind of smiles. Somehow, the smile on his face eases the tension I can feel building inside me. I silently thank him for that before my eyes are drawn past him to the main street and the store where Sam is being held prisoner. I feel the tension return full force, but I don't try to fight it. I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

Dean turns to face the street as well. I step up to join him and notice that all traces of humor have drained from his face.

"Don't worry, Dean. We'll get him back." I tell him, feigning a confidence that I don't really feel.

Dean sends me an appreciative glance before nodding, "Damn straight. Let's go get him."

We both start for the store, walking side by side with a determination and a sense of purpose I've never felt before. As crazy as all this is, I actually feel like I'm doing something right for a change. I feel somehow like I was meant to face this thing, help these people. I don't dare voice this opinion, but feeling this way gives me a kind of strength that I'm grateful for.

Our destination looms closer, a dim outline against the moonlight, all shadows. The front door is swinging loosely on its hinges in the slight breeze, making a creaking sound. Everything inside is pitch black. I shine my flashlight in the entrance, searching for any trace of that dark cloud that seeped under the door to claim Dean along with his brother. There's no trace of it. I hesitate to enter anyway so Dean takes the lead. My right hand slides down to wear Dean's dagger is hanging against my hip and for a change, the cold metal of Dean's gun against my back is reassuring instead of odd. I force myself to breathe before I follow Dean inside.

The door doesn't slam behind us. I'm watching it out of the corner of my eye. It doesn't slam, but it does stop in mid-swing, freezing as if someone's caught it and is holding it. I try not to let that bother me and turn my full attention towards the back door. It, too, is hanging open as if it was never shut so tightly that Dean couldn't even make it budge. As we get closer, both Dean and I shine our lights inside that door and I hope irrationally to see Sam. However, a quick sweep of the room with the light reveals that Sam is not there. Dean's flashlight has stopped to focus on the trapdoor and I feel myself balk at the idea of going down there.

Neither of us has crossed the threshold into the room yet. Dean looks over at me and his eyes force me to get a hold of myself, "I'm going to open the door to the cellar. You stand back in the corner. Hopefully it won't notice you."

I nod, wondering for a moment why I ever thought this would work. Because it has to, I remind myself. Dean steps into the backroom first and, after forcing down a growing lump in my throat, I follow yet again. I stay close to the wall, easing back into the corner as Dean cautiously approaches the metal ring to pull open the cellar door. He glances back at me before slowly setting down his flashlight and slipping his gun back into his jeans so that he can pull open the door with both hands. I quickly remind myself of what I'm supposed to do and pull the box of salt out of my pocket with shaky hands. I quickly pour the salt around me in a small half-circle, pinning myself back in the corner and hopefully shielding myself from the demon, as well. I put the salt back in my pocket and take out the journal, opening it to the marked page just as Dean pulls the door open.

Something darker than the gloom we're standing in rushes up from the cellar, filling the air before Dean. Dean gives a wordless shout as he quickly steps back. I find myself staring at the dark cloud, frozen where I'm standing. My fear of shadows is personified in this thing and in this enclosed space with it, I feel petrified.

"I knew you'd be back…"

It may be my imagination, but I feel like the dark fog of a demon is smirking maliciously at me.

"Let Sam go!" Dean demands.

"Why don't you come join him?" the demon taunts, the cloud before Dean coalescing into something like a storm cloud, threatening to consume him.

"Damn it, Lindy! Why am I not hearing Latin?" Dean snaps, whipping his head around to glare at me before returning his attention to the demon.

That snaps me out of it and I remember my job here. I tear my eyes away from the scene in front of me and force them to concentrate instead on the book in my hands. For a moment I forget how to read the Latin, but then I think about how much is riding on me and it comes back to me. I utter the first few words before I'm interrupted by dark laughter.

"An exorcism? Are you serious?" the demon's voice penetrates my concentration.

"Lindy, damn it, if you don't keep reading…" Dean threatens and I see that he's waist high in the dark cloud now.

I resist the urge to run over and try to pull him free, instead continuing to read. I hope the demon's bluffing, that really it knows that we're on to something with this and is just trying to throw me off.

"I expected more from you, Dean. So did your brother…"

"You son of a bitch." Dean growls, but he doesn't move. Maybe he can't. And the darkness is rising even higher around him. It's up to his chest now and thickening around his lower extremities so that I can't even see his legs anymore. His eyes are also starting to lose focus. They look glazed over or like maybe he's seeing something beyond what I can see. And now his mouth is moving, but no words are coming out, like he's responding to something I can't hear. I try to stop stealing glances over the journal at him and keep my eyes glued to the page. I've almost finished the part that makes the demon material. I rush through the last words of that section before pausing to look up to see if they've had any effect.

