PART 3

Thirsty. The van was stiflingly hot, and airless.

Dean slowly floated up to consciousness. A low moan reached him from somewhere…—Sam? But he realized it was his own voice he heard. Sentience returned in increments, and he began to be aware that he hurt. He didn't know what the source was, it enveloped him in shapeless, shifting pain. The floor of the vehicle and the seats hung over him, occasionally raining bits of sand into his face. He squinted at their dim outline. Didn't make sense. He peered around, disassociated and woozy, his comprehension slow.

He realized there was a heavy, rigid weight pressing him against what should have been the van floor, but somehow wasn't. Cooler. A hazy memory returned, of it, and the spare tire, and a dozen other things, colliding with him in the chaos as the van rolled.

- van...accident- His brain felt like it was trying to batter its way out of his skull. He struggled to think. Sam! In panic, he shoved at the cooler until it slid off his chest and tried to raise himself up on his elbows, but at least one clear source of pain revealed itself sharply and he dropped back down with a gasp. He became aware of an ache in his chest, but that wasn't it, something else hurt with a sharper intensity.

The van was in deep shadow, it was pitch dark inside. He couldn't see enough to make sense of his predicament. He moved his fingers carefully along the source of the hurt, counting the offending places. Chest… left shoulder, finding his collarbone. He followed its outline, wincing, feeling an interruption in the symmetry. He pressed a little too hard and he felt it give, and he sucked in a breath. He swore in silence. -shit, broken—

The surface at the point of the break was abraded and bloody from the impact of the cooler, but luckily nothing broke the skin from beneath. The metallic taste in his mouth was strong, and his nose felt numb. He felt the flow of blood from it, or somewhere. It was warm and wet on his face, and he felt a sinking dismay. -aw crap- Again he used his fingers to assess the damage, but everything felt in place there. He had a stinging, raw rug burn from cheek to chin, he must have hit his face against something textured, the seat back, maybe. His left eye felt like it was swelling shut.

He gritted his teeth and rolled over, steeling himself against any other possible injuries, but was relieved that nothing else hurt with any serious urgency. The interior was chaotic with things that had earlier been stowed neatly in the back, or under seats—leaving precious little room to move. As far as he could tell, he was alone. He slowly raised himself on to hands and knees, weaving, and when the threat of passing out abated, he took a deep breath and negotiated the tangle, his hands finding the cargo door. He tried in vain to open it but it was jammed.

He swore again, and rested for a moment, leaning against the wall of the van, and holding his left arm tightly to his side. The window glass was broken into a fine lace like pattern, Dean pushed at it until it fell apart, showering him with little razor-edged jewels. A wall of fetid air hit him and he pushed his head and arms through the opening, groaning with the effort. The darting pain from the fracture sickened him, but he managed it and hauled himself all the way out, grasping the trunk of the nearest tree and dropping his feet in search of ground.

There was none, and he slid instead into black water, surprisingly deep—as his fingers lost their grip on the tree. He went under for a second, and he came up choking, spitting out the foul taste as he struggled around the van to higher ground. When his feet felt solid footing, he dragged himself out of the water and rested momentarily, but the nausea was overwhelming, and he retched with violence until he wept, and lay panting against the earth.

Dean lay still for some time, coaxing the pain flashing behind his eyes to settle down to something bearable. When he could sit up again, he shielded his vision and surveyed the scene. His gaze followed the scarred and broken path made by the van. His brain was frustratingly sluggish, concussion, probably... Certainly felt like he'd cracked his head. He crawled back toward the van. He could see the windshield. It, and the driver-side glass, had the same fine pattern of cracks. But it was intact, and he surmised that nothing, no one—had been thrown through it. The doors were still closed, so Sam wasn't ejected. And Sam always wore his seatbelt anyway. Dean could see it, still clasped, hanging empty from the overturned seat.

Yet he knew his brother wasn't in the van. It made no sense. He choked back a sob of frustration, trying to remember what had precipitated the crash. He had been asleep on the bench. Sam had ...yelled. He woke up, and the driver's seat was empty. -Empty. Sam was gone, before the crash...how could that be-? He dropped his head onto his arm and closed his eyes against the harsh sunlight. Sammy-—where the hell are you-?

