Disclaimer: Usual disclaimer applies- I still own nothing and I still cry about it

Warnings: John angst this time, and swearing, subjects which could offend (or confuse, take your pick…)

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, folks!! Had to take a break and get my mind back on track! I actually really like this chapter, and am fairly pleased with it. Let me know if you are too!

I've put another author's note at the end of this chapter, just to clear up some technical terms that are in this chapter. Have a read of them if you want to clear anything up. If that doesn't work, contact me and I'll help in any way that I can.

Enjoy!

Part Eleven: Love is a Battlefield

-

I think it's because I'm clumsy

I try not to talk too loud

Maybe it's because I'm crazy

I try not to act too proud

They only hit you until you cry

And after that you don't ask why

You just don't argue anymore

-

My name is Luka by Suzanne Vega

-

It was burning like cold fire and it was stripping away everything that made him who he was. It was taking his father and Dean and burning them from within him just like his mother had burned, and he could do nothing but scream uselessly.

It hissed at him. Hissed like the hungry beast it was, and it was hunting down everything that made him human. There would be nothing left for Dean to save before too long.

Defend us in battle...

Dean was always beside him. He didn't need to see him to know that. Dean would be there to watch him be destroyed by the Wraith. It wasn't right...

Protection against the wickedness...

Where was his father? He needed to be rescued. He wasn't strong enough to do it by himself. There was no way he could...He was the weakest one, the youngest one, the one who always needed protection. Look after Sammy, his father had always told Dean, keep him safe.

But who would protect Dean from Sam?

Ruin of souls...

May god rebuke him...

He didn't want to die. He didn't want to become as hollow as the Wraith was. He could feel its hunger, its greed and its thirst for what little strength he had left. It's anger would forever be burned within his soul, like a branded cattle. He would be forever tainted.

Wickedness and snares of the devil...

Who would protect Dean? Or their father?

He needed to be saved...He needed to save...He wouldn't be the reason that everything he loved in the world was burned like he would be. No.

If only he could...

Safeguard and protection...ruin of souls...Defend us in battle...

And while the Wraith fed off him, and struggled to claim his body, a plan was forming within the deepest, darkest depths of his mind, in a place that hadn't yet been corrupted.

Sam would find a way.

Defend me in battle...

-

"God, this is impossible," Caleb huffed, frustrated as he shoved yet another old book whose pages were yellow with age away from himself.

John didn't even look up.

"No it's not."

'It can't be,' he vowed silently. He knew that there was a way to destroy this thing. It had yet to be found, that was all. It wasn't impossible for John Winchester, not when his son's life was at stake. He would find a way if he had to march down into hell and beat it out of the devil himself.

He would save Sammy. And he would save Dean's heart while he was at it too. Because if Sammy didn't pull through this then John knew within his heart of hearts that he would be losing two sons, not just one.

Dean and Sam were so entangled within each other that at times he was afraid they didn't know one from the other. They breathed the same air, they shared the same fears even if they didn't know it themselves. John had made them that way, intentionally or otherwise, he wasn't sure. And he wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse. Maybe it was both.

"I don't understand how this thing could have survived so long without anyone noticing," Caleb said thoughtfully. "Something with that much power leaves signs."

"Not the older ones,' John murmured as he flipped another page. "Older demons are smarter than younger ones. They know how to go unnoticed. And how to resist...exorcisms..."

John blinked and looked at Caleb with widened eyes. The younger man's gaze lit up as he realized what John was thinking.

"If a normal exorcism doesn't work on an older demon, then what do we normally do?" Caleb asked, excitement coloring his tone.

"We change it. We adapt it to suit the demon," John frowned now as he thought it over again. "But exorcisms aren't very effective on spirits possessing people...Hell, spirits don't usually possess people at all."

"Maybe not, but we're not dealing with a normal spirit are we? We're dealing with an abnormal Wraith," Caleb replied. "So if we combine one of the strongest demon exorcisms we have with a spell to banish spirits, maybe change the wording around a bit, we might have a winner."

"Can you do that?" a new voice asked.

They looked over to the door where Jim stood with two mugs of coffee in his hands.

"Theoretically, yes." John scratched his ear, still struggling to push his anxiety aside. "Practically, who knows?"

"We'll if it's all you've got after all this time, then I think you'd better give it your best shot," Jim informed them. "Sam's getting weaker. He won't be able to fight this thing for much longer."

