This story is now completed – I wrote it on holiday, so it's scrawled over a lot of file paper in my atrocious handwriting, and it should be up as quickly as I can type it in. I really need a secretary! Anyway… I'm pleased with it, overall, though there are some parts that I don't like. Please tell me what you think. And, btw – my next fic will be much less ambitious!

Chapter 6

Two weeks after he was released from the hospital, Dean was beginning to feel like a normal person again. He picked out his own stitches, earlier than he should have done, but he could no longer bear the sight of his chest held together with black wire. Now, the vivid scars were still striking, but they would soon start to fade, though it was unlikely that they would ever disappear. The sight of them in the mirror twisted Dean's stomach, because they showed his injuries for the world to see, and because they stirred ever-present memories which he preferred to repress.

After the breakthrough with the pagan holy water, the demon had disappeared, and the brothers' obsessive research had thrown up nothing but a frustrating succession of false trails and empty leads. As well as seeking its weakness, Sam had started scouring the Internet for news of the temperature fluctuations and electrical storms which indicated the creature's presence, but this, too, had yielded no results. He had called his father a few times, wondering if he was doing any better, but every attempt had ended with him hanging up angrily as soon as the voicemail message started up. Sam's temper was getting shorter by the day.

At the moment, he was lying stretched out on his stomach on a bed, staring at the computer screen with glazed eyes. Dean was sitting at the small table, scanning a dull local newspaper, his chin resting in one hand, elbow propped up on the table.

Sam tapped his fingers irritably against the laptop.

'You found anything?'

'No,' Dean replied without looking up. Just like I hadn't five minutes ago, Sam…

'I don't know where else we can look,' Sam muttered, a tight edge easily discernible in his voice.

Dean had to agree. They had tried the library, the college, a series of dry, complicated books and old records, and every paranormal website Sam could pull up. They were quickly running out of options. Still giving up wouldn't help, and, knowing that the demon wasn't finished with their family, they couldn't just stop looking.

'We'll find it, Sam… we always find it in the end,' Dean said, in a voice quieter and softer then his usual one. The change of tone caused Sam to look up, and their eyes met. The frustration drained slowly from the younger brother's face, and he nodded, something like determination glowing in his eyes.

Dean got slowly to his feet – he could manage it with barely a wince, now – and perched next to Sam on the edge of the narrow bed. The computer screen showed a page of ancient pagan blessings, some in languages Dean could recognise, others in symbols so old that, had he come across them anywhere else, he wouldn't have realised that they were writing at all.

'What are these?' he asked, waving a long-fingered hand vaguely in the direction of the computer screen.

'Different pagan blessings… those ones are runes, they're ancient Scandinavian letters.'

Dean made a face. The harsh, angular shapes looked crude and senseless; it was had to believe that they had ever been a form of communication. 'They look like something scratched on a wall by a drunk graffiti artist with a long stick,' he observed.

He scanned the rest of the page, recognising some symbols as Greek alphabet, and then, at the bottom, the familiar Roman letters, little different from the characters still used today throughout the Western world.

'Are they Latin, at the bottom?'

'Yeah, they're the ones I used, before. I didn't know how to pronounce any of the others.'

'Lucky those ones worked, then'

'Yeah… maybe anything old enough would work, I don't know. Or maybe I was just lucky.'

'Well… so we know the Latin ones work, we go with that,' Dean suggested, shrugging his shoulders.

'Yeah I guess. So… these verses are supposed to instil the blessing of…' He traced his finger along the line of text. 'Pluto'

Dean smirked, and Sam rolled his eyes at his brother.

'Dean, your whole childhood, you were researching demons instead of watching cartoons, and yet when someone says "Pluto", you still think of Disney?'

Dean smacked his brother's floppy head half-heartedly, leaning forward to scan the rest of the Latin phrases. A few familiar words stood out… 'demon', 'protect', 'expel'…

'So, Pluto… what does he do?' he asked. Sam was serious again in an instant.

'He rules hell, basically.'

'Doesn't really sound like one of the good guys…'

'Well, he…. controls the gates of hell. Makes sure no one enters who shouldn't. And makes sure the demons can't leave. Controls them. So, traditionally, he's more feared by demons than most pagan gods.'

Dean sounded impressed. 'Ok… good choice, then.'

Sam smiled – it was rare to receive praise instead of mockery when he demonstrated his extensive knowledge, and he was barely conscious of how much he wanted his older brother's praise.

'So… we can assume this demon dates from…. when? Several hundred years before Christ?' Dean continued, trying to dredge up long forgotten high school history.

'Yeah, or more than that,' Sam replied.

Dean nodded absently, frowning.

'So, I've been looking for ways of killing demons from that time,' Sam added, 'but I'm drawing a blank. There aren't many accounts, and when there are, the demon's often described as immortal.'

Dean winced, but then shook his head firmly. 'Nah, nothing's immortal. We know it's vulnerable to some things, we just need to work out how to use it…'

'Yeah. And that's the problem.'

There was a silence.

'So… this Pluto guy… his blessing can hurt the demon, but you can't… kinda…. magnify it? So that it kills?'

