Brrrring. Brrrring.

Meg flipped open her phone with a smirk. "You boys really screwed up this time."

On the other side of the line, Dean Winchester growled, "Where is he?"

Her voice was triumphant. "You're never gonna see your father again." The receiver clicked and the line fell silent.

Dean lowered his cell. "They've got Dad," he muttered, stepping forward.

"Meg?" Sam questioned, although he already knew the answer. At Dean's nod, he continued, "What did she say?"

"I just told you, Sammy," Dean snapped in frustration. "Okay." He rubbed a hand down his face, desperately trying to gather his thoughts. "Okay." He reached down and picked up the Colt, gleaming under the lamplight. He slipped it into his back pocket.

"What are you doing, Dean?" Sam asked, following the movement with his concerned gaze.

Dean shouldered past his brother and started to pick up their belongings with urgency. "We got to go."

"Why?"

"Because the demon knows we're in Salvation, alright?" Dean slung the backpack over his shoulder. "it knows we got the Colt. It's got Dad, it's probably coming for us next."

"We've still got three bullets left," Sam pointed out. He started to say something else, but Dean interrupted him.

"Listen, tough guy, we're not ready! We don't know how many of them are out there, and we're no good to anybody dead." Dean's tone was firm, final. "We're leaving. Now."

Sam could see the determination in his eyes, and chose not to argue any longer.

They left behind only the track marks of the Impala on the asphalt.

In the car, Sam tried again. "I'm telling you, Dean, we could've taken him."

"What we need is a plan," Dean said. "Now, they're probably keeping Dad alive, we just need to figure out where. They're gonna want to trade him for the gun."

Sam only shook his head slightly.

With a frown, Dean asked, "What?"

"If that were true, then why didn't Meg mention a trade?" Sam shook his head once more and sighed. "Dad, he might be-"

"Don't," Dean said sharply.

"I don't want to believe it any more than you." Sam sank lower in his seat at Dean's angry stare, which probably should've been on the road. "But if he is, all the more reason to kill this thing. We still have the Colt. We can still finish the job."

"Screw the job, Sam!" Dean exclaimed.

"Dean, I'm just trying to do what he would want. He would want us to keep going."

"Would you quit talking about him like he's dead already?" Dean begged. Maybe if no one talked about it, it wouldn't be true. "Listen to me. Everything stops until we get him back, understand me? Everything."

Sam was quiet for a moment, realizing this wasn't a fight he could win. "So how do we find him?"

"Maybe we go to Lincoln," Dean suggested, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. "Start at the warehouse where he was taken."

"What, you really think these demons are gonna leave a trail?"

Dean hesitated, then said, "You're right. We need help."

You could say that Singer's Salvage Yard was simply a dump, and you would be right. It wasn't very often that a car was actually salvaged, mostly because the person who owned the place didn't have very much time to do so. This was the fault of the owner's occupation; he was, of course, a hunter, and a friend of John Winchester, and he was who the brothers now turned to for help.

In front of the house sat several rusty cars that would never be put to use any time soon. Atop one faded blue junker lay a large black dog chained to a post, who watched them lazily with one eye.

"Here you go," Bobby Singer said, handing Dean a flask. He had a beard and lines on his face, forming a crease that made him look like he was constantly frowning. In the corner of the room, Sam flipped the page of a dusty book.

Dean took it. "What is this? Holy water?"

"That one is," Bobby confirmed. He held up his own flask. "This is whiskey." And with that, he tipped back the container and took a large swig.

Dean pinched his eyebrows together. Then Bobby handed him the whiskey, which he obediently drank. He swallowed. "Bobby, thanks. Thanks for everything. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure if we should come."

"Nonsense," Bobby said, shaking his head. "Your Daddy needs help."

"The last time we saw you," Dean pointed out, "You did threaten to blast him full of buckshot. You cocked the shotgun and everything."

"Yeah, well, what can I say?" Bobby shrugged. "John just has that effect on people."

"Yeah, I guess he does."

"None of that matters now," Bobby said. "All that matters is that you get him back."

Off to the side, Sam leaned back in his chair. "Bobby, this book-" he chuckled disbelievingly, "I've never seen anything like it."

