I'm back! Now let's see how our boys square up against the big bad! Alright, just as a warning, there may be some religious content that might spark some opinions. Note that's not the purpose of this fic. I mean no disrespect. Just please keep in mind, it's just a story. Enjoy!

~o(Supernatural)o~

Great volumes of light flashed and knitted amongst the dark sky. Dark billowy masses forged, giving birth to a raging thunder, whilst droves of lightning struck the ground, the Earth given rise to a tremulous clatter. Everything shook. Nothing could hide. Not even the smallest mole rat ducking into its dugout could escape the colossal tremors.

Nothing would…for the storm wasn't natural at all.

Castiel peered out the second story window, intensely studying the violent gale. He made a grunt of disapproval understanding what it meant. And he knew that time now was of the essence, and whatever precious minutes they had were dwindling fast.

He looked up to the ceiling and muttered sternly, "Come on you bastard. Don't you leave me hanging." When he plea went unheard, he forcibly turned back to the window.

Squeaking, like that of a polisher waxing a fiberglass carhood, sounded from his right. He sighed. That was the tenth or so squeak in the last couple minutes. If he heard the teeth-grinding noise again, he'd hurl. Though he wasn't sure if a supernatural being such as the likes of him could perform the human-like reflex, but if his reaction was anything to go by, the angel was sure he could do it.

He turned and saw the clean-shaven car mechanic twisting the oil-filled beer bottle in his hands. As if Cass needed a reminder of the man's threat. The grubby fingers continued to twirl the darkened glass, as though making a subtle tune only he could interpret.

Bobby sat on the edge of the bed staring absent-mindedly ahead. A lot had been on his mind lately: the worst of it were the two unconscious men on the floor just feet away. It had been awhile since he had partaken in the hunting world. A lot of what he had known had died along with his ambition to continue the hunt. But luckily some of his expertise never knew when to call it quits.

However, whatever knowledge he sustained wasn't going to help for this situation. He had no unearthly idea how to help the boys. And the feeling of helplessness ate at his soul greedily; so much he felt he could choke. He understood what was happening and that was worse. All of the books and paranormal paraphernalia he kept now in storage wouldn't have given a single clue either.

All he could do was wait…and it was slowly killing him.

The love he still possessed for the boys had never waned even after that fateful day. Even after he died and miraculously escaped the fiery pit coming back to life, it remained the same. Of all the non-existent phone-calls for the days following, or the very brief mention of the name Winchester, that fatherly love pulsated and flourished through his ethereal soul, keeping him alive and headstrong.

With that love still trucking strong, it further crippled his core to see the two Winchesters struggling again.

He knew in his mind and his heart that possibly things will never be the same—and a small part of him hoped this to be the case. His hunting days were over. It should be the same for the boys. They had dealt with enough from the preternatural world over the span of their lives. So, in hopes and prayers, he wanted nothing more than his boys to pull through this, so they can live the lives they so deserved.

He honed in on that last thought. Yeah, his boys!

Bobby then caught the creepy set of eyes staring at him. Unperturbed, he asked, "So are we in trouble?"

Cass casually glanced away back at the window, watching more of the lightning storm. "I know not what you mean."

The former hunter sent a sour glare towards the angel. "I may not be what I used to, but I can still detect bullshit a mile away, and it don't mean I'm dumb. The worst kinds of storm we get around here are tornadoes, and this is nothing like that. So what is it?"

The angelic being said nothing, instead looked to the two silent Winchesters over in the corner. Dean's head still lie upon his brother's knee, his face smooth and tranquil. Sam continued to ogle the bland wall beneath the window, devoid of all consciousness. Cass glanced again at Sam and he appeared bothered. "Something's not right."

Immediately Bobby stood up. "What do you mean?"

Again Cass said nothing but strode over to the wall. "I can feel it. Something—"

Just then Sam emitted out a loud, soul-cringing gasp. His eyes flew wild, his body going rigid falling back onto the floor. And before Bobby and Cass could reach him, the unyielding stiffness morphed into a full-blown Grand Mal seizure.

Cass was the first to reach him and he grabbed for the flailing head.

