A/N: I should have mentioned, the end of the first chapter, where Dean died, was a dream. Sorry to anyone who got confused.

Another A/N: So, yeah, this is definitely AU now.

Another Another A/N: Okay, twenty of you put this on an alert, I got eleven reviews. Not to mention, I got many hits, very few reviews. That discourages me. I have the next chapter written and if I get a lot of reviews, I might post it in the next few days.

Warning: Hmm… none really. Oh, and this chapter gets very… confusing. I'm trying to straighten it all out because it makes perfect sense to me because all the holes in the storyline are of course in my head. So, please, if there is something I don't answer, ask me and I will answer or possibly have it revealed later on. : )

Disclaimer: I said it once before and I shall say it again, I don't own the boys or anything else the geniuses at the WB lay claim to. Everything else, I shall call my own.

Oh, and save our show! Go to E- Online and click on Watch with Kristen and send her an email with Supernatural as the subject and perhaps a few lines on why you love it so much! It's on the fence!

The song is by Hawthorn Heights… and has nothing to do with the Supernatural episode.

Chapter Two; Dead In The Water


The medicine is blending in mixing the blood with oxygen
I need this right now to figure myself out
Cutting through the ribbons of self doubt
I never thought you'd see me this way
You are the worst and I am to blame

Close the door, lock it tight
Then I'll know you're safe tonight
Turn on a song that means the most
Believe I'm there and hold me close

Sam woke with a start, flying into a sitting position and gasping loudly. It took two seconds and lots of panicked eye searching for him to figure out where he was.

The dark motel room.

But this time Dean was at his side, his hand on Sam's shoulder, his eyes—though a little glazed from the hangover he had to be suffering—were full of concern. Sam reached out and grabbed a fistful of Dean's shirt and took a shaky breath.

"Bad one?" Dean whispered. Sam nodded, his eyes closed tightly.

"Oh yeah." He breathed.

"What'd you see?" Dean asked, sitting down on Sam's bed. Sam shook his head.

"It was just a dream, not one of those dreams."

"More of a nightmare." Dean stated, though it was sort of a question.

"Definitely." Sam nodded again, gently removing his hands from Dean's shirt.

"You want some coffee or something?" Dean asked gently. Sam nodded.

"Coffee would be great." He whispered and then fell back against the pillows. Dean nodded, looking over his brother one last time before he got to his feet and his slight falter didn't go unnoticed by the younger brother. "There's some aspirin in my…" Dean titled his head towards the table and Sam saw the open bottle, Dean had always had trouble with the child-proof lids. He could get them off; he just had issues getting them back on.

Dean dropped a cup and it shattered on the tile floor, he winced, pressing a hand to his head. Hangovers kicked ass!

"Smooth." Sam whispered. Dean glared at him and Sam sent back a cheesy smile.

"Shut it, Haley Joel." Dean muttered and bent down to pick up the shattered dishware.

The silence settled into their chests again.

"You were dreaming about me, huh?" Dean asked softly as he got out the coffee grounds. He didn't look at his brother, but Sam was wilting under his gaze.

"What are you talking about?"

"You kept yelling my name… I just assumed…"

"Yeah." Sam interrupted. "You were in it." Dean turned and smiled at him.

"Your subconscious make up any hot chicks for me to be with?" He asked with a grin. Sam couldn't help but smile back.

"There was this one, Serena… but she didn't seem to be interested."

Another cup shattered.

"Dean?" Sam asked worriedly, sitting up.

Dean let out a strangled chuckle.

"Jesus, butterfingers tonight." He forced another choked laugh. Sam started to get off the bed. "T's nothing, Sam." He muttered and picked up the new broken pieces. "I'm just shocked you would have such a nightmare." He turned around and flashed one of Sam his cocky smiles. "I mean, for me to get rejected, how unrealistic."

You're a hell of a liar, Dean.