"Key of Solomon? It's the real deal all right." Bobby strode over to him and sat down nearby.

"And these protective circles- They really work?" Sam traced his finger down the runes reverently.

"Hell yeah. You get a demon in one, they're trapped. They're powerless. It's like a satanic roach motel."

Sam grinned.

"The man knows his stuff," Dean said, strolling over.

"I'll tell you something else too. This is some serious crap you boys stepped in."

"Oh yeah? How's that?" Sam inquired.

"Normal year I hear, say, three demonic possessions, maybe four, tops." Bobby's voice was solemn. "This year I heard of 27, so far. You get what I'm saying?" He glanced between the two brothers. "More and more demons are walking among us- A lot more."

"Do you know why?" Sam asked.

"No, but I know it's something big." Bobby pressed his lips together. "The storm's comin', and you boys, your daddy- You are smack in the middle of it."

That's when the dog from outside began to bark loudly, drawing everyone's attention. Bobby pushed himself up.

"Rumsfeld," he muttered, pushing open the blinds, "What is it?"

The hood of the car was missing its occupant, and the chain dangled, severed.

"Something's wrong," Bobby said.

Indeed, something was wrong, for at that very moment, the door busted open and flew off its hinges, and a young girl with close-cropped blonde hair stepped through. Meg scowled at them, and Dean fingered the holy water flask.

"No more crap, okay?" she said, kicking aside a chunk of wood from the door.

Dean started towards her, but with a flick of her wrist, he went flying, slamming into the bookcase.

"I want the Colt, Sam," Meg demanded, as Sam moved in front of Bobby. "The real Colt. Right now."

"We don't have it on us," Sam lied, stepping back as she advanced. "We buried it."

"Didn't I say 'no more crap'?" Meg snarled. "I swear, after everything I heard about you Winchesters, I've got to tell you, I'm a little underwhelmed. First Johnny tries to pawn off a fake gun, and then he leaves the real gun with you two chuckleheads." She shook her head mockingly. "Lackluster, men."

Sam and Bobby's backs hit the wall.

"I mean, did you really think I wouldn't find you?" Meg cocked her head.

"Actually, we were counting on it."

Meg spun on her heel to see Dean behind her, still holding the holy water. She followed his gaze to the Key of Solomon painted on the ceiling, which she stood in the center of.

"Gotcha."

Meg, now tied to a chair in the middle of the room, managed to retain her demeaning tone. "You know, if you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was ask."

Sam and Dean stared at her, unimpressed.

Bobby walked up to them, screwing the lid onto the salt. "I salted the doors and windows," he said. "If there are any demons out there, they ain't gettin' in."

Dean nodded. He stood up and stepped into the room. "Where's our father, Meg?"

"You didn't ask very nice," Meg replied coolly.

"Where's our father, bitch?"

"Jeez. You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Meg tilted her head, a cruel smile on her face. "Oh, I forgot. You don't."

"You think this is a freaking game?" Dean snapped, lip curling with rage. "Where is he!? What did you do to him!?"

"He died screaming," Meg said, her eyes alight with twisted humor. "I killed him myself."

Dean punched her in the face.

Her head snapped to the side and she cried out in pain. When she looked back up,her lip was bleeding. "That's kind of a turn-on," Meg murmured, "You hitting a girl."

"You're no girl," Dean growled.

Meg smirked.

"Dean," Bobby interjected, pulling him aside where Meg couldn't hear. "You okay?"

"She's lying," Dean insisted. "He's not dead."

"Dean, you've got to be careful with her," Bobby said sternly. "Don't hurt her."

"Why?"

"Because she really is a girl, that's why."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"She's possessed," Bobby answered. "That's a human possessed by a demon. Can't you tell?"

Dean glanced back at Meg, who was observing the room around her. "Are you trying to tell me there's an innocent girl trapped somewhere in there?"

Bobby nodded.

A pause. "That's actually good news."

Sam opened the old book and flipped to a page covered in Latin words.

Meg raised an eyebrow. "Are you gonna read me a story?"

"Something like that," Dean said lowly. "Hit it, Sam."

