Note: I am sorry about the paragraphing being difficult to read, I can't seem to get ff to let there be spaces between them.

The detective pored over the accident photographs and accompanying reports with a furrowed brow. The facts were slowly coming together. The semi had collided with the

unsuspecting Impala and sometime in the near aftermath of the crash the driver of the larger vehicle had fled the scene. The driver of the car was also missing from scene and

definitely injured. The detective thumbed through a manila folder until he found what he was looking for. The lab results from blood samples collected from the Impala came up with

three separate donors, all closely related. The DNA evidence suggested the victims were two brothers and their father. That information wasn't unusual until he factored in the other

pieces of evidence. He puzzled over the entire situation. The case was still at the stage were it appeared hopelessly entangled.

The detective was fully aware that this was no simple accident. He had a box of evidence that suggested something more complicated was going on, he removed a large Ziploc full

of fake ID's that included police badges, driver's licenses, various government idents, and a few passports. All in all the fake identification spanned 16 states and displayed

photographs of the same two young men. There hadn't been any identification (fake or otherwise) for the deceased. He sighed and placed the idents to the side. The detective

pulled out the antiquated pistol from the box and turned it over in his hands. Lab reports came back that it had been recently fired, and that there was one round remaining in the

chamber. An ballpark estimate by a colleague who collected antique guns suggested the weapon was worth around twenty grand. Again he had to ask what the hell was going on?

If someone wanted to shoot somebody else, all he needed was fifty bucks and a trip downtown to buy a cheap gun. Another piece of unexplainable evidence was a journal full of

rambling, incoherent descriptions of satanic creatures and bogeymen. It reminded him of something his gothic teenage daughter would have. He again examined the photographs of

the driver's side of the car. The crime scene guys had autopsied the Impala and had confirmed that the door had never opened after the collision. In fact, the report indicated that the

driver had never attempted to leave the vehicle at all. Forensics discovered a cleanly cut seat belt and broken glass on the inside of the vehicle, suggesting that the window had been

broken from the outside and that the driver had been forcibly removed. The detective pinched the bridge of his nose in fatigue, he then picked his cell phone of the table and

proceeded to call the city hospital to inquire on the status of the only surviving victim.

Six Days Later

He cracked his eyes open and glanced about the room through his lashes. It was broad daylight but Dean didn't want to get up yet. The previous drive must have been harder on

him than he had thought because all he wanted to do was slip back into his deep dreamless sleep. He was curious as to why Sam hadn't woken him already as his little brother took

a special pleasure in being in an annoyingly good mood in the godless hours of the morning. Slowly an uneasy sensation settled in Dean's stomach. Something was off. The sunlight

streaming through the half curtained window was not a sharp, early morning light, but a heavier, drowsier afternoon light. Dean forced his eyes open and took in his surroundings, he

was not in a motel with Sam. He was in what appeared to be a hospital room, a room which he shared with an elderly man who lay dozing as a muted daytime talk show played on

a TV in the corner of the room. Sam. Where was he? Or his dad for that matter. Dean tried to remember anything he could through the pounding that had begun in his head. He

remembered that the Demon had escaped. He remembered that Sam had been driving him and his father to the hospital. He felt relief settle his nerves. He must have passed out on

the way to the hospital. Sam must have gone down to the cafeteria or was visiting his dad. It was too bad that they didn't have the same room. Dean suddenly felt exhausted, sleep

pulling at the edges of vision. He would just sleep and Sam would be there when he woke up.

Sam was floating. That was the only way he could describe the sensations he was currently experiencing. There wasn't any pain. He was alone, swaying gently as he was rocked

back and forth by the motion of the water. Sam lay there languidly although some small part of him knew that something was wrong. He couldn't bring himself to care. Sam briefly

wondered why Dean and his Dad weren't with him but his mind wouldn't let him linger on one subject for any extended period of time. Instead he watched as clouds lazily circled

above him. This continued in a timeless fashion before something changed. He felt the movement of the water stop. It was as if Sam had washed up on a beach, but he was unable

to turn his head to see where he was. Everything had changed. Sam screamed as starbursts of pain exploded behind his eyes and he sat bolt upright, ready to fight for his life against

whoever or whatever was attacking him.

Dean awoke again with the sensation that a great deal of time had passed. He quickly found the source of what had awakened him. A nurse was at his side and was adjusting a

drip that wound its way down to his forearm. He was surprised that Sam was still not with him. "Hey.." He tried say to her but was unable to make any sound but a sort of feeble

wheezing. She glanced down at him in pleased surprise. "You're awake! Don't try to talk hun, you have a feeding tube down your throat and a respirator tube down your nasal

passage." Dean obeyed, newly aware of the equipment that was inside his body. He was frustrated, how could he ask about his Dad? And where was Sam? His earlier feeling of

dread had returned tenfold. He blinked up at her helplessly. "I am going to page the doctor for you hun, but first I need to ask you some questions. They are relatively simple ones,

just blink twice for yes and once for no okay?" Dean blinked twice in affirmation. The middle-aged woman smiled brightly at him, "That's perfect". She made her way to the bottom

of his bed and removed his chart. "Okay, now I am going to put pressure on your toes and you need to let me know if you feel it." Dean felt panic course through his veins at the

images her words provoked. What exactly had the Demon done to him? "Do you feel anything?" Dean felt her squeeze the top of his left foot. He blinked twice, his body flooding

with relief. It continued this way for some time. The nurse asking him various but similar questions while Dean was bursting with questions of his own. He hated being so helpless.

He couldn't help but be relieved that she wasn't asking him any questions about what had happened. Dean wasn't sure what story Sam had told the hospital staff and didn't want to

answer anything more complicated until they had their stories straight. For Dean had decided that Sam had to be in the hospital somewhere… it was possible that Dean had missed

him again because visiting hours had ended or some such nonsense. Dean had no option but to cling to that belief. Sam was in the hospital… and he would just have to wait to

confirm it when he was able to speak.

The detective pulled into the parking lot of the small restaurant, stomach rumbling at the prospect of a long delayed lunch. Inevitably, his cell phone went off. After briefly

considering not picking up, he answered the phone. "Nolan". "Yes Detective Nolan, this is Kirsten from St. Mary's hospital calling, you wished to be notified when the ah.. John

Doe #2 from last week regained consciousness." Detective Nolan immediately forgot his hunger, "Yes, thank you." He snapped his cell phone shut and pulled back onto the main

road.

A/N- Tell me what you think. There will me more