Hello! I still don't own Supernatural. And here's Chapter 5:

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Chapter 5

'You ok?' Sam asked breathlessly. He was making the puppy face again. Dean thought of a number of sarcastic replies, but to his disappointment, he found that his throat was still too raw to voice them, so he settled for a raised eyebrow. Sam seemed to get the point. 'Well, you know… considering the circumstances.'

Dean nodded, coughing, clutching his aching chest. Sam winced, walking over to him. 'You're not having a good week, man…' he said softly, rubbing his brother's back as the coughing fit continued.

'Christ, you're observant today Sam,' Dean rasped, rubbing his throat. His eyes turned serious. 'Is it gone?'

Sam wondered why Dean was asking him: neither of them could see it. But, he realised, he could feel that it was gone; the air was free of a polluting presence which had been there until a few moments ago. 'It's gone,' he asserted.

Dean nodded. Accepting.

Out in the corridor, the middle aged nurse stirred. 'Go see if she's ok,' Dean instructed his brother, and Sam went obediently. She was sitting up on the polished grey floor, adjusting her hair agitatedly and trembling.

'Ma'am? Are you ok?' Sam asked politely.

'I… don't know what came over me…'

Sam marvelled at the human mind's capacity to forget what it knew it shouldn't have seen, but on this occasion he was grateful for it. He wasn't in the mood to make the 'the truth is out there' speech again. He helped her to her feet with his best chivalrous smile, and she stood, swaying a little, trying to blink away her confused memories.

'The alarm was going!' she recalled urgently, elbowing past Sam into Dean's room. 'Are you alright, Mr Winchester?'

'Yeah,' Dean muttered, still rubbing his throat absently, slumping back into his pillows with a wince.

'I heard your heart monitor… it seems to have settled down now,' she continued.

Dean nodded impatiently, waiting for her to go away.

'Well, give me a call if you need anything.'

'Yeah.' Dean scowled at her back as she walked unsteadily out of the room. As soon as the door swung shut behind her, he turned enquiring eyes to Sam. 'So, how'd you do it?' he asked, trying not to sound impressed.

'The water?'

'Yeah, Sam, the water. It sure as hell didn't work like that last time.'

'Well… you remember we talked about maybe the demon pre-dates Christianity?'

Dean nodded, eyebrows raised. Yes, and…?

'So, I looked up some pagan blessings on the Internet. Blessings that pre-Christian cultures used to make things sacred. And I blessed the water.'

Dean looked impressed now, in spite of himself. 'Top marks, Sammy. And, just for the record… you turned up here in the middle of the night… just to tell me that? Not that I'm ungrateful, but…'

'I had a vision,' Sam mumbled.

'Ah.' Dean nodded again. Oh, a vision. Right. Of course.

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Several days later, it occurred to Sam that their father would want to be informed of their breakthrough with the holy water. It wasn't a solution to their problem, but it was a step in the right direction, and Sam was eager to give John some good news, as part of him was still trying to compensate for his guilt over the Colt's wasted final bullet. Standing in the hospital parking lot, perched on the Impala's dusty hood, he flicked through his contacts until he reached his father's number. Bet you anything I get voicemail…he thought to himself.

'This is John Winchester…' Sam scowled, listening impatiently to the too-familiar message, waiting for the tone.

'Hi, Dad. It's Sam. I hope you're ok… Dean's doing well; he can probably be discharged in the next few days. But, uh… we saw the demon again. Dad, it's vulnerable to pagan symbols; the holy water didn't work 'cause it's older than the Catholic Mass… so, give us a call some time, ok? Um… Bye.'

Sam flicked the phone shut, sighing. He remained sitting on the car for a while, thinking, until a voice broke into his meditations.

'Hey, Sam!'

It was David, walking towards him across the parking lot, dressed in his paramedic uniform, clearly back at work. Sam admired his quick recovery fromhis ordeal, and from his friend's death.

'Hey. How're you doing?'

'I'm ok,' the paramedic replied, with a slight frown. 'It helps me focus, if I'm working… sitting at home thinking about things just… doesn't help. And you? What about your brother, I heard he was recovering pretty well.' Guilt flashed briefly in his eyes – he still felt partially responsible for what the demon had used his body to do.

'Yeah, we're good.' Sam replied. 'Doctor's reckon they'll let Dean go soon. He's pleased… he'd be climbing the walls in there, except he's got a few nurses to keep him company.'

David grinned. 'I'm glad he's feeling better.'

Sam nodded, looking down at his feet, searching for words.

'Listen, David… if you wanted to ask me anything… about what happened, I know it must be hard to… digest… I'll try to help.'

David chewed his lip. 'Thanks. I don't think I'm ready to… talk about it… yet,' he admitted haltingly, studying the ground. 'But… thanks.'

Sam nodded again. 'Well… I should get back in there…' he gestured vaguely in the direction of the hospital.

'Yeah.'

'So, take care of yourself.'

'Thanks. I will… and you… just… make sure you get that thing, ok?'

Sam looked up, startled, suddenly recognising the grief shining in the other man's eyes. He frowned pensively. 'Yeah. Yes, we will,' he promised.