"Well, dreams aren't exactly the directed result of realism." Sam muttered and got out of bed and picked up a few pieces of glass that had flown farther than Dean had realized. Sam tossed them in the sink and Dean grunted his thanks. "Shower." Sam explained.

"Coffee." Dean handed him a cup and Sam took it with a nod of thanks.

Yes, our boys are very talkative this fine morning.

- - -

Dean waited for the shower to turn on. When he heard the hiss of the water and Sam's off key hums, he walked over to the bed and sat down heavily.

God, his head hurt.

There was something wrong here. It couldn't be a coincidence; the Winchesters did not have coincidences.

Sam dreamed of Serena, there must have been a connection. Had to be a connection.

"Who are you?" Dean gasped as he struggled for air on the ground. John was yelling incoherently behind the heavy wooden door.

She pressed her foot down harder on Dean's throat and he writhed beneath her expensive sling backs.

"That's for me to know, and for you to find out, doll face." She explained.

He was suffocating. Hallucinating a light above her head. God, she looked like an angel. He didn't want the girl who killed him to look so heavily. Talk about ironic.

The pressure on his neck ceased and he gasped in the precious air, not knowing when it would be cut off again. She squatted down on her haunches and clasped her hands between her knees, studying her catch.

"You're cute, you know that?" She whispered, cocking her head to the side.

"Serena! I know you're in there! Don't let this thing take you over!" John yelled from the other side of the door.

Serena… or the being inside Serena… rolled her eyes and sighed disgustedly.

"Shut up, gramps!" She yelled and threw her hand at the door. Dean heard a thud and a grunt.

John didn't speak anymore.

She turned back to Dean, her eyes shining with lust. "I can feel it in this body, Dean. She wants you… I want you." She licked her lower lip suggestively. Dean turned to his side, trying to drag his unresponsive lower body away from that sick bitch.

She laughed at his pained efforts. "Why do you have to be like that, baby?" She taunted and grabbed his ankle and was rewarded with a soft whimper. "I know I hurt you, baby, let me make it up to you." She whispered and crawled after him, easily catching up. She pined him on his back and held his shoulders in place, straddling his waist.

"She wants you so bad." She whispered in his ear, licking his face where the blood from his head wound had begun its small trickle towards his neck.

"Sorry…" Dean whispered breathlessly. "You're not really my type."

"What? Blonde hair, big boobs, small waist and a matching brain. Since when isn't that you're type?" She cooed and kissed his neck softly. "You'll look so good in me." She whispered.

Dean swallowed hard, trying to free himself from her. "You sick bitch, get the hell off me." Dean demanded, but his voice cracked when she ran her hands down his stomach.

"Language, baby." She scolded. "You know what happens if I kiss you, don't you?" She asked softly.

"Do it. I'll put a bullet in my forehead if that's what it takes to get rid of you." Dean hissed with as much venom as he could conjure.

She wagged a finger at him.

"I wouldn't allow my favorite male to do such a thing." She assured him. She leaned her face towards his and watched his lips as she spoke, gently touching them with her fingers. "Such lips, Dean." She smiled. "I bet you're a great kisser."

"Go to hell!" He yelled, though it came out as illogical grunts because his lips were pressed together tightly.

"Oh baby, I'm all ready there." She whispered and kissed him hard.

"Get off my son!" John yelled.

There was a gunshot…

A scream…

A gasp…

A thud…

Yells…

Cries…

Dean sat up. Serena was sitting on the ground, a bloody arm held tightly to her chest, her eyes cast upwards at the black cloud circling the room.

His eyes closed tightly as John read the spell.

Breathe in, breathe out. Don't pass out. Breathe in, breathe out. Don't pass out. Breathe in…

He passed out.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, snapping his fingers in front of Dean's bowed head. "Dean!"

Dean jerked his head up. "What? What?" He yelled back angrily. Sam looked at him worriedly.

The kid was dressed all ready. Jesus, how long was I out?

"Are you okay, man?" Sam asked softly. Dean nodded, getting to his feet.