"Don't touch him," Bobby shouted. It wasn't a harsh, paranoid demand, more of a concerned instructional order. "You have to let it pass."

The angel did as told, but kept his hands spread over the sides of Sam's head. It intrigued him to see this uncontrollable action, more importantly it was querying in what was causing it. He peered into the worried face of Bobby Singer, and waited for the cue, as he too had no idea of what to do.

A minute went by—though it seemed longer—and the seizure came to an inevitable end. Sam finally became still, his eyes at half-mast, his body producing the occasional twitch.

Bobby passed a glance at Dean, who seemingly had remained the same. He looked back to Cass, "What in the Hell just happened?"

"Let me find out," Cass replied placing delicate hands onto the sides of Sam's head. He bent his head down, his eyes closed in deep concentration. After another couple of seconds or so, the doughy blues made their grand appearance again. "He's still alive…but—"

No one was prepared when Cass suddenly took flight across the room, landing on the desk. Bobby ran over, pulling the dizzy being to his feet. "Okay. Mind telling me what in the Hell was that?"

Cass stumbled over his loafers, his eyes wide and glossy. "Uh…" he swallowed the lump in his throat, "I got too close. He tried to pull me in, but I pulled out in time…a little too roughly I think."

"You think?" Bobby reiterated, gazing at the smashed pieces of what remained of his desk.

Cass coughed, resuming his full height. "He knows I'm here…" he suddenly paused, turning a fretful eye to the window. "Oh my God," he cried and ducked, pulling Bobby down with him.

A flash, red-hot and bright as the sun, pummeled into the house; a deafening roar chorused loudly biting at their ears. An explosion of ash, burnt and smoking wood pieces showered over them, leaving them choking on the noxious fumes.

Another flare was coming. An undulating, flickering light shone on the walls, growing bigger and bigger, until it infiltrated any and all darkness in the small room. The heat was unimaginable, licking angrily at their skin. Cass waved a hand, and the fireball left, as though it bounced off an invisible trampoline, flying back towards its launchers.

"Cass, what's going on?" Bobby yelled.

"They're here," he answered, raising both hands, mumbling a few choices phrases in Enokian.

"Who's here?" Bobby asked, stepping a foot away from the hole in the wall. "Lucifer's henchmen. How many are there?"

The angel didn't immediately answer.

Bobby turned. "Cass, how many?" A disconsolate gaze fell upon him and he could've sworn the anvil dropped through his stomach and punched a hole right through him.

"All of them."

~o(Supernatural)o~

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit," Dean blared in a litany, pacing back and forth with his hands scrunched in his hair. He had been pacing for a good five minutes since the door had slammed to a close, taking his brother with it. His core was numb. Never had there been a time when he had felt this much despair. He had led the enemy straight to his exhausted, injured brother.

"SHIT!"

Sammy, please forgive me…I didn't think.

That was for sure. He was so consumed with worry and determination to find Sam that he fell for one of the oldest tricks in the book. No wonder Lucifer had let him go so easily. He stated himself that Sam was one tough SOB to find. Only with him Sam would let his guard down, and that was what exactly happened.

He kicked the wall just for the added pleasure of pain to serve as partial punishment. With the pain throbbing in his big toe, he paused to think. Thinking would only get him so far, but now was the time to adopt a strategy. Pacing and cursing nine times the dozen wasn't going to get him anywhere either, except for his mouth and an appointed meeting with Lisa's dishsoap.

Okay, big bad has Sammy. Fucker is probably tearing him to shreds as we speak…dammit Dean! Think positively. Sammy needs ya. Give him credit where it's due. He's tough as a brick wall; so he can hold on a little while longer…now THINK!

The pacing now resumed, he skimmed through his cranial bank fast. A plan was good. Plans, if they went according to, always worked. Monster slain, vic rescued, time to go get a beer. Yeah, typical plans work.

But now was a tad different. For one, he was inside his brother's head, a figment, vapor, or merely a thought process. Two, both he and Sam were up against the biggest baddest foe humanity had ever seen. And three, he was stuck in Bobby's hallway.