The cloud slowly enveloping Dean retreats suddenly, sucking back into itself until it is one dark mass in the vague shape of a person. The vague shape slowly sharpens until standing before me and right next to Dean is some strange mixture of shadow and human. The demon is basically a woman, but there's a shadow clinging to her outline, blurring her edges, and her eyes are completely black, voids where pupils should be. Maybe it's because eyes are the window to the soil and it has none. Either way, it's distinctly clear that the demon is looking right at me with those non-eyes.

"Thank you, little girl…" it says, and its voice still feels like a whisper that is seeping up from the floor all around me, even though I can see the demon's mouth moving and the voice should logically be coming from that mouth.

It bothers me that it's thanking me. Why is it thanking me? I frown before I remember that materializing the demon makes it stronger. I inhale to say something, do something, when the demon is suddenly not across the room from me, but right in my face, smiling a sick, twisted smile at me. Its hand snaps out, clamping down around my throat. The journal falls from my hands as it lifts me from the floor and my hands impulsively fly to the unnatural grip on my throat, trying to pry icy fingers loose.

"Did you really think that salt would protect you from me?" she/it asks, as if it's genuinely curious.

The edge of my vision is starting to blur as I kick furiously. But nothing makes her grip loosen in the slightest. She doesn't even seem to notice my struggling. And, to my horror, the shadow around her form is gathering around her arm and slinking down her arm towards my face.

"Mom?"

Dean's voice draws my attention for a second, distracting me from the panic that is overwhelming my senses. I can't see him, I can't tear my eyes from the shadow approaching me, but I'm listening to him.

"Mom, what are you doing?" Dean demands, and suddenly he's in my field of vision, grabbing the rock solid arm that has me suspended in the air.

The iron fist at my neck lets go and I fall abruptly to the ground. I gasp, but I can't seem to get enough air and my throat hurts so much. I cough, trying to clear an airway, but my mind is still desperately trying to keep track of the shadow that seemed bent on doing something terrible to me. I look up and see the demon turning to face Dean.

Dean immediately let's go of its arm, hastily backing away, "You're not my mom."

"What makes you say that?" the demon asks, smiling in that sickening way again.

Dean keeps backing away until he runs out of room and hits the wall, "You're not my mom!"

The demon calmly walks over to him, still smiling, "Of course I am. Who else could I be?"

"Damn it! You're an evil bitch monster of doom! You're not my mom!" Dean yells, drawing the gun at his back and aiming it at the demon's chest, "Stay away from me."

But he doesn't pull the trigger. I wonder if he can actually shoot this thing. Even if it isn't his mom, it must look just like her. I can even see a resemblance in her face.

"You wouldn't kill your mother, would you, Dean?" the demon asks, frowning, "Only Sam would do something like that."

"Shut up." Dean snaps.

"No, what you do Dean is let things kill your family for you. You let a demon take me and now you're brother, too. Your Dad could be long dead by now, too, for all you know. He couldn't possibly last long trying to kill that thing by himself. And yet, here you are, doing nothing about any of that." the demon continues, almost spitting out the accusations.

I want to come to Dean's defense, to shout at it that none of that can possibly be true, but my voice won't work. When I try to talk, I just end up coughing some more.

"I said shut up." Dean says, but he sounds weaker and his gun is starting to waver.

"Face it, Dean. You were never any help to any of us. We never needed you anyway. You're just excess baggage."

Suddenly, the shadow outlining the demon slides off her to form another shape. That shape slowly materializes into another person, into Sam. He's curled up on the floor, moaning in pain. I try to get to my feet to go to him, but I can't seem to manage it. I settle for slowly crawling. But before I can get far, the demon morphs into a dark male figure with glowing eyes. It lifts an arm and Sam flies up and hits the ceiling. His form is stretched along the dark boards up there as if he's pinned and a slash appears across his stomach, blood darkening the front of his shirt.

"No!" Dean yells, firing at the demon repeatedly.

But the bullets don't seem to do anything. And the blood on Sam's shirt is growing by the second. Drops of blood fall from the ceiling, landing on Dean as he reaches up to his brother. Sam's eyes are wide with pain and fear, but he doesn't make a sound.

"Sam!" Dean cries, but before he can do anything, flames appear around Sam, swiftly engulfing his whole body.

Sam's mouth opens like he's screaming in agony, but no sound comes out. I look down and close my eyes because I can't bear to look anymore. All I can hear is Dean screaming and the demon laughing. This can't be happening.

Slowly, I force my eyes open again. Tears are streaming down my face and I can't even think about trying to stop them. I don't dare to look up. But right in front of me on the ground is the journal. I grab it and pull it to my chest. Without looking at anything but the words scrawled in masculine handwriting, I try to read the Latin that Dean hurriedly drilled into my head. At first, no sound escapes my raw throat, but after a few tries a dry, scratchy voice that could possibly be mine reaches my ears.