"Yeah, fine, Sam." Dean assured him meekly and walked over to the table, grabbing his jacket. "Are we going to do this thing, or not?"

- - -

This "thing" as Dean has so charmingly referred to it as, was actually a string of mysterious deaths along the Oregon Coast. Astoria, to be exact, right near Seaside.

"Remember when Dad took us to Seaside that one year?" Sam asked softly from the passenger seat. Dean smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, and we spent an hour running from the waves."

"He woke us up early to look for Sand-Dollars."

"And you cried because we couldn't find any."

"I did not cry." Sam argued. Dean laughed heartily and Sam smiled. It was good to hear Dean laugh again. He hadn't laughed in a while.

"Oh come on, Sammy. You were sobbing like a little girl."

"I was five years old and you told me that Free Willy was going to starve to death if we didn't find him enough Sand-Dollars to buy dinner." Sam explained.

"Girl." Dean coughed and stopped at the yellow light. He'd seen the way people drove, he wasn't going to risk getting his baby T-Boned.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Green light." Sam explained when he heard a honking behind them. Dean started the car, silently waging a war against the Escalade next to them.

The Impala pulled out into first and Dean let out a silent cheer. His baby was still the best of the best.

"So, what do the papers say again?" Dean asked absently as he fished through his tape box—Sam still rolled his eyes at that, couldn't the man modernize and get an I-Pod maybe?—for his Blue Oyster Cult tape.

Sam unfolded the newspaper article and skimmed through for the highlighted parts. "Last Wednesday, Jennifer Ramsey, 18, was found dead in her room. There was no sign of a struggle and no exterior wounds. But upon examination by the coroner, she was found to have died of extreme internal bleeding. This is the four mysterious death of this nature in the area. The only evidence linking the four deaths is a curious sprinkle of sand over each victim's face. Is this a sick killer's signature, or is it, as some avid ghost hunters and supernaturalists claim, the work of a Sandman gone bad?"

"Dude… who the hell wrote that?" Dean asked when Sam was done reading.

"Dude," Sam mocked. "Missing the bigger picture here, Dean!" Sam sighed and looked up the journalist. "Gale Winters."

"Chick needs to go back to journalist school. You don't make a mass murder a joke. It's wrong." Dean insisted, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

"You're one to talk, oh master of credit card scams." Sam said quietly, reading over the article again. They had Gale featured as the Journalist of the hour. Sam smiled at her picture. "And I have a feeling your thoughts about her are going to change."

"Why would you say…" Sam showed him the picture. "Dude, she should win an award for that, right there." Dean said with a grin, grabbing the paper to get a better look at the picture. Sam rolled his eyes.

"What, her writing or her looks?" Sam asked.

"She writes?" Dean asked seriously.

"I don't get what girls see in you." Sam whispered. Dean grinned at him and Sam knew what retort was churning in that pot of ego and testosterone Dean called a brain. "It was rhetorical."

"I didn't say anything, Samuel." Dean reminded him as he turned left. Sam sunk down lower the seat.

"I'm physic, remember?" Sam joked. Dean's face went somber and he turned to look at his little brother.

"Dude, you read my mind and I will kill you." And Sam laughed harder than he had in a long time.

- - -

She was eleven the first time she realized her family wasn't normal. Yes, her father worked from nine to five, her mother stayed home and raised the children.

The term children is used lightly.

And the work her father did is what set them apart from the other families on the block.

She killed her first enemy at the age of fourteen. Her father was her absent drill sergeant. She heard his voice coaxing her to pull the trigger.

A year later she learned that blood was her father's proverbial cell phone.

She was sixteen when she realized he was the bad guy.

Family loyalty. That's what kept her with him. That's what kept the knife in her hands. That's what slit those innocent people's throats so she could call in and check with Daddy.

She'd scour the world with her "siblings" searching for him. Searching for the one they let get away.

And because she loved her father without question, she never opened her mouth to ask why.