So much for brawns to get him anywhere.

A few more minutes went by and nothing came to mind. The hallway before him still lay in shambles. The doors around were floating bits leading to nothing but an abysmal darkness. The simple thought of stepping into the inhabiting dark immediately went astray for his feet quivered at the notion. The only door that was the least bit appealing was the very one Sam disappeared through, the only one left.

So much for brains either.

Left with no other option, Dean blew out a big breath. Eying the black egress with a look of pure contempt, he lifted the back of his heels, ready to sprint. Slightly bent, he took off, body tense for the collision, his legs sprinting a mile apart. He closed his eyes for the presumable fracturing encounter, and…

Slam!

A wretched pain-filled cry rang long and loud, rattling the cracked and splintered walls. Dean grimaced and moaned, clutching onto his probable broken shoulder and slid down the vinyl-coated door. Unintentionally, a whine escaped and he grabbed the appendage tighter, waiting mercifully for the fiery hot pain to subside.

A noise, like no other noise he could differentiate, suddenly echoed through the dim-lit space. He perked up, listening intently. Several seconds later, the noise became a barely audible voice. Soon it grew louder and louder, more pronounced and distinguishable. It said:

Dean.

Dean continued to listen for it, his mind taut, eager, and attentive. It called again and Dean instantly leapt to his feet. He now recognized who was calling and it was none other than Sammy.

Turning around, his feet took the brunt of the impacts as he barreled into the still frame several times, calling out his brother's name. He charged, ramming his non-pulsating shoulder, and did any and all he could to break the damn thing down.

"Sammy!" he yelled with all his might. "Sammy! Hang on, I'm coming."

"Deeaaaaannnnnn!" he heard the call again.

"SAM…ARGHHHH!" Emitting out a cry, only thunder from the gods could match, his foot smashed through the wood. Giving into another few good kicks, the door was on the brink of shattering. Having lost so much time, Dean took a running step back and sprinted forward again.

This time the door would be no match…

This time he barged through…

And this time he kept falling…

Hurricane-like forces raged all around him. Bits of debris or rock or whatever that was hard barreled into him, knocking his breath out. It was so dark, not even a nocturnal animal with eyes the size of UFOs could see. His body twisted and catapulted, making him queasy, and yet he continued to fall. Straight down in the pit, in which he could only surmise, was the same pit Sam took a plunge into three years previously.

Dean screamed. Any other time, he'd take it like a man. But there was no time to act all masculine. He was falling fast…and probably to his death. At least this time, it'd be quick.

He waited for the brain splattering hit, and for the subsequent heat, the fire, the soon-to-be sizzling and blistering skin, just in time for it to be sloughed off with a sadistic razor by a deranged demon to come. He waited for his memories of Hell to parade back, to addle his mind, to forsake his mentality…

But none of that came.

The portal vanished and he zapped out into the day sky, much like something you'd see in Dr. Who. Except there wasn't any fluffy flight down or some Mary Poppin's way of softly landing onto manicured grass. No, like in Army of Darkness, he took the Bruce Campbell face-planting landing: the hard, tooth knocking, rib crushing, and manhood demolishing one.

Dean coughed, a tuft of thin grass fluttering in the air. Achingly when he sat up, the first thing he checked for was his teeth, to see if they were still in tact, as it felt like the entire front layer all had been knocked out. The second was his two little boys down below. God only knew he had to make sure they were okay. Once all was in sure working order, he looked up and his mind spun once more.

He was now in a neighborhood…more specifically his favorite one, the homely suburbia in northern Alabama, Crisco. Yeah, the one named after a cooking agent!

Rising up off the lawn, he looked all around. Straight and cared-for lawns, expensive gardens, trees at each property, the neat sidewalks, red doors, and large two-story houses…it was indeed his neighborhood alright. This place had seemed like it was too expensive to set up shop in, but its look were always deceiving. Even the lowest of the low could afford a spot, and that was what John had done. He had found a spot at the cul-de-sac of this particular. A person had needed a roommate and for $350 a month, the boys had found another home for a whole six months.

