A/N Just want to say thanks to everyone who reviewed! Makes my day. Seriously. Here's the next chapter, not as shockingly awesome as the season finale (Holy Crap!) but I hope you'll enjoy anyway.

Chapter Two

Sam turned off the TV. The events in Monument Colorado were still considered breaking news and just about every channel was covering the disaster at the police station. He did not want to hear any more about the explosion that he and Dean both knew to be the work of a demon, one that was after them.

Sam couldn't blame Dean for being pissed off after what happened. They did screw up. By following Dean's plan, one of the demons got away and compromised them. But there was no way of knowing that Ruby's plan would've worked either. Sam was feeling pretty pissed off at Ruby for being such a bitch about it. Seeing the bitter fruits of their labor was bad enough, but there was no need to rub it in their faces, especially Dean's. Dean always took a failed hunt way too hard and Sam knew that while Dean was out cooling off after their little fight, he was also putting the burden of the tragedy on his shoulders and Dean carried far too much as it was.

Dean shouldn't feel guilty though, because Sam would be the first to admit that Dean's plan was brilliant and it worked beautifully. The only problem was that it allowed for one or more of the demons to escape, and that was what led Lilith to their new friends. Ruby's plan would've killed all of the demons and Lilith may never have found them, but there was no knowing for sure that would be the case. Lilith probably knew all along that Sam was there because the demon that shot Dean was able to get away and gather the army in the first place.

Then again the spell might've killed Lilith as well if she was close enough, and ultimately, the lives of the many outweigh the lives of the few. They were in the midst of a war, and sometimes sacrifices had to be made. However, if they did go through with Ruby's plan, Dean would never forgive himself, and he would never forgive Sam either. Sam shuddered at his indifference to the issue, because Sam knew he could forgive himself if he sacrificed someone for the greater good.

Shit, only a week ago, in a different reality Sam had sacrificed Bobby for the chance to avenge Dean, and to try and get him back. Thankfully, the Bobby he killed a week ago had only been an illusion, and the act existed in a reality that hadn't happened yet, and never would because Dean was alive again. Sam only hoped that was why he didn't feel as guilty as he knew he should. On some level, his indifference scared him, but that was to save his brother, and when it came to saving Dean, there wasn't a line he wouldn't cross.

With a heavy sigh Sam glanced at the clock on the nightstand between the two beds. Dean said he'd be gone an hour, and only thirty-five minutes or so had passed since he stormed off, but Sam was already beginning to worry. Despite his usual mantra about being fine, Dean really didn't look fine. When he left he was too pale for Sam's liking. It bothered Sam that ever since they were released from their cell, Sam hadn't seen Dean's bullet wound. While he was sure that Nancy's ministrations on his shoulder were probably more than adequate, Sam had no idea what further damage may have been inflicted since then. The battle at the station had been pretty intense, and behind his 'I'm fine' mask, Dean seemed to be in a lot of pain.

After they had driven a while and then stopped for the night just as the eastern sky began to turn a shade lighter, Sam offered to redress Dean's wound, but Dean had to be a stubborn ass. Sam knew Dean was mad at him for keeping what he knew about Lilith a secret, and for considering Ruby's plan and up until Ruby informed them of what happened after they left the station, was trying to repress that anger, but refusing to let Sam help was going too far. Yes, Dean was capable of dealing with his own wounds, but how was Dean going to possibly clean and dress the exit wound on his back properly? Sam was angry with Dean for letting his anger possibly affect his health. There was so much to do, and so little time that the last thing they needed was for Dean to fall seriously ill because he was too proud and angry and stubborn to let Sam look at his damn wound!

I don't care how pissed he is at me, as soon as he gets back I'm looking at that shoulder, Sam vowed, and then we're having a talk. I don't care what he says.

Not even Sam's frustration could deflate his growing worry for Dean. Sam understood his brother's need to cool off, but after everything that went down last night, and after what happened a few months ago—last week, Sam reminded himself, the thing with the Trickster and the shooting happened last week—Sam wasn't sure Dean taking off on his own while injured was the best idea.

"Dean can take care of himself," Sam declared out loud in an attempt to still his worry. It didn't work, because even though Dean had always been the one who took charge whether he was injured or not, it was Sam's turn now. For a little over three months, Sam had lived in a world without Dean, and it was a dark, terrifying world, a world in which he did not want to live in ever again. It was Sam's turn to take charge and be the protective brother, he owed that to Dean and if Sam couldn't get Dean out of his deal somehow… Sam wasn't sure how he could cope. He didn't want to think about what he would do.