She watched her youngest brother die when he questioned their orders. She watched her mother cry when her children rebelled, knowing they would not be alive in the morning.

And she grew up in fear.

When she was nineteen she saw him for the first time. He was arriving at the college, exactly where her father had said he would be. She just watched him, marveling in his perfection.

"He will be yours, princess."

She smiled, a big toothy smile that lit up her young, angelic face.

"I know, father, I know."

- - -

Dean laid on the horn and Sam snapped awake. Dean was laughing. "You got some drool going on there." Dean said through his laughter. Sam wiped off his face and then socked Dean's shoulder.

"Not cool."

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Sammy." Dean huffed and got out of the car. "I'ma getta room." He slurred. He must have been tired; he'd been driving eight hours straight.

Sam opened the car door, getting his legs out first and resting before he stood and stretched, his shirt lifting slightly and he shivered as the cold coastal wind danced around him.

"You can't park there." Someone huffed. He turned and a short girl was standing at the front of the car, her hands on her hips, looking at it distastefully. She had her hair hidden in a wool cap, but a few red locks were falling out in the back. She had big oversize sunglasses over her eyes and a scarf around her neck.

Okay, Sam wasn't one for fashion, but a hat and scarf with sunglasses? Kind of conflicting seasons. It wasn't like they were up on a mountain skiing or anything.

"Oh, we're just getting a room…" Sam explained, pointing at the front desk.

"Well congratulations, but move your goddamn car." She said with over the top politeness. Her chin was quivering and Sam almost mistook the gesture for anger, but then he saw the stray tear roll down her pale cheek. She turned her head away and wiped it with her gloved hand.

What the hell?

"I don't have the keys… my brother does…" Sam explained, studying her face. "Ma'am… are you okay?" She laughed.

"Chivalry is dead, you don't care. It's just a ploy to get into my pants." She snapped. "Move your car before I get back or I'll come out here and take my son's baseball bat to it." She ordered and then walked off, limping in her high heels.

Good, bitch, I hope you have terrible blisters.

Dean walked out of the main office the same time she was walking in. He flashed her a smile and made the mistake of opening the door for her. She slapped him across the face, kicked his shin, and then spit at him.

Sam couldn't hold in his chuckle when Dean walked back to the car, shaking his head in shock.

"What did I do wrong back there?" He asked, his hand rubbing at the red mark across his cheek. Sam shrugged.

"You parked in her space." He explained. Dean let a phantom of a smile cross his face.

"I'd like to park in her space…"

"And you wonder why she slapped you?"

"Hey, I kept my eyes on her face… for a while." Dean added the last part softly.

"Whatever man, move the car, give me the key."

"Move the car?" Dean asked, a confused look on his face.

"Unless you want her to come out here with her son's bat…"

Dean was in the car before he finished the sentence.

- - -

Sam opened the door to the room and tossed the key on the nearest bed. He went straight to the bathroom. A shower, not a tub shower. Good. He hated those tub showers… but not as much as Dean did. Bad experience.

When Sam was five, John had to take him and Dean on a hunt. He left them in the car of course while he investigated this haunted house.

Twenty minutes in, they heard yells from the house. Dean panicked, ran from the car into the house, Sam followed.

John Winchester was possessed. He grabbed the nine year old Dean and with one move, threw the boy against the wall and broke his collarbone.

When Sam tried to run away, John caught him and drug him to the bathroom and commenced in drowning him in a bathtub full of freezing water, but of course, John had hit little Sammy's head against the bottom, effectively cracking it open and knocking him unconscious.

Dean had managed to shake of the haze of pain and exorcized the demon inside their father, but John had lost unconsciousness and Dean couldn't lift his little brother out of the water.

He had to wait forty seven painstaking seconds for the water to drain enough so he could get his little brother's face out of the water.

Dean remembered the lack of a pulse under his fingertips the most.

Sam remembered the look on his father and his brother's faces—after John finished CPR and brought Sam back to life—the most.

So yeah, Sam was happy with a shower stall. And there were two sinks. Perfect. This was going to work.