"Regna terrae, cantate deo. Psallite domino…"

Meg looked incredulous. "An exorcism? Are you serious?"

"We're going for it, baby," Dean confirmed. "Head-spinning, projectile vomiting, the whole nine yards."

"Tribuite virtutem deo."

Meg closed her eyes and let out a small moan. Breathing heavily, she whipped her head around to glare at Sam the best she could. "I'm gonna kill you. I'm gonna rip the bones from your body."

"No," Dean said. "You're gonna burn in Hell, unless you tell us where our Dad is." At Meg's silence, he continued, "Well, at least you'll get a nice tan." He nodded at Sam.

"Exorcizamus te. Omnis immundus spiritus."

Meg began to shake, like she was vibrating inside.

"Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio…"

Meg bowed her head, panting.

"Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica-"

"Ah!" Meg glared darkly at Sam. Her speech was halting, interrupted by grunts of pain. "He begged for his life with tears in his eyes. He begged to see his sons one last time. That's when I slit his throat."

Sam cautiously started again, "Ergo…"

"For your sake, I hope you're lying," Dean said. "Cause if it's true, I swear to god, I will march into Hell myself and slaughter each and every one of you evil sons of bitches, so help me god."

"Perditionis venenum propinare. Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallacia-" Sam paused briefly, as the pages of an open book began to flip rapidly of their own accord. "-hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge..."

Meg choked and spluttered, her arms spasming against her restraints.

Sam spoke ever faster, "Invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine. Quem inferi tremunt-"

"Agh!"

"Where is he?" Dean demanded.

"You just won't take 'dead' for an answer, will you?" Meg's voice was strained, but she managed a small, infuriating grin.

"Where is he?" Dean repeated.

"Dead!"

"No he's not!" Dean lowered himself down to her level. "He's not dead! He can't be!"

Sam cast a concerned look in his direction.

"What are you looking at?" Dean snapped. "Keep reading."

Reluctantly, Sam found the next part and spoke quickly, "Ab insidiis diaboli libera nos, domine. Ut ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos."

At the end of the line, Meg flung her head back with a roar of anguish.

"Ut inimicos sanctae ecclesiae humiliare digneris-"

The chair she was sitting in began to slide jerkily across the ground, producing a horrible screeching sound. Meg was shouting, her head whipping around with the force of her momentum. The chair never moved past the trap lines, which caused her to bang up against the sides.

"-te rogamus audi-"

"He will be!" Meg cried.

Dean flung up a hand, and Sam stopped. "What?"

"He's not dead," she spat. "But he will be after what we'll do to him."

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Dean asked.

"You don't."

"Sam-"

"A building!" Meg forced out. "Okay? A building in Jefferson City."

"Missouri? Where? Give us an address."

"I don't know."

"And the demon, the one we're looking for- Where is it?" Sam questioned.

"I don't know, I swear," Meg breathed. "That's everything. That's all I know."

Dean's words were harsh. "Finish it."

"What?" Meg exclaimed. "I told you the truth!"

"I don't care."

"You son of a bitch! You promised."

"I lied." Dean looked up at his brother. "Sam?"

Sam was staring at Meg, almost with a hint of sympathy.

"Sam!" Dean straightened. "Read."

"We can still use her, find out where the demon is," Sam said.

"She doesn't know."

"She lied."

"Sam, there's an innocent girl trapped in there somewhere," Dean said. "We've got to help her."

"You're gonna kill her," Bobby intervened.

"What?"

"You said she fell from a building," Bobby said. He looked over at Meg, who was still breathing heavily from the exorcism. "That girl's body is broken. The only thing keepin' her alive is that demon inside. You exorcise it, the girl's gonna die."

"Listen to me, both of you," Dean said. "We are not gonna leave her like that."

"She is a human being!" Bobby argued.

"And we are going to put her out of her misery!" Dean turned to his brother. "Sam, finish it."

Sam hesitated.

"Finish it."

Sam exhaled. "Dominicos sanctae ecclesiae. Terogamus audi nos. Terribilus deus..."

Meg's head jerked to the side, her whole body trembling. Her eyes flashed to black, the color swallowing up her entire socket.