Sam's phone began to ring and he grabbed it quickly, hoping it was Dean. But the call display told him it was Bobby. He swallowed hard, trying to shake the memory of what he did to his friend in a different reality, "Hey Bobby."

A huge sigh of relief came through the receiver and Sam heard Bobby exclaim, "Sam Winchester, thank god! What the hell happened boy? I heard on the news that you were dead!"

"Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated," Sam replied quietly with a small chuckle.

Bobby wasn't amused. "Dean OK?"

"Yeah," Sam said, relatively speaking.

"So what happened? I'd bet my life savings that there was no gas leak that caused the explosion—it was demons wasn't it? How did Hendrickson get the drop on you? Did you get the Colt back?"

"Whoa, one question at a time Bobby!" Sam interrupted, "First of all, no we didn't get the Colt back. It was a set up courtesy of Bela…"

"That bitch!"

Sam agreed readily and then proceeded to give Bobby the condensed version of what happened the night before. He left out the part where Dean got shot since he didn't want to worry the old man, and he left out the part with Ruby as he wasn't in the mood for Bobby to chew his head off for trusting her.

"Damn," Bobby breathed, "but you boys are OK, right?"

"Nothing we can't handle," Sam answered meekly.

"Where's Dean? I tried calling him but I couldn't get through. He there with you?"

"No," Sam sighed, "He went out to get us breakfast."

"OK then," Bobby said, and Sam could practically hear his frown coming through the receiver, "Glad you boys are still in one piece. I'll keep in touch."

"Sure," Sam replied, "Thanks for calling." He flipped his phone shut and frowned. Sam didn't put his phone down though, he just stared at it, thinking about what Bobby said about not being able to get through when he tried calling Dean. Dean wouldn't be so stupid as to turn off his phone, would he? Sam flipped his phone open again and tried to call Dean. It immediately went to voice mail. Sam shut his phone again.

"Dean!" he muttered out loud to no one, "If you're not answering because you're pissed off I'm kicking your ass because this is not the time damn it!"

The nagging feeling that something was wrong though wouldn't cease and Sam glanced at the door, and then at the clock with indecision. Dean wouldn't turn off his phone and break communication so soon after what happened. He may be pissed off at Sam for keeping Lilith a secret, but now that he knew about the demon that was after Sam, Dean would be in full on protective mode and that meant he wouldn't go far, and he wouldn't turn his phone off.

"Dean's your weakness, and the bad guys know that."

The Trickster's words replayed in his head and Sam's breath hitched. Dean had expressed that fact too, and it was a fact Sam understood all too well.

"Fine," he breathed, muttering under his breath, trying to hide his concern from his features even though there was no one there to see, "Twenty more minutes. I'll give you twenty minutes. I don't care how pissed off you are."

Sam sat there for five minutes, fidgeting the entire time. Damn it! He grabbed his jacket and was out the door, unsure of where to look, but not caring. He just couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong.

-0-o-0-o-0-

Focus Dean, focus.

John Winchester's voice echoed through Dean's brain. It was the voice that Dean's mind conjured up when he needed an extra boost of motivation and needed to dig deep in order to find the strength to stand and fight.

Lately though John's voice was beginning to sound more and more like Dean's, and while he never truly thought about it, deep down it saddened him that he was starting to forget what his father's voice sounded like. But this voice was definitely his father's because Dean Winchester didn't have any fight in him left for reasons that went above and beyond his wounded shoulder. Life in general had made him just so…tired.

The voice in his head that sounded like his father faded and Dean's eyes fluttered closed. The sweet pull of unconsciousness beckoned to him and dared him to forget his pain, his guilt, his life…and the fact that in less than two months he'll be burning in Hell.

No. No! This wasn't the time to wallow in self-pity and pain. This wasn't the time to give in to the inviting arms of sleep. The commotion just on the other side of the door was chaotic from the sounds of things, and he'd be no help to anyone if he passed out.

Focus damn it! Dean snapped inwardly as he fought desperately to stay conscious. He grasped the bathroom sink and pulled himself up using his good arm. He made it half way when he suddenly and uncontrollably lost the meager contents of his stomach and fell back down. Come on, get up! He scolded himself.

