Sorry for the delay. Work sort of caught up with me as I've been promoted…not sure if I can handle the stress of it though, but here's hoping, and also I had been packing up to leave town this weekend for my birthday. But anyhow, enough excuses. Here it is, the next installment. Here, we go more into the plot and discover just what exactly is happening with our Sam. Made it nice and lengthy due to the long wait. Hope you enjoy!

~o(Supernatural)o~

Dean should have known Cass was going to bring them to Bobby's. It was the one and only other place he could have called home; that had with it the comfort and welcoming warmth only a home could provide.

Despite sitting out in the lawn, yards away from the front entrance surrounded by tens of dozens rusty broken down automobiles and unusable parts, Dean couldn't help but be filled with a nostalgic bliss. The lights inside the rundown house were on. Smoke filed up and out of the bricked chimney. And the loud dialogue from a television program could be heard.

It meant only one thing.

Bobby was alive.

And his mentor, his surrogate father, the man who in countless times had lain down his life for Dean and his family, was home.

"Wait here," Cass said.

Dean eyed him peculiarly as the angel blinked out of sight. It had been so long since he had last seen Cass, and yet, he still was totally accustomed to the gone-in-a-flash locomotion. He would never fully get over the nauseating feel to the instant mode of transportation, but it did bring back a sense of normality…well, normal in the world of Winchester, that is.

However, why Cass decided to dump he and his unconscious sibling in the dying patched grass was beyond even his ability to comprehend.

Dean didn't need an explanation to the angel's sudden departure. He knew Cass was on his way to warn Bobby of their sudden visit—lessen the blow, so to speak.

Minutes later, his suspicion was confirmed by a stout, slightly pudgy figure flying out the door dragging on a flannel robe, loping in black muck boots. The man surely was getting on in years, but the time lapse certainly hadn't lessened his stamina. The prestigious hunter staggered to a halt, breathless, the clear evidence of surprise emanating from the faded blue eyes.

Bobby stood frozen, scouring every inch of the two people he saw in front of him, as though he was unsure if what he was witnessing was indeed part of reality.

Dean was in for a surprise as well. Half-expecting the man to have given up, lose himself in alcohol and stress, Bobby was, in fact, the opposite. He was clean-shaven, his hair slicked back clean and grease free, no longer wearing a ball cap and grungy clothing, but wearing newer and tatter-free apparel. Plus he had a new invigorating, thinner and healthier appeal to him, as if he had taken a rigorous training exercise and an age-free potion. Of course, knowing the man and his knowledge of spells and alchemy, Dean wouldn't put it past him.

Bobby panted. "I knew it," he huffed in his gruff husky voice. "You idgits are trying to kill me."

"Nice to see you too, Bobby," Dean almost cried with relief.

The man continued to pant, now eyeing Sam with disbelief. "How?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know…but he's back," tears began to bead at the brim of his lids. "And I don't care how, but he is."

"Well," Bobby swallowed convulsively, still enduring the flood of shock and doubt, "We need to get him inside where it's safe."

Dean looked up. "Where's Cass?"

"Cass is gone," Bobby answered curtly kneeling down beside the fragile Winchester, running a hand down the side of the pale face, sighing at the confirmation he was real.

Dean stared at the old man dumbstruck. "Gone? Where the hell did he go?"

"I don't know," Bobby shrugged. "He just—" he snapped his fingers, making a short whistle—"But I did tell the halo-wearing goody-goody the last time I saw him no more sudden surprises and, if there were, to warn me first before I Molotov his ass. Heart isn't what it used to be."

"Ah," Dean nodded, grinning sheepishly, "that explains why he dumped us out here as lawn ornaments, but what does he expect us to do now? Cart Sam in there ourselves? If he hasn't noticed, this kid ain't light!"

"You're asking me?" Bobby shot him a weird look. "Now quit your yapping and lets get you both inside before you catch a cold. Come on," he carefully took hold of Sam's bare legs.