The moisture in Dean's eyes developed another coat. It had been too long since he had been there, their move having been an abrupt one. Never before during his previous life would he willingly admit he missed Crisco…but now he could. He terribly missed this place, it forever taking a place in his fragile heart.

Rubbing his nose, he took a massive sniff, eradicating any and all emotion elicited from the memory. Like before, there was a time and place to cry, and this was not it. He had to find Sam and oust Lucifer once and for all—God, that sounded so cheesy!

"Dean!"

As if on cue for his dallying thoughts, there was the call. He continued onward. The diminutive echo of his brother's voice sounded again and he took off at jog. "Keep shouting Sammy. I'll find ya."

"Where, where, where, where," he muttered, running up the street, peering into everyone's lawns and windows, searching for any sign of his distressed kin. An old woman had stepped out and he accidentally ran into her. "Oh sorry, Mrs. Flannerty!"

Mrs. Flannerty, a seventy-year old woman, gazed back at him with large bubbly baby blue eyes. He remembered her most as the old bag who sometimes babysat he and Sam, and would fatten em' up with her usual batch of homemade cookies. She was sweet and always had smelt of peppermint, but what he loved most about her was she had a large collection of classic car models, and each and every one of them had a story.

"There Dear. You gave the flabby lady such as myself a fright. Do be careful," she advised in a sweet gardeners' tone.

"Will do Ma'me."

She flashed a big toothy grin and shortly raised the basket of goodies, which Dean quickly noticed were his favorite: Peanut M&M and Peanut Butter. "Have a cookie. They're fresh too. Just come out of the oven."

"No thanks Mrs. F.," Dean moved to the side of her, "Sammy's in trouble again, and I gotta go."

"Oh but Dear, do try one. You look like you could use the energy."

"Nah, I'm fine!" He went ahead, but was pulled back. Alarmed, he looked into the face of the wrinkly old woman. Sam's voice echoed behind him and he stepped forward, keeping his eyes trained on the memory. The woman's hand remained firm around his bicep.

"You really should stay son," the luminous smile continued. Her grip tightened.

"Yeah," two little boys joined them. Dean recognized them as the bleach-haired Colbert twins he and Sam usually played with as children. "Please stay Dean. You can stay with us," they said in unison, also adopting mischievous grins, which was just downright creepy.

Dean's spidey senses were tingling. Something obviously wasn't right and he was caught right in the middle of it.

"Uh no. Guys, I gotta go," he steadily stated ready to bolt. Which was a good thing.

The memories faces all began to change. Their skin suddenly began to pale, turning ashen. Their cheeks and eyes sinking into their skulls, their teeth bare and filing down to triangular points. Dean yanked his arm out of the wench's hand, standing back and seeing the people, whom once he loved and adored, were now something revolting.

All the while they changed into something gaunt and inhuman, the boys' voices echoed repeatedly "stay with us…stay with us…stay with us."

Dean didn't need to hear Sam calling his name a third time. He bolted again, only now in slight fear. He had nowhere in mind to go, nowhere he could think as safe hiding, but one thing was sure: he wasn't going to stick around to find out. As he passed the houses along the street, all the neighbors came out their door, once healthy and picture-perfect, now were emaciated skeletal versions of their former selves.

As he ran, so did the things. Snarling and spitting out goo, the things, obviously Lucifer's gung-ho pen pals, ran fast, swiping their jagged claws, as if running for food. Dean ran faster, finding this moment oh-so-familiar. Sam's cries kept him going. Hearing the loud echo of his baby brother lengthened his stride.

Some of the Pandorum-resembling creatures howled, taking charge, a few gaining on him. A small girl, little Cara Petrey he remembered, only the scary fucked-up version jumped from her usual tree, sailing past him leaving fives tiny or so gouges across the length of his back.

However much it hurt, he kept going. He was tired of being something else's lunchmeat.

Heading straight for the cul-de-sac with the fifty or so ferocious fiends on his ass, he knew right where to go. Like a lightbulb at the top of his head that finally sparked on, his long legs carried on towards his old house. That was a safe zone. He knew it had to be. Why else would the idea form?