But I'm interrupted by Dean. He's choking on tears, "You son of a bitch. You god damned son of a bitch."

I look up to see him slowly climbing to his feet from his knees. He must have fallen to them at some point. He's got a crazed look on his face that really scares me. The demon doesn't look too impressed, though. It's smirking at Dean and before he can reach his feet, the demon puts out a hand and something invisible knocks Dean back to the floor.

"You're not even worth my time." the demon snarls. It pauses for a second, though, as if in thought before it continues, "But, it may amuse me to play with you a little longer."

To my utter horror, with that statement the demon turns its head to look at me. I clutch the journal so tightly my hands hurt, frozen where I'm sitting on the floor.

"Leave her alone, damn it!" Dean snaps, "Just finish me off and get it over with!"

The demon turns its attention back to Dean and I feel like, at least for the moment, I can breathe again. I feel extremely guilty about my self-centered relief to have its attention on someone else, but I can't help it.

"You? I don't care about you, Dean. You're nothing without your family. You know that. Don't pretend you don't."

With that, the demon turns its back on Dean and my momentary relief vanishes. I feel that unnatural strength lift me again, throwing me back against the wall. Despite the pain of impact, I somehow manage to keep my death grip on the journal. But, I'm too terrified to even think about it as I feel myself being pulled up along the wall, and then across the ceiling. The image of Sam burning fills my mind and even though my throat is a mass of pain, I scream. And when I look down at the demon smiling cruelly up at me, it isn't the demon that killed Sam that I see. It's that shadow. That shadow form that I saw as a child and that's haunted my dreams long after. I almost feel like shrinking back against the ceiling to get further away from it, but I can't control my own limbs.

"No!" Dean screams again, "Not again!"

"Oh? And what will you do about it, Dean? Don't you realize that you're useless? You can't save her. You couldn't save your mother. You couldn't even save your brother. What makes you think you can do anything to stop me now?" the demon demands, its deep pits of despair that serve for eyes leaving me for a second to glare at Dean.

Even though it's talking to Dean, the words ring through my head: you're useless. This is all my fault. This was my idea. How did I let this go so wrong? My mind races, self-accusations interspersed with flairs of panic. Then, I look down at Dean and catch his eyes. Everything stops and one single rational thought emerges from the chaos inside my head. I focus all the strength I can summon inside of me to move the muscles in my hand. And, strangely, the force holding me against the ceiling actually comes to my assistance as it keeps me from dropping the one thing that may still save me. Dean's eyes narrow as his attention is drawn by the movement of my hand. I pray for him to be able to read my thoughts, to know what to do.

I feel like the skies have opened up and angels are singing hallelujah when I hear Dean's deep voice muttering in Latin.

"What do you think you're doing?" the demon snaps, anger flaring in its eyes.

Dean ignores it and keeps reading. The force holding me against the ceiling is so strong I can hardly breathe and I feel myself blacking out again. Still, a sense of hope has sparked in me, making me hold on.

"Do you really think that will stop me?" the demon says, laughing.

But the laugh sounds forced to me. Or maybe that's just that pesky spark of hope talking.

"Alright, Dean. If you really want me to kill you…" the demon growls.

It raises its arms, but Dean's shouting the Latin at the top of his lungs now. I pray that he doesn't have much more to go. But then my hopes sink as I'm forced to watch him fly across the room to hit the wall again. I can't turn my head and I can't even seem to close my eyes. But apparently I can cry as I feel moisture welling up when I see slashes of red spring to life across Dean's chest. Yet, somehow, he's still shouting, still calling on God to smite this demon in a language I don't really understand. And to my eyes the demon is looking more and more furious.

"Stop that!" it growls at Dean, stalking closer to him.

Its hands whip out to grab Dean's throat and suddenly the shadow demon is gone and Dean's mother is back again. Dean somehow still manages to gasp out words past her suffocating hands. She disappears as suddenly as she has materialized and Sam takes her place. I gasp at the sight of him before I catch sight of his eyes which are just as black as the demon's or Dean's mother's. It's not Sam. It can't be Sam. And Dean's still reciting the exorcism even though his voice has become more and more strained.

"You can't beat me, Dean!" Sam growls in a demonic version of his voice.

My chest is starting to hurt from straining for a breath, but what worries me more is the grin that appears on Dean's face. What does that grin mean and why has he stopped the ritual?

"Watch me." he croaks, before he speaks a final stream of syllables.

Sam's hands loosen on Dean's neck and he takes a step backward from Dean as if in disbelief. Dean drops back to the floor, falling to his knees, one hand moving to his throat. The next thing I know, the ground is flying towards me.