Disclaimer: Still own nothing. Still bawling my eyes out….

Warnings: Very Explicit Language, blood and yes, that Wraith we all hate so much….oh and subjects which could offend!

A/N: YAY! Another update! Rejoice everyone! Moving on, I'm also quite pleased with this chapter. We're getting close to the end now, and I'm already thinking of writing a sequel. But anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Part Twelve: You Could Be Happy (Without Me)

-

See the chains which bind the men
Can you taste their lonely arrogance
Its always too late
And your face is so cold
They struggled for this opulence
See the suns which blind the men
Burnt away so long before our time
Now their warmth is forgotten and gone
Pretty maids not far behind

- Almost With You by The Church

Dean stumbled over an invisible root, and cursed. The pain in his head and shoulder had been dulled somewhat by the strong painkillers Jim had supplied him with, but he was aching unpleasantly from his impromptu meeting with the wall.

Everything had gone to hell in a hand basket. When he really thought about it, none of it was anyone in particulars fault. They had all been negligent, including Sammy. There was no point in pinning the blame on anyone person, but Sam taking off was mainly his fault.

But how was he supposed to deny Sam anything when he had been that weak? He'd been thirsty, and Dean wasn't going to let him go without water.

And what the fuck was Sam thinking, taking that gun? Dean had known what his father was thinking, and he would be damned if he let that happen. He had seen it on his old man's face, and it had awakened an old fear that he had ignored for too long. He had gotten careless; he had taken too many things for granted and it was Sam who was paying the price. Their father had always told them that they were all alone in the world. That they shouldn't depend on anyone but themselves. He had forgotten that lesson, and now he was relearning it in the worst possible way. The only thing they had was family. It was the three of them against the world, the three of them against all the things that went bump in the night, and Dean hated his father just a little bit for forgetting that when they left Sam behind.

John had taught them to plan for the worst possible scenario, and Dean told himself that that was what Sammy had been doing. Taking that gun was his insurance, and it didn't make Dean happy.

Dean paused for a moment to catch his breath. The radio clipped to his jeans was crackling with static, and he listened to the communication going on between Jim and his father. With another curse, Dean pulled out his map and shone his flashlight on it.

"Goddamn it Sam," he muttered. "You want me to go prematurely gray don't you?"

He was right where he was supposed to be according to his map and compass. But it wasn't right. His gut was telling him to go in the other direction. Of course that would mean that he would be veering off the course his father had set for him, and disobeying a direct order. When his father had pointed out his route to him, Dean had known immediately that it was the easiest one; his father had been worried about his head wound, and the concern was undue.

"Screw it," he told himself.

Orders be damned, he was going. He knew Sam like he was a piece of himself, and he always trusted his gut instincts when it came to dealing with his little brother. Because 99.9 of the time he was right. Not that Sam didn't have the ability to pull one out of his ass and completely blindside him, but still.

He hadn't seen this coming that was for sure. And Sam always had to do things the hard way. Something about facing challenges head on and blah blah blah.

As if sensing his rebellious thoughts, his radio crackled to life once more.

"How you doing over there, Dean?" his father's voice rang out strong and clear. Dean grumbled as he went for the radio.

"There's nothing here dad. No signs of him at all," he replied.

"I'm heading over to you," he added for good measure.

"No Dean. You head back to the house and wait with Jim."

Dean rolled his eyes. As if that was going to happen.

"That's an order Dean." John said sharply. "You get your ass back there pronto and sit tight, you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you. I'm heading back now."

"Good. I'll check in with you in fifteen."

The radio crackled again, and his father was gone.

Dean turned the volume down and clipped the radio back in place.

"Sorry Dad, but I gotta do this one my way."

He shone his flashlight around him, trying to decide on a direction to head in. North-west, his gut was telling him.

North-west it was.

"You just hang in there Sammy," he muttered to himself. "No kicking the bucket you hear? Cause you know I'll bring you back and kill you myself if you do..."

-

Dean was panting and slightly dizzy. He shoved a handful of vine out of his face, and stumbled out of the trees. Before him lay the industrial estate he'd been hearing about. It was coated in darkness but Dean was immensely relieved to see it. He'd been walking for a good half hour, and was beginning to get wonder if he wasn't wrong in his decision.

There was no sign of movement from below, but that didn't mean that Sam wasn't there. Dean's instincts were telling him that Sam was, and that was good enough for him.