Sam found himself in a clearing. Unlike the endless swampy vista surrounding him, the place beneath his feet was firm and dry. He stood still, watching, hugging his arms to himself in fear and confusion.. He had no idea how he got there.

The child creature crouched on the ground several yards away, staring at him, still wearing the same ugly twisted expression it had when it spirited him from the van. The yellow eyes burned with hungry intensity—snake's eyes— Sam had the uneasy feeling it was on the verge of flying at him, with violence its intent. But it just sat, rocking on its haunches, grinning. Sam became aware that it smelled like something putrefying, like death itself. He was so frightened that he had to remind himself to breathe.

"What do you make of our little friend, Sammy-?" a voice asked from behind him.

Still in shock, Sam whirled around, coming face to face with his most hated enemy. A man with a pleasant, smiling face. And the same unearthly yellow eyes. The yellow-eyed demon.

He clapped Sam on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Sit down, Sam. Let's chat a while…"

Sam remained standing. "What…what is that thing?" he shuddered.

"Mmm? Oh, that's Lukas. Or more accurately, he was Lukas, once. Cute kid, likes to play here in the swamp. Think he lived out here, a long time ago. He was a nasty little piece of work, mean to puppies and kittens, did awful things to his family…" the Demon chuckled. "That kid'll eat just about anything…won't you, sport?"

The child-thing grinned wider, and looked closer than ever to springing.

"I sent him to fetch you, Sam. I promised he might be able to play with you."

Sam tore his eyes away from it and back to his nemesis. "Why am I here?" he demanded. "Where's my brother?"

Demon smiled with his usual irritating, saccharine manner. "Mmm...yeah, your brother... " he sighed, with mock sadness. "Don't you remember, Sammy? I believe you were driving the van, and then...well, you weren't anymore. Don't know what you were thinking, van can't drive by itself...that was just asking for trouble…"

Sam's heart was in his throat. "What...what did you do to him?"

"Me? I did nothing. Your driverless van rolled in the swamp." he laughed. "Poor Dean... Nothing ever goes his way, does it? Probably drowning as we speak—"

Sam stood open-mouthed with horror, shaking his head. "No...you're lying, you're lying to me—"

Demon shrugged. "Doesn't matter, Sam. It's one way or another with that pain-in-the-ass. You're the important one." But he mentally berated himself..honey catches flies, not vinegar. He was alienating his fly instead of wooing him. He softened his expression to something that radiated contrition. "Just playing with you, Sammy—sorry. Your brother's just fine.." he lied.

The relief he saw on Sam's face was cloyingly pathetic. Good. He could use that. He got to his purpose. "Sam. Sammy...you're always resisting me. Why do you do that? I brought you here to show you what you're losing by fighting me."

Sam's face was a mask of hate. "You're wasting your time!"

But Demon continued. "Power, Sam. That's what you'll give up without me. Power to live the life you want. You can change anything, you don't have to live this crap existence with your brother. You can have it all, everything that you think is lost to you." Demon's voice was a lullaby… "Your mother, your dad, together –growing old , happy. Jess... Your law career. All of it, lost because your jealous brother forces you to resist…" He looked at Sam, eyes sad, pleading..

Sam was mesmerized, but at the mention of Dean he shook it off. "No! You're the reason this all happened. Dean's the only one who knows! He protects me—"

"He limits you! " Demon spat harshly. He struggled to regain a friendly countenance. Honey, not vinegar— "I can show you, Sam, how I can give you what you lost again…" And he filled Sam's mind with visions, of happy family, of Jess, his future with her, his successes. Silver haired Mother and father, lovingly cradling grand children...Christmases, green grass and picket fences...everything he wanted out of life, and all so achingly perfect.

Sam dropped his knees, enraptured, consumed by the visions. Everything I wanted… And he wanted it so much...so much it hurt. He swayed, still on his knees, soaking up the beauty of what he was being fed. It was more than seeing, he felt it, like he was living it at the very moment. Demon murmured to him as the imagery floated through his mind, cajoling, encouraging…It was like music, soft and alluring….

But something soured his euphoria, an awareness of loss, a missing piece of a puzzle. His brother. Dean figured in none of the scenes. He would have been there at his wedding, at the birth of his first child, at all these proud moments. He alone was missing in all of it, in everything he was shown. It felt profoundly wrong.