"I'd better go and..." John made as if to get up, his need to be with his child stronger than he had ever felt it before. His hands were shaking constantly, and his mind was constantly turning to his two boys downstairs, wondering how much longer they could both go on.

He was cursing himself within his mind, screaming at himself for being so stupid, for dismissing this thing before he had really understood it.

Not for the first time, he felt like he was failing his sons. Failing the responsibility that Mary had left to him when she had died. The boys were her legacy to the world, and he was failing them and failing her.

He couldn't afford to fail any more.

"No John. Sam needs you up here." Caleb said quietly. "We need to get to work on the ritual. It shouldn't take more than an hour or two."

"You'd better get a move on. I'm not sure Sam has that much time left."

John got up to retrieve the books they'd need and wondered if they really had found the answer. He couldn't lose another person he loved. Sam was his child, a part of himself that he wouldn't let go. He hadn't been able to save Mary, but he'd damn well save Sam.

Hold on, Sam. Just a little bit longer. Your daddy's gonna save you.

It'll be okay...

-

John was ready to fall asleep and stay like that for the next hundred years. He hadn't slept in over a day, and before that he had been thinking about Sam so sleep hadn't been exactly peaceful. Right now though, all the Latin phrases were blurring together like gibberish.

Which, he supposed, they always had been. Never had he been called a model student, and when he had been forced to learn Latin, the lessons had been painstaking and frustrating. It had been important that he got it right, so he had never given up until it was all firmly embedded in his mind, but there had been a time when it had all seemed like some kind of alien gibberish. And the sad thing was, his own children spoke it ten times better than he did. Sure, he got it right for exorcisms, but they mainly consisted of the same words.

He had inwardly squirmed in embarrassment when he had once come across Dean and Sam having an entire conversation in Latin, and then arguing for hours on the proper usage certain words and correct pronunciation to boot.

The words ran together on the page, and he rubbed his eyes in an effort to make them focus once more.

"How you doin' over there, Caleb?" he asked gruffly, looking up for a moment.

His answer was a frustrated growl.

"This is harder than I thought it would be."

"Usually is," John replied. "Especially when it comes to your ideas."

"That's real cute, John. May I point out that this was in fact my idea and it's the only thing we've got going for us right now?" Caleb shot back with a tired smugness.

"I know." John ran his hands through his hair and hung his head, letting his exhaustion get the better of him for a moment. "I really appreciate you doing this for me, Caleb. I'll owe you big time."

"Hey," Caleb's voice was quiet. "Sam's worth it. And your boys...they mean a lot to me. I could never..."

He trailed off, and John listened without looking at him as the younger man cleared his throat. Hell, he was close to tears now himself. Tears of frustration, of anger and fear. John had never felt as close to breaking as he currently did, and it scared him more than anything. If they lost Sam...well, he wasn't so sure if he'd be able to keep it together enough to try and save Dean as well.

"Anyway, don't thank me yet. You can buy me a beer when this is all finished, and we'll call it even."

John nodded and returned his eyes to the text before him.

"How're you doing with the Latin wording, Johnny?"

"Feel like I'm running in friggin' circles chasing my own tail," he growled, clenching his fists and trying not to get angry and start throwing things. The only thing that would achieve was Jim's anger, and Dean's fear, and there was no way it would make him feel any better.

"I know how you feel. Jim needs to start organizing his shit, man. Alphabetically. Or maybe in categories. Like 'Relatively Easy to Understand', to 'Insanely Difficult' and right through to 'Hand Me My Gun So I can Shoot Myself'," Caleb grumbled.

John managed a humorless chuckle at Caleb's attempt to take his mind off of things, but it didn't do anything for him, and Caleb seemed to sense it too.

"Sam's going to be fine, John. When he's got people like you and Dean looking after him, there's no way he's going to get away from us."

"I don't need a pep talk, Caleb. What I need is my son back with me, healthy and whole. And if we're going to get him back then we need to keep working."

A sudden smashing of glass resounded through the house, and John's felt his heart skip a beat. John and Caleb exchanged a glance before surging to their feet and moving towards the door. Before they could reach it though, it slammed closed with a loud bang. John yelled out in fury and threw his body against it.

He knew that something had happened. Something bad had happened to Sam, and that Dean and Jim were probably in danger.

He threw his shoulder against the door once more, and when that didn't work he began to try and kick it open with his steel-capped boots. He needed to get to his sons, and if that meant he beat his fists raw and bloody, then by god, he'd do it in a heart beat.

"SAM!!! DEAN!!!"

