So after a too-long hiatus and more than a few reviews/messages about this story, I realized that I never posted this chapter. Which is really crappy of me, because I had it sitting in my hard drive. The one that I was completely certain I had lost. So I'm sorry. I'm bad. I know. Anyways. I'm thinking this is a good place to end it unless you want some brainless family drabble. Or some more Bobby. Everybody loves Bobby. But it will probably end here. Unless it's awkward. In which case tell me.

"Where are they, Bobby?" John asked, slamming the driver's side door shut after himself. Bobby sat with his hands folded in his lap, deep in thought. "Where the hell are they?"

Bobby sighed. "Look, here's what I'm thinking. They know we aren't going to leave until we find them—one way or the other." Meaning dead or alive was John's interpretation, at which point he threw Bobby his most pointed glare. "If that barn is where they figure we're going to be, that's where they're going to want to go to help each other out if they're in this together, and it sounds like in this case they might have been. If that demon girl the other was talking about—Jamie—if she's going to show up with the boys anywhere, it's going to be there. So I say we quit wasting our time around hunting around here for them and head to where we know they're going to end up."

"And if they're not there?"

"Then they're off gallivantin', probably hustlin' some pool or something—of course they're going to be there! That's where the demon 'll be," Bobby's voice was firm. John peeled out of the empty parking lot without much regard for the spattering of other vehicles present. He was lucky to have hit none of them, but he wouldn't have stopped in any case.

"I'll kill the boys, I swear," Bobby sighed.

"Me first."

Bobby was shocked at the tone John had taken in reference to the inevitable and well-deserved punishment of his kids. He was usually emotionally vacant in regards to anything but the inflicting of physical pain upon the two of them.

It had been a half an hour, and Sam sat quite helpless in the farthest flung corner of the barn watching his brother fade. The steady decline of his condition was all that Sam's attention could be bothered with. He knew of at least one other devil's trap nearly two hundred feet away, hidden in one of the stalls to his left. But he'd thought it over. The demon girl was standing like a statue just outside the reaches of the devil's trap in which the shell of her partner lay, spread-eagled and broken looking. But her eyes were to them. There was no way to go about sneaking that far away without her knowing. Sam would risk going alone if not for fear of what she might do to the stationary brother.

Sam's instincts told him to "keep an eye on the bitch with the knife" (or had that been Dean? He wasn't positive). But on the other hand Dean's descent into unconsciousness was of more pressing concern to the youngest Winchester. He'd done all he could, but blood still leaked out from between Dean's fingers from the stab wound in his leg, and the flannel over shirt he was holding to his shoulder was soaked heavily in blood which was thankfully dyed black by the insufficient light. Sam's stomach did a back flip anyways. He'd always had a weak stomach.

"Dad's going to be here soon, don't worry about it," Dean managed to mumble for what seemed like the thousandth time. As though Sam were the one in danger.

"Just be quiet, Dean. Please be quiet. I know he will. Just don't talk," Sam couldn't help the tears that were leaking, which probably weren't of any comfort to his older brother. He swore quietly under his breath—he couldn't help but cry in the wake of the situation in which he now found himself, out of sheer terror not for his own life but for Dean's. But Dean interpreted that fear as fear of the monster that was threatening the both of them, and so made his job, as always, to comfort his younger brother. So much wasted energy…Sam stifled a sob and watched his brother's eyelids flutter open for the first time in what seemed like days.

"Don't talk? Come on, Sammy. You know me."

"Okay, so bad new kiddos." The demon's voice abruptly terminated their conversation. Sam turned, wondering what on earth he was going to do to protect his brother. Dean raised his arm weakly to bar in front of Sam. It was all the strength he could muster for a protective gesture. "Your daddy isn't here, and I'm bored. And more than a little pissed about my friend. So I'm taking the eye for an eye approach. I only need one of you."

Sam thought for sure his heart would drop out of his stomach. Think, Sam. Think.

"But then how do you know which one of us knows where the gun is?" he blurted out. Dean didn't show any signs of confusion, which Sam appreciated in one aspect because it meant that he could play it off, and on the other hand worried him for the lack of response.