He forced his mind to turn away. "No." he said softly. Then louder, more firmly— "NO!"

Demon was enraged. "What's the matter, Sam, not good enough? Is there something else you want?" And he turned the imagery he'd been feeding him to darker things. He forced him to experience scenes of Dean, half-submerged in the van, crying out in agony and calling out for him, as the water filled the interior. He showed him his brother suffering, wild-eyed with terror and begging for Sam to save him, the foul black water swirling around his bloody, tear-stained face, slowly submerging him as he choked out please Sammy over and over—

Sam screamed, railing against what he was seeing.

Dean rested at the brackish water's edge. The silence was suffocating.. A black bird flew by, in eerie slow motion, each muffled wing-beat a reverberating pulse. The air was thick and oppressive, as if it was heavy with malice. He tried not to draw breath. The black water, so still, so dark—began to ripple.

He sat watching, mesmerized- as small, almost transparently white hands broke its surface. They reached out, clawing at the bank. More hands followed, thin white arms flailing, hands scrabbling—searching, like frantic snakes. There were dozens of them. Dean stared, transfixed in horror, as the hands found his ankle and began to pull him in to the water's dark opacity. He screamed without sound, kicking at them as more and more hands found him and drew him down, until the black water swallowed him and its surface was still once more…

He bolted upright, breathless and sweating in panic. He stared at the water, fearfully. But it seemed normal, only the occasional insect rippled the surface. -Nightmare. He must have passed out, apparently for hours. The sun was now dropping—the horizon a vibrant mix of tangerine and pink. His spasm at waking brought a rush of pain, and he swore repeatedly, holding his arms to chest and rocking compulsively until it waned. He was thirsty and hot, his mouth felt like dust. He glanced around in the vain hope that Sam had returned, and he called out his name several times, straining to hear an answer. There was only the hum of insects.

Mosquitoes were attacking him without mercy, he wished he had his long-sleeved shirt, which he'd pulled off when he'd lain down on the back seat. -christ, his head hurt… He remembered the well stocked cooler. He didn't want to crawl into the van, it hurt like a bitch crawling out of it, but he desperately needed to drink something, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be that black sludge. He had few options. He managed his way down the bank and kicked out the remaining glass of a broken window on the dry bank side of the van—after the dream there was no way he was going back through that water. He put his feet through the opening and struggled into the interior.

He found the cooler sitting upright in a rare stroke of luck, and unlatched it. The glass bottles were mostly smashed, but anything in plastic had survived. He pulled out several. He searched the dark interior until his hands found his shirt, and he bundled the drinks into it and crawled back out and onto the bank. He rested momentarily, settling his stomach as the pain of his collar bone slowed again to a manageable thing, and then tugged his shirt over his shoulders. The pocket was heavy, and he rummaged in it to see what was there.

It was Ash's blessed cell phone. He blinked in a stupor, he couldn't believe it was right there in his hand. He almost cried in relief. He punched the numbers with shaking hands, praying he'd have range here in this stinking wilderness. -please, please answer, Sammy-

But all he got was an automated message. His heart sank. He tried the next number. The second call was ringing….a voice answered in greeting.

"Hello-?"

"Bobby?" he croaked.

The wary voice demanded, " Who is this?"

"It...it's Dean."

"Dean! Sorry, you sounded weird...what's up?"

"Bobby-" Dean's throat was so dry, he should have cracked a drink first… "The van...had an accident...we rolled it."

"What? Aw, jeesus Dean!"

"I...I'm sorry, man, I..." he stammered as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

Bobby softened. "Look, never-mind the van, buddy, are you ok?"

Dean sighed. "No.." He was silent for a moment.. "Sam's gone—disappeared."

Dean sounded so damned strange. It suddenly dawned on Bobby, this wasn't just a courtesy call—he was calling from the accident site. "Dean—listen to me, are you hurt?"

"I can't find him, Bobby."

"I hear you, man—now tell me if you're hurt!"

"Me? " he asked, pausing as if it were puzzlingly irrelevant. "Uh….yeah, think I smacked my head pretty hard…and my face, …and broke something, my collarbone...I don't know what else."

