Author's Notes: Hey all! Sorry this took me so long to post. I gave blood last Wednesday, and right around that time, the weather here in Oregon decided to freak out, and we went from mild 70s to highs of 100 degrees, which sent me through loops and caused me to get sick. So, for the past week, I've been dealing with that, on top of working a lot and things like that. I've not managed to write in this past week at all, which just isn't awesome. Rawr!

Anyway, here's chapter six. I'm currently writing chapter twelve, so with any luck, I'll get to slightly more regular posting soon. I try to post every three or four days, so we'll see! At any rate, please leave me a review letting me know what you thought! I always appreciate them. :) I've got a lot of people adding this to their story alerts and favorite story lists, so I must be doing something right. Hee!

Sam stood in the middle of his motel room. Everything looked exactly the same, but something felt…off. Strange. He couldn't quite place what it was. He went over to the beds and checked them, but found nothing. He checked around the window, too, but again found nothing. The entertainment center…nothing. The bathroom…nothing.

Whatever it was, it was starting to make him a little uncomfortable. He was just about to head outside into the fog to check on the impala—even had his hand on the doorknob—but suddenly the door was opening toward him, and he stumbled back, right into the wall that squared in the entryway. When he looked back up, staring him in the face was Dean, who had his mouth full.

"Don' jus' stan dere, help meh," Dean said. He lifted his arms, one in which were cradled two bags from Burger King. In the other arm's hand he held the drink caddy with their two large sodas.

"All right, Burger King…" Sam took the two bags and headed over to the table, putting them on top of it.

That was what was wrong, he thought. Dean was late with the food.

"What took you so long?"

Dean swallowed what he had in his mouth. "There was some jackass biker going really slow, and I got stuck behind this string of cars, so I couldn't exactly make a turn without taking him out." He dug his hand into one of the bags and retrieved a few fries, shoveling them into his mouth with a somewhat disapproving look on his face. "Kinda wanted to, though. Man, I hate bikers. Think they own the road…"

Both Winchesters took a seat at the round table, leaning back comfortably in the chairs while they dined on their delicacy of the evening. Like usual, Dean had gotten his double whopper with cheese, while Sam feasted on a Tendercrisp chicken sandwich. It had been hours since either of them had last eaten, and even if it wasn't exactly good for them, that didn't matter. It just tasted good. No, it tasted great.

"For what it's worth," Sam began, "next time? Just mow him over. I was starving."

"Yeah, I just might." Dean took a long drink from his soda. It ended up going down the wrong way, and soon he was leaning forward and coughing. Sam just laughed at him, which made the older hunter a little angry. "Not…funny…!" he managed between coughs and deep breaths. After a minute he seemed to finally regain control, though his eyes were watering and his face was a little red. "Bitch," he spat out.

"Jerk," Sam replied immediately. "Don't inhale it next time and maybe that won't happen."

Dean scoffed some. "Whatever. I don't inhale my food. I'm not you, Sam. Human garbage disposal."

"Yeah, yeah."

The two of them went back into silence as they continued eating their food. With the way they were sitting, Sam had his back to the motel room's window, while Dean was facing it. The younger hunter was dipping some of his fries into a little puddle of ketchup when he felt the sudden urge to look up at his brother. In doing so, he noticed that Dean was staring outside. Curiosity getting the better of him, Sam turned his head and glanced out the window.

Standing outside eerily still and with a blank look on his face was Adrian, the guy from the club.

Dean appeared about as confused as Sam felt. The two shared a look.

"…Dude. Who's the creepster standing outside our hotel window?" Dean asked through still lips, keeping his eyes on the window.

Sam turned his head away. "That's some guy I met at the club last night. He hit on me. Thought I was gay."

Dean grinned cheekily. "What, you mean you aren't?"

"Damn it," Sam said in mild frustration. He threw a napkin at the shorter one, whose grin turned into a smirk.

"Aw, c'mon, Sammy. The fairy tales, the plaid shirts, the feelings…you play a pretty unconvincing straight guy. You should just save yourself the trouble and come out. I'd still love ya. Wouldn't undress around you, but…" Dean continued to smirk, clearly amused with himself.

"Whatever." Sam shook his head and looked away from Dean, but the inexplicable draw of the one standing outside at the window caused him to return his attention to Adrian. "Why is he still out there?" he asked, blatantly staring.

"Got me," Dean said with a shrug. "Maybe he wants in your pants."

"Well, he's not getting in them."

But again came a baffling desire to continue watching him. Sam couldn't seem to pull his gaze away. Before he knew it, he was standing up.

"Sam?" came the sound of Dean's voice, warily.