"The gun isn't here," she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Right. But I found out where it is."

"Well, well Sam. Smarter than your dad already."

"My dad is on his way right now. He's smart enough to figure out that you'll be back here and when he finds you—"

"If he finds me. I could always just kill the two of you and ditch this hellhole."

"Then why stay here in the first place?"

"Revenge is sweet, but if I have to die to do it well then…he really wasn't worth that much anyways." She regarded the body with some contempt. "I want the gun. I had the intention of wasting your dad after I questioned him about it but now that I have you, maybe I don't need to wait around for daddy."

" You're going to let me and my brother go."

"Oh am I? Well. Aren't we quite the demanding little brat. Does that very often get you what you want?"

"Often enough."

It was then that headlights came flashing down the road, making the shadows in the room slide sideways in a disorienting shuffle. The demon's eyes flicked to the open barn door, her attention was drawn, at and it was in that moment Sam chose to dash for the devil's sign, dashing over an empty bucket, vaulting over a stack of hay blaes, and throwing himself over the stall door, which was bolted shut. He fumbled for the loose boards in the wall—fresh air and moonlight was leaking in through them—but his small fingers couldn't pry the boards away from the wall. He dared not give up his trap by glancing up, but it was all he could do to hope that he would be out of her reach when she crossed into the path of the trap. And cross she did—her hand gripped the door and ripped it backwards, gouging a chunk out of the wooden frame and sending the bolts flying. Her mouth flicked up at the corners in the smallest semblance of a smile when she stepped over the splinters, her teeth glistening pearly white in the light. Her eyes were black as pitch now, and she hissed as she reached a hand out towards his face. Her fingers curled around empty air, her smiling fading. She looked down first, kicking away the hay. Nothing. She looked up, glared at the devil's trap for a half a second, and let out such a shriek of fury and frustration that Sam covered his ears. She clawed the air in front of him wildly, but reached nothing. Pressing himself up against the wall, he climbed over the stall's adjacent wall and let himself out of the next one over, running to his brother's aid just as Bobby and John came through the front barn door.

"Sam! Dean!" John dropped to his knees before the two brothers. Dean gathered the strength and bravado to flash his father an alarmingly smart ass smile.

"Told you we could handle it, dad."

"I can see that," John breathed.

"Christ, kid, how many holes do you got in ya?" Bobby asked, removing Dean's hand from his shoulder while John inspected his leg.

And for his father, Dean rallied in his last attempt at humor before the well earned on-slaughter of parenting hit the both of them. "Bitch was frisky."

"Let's go. You've got a long night ahead of you. Those are going to need stitches. And don't think you're getting off the punishment because of it. I'll lecture you both later." John didn't have to say that he was relieved to see that the boys were okay—they both knew that the look on his face was relieved enough to convey it—which was good that they thought so, because he wasn't going to tell them in any case.

Bobby hauled himself to his feet, taking out the passage for the exorcism, and began. His mumbling and the shrieking of the demon were all white noise to Sam as he helped his dad get his brother into the backseat of the car. Dean stretched his now perforated leg across the backseat, so that his foot was in Sam's lap. John shut the door after him and went to make sure Bobby was handling everything okay, after throwing the boys a richly deserved look of black suspicion as though he feared they were going to sneak off again.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time dad says we're staying in, don't convince me to go out."

Which made Sam laugh a little and temporarily forget the fact that he'd just been watching his brother bleed to death slowly. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

And then it was back. The horrifying images Sam was sure he would never be able to erase from his mind. He was almost certain he wouldn't be sleeping for the next week. "But seriously, Dean. Don't ever make me watch you die again."

"Alright. Dad will make you leave the room later tonight when he lays into me anyways. So no worries about that."

"How bad do you think we're about to get it?"

"Thirty lashes maybe?"

Sam gulped involuntarily.

All your reviews and requests that I finish this really were appreciated. You guys are awesome! Even if it had me going 'Damn, gurl. How far back you scroll? o.O' half the time. I appreciate it nonetheless. Commentary is much appreciated.