Chapter 3


As promised, a knock signaled the brothers at ten that evening. Sam got the door and smiled, gesturing for Sarah to enter. She was still in her waitress attire and looked a little rough around the edges, but Sam had seen how busy the restaurant had been and knew from experience that serving food was not an easy job.

Dean was lying on his bed, eyes half-closed. He issued a nod in recognition, but didn't speak or make any effort to rise. Sarah walked carefully into the room, sat on the edge next to his feet, and began studying his boots, wondering why he still had them on. She brought her eyes to the older Winchester's face and then to the tall, lanky one seated in the chair across from her.

"Thanks for coming Sarah." Sam began, casting a perplexed glance at Dean before meeting Sarah's gaze, "Any information you can give us would be helpful."

"Well, I don't know a lot." Sarah started slowly, "But my friend Kasey was one of the victims."

"I'm sorry about that." Sam replied contritely.

"It's ok. I just want these people punished or something, you know?" Sarah looked pleadingly at Sam, who simply nodded and urged her to continue. "The only thing I really know about is the symbol. I mean, Kasey's parents told me about it."

"So, what's it look like?" Both Sarah and Sam jumped when the question pierced the air, and turned sharply to view the one who'd mumbled it. "What?"

"He speaks!" Sarah laughed, and Sam couldn't help but do the same.

"Funny." Dean murmured, shifting into a seating position. "So you gonna answer my question or do I get to play twenty questions?"

"Dean." Sam snapped, irritated that his brother had somehow managed to lose all sense of manners especially considering that Sarah was the only lead they had at the moment.

"It's alright. He seems really beat. I won't take too much more time." Sarah stated softly, smiling slightly at the elder's hunched form and she swore she heard the word "good" muttered. "Kasey's parents said it looked like a capital "T"."

"A "T"?" Sam questioned, his brow furrowed in thought, "Like a cross?"

"No. Just like the letter T." Sarah responded earnestly.

"Well that narrows it down, doesn't it?" Dean scoffed, earning him a harsh look from Sam.

"It's all I got. Sorry." Sarah apologized, rising from her place on the bed.

"No, it's ok. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be Dean. You've been nothing but helpful." Sam countered, gently guiding Sarah to the exit. "Can you think of anyone else who may be able to give us some more information?"

"Well, Kasey's family went to St. Pius X. You could try to see if Father Andrew knows something." Sarah offered before stepping back out into the cool night air. "Have a good night and good luck."

"Thanks." Sam replied sincerely before shutting the door, and then whipped around to face his brother. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing, just tired 's all." Dean kicked off his boots, slumped back down in the bed and slid under the covers, his drooping eyes never leaving Sam's rigid form and clenched fists.

"Since when is being tired an excuse for being an asshole?" Sam shot back angrily, but his reply was met with nothing but silence. Sam let out a deep sigh and trudged over to Dean's now sleeping form. He watched the elder for a while, and when he was sure that he was lost in the deepest realm of sleep, brought his hand to Dean's forehead. He was relieved to find no trace of fever or clammy skin, although that would've at least given a valid excuse for his brother's earlier display.

Sam retreated back to his own bed, bringing knees to his chest as he continued to watch the steady rise and fall of Dean's chest. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. It was getting harder and harder for him to figure out Dean, which considering that almost all of his time was spent with him made the dilemma seem impossible, yet, ironically, it was all too true. Sam found out a long time ago that his brother was the walking refusal to anything slightly resembling help, but that didn't do anything for his worry or the way he shamelessly guilt-tripped the elder into resting. But lately, he hadn't had to, Dean was shutting down on his own, regardless of the amount of coffee he swallowed into his system and that fact alone was enough to put the younger in a constant state of concern.

Truth be told, Dean was in a weakened state, and unless he took the time to recover properly, anything could happen. Sam chewed on his bottom lip as he silently reviewed the case in his mind. He wanted, needed, Dean to be on top of his game for this one. Something within him was screaming that this wasn't going to be an easy case, and it wasn't going to be taken care of anytime soon. They had barely any leads and the ones they did have were broad, way too broad.

Sam reached over and turned the lamp off before settling in between the sheets. His mind was filled with theories, but he willed it silent and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

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Aged stone walls held him prisoner. The foul smell of sulfur filled his nose and mouth, burning through him as it reached his lungs. A chant in a tongue familiar, yet not entirely known reached his ears merged with the sound of painful agony, and the surrounding walls crumbled before him in its wake.

A blood stained altar appeared in their place, hooded figures encircled around it, their mouths spilling the incantation. The stripped writhing form held fast by their touch, spewed curses upon the onlookers but they yielded no response save increasing his turmoil. The captive's skin laced with scratches and his chest raw red.

He dared an approaching step, an attempt to save, as he witnessed the darkened symbol take it's place upon the sacrifice. His presence sensed, one hooded figure snapped its head upright revealing a marred yet human countenance. The blood drained from his face, and his body shuddered as the stark white eyes held his own and words unspoken flooded his mind.