Sam didn't respond, instead heading closer to the window. Adrian continued to stare, as if right into his very soul. It made part of him feel uncomfortable, yet he approached even closer.

"Sam?" Dean called again.

Sam heard the sound of the other's chair sliding across the floor as he got up. It didn't stop him from stepping right up to the window. At this point Adrian reached out and put his hands about a shoulder's width apart on the window in front of him. Sam mimicked this.

"Sam, no!"

It all happened in a flash. Adrian's eyes, which had been hidden by glasses up until that point, were suddenly visible. His irises were entirely black, just like his pupils. It was the last thing Sam remembered seeing clearly before the glass of the window shattered and he was thrown back onto the ground. He could feel a weight on top of him, something heavy, but he had lifted his arms up to protect his face from the explosion of shards. They were quickly torn away from him and he realized it was Adrian atop him. Small, pointed horns sprouted up on either side of he other's forehead and he had shrunk somewhat in stature, becoming more demonic in appearance. His clothes were gone, as well, leaving his now pale, almost white skin visible.

Sam could hear Dean's voice in the background yelling, "Sam, no! Come on, Sam! Sammy!" But he didn't understand why his brother wasn't helping him to get the demon off of him. Try as he might, the younger hunter could feel his muscles tightening and becoming heavier, as if someone had replaced them with sandbags that had been filled to the brim and were about to burst.

"Come on, Sam!" Dean shouted. "You can beat him, come on! Wake up! Wake up, Sammy!"

Sam stared in horror as Adrian's once humanoid face turned completely demonic. His brow lowered and his eyes grew in size. Above all, when he opened his mouth, it revealed two rows of razor sharp teeth. The fear that Sam felt had seemingly paralyzed him.

"Sam! Sammy! Wake up!"

Why did Dean keep shouting that, Sam asked? Wasn't he already awake? He opened his mouth to say something, but found that he couldn't. Instead he felt Adrian moving in, making a slurping sound. Soon thereafter it seemed as if his energy were being taken right from him. Sam could feel himself growing weaker…

"SAMMY! WAKE UP!"

But all of the sudden, that last cry from his brother caused Sam to snap out of it. In an instant he opened his eyes, rejoining the real world and escaping from the dream that he had been experiencing just a moment before. He was still in the motel room, but was in his bed, and atop him was something…something heavy. It took Sam's eyes some time to readjust to everything.

He couldn't move his body.

He heard the sound of something hissing quietly, and in the shadows of the dark room, noticed something lifting itself up and away from his face. That seemed to relax his tightly wound, paralyzed muscles, and after a few shakes Sam had managed to somewhat stumble his way out of the bed. His entire self was groggy from having just awoken from the dream, and of course a demon would take that time to attack.

In a smart move, Sam turned on the end table light, which caused the creature in question to hiss again and pull itself away toward the entryway. This gave the hunter enough time to struggle to his feet. When he caught sight of it, he realized that what he was looking at was none other than what had been in his dream: an incubus.

Feeling disturbed, angry, and most of all, violated, Sam looked at the incubus before him with a glare. Thank God for that protection spell, he thought. It had worked in a strange way, but it had nonetheless done its job.

"You're the one who's been killing all those people."

The incubus didn't respond, and instead reached for the door with its long, nimble fingers. Sam extended a hand, and to his surprise, the incubus cried out, pulling its hand back and holding it to its chest. When Sam tightened his hand into a fist the demon cried out yet again, clutching its hand. That was when he realized that he apparently had some sort of telekinetic grip on the demon. Using the pent-up rage he felt to fuel the fire, Sam focused his eyes on the incubus' neck, releasing his fingers before slowly redoing the balling of his fist. There was a horrific crunching noise as he began to crush the incubus' neck and spine. As Sam lifted his hand he watched the creature rise from the floor, clutching at its throat.

Sam finished the job by hastening his formation of the fist with a quick last movement. The incubus' neck gave a terrible crack before its head lulled to the side. It wasn't until he lowered his hand that the creature lowered to the ground, collapsing gently into a pile of unanimated flesh and bone.

It took him a moment to realize that he had just killed a demon with his powers. There was still a thick haze in Sam's mind from the dream. It was just as vivid as the previous ones, although the fact that something seemed distinctively odd about it remained pertinent to the young hunter. Were his dreams trying to tell him something? What time was it, he wondered?

He glanced at the clock. 6:30 AM.

That wasn't the first time he had woken up at 6:30, and now that he caught notice of it, it surely wasn't going to be the last. There was a significance behind it that would need to be checked out further as soon as possible. For now, though, Sam needed to take a minute to breathe and recuperate. He had just been attacked by a demon and had managed to choke it to death.