With an almighty roar, he threw his shoulder at the heavy oak once more, and only succeeded in almost dislocating his shoulder.

"JOHN!" Caleb was shouting at him, and two hands roughly grabbed him and whirled him around.

"Calm the FUCK down, alright? You're no good to them like this." Caleb snapped at him.

John was momentarily ashamed before the fear took over once more. Except it was fear and anger combined, and he'd get his sons back if it was the last thing he did.

"Good," Caleb nodded approvingly once he calmed himself appropriately. "There's a window over here. I think we can climb down onto the back porch from here."

John nodded and slid the window open with more force than necessary and was slithering out of it within seconds. He could hear Caleb cursing all Winchesters, their stubbornness and their talent for getting into shit up to their eyeballs.

John had to agree with them. Nothing was easy with the Winchesters, and for some masochistic reason he wouldn't have it any other way.

He landed awkwardly on the slanting porch roof and cursed when pain flashed through his ankle. He took a moment to determine that it wasn't sprained before he was crouching down at the gutter and shimmying down one of the posts.

The moment his feet hit the ground, he raced towards the front door with Caleb hot on his heels. They burst through the door, John having drawn his ever present hunting knife, and Caleb sporting a loaded hand gun.

"Don't shoot Sammy," John ordered tightly as they proceeded cautiously down the hallway.

"I might not have a choice, John," Caleb replied softly, clearing the front sitting room.

"If you have to, shoot to incapacitate. Aim for his legs," John conceded with a tight throat.

Forgive me Sammy...

It was easier to get bullets out of legs, and impossible to bring someone back from the dead without making them into something evil. So shooting legs was the best decision.

A loud hammering came from the direction of the church entrance, and John nodded to Caleb who moved forward to investigate, his booted footsteps silent against the hardwood floors. John stood still for a moment; the sound of a door banging against a wall repeatedly was the only other noise, and a freezing cold wind whipped through the house, making John shiver in his jeans and t-shirt.

Gripping the knife hilt tightly with fingers that were cramped closed with fear, John moved once more down the hallway towards the dining room. His heart was pounding harder than it ever had, and John's gut was tightening in anticipation of what he would find.

The house was now dark and quiet. John came to a stop outside the room, and pressed his back to the wall, listening for any sounds of movement from within.

The only sound that greeted him was silence.

He risked glancing around the corner for the briefest of moments to assess the situation. All was still.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he slipped into the room, crouched in a defensive position as he took in the scene before him.

There was shattered glass on the floor near him, and Dean was sprawled by the wall opposite him, clearly unconscious. Dark blood was congealing in his hair, but John swallowed and did his best to finish surveying the situation before him before he rushed to Dean's aide. Assess the situation first and check for danger before tending to the wounded, John reminded himself. One of the first things they taught you in the marines. There was no use in treating the wounded when you were under attack. All that would do was ensure they you both ended up in body bags.

The large glass window that looked over the church grounds was smashed also, and the cold wind whipped the gauze curtains about.

The chalk on the floor was smudged, the salt scattered. The circle was broken. Sam was gone.

He relaxed his grip on the knife and straightened up. Within moments he was at Dean's side.

"Dean. Open your eyes son," he said gruffly as he pulled him into his eyes and began to tap his cheek gently. "C'mon kiddo. Wake up."

Dean groaned slightly, but wasn't any closer to waking. John gently pushed the hair away from the bloodied lump on Dean's head, and inspected the wound carefully. It didn't look too serious, but he would definitely have one hell of a headache and possibly a concussion when he woke up.

He quickly inspected the rest of him, searching for other injuries. When he found nothing other than a dislocated shoulder, John sighed in relief.

It was an easy thing to set Dean's shoulder straight once more. It popped back in place with a sickening sound that would make lesser men cringe. Dean didn't even stir, and John sighed as he ran his hand over his hair.

"What are we going to do, Dean-o?" he asked his son softly. "I'm at my wits end here. "

The ritual they'd been working on had been close to completion, and John had been getting a positive feeling about it. The odds of it working had been pretty good. But somehow, the Wraith must have sensed it was in danger and made a break for it. John didn't know how it had broken the circle, and the only logical explanation was that Dean must have had something to do with it.

He must've slipped somehow, and the Wraith had seen it's chance and made it's move. John wasn't angry at Dean, not really. He understood the uncertainty his oldest felt when it came to dealing with a possessed Sam. They were floating in uncharted waters, and John knew how easy it was to make mistakes when you didn't know what you were doing.

