Hello! I put in the summary that I was planning to leave this as a oneshot, but a large proportion of the wonderful people who reviewed the story wanted me to continue. So I'll try!

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Chapter 2

The silence stretched on, each passing second making it harder to break. What happens now? Sam wondered, the thought echoing in his head as if it came from a distance, because a large part of his consciousness was still separate from the scene before him, wondering if it was real. The gunshot was still ringing in his ears. And still, there was nothing to say.

Distant sirens wailed, waking Sam from his reverie. Sam moved stiffly towards the paramedic who was pounding on his brother's chest, shocked that he had been so lethargic as Dean lay before him, all but dead. 'Let me help,' he offered, his voice sounding higher pitched than he intended. The man nodded gratefully, panting, from exertion or panic, Sam wasn't sure, and took Sam's hands, placing them carefully on the correct part of Dean's chest.

'Another ambulance is on its way. They send one out, whenever we take extra long to come back. And the police,' explained the man, his voice sounding like Sam felt, weary, and somehow vague, detached from reality. Sam could only nod, and continue his rhythmic compressions. David disappeared into the wrecked ambulance, clambering over twisted metal, the broken remains of the door, and smashed equipment. He returned with an oxygen mask, and placed it over Dean's face with shaking hands. Reality was slowly finding him.

'My God… Marie…it… I killed her. How…?'

Sam swallowed; glancing up into the man's anguished face. 'I can't explain it properly…' he offered, knowing it was an inadequate reply. The man had been possessed by a demon, and he needed to understand, at least, that it hadn't been him who had crashed the ambulance and killed his partner. And maybe killed Dean, Sam thought grimly, the idea bringing heat to his eyes which he fought away before it could produce tears. It's too early for tears.

'Please – what happened?'

'It's not easy… to explain. Or to believe. But there's… something… which wants to hurt my family. …It … was controlling you, using you to hurt us. It's not your fault, there wasn't anything you could do,' Sam choked out, hoping that it would do for an explanation, because he was hardly in the mood to tell a long, long story.

The man's face was a contorted mask of horror.

'I'm not crazy,' Sam sighed. 'I'm sorry that you have to hear this, but it is true.'

'Am I crazy?'

Sam considered this. 'Not yet,' he answered.

Dean suddenly drew in a choked breath, his hands twitching as he came round, and his eyes flickering, opening by a crack. Sam's grim mask shattered into a wide-eyed grin, and a tear slipped out onto his cheek. His relief was like a physical release; something broke open inside him, and all his clenched muscles could relax. He took in a deep breath of the night air, which was suddenly cool, fresh and invigorating. He scrubbed both hands through his hair, realising as he did that they were covered in Dean's blood.

'I never saw anyone looking so goofy,' Dean wheezed softly, frowning up at his brother. 'Even you'

Sam's voice was breathy, but it had lost its tight, high-pitched quality. 'My God, Dean, you scared me. Stop doing that.'

David watched Sam's reaction as his brother re-entered the land of the living, and he hoped that it wouldn't be temporary. The wailing sirens were now accompanied by flashing lights as the emergency services arrived in force, and David rose, walking up to the road, already trying to form an explanation for their situation, hating himself for seeking a lie to justify his partner's body. He clambered up the slope, passing John, who was sitting utterly still on the ground, staring blankly at the useless gun, which was clutched tightly in his hands.

'Sir…' David hesitated to address the man, he found him by far more disturbing than the two boys. 'I… suggest you hide the gun… I'll think of something to tell the authorities…' The sirens had stopped; assorted professionals in fluorescent yellow jackets were exiting their vehicles, talking excitedly.

John raised his heavy head to look at the paramedic, and a part of him was impressed at the man's rational assessment of the situation. But most of him was still too numb to register anything beyond the recent sirens, so he just nodded. David walked on. John looked down once more at the long, graceful barrel of the antique Colt. It was a beautiful gun, and in a previous life, he would have known how to appreciate it. But his eyes could see only a metal instrument for killing, and it could no longer serve the purpose for which it had been made. It was useless. He hurled it as hard as he could into the shrouded darkness between the trees.

David knew the young redheaded paramedic who leapt lightly down from the support ambulance. Her name was Louise; he liked her. For several months, he had debated whether he was too old to have a chance with her, but he had a retiring nature, so he had never found out.

'God, David, what happened?' she exclaimed, moving towards him and pressing gentle fingers against the bruises on his face. He winced, noticing for the first time that his face felt tender and swollen, and he was exhausted.

'I don't know… Marie must have lost control… it's not like her. God, Lou, she's dead.' The lies tasted sour and putrid on his tongue, especially the part that made Marie responsible for her own violent end.

His face crumpled, and Louise couldn't see past the grief to the guilt, so she took him in her arms and whispered in his ear, 'It's ok, it's not your fault, there was nothing you could have done…' Her sympathy broke him, and he sobbed unashamedly into her fluorescent shoulder.

After a moment, David gathered himself and pulled away from her. 'Down here... our patient was in a pretty bad way…' He began shuffling back down the incline, which was littered with fallen branches and treacherous in the dark. Louise and her partner collected the equipment they would need and followed him.

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Carrying a stretcher up the slope proved to be a challenge. Dean gritted his teeth, trying not to complain, because he knew they were making every effort not to jolt him, and wondered why he never passed out at the rare moments when it would be an advantage. Sam walked beside him, and was clearly making no such effort to avoid whining, as every time a paramedic stumbled or jerked the stretcher, he muttered 'Be careful!' and cast concerned glances at Dean. Dean wanted to tell him to stop it, but speaking seemed too much effort.

