Chapter 6

The scream of pain was blood-curdling. Bobby had never heard anything like it, and in his long history of hunting, he'd thought he'd heard everything. He also had an even harder time believing it had come from Sam. It was worse than a banshee trying to screech out 'La bohème' with strep throat. Bobby was grateful that nobody else could hear him, being pretty sure the room had been shut off entirely from the outside world. And the minute to screaming started, the blood started flowing. Sam had grasped the bloody wrist with the opposite hand, squeezing it tight, it leaving trail of crimson across the lightly colored comforter. Finally, the screaming subsided to heavy breathing, occasional moaning, and a heavy brow sweating.

"Jesus Christ Bobby, what now?"

"At least you only got nailed through one hand, Jesus got 'em both," Bobby stated, already wrapping Sam's hand in one of the white towels from the bathroom. It instantly turned a deep shade of red, almost to the point of looking black.

"I must have dozed off, and that was a pretty shitty way to be woke up. What the hell happened, Bobby?"

"Dean cut his hand, looks pretty bad too. But before you go getting all worked up, he's ok. Just relax, you can't do anything right now anyway. You're weaker then a half-dead kitten, and getting all excited isn't gonna help matters any."

"Bobby, I don't think I could get worked up if I tried. Can you help me sit up, please? I need to see what's going on."

"Sam, nothing's going on right now, there's nothing to see."

"Bobby, please just help me sit up against the headboard, please. I can't sleep anymore anyway. Not after that."

Bobby did as Sam asked, propping him up against the headboard with the pillows behind his back. Rewrapping Sam's hand in a fresh, clean towel, since he'd already soaked the first one through, he was thankful to see that the bleeding had slowed. What Bobby couldn't figure out where it was coming from. There was no hole in Sam's hand, and yet, there was blood everywhere. 'This is fucked up' he thought to himself.

"Bobby, is she still following him?"

"Yeah Sam, she's still with him."

Bobby didn't have the stomach to tell Sam that she was probably leading him into a trap. Why else would she be leading him like a dog in a leash. And why was it taking Dean so long to figure her out for what she was. As young as he was, he had the best hunters instincts he'd ever seen, but right now, his demon radar was not at full capacity. He normally would have spotted her a mile away, seeing the invisible neon sigh flashing 'DEMON' over her head. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe she was just that damn good. Or bad. Or good at being bad.

"What's he doing?"

"I think he's resting, he needs to. He hasn't sat for more then five minutes since this all started. He's gonna kill himself, and you, if he doesn't."

Bobby could already see that Dean was physically near his breaking point. It also didn't escape him that the blood seeping from Dean's mangled hand was a bright shade of red. It stood out in sharp contrast to the black and white still surrounding him. His entire being stood out even more as well, from the burnt color of his face, to the darkening color of his hair. And Bobby was pretty sure he could see the hazel in his eyes.

They watched him as he dragged himself up, slowly and painfully pressing on. He moved like an old man riddled with arthritis, but he wouldn't stop. He just kept doing what he needed to do to get to the end. Sam had no idea Dean knew the things he did, hell, some of them, he didn't even know. They watched for what seemed like hours, but had no real concept of what time it even was. The sun hadn't risen or set not once during this whole ordeal began. The room was bathed in total darkness the entire time.

"Look at him Bobby, I don't think he has much time left. And what is he doing? Oh god, I don't want to see this…"

Sprawled out on the ground, Dean just let his arm fall limply to his side, as his next instructions landed loosely next to him. He was trying to get his brain to process what he'd just read, but every minute he lay there, it just got harder and harder. He was so tired, his mind couldn't focus on anything, other then his throbbing hand and sleep deprived body.

"Dean, are you alright? You're really bleeding, let me help you." She waved a finger at him like a scolding mother, "No peeking."

Telling Dean 'No peeking' was like telling a priest not to pray on Sunday. He couldn't help but stare at her as she lifted her shirt over her head, laid it on the ground, and raggedly tore the bottom half off. He stared at her figure while she recovered herself with the remnants. The shirt barely hiding her attributes underneath, it took all Dean had in him not to reach out and touch her. She knelt down next to him, and taking his hand in hers, she gently tried to wipe away the blood that was still flowing down his arm, although not as freely as it had been. He let a slightly hitched breath escape his lips when she touched it, not wanting to acknowledge how much it actually hurt. And knowing that Sam must be in agony right now, well, that hurt him even more.