Always trust your instincts, Dean, his father. More often than not, they'll save your life.

Well that was what he was doing, and it felt right. Sam was waiting for him. Sam needed him, and he wasn't about to let him down after thirteen years of protecting him.

-

When he had first left the church, his flight had been desperate and panicked. All he knew was that he had to get away before the Wraith took control once more. He hadn't meant to hurt Dean, and he had barely been aware that he was doing it but somehow he had woken up a little and wrestled the Wraith back under control.

As he stared at the crumpled form of his brother, Sam knew that his chance had come. For a terrible moment he had thought that Dean was dead, that he had murdered his own brother. The blood on his brothers face had been vividly terrifying, but then he had seen the slow rise and fall of Dean's chest and he had known that he lived still. The Wraith then battered him back within his own mind for a moment, and Sam had screamed and struggled as the windows and doors blasted open in a shower of glass shards. Doors slammed and he could faintly hear his father and Caleb upstairs as he pushed the Wraith aside once more. That was when he had grabbed Dean's necklace, and found the gun and left.

His race through the trees had passed in a blur. He had fallen countless time, struggled back to his feet and kept fleeing as fast as he could. He needed to run, to get as far away as he could before they came looking for him. He needed to protect them….

When he came upon the abandoned buildings of the industrial area, he had breathed a sigh of relief before he staggered towards them.

Sam had read a poem once, and for some reason, this poem had been stuck in his mind ever since. He couldn't remember where he had read it; it definitely hadn't come from his father or Dean, because neither of them had ever had an appreciation for art, or poetry. They were useless things that couldn't be used for survival.

But to Sam, they were all the words that he couldn't ever dream of saying. The words that felt like they were trapped and frozen within his mind, waiting for an opportunity for freedom. He imagined that if his mother had been alive it would have been something they had in common. It was his way of being close to her when he had nothing else to remember her by.

The poem had probably come from Pastor Jim. While it was very metaphorical, there was one particular line that had been haunting him for awhile.

This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper...

And apparently, that was how he was going to go too.

Sam couldn't remember ever being so cold in his life. He could no longer feel his fingers or his toes; his whole body was throbbing numbly, and shivers wracked his body more often now.

Which wasn't surprising, considering he wasn't wearing anything except his cotton sleeping pants and an old t-shirt of Deans. If he really tried, he could have sworn he could smell Dean on the shirt.

Still, it didn't really matter because he wasn't expecting to live to see the morning. He could feel the cold metal of Jim's Taurus in his hand, and the sharp bite of Dean's necklace in his other. He hoped that they would both forgive him for taking what was theirs. He knew how much their mother's necklace meant to Dean, and he hoped that somehow it would find it's way back to him once more.

That was one good thing about this. He would finally get to meet his mother. He would finally find out if she smelled as nice as Dean had told him she did. Maybe she would sweep him up in her arms and hold him tightly, whispering in his ear and making him laugh as she had with Dean.

It would be nice, he thought numbly, to finally see her smile for himself.

He would miss them, he realized. He would miss Dean so much, and he knew that Dean would miss him too. There was nothing he could do about it though, except hope that one day he would be able to understand why.

Sam stumbled over a fallen beam, and found himself on the dusty floor of the factory. Well, it was a good a place as any, he supposed.

With limbs that were trembling with a bone-deep exhaustion, Sam dragged himself over to the nearest wall and propped himself up. The gun was held loosely in his hand, and he looked at it for a moment, wondering if he really had the guts to do this. Dean would, he knew.

God knew he had always tried to be like Dean when he was younger. Even now, he still admired him secretly, admired his confidence, his self-assurance and wished that he could be the same.

Now was his chance to prove to himself that he could be brave too. Just like Dean. Just like his father.

He looked past the gun to his feet. Blood was oozing from the cuts and scraps he'd gotten from running through the forest barefoot. It wouldn't matter before too long. Besides, it didn't hurt that much, because he couldn't feel his feet anyway.

He wondered if death hurt as much as it seemed to in the movies.

Sam opened his other hand, and looked at the delicate cross on its gold chain. It had once belonged to their mother. A sign of her faith, Dean had once told him. It was a small piece of comfort in this whole thing, and one he was grateful for.

"Okay, you asshole. Time for us both to die," he whispered, as he quickly wiped the tears on his cheeks away.