"...ipse tribuite virtutem et..."

With a burst of supernatural strength, Meg's fingers started to shred the ropes holding her down.

Sam shouted, "Benedictus deus. Gloria patri!"

Meg tipped back her head and screamed, long and shrill. Black smoke funneled out of her mouth and flowed upwards to the ceiling, where it hit the Key of Solomon and dissipated. She slumped over, eyes closed, and blood trickled from her open mouth.

Slowly, wheezing, Meg raised her head. She groaned softly.

"She's still alive," Dean said urgently. "Call 911, get some water and blankets."

Bobby rushed off to grab the items, while Sam and Dean knelt down and untied her wrists.

"Thank you," she whispered. Blood coated her lips and dripped down her chin.

"Shh, shh, just take it easy, alright?" Sam coaxed, his voice gentle.

"C'mon, let's get her down," Dean said.

Together, they reached down to lift her legs. She moaned in pain, and they quietly apologized as they lowered her to the ground.

"I've got you, I've got you," Sam murmured. Meg choked and gasped for air. "It's okay."

"A year," she croaked.

"What?"

"It's been a- a year," she answered, lips turned up in a sad smile.

"Just take it easy," Sam urged.

"I've been- been awake for some of it," Meg whispered. "I couldn't move my- my own body. The things I did-" She took in a shaky breath. "It's a nightmare."

"Was it telling us the truth about our Dad?" Dean asked.

Sam stared at him. "Dean."

"Yes," Meg choked out. "But it wants- wants you to- to know that- that they want you to come for- for him."

"If Dad's still alive, none of that matters," Dean said.

Bobby hurried into the room, clutching a blanket and a glass of water. Dean helped her sit up to drink, while Bobby draped the material over her body.

"Where is the demon we're looking for?" Sam asked softly.

"Not there," Meg said, shaking her head microscopically. "Other ones. Awful ones."

"Where are they keeping our Dad?" Dean asked.

"By the r-river." Meg swallowed thickly. "S-Sunr-rise."

"Sunrise? What does that mean?"

Meg's eyes slid out of focus, her arms falling limp in Sam's hands.

"What does that mean?" Dean repeated.

She didn't move again.

"You better hurry up and beat it before the paramedics get here."

"What are you going to tell them?" Dean asked.

Bobby gave them a wry smile. "You think you guys invented lying to the cops? I'll figure something out." Then he revealed the old book they got the exorcism from. "Here. Take this. You might need it."

"Thanks," Sam said, gripping the old leather carefully.

"Thanks," Dean added. "For everything. Be careful, alright?"

"Just go find your Dad." Bobby tipped his head in their direction. "And when you do, you bring him around, would you? I won't even try to shoot him this time."

Dean nodded with a small smile.

They opened the door and stepped out, Sam first and then his brother. Bobby watched them go, wondering how they both managed to be so unlike their father.

Sam leaned against the Impala where they were parked by the river, twirling a pen and scanning the old book. The trunk was open, and Dean was loading a gun. Sam squinted through the bright sunlight and tapped his pen on the brittle pages.

"You've been quiet," Sam noted, turning a page.

Dean pulled out another gun and started to repeat the process. "Just getting ready."

"He's gonna be fine, Dean." Sam turned his attention back to the book, and a symbol caught his eye. A triangle, with a pentagram inside. Frowning, he wiped some dust off the car and started to draw.

"Dude, what are you drawing on my car?" Dean demanded.

"It's called a Devil's Trap," Sam explained. "Demons can't get through it or inside it."

"So?"

"It basically turns the trunk into a lockbox." Sam moved to the other side of the car, studying the page.

"So?" Dean repeated.

"So, we have a place to hide the Colt while we go get Dad."

"What are you talking about? We're bringing the Colt with us."

"We can't, Dean," Sam said. "We've only got three bullets left. We can't just use them on any demon. We've got to use them on the demon."

"No, we we have to save Dad, Sam, okay? We're gonna need all the help we can get."

"Dean, you know how pissed Dad would be if we used all the bullets?" Sam closed the book with a snap. "He wouldn't want us to bring the gun."