It was almost as if his brother was looking out for him. Just the grand sight of his old in-need-of-refurbishing home made him feel light on his feet. That was the cue and he took it.

He ran in through the door, which was surprisingly unlocked, and closed it. The many monsters ran into it. His feet slid from the onslaught. He grunted, keeping his weight applied to the door. It bounced and rang unmercifully from the many fists, the other many screeches and hollers stabbing at his eardrums.

What the hell are those things? Eh, well, I really don't want to know!

He turned around and leaned, rocking furiously with the harmonious beating session. Glancing to his left he saw a cedar chair. He pulled it up, leaning it beneath the doorknob and let go. The force applied and the chair hadn't broken. He was good to go!

Turning around, Dean wasn't at all surprised to see the scenery had changed compared to what he was expecting. Instead of a rundown kitchenette to the side, a splotched carpet and nicotine-stained walls, he was in a much different setting. A homely setting, with a mahogany staircase to the side, a seventies appeal to the living room on the left—complete with the bunny-ears cable television—and a modern dining room just beyond the stairs. In fact, it was almost too familiar…

It took him maybe a split-second to figure it out…he was in Lawrence. Home.

Sam's whisper was heard up above. He looked skyward just as a cannon-like boom occurred, raucousing the entire household. Shouts and gruesome cries of anguish followed a second later along with more cataclysmic booms. Some sort of hellacious fight had to be going on from the floor up. He took the stairs two at a time. Turning down the familiar hallway, he followed as the bangs, scrapes, and more shouts continued. The tremors in the house escalated to the point that any minute the house was going to level to the ground.

They soon fell silent, but Dean knew where they were coming from. Heading straight for the nursery, his foot came up and swiftly kicked the door in. The place was empty. Everything was in tact from the nursery stationed in the middle to the dresser of baby accessories on the sidewall. No Lucifer. No Sam. No revolting teeth-monsters. Not a peep.

"Sammy?"

No answer.

What the Hell? Did he miss him?

Coughing brought his attention to the other side of the nursery. And there he found Sam, on the ground, bloody, bruised, and possibly broken beyond relief. A mix between blood and sweat coated his entire facial complexion making his pained grimace seem twice as bad. His arm was held against his chest and a trickle of blood bubbled past his lip.

"Oh man, Sam," Dean knelt by his side, pulling the limp torso onto his knees. He frowned, wiping the reddened smears with his jacket sleeve. "Ah shit Sammy. Hang on, Imma gonna clean ya up."

Sam coughed, a small smile working its way through the battered flesh. "I…I…t-tried."

"Shhh. Shhh. Shhh," Dean cooed. "Ya did good. Gave it your all. Nobody else could've done what you did. Is he gone?"

"No." Sam coughed again, more blood spilling out his mouth. He peered at him through glassy slits. "Y-you s-said this was a dream. That…that it…w-was all in my head."

"Yeah, I did. It is," he reassured, now pulling back Sam's blood-caked bangs.

"It doesn't feel like a dream…"

"No, don't you say that. What I said was true. And you're gonna beat this. Keep fighting Sammy. We'll get him together," Dean stated, lifting his brother into his arms, ceasing the action when Sam moaned in pain. "It's okay. I'm here now and I'm not leaving ya."

Flutters of wings floated on the air, making them both tense with nervousness. A deep-throat growl reverberated and then there was that still spine-chilling voice that made his skin crawl.

"Ah so touching. Another family reunion, right back where it all started," there was a weird "mmm" noise and the natural healthy version of "Nick" came through the door. Dean didn't know what to expect what sort of form dear ole Lucy would take, but he figured the powerful being would take something else than the poor guy he rode for so long.

Lucifer gazed down at the body of Nick, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah I know. That's so yesterday, right? Need to find something new. Well, you see I could take many shapes. But as Sam only knew me in this form, that's what I appear to both him and you. For instance," he morphed into Sam's tall form, "You, Dean, also knew me in this suit."

Dean gritted his teeth, a bit taken back at seeing Lucifer as his brother again, speaking with Sam's voice. That feeling changed when Lucifer changed back into Nick. "But I think that would be a bit of a challenge, seeing two of us. Come on Dean, I'm that mean."