Sam nodded, as if to confirm this all to himself.

It was stupid of him not to think that it could have been an incubus. They weren't as common as succubae, but that didn't mean they weren't out there. He should have expected something like that. Dean would have.

Sam rubbed his eyes. Dean. Dean had been the one in his dream to tell him to wake up…had been the one who finally got him to wake up. Was the protection spell designed to work that way? Was it designed to let the succubus or incubus into your dream, so you could identify it and kill it? He didn't know. All he knew was that Dean had saved his life, and in reality, he wasn't even there. Leave it to his brother to save him without even being around.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam murmured to himself.

Now, he thought, he just had to find a way to get rid of the body.

Knowing that the only way to truly kill an incubus was to burn it, Sam put on some pajama pants—having been traipsing around in his boxer briefs due to laziness the night before—and went out to the impala to get a large plastic bag and a lighter. It was going to be hard to destroy the demon properly and safely, but some half hour later, Sam had managed to do so. He hid near one of the motel's large trash receptacles and lit the incubus ablaze. Afterward, he gathered the remains with a piece of cardboard, poured them in with the rest of the garbage, and then headed back to his room.

There was no way that he could go back to sleep, he told himself. Not after that. But what was more, the severity of the situation had hit him while he burned the incubus' body. He had used his powers to kill something. It wasn't so much the fact that he had killed that was note-worthy to him; no, rather, it was the fact that his powers alone had done it. Sam could recall the tingling sensation that swept through his body as he tightened his hand into a fist, consequently squeezing the life out of the demon. There had been no pain at all in his head this time. Not even the slightest inkling of it.

But what surprised him the most was that he had done it without really thinking. It all came strangely…naturally.

Ruby's words suddenly rang in his head. You're a natural.

Sam sighed. Did he want to be a natural? The answer was a quick, resounding yes. Yes, Sam wanted to be a natural. He wanted to have confidence in the fact that he could control these powers and use them to save his brother's soul. Because without confidence, all he was left with was that crippling fear and sense of loneliness that he had felt while cradling Dean's body. And he didn't want to go back to that Sam. Granted, he hadn't made leaps and bounds away from him, but he most certainly had gone a distance. Retreating to who he used to be would only make things worse.

Normally, after something like what he had just done, he would feel a sense of goodness wash over him—a ghost of a prideful feeling that would remind him that what he was doing was for the better of the world. But this time, he didn't really feel it. He didn't really feel like celebrating, either. What would he even do if he chose to, anyways? Sam had been avoiding alcoholic drinks as best he could over the past couple of days, giving in only once at the club the night before—although he couldn't even finish that drink, much to his chagrin—because he knew that indulging even slightly would bring crashing down his whole fragile semblance of being okay. He had made that mistake once. He wasn't going to make it again.

Sam just couldn't do this right now. He couldn't hunt, not with worries of Dean looming over his head. While hunting had given him a brief period of relief from dealing with the whole "saving his brother's soul" ordeal, with the death of the demon, his mind's focus returned completely to saving Dean. It had intermittently been drifting that way anyways, but now it didn't have to worry about trying to split its attention.

Before he could do anything else, he needed to save Dean.

At least he had something good going for him at that moment. Having used his powers as he did—without pain and without triggers—proved that he could do it. And if he could do that, then he could learn to call for his brother's soul. And becoming capable of calling would ultimately bring Dean back to him.

Sam went and took a shower to rid himself of the feel and smell of soot that clung to his body. When he came back out, he headed over to his bed and dropped himself onto it, belly resting flat against the somewhat rough surface of the harshly starched comforter. All he could do now was try and practice more in order to become even more comfortable using his powers. That last session with Ruby had obviously helped more than he thought it would.

Part of him was concerned, however, that in becoming more comfortable with his powers, that he would end up like the rest of the special kids. He had feared this before but tried to give it little mind. Sam had been flip-flopping on things so much lately that adding one more thing to the mix seemed too much. Thankfully, there was a larger part of him inside that managed to squish that fear and remind him that he was different from them, that he wouldn't end up like them, and that he was fearing nothing, which was a waste of time and energy.

To his surprise, the longer he lay on his bed, thinking, the more and more tired he became. Soon, before he realized it, his heavy lidded eyes slowly closed, and Sam drifted off to sleep.

. . .

It had been well over a week since Sam had last spoken to Ruby.

He had woken up sometime in the mid-afternoon after having killed the succubus, thanks to a disturbingly sudden and overwhelming urge to go and see his brother in their dad's lock-up. With nothing to do coming to mind then other than to practice his powers, he had decided that a break was in order, and headed over there. It was the first time he had gone inside since he had first put Dean in there, and in walking inside, he had felt a strange sense of anxiety…something he couldn't really explain.