"I don't care, Sam!" Dean exclaimed. "I don't care what Dad wants, okay? And since when do you care what Dad wants?"

"We want to kill this demon," Sam said. "You used to want that too. Hell, I mean, you're the one that came and got me at school! You're the one who dragged me back into this, Dean, I'm just trying to finish it."

Dean shook his head slightly, his gaze switching between the ground and Sam. "Well, you and Dad are a lot more alike than I thought, you know that? You both can't wait to sacrifice yourself for this thing. But you know what?" Dean's voice cracked. "I'm gonna be the one to bury you. "

Sam looked away.

"You're selfish, you know that? You don't care about anything but revenge."

"That's not true, Dean," Sam finally said.

Dean scoffed, his attention now on loading his gun.

"I want Dad back, but they are expecting us to bring this gun." Sam adjusted his hold on the book. "They get the gun, they will kill us all. That Colt is our only leverage, and you know it, Dean."

Dean still refused to look at him.

"We cannot bring that gun. We can't."

"Fine," Dean said stiffly.

"I'm serious, Dean-"

"I said 'fine', Sam," Dean snapped. And to prove it, he pulled the Colt from inside his coat, held it up for Sam to see, and then tossed it inside the trunk. Sam stepped around Dean and shut the trunk.

The pair walked along the riverside, a backpack slung over Dean's shoulder. They turned a corner and Sam pushed aside a tree limb, when Dean said, "Hey, hey." Sam stopped. "I think I know what Meg meant by 'sunrise'."

Sam followed his gaze to the sign in front of a large building, where several people milled about.

Sunrise Apartments.

Dean moved forward to get a better look. "Son of a bitch, that's pretty smart." He turned back to Sam. "If these demons can possess people, they can possess almost anybody inside."

"Yeah. And make anybody attack us."

Dean frowned in the direction of the pedestrians. "And so we can't kill 'em. A building full of human shields."

Sam sighed. "They probably know exactly what we look like too, and they could look like anybody."

"This sucks out loud," Dean muttered unhappily.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Alright, so how the hell are we gonna get in?"

"Pull the fire alarm," Dean suggested. "Get out all the civilians."

"Okay, but then the city responds in, what, seven minutes?"

"Seven minutes, exactly."

Sam strode up to the front doors and swung them open. He stepped inside. He drifted over to the fire alarm, but quickly turned away as someone walked past him. He waited until the person was gone, before reaching over and pulling the alarm.

Outside, Dean approached a fireman. "Hey, what's happening? Is it a fire?"

"We're figuring that out right now, sir. Just stay back."

"Well, I got a yorkie upstairs, and he pees when he's nervous," Dean stalled.

"Sir, you have to stay back."

Meanwhile, Sam discreetly snuck around the side of the firetrucks, freezing whenever something sounded like footsteps. When he reached the back end, he pulled out a lock pick and opened the door. A few minutes later, the brothers were both garbed in firemen gear with Dean in the lead, carrying an EMF meter.

His voice muffled by the mask, Dean said, "I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up."

"You never told me that," said Sam.

Suddenly Dean stopped in front of a room as the EMF meter started to whirr and beep loudly, lighting up red. They exchanged a glance.

Inside the room, a woman's eyes flashed black at the pounding on the door. She stood and approached the doorway, joined by a man.

"This is the fire department. We need you to evacuate."

As soon as she unlocked the door, Dean kicked it inwards, sending her stumbling back. Sam ran into the room with the fire extinguisher in hand. It held holy water instead of pressurized nitrogen, so when he sprayed her with it, her skin steamed and she let out a piercing scream. Dean did the same to the man.

Dean punched the demon in the face, and while it was disoriented, he grabbed him and shoved him into the closet, sending hangers and shirts crashing to the floor. He slammed the door on it.

Sam was close behind, attempting to restrain the thrashing she-demon in his arms. With Dean's help, they forced her into the closet with her partner. Dean held the door closed against the wrath of the demons, while Sam fumbled with the bag.

"Hurry up!" Dean shouted.