Dean said nothing in reply, instead gripping the bottoms of his brother's shoulders, and on Bobby's cue, hoisted him up. At first they sagged from the weight, but soon both were able to maintain their hold, and carefully carried the precious cargo inside.

Stumbling past the kitchen, a mouth-watering smell wafted through Dean's nose, and he had to pause momentarily.

He took two great enveloping sniffs. "Bobby is that blueberry pie I'm smelling?"

The man opposite him, sneered, gritting his teeth. "Yeah…shut yer yap and hurry up."

Astounded, Dean continued. "You cook now?" he panted, "Whoa, something's not right here. Since when do you cook pie, and"—he looked around, noting the cleanliness of the place and how everything, including the cluttered bookshelves, were neat and straightened—"clean? Is your wife back?"

"No," Bobby bellowed, as they had reached the stairs. "Get going."

Step by step, inch-by-inch, turning crimson from the strain, possibly tearing every known muscle in their biceps and shoulders, the two men were able to transport the flaccid body up the stairs, despite Dean's strong protests for the couch. Bobby was dead set against the youngest of the three waking up cramped, tight as a turtle, for his first night back on Earth after only God knows what he faced and endured down below.

As any one can see who still held power over the elder Winchester!

Finally once up the stairs, down the short caliginous hallway, they entered into the old room, Sam would usually occupy whenever he visited. The room was much the same as they had left it; the covers on the four-footed bed were unfurled and un-pressed, books and various notebooks full of detailed supernatural memorandum lay scattered over one of the desks covered in thickets of dust and cobwebs, and a box, labeled in a black sharpie Sam's stuff, lay in the middle of a dark closet.

It was as though the room hadn't been touched since the last he or his brother had been in it.

Dean and Bobby, panting up a storm, finally heaved with one last gasp the large man onto the bed, Dean immediately covering him in the commemorative blanket, whilst Bobby swatted to rid it of dust and mold.

The big brother then stood back in a daze, recovering from the shock of it. He turned towards Bobby ready to spout off the twenty questions gig, but was totally unprepared for the rib-crushing embrace the man pulled him into. Dean briefly closed his eyes, relishing in the contact, for it had been too long since he had been reunited with his family.

Bobby broke first and pulled back, his eyes also shining with added moisture. "S'good to see ya boy."

"Yeah, you too."

"And Sam?"

"I know," Dean whispered, taking a seat by his brother's side on the bed. He smiled, "Surprise."

Bobby gave a short laugh. "No kidding," he peered down at the sleeping individual. His eyes developed an extra coat of moisture, displaying a mix of solace and inner turmoil, "He looks good. But we gotta face facts here Dean. What does this mean? H-how i-is he back and who did it and why?"

"I know," Dean nodded solemnly, understanding the fear and reasoning behind his mentor's quivering voice. "I think Cass might be working on that right now. Did he tell you to put up any special wards at all?"

"Sure did. S'gonna do that once we had Sam safe and inside," Bobby answered. "I'll go do that now, but you need to get some sleep. I didn't want to say anything, but Sam looks better than you and he's the one who went to Hell and back."

Dean gave a feeble smile, still watching over his brother. "True. But…uh, I don't think I can."

"Well you need to," Bobby addressed in his authoritarian don't-give-me-bullshit tone, "From the looks of it, we don't know what to expect when he finally does wake up. So you're gonna need all the strength you can get. We can't do much for now. Tomorrow is our best bet to accomplish anything and get some real answers. I won't tell you again boy! Get some sleep."

"B-bobby," his lip trembled again, "What if I wake up and all of this isn't real?"

Bobby fell silent, suddenly donning a calm demeanor. "It won't," he said softly. "Sam is back. I assure you he is back and all of this is real. But one way or another if you do fall asleep, you will wake up, and you'll see that this is all happening. Trust me Dean. Trust your instincts. Now go to sleep."