Sam turned and was greeted by a strange, yet startlingly familiar face.

"He's coming soon, Samuel."

Who?

"Him, Samuel. You know him."

Why is he coming?

"For you, the one that got away."

Dean…

"Will not be touched if he lets you go willingly."

You don't know Dean.

"I do. That's why I know he will die."

No…

"This won't be easy for anyone, Samuel. But if you let them take you, if you go willingly… there might be hope. Don't let Dean stop you."

How do I know I can trust you?

"You don't. There will be many people who tell you that you can trust them, many will lie. I won't say that there is no way I will betray you. Samuel, I'm a cowardly man, I may turn on you. But I'm honest, always."

You're really instilling some confidence here…

"I understand your apprehension. But its happening, it's been happening, I know you've felt it. The dreams, Samuel. They mean something."

I won't kill my brother…

"If you don't go, you will."

"No!" Sam yelled, and the glass door to the shower shattered.

"Sam!" Dean yelled. Sam heard loud footsteps. Dean was running. "Sam!" He yelled again, pounding on the door. "I'm coming in." Sam stood there in angry silence, the glass decorating the floor, as the door swung open, Dean standing there ready to attack. "What the hell happened, Sam?" Dean yelled, grabbing his brother's shoulders and pulling him out of the bathroom.

"Dean, who is Serena?" Sam asked softly. Dean's hand involuntarily tightened around Sam's shoulders.

"I don't… know a Serena…" Not even the most gullible drunk in bar up the interstate would have believed a lie coming from a broken voice like that.

"Don't lie to me, Dean!" Sam yelled, causing the mirror next to the bathroom door to shatter, spraying pieces of glass over both of the brothers. Dean's hands fell from Sam's shoulders and he recoiled in horror, falling backwards, but landing in a chair almost like he had known it was there.

"Sam, did you…" Dean faltered, staring at the mirror—scratch that—the mirror's remains. Sam didn't answer. "How did you…"

"Answer the damn question, Dean. Who. Is. Serena?" Sam asked, grabbing a chair and placing it in front of Dean's and sitting down.

Sam recognized the look in Dean's eyes. He's seen it so rarely on his brother's face. He didn't like it there. It didn't fit. And right now, he was putting it there. Dean was scared. Dean was scared of him.

"Dad and I were doing a job…"

"Where?" Sam snapped. Dean looked up at him with glossy eyes. He clenched his jaw and looked down at the ground.

"Where do you think, Sam?"

"Damn it, Dean! Are you trying to get us killed?" Sam yelled, getting to his feet and kicking the table.

"Yeah, Sam, that's exactly what I'm trying to do." Dean said sarcastically and got to his feet as well. "I just thought maybe that we could take it down this time, kill it for good."

"What is it?"

"A demon."

"The demon…"

"Just a demon that got the better of us." Dean clarified. "Broke both my legs and crushed my pelvis… Dad was pretty messed up too."

"Messed up?"

"A few ribs… an arm."

"How does Serena fit into this?"

"She did it." Dean explained. Sam let out a breath of air. But she'd helped them in his dream… or maybe not… her husband had poisoned Dean. God, he was confused. "Well, she was possessed at the time. Dad shot her… killed her." Sam looked at him. "It was a freak thing, Sam. She had hemophilia. He shot her arm, just wanted to get her off me, but she bled to death."

"I dreamed about her, Dean."

"I know. But she died three years ago, Sam."

"But I dreamed about her. She was there."

"Maybe it's a different girl. Serena isn't that unusual of a name."

"She looked like she had a halo on…"

"Holy sh…" Dean sat down again. Sam did too. "I was in so much pain, I was hallucinating, but that's how I saw her. She was so pretty, angelic almost, and when it was just her, and that son of a bitch didn't have her, she was an angel." Dean looked at his brother. "When I thought I was dying, I saw her with a light overhead. I thought it was going to be a perfectly ironic way to die. Strangled by an angel." He laughed, but there was no humor there. Dean put his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. "What the hell is happening here, Sammy?"