Dean's body had looked worse for wear, but that much was to be expected. After all, it wasn't as if he were magically going to be fixed somehow by being put in the freezer. Sam hadn't really expected that, and nor was he banking on it. It had mostly been to preserve him.

But seeing his brother's body had prompted him to come back the next day and finally sew up his wounds, as well as line the freezer with different roots and plants that he knew would keep things pure and clean. Had anybody walked in, they probably would have thought it sick, twisted and demented; for him, it was simply necessary. If he was going to reintroduce his brother's soul into his body, then he needed to make sure that it was functional. It certainly wasn't going to heal itself like it normally would, not unless it had life and vitality in it. And, of course, it didn't. Thus, it needed help.

Sam knew that, at least for the first couple of days, things would be excruciatingly painful for Dean. His brother would deal, though. He always did after these sorts of things.

Part of Sam was thankful for the fact that Ruby hadn't shown up to talk the night he came back from stitching Dean up, because it had given him a chance to look up the one thing that he hadn't even really thought about since this whole thing began: how he was going to reunite Dean's soul with his body. Sam had spent hours upon hours trying to find whatever he could online that dealt with making the connection—spells, potions, enchantments, anything at all. His first search had resulted in a big, fat zero amount of hits. Plus, no matter how hard he wished for a nugget of information to appear on them, there were only so many websites he could trudge through that were littered with fortune, happiness and love spells. If he ever needed any of those, then he knew where to look, but…

With the Internet having let him down, Sam had decided later that week to go and check out the local public library. There, he had spent nearly an entire day collecting books and researching them for any possibility of forging a bridge between the body and the soul. So many books were there, but they all told him the same thing, which he unfortunately already knew: the body and soul were two separate entities, and when one's life was over, their soul detached from their body, and either ascended—or descended—to its permanent destination. Or, in the case of two of the books he had read, it was reincarnated into something different. Since he knew for a fact that Dean's soul was in Hell, he didn't really have to worry about that happening.

…Though for some reason, the odd thought of Dean being reincarnated as some kind of animal had popped into his head, bringing him momentary amusement and relief from all of his exhaustive reading.

Sam returned to the library every day for nearly the rest of the week. It wasn't until the last Friday of the month—which was the 30th—that he happened across something that would finally give him the answers he had been searching for. In his first trip to the library, Sam had used the computer database in order to look through the books, and found the name of one that had to do exactly with what he wanted. To his disappointment, it had already been checked out. But, when he went in Friday morning, it happened to be sitting right there on the shelf, waiting for him. Given that he didn't have a library card, there was no way for him to check it out, and so after hastily snatching it up, he went upstairs to the third floor, where all the microfilm and periodicals were, in order to research it more intently, just like he had with all the other books.

The topic of this book in particular was spirituality in aboriginal cultures across the world, ranging anywhere from deep in the heart of South America to the vast expanses of Australia. It was Sam's hope that somewhere within the pages, he could find maybe one or two, if not more, different rituals that could be used in reuniting the soul with the body. Cultures untouched by colonization and technology often had the key to these kinds of things, and for hours, Sam poured all of his attention into the thick tome of a book, scribbling down notes of all kinds on the tablet of paper he had brought with him.

By the time the announcement over the PA system came to let him know the library was closing soon, he had filled up several pages with information, all of which pertained to things he thought might work in not only reuniting Dean's body and soul, but also how to keep his soul protected and contained while doing so. That was another step that Sam had seemingly forgotten to further investigate. There were so many things that he had forgotten to read up on, really, throughout this entire thing. But it was as he had thought earlier—he was still adjusting to all the changes, even this late on. Just when he thought he was doing better, he would realize something he had forgotten to do, and thus would have to go back and get it done. He couldn't be as on top of it as he used to be, not with having to readjust so often to a different situation.

Sam had pretty much sucked the book dry of anything it had to offer, as he didn't want to have to come back to the library any more after that day. He was beginning to feel a distinct sense of pressure, like he was in a time crunch…and that, if he didn't save Dean's soul soon, it would be forever lost. It had been nearly a month. He had to continually remind himself that this wasn't so much a matter of doing it quickly as it was doing it right. One mistake could foul up the entire plan, and then what would he do? What would happen to Dean?

He was tired. No, he was more than just tired; he was beat. Was it really already five o'clock? He had come in as soon as the library had opened that morning, and had spent his entire day there. His eyes were dry and his hand was cramping something terrible, but ultimately, it had all been worth it. With the information that he had now, he felt like he had truly helped to better solidify his plan.

Now, he could really work on putting it into action.