"Okay. I'll try." Dean gave the brief reply, surely having no tenor behind it.

And with that, Bobby left the room in a rush, his robe flapping smoothly in the doorway. Dean felt a chill rise up his spine at the man's departure. He should have felt alleviated and happy, finally back where he belongs, and with his family, but that strong twisting action in his gut told him otherwise, having with it a foreboding feeling he couldn't shake.

Smoothly sliding a thumb over Sam's cool, limp hand, he took whatever most he could get out of this time and place. His instincts were singing a tune alerting him times up ahead were bound to get rough. But in that very moment, he could care less. He couldn't seem to leave Sam's side. Afraid to sleep, fearful that at any time Sam would wake up, terrified at how he would react. He watched hypnotically the rise and fall of Sam's chest; heart pounding with dread that God in his cruelty would punish him by taking Sam's breath away. That submission alone kept him awake for several hours.

In that time, Sam was washed and dressed in his old nightclothes, the big brother taking up his responsibility once more. And at that point, Dean wouldn't have had it any other way.

~o(Supernatural)o~

The air felt different for some reason. It was stuffy and musky, feeling rather thick, and he coughed, removing the tickle it produced in his throat. Groggy, Dean sluggishly pulled himself up against the headboard, rubbing his neck. He groaned, feeling a headache beginning to brew, possibly from the ache throbbing from the way he slept at a severe angle.

Dean sighed, struggling to overcome the remaining vestiges of sleep. Prying one eye open, he looked around and immediately noticed something was amiss.

This wasn't Lisa's bedroom.

Jolting awake with both eyes open, coming to a stand, it finally registered in his momentary slower-than-average mind that he was no longer in the cabin. The smell was different and the homely appeal was more than familiar. Something clicked and it finally occurred to him he was in Sam's old room at Bobby's.

And that's when the rapid myriad of memories of the previous night hit him like smashing into a brick wall, scattering him in all parts, leaving nothing but his teeth.

Sammy!

"Sammy?" he looked down on the bed beside him and froze. The mattress was empty. The blankets and sheets were mussed and crinkled, the pillow used. But it didn't help stop his heart from thudding in his throat.

"Sam!" Dean called, searching all over the room.

Shuffling and a tiny squeak came over by the desk. Looking over in the corner of the wall, Dean saw his brother, with his knees curled to his chest, head resting against the wall. He would have almost sighed with relief, but grew alarmed noticing the incessant shake.

"Sam?" Dean called out softly.

There was no answer.

Dean approached cautiously, keeping his arms apart in a pacifying manner, in case Sam went on the defensive. "Sammy?" he called again.

Still his sibling remained silent.

He drew closer, his body slowly growing tense, his eyes hardly able to blink. Sam's eyes were open, staring at the wall, the bright blue-green irises shining like hydrangeas against stark white corneas, but something was off. He wasn't blinking, nor was there any indication of any activity. He was awake, but the lights weren't on, so to speak. Albeit shaking, his expression was vacant, blank. There was no emotion, no liveliness, nothing…just empty.

The alarm bells were announcing the apocalypse for a second go-around the closer Dean advanced. Gently he nudged the outward shoulder, praying to elicit a response of some kind, preparing in case Sam suddenly acted all psycho-killer. Only…there was no response. Dean carefully prodded the soft flesh once more, a little harder this time, but to no avail, the reaction was the same.

Dean suddenly became aware of his own rapid intakes of air and the soft tremor boring in his hand. "Oh God noooo," he cried, "God! Why can't you bring him back in one piece? No Sammy."

In truth, he wanted to cry, fall apart in the chasm of his emotions, well up and die unable to fight anymore, but he held it in, reining in the turmoil and accumulating outburst. There was a time and place to give into the pressure of this situation, to let go, but this wasn't it. He needed to be strong. He needed to be a fighter. How else would he save Sammy?