Sam closed his eyes and spoke softly, "I keep having these dreams. They're… they're not like those dreams, but they mean something. There's always this man, he's always there to help, but in the end he turns on me… but I think he's our only chance."

"Our?" Anyone who might call Dean stupid had never talked to him for very long. He might take a while to anger questions and might have never read the DaVinci Code, but he was the most intuitive person Sam had ever met.

"In my dreams… you… die…" Sam explained. "You and Dad… well, I just have to assume Dad is dead. I don't really take the time to find out." Dean watched him intently, eyes telling him to continue. "I kill you. In the one I have the most, I don't get to you in time. In the one with Serena, the man tricked me into poisoning you."

"Yeah, because those deaths are completely your fault, that and Global Warming." Dean muttered. "Son of a bitch, Sam! These are just dreams, they don't mean anything… Maybe you saw a picture of Serena somewhere. I know I have one in one of my bags…" Dean got to his feet and started going through his bags, throwing clothes around.

No. This didn't mean anything. No. No. They were just dreams. Sam wasn't seeing the future. No. No. They were just stupid, meaningless dreams. That's all.

"The man came to me, Dean." Sam interrupted. Dean dropped the clothes in hands and his back went rigid.

"What?"

"In the bathroom, just his face. He spoke to me." Sam explained. Dean cleared his throat and turned, looking at his brother.

Sam looked like a stranger, sitting like that. His legs crossed lazily, his head perched in one hand, staring blankly at the wall. Like he was there, but wasn't there.

"And what did this man say?" Dean asked slowly. Sam chewed on his thumb nail for a moment before answering.

"That someone was coming for me. That I had to go or you would die." Sam explained, still staring at the wall, that same unblinking stare. Dean's entire body tensed and he shook his head. "That if we fought, you'd die and I'd still go. But if I went willingly and you let me go, we might have a chance."

"No! God damn it, no!" Dean yelled, rushing to Sam and kneeling in front of him. He put his hand on Sam's knee. "Don't give up, Sam. I know that look, you're done fighting. Don't! I'm not going to let anything take you! I don't care if I die doi…"

Sam stood up abruptly.

"You will die if you fight this time, Dean!" Sam yelled, tears working their way to the surface. "I've seen it! Over and over in my head! Every night Dean! Every goddamn night! When I wake up, I don't know if it will be real! I never know if you'll be there or if it was for real! Every night Dean it gets realer and realer, and every time it's the same thing, I needed to let you and because I held on… because I let you hold on, you died!"

Dean grabbed Sam's face with both hands, his hands resting below Sam's ears, fingers wrapping around his neck. Sam felt the calluses on Dean's thumbs brush across his soft cheek, the scratching sensation lingered.

"Listen to me." Dean voice was in a low whisper, yet intense and might as well have been booming, it was that loud in Sam's ears. "You little prick." Dean hissed. "Don't you dare. I'm a big boy Sam and I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for a hell of a long time." He took in a deep breath. "I will not. I repeat. Will NOT. Let some dark organization take you away. I don't care if you're their chosen one. I don't care if they say you're their blood. You're my brother. We're going to fight this and we're going to win, Sam. We'll find a way. No one is going to die. Except them."

"What did you say?" Sam's voice shook. Dean's eyes flickered over his face, studying him.

"A lot of really meaningful words, weren't you listening?" Dean asked, his face cracking into a smile.

"No… a dark organization… I'm their chosen one… their blood…" Sam staggered back. "You know…"

"Sam…"

"No! What do you know?"

Oh God. Let this be another dream.

Sam clutched his head.

What the hell was going on? Dean knew something. He knew what was going on. Dean knew. Dean knew it all. Dean lied. Dean…

"Sam!" Dean lunged forward.

But the floor beat him.

- - -

Okay, now, review! They make me smile. And I will post a lot sooner if I get many reviews.