Sam finally found the box of salt, and he hurriedly poured a large, thick circle around the front of the door. Once the demons were trapped, the brothers shed their suits and gas masks, dumping the gear on the floor. When they no longer looked like trick-or-treaters, they rushed into the nearest open door.

On the bed lay John Winchester, his arms and legs splayed out. Blood and grime streaked his face.

"Dad," Dean whispered. He moved to John's side and listened carefully. After a moment, he let out a sigh of relief. "He's still breathing." He gripped his father's shoulders and shook him. "Dad, wake up." John remained silent and motionless. "Dad!" Then he whipped out a pocket knife and prepared to cut the ropes, when Sam interrupted him.

"Wait," Sam said.

"What?"

"He could be possessed, for all we know."

Dean glanced down at John's prone form. "What, are you nuts?"

"Dean, we gotta be sure." Sam rifled through their bag and revealed the holy water flask. He unscrewed the top and cautiously splashed it onto John's face. No steaming skin, no thrashing.

Instead, John twitched, and he lifted his head. He strained to see through half-lidded eyes. "Sam?" He exhaled. "Why are you splashing water on me?"

Sam chuckled half-heartedly.

Dean smiled, but turned back to John. "Dad, are you okay?"

"They've been drugging me," John slurred. "Where's the Colt?" Of course. The weapon above his sons.

"Don't worry, Dad," Sam assured him. "It's safe."

"Good boys," John whispered. "Good, boys."

Outside, a man with black eyes strode through the crowd of onlookers and moved to walk into the building. A fireman went to stop him: "Hey, buddy, you can't go in-" He froze. His jaw went slack and his eyes blackened, and then he turned and followed the other.

Sam and Dean half-walked half-carried John through the doorway, an arm slung over each shoulder. He stumbled and couldn't keep himself fully upright, so they were actually mostly carrying him.

They had just entered the kitchen when the door flew open and two demons charged inside, advancing towards the trio.

"Go!" Sam urged, spinning around and struggling to keep John from falling. "Go!"

"Back, back!" Dean yelled, dragging his father into the room while Sam slammed the door behind them and locked it. Immediately, like some horror movie, the head of an ax broke through the door, showering Sam with wood chips as he tried to pour a salt line. "Sam! Let's go!" Dean was already outside the window.

Sam tossed him the bag. Right before they bolted, he dumped a thick barrier of salt on the windowsill, ignoring the angry glares he received from the demons.

Dean landed on the sidewalk first; then he helped John down, and finally Sam jumped to the ground beside them and took off. Dean stumbled forward, still holding his father upright, and they were almost to the street when Sam was tackled to the ground.

The demon now straddling him snarled and began punching Sam.

Dean quickly lowered John to the ground. "Sam!" he shouted, racing over to help his brother. He kicked the demon in the face, which would have incapacitated a normal person, but it only angered him. He jerked his chin, and Dean went flying, thrown by an unseen force.

The demon continued to beat on Sam, landing blow after blow until Sam's face was a bloody mess. Before he could do any more damage, a gunshot rang out, and a bullet buried itself in the demon's temple. Black smoke billowed from his face and disintegrated and he slumped over, dead.

Dean lowered the smoking Colt. Stuffing it into his coat, he ran to his brother and helped him up. Sam groaned and swayed on his feet. "Come on," Dean muttered, letting Sam lean against him as they walked over to John. "Come on, we've got to get out of here."

Dean was forced to let go of Sam, who abruptly lurched forward and fell to his knees. He pulled John up, then his brother, and the three of them stumbled back to the car.

They parked the car in front of an abandoned cabin in the woods to recuperate. Once inside, Sam salted the doorsand windows while Dean turned a few lamps on.

"How is he?" Sam asked.

"He just needed a little rest, that's all," Dean replied. "How are you?"

Sam sucked in a breath. "I'll survive." He turned around to face his brother. "Hey, you don't think we were followed here, do you?"

"I don't know," Dean answered honestly. "I don't think so. We couldn't have found a more out-of-the-way place to hole up."

"Yeah." Sam looked at the ground, then up at Dean. "Hey, uh… Dean, you um… You saved my life back there."

"So I guess you're glad I brought the gun, huh?" Dean smirked.