"Bobby! Bobby, get up here!" he hollered, no longer scared that it will effect his brother. It didn't seem like a heavy-duty bomb would even do the trick! He didn't wait for the older man to come galloping up the stairs before he called out, "Cass! Cass, I need you here quick! Cass!"

He should have been prepared for arrival at the sound of wings and the instant dead air, but as it had slipped through his mind over the years, he was caught off guard when the angel magically appeared in front of him, nose-to-nose, the shock of it dumping him on his ass.

"You rang?" The angel lifted a tiny eyebrow, peering at him inquisitively.

Dean shot him a dark look from the floor. He scrambled to his full height, growling. "Yeah, I did. Thanks for taking off last night. Such a great hand," he lashed.

Castiel sighed glancing off to the side, obviously exasperated. "Dean did you really call me here to lambaste me?"

Dean huffed, relaxing somewhat when Bobby, fully dressed in jeans and a dress shirt, came hurling into the room with a locked and loaded shotgun. He looked to the angel. "No. Something is wrong with Sam. I need you look at him. See what's happening.

Cass turned to the source of Dean's worry, squinting, studying the creature before him.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean asked again.

The angel dodged the question, shaking his head, " I am unsure."

"Cass, did you find out anything about what all of this could mean?" Bobby voiced from behind, lowering his weapon to the side.

Suddenly Cass became incredibly serious, growing stiff in his posture, staring down the older man with a deadly, yet concerned expression. Surprisingly, it was alleviating to Dean to see it, because it meant that the angel could still feel emotion.

"Both sides grow restless with this latest development. Almost three times more activity and uncertainty now than they were when you were saved from the pit," he glanced over at Dean. "No one has any real answers and they're frantically scrambling for power as we speak. Some are gathering, in small bands, others in large forces, about to set out to search for Sam."

"Is that bad?"

"Well, if you consider entire legions of angels and demons, other creatures as well, arming out, believing that Sam could very well be the next tyrannical ruler of both realms, and plan on eviscerating any and everyone in cohort with him as any other day, then no, it's not bad," Cass replied, giving a small smirk.

Bobby returned a sour look towards the unwarranted sarcasm. "Okay smartass, then what can we do?"

"Nothing, we stay put. Nobody knows who or what saved Sam. It could very well be God who did it. In that case, we do nothing. They won't harm him if they find him," he shrugged, "Of course that is theoretical."

Dean swore the more Cass spelled out the news and the unusual sarcasm, the more steam was billowing out of his ears. He listened and waited, slowly treading on the verge of a very powerful aspersion. Cass going on about the advancing enemies of both sides was not comforting, nor was it helpful in that very moment.

"Alright wavy gravy, that wonderful news," once more he graced everyone's presence with his sarcastic wit, "But we have more pressing issues right now. We need to figure out what the hell is going on with Sam's mental ability; otherwise there would be no need to wait for the Kingdom of Heaven to come down on us."

Cass sighed. "Dean, I don't know what's causing this certain catatonia."

"So he is catatonic. Why?"

"I don't know."

"Try to find out then. Please," Dean enforced.

Obviously in disapproval of the stern order, Cass stubbornly stepped towards the curled figure, cautiously laying a hand on the sweaty forehead, and closed his eyes. Dean grew nervous at the hesitant touch. If Cass was on guard, shouldn't they all be?

It was another minute or two of anticipation, of Dean shifting from foot to foot eager for Intel, when Cass finally let go of Sam's forehead. It was then he began to back slowly as if accidentally stumbling upon Papa Kodiak Bear in his den, which caught his attention. But it was the unexpected expression of fright building on the vessel's face, and the stutters coming from the angel had both his and Bobby's hairs at a standstill.

"Cass, what is it? What's wrong?" Dean asked, a little too apprehensive for the answer, especially when his angelic friend began to pant.

"He's still there," came the barely audible whisper.

"What? Who?" Dean asked, leaning forward.

