Okay, so another chapter that didn't end where i'd planned it to...hopefully everyone enjoys it!! Remember, reviews are like gold to me!! thanks again for reading!! bambers;)

Chapter Eight

Dean chuckled as he casually strolled out of the hospital entrance. That was sure a helluva lot easier than I thought it would be.

He looked around at the parked cars. People passed by him. Some said a quick 'hello' or nodded while others appeared not to notice him as they filed past into the hospital.

A woman carrying a small child in her arms, walked up to him. "Do you think you could get the door for me, officer?"

"Sure thing." Dean opened the door and moved to the side so she could enter. He looked at the boy she was holding. "You not feeling good, buddy?"

The little boy's lips trembled as he held his stomach. He shook his head, tears in his eyes.

Dean took off the badge on his uniform and handed it to him. "Here take this with you. It'll make you feel braver."

A slow smile crept across the boy's face. "Thanks, officer."

"Anytime."

The woman glanced at Dean. "That's very kind of you, officer, but don't you need your badge?"

"Nope. Thinkin' of a career change. Too much stress on this job."

She nodded in understanding. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Dean grinned as they walked away. His smile faded to a frown as he realized he'd left the truck at Bobby's. Damn it! Why didn't I think to bring it?

He stared at the police vehicle parked near the door. No. I can't. I'm in enough trouble as it is. Pulling the keys out of his pocket, he glanced at them. Cocking a brow, he pursed his lips. "Ah, to hell with it."

Long strides carried Dean to the patrol cruiser. He opened the door and slid behind the wheel. A surreptitious glance showed no one was watching; he grinned as he turned the key in the ignition. Dean stared at the switch for the lights and siren. "Might as well. Who knows when I'll get another chance to steal a cop car."

Flipping the switch, Dean pulled out of the hospital parking lot. Automobiles veered to the shoulder of the road as Dean sped through a stoplight, siren blaring, strobes of red and blue flashing.

"Man, I gotta get these for the Impala . . . Sammy and I can be like freakin' Ghostbusters."

Dean took a quick left and then two rights, heading to the salvage yard. On an open stretch of road, he hit the accelerator, the cruiser hungrily eating up the miles. Grabbing the cell from his pocket, he jabbed the button to call Bobby.

The phone rang twice and then he heard Bobby's gruff voice. "Hello."

"Bobby, it's Dean."

Bobby was quiet for a moment, his voice strained when he finally responded. "Where are ya?"

"I'm on way to pick up the truck. Why?"

Again the deafening silence.

"What's wrong?" Dean's stomach twisted, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Dad? Is he all right?"

"Dean. . . ." Bobby paused and drew in a deep breath. "We'll talk when you get here."

Swallowing hard against the painful lump forming in his throat, Dean slammed his palm against the wheel. "No, tell me."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean dropped the phone, hands trembling. "I killed him . . . again."

Flipping off the siren, Dean swerved to the shoulder of the road, and shifted into park. He sat blindly staring out the window as a truck sped by, slowing considerably as it passed the police vehicle. Tears stung at his eyes and slid down his face unchecked. Oh God, Sammy, where are you? I can't go through this again. I can't lose Dad a second time.

He recalled standing stoically beside Sam as they watched their father burn on the funeral pyre. Thick black smoke curled up through the night sky as the scent of burnt flesh filled the air. That first time nearly tore me apart.

Hold on, Dean. I know where you are now. Dean squinted, taking a sidelong glance at the passenger's seat, hearing Sam's voice. I'm coming to get you.

"Sammy?"

Don't let her win . . . you hear me. Don't let her beat you.

"I don't know what's real any more, Sammy." Dean choked out a sob. "I just want this to end. It can't stay like this, where I never know. . . ."

Dean flinched, feeling someone's touch on his shoulder.

She's not what she seems. Find her, Dean.

"Find who? Dude, you're not makin' any sense." Dean scratched his head, puzzled by the cryptic message. "I don't know what you mean."

Find her and you'll find me.

"Um . . . you'll have to do better than that, geekboy. Maybe use words with more than one syllable."

The pressure on Dean's shoulder disappeared. He stared at the empty seat. Yeah, I'm so sitting here, talkin' to myself . . . no wonder everyone thinks I'm nuts. Dean released a pent breath. "Maybe I am buckets of crazy."

What did you mean, Sammy? Who am I supposed to be looking for? Who's not what they seem?

Throwing the cruiser into drive, Dean pulled onto the road and headed toward Bobby's.

Dean stepped out of the cruiser, boots crunching in the gravel as he headed across the salvage lot. Bobby was bent over a cherry-red 57' Chevy working on the engine.

A young dark-haired woman stood beside Bobby, handing him tools as he asked for them. The woman glanced in Dean's direction, her seductive green-eyed gaze met and locked with his. Licking soft, full lips, she smiled.

"Hey, Bobby," He called to the older man. Dean turned and glared at the demolished Impala, frowning as he noticed a patch of dried blood on the dirt ground. Oh God, Dad, I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. He swallowed hard, fighting the tears springing to his eyes. Never meant to kill you. Dean drew a determined breath and swung to face Bobby."I came to get my Dad's truck."