Don't cry, Sammy. Don't ever show them that you're afraid, his father had once told him. If they know you're afraid, they'll use it against you. Don't ever let anyone see you cry...

He wouldn't show this bastard that he was afraid. He would do his father and his brother proud. He would go down fighting because that was how they would want him to go. Sam took a shaky breath and bowed his head.

"Grant, we beseech thee, O Lord, that in the hour of death we be refreshed by Thy Holy Sacraments and delivered from all guilt, and so deserve to be received with joy into the arms of Thy mercy. Through Christ our Lord, Amen."

Sam opened his eyes once more, and tightened his grip on the gun and the holy cross, still praying silently that this would actually work.

It wasn't as hard as he had imagined. Somehow, he relinquished the temporary control he had over the Wraith, just enough so that it started to struggle with him once more. Pain gripped him and he cried out, clutching the cross tightly in his hand.

"You..." he gasped, as his body started to convulse. "You go...to hell..."

It was screaming in his head again, and the burning started in his chest. Sam screamed as the cross in his hand started to smoke, and the Wraith wailed as it felt the cross burning Sam's hand.

"Leave...my f-family al-lone..."

And then, all of a sudden, the Wraith was pouring out of him. Sam was choking on black smoke that as it streamed from his mouth. He couldn't breath, and his lungs were screaming at him but somehow, it registered that half the battle was already won. And then it was gone. He felt strangely empty.

But it wasn't dead yet, and Sam's body was wracked with pain. He could barely move, barely breathe, and he was sobbing with exhaustion. He could see it hovering in front of him, hissing angrily and watching him.

Somehow he managed to push himself up slightly on weak arms. He raised the gun and tried to aim it at the Wraith.

As he pulled the trigger, the Wraith vanished in a flash, and Sam knew he was in trouble.

-

Dean stood in the middle of a road that was riddled with potholes and cracks. The road was disused, and weeds were slowly regaining control of the industrial district. It was sad in a strange sort of way, a broken down reminder of the life that had once existed there.

He cursed again as he shone his flashlight down the road before him. There had to be at least twenty abandoned factories in the area, and each was falling apart and not easily accessible without considerable risk. He was afraid that one may just fall down on top of him and Sam if they ended up tussling with the Wraith in one.

So he just had to make sure he got Sam out before dealing with the slippery mother-fucker.

"You sure know how to pick 'em don't you, Sam?" he muttered.

That's the trouble with little brothers, he figured. You never knew what they were going to pull in order to get one over their elders.

Dean jumped mightily as the sound of a gun shot rang out. For a moment he stood frozen to the spot, before he was running, screaming out Sam's name at the top of his lungs. Fear pounded his heart and he fumbled for the radio at his waist as he staggered along as fast as he had ever ran. Fear had paralyzed his body and numbed his mind as he silently begged that Sam hadn't taken his own life...

"Dad?!" he shouted into the radio.

"Dean is that you? Where the fuck are you?! I thought I told you to.."

"Dad, I found Sam! I found him and I need your help!! Please dad, I think he's..."

"Where are you Dean?"

"Industrial estate! Please hurry dad, I'm going in after him!"

"Dean, you need to..."

But Dean dropped the radio and raced into the darkness of the factory from which the gun shot had sounded.

"Sam! Sam where are you?!"

From underneath him, a resounding crash echoed and for a moment he stared dumbfounded at the floor before he realized that the place must have a basement. He scanned the darkness frantically, looking for some sort of access point. There was a door at the opposite side of the factory, and it was partially obstructed by debris and part of the collapsed roof.

Cursing with language that would make a seasoned sailor blush like a virgin, Dean took off once more, leaping falling beams, sheets of metal and piles of crumbling bricks before he reached the doorway.

Another crash sounded, followed by Sam's pained scream.

"SAM!"

Dean had to shove at the door with his shoulder to make it wide enough for him to fit. He flew down the stairs, clattering noisily while he raised the shotgun and scanned the rank basement.

Sam was pinned to the wall near the ceiling, and for a terrifying moment Dean thought they were dealing with the nasty son of a bitch monster that had murdered their mother. Then he saw the Wraith hovering before Sam's weakly struggling form, watching with a malicious stillness that made Dean feel sick.

Sam couldn't breathe. He could hear his choking frantically for breath, and Dean's anger returned in full force.

"HEY!!"