"Who do you think numb-skull?" Cass lashed. He turned back to Sam, "Lucifer. He still is residing within Sam's body, fighting to get out."

Once the name was mentioned, Dean felt his porcelain heart shatter. His brother, after all this time, was continually being assaulted by the fallen angel; still fighting for dominance over his body. But it wasn't just that little reminder that stole Dean's breath away. If Lucifer was still alive and kicking, then if he were to be set free, no doubt there would be a preview for Round Two of the Apocalypse.

"Not again," Dean gasped, not at all prepared for the encumbering weight that came with that statement.

"Agreed," Cass said dangerously, suddenly brandishing the archangel's sword, posing it to kill.

"Cass NO!" Dean was in motion before the knife could deliver its deathblow. Sliding over his brother at the last minute, a gut-wrenching scream escaped past his lips as he felt the cool steel pierce into his shoulder.

Angry and desperate, Cass yanked the sword out and threw the injured man to the side, ready to make another blow.

Dean couldn't figure out how he was moving so fast. In another slide home, grimacing at the hell-like fury pulsing in his upper body and the rapid gush of blood, he grabbed a hold of the sword-yielding hand just before it came down and finished off his brother, the staggering force lowering him down to the floor.

"Cass! Stop it! Stop it NOW!" Dean bellowed frantically, his strength losing out quickly to the angel, like an insect to a giant Labrador.

"No. He has to die. We cannot risk it!"

"NO!"

"Castiel, I said knock it off," came the brusque powerful tone, "Or so help me!"

The angel looked up, his eyes widening at seeing what Bobby was holding. Dean looked too and saw the old man carrying idly in his hands a beer bottle with a rag in it, a lighter in his other hand, lit and ready to torch. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the contents inside the bottle was holy oil. Why else would Cass suddenly back off like a submissive slave?

Of course, Dean was more interested in how fast the man moved to get the bottle in the first place.

"I told you I wasn't kidding when I'd Molotov your ass," Bobby added, "Now get away from Sam, and patch that boy up."

Surprisingly, the angel reluctantly relented, tucking away the bloody weapon, offering the gagging man on the ground a helping hand. Dean, coughing for air, refused the hand and staggered to his feet, a bit dizzy from the shock and bloodloss. Cass immediately cured him with the touch of his hand, and Dean felt whole once more…but definitely was keeping a good distance from the whimsical being, his trust permanently damaged.

"Good, now that we have an understanding," Bobby glowered at the holy tax accountant, "Don't try that again. Sit. We need to figure out what to do first before we take any drastic action. Am I understood?"

Cass didn't answer, but gave a strong purse of the lips. Apparently that meant a yes! He then took a seat on the bed, eying the two men carelessly.

Dean, still a little on edge after what just transpired, took a seat on the wall by his catatonic sibling, keeping an ever-present watchful eye on the nerd. "So what do we do now? Killing Sam right now is not an option, so don't even think about it."

"There isn't much we can do. If you're suggesting we leave well-enough alone, then Sam has to do this himself," Cass informed, a bit temperamental. It was beginning to get on Dean's nerves with the badass attitude. It certainly had him wonder if something ever happened to his friend to make him want to act like this. But he didn't press.

"What are you talking about?" Bobby piped, keeping the holy oil on hand.

Cass began to eye the opposite wall, non-blinking. "The battle seems to be going on in"—he pointed at Sam's head—"and Sam is in grave danger of losing. He's still fighting the Devil, but I'm not sure how much longer he'll be able to sustain his defenses."

"So what's making him zone out?" Dean queried, "Is it the Devil?"

"No. For some reason," he sighed, "it looks like the catatonia is Sam's doing. Possibly this is his mind's defense in having gone through trauma, through Hell, and suffering from the presence of Lucifer alone. It's too much to handle in so short of a time."

"Oh, kinda like a computer with too much kick. Shuts itself down to save power," Dean offered the analogy.