'Don't think so,' Sam answered flatly, rolling over onto his back, away from his brother and the computer. He had never spent so many hours studying even at college, and his eyes felt grainy, yearning for sleep.

Dean pulled the computer towards him, and he stretched his fingers uncertainly over the keyboard. He could use a computer, but he didn't understand how it worked enough to avoid frequent error messages and freezing the screen, so he was less confident than Sam when it came to searching the Internet. Still, he knew Sam could do with the sleep, so he was willing to give it a try.

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Sam had had this dream so many times now that he had come to expect it every time he went to sleep. However, the intensity of the dream had not been diluted by its endless repetition. Sam was pinned and helpless, trying to move the useless gun on the floor by concentrating so hard it made his head ache. Pinned, forced to watch his brother bleed. Struggling against the bonds he couldn't see, trying to focus when all his mind could do was scream 'Dean!' Trying to think of a way out when the last person he still cared for was dying before his eyes. He felt as though something was pulling him apart inside, and all he could do was stand and let it happen.

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The computer screen went white, and loaded the page at an agonizingly slow rate, while Dean sat twiddling his thumbs, almost nervously. Finally, text and pictures flickered up across the page. Dean read it carefully. Then he blinked. Then he read it again. Then he stretched out a hand, and gently shook his brother's shoulder.

'Sam'

Sam jerked awake with a muffled cry, and glanced around the room, blinking, rubbing his temples.

'Dreaming?'

'Yeah'

'Look at this'

Sam pressed his fingers against his eyelids and sat up. The dream was exhausting; he felt more tired now than he had when he had gone to sleep, only a few hours earlier.

The website lacked any flashy graphics or stylish design; it was simply a page of cramped black text on a white background. The bottom of the page was illustrated with an amateurish pencil sketch of a malicious, grinning face, eyes coloured in with yellow highlighter.

'That's…'

'Yeah'

'Does it…?' Sam scanned the text, and let out a slow breath, suddenly wide awake. 'How the hell did you find this? I've been looking for two weeks!'

Dean's only response was a wide grin, the first Sam had seen since that night in the cabin.

'So now… we just need to find it,' Sam muttered, smiling. Dean scowled at him.

'Hey, I've done my part. Any further research is your job.'

Sam attempted a mock scowl, but the effect was spoiled by the corners of his mouth turning up of their own accord into a goofy grin. 'Yeah, I guess,' he conceded. He was secretly amazed that Dean had managed to work the thing at all – usually the laptop froze as soon as he touched it. But, he decided, this wasn't the time to say so.

The page described a yellow eyed demon of unknown origin, which used to prowl the world in search of children with paranormal powers, and then baptise them into its care with a cruel ritual –the burning of the one they most loved over their heads, the night they turned six months old. Sam leaned forward to read it more thoroughly, and his eyes grew wider and wider as they moved down the page.

According to the researcher who had written the page, two such demons had been created, but one was no longer in existence. Somehow, it had been killed.

Miraculously, the page went on to give an account of the creature's death. The style was archaic and halting, somehow awkward and unnatural, but at least it was clear:

'This creature was impure and dark, so it could be overcome by light and purity. Thus, it could be best fought with weapons fashioned from purest gold. The creature was powerful, but was killed by weapons consecrated with the blessing of the ancient Lord of the Underworld, for he lowered its defences. When the demon adopted a disguise, its true nature was visible only in the eyes. The eyes, then, were its life source, and from such a wound in that place, it could not recover.'

Sam blinked, hard. 'Wow. Somebody up there likes us. I don't believe we were this lucky… Gold bullets. That's a new one.'

Dean grinned again. 'Could be expensive, though,' he commented, gesturing towards the final paragraph on the screen.

'Well… I guess it depends on how many bullets you need.'

Dean was all set to make a cocky reply, but then he remembered the Colt.

'Maybe three or four. Just to be safe.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.'

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Later, Dean lay awake, listening to the soft snores of his brother, who was sleeping peacefully for once, and he worried. When John had called, he had slipped out of the motel room to avoid waking Sam. His father's voice had been distant and crackling, difficult to hear, but he had thought he detected an edge of panic in it which he had never heard there before.

'Dean? I don't have long, so just listen, alright?'

'Dad? Where are you? Sam's been trying to call you.'

'Just listen, Dean! Take down this website…it can help you.'

'Website? What the hell? Dad, just tell me where you are -,'

'I can't. Don't look for me. Write this down…' He reeled off the site address, and Dean scrawled it across the corner of the newspaper, which he was still holding.

'Ok, I got it. Now, please, at least tell me what you're doing. Are you ok?'

'I have to go...' He cleared his throat awkwardly, almost as if embarrassed. Or maybe it was just static on the line. 'Take care of yourself Dean. And take care of Sam.' The line went dead, and Dean felt himself freeze. John hadn't said it, but it had been there in his voice. Goodbye.

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There are parts of this chapter that I really don't like. I'd love to hear you opinions. More soon. I'm expecting it to be about 9 chapters in total, just to give you an idea.

Reviews, please!