Hell, he'd made more than his fair share over the years. Perhaps the biggest mistakes he had made was when it came to Sam. The boy was a blessing. John could still see him when he was a bright little toddler at the age of three. He wished he had been able to share Mary with his youngest. He wished that he had been able to raise Sam, instead of having Dean do it. He wished that he had been able to lift the burden of responsibility from Dean's shoulders as most fathers did.

But wishing for things that could never happen was futile, and John was a practical man. So Sam had gone missing. However it had happened, they needed to get him back before he became a danger to others. And they needed to get him back before it was too late to save him.

Caleb came in them, helping a limping Jim.

"He okay?" Caleb asked abruptly as he helped Jim to a chair.

"He will be. He got a nasty knock on the head and a dislocated shoulder, but nothing too serious." John replied. "What happened Jim?"

"I'm not really sure," Jim replied with a grimace as he shifted. "One minute I was in the hallway coming to check on Dean and Sammy, and the next there was this freezing wind that blasted the windows and doors open. I was thrown backwards into the church, and the door slammed shut on me. Couldn't get it open until Caleb here came and let me out."

Caleb came over and crouched next to John, looking down at Dean himself.

"I think it's safe to say that it was the Wraith," he told John quietly. "I mean the wind, the drop in temperature. There's nothing else it could have been."

"I know. Help me get him to a couch," John slid his arms carefully under Dean's shoulders and around his chest. Caleb grabbed his ankles and they lifted him carefully into the next room, laying his gently on the couch. John lifted his dangling arms and laid them carefully across Dean's stomach, leaving one hand on a muscled forearm as he watched his son.

I'm sorry Dean. We'll get him back, I promise you...

"So what's the plan, John?" Jim asked from where he leant heavily on the doorframe.

"The plan is to go out there and find him. We need to get him back here and get the ritual over and done with. Sam doesn't need to suffer any more than he already has," John replied tightly.

He needed to keep control of his raging emotions if he wanted to get his Sammy back. If he panicked now and lost control, then none of them had any chance of things getting back to normal. Or as normal as things got for the Winchesters.

"It's not going to be easy," Caleb remarked quietly. "We're surrounded by forest and we're quite a ways out from town. There's farming land on either side of us, an abandoned industrial estate behind us, and the town in from of us. He could have gone anywhere."

"Well we'd best get started then, and not stop until we find him," John turned to look at them both. "We don't have any other choice."

"We could alert the authorities," Jim said. "They could help us find him."

John snorted. "They'll only get in our way. And once we find him, they'll cart him off for questioning like he's done something wrong."

"You don't know that, John. Besides...he could hurt someone."

"Sam wouldn't do that," John replied harshly, glaring at them both. "He would never hurt anyone."

"You're right, he wouldn't. But the Wraith would."

"The police wouldn't know the difference between Sam and the Wraith," Caleb said.

"Exactly my point," John ground out.

"But we need the manpower. We can't hope to scour acres of land before Sam gets into trouble. There's no way..."

"No." John bit out. "The police haven't ever been any help to us. They did nothing when Mary was killed, and they won't be any help now."

"It's not the same thing, John..." Jim began, but a hoarse groan from Dean interrupted, and John returned his attention to him.

"Can you hear me Dean?"

Dean's eyes fluttered, then opened and blinked lazily. "'ad?"

"Yeah, kiddo. It's me. Do you remember what happened?"

Dean squeezed his eyes closed in obvious pain.

"Shit...my head..."

"I know it hurts, Dean. You've got quite a bump there. If your head wasn't as thick as it is, you might've cracked your skull open."

One hazel green eye opened and focused on him. "That's real cute dad."

John chuckled and accepted the glass of water that Caleb offered. He held it to Dean's mouth, and watched as he swallowed gratefully.

"I try my best. What do you remember, Dean?"

Dean lay back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling and a frown on his face as he tried to recall what had happened. John watched as he brought his good hand up to massage his injured shoulder.

"I uh...Sam was...he wanted another drink. He was talking to me an' Jim not long ago, and the Wraith..." Dean's eyes shot open, and he looked at John with panic and fear in his eyes. "Where's Sammy, Dad? What happened to him?" he asked desperately.

"That's what we're trying to figure out now, son." Caleb injected. John shot him an annoyed glance before focusing on Dean once more. He reached out with a wash cloth and dabbed at the blood coating his forehead. "We need you to tell us what happened."