Bobby's guts froze. "Are you bleeding anywhere?"

"Bleeding?"…He put a hand to his face and it came away slick with blood. "Yeah...no...I mean, not anymore, I think."

"Christ! Where are you, do you know?…Dean!"

Dean was having difficulty concentrating. "Just lemme think for a minute...we were heading out, to some state park...everglades, to see some alligators… Must be pretty close, it's all swamp here."

"What road, Dean—you gotta tell me!"

"I...I dunno, just...Sally's short-cut…"

"Ok, I'm gonna call Sally and get you out of there. Are you ok for a little while?"

Dean stared around him and drew a shaky breath. "He just vanished out of the van while he was driving it, Bobby. I was sleeping, and...and he yelled, something-.. I woke up and he wasn't there. I grabbed the wheel but the van rolled...and— Aw, man-...I just...I don't know what's happening!"

Bobby could hear the distress and confusion in his voice. "Slow down, Dean. Sam vanished out of the van? Before you crashed? Are you sure?"

Dean's voice was breaking. "Yeah…I wasn't dreaming, Bobby, I swear; no one was driving, and it hit the ditch and rolled!"

"Easy, buddy, Sally's gonna pick you up. Will you be ok 'til then? I can call 911-"

"No—don't, I can wait.. I'm just here on the bank, by the van. But I can't leave him here-"

"It's alright, we'll find him, Dean. Now, I gotta call Sally, ok?"

"Yeah. I'll wait here."

"Good. Help's coming, Dean, I'll call you back. You hang in there." Bobby hung up and took stock for a moment. Dean sounded pretty shocky. This was bad. But as bizarre as Dean's tale was, his hunter's instinct trusted that it happened as he'd described. Dean was a solid guy, if he said Sam was taken from the vehicle without a trace, mid drive, well that smacked of something powerful, something possibly demonic. At least they knew Sam wasn't thrown out of the vehicle in the roll-over. Then it would have been a grim search for body-retrieval.

He remembered Emily's warning. -Damn! He dialed Sally. He got through on the second try, and tersely recounted the situation, warning her of possible danger. She assured him she could handle it, and he had no doubt, and she knew the road and they'd speed out asap. She'd keep him posted. Bobby was relieved. At least Dean could be brought to safety. Sam was a whole different problem. He rubbed his beard, worrying. He was going to have to get down there, and fast. At least he had some cash saved, the ramp truck was a pig on gas…

He called Dean back, to check on him, and let him know she was on her way. But he got no answer.

"Emmy, get your coat, we've got some trouble!" Sally yelled.

Emily already knew, she was sitting on her bed, rocking, her mind flashing frightening chaotic hues, a lightning storm of warnings. She hated the knowing, it was never specific enough help stop the troubles, all she knew was that something bad was happening.. Hearing Sally's call, she mentally clamped the doors shut on the aura and hastened to meet her, and they swiftly got on the road.

Sam's mind raged against the imagery Demon was forcing on it. He howled defiance and twisted his head from side to side forcing his brain to reject it. -Lies! This isn't- happening, it's just the same as the other vision, it's NOT REAL! He succeeded in casting it off, and stood up, panting. "You're a god-damned liar! he seethed. "I will kill you if it takes my last breath!"

Demon was furious, Sam was stronger, more disciplined than he'd anticipated. Forgetting that his purpose was to lure him sweetly into the fold, Demon gave in to his natural rage and spite. The friendly, mild countenance was gone, replaced by a vindictive sneer. "Well, you had the brass ring in your hands, Sam, but you dropped it. You're a loser, and I'm tired of this pointless little exercise! You and the kid can play now!" he snarled. His arm flew up in an irritated gesture of dismissal, and Sam was flung backwards into the trees at the edge of the knoll. It knocked him silly for a moment, and he barely had time to see Demon vanish in a haze of sulphurous stink before the thing launched itself at his throat.

It was getting so dark. Sally knew that the shortcut would have taken a half hour off the two hour trip. And they'd been on the road for an hour and a quarter already, scanning both sides.

"Red—" Emily said, over and over. Sally wasn't sure if she meant an article of clothing or something, or the colour she saw when she had touched Dean. Or god-forbid, something more ominous. Emily didn't know either. Sally really felt like telling her to shut up, that it wasn't helping—but she knew better. Emily saw a lot of strange things, but it was rare for her to see something so intensely specific. She sure seemed to connect with these two.