"I need to find some water and wash this out so it doesn't get infected."

"It's fine. Just wrap it up, I have more important things to worry about right now."

The improvised bandage being soaked with Dean's blood already, Lily had to find something else to wrap the battered, bloody, hand with. Standing and grabbing hold of her pant leg around mid-thigh, she ripped the entire lower half off, exposing her long, smooth leg. She wrapped it firmly around Dean's hand and wrist, knotting it tightly for good measure.

He flashed her his best 'Thank You' smile, and dragged his weary body off the ground. Searching the area for something, anything he could use to do what needed to be done.

"Dean, what are you looking for?"

"Old, dead branches, or dried grass, or dead weeds. Anything that will burn. And I need a rock, like quartz, or something. Can you help me find some?"

"What for? I thought we were going inside to see if there's a phone."

"Trust me, there's no phone. Fire dances, fire breathes, and fire has life, and right now, I need to build one. Will you help me or not?"

"You don't think there's something inside you can use? Let's just check it out."

"I think the safest place for us right now is right here."

"Fine, but if you won't check it out, I will."

Lily turned, and started sprinting for the tiny structure attached to the base of the windmill. Shaking his head, Dean took off after her in a ambling walk, his legs refusing the command his brain gave them to run. By the time he caught up with her, she had already tried the door, and was peering through the one and only window, trying to get a good look inside.

"Can you open the door? I think there's something in there."

Raising his foot with the almost non-existent energy he had left, he kicked at the door. It swung open with ease, revealing the contents of what must be a shed of some kind. A couple bales of hay, and a couple logs of dried wood were all Dean could see that would be of any use to him. The rest was just junk. Venturing in, he pulled a handful of the hay out. It was brittle, and bone dry. It would be perfect. Now, he just needed to find a damn rock. Turning to leave, his foot kicked something hard, and it went sailing across the room, hitting Lily's foot and stopping dead in front of her. Picking it up and examining it, she held it out to him.

"Is this what you're looking for?"

It was a multicolored gray, with sharp, hard edges on all sides. And it was perfect. Dean smiled, the results of the search pushing him forward.

"It's exactly what I'm looking for. Grab a log, let's build a fire."

Dean took his needed supplies to the side of the steel monstrosity towering above them. Placing the dried hay atop the wood log, he balanced it carefully on the ground under the lowest steel girder. Pointing the sharpest tip of the rock outward, Dean began pounding it against the steel of the windmill, sparks flying with each strike he made. He struck the beam harder and faster, sparks flying bigger and brighter each time, until he saw the hay start to smolder. Dropping the rock, he fanned the ignited tinder with his hand, watching the smoke rise, stronger and faster. The more smoke it made, the more hay he added, until finally, he had flames.

"Lily, get more hay, I need to get this bitch burning a little hotter," Dean asked, and Lily responded, immediately going inside and dragging the entire bale out with her.

Dean just shook his head, he didn't really need all of the hay, but, what the hell, why not. He gently placed his slightly flickering fire onto the bale, continuing to fan it, until the whole bale eventually caught and glowed from the flames. He gently laid the log on top of the now raging blaze, and grabbed a few more from inside for good measure. He piled as many as he could up, making sure they didn't fall over. He had a borderline bonfire going now, and as he stared at it, it seemed to hypnotize him.

Lily had dragged out the remaining hay and spread it out around the ground in soft piles. She placed her hand gently on Dean's shoulder as he was mesmerized by the flames, and gazed at it with him. He suddenly had a feeling sweep over him, and being unable to control it, turned her to face him. With his hand firmly behind her head, let his animal instincts take him over. They landed softly atop the bed of hay, enjoying not just the heat from the fire.

The fire had all but died, and with groggy eyes, Dean saw the bright white object in the midst of the charred, black ash. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but it was still dark, and he was alone. He scanned the area, looking for any sign of her, but found none. He could only hope she'd been sent back to where she belonged, but for some reason, he highly doubted it.

The sleep had done him a world of good. He had some energy back, not much, but enough to get moving again. Reaching for yet another crazy clue, he opened and read yet again.

It needs no fence, yet is always surrounded

Some of its residents seem lost and confounded

They know not where they live, nor where they sleep

Many are always dirty and deep.

"You sure are making this easy, aren't you."