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Streams of sun light poured in through the blinds, playing lightly over Dean's heavy eyelids. He scrunched his face in protest and worked to turn over against the uninvited brightness, but his body didn't allow the movement. Relenting, he cracked his eyes open slowly, startled to find his brother's quivering form curled up along side him.

A raspy cough destroyed the silence as Dean worked to clear his throat and nudge his brother awake. His hand was dampened instantly as it made contact with the dark fabric of the younger's tee. Dean grimaced at the sweat stains that soaked his brother's back and the tiny glimmering threads that trickled down his face. He shook Sam repeatedly, each time a little harder and muttered his name a couple of times, before receiving the desired result.

Sam's owl eyes met his own and an embarrassed smile graced his ashen face. He swallowed noticeably before quickly jerking away and darting off the bed, fleeing into the bathroom and closing the door with a slam.

Dean sighed and mentally berated himself for not waking up and helping his brother through the nightmare he knew had occurred, whether or not Sam would confess to actually having it. He was entirely sure his little brother knew he wouldn't have to, his actions had proved Dean's theory true.

It bothered him that he hadn't even heard the attempted stifled scream Sam was so prone to giving, or the shifting of the bed underneath the added weight. Dean loathed feeling even remotely vulnerable, and he knew that was exactly the position he was currently in. He resolved to push harder, to fight against the bouts of fatigue and make sure he was there to protect Sam from whatever he was trying to fight off himself.

Dean offered no remark or comment when Sam exited the bathroom, his head down as he mocked looking for something yet to come into the elder's view. He could read the tension in his little brother's shadowed face by his protruding jaw line, and unable to stand the silence any longer opened his mouth to speak. But Sam beat him to it.

"I think we should check out the church first." Dean smirked at the statement. His "ignore the chic issue, focus on the job" ethic was beginning to rub off on the younger. A fact he wasn't sure he liked entirely, but wouldn't combat against.

"Okay. You know where it is?" Dean questioned through gritted teeth as he fought to sit up and swing his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Uh…yeah, I saw it when we came in" Sam replied absently, all his attention on struggling to untangle a clean shirt from his brother's fantastic packing job.

"Good. When you want to leave?" Dean asked, buying himself some time before he tried to stand.

"As soon as you get ready." Sam responded quickly, and for the first time since he'd stepped back into the room, gave the elder a worried look "Are you feeling ok?"

"I'm fine, dude" Dean stated, clearly annoyed with his brother's question, and as was his practice quickly shifted the attention back to Sam. "Are you?"

"Yea. Why wouldn't I be?" Dean shrugged, lifted himself up, and began the seemingly long trek to the ajar bathroom door. It was going to be a long day.

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Sam eased the Impala to a stop in front of the towering stone edifice. They could've walked to the church instead of wasting the small amount of gas left in the tank, but Dean had been near heaving when they'd reached the parking lot of the motel so that hadn't remained an option for long.

The brother's exited the car and scaled the steps leading to the entrance. Two tall wooden doors, painted red, were propped open allowing a clear view of the bolted ceiling, long aisle, and hand-carved wooden pews. Their footfalls echoed throughout the open space and Sam laughed when Dean stopped just shy of the back row of pews.

"What now?"

"Just debating on whether or not I want God to strike me down or not. You know, lightening and all." Dean quipped, grinning widely.

"You're forgetting that he is merciful." A deep voice boomed from the shadows, startling both of the brothers momentarily.

"But don't you think he probably has some kind of policy on that or something. Three strikes your out kind of thing." Dean continued jokingly.

"Perhaps." The man replied stepping into the boy's line of sight. "I'm Father Andrew"

"Nice to meet you, Father." Sam interjected quickly "I'm Sam and this is my coworker, Dean, and we're reporters investigating the deaths that have been taking place in your area. We understand that some of the victims attended this church."

Dean struggled to stifle a laugh, relishing in that his brother, who for the most part opted to take the moral high ground, was bold-face lying to a priest, in the man's church, no less. The awkward shifting Sam was trying so desperately to hide nearly shattered his attempt.

"Yes, that is true." Father Andrew replied after a minute of carefully analyzing the boys. "What do you think it means?"

"Well, we're not sure at the moment. Just trying to identify any patterns that exist." Dean responded, his tone all business.

"No harm there. Is there anything here you need to see? Someone you need to question?"

"Actually, we were looking for you." Sam stated slowly.

"Ah, I see. Give me one moment." Father Andrew sighed, his eyes focused on something behind the brothers. Sam stepped aside to grant the man pass, and fought the urge to jerk when the priest's hand rested on his shoulder, as the older man appeared to stumble.

The icy touch sent a shock wave through Sam, and his body was flooded with the sensation of a thousand needles piercing his skin. The voice that had haunted him hours before returned in force, the words penetrating to his core.

You have been chosen.

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Okay, so there ya have it. Please let me know what you thought. Their were a lot of shifts so if they were confusing lemme know, or if there was something that was completely confusing or anything...or major errors. So drop me a line, and thanx for reading