"Uh...it was Sammy. We were just talking...well, I was talking and he was listening. He told me he was thirsty again so I...I got him another drink and...when I gave it to him he grabbed my arm..." Dean brought his pained eyes up to meet John's, and John knew he was worried about displeasing him. He had always strived to do what he could to please John, and he knew it was because he was afraid of getting left behind. Of losing everyone he loved, and John had used that occasionally to his advantage. It was wrong of him, but it had kept them all alive when it mattered the most.

"You're not in trouble, Dean. Go on."

"One minute he was Sam, you know? And the next...he transformed into that...that thing and it pulled me across the circle."

"That's how it got out them. It used Dean to break the circle." Caleb spoke up. "It must've trapped us in the rooms then."

John nodded.
"What then, Dean?"

"I went for the shotgun. I wasn't going to shot him or anything...just...it threw me against the wall and...it took my pendant...then I blacked out."

John frowned at that. That pendant was the most precious of Dean's belongings. It was a golden cross that Mary had worn to church on Sundays. He had let Dean keep it after her death, as a keep sake of sorts. Something to remember his mother by, and to his knowledge Dean had carried it with him at all times. He never wore it, just kept it in his pockets or in his wallet. Like he was carrying a piece of her around with him.

It was a holy object. If the Wraith had been in control, then it wouldn't have been able to touch it. If Sam was in control though...

John kept his suspicions to himself. If Sam had something to do with this, then he must have had a reason, no matter how twisted it was. It didn't matter at the moment anyway. First they needed to get his boy back, and then they'd worry about the details.

"You did the right thing, Dean." Jim spoke up from behind them. John nodded in silent agreement.

"What about Sam?" Dean asked again. "Where is he?"

He was tenacious, John had to give him that. He looked down into Dean's face once more.

"He's gone, Dean. Disappeared somewhere. But you don't need to worry because we're going to look for him now."

"Don't worry?" Dean asked hoarsely. "How can I not worry? Don't you care that your son is missing? Why aren't you more upset about this?"

"Dean," John said firmly, grasping his son's chin and making him look at him. "Do you trust me, son?"

"Dad..."

"Do you trust me?" John asked again.

Dean nodded slowly and swallowed visibly.

"Then trust me when I tell you that we're going to get him back. We're not going to lose Sammy, and you know why?"

Dean mutely shook his head, and blinked furiously to try and stop the tears brewing in his eyes from falling. John felt a rush of love for his attempt at bravery. When all this was over he would have to show Dean that it was okay to cry sometimes and that it was okay to be scared. If there was one thing he regretted it was letting Dean grow up thinking that showing weakness or emotion was a bad thing. Hell, maybe he would get Sam to do it. That kid seemed to have an endless fountain of emotions. He probably had emotions brewing within his thirteen year old body that hadn't even been named yet.

"Because it's our job to protect him. And it's our job to make sure that he stays safe. So we need to find him and get him back with us, where it's safe."

"Okay Dad." Dean's voice was hoarse, and he began to attempt to sit up. John splayed a hand on his chest and held him down.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going to help you find him." Dean replied resolutely. "You didn't think that I'd stay here after that touching speech of yours did you?"

John frowned, less than pleased with Dean's attempt at humor.

"I don't think so, boy-o. You've probably got a nice concussion there. There's no way I'm going to let you go roaming about in the woods in your condition."

"I hate to break it to you, Daddy-dearest, but the only way you're going to keep me here is if you kill me." Dean told him, his jaw set in that stubborn way that reminded him so much of Mary. John hated that nickname, and they both knew it. For Dean to pull it out now told him that he meant business.

"I know Sam better then any of you. I know what he's thinking, and where he's likely to head. You need me to track him down. I'm not going to just lie here while he's out there all alone. You'd do the same if you were in my position Dad, and you know it."

John sighed, knowing that Dean had gotten the best of him. There was a quick flash of victory in Dean's eyes, before it was replaced with determination. When this was over, John would have to find a way of reminding him who was in charge.

"Let's get that head of yours cleaned up, and a sling for your arm then," Jim said.

John nodded and stood up.

"While you play nurse, I'm going to go and get what we need from the trunk," John told Jim.

He noted the flash of alarm in Dean's eyes, but he turned away before he could say anything. The weapons weren't to use on Sammy. John would use whatever he could to drive this thing into a corner. He would make it leave Sam if it was the last thing he did.