Dean snarled. "Fuck You."

Lucifer flinched, his lip curling. "Ew. No thank you," he replied causing Dean to roll his eyes. "I see you're still upset for my rather violent conniption. I really hadn't meant to hit you so hard, but you did interrupt something I had been waiting on for a very long time. It was very rude you know."

Sam stirred in Dean's grasp. He looked down and muttered, "No Sam. Stay still."

"Yes Sammy," Lucifer hissed gleefully, "Let's not make this too complicated for you. You might not make it through the next round." He walked further into the room where Dean saw the several bruises and abrasions and he made a proud smile for Sam. Atta boy!

Dean then found his voice. "Cut the crap. Why are you doing this?"

"Oh Dean. We're not going to go with the traditional villain revealing of the nefarious plot monologue just to stall, are we? That's so cliché," Lucifer spoke, glaring at him condescendingly.

"Then what do you want?" Dean pulled Sam closer to his chest when the poor guy began to shiver.

"What I want," the fallen angel repeated tapping his chin with an awkwardly bent finger. "Hmm, I must say no one has ever asked me that before. Hmm, what I want…" he trailed shaking his head as though in discontent, "It's too late for that now. All that time in exile. All because I said No?" he huffed. "Well of course, I've done a little more than that, but nothing that required that severe of a punishment—"

"You brought on the Apocalypse. You were gonna fry the world as one big shiskabob. No, you definitely should've just received the Dunce Hat," Dean said. He didn't mean to say it, but like most sarcastic things he has said all through the years, it just popped out.

Lucifer looked the least bit pleased. "You think you're funny," he nodded. "I think you're funny. Most of everyone else would cower at my feet, cutting his or her tongues out, but you? I like you. I knew I spared you for a reason."

Dean almost vomited at the confession.

"But as I was saying, for thousands of years, all that time I waited, I wanted nothing more than a second chance…"

Oh here we go, more sympathy for the devil crap, Dean thought.

"You humans get other chances. Why, you maggots receive chance after chance. Murderers. Rapists. All can be forgiven. Why must my brothers and sisters and I be any different?" he looked away, his deep brooding eyes glistening with nostalgia. "Just to see those gates again. A chance to speak with my father, to explain…"

"That was your choice buddy," Dean interrupted again. He certainly wasn't in the mood to hear any more of Lucy's emo crap. "You chose to live in darkness and despair. You chose to defy God and bring on this whole mess. All it is, is just one big temper-tantrum. Well I got news for you pal. Get a happy pill. They come by the dozen now-a-days."

"Tell me something Dean. Have you ever wanted something so badly you'll do anything to get it?" the Angel questioned, leaving Dean rather speechless. "Oh yes, I can sense you know the feeling. Well Sammy's gonna help me get it."

"I don't think so."

"Oh and who's going to stop me, you? Please, don't make me laugh…oh," he paused, chuckling a bit. "I seemed to have fallen into my own monologue trap, how silly of me? Well I suppose that was inevitable. I am the villain, after all. Um Sam, I wouldn't be doing that. I don't think you'll be able to manage it."

Dean instantly looked down and he saw Sam's face twisted in concentration, his injured arm stuck out. He jerked back at seeing the state of his brother's eyes: his irises were glowing icy blue. Sam then muttered something Dean couldn't hear and he threw out his arm, and suddenly Lucy was thrown back flying through the wall, where nothing but a large block was missing.

Sam then fell limp.

The blood drained from Dean's face and he shook his brother with vigor. Sam looked to be dead, having spent his last breath in propelling the big bad away. "No Sam no! Wake up. Wake up," Dean nearly shouted. He shook Sam again, willing the guy to open his purpled eyes.

After a few more seconds of trying, the slits reappeared, his eyes returned to the normal mossy green. Dean sighed with relief. He asked, "Are you okay?"

The lips parted, but there was a hesitant breath. Eventually Sam croaked out, "Y-yea."

Dean smiled. "I didn't know you could do that."