He raised the shotgun and fired a warning shot near the Wraith. The black shadow turned and faced him, and Dean was treated to the narrowing of it's glowing eyes.

And then Sam fell. Dean heard the sickening crack of his head hitting the concrete floor, but didn't have time to really see how badly he was hurt because the wraith was flying at him in fury. Dean could practically feel the intensity of it's hunger, and he marveled that Sam had prevented it from killing him for so long.

"That's right, you ugly son of a whore. Come and get me you fucker." Dean yelled, firing the shotgun once more before turning and running back up the stairs. He glanced over his shoulder to check that it was following him before he was diving out the door and rolling, coming up with the shotgun raised. He fired again as the Wraith appeared, but was too slow. The wraith disappeared in the blink of an eye, and Dean cursed as he got to his feet.

It would be a bitch to kill, he knew that now. Not only because they had never come up against something like it before, but because they didn't know how to kill it. The only thing they could do was run and find some shelter until they could find a way. Dean wasn't about to leave Sam. And the likely hood of Dean being able to drag Sam all the way back to the church by himself was near impossible.

But if he could draw it away for long enough, then maybe Sam could get away….

Jim had said that the wraith was attracted to strong emotions, and that it would siphon the emotions right out of a person until they were dead. Dean was full of pent up rage and frustration. If the wraith wanted to feed, then let it feed of him. He had plenty of fury for the both of them.

"Come on, you mother fucker! Come and get me!" He shouted at the darkness, waiting for it to reappear.

A prickle of cold air on his neck was all the warning he had before he was flying through the air and crashing into a pile of empty barrels, sending them crashing in an avalanche of earsplitting noise. Dean groaned and paused for a moment to catch his breath before he began to try and sit up.

The wraith appeared once more, this time right in his face. Dean stared into it's empty eyes and knew that it was toying with him like a cat playing with it's food.

It hissed when it felt his boiling anger and adrenalin.

"You like that, you freaky bastard?" Dean growled at him. "There's plenty more where that came from!"

He brought the shotgun up and swung the barrel at it. Of course it flew straight through the incorporeal shade, and it disappeared once more. Dean leapt to his feet, ignoring all the parts of him that were bruised and protesting, and he stuck his hand into his pocket, opened the packet of salt he had stashed there and grabbed a handful. He kept his hand in his pocket, and once more looked around the area for the Wraith.

"Come on come on," he muttered, turning as he tightened his grip on the shotgun.

A moment later it felt like someone had thrown a giant, rock solid snowball at his chest. The air exploded out of his chest and he was thrown backwards again, this time colliding with a wall. He couldn't breath after the collision and he gasped as he struggled to draw in oxygen.

He definitely had some cracked ribs this time, if the sharp stabbing pain in his right side was anything to go by. His chest was alit with fiery pain; whatever had hit him in the chest had felt as solid as concrete.

"I-is that...all you got...a-asshole?" he gasped, and he rolled slowly into a half sitting position. Seemed he spoke too soon though because a moment later, he was shoved backwards until he collided with the wall once more. This time the freezing weight didn't lift from his chest. He was being crushed by some invisible force, and he couldn't breathe...

He needed to breathe...Sammy needed him...

Somehow he brought his hand up and threw the handful of salt in front of him. A screeching hiss greeted him, and the pressure lifted momentarily before returning twice as strong as it had been. If it wasn't angry when he had interrupted it from killing Sam, then it definitely was now.

Spots danced before his eyes, and his vision was swimming before him as he fought with all his strength to draw air.

"Y-you..hurt S-sa-am...I'm not g-going to...l-let you...get away...with...it.." he stuttered out, blinking furiously to try and straighten out his vision. All the while he was reaching out desperately, trying to reach the shotgun which he had lost when he had crashed into the wall. He could feel it, at his finger tips...if only he could reach just a little further...

Where was their father? He should have been...

All of a sudden, the pressure vanished and Dean sucked in a much needed lungful of oxygen and then another.

As he lay there gulping air into his oxygen starved body, he noticed that the freezing cold air that accompanied the wraith wherever it went had disappeared. He frowned as he scrambled for the shotgun, and looked around once more.

Movement caught his attention near the basement door and to his absolute horror, he saw Sam crawling from the doorway.

"Sam!" his voice was hoarse, but it carried well enough. "Sam, get back in there! You need to get back under cover!"