It took several minutes to reach the road, and the waiting ambulance. David, and Louise's partner, Geoff, were breathing hard when they set the stretcher down inside the vehicle, on another metal bed identical to the one in the previous ambulance. Dean shuddered, and smiled weakly in response to Sam's concerned look. 'Déjà vu…' he muttered. Sam glanced around.

'Would it be better if I ride with you?'

'No… you're not leaving my car unattended on the side of the road'

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean's quiet, hoarse voice cut him off. 'It won't be back yet, Sammy. Soon,' he added, sighing in resignation, 'but not yet.'

Sam nodded.

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Several hours later, John found himself lying on his side in a curtained cubicle, his face screwed up against the pain as an elderly nurse cleaned and stitched the wound in his leg. The flattened bullet had been dug out of his thigh by a pale, tired looking doctor, who had offered to return it to him as a souvenir. John had almost felt sorry for the young man after he snapped his answer: 'Why the hell would I want a souvenir of getting shot?'. Almost. In fact, for a moment he had wondered whether the bullet could be re-used, but after seeing it, knew that he was clutching at straws. Any power it might once have held, it was gone now.

Grief swelled in his chest. Mary, I'm sorry, I failed you again… The demon was still alive, and now he was worse than back to square one. He was out of inspiration, and eaten away by frustration. 22 years, and it had so nearly been over tonight. Twice. After a lifetime on the move, insecure, always fighting, he would welcome the peace, even if it could only come with death. And I could see Mary again…

He recalled the image of Sam's face, staring at him as if he was a monster as the gunshot echoed around them. John had been so sure that Sam understood his father's need for revenge, that he was driven by an identical zeal since Jessica had been murdered. He realised that it was his brother's influence which had changed Sam's perspective. You fight and you fight for this family…He could still taste the words, not his, but falling from his tongue. Dean had never known anything which could be put before family; he had never had anything stronger to motivate him. Like vengeance.

A part of John was aware that his quest for vengeance couldn't justify the sacrifice of his children. The same part knew that it would have torn him apart if he had killed his son for the sake of avenging his wife. It knew that Sammy was right to do all the things he had done that night. But the biggest part of him had been focused on revenge for too long to see anything else, and it fumed at Sam for preventing the resolution of such a long battle.

John was dragged from his reflections by the nurse's strict, nasal tones, informing him that his stitches were complete. 'The police will want to talk to you, sir. We have to inform them of any gunshot victims we treat.'

John just nodded, already fashioning a simple lie, because simple lies are far more effective than complex ones. The nurse waited for a few minutes, glaring into him over her wire-rimmed glasses with hard grey eyes. John looked a silent question at her.

'Your son is in the waiting room, sir. I can ask for news on the condition of your other son…?'

'Please'

She left, casting a last glance back at him, disapproval and pity combining oddly in her cold eyes.

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Sam rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window, closing his eyes to shut out the view through the slats of the blinds. Dean, unconscious, lying on a bed, surrounded by people who exchanged gabbled jargon at an alarming rate, and bleeping monitors.

Sam had left the waiting room; its clinical white walls, neatly arranged magazines and ancient coffee machine had been oppressive, he thought they would have driven him crazy if he had stayed there much longer. At that thought, he laughed inwardly. All I've been through tonight, but finally beaten by a coffee machine. He was standing in the corridor, staring into the treatment room, but he wasn't convinced that watching was any better than waiting.

'Sam?'

He turned quickly, startled.

'Sorry. You alright?' It was David, clutching a coffee cup, and looking a little more composed than the last time Sam had seen him, though still pale.

'Yeah,' Sam replied, shrugging. Well, considering the circumstances…

David nodded, smiling sadly. 'How's he doing?' he asked, motioning towards the window with his coffee cup.

'I don't know. The last update was a while ago, and not very conclusive… it doesn't look good.'

'It always looks like that. It might not be so bad as it seems,' David soothed. Sam looked at his earnest face, and wondered at the change from the expression wrought upon his features by the demon. 'Do you want some coffee?' he offered. 'That machine in the waiting room turns out hot water and dirt, come to the staff room,' he added, motioning for Sam to follow him through a green door marked 'Staff Only', without waiting for an answer.

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It was several more hours before the next news. Sam stood hesitantly when a doctor entered the staff room, wondering whether he had come to tell him about his brother, or to throw him out of the room.

'Mr Winchester?'

'Yes,' said Sam, wishing he'd had the presence of mind when they arrived to provide an alias, knowing his dad was going to kill him when the bill arrived. Another reason to add to the list.

'Your brother is stable,' the man told him. Sam exhaled slowly, blinking. 'He lost a lot of blood, so we gave him a transfusion, and we've sewn him up. He had some fairly extensive internal bleeding, but we took him to surgery, and we think we got it all. He's not necessarily out of the woods yet. But if there are no complications, he should be alright... I'd like to ask you about the nature of his injuries, they were... unique. The police wil have questions, too. But it can wait.'

Sam took a moment to digest this. Thank God. 'Can I see him?'

'He's sleeping. You can sit with him if you want to.'

'Thank you'

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That's it for now. I know nothing really happened, but at least I didn't make you wait long! And, hey, loads of things happened last chapter, so I'm just compensating. ;)