From his spot on the floor Dean checked his waistband for his .45 but left it there, knowing it wouldn't be of any help against the demon or demons that were attacking, but knowing it was there in reach was reassuring. Then he reached for his phone to call Sam and make sure he was OK and then tell him to get his ass over there for backup but his phone was out of service.

"Damn it!" he cursed.

The lights flickered on and off, the scent of sulfur, iron and burnt flesh assaulted his nostrils as the screaming sounds beyond the door faded into whimpers and sobs indicating there were still survivors. The attack was swift, and Dean felt instant remorse for his weakened and useless state. Without a weapon that was useful against demons, he was essentially naked, and Dean found himself wishing for some holy water or something. He cursed himself—it wasn't like him to go anywhere unprepared, though he doubted his flask of holy water would be enough, but it would be something. Then he silently cursed Bela for stealing the Colt, even though that weapon, to Dean, was a last resort.

Taking a deep breath Dean slowly pulled himself to his feet. His vision went topsy-turvy for a moment once he was vertical, and his knees buckled but he was able to catch himself. Despite still feeling a little shaky, Dean had been able to fight through much worse and he focused on the danger just beyond the door and the innocent lives that were at stake, which managed to provide him with all the adrenaline he needed to push his way through the mild shock that had been settling in his system. He could rest later.

Just before he could open the door, it burst open with enough force to send Dean flying and break the door from its hinges. He landed hard against the opposite wall, his injured shoulder hitting one of the hand dryers. He bit back a cry as the impact sent white-hot pain to circuit through him as he slid limply to the floor. Before he could move, or even see his assailant, an invisible pull tugged at his shoulders and he was thrown mercilessly through the door where he slammed his head against the wall.

Dark spots clouded his vision as he slumped to the side, unable to do much else at the moment but lie on the cold tile floor, clutching his shoulder, which was now bleeding from both the entry and exit wound. A cold tremble coursed through him, his forehead and shoulder throbbed with the rapid beat of his heart and blood from his forehead began to seep into his right eye. It suddenly became hard to think and he blinked sluggishly, seeing for the first time, through his blurred vision his demonic attackers.

A redhead with oily black orbs knelt beside him, and standing above her as though on guard, were two men. They were too out of focus to see the eyes, but Dean knew they were possessed. He blinked again and caught sight of a flash of silver in the redhead's hands. Focusing on the object Dean realized it was a butter knife and she held it up dangerously.

"Dean Winchester," she purred, her voice husky and smooth, saying his name with a lust filled hate. She grabbed his collar and forced him into a sitting position.

He smirked, eyeing the dull knife in her hand, "What'cha gonna do with that sweetheart? Butter me to death?"

She grinned wickedly, her tongue caressed her upper teeth and she knelt down close and shoved the dull blade into the bullet hole in his shoulder. Dean bit his lip, forcing himself to keep from crying out. "Sounds kinky, but no," she replied with a breathy laugh. She stared at him, demanding eye contact when he let his eyes close. She shook him, jarring the knife in his wound and hissed, "Look at me Dean."

He glared back. His tired eyes lacked the usual fire that burned in the face of danger. The fire still reflected in his eyes, revealing that he wasn't completely broken, not yet—it would take a lot to break Dean Winchester—but the flame was a small, weakened flicker. His eyes were dull, they were old, they were the eyes of a man at the end of his rope. His weariness, his hopelessness did not go unnoticed by her, and she smirked.

"You're a worthless failure Dean," she cupped his cheek in her palm with a gentle caress, "you couldn't save your father," she twisted the knife with her other hand, and Dean grunted painfully, "you couldn't save your brother," she twisted it again and this time a whimpered cry escaped Dean's lips, "and you won't be able to save yourself," she twisted the knife in the opposite direction, and unable to hold it in any longer, Dean screamed. She let go of his cheek and leaned back, savoring the sight, "And all those people at the station died because of you."

"S-shut up, b-bitch!"

She laughed, "How long do you have left Dean? Two months? It's a pity you won't live to see that your sacrifice was all for nothing."

The dull fire in his eyes flared, "Stay the hell away f-from Sam y-you f-fucking bitch!"

The redhead continued to speak as though he said nothing, "Not even selling your soul is enough to save Sammy." She lifted her black eyes thoughtfully, "Yeah, it is too bad you won't live long enough to see. I'd love to see the look on your face when the darkness finally takes him. He fights it now, but your death will definitely put him over the edge. Are you afraid Dean?" She looked at him, waiting for an answer. Impatient she shook him, twisting the dull blade again, "Answer me!"