Cass gave him a blank stare. "Whatever that means."

"Okay? So what now?" Dean gazed at him forlornly, "We just let Sammy duke it out with our buddy Lucy, and pray he comes out as the heavyweight champ?"

"If it comforts you to see it that way," Cass remarked, but ultimately received an unappreciated look from both men.

"No. There's got to be another way. Can't you try to communicate with him somehow? You're new and improved, hack your way in."

"It won't be that easy."

"Cass, please. Just try," Dean pleaded.

At least expecting a roll of the eyes, Dean was taken back when the Angel conceded, non-hesitantly coming over and kneeling by Sam's side, once again placing a hand on the forehead.

As the seconds rolled by, turning into minutes, Dean and Bobby again watched with anticipation, growing more anxious at the crinkle of Cass's forehead and the occasional grimace. About ten minutes later, Cass opened his eyes, falling back on his rump, breathless.

He nodded. "He-he's there," he coughed. "But he's in trouble. He says he doesn't know how much longer he can hold out. I told him we'd find a way to help him and just to, how would you put it, hang tight."

Dean nearly broke from the debilitating blow of that message. His brother was in dire need of help, and they were stuck on the outside, being of no use. He absolutely hated that useless qualm. It held no purpose for a time like this. Sam was fighting the battle of the Earth inside his head, and only he could fight it…nah uh, there had to be another way. It wouldn't be fair for him to fight alone.

And then a nasty, almost brilliant idea occurred to him. However, he didn't see any other choice.

"Then get me in there," he announced.

Both Bobby and Cass peered at him as if he just introduced himself as Madonna. "What?" they both said in unison.

"You heard me. Get me into Sam's head," he was dead serious, "Sammy needs help and I'm not letting him fight this alone anymore."

"Dean, there are serious risks at hand—"

"I don't care. He needs me and that's all that matters," he interrupted the snarky angel.

"Okay Candyman," Bobby folded his arms, "Say we were to get you in there, then what? How are you going to help your brother go up against the Devil? Last I checked, he gave you a new face in just a few hits."

"I know that Bobby, but…"he shrugged, shaking his head, "I'll think of something."

"Yeah well you better think of something," Bobby voiced strongly, "because if you do happen to get in there and this goes through, it's not just you and Sam that are at stake. We all will be under the axe if you can't get to him in time, you hear me?"

"I got it Bobby. But what other choice do we have? We have to try and help him. I don't know how, but we gotta try."

Cass huffed. "He's right. If anything, having Dean inside with Sam might actually help Sam in conquering Lucifer. And if he does, then that'll give us time to figure a way in destroying him for good without destroying Sam in the process."

"Is there a way?"

"Not to my knowledge, no," he answered somberly. "But we won't give up hope. We'll find something."

Dean gave a full-fledged smile. "Great to have you back Cass. Now let's get cooking. Put me into my brother's head…my God, that sounded dirty," he shivered with disgust, "Let's go!"

"I don't like this," Bobby gulped, resuming Cass's place on the bedspread.

"I know you don't Bobby, but what else are we going to do? I can't sit back and watch Sammy take on this alone. I won't."

The old man sighed, further settling onto the bed. "Alright."

"Wait, take this," Cass then pulled out a gold talisman in the shape of a pebbled cross out of his trenchcoat pocket and placed it into Dean's outstretched palm, and it made him wonder if he had that the entire time. "If and when you have Sam, and the Devil is at bay, take this out and say the words in nomen of Josafna, solvo nos. You must say those correctly and it'll bring you both back."

"So you're telling me you can't do your magic mumbo jumbo to get us out?"

"No, it would be too risky on my part. If because of my presence I were to alert Lucifer, he could use me to get out. It's no contest. That is something I'm not willing to risk. I'm sorry, but this is your choice. You have to escape yourself."

"Oh, that's just…peachy keen, isn't it?" Dean replied, rolling his eyes. "Okay now, how does this work?"