Sam appeared not to hear him, and Dean closed his fingers over the shotgun once more and lurched to his feet. He staggered over to Sam on legs that were refusing to co-operate with him and fell to his knees beside the prone form of his brother. How he had gotten up those rickety stairs when he was barely conscious was beyond him.

"Sam can you hear me?" Dean wheezed.

Every breath he took set off a burning pain in his chest, but it didn't matter. Not when Sam was before him and obviously badly injured.

Sam's face and neck were covered in his own blood, and it soaked into the neckline of his white shirt. Dean couldn't tell where the head wound was, but for it to be bleeding so badly meant that it was definitely serious.

He had dragged himself out of the basement using his forearms, and they were covered in deep gouges and grazes.

"Course I can..." was the slurred response. Dean could barely understand what he was saying. In fact, he was surprised the boy hadn't passed out from the pain. " 'm not deaf..."

"Okay, Sammy. I'm going to get you over there okay? It's..."

"Did you kill it?"

"No yet, but I'm working on it. We need to get you..."

"Not until it's dead. If I have to kill it myself, I'm going to finish this now," Sam cut him off, looking and sounding more alert.

Dean watched helplessly as he rolled onto his side and slowly pushed himself up onto his hands. Sam groaned and hung his head as the side effects of his very obvious concussion kicked in. Dean moved closer, and wrapped supporting arms around him.

"You can barely sit up, Sam. You can't fight this anymore. Let me take care of it now." Dean told him gently, as he kept an eye out for the wraith. It seemed to have backed off for the time being and was out there, watching and waiting.

Dean shivered as he looked into the darkness. So this was what Sam had felt like when the thing had first started stalking him.

" 'm gonna help Dean. I hafta..." Sam groaned, and almost collapsed back down. Dean caught him and pulled him to his chest, wincing at the fierce pain that radiated through him when Sam's weight fell on his chest.

"You have helped Sam. You've done enough." Dean was looking around for a place to hide Sam away until the fight was over. His eyes caught on a set of stairs that led up to a gallery like area. The gallery overlooked the entire factory floor and a small rundown office was jammed into one corner.

Perfect. Dean glanced at Sam, whose eyes were drifting closed. He jostled him gently.

"Come on, kiddo. I'm taking you up there." he pointed in the direction they were headed before he carefully pulled Sam's arm over his shoulders and grabbed his shotgun.

"More stairs?" Sam mumbled.

" 'Fraid so, Sammy. Reckon you can handle it?"

"Course..."

"Good. Up we go." Dean eased them upright, and wrapped an arm around Sam's waist. It took Sam a few long moments to get his feet under him. A moment later he was sagging once more and dry retching horribly.

Dean cursed as he was forced back to his knees. There was nothing for Sam to throw up, because he hadn't kept anything down over the past few days. He wasn't sure if he could handle vomit as well as a Wraith.

He noticed then that Sam was shivering next to him, and he kicked himself for not noticing that he was wearing little more than sweat pants and a t-shirt. And no shoes either. His feet were bruised and cut badly, and Dean hated himself just a little bit more for not noticing. As soon as they were relatively sheltered, he'd do something about it.

Sam finally stopped retching, and Dean rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

"You ready to try that again?"

Sam nodded minutely, and Dean once more eased them upright. Sam swayed against him, but managed to remain upright without needing to retch anymore.

Dean supported as much of his weight as possible and hurried them over to the stairs. It was difficult going with Sam panting and stumbling beside him. Several times Dean thought he was going to pass out but somehow he managed to hold on.

He hadn't realized just how strong Sam had been before this. His ability to keep going when in great pain hadn't ever really seen the light of day, and Dean was prouder than punch. When all this was over, he'd have to let Sam know just how proud he was. Subtly, of course. Couldn't be giving the kid any more ammo to use against him.

They reached the bottom of the stairs quicker than he'd thought they would so he paused for a moment to let Sam catch his breath. Sam hung his head and closed his eyes for a moment, and Dean looked up the stairs in front of them and frowned in displeasure.

If they weren't in so much danger, there wouldn't be a chance in hell that Dean would let Sam anywhere near those stairs. They were badly rusted, and the handrail was missing in places. Dean doubted that they would be able to support a five year old let alone two teenagers, but they didn't have any choice at the moment. Dean had to get Sam to safety.

"C'mon, up we go Sammy."

