A/N: You guys are amazing! I got 15 reviews, just like I asked! And I shall reward you, just like I promised. See! We got us a nice little system here, right?

Another A/N: So, let's break 100! So I need AT LEAST 6 reviews. And I apologize for the shortness, but I cut it in half at the last minute because the next chapter is very intense and I think it needs to be it's own. (Think Devil's Trap with a twist.) So, be nice, review and I shall post.

Warnings: Hmm... none really.

Disclaimer: Oh garsh, you know it by now. The song is by Phantom Planet (notice a lot of repeats of bands I use? Well, that's because my I-Pod is very limited in selection : )

Chapter Nine: In Our Darkest Hour

I can't see a thing through the smoke and if I could breathe

I'd try not to choke

No where to run no where to hide no where to go

Sometimes I get stuck yeah I get so upset

I burn at the ends I learn to regret

We have got to get out of here

In our darkest hour

I think the end is near I can feel it

We have got to get out of here

In our darkest hour

When we may not make it

John stopped the truck a block away from the house. He took a deep breath.

"Are you going to be okay?" Sam whispered, knowing very well how many times his father had been back to that house since that night.

Only once, and that was to pack all of their belongings.

"Let's just get your brother." John whispered and got out of the truck, going around to the back to get a few weapons.

Sam tucked the colt into his belt and got out of the car.

"We're going to save him." Sam whispered. We have to. Please tell me we will.

"Yeah." John muttered. God I hope so. John cocked a gun full of rock salt and looked up at his son, nodding. "We will." Please, God. Let us survive tonight. If we get through tonight, we can get through anything.

- - -

What'd you do?

"You'll know soon enough."

Don't you dare hurt them.

"I will do what I have to."

I'll stop you.

"You? You're bleeding to death on the floor. What the hell could you possibly do?"

Don't think I won't blow a hole in my head.

"You wouldn't dare."

The things I'd do for my family… I'd do it in a goddamn second, and you know I would.

And for the first time the demon's voice flickered in uncertainty.

"They're here."

- - -

John walked in first, gun drawn, pointed out in front, his other hand holding a flashlight.

"Sulfur." Sam whispered, breathing through his mouth.

"It's just a fake trail. A bastard like this wouldn't leave any residue behind. He's messing with us." John whispered.

"He's in my old room." Sam whispered.

"I know." John whispered back and led his son up the stairs, to his old room. The room where their family had fallen apart forever. "Sam, stay out here." John whispered as his hand hovered uncertainly over the doorknob.

"No, I've got to help Dean…"

"Stop thinking about your brother, Sam!" John hissed. "There might be something behind this door, and I don't want you to see it." I don't want you to see your brother dead.

Sam clenched his jaw, but nodded, just once. John gripped the doorknob, looked once at his youngest who drew the colt from his belt, ready for anything.

Except seeing his brother dead, never ready for that.

John opened the door and barged in, never one for subtly.

The room smelled of copper and charcoal.

And Dean was lying on the floor, a puddle of crimson spread out beneath him.

"Dean!" Sam cried, pushing past his father to get to his brother. John grabbed his shirt, effectively pulling him back, but not before the ripping of cloth sounded in the silent room.

"Wait." John hissed. "He might be possessed."

"Cristo." Sam whispered, and when there was no flinch, he shrugged away his father's hand and ran to his brother's side. He grabbed his brother's face. "Hey, Dean. Hey, wake up." He felt for a pulse on Dean's cooling neck.

He sighed and let his forehead drop to Dean's when he felt one.

"Holy water." John whispered when Sam looked up, having felt water drip on his head. Sam glared at the man before him.

"He's not possessed." Sam hissed, shielding Dean's body protectively.

"Come on." John whispered, finally convinced. "We have to get him out of here." John grabbed one of Dean's arm, looping it around his shoulders, while Sam did the same. "One. Two. Three." They stood, taking Dean with them.

A groan. Weak. But it was a response.

"Dean." Sam whispered, trying in vain to ignore the deep lacerations to his brother's chest. "Dean it's okay. We've got you."

"Sam?" Dean whispered. Sam smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, Dean. It's Sam."

"And… Dad?" Dean's chin had yet to rise from his chest. Sam looked at his father who was nodding, his eyes glossy.

"Yeah kid, and Dad." John whispered.

"What took you guys so damn long?" Dean asked, raising his head to smile weakly. Sam smiled back.

"Well you see, there was this bear…"

- - -

"Dad, there's a hospital close…" Sam whispered, turned in his seat, facing his brother. John shook his head.

"There isn't time." John whispered. "Missouri's got a bed ready… and I've got someone there who can take care of him."

"Who?" Sam whispered. "Caleb?"

"Caleb is dead, Sam." John whispered. "Your friend Meg, she uh, she made sure of that." John whispered. "She was trying to get the colt."

Dean groaned. Kindly stopping that discussion from going to place neither Sam nor John were ready to go.

"Just a little further, Dean. Just hang on." Sam whispered, reaching back and touching his brother's knee. "I know, I know it hurts… but just hang on."

- - -

Missouri held the door open as Sam and John nearly carried Dean to the house.

"Get him upstairs." She ordered, clutching her jacket against her chest. "Oh lord." She whispered, taking in a fast catalogue of his injuries. "The guest room, John." She yelled.

John nodded, leading the way.

The door was all ready open, the sheets folded down.

"Not on the bed, the table." A familiar whisper.

Sam froze.

"Sam, come on!" John barked.

But Sam's feet might as well have been in cement.

The man from his dreams.

Rowan.

"Sam!" John took Dean's weight and carried his oldest to the table, laying him on it gently. Rowan immediately ripped away Dean's bloodied shirt and observed the damage. He caught his lower lip between his teeth.

"I need water and towels for now. I'll need a suture kit once I'm done cleaning." He explained. John nodded and looked at Sam.

"Sam…"

"Get away from him!" Sam growled running over and grabbed Rowan's neck, shoving him against the wall. "Don't you dare touch him!"

"Sam!" John yelled, grabbing his son's shoulders. Sam turned around, decked his father and went back to choking the man who'd killed his brother a million times in his dreams.

"I won't let you kill him." Sam hissed, his face red with anger.

The man's lips moved as if he wanted to speak, but no noise came from them.

"Samuel Jonathan Winchester!" John barked and grabbed his son, yanking him away from the defenseless middle aged man. "He's not our enemy!" John yelled, pushed Sam on the bed. He looked at Rowan with concern, and was pleased to see the man was all ready back in action, sopping up some of the blood on Dean with the tatters of Dean's once favorite shirt.

"Go get the water and towels. Now Sam!" John ordered. Sam left grudgingly.

"If you hurt him… I swear I'll tear you apart." Sam promised, shooting daggers at the stranger.

- - -

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