"Just get comfortable. I'll let you in, but remember you have to find your way back out."

"Alright fine. No problem. In nomen of Josafna, solvo nos. In nomen of Josafna, solvo nos," he whispered repetitively, leaning back against the wall, "Okay Sammy. Get the house ready for me, cuz here I come." He took up his brother's hand. "Oh God, I feel like a flower child. Don't you dare take this the wrong way."

He gripped the talisman over his chest tighter, and nodded to Cass to get going. "Hang on Sammy, I'm coming."

Castiel hovered over both of them, placing a hand across both Sam's forehead and Dean's. "Prepare yourself. It might not be what you would expect."

Dean laughed. "It can't be but so bad. He was in my head at one point, and there's nothing worse than…" his eyes suddenly rolled up into the back of their sockets, and his head sunk onto one of Sam's bent knees.

Cass shook his head. "He doesn't ever know when to shut up, does he?"

~o(Supernatural)o~

Dean was fully aware of the sojourn from his body and into the next. It was like taking a joyride on one of Stargate's travel tubes into the next galaxy, flashy lights, roller-coaster ride and all. Shaken up and somewhat unstable, Dean found himself in a dark, dank place. It was odd in that it smelt of moldy wood and rotten vegetable matter. Darkness enveloped all of his surroundings and it was only the smell he could go on.

Turning around, it was still dark, his pupils dilated to their fullest, and still, it was difficult to make out where he was.

Drip. Drip.

The casual sound of water trickling caught his attention and he whirled around, using his trained hearing to scope it out.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip

Moving ahead, hearing splashing at his feet, now learning that he's standing in, what he hoped was, water up to his knees. He worked through the watery cavern, following the drip drip. His senses were tingling like mad, and an involuntary shiver undulated up and down his spine. Terror was gripping him in an icy grip, and there was nothing, he felt, he could do about it.

He carried on, determined, with only one purpose in mind. His little brother was in here somewhere and he had to find him before the other guy did.

"Sam," he called, expecting to hear a response this time.

He was in for a big disappointment when all but the drip drip sounded. "Dammit Sammy, come on. We don't have much time. Sam? Where are you?"

More splashing, his arms fanned out searching for any small enclosure, a wall, anything? Being out in the open was probably not a safe bet.

"SAM! Say something!" he bellowed, then listened carefully after his reverberating echo. And that's when the hairs on the back of his neck became stone-like. There was no more drip drip. There was splashing, but it wasn't from his own feet. And suddenly he felt hot breath on the back of his neck.

Oh shit!

A growl sounded somewhere behind him. He whirled around throwing his arm out, ready to bash the living hell at whatever was back there, but his hand swung effortlessly into mid-air. The growl chorused again, only it grew in length, morphing into a banshee-like screech.

Dean started back slowly, before all logic pointed out to flat out run. He only made it a few jumps when something large, dark, and unseen had barreled into him, knocking him under the water. Spluttering, a little disturbed that he had to hold his breath because it felt so real, he clambered back to his feet, arms spread out defensively.

"Come on, you son of a bitch," he goaded. "Where are you at?"

The only answer he received was the sound of flapping wings and a long screech, before he felt something pierce into both his shoulders, and suddenly he became air-born. Wrenching out a pained cry, Dean felt for the things dug into his flesh; tear ripping out a good measure of his spine, learning they were broad steel-like talons. The talons then were connected to what felt like leathery reptilian skin. He couldn't see where he was going, only that he was flying at an incredible speed.

Oh this can't be good. "SAMMY!"

Well, well, well…not so bad in little brother's mind, eh? Well, trust me, it's about to get a whole helluva lot worse. Poor Boys. Gear up, next we have Dean battling the big bad, trying to find his brother, and Cass and Bobby may be up to something. I don't think there will be as long a wait next time. We'll see how work goes. Take care!