-

Dean sat at the kitchen table, holding completely still while Jim inspected his head closely. John dumped the duffle bag of weapons on a chair nearby. They had to be getting a move on soon; while Sam couldn't get far in his weakened state, the longer they waited, the further away he would get. Besides, the longer he was out there, the more worried he was getting. Not to mention Dean. He was having trouble just staying still for Jim. He was full of restless energy and a desperate need that John understood all too well.

"I think we may have a slight problem," Caleb announced grimly from the doorway.

"I think it's more of a slight problem don't you think?" Dean retorted. "Because I'd say Sam going missing is more of a major problem then a slight once."

John smothered his grin; Dean was always irritable when he woke up from head injuries. John had no idea why, and it would have been more amusing to see Caleb on the receiving end if the situation wasn't so dire.

"No, no, I know that," Caleb replied impatiently. "I meant more of a problem."

"What is it, Caleb?" Jim asked at he glared at Dean for moving.

"I was looking through your weapon stash, Jim, which might I add is very impressive considering your chosen profession, and I noticed that one of your guns is missing. The Taurus Magnum."

Jim stilled instantly before he lowered his hands from their work.

"The one in the right hand corner?"

"That's the one."

Jim said nothing, apparently unaware that John was exchanging meaningful glances and the Dean was looking on in confusion.

"What's so important about that gun?" he asked, sounding very young.

"I made the bullets for that gun myself," Jim answered slowly, but he was looking at John. "I made the bullets from silver, and I engraved them with blessings. They're holy bullets..."

The silence in the room seemed to ring in John's ears and his stomach was gnawing itself to pieces with worry. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Sam had something planned, and he prayed to whoever or whatever was listening that it wasn't what he dreaded it was. Why would Sam find a gun loaded with Holy bullets, and take off?

How would he even know that that particular gun was loaded with blessed bullets?

"It'll be okay, Dean," Jim was telling Dean quietly, and he tapped some gauze in place.

"You're damn right it will be." John snapped. "Lets get a move on shall we?"

"Sounds good to me." Caleb replied, as he loaded his prized shot gun. "I followed what tracks i could find. Seems like he's headed west. He can't have gotten far in his state. He's probably in the forest still."

"Here," John tossed Caleb a radio. "Jim, I take it you're staying here in case he comes back?"

"I think it would be best," Jim replied quietly, as he helped Dean into a sling for his arm. John slipped a handgun into his belt, and shouldered his own shotgun before placing Dean's before him on the table.

John nodded.

"I've got some friends in town who I think can help. They won't ask questions." Jim said. "I'll call them and get them to cover the other directions, just in case."

"I appreciate it." John said.

He watched as Dean got to his feet and set about collected his own weapons. He pocketed a small flask of holy water, and slipped a hunting knife into his boot. Two cases of shot gun ammo went into his pockets, and a sealed plastic bag of salt into one jacket pocket. He looked up when he felt John watching him.

"I'm not going to let Sam get hurt. Once we get this thing out of him, I'm going to make sure it can't get back in."

John felt a small flush of pride at the determination his son was showing. If he knew nothing else, he knew that Dean would fight heaven and hell to get his brother back.

"Good. But I don't want you to try anything until we're all back here. Nothing outside of this house, you hear?" he asked sternly, addressing all of him. "Tie him up, knock him out if you have to. Getting him back here is our first priority. Understood?"

"Yes sir," was Dean's immediate reply.

"Lead on, oh Captain, my Captain," Caleb grinned as he shrugged into his jacket.

Jim vanished, then reappeared, handing out small medical kits and bottles of water.

"He might be hurt," he explained quietly.

John gave him a nod of thanks, and tucked his away.

"I'll go and gather up my contacts."

John beckoned Caleb and Dean over to where he had a map of the area spread out.

"Well lets get going then. We're going to fan out, covering these areas..."

A/N: "Oh Captain, my Captain" is a line from a Walt Whitman poem called (funnily enough) Oh Captain, my Captain.

The references to possession and spirits come straight from my admittedly limited knowledge on the subject. I have done some research, but most of this stuff is made up. Please forgive any mistakes.

Jim's hand gun the Taurus Magnum is actually called the Taurus Raging Bull 500 Magnum, but I figured that that's a bit too much of a mouthful for this! I found it online and thought it was a damn pretty gun. It looks a little like the Colt in the actual series! If you wanna have a squizz go to this website:

under the Taurus Double Action handgun section. Have fun and thanks for reading!

Next update soon!