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Dean's doctors were conflicted about the idea of letting him out of hospital. In theory, he should be able to manage, if he was given a substantial supply of painkillers, and there was no reason to suppose that his condition would worsen again. On the other hand, he was still suffering, still fragile, and most people would have been kept in longer as a precaution. In this particular case, however, there were non-medical factors which had an impact on the decision. First, Dean was desperate to escape from the dull little room; he hated being waited on in hospital and as a result he was increasingly grouchy with his doctors. And second, the doctor in charge of his case was young and male, and had had his eye on the young nurse Lucy for quite some time before the arrival of the Winchesters. Oh, yes, there were many reasons why he would be glad to discharge Dean.

Dean himself was thrilled to be leaving, although he would miss Lucy, and he had stored her number in his cell 'just in case'. He was unimpressed by the 'hospital policy' which demanded that he was wheeled off the premises in a chair, and insisted on Lucy as the chair pusher rather than Sam.

When they reached the parking lot, Dean tilted back his head to enjoy the sensation of breathing air free from the scent of disinfectant for the first time in almost a week. He was appreciating his ability to breathe much more than he used to. It still made his chest ache when he inhaled too deeply, but the ease with which he could pull air into his lungs was strangely liberating after his recent experiences.

Lucy bid him a flirtatious farewell when they reached Impala: 'Wow, is that your car?' He grinned, nodding. 'It's amazing… You'd better call me, Dean Winchester!'

'Yeah, I will,' he promised vaguely. Well, I might.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged in reply. Lowering himself carefully into his beloved car, he reluctantly acknowledged that Sam would have to drive.

Sam watched his careful movements with concerned eyes. 'You sure you're well enough to be out of -,'

'Yes, absolutely positive.'

Sam frowned. 'Alright,' he conceded grudgingly.

Dean wriggled down into a more comfortable position, leaning against the car's leather upholstery, relishing his freedom. The drive back to the motel Sam had been staying in was short and uninteresting, but Dean enjoyed it all the same.

Sam parked as close as he could possibly get to the door of their room, then hovered uncertainly as Dean climbed slowly out of the car, wincing as the muscles in his chest moved, then frowning at his little brother. 'I'm good, Sam,' he told his brother, fixing him with a wide eyed stare.

Sam nodded distractedly, hurrying to open the door for Dean, who rolled his eyes. 'How 'bout you go get my bag out the trunk or something, Sam… just stop rushing round me like a mother hen.'

'Yeah, sorry…'

'Don't apologise!'

'Sorr-,' he grinned. 'OK, I'll stop.'

'Good.' Dean smirked, amused by his brother's earnest expression, before turning away into the motel room.

He took a long hot shower, feeling only mild guilt for using all the hot water. The sensation of the hot water against his back was soothing, and it helped to relieve some of the tension in his still-aching chest. He grimaced at his reflection in the steamy mirror, his pale chest still riddled with stitches. I look like Frankenstein's monster…

Sam knocked on the door. 'Dean, you haven't drowned in there or anything, have you?' Dean didn't miss the concern in his voice.

'Hmm? No, haven't drowned,' he replied absent-mindedly.

After another few minutes, he emerged fully dressed from the bathroom, unwilling to parade his scarred chest in front of Sam. God knows, he's fussing enough already…

'Did you use all the hot water?'

'Yup,' he answered brightly, flopping down onto a bed.

Sam growled at him in mock fury. Dean closed his eyes, lying flat on his back on the bed. 'Whatever, dude…' he muttered. He fell asleep to the sound of Sam's gasps under the icy jet of water.

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Sam struggled, even though he knew it was pointless against the invisible grip which held him against the wall. John was standing in front of Dean, and Sam, his head still ringing from the battering it had taken in the alleyway, could only just make out what they were saying. He wriggled again, but nothing had changed, he still couldn't move.

'I bet you're real proud of your kids too, huh?' Dean was whispering. 'But… oh, I forgot… I wasted 'em.'

Great idea Dean... Piss off the homicidal maniac wearing our father's face…

The demon was silent, and Sam tensed in anticipation of what was coming. Dean's cry cut through him, and his futile struggles redoubled. He called out to his brother repeatedly, but his only answers were Dean's anguished gasps. It was thirty seconds of Sam's life which would remain etched onto his memory for a lifetime.

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Sam jerked awake, finding the sheets twisted around his feet; clearly he had been struggling in his sleep. The dream was familiar by now. He looked around the dark motel room, his eyes resting on Dean, sleeping in the next bed. He was twitching slightly, a half-frown creasing his forehead.

'Dean,' Sam hissed, reaching over to put a hand on his arm. Dean awoke with a gasp.

'Huh! Oh… Jesus, Sammy, don't do that…' he mumbled sleepily.

'You were dreaming'

'I know'

'Want to tell me what it was about?'

No… 'That hot nurse, Lucy,' he lied. It sounded less convincing than his usual stories, and he wondered whether he was losing his talent for spinning tales.

'Really? 'Cause I was dreaming about that night in the cabin…'

Dean scowled at his brother. 'Yeah, alright… Might have been that.'

Sam considered asking Dean if he wanted to talk about it, but quickly concluded that there was no point. He already knew what his brother's answer would be, and anyway, they needed to put that disaster behind them, as far as possible, and move on. They had work to do.

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Please review! I'll be your friend forever!

I'm going away next week. I might get another chapter up before I go, but if not, I'll be aiming to write the rest of the story while I'm away, so I can type it into the computer and put it up fairly quickly when I get back. So, there'll be a pause, but don't worry, the ending is coming!