The journey up was perhaps the hardest. Sam had trouble judging the distance between his foot and the actual stair so he was constantly thrown off balance and Dean had to be extra careful, making sure that he held onto him tightly lest he fall. He kept up the quiet encouragement, murmuring into Sam's ear while he kept up a constant vigil of what was going on around them.

Eventually, they reached the top, and Dean stumbled when Sam almost collapsed.

"No no, Sammy. Come on. I'm just gonna get you over there, then you can rest," Dean urged as he practically dragged his brother towards the run down office.

"No, Dean, please stop," Sam begged. "I need...I can't..."

Dean reluctantly came to a halt, and looked at Sam.

"Okay, Sam. Okay. We'll rest for a moment..."

"You-you d-don't understand..." Sam stuttered, shivering once more.

Dean lowered him to the floor gently and pulled off his jacket. He swung it around Sam's shoulders and noticed Jim's gun stuck in his waistband. Carefully, he pulled it out and examined it speculatively. It was an attractive looking gun, and Dean could honestly say that Jim had a fine taste in guns. And those special bullets it was loaded with could be useful too.

"Understand what, Sammy?"

"I need to...k-kill this thing s-so I can show dad that...I'm strong e-enough. T-that he doesn't have to worry about…me."

Dean stared at him for a moment. "Is that what all this is about, Sam?" he asked incredulously. "Proving yourself?"

Sam nodded jerkily and clutched Dean's jacket tighter around himself. He was shivering non-stop now, and Dean pulled off his sweater to wipe the blood off Sam's face carefully.

"M-maybe then he w-won't l-leave me behind anymore..."

Dean swallowed convulsively, and cleared his tight throat.

"You don't need to do that Sammy. Dad's not going to leave you behind again. I promise. I'm not going to leave you either."

A trembling smile touched Sam's mouth, and it warmed Dean's heart just a little. He returned the smile instantly.

"Now, you stay here while your big brother goes and saves the day."

"N-no Dean." Fear wiped away Sam's smile within seconds, and he clutched at Dean's shirt, his eyes pleading and desperate. "You can't. I-its too s-strong."

"Don't worry Sam. I've got it covered."

Dean finished wiping the blood from Sam's face, and cursed as it slowly began to trickle down once more. His shivering wasn't stopping either. Dean needed to finish this and get him to a hospital as soon as possible.

"No." Sam was partially glaring at him now, and Dean cursed the day Sam had gotten up the courage to stand up for himself. He cursed Winchester stubbornness, and he cursed his inability to deny Sammy anything. All in his mind, of course.

He looked down at the handgun he held, looked at the gleaming metal than up at Sam once more.

"Please, Dean."

He sighed then reached out and placed the gun in his younger brothers shaking grip.

"Okay, little brother. We'll do it together. You stay up here and watch my back. Only fire if you have a clear shot, understand me?" Dean told him.

He didn't want to get shot in the back by his own brother, however unintentionally. It would destroy Sam for sure. He could see Sam's hands trembling in the dark, but he knew that Sam was a good shot, no matter how dark it was.

"I understand Dean."

"I'll have the shotgun. I don't think you could handle the recoil in your state." Dean hesitated. "You still got mum's cross right?"

A look of guilt flashed across Sam's face, and he immediately pulled it from his pocket.

"Yeah, I...I-I'm sorry I took it. And I'm sorry a-about before, I just..."

"Save the apologies for when we get out of this," Dean grinned as he carefully took the delicate gold necklace from Sam. He looked at it for a moment, and wondered if their mother was watching over them.

He hoped she was. For both him and Sammy.

Carefully, he slipped the chain over Sam's head and touched the cross where it rested against his brothers chest.

"You keep this on at all times okay? It won't get inside you again if you're wearing this," he said quietly as he closed his fingers over the shotgun once more.

He prayed that it was true, although he doubted that it was. It made him feel better knowing that Sam was wearing it though. It couldn't hurt anyway.

"D-dean..." his brother's frightened whisper had his head snapping up instantly. He grabbed the shot gun up and whirled around, coming face to face with the shadowed face of the Wraith. It hissed gleefully at them, and Dean shivered as the cold air raised goose bumps over his skin.

They were so screwed….

TBC

A/N I realize the whole age thing is off putting. I plan on doing a general edit after this story is finished, and I'll fix the ages then. But just to clarify, Sammy is thirteen and Dean is seventeen.