"Man, I'm trying to thank you here."

"You're welcome."

After a moment of silence, Dean said, "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that guy I shot? There was a person in there." His tone was guilty.

"You didn't have a choice, Dean," Sam tried to comfort him.

"I know. That's not what bothers me."

"Then what does?"

Dean swallowed. "Killing that guy, killing Meg. I didn't hesitate. I didn't even flinch. For you or Dad, the things I'm willing to do or kill, it's just… It scares me sometimes."

As he fell silent, John stepped into the room, his face covered in bruises and caked blood. "It shouldn't." A small smile graced his rough features. "You did good."

"You're not mad?" Dean asked, surprised.

"For what?"

"Using a bullet."

John tilted his head. "Mad? I'm proud of you. You know, Sam and I, we can get pretty obsessed. But you- You watch out for this family. You always have."

Dean was looking more confused and suspicious by the second. "Thanks."

The lights started flickering overhead, a cool breeze brushing through the cabin.

John moved towards the window. "It found us. It's here."

"The Demon?" Sam said.

"Sam, lines of salt in front of every window, every door," John ordered.

"Already did it."

"Check it, okay?" John barked.

Sam reluctantly went to check the salt lines.

"Dean, you got the gun?"

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Give it to me," said John.

"Sam tried to shoot the Demon in Salvation," Dean protested. "It vanished."

"This is me. I won't miss. Now, the gun. Hurry."

Dean tightened his grip on the Colt. He stared at John, his eyes guarded.

"Son, please."

But Dean took a step back instead.

"Give me the gun," John said sharply. "What are you doing, Dean?"

"You'd be furious," Dean said quietly.

"What?"

"That I wasted a bullet. He wouldn't be proud of me. He'd tear me a new one." Dean aimed the Colt and cocked it. "You're not my Dad."

"Dean, it's me," John tried.

"I know my Dad better than anyone, and you ain't him," Den snarled.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" John demanded.

"I could ask you the same thing. Stay back."

Sam walked back into the room and took in the scene. "Dean? What the hell is going on?"

"Your brother's lost his mind," John answered.

"He's not Dad," Dean said firmly.

"What?" Sam asked.

"I think he's possessed." Dean's voice was shaky. "I think he's been possessed since we rescued him."

"Don't listen to him, Sammy," John said.

"Dean, how do you know?" Sam questioned.

"He's different."

"You know, we don't have time for this." John gazed at Sam. "Sam, if you want to kill this demon, you've got to trust me."

Sam glanced between his brother and his Dad, unsure.

"Sam."

"No," Sam whispered. "No." He moved to stand beside Dean.

John regarded them indifferently, nodding slightly. "Fine. You're both so sure. Go ahead. Kill me."

Dean's eyes watered.

John bowed his head, and when he spoke next, his tone was dark. "I thought so."

Gleaming yellow eyes stared down the barrel of the gun.

Before they had time to react, an invisible force pinned both Sam and Dean to opposing walls. The Colt clattered to the ground. The Demon picked it up.

"What a pain in the ass this thing's been," he said.

"It's you, isn't it?" Sam forced out, still struggling against his unseen bonds. The Demon smirked. "We've been looking for you for a long time."

"Well, you found me."

"But the holy water?" Sam muttered.

"You think something like that works on something like me?" The Demon wore a horrible grin that John Winchester could never pull off.

"I'm gonna kill you," Sam growled.

"Oh, that would be a neat trick," the Demon mocked. "In fact, here." He set the Colt down. "Make the gun float to you there, psychic boy." When it remained motionless, he chuckled. "Well, this is fun. I could've killed you a hundred times today, but this… This is worth the wait." He walked up the window, his gaze never leaving Dean's face. "Your Dad- He's in here with me, trapped inside his own meat suit. He says 'Hi', by the way. He's gonna tear you apart. He's gonna taste the iron in your blood."

"Let him go, or I swear to god-" Dean started, but the Demon cut him off.

"What? What are you and God gonna do? You see, as far as I'm concerned, this is justice." He leveled his stare out the window. "You know that little exorcism of yours?" He stepped forward, until he was mere inches from Dean's face. "That was my daughter."