Something caught her eye. "There!" Sally barked. She slowed the jeep and pulled over. It was something red alright, out of place in the shadowy dark greens. It was Dean's shirt. He was lying on the bank, and he didn't stir at the sound of the jeep. Sally got out and approached him, terrified of what she would discover. She reached out tentatively, touching him. He was still warm.

He was still with them. She exhaled the breath she'd been holding fearfully. He was unconscious, soaked, and shivering. He had a cell phone clutched in a death-grip to his chest. She shook him gently, praying he'd come around.

"Dean? Dean, it's Sally..."

He groaned and turned over, trying to focus with the eye that would open.

The overturned van caught her eye, it shocked her to see it. "Can you sit up?"

He wasn't sure, he was still bewildered.

Sally had been warned about what his injuries likely were, she was careful to avoid pulling him up by his arms. She shone her flashlight over his form, checking for anything obvious. She could see his face was a bloody mess. He did manage to struggle to a sitting position. She held him there to keep him from slumping back down. He was heavy, she felt like a weak old woman and she hated it.

"Dean...Dean, which side hurts?"

"Here…" he mumbled, pointing to his left.

"Ok, then. I'm gonna put your right arm over my shoulder, you hear? You need to help me get you up."

"Ok." Without thinking he pushed himself up with his left. He grunted in pain and dropped back to the ground, pulling her down with him. He rested for a few minutes until the shooting pain of his fracture died down to a dull beat, and he could try again. After a couple of false starts the two managed to get to a standing position. Sally guided him, stumbling to the jeep, and settled him into the back.

He was reasonably lucid by now, but agitated. "Sally, no, please...I have to stay here! Sam's out there! I can't go!"

"You can't do anything in this dark, Dean. Bobby's coming, he'll find him. You're hurt, you have to come back with us now."

"Bobby? "

"Yes, honey. He's driving out now. He'll know how to find Sam, don't you fret. Let's get you patched up, ok? Then you can help."

But all Dean could think of was that he was abandoning his brother. "No! Jeezus Sally, don't make me leave him, he'll come back and I won't be here!" He was getting frantic, and he pushed against her and struggled back out of the jeep. She nabbed him by the arm, unfortunately the left, and he dropped to his knees, cursing. She knelt beside him, and Emily exited to help. The two women got him up again and sat him on the seat edge.

"Dean, honey, listen to me." Emily spoke gently as she held his face in her hands. "You cannot stay here, it is too dangerous. How can you help him if you're unconscious , or worse? Sam will have the sense to stay put until light, you know that. There is nothing you can do until morning, and I'd say the same if you weren't hurt. Do you understand? You must come now!"

Sally added, "Bobby is on his way, he'll be here tomorrow. And first thing in the morning we'll hire a helicopter to search, I promise. Please, Dean, let us help you!"

He knew they were right. And he knew he was at his limit. He sighed wearily and closed his eyes in defeat. "Ok." He settled back on the seat and Sally shut the door. He couldn't believe he was in this hell again. Sam, gone. And god knows what was happening to him.

And here he was, hurt again, f—king useless. He wanted to tear his hair out in frustration. All they'd wanted was some down time. a little fun. Some god-damned peace. He fought back against hot tears that won anyway.

Sally took off her jacket and tucked it around him. Then she got in, gave Bobby a quick call to let him know they had him, and floored it hard to home.

Emily had the intensity of Dean's scarlet aura still burning in her mind. So strong, both the brothers, so unusual...when it struck her.

"Green! Green and blue!" she shouted abruptly, and turned around to speak in his direction. "His aura, just now…So strong, god, I could almost feel it! I thought of him, and there it was! Oh Dean, he's still with us, you hear?" She was beaming.

He was curled up, shivering, a picture of misery. Emily reached out and found his hand. "Sam's still here, and strong! Dean, listen to what I'm telling you, I saw his colours!"

The strange electricity from her touch snapped him out of it. It took a moment for him to comprehend what she was going on about, but the significance of her words reached him.

"Sammy?"

"Yes, yes, Sammy!" she laughed tearfully.