"Not sure that's such a good idea, Dean." Bobby adjusted his baseball cap, lowering it across his brow. "The police were just here lookin' for ya. Seems as if someone beat up a cop an' stole his car. " He gestured toward the police cruiser, letting out a low whistle. "An' there it is." Bobby laughed and winked at Dean. "Grand theft auto is becoming a habit for you, isn't it?"

"Yeah, who would've guessed I'd be so good at it?"

"Um . . . pretty much anyone who knows you."

Dean nodded in agreement. "You're probably right."

Bobby's expression turned solemn as he crossed his arms and lowered his head. "Sorry, Dean. Yer Daddy was a good man, always did right by you and Sammy."

"I don't wanna talk about it." Dean hugged his arms around his mid-section. He winced, body trembling as white-hot pain ripped through his chest.

"It was an accident. You can't blame yerself."

"Huh." Dean let out a short anguished sigh. "Who else can I blame?" He spread his arms wide and swung around. His angered gaze settled on the young woman briefly before he returned his attention to Bobby, shrugging. "Please tell me, cause from where I'm standing, it sure as hell looked like it was my fault."

Dean cleared his throat. The metallic taste of blood reminded him he was running out of time. "Bobby, I need to know as much as you can tell me about banshees."

"Banshees? Why?"

Because I have to find it and kill it before it kills me. "Just research."

Bobby looked at him, rubbing grease-stained fingers through his beard. He frowned. "All right, be with ya in a sec, have to finish tunin' up this engine."

"Okay, but I'm kinda in a hurry."

"Shouldn't take much longer." Bobby ducked underneath the hood.

Dean regarded the woman for a moment, then gestured appreciatively to the Chevy. "Nice car by the way. Is it yours?"

The beautiful brunette raised a delicate brow, stared at Dean, and smirked sarcastically. "No. I have a thong bikini on beneath my clothes. When he's finished, I plan to lay spread-eagle across the hood to have my picture taken."

"Well, don't let me stop you, sweetheart." Dean flashed her one of his most dazzling smiles. "I seriously would not want to stand in your way."

Shaking her head, the woman rolled her eyes. "Oh, very clever. Subtle with just a hint of desperation, I like that."

Dean gaped at her, a strange chilled tingle worked its way up his spine. I've heard that somewhere before. But where?

Apparently I didn't need a pickup line seein' as I already caught your attention.

Small country bar. A girl can't help noticing the hottest guy in here.

"Have we met before?" Dean squinted, and studied her carefully.

"No, I think I would've remembered you." She sauntered to him, wiped the grease from her fingers and grinned. "My name's Marisa, by the way. And your's is Dean, right?"

"Yeah."

Marisa? He couldn't remember ever meeting anyone by that name. Why does she look so damn familiar?

"Nice to meet you, Dean." She offered her hand.

Dean offered a polite nod, reaching forward. . . .

Remember my name, you'll be screaming it later.

Mara . . . that was her name.

He yanked his arm away, clenching his fists as the new memory stole his breath away. "You — you were there. You poisoned me." Dean lunged forward and grabbed Marisa by the throat, digging his fingers into her neck. "Where's Sammy? Tell me where he is."

"Dean, let her go," Bobby hollered, rushing to wedged his way between them. "I've known Marisa all of her life and she'd never harm anyone."

Dean groaned and released her. He dropped to his knees, hunched over, gasping for breath and coughing up blood. No — that's not possible. I'm not crazy. She was there. I remember her being there. Another sharp stab of pain ripped through his body. Letting out a deep growl, Dean winced, his arms curling tighter around his chest.

Bobby knelt beside Dean, calloused hands gripping Dean's shoulders. "What's the matter? Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

"I-it's her." Dean pointed to Marisa, gasping for air. "Sh-she's a banshee — she's tryin' to kill me."

Bobby looked from Dean to Marisa and then back. "Not possible, Dean."

"Why won't anyone believe me? I'm not crazy . . . I'm not."

Shaking his head, Bobby fixed his stern hunter's gaze on Dean. "Banshee's don't kill people."

"Well, this one is certainly doing her best to prove you wrong."

"Oh my God, Bobby," Marisa cried, drawing Dean's attention to her. She gestured toward him. "He's bleeding."

Dean glanced at his t-shirt, eyes widening in disbelief as a slow trail of crimson spread across his upper chest.

"We need to get you to the hospital." Bobby carefully helped Dean to his feet.

"No." Dean jerked free of Bobby's grasp, staggering toward his father's truck. "I have to find Sammy. He's the only one who can help me."

Bobby took a step toward Dean. "Damn it, Dean, Sam is dead. You need a hospital."

Dean raised an arm to stop him from coming any closer. "Don't you say that." He clenched his fists as he struggled to draw in a breath. "If he's dead then so am I — he's my only hope."

"Where ya gonna go?" Bobby asked.

She's not what she seems. Find her, Dean. Find her and you'll find me.

"Maybe you're right, Bobby. Maybe banshees don't kill people." Inclining his head toward Marisa, Dean's eyes narrowed. "I need answers . . . need to know if I'm crazy or not — So, I'm going to find the one person who can end this."