A/N: Ok, here's the next chapter! Hope you enjoy – let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: Nope. Still not mine.

Chapter 3

Sam pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, using the bed for support as he swayed for a second before finding his balance. His first impulse was to check the bathroom just in case Dean was still there after all. But he dismissed the idea straight away – no matter how mad they might be at each other, Sam knew there was no way in hell his brother wouldn't have been at his side in a second if he'd been close enough to hear him cry out. Ever since they'd started working together again, Sam couldn't even remember waking from a nightmare without a show of concern from Dean, let alone being left alone to cope with the aftermath of a vision.

What had the damn vision meant, anyway? They'd always thought the point of his psychic powers was to help other people, so why had he seen himself dying? Even trying to think about it made Sam's already reeling brain hurt even more.

He was starting to really worry. He really needed to see his brother, to hear his cocky reassurances that everything was going to be fine. He knew Dean well enough to know that in a situation like this those reassurances would be meaningless, an automatic response to hide his own fears. A feeble attempt to protect Sam from the difficult truth that, just sometimes, neither of them had a clue how to deal with their freakish lives. But somehow, hearing Dean say those things and knowing he wouldn't have to figure it out on his own could help.

He was reaching for his cellphone when he finally noticed the scrawled note lying on the small table by the door.

Dude – Julia called. Something's up. Nothing big. I'll deal, you sleep.

Sam read the note, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips as he deciphered Dean's chicken-scratch handwriting. Jesus, Dean. Great time to go gung ho on me. What an idiot. In what universe would the dumbass think I'd read this and not go after him?

Not wasting any time, Sam grabbed his jacket and cellphone and headed for the door. Stepping outside, he swallowed the nausea rising in his throat as the frantic scream from his vision continued to echo round his mind. Come on, suck it up, it'll be fine. Just jump in the...

"Shit." Sam released the one quiet word into the night air as he realized the ridiculously obvious – Dean had taken the damn car with him. He's so friggin' lucky I'm not in the mood for yelling at him right now.

Sam reluctantly headed off at a slow jog – all he could manage considering how shaky he still felt. Judging from the car ride, he figured it should only take him a few minutes to get back to Julia's house. He set his jaw in determination and focused all his efforts on getting there as fast as he could, trying to ignore the horrible feeling of foreboding settling in the pit of his stomach.

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Dean made his way cautiously into the last bedroom – the south corner of the top floor all that was left to complete the ritual. He was pretty relieved it was almost over. The inevitable – distractingly flickering lights, random bits of furniture flying around – had started after the first couple of rooms downstairs.

Despite some displays of quick reflexes and athleticism – pretty damn impressive if you ask me, he thought to himself smugly – Dean was starting to feel worse for wear. Inevitably, he'd taken a few hits – his legs were bruised from hitting the deck a bit harder than he'd have liked a couple times, and he had plenty of cuts and scratches up his arms and across his chest. Nothing that seemed too serious. The major casualty was his jacket, pretty much a write-off at this stage. Even the small cut above his eye wasn't concerning him – it was more annoying than anything, the thin trail of blood just causing an irritating tickle as it made its way slowly down his cheek.

Pissed off as he was, Dean was counting his blessings. If the poltergeist had been more powerful or accurate, he knew he could be in much worse shape right now. He quickly made his way to the far corner of the room, still alert, not letting himself get complacent until this thing was over. Just keep out the way of heavy flying objects for a bit longer and it'll be fine...

He quickly smashed a hole in the wall exactly the right size for the last bag of the angelica root mixture. The random thought that he'd had way too much practice at doing this flashed through his mind as he shoved the package into the wall cavity.

Dean brought his arm straight up to his face, instantly ready to shield his eyes from the flash of brilliant white light that he knew was coming. He heard the high-pitched protesting shriek of the spirit and more furniture smashing against walls as the purification began to take effect.

He always hated the feeling of those few seconds where he lost control over the situation. Being deprived of his sight meant that he couldn't defend himself and that helplessness always frustrated the hell out of him. The force of a random flying object colliding with him, deadening his right arm on impact, making him drop the axe, served as a sharp reminder and made him feel even more tense and angry. "God damn it!" he yelled at the house in general.

As if in response to his rage, everything ended just as suddenly as it had begun. Silence once again permeated the house, and Dean tentatively lowered his arm to ensure it really was over. He cursed to himself, realizing that the lights had all gone out and he couldn't see any more than he had been able to with his eyes covered. But as he reached into his jacket and his hand closed around a pocket torch, a triumphant smile played across his face. There was really only one thought running through his mind at that moment, filled with confidence and a Sam-can-go-stuff-his-research sense of victory: Gotcha, you son of a bitch.

But suddenly, his moment of smug satisfaction was interrupted by the creeping sensation that something still wasn't quite right. Scratch that, something was still very wrong.

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A/N: Mwahahaha – yes, I am the evil cliffhanger fairy... Questions? Comments? Let me know!