"Heh," his brother hiccupped. "I had a lot of time to practice," he whispered.

"Okay good. All right buddy, I've had just about as much fun as I can stand in your weirdo head. Time to wake up now," he looked down at him, but Sam wasn't looking at him, and if at all possible, had paled another shade.

Dean looked up and who he saw standing there made him quiver with consternation. "Mom?"

There she was, tall and beautiful, in her white nightgown, and she was giving that radiant smile of hers that would always make him melt. Carefully Dean set Sam to the side as though captivated by her presence, despite Sam's protests, and stood up, star-struck. "Mom?" he said again.

"Get AWAY!" Sam yelled.

Dean turned back to Sam. "What? Why?"

Mary changed. Her hair wilted away, the cheeks sunken in with black holes for eyes and her hands withered into skeletal paws with claws. Dean hadn't any time to react. The woman he once adored grabbed the sides of his arms, piercing the blackened nails into his flesh and bit a great chunk out of his shoulder.

"Dean!" Sam called weakly.

Dean flailed. Blood spurted up like a geyser, drenching both he and the thing. The bite screamed bloody-murder and he went all kung fu. He kicked the crazy fiend in the stomach, sending her back a few feet, when a nasty dizziness assaulted him. He teetered for a second before regaining his footing.

The woman was back, screeching and swiping her massive talons. He blocked the few hits; feeling a spearing headache begin to brew and his legs became wobbly. Oh, this can't be good.

He went over to the dresser, picked up the lampshade and struck it over the woman's head. It did nothing to faze her, except piss her off.

She came at him again and this time struck home. Diving in with mouth poised for a tasty bite, she latched onto his thigh, taking hold with the force of a pitbull. He screamed out, elbowing her in the head, but it proved to be futile. The thing wouldn't relent.

"Dean!" his brother called to him again.

The wooziness he felt earlier now tripled and he felt faint. His legs buckled and he fell, his body—or really thought projection—vulnerable for the feast, which no doubt was to come. The fiend released her grip and hovered over him with a look of pure mirth. This is it! He was about to become something else's meal!

She bent down, mouth spread open privy for the next bite…

…but she didn't get that far.

A large body appeared next to her and she looked on in interest. It was Sam with his arm raised, complete with a look of fury. "Get away from my brother," he said devilishly.

The monster didn't know what hit her. There was a flash of light from the extended hand, a shriek, and the thing was gone. Sam trembled, faltering a bit, but he remained upright.

Dean still felt faint. He had to fight hard to keep his eyes open. He looked down and saw his fingers were twitching horribly. Whatever the evil bitch had, he was sure to have it now. Crud! That damn bitch probably gave me something. Now I gotta get screened. Gross!

"Dean, you alright?" Sam gasped.

"Yeah I'm cool Sammy. Just was knocked off my ass by a ninety-pound hermit, but I'll be fine," was what he wanted to say, but all that came out sounded like a forced gurgle. Oy! He really didn't like this.

"Come on, we gotta go," his brother said shakily extending out a hand for him, when suddenly there was a strange wind. They both looked on out the door of the nursery. The wind picked up as if there was some swirling vortex. Both boys didn't know what to expect.

It happened so fast neither saw it coming. A blur fleeted by and the next thing Dean or Sam comprehended was Lucifer pinning Sam against the wall. He had him wedged in so tight Sam couldn't breathe. He kicked out his lanky legs, but they, too, were also proved incapacitated.

"Told you your little trick wouldn't keep me away for long," he gloated with no sense of mercy in his eyes, "Now to finish this."

I hope it was okay. Yeah, Sammy's still in trouble! What'd you expect?

Okay, here's the thing guys. Obviously this is taking me forever to update. At this rate, by the time I do finish this it'll be September and I don't want to do that. So I've decided to just go ahead and finish it. This way, I won't take so long in going back and forth and I can concentrate on one story at a time and finish them quickly. How's that sound? So yes, to my other readers, I won't update the other one for a bit, at least until this one is complete. Don't worry too much, this has only got a few more to go!

The next one will be up relatively quickly. Thanks so much for reading, and I'll see ya soon!