Not mine, happy reading…

Supernatural

Dean tried to take in a breath, but the demon tightened his hold. The hunter tried to use his fingers to pry the beefy arm away from his neck, but that was a waste of energy. Instead he tried to reach into his pocket, hands tightened around his flask of holy water. He pulled out the silver flask, unscrewing it on the way, and tossed the contents over his shoulder, into the demon's face. It let him go, screaming in pain.

Dean fell to the ground, coughing and trying to take in air. He scrambled to his feet, the sounds of heavy footfalls running at him. He spun around, flinging the rest of the holy water at the guy. The guy's face started smoking, his hands covering his reddening skin. He quickly recovered, drilling his bolder sized fist into the side of Dean's head. Stars exploded behind the hunter's eyelids as his feet momentarily left the floor.

He slammed back into the wooden floor, the air knocked unceremoniously out of his lungs. Trying to take in another breath-already left nearly breathless from the near strangulation-Dean crab crawled away from the quickly approaching demon. As much as he knew he would regret it, the colt was in his hands and he had shot the demon in the heart.

It fell backwards, dead before it hit the ground. Dean got shakily to his feet, unsteady for a few seconds. He regained his balance, replacing the colt back in his coat pocket. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Sam say, "Two bullets left."

"You think," Dean snapped at his new found voice-or insanity. He ran a hand across his face, wondering how much more crap he had to go through before he actually succeeding in doing the one job he didn't want to do.

The phone rang, making him jump. He crossed the room, crouching down the scoop up the cell phone. As he straightened up, he checked the ID. It was Sam's number, Lucifer was calling again.

"You are starting to piss me off," Dean snapped as he unconsciously backed into a corner.

"I am offended you say that, Dean. I mean, I thought we were friends. I thought, you know, since you had a hand in my resurrection and I am technically your brother…"

"I'm going to find you," Dean growled keeping his eyes peeled for anymore demons.

"Oh, I am sure you will. I mean, you're the famous Dean Winchester. You can find anything, right?

"I'll make it easier on you, real easy. In three days time I plan to make a stop, a stop in a state you know well. I mean, I'm finished with the east. Right now, I am standing in the middle of Rigley Field, watching it burn. It's quite relaxing.

"Anyway, as I was saying. Three days from now, three long days, I will be spending some time in a small town. The one where this whole thing, you hunting, started. I know you are smart, unintelligence doesn't run in your family, so I can bet you've already figured it out."

"What the hell does Lawrence have to do with any of this?"

"I just like the name of the town. I knew a demon named Lawrence; he was a nasty piece of work. Was once a man. Made a deal to be a famous hotel owner, opened sixty branches worldwide, and ten years later dead. Found dead on the terrace of his condo, ripped open by unseen dogs. You know what that's like, don't you Dean…"

Dean vividly recalled the hellhounds, their grotesque bodies flying at him. He remembered their putrid breath, their sharp claws of death digging into him, blood everywhere. The pain was excruciating. The memories were assaulting his brain almost as bad as his time in Hell. Almost.

"You still there?" Lucifer's voice, Sam's voice, cut into his thoughts.

"Yeah, Lawrence in three days. I'll be there," Dean said through numb lips.

"Good, and don't use all those bullets before you get here." And with those words, spoken in the most cheerful voice Dean had ever heard someone close to death use, Lucifer hung up. Dean threw the phone across the room, never wanting to touch the thing again. He slid to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. He laid his head on his legs, wondering how in the hell he was going to kill someone who was twelve steps ahead of him.

"Maybe I could help," a voice said making his head snap up. One look at the person, standing in front of him, made his heart stop. There was no way he was there; he just got off the phone with the fallen angel possessing him. But Sam was there, hands in his pockets, that annoying smirk on his face.

"How…?"