"Who, Meg?"

"The one in the alley? That was my boy. You understand?" The Demon's swirling yellow eyes held the promise of painful death.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"What? You're the only one that can have a family? You destroyed my children. How would you feel if I killed your family?" The Demon's lips curled into an ugly smile. "Oh, that's right. I forgot. I did. Still, two wrongs don't make a right."

"You son of a bitch."

"I want to know why," Sam called. "Why did you do it?"

"You mean why did I kill mommy and pretty little Jess?"

"Yeah."

"You know, I never told you this," the Demon said, turning back to Dean. "But Sam was gonna ask her to marry him. Been shopping for rings and everything. You want to know why?" He neared Sam, prowling with the grace and danger of a predator. "Because they got in the way."

"In the way of what?"

"My plans for you, Sammy," the Demon murmured. "You, and all the children like you."

"Listen, you mind just getting this over with, huh?" Dean asked. "Cause I really can't stand the monologuing."

"Funny, but that's all part of your M.O, isn't it? Mask all that nasty pain, mask the truth." The Demon's words were like knives.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"You know, you fight and you fight for this family but the truth is, they don't need you. Not like you need them." The Demon was relishing the anguish in Dean's eyes. "Sam, he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you."

"I bet you're real proud of your kids too, huh?" Dean chuckled dryly. "Oh wait, I forgot. I wasted 'em."

The Demon was silent for a few moments. He looked down, and when he looked back up, Dean started to scream.

"Dean!" Sam shouted. "No!"

Bloody furrows tracked down Dean's chest like a wild animal was mauling him. His head banged against the wall as he writhed in pain, grunting in agony. Through his suffering, he managed to cry, "Dad! Dad, don't you let it kill me!" The pain increased, and he groaned.

"Dean!" Sam yelled. He strained to break the Demon's hold.

Red trickled from Dean's lips. "Dad, please." He made a strangled gurgling noise, then his head fell forward limply.

"DEAN!" Sam cried desperately. "NO!"

"Stop," John whispered. His eyes were brown. "Stop it."

The force pinning them to the walls vanished, and Sam immediately ran to the table and snatched up the Colt. He aimed it at the Demon.

"You kill me, you kill daddy," he warned.

"I know," Sam spat. He pulled the trigger, and the bullet struck the Demon in the leg, sending him to the floor. At the same time, Dean slumped over, his shirt stained crimson.

"Dean? Dean, hey-" Sam knelt in front of him. "Oh god, you lost a lot of blood-"

"Where's Dad?" Dean gasped.

"He's right here. He's right here, Dean."

"Go check on him." Sam tried to protest, but Dean repeated, "Go check on him."

Sam obediently walked over to John, still gripping the Colt. "Dad?"

"Sammy!" John cried. "It's still alive. It's inside me. I can feel it. You shoot me. You shoot me! You shoot me in the heart, son! Do it, now!"

Sam cocked the Colt.

"Sam, don't you do it," Dean pleaded. "Don't you do it."

"You've got to hurry!" John begged. "I can't hold on to it much longer. You shoot me, son! Shoot me! Son, I'm begging you! We can end this here and now!"

Sam's hands were shaking.

"Sammy, you kill me!"

"Sam, no."

His aim wavered.

"You do this! Sammy! Sam, Sam." He opened his mouth and screamed. Black smoke funneled out and sank into the floorboards.

"Look, just hold on, alright? The hospital is only 10 minutes away," Sam said quietly. John wheezed in the passenger seat, while Dean struggled to keep his bodily fluids inside in the backseat.

"I'm surprised at you, Sammy. Why didn't you kill it?" John asked. "I thought we saw eye-to-eye on this. Killing this demon comes first; before me, before everything."

"No sir," Sam said. He caught a glimpse of Dean's blood soaked lips in the mirror. "Not before everything. Look, we've still got the Colt. We still have the one bullet left. We just have to start over, alright? I mean, we already found the demon-"

And that's when the massive truck crashed headfirst into the Impala, shattering the windows and crumpling the metal.

The demon driving the truck smiled to himself.