"Go to Hell!"

She cocked her head to the side and then laughed, "As tempting as it is to be part of the welcoming party when your time is up, I'd rather not. Now answer me. Are you afraid? Afraid to die? Afraid of what you will one day become? Afraid of what your brother will become? Is becoming?"

Shakily Dean leaned forward and spit in her face.

Bloody saliva ran down her cheek but she ignored it, "I suppose that in the end it will work out for you, because Sammy's on the right path to damnation because of you. Someday you'll both be like me, and we can be one big happy family. Sure, you'll go about it the hard way, centuries of torture and all, but not Sam. He's the lucky one. I'll bet you that one look at your bloody corpse and Sam will embrace the gift that my father gave him."

"Meg?"

She grinned.

He snorted, "You don't know Sam very well, he won't."

"You're right," Meg shrugged, "he might not live long enough. But I've been inside him, I've played with his soul, I've seen the beautiful darkness within him, tempting him. And you want to know a secret Dean? You were the only thing keeping him from embracing it."

"You're wrong you fucking bitch!" he snapped, pulling the knife from his shoulder and smacking her across the face with the blunt end.

A trickle of blood dripped down her temple, she put her fingers to her head and frowned. But as she pulled her fingers away and peered at the blood there, she smirked and licked them off seductively as though her fingers were covered in milk chocolate and this was merely foreplay. She ran her teeth across her lower lip and let her tongue lap up a smudge of blood on the corner of her mouth and then said, "I'll wager that he's already on the brink, isn't he? He's probably broken a few rules here and there, crossed a line or two. Nothing major, yet, but he's becoming desperate, and desperate times call for desperate measures, am I right?"

The fire in Dean's eyes that had moments before been just a weakened flicker now burned brightly with rage. Deep down he knew, he knew that Meg was right, but he refused, refused to believe that Sam would go too far. There was too much good in him. Dean knew Sam better than anyone and Sam Winchester was a good man. There was too much light in him to outweigh the dark. He wouldn't…not even to save Dean. Dean would never forgive him if he did…but she had a point. But she had to be wrong, she just had to be…

"Shut the fuck up you bitch!"

She snickered and backhanded him across the face, sending him sprawling face first onto the cold tile floor. She grabbed him by the collar and spun him around onto his back, straddling him. She was about to speak but was interrupted by a deep, masculine voice that came from someone behind her, just beyond Dean's line of clouded vision.

"He's not here."

"You sure about that?" Meg snapped.

"Positive," was the reply.

Dean ignored the rest of the dialogue. Instead he closed his eyes and fought back the pain and the pull of unconsciousness and concentrated on his last chance of defense. "Deus, et Pater Domini nostri Jesu Christi, invoco nomen sanctum tuum, et clementian tuam supplex exposco…" Dean faltered. Ever since his failed attempt at exorcising Casey, Dean had worked on memorizing the ritual. He did have it memorized, but without the book in hand, he couldn't say it with the confidence Sam could and he did not want to mess up. One discrepancy would nullify the exorcism ritual and he'd have to start again.

Meg and her minions flinched and covered their ears, but when Dean stopped as he struggled to remember what came next, he could feel rather than see, sets of black eyes on him. His hesitation gave them the opportunity to strike and he suddenly felt an invisible pressure on his throat, silencing him and blocking his air.

Instinctively Dean's hands shot up to his neck, trying to reach whatever was strangling him even though he knew there was nothing there.

"Where is Sammy, Dean?" Meg demanded impatiently.

Dean just continued to struggle to find air.

"Answer me!" she snapped. She signaled to one of the demons to stop and the pressure was instantly released from his throat but was replaced by her hands. She squeezed, but eased off enough so he could speak, "Where is Sam?"

"…ut adversus hunc, et omnem…" Dean continued hoarsely as the words returned to his memory, his eyes glared fiercely at Meg, daring her to make her move. He continued the ritual with newfound confidence.

"Never mind," she huffed, wincing and writhing at the sound of the sacred Latin. Still straddling him, she hit him hard before he had a chance to finish and the unconsciousness that had been beckoning to him finally won out and Dean slipped into a pain filled void of darkness. Meg turned to the other demons, six in all, and shrugged with a triumphant smirk.

TBC…

0-o-0-o-0

AN Once again, please leave a review, they feed the muse. My other story, "Consequences" will be updated soon for those following that one. Thanks for reading!