Coming up on the grand finale guys! (See A/N at the bottom.)

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Chapter 5

Dean cursed as the floor shifted beneath his feet again, almost tossing him into a wall. The stairwell was the only nearby part of the house that wasn't moving. It was like one of the fun houses he'd seen as a child at a County Fair.

Their progress down the hallway was hampered by the shifting walls. Shandor had done a brilliant job of designing the monstrous house. Whole walls and ceiling sections were unplugging and moving, leaving only small areas of the floor passable. He imagined that Shandor hadn't counted on anyone being inside the enormous puzzle box when it was activated.

As another wall moved and blocked their path, Sam shook his head with a grim frown. "I shouldn't have left him alone."

"I can't complain." Dean smiled ruefully. "Come on. Let's try to circle back. Maybe we can get through one of the connecting halls. We'll try Adam again when we're closer to the stairs."

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Adam drifted up through a haze of dizziness and pain, opening his eyes slowly. The room around him was lit by a dim, flickering light, and waves of heat buffeted him. For an awful moment, he was back in Hell…but aside from his pounding head, there was no pain. No demons with blades for claws, no Lucifer, no Michael.

His senses came back slowly, and he sluggishly rolled himself over until he found the source of the light: the work lantern Sam had set up, lying on its side against the wall near his feet. It was wavering, like it was struggling to stay on. Like the lantern, the contents of his and Sam's duffels were strewn all around him.

Rolling over seemed to help with his dizziness, but the throbbing in his head got worse. Adam gingerly ran his hand through his hair. It came back bloody, and there was a very tender knot on the back of his head.

The movement of the wall behind him caught his attention. It was shifting slowly, grinding along the floor as it migrated across the room. Adam stared at it a moment, noting that another room that they hadn't seen earlier was revealed beyond.

What the hell happened?

He scanned the room, eyes coming to rest on a hole in the center of the floor. The concrete was cracked, large fissures radiating out toward the walls. Smoke wafted slowly up out of the hole, illuminated from below by a dim orangish glow. Adam could hear huffing, like a large animal panting.

Shandor's ghost. The memory came back to him. The spirit they'd been hunting had sacrificed itself. The last of forty sacrifices.

"Oh, crap." Adam spoke softly to himself, more concerned with his throbbing head than anyone—anything—overhearing. He forced himself up to his knees and searched frantically for the salt carton he'd used earlier. The carton was overturned a few feet away, most of its contents spilled in a tall pile.

Frantically, Adam crawled over and scooped the crystals into his hands, spreading them slowly around him to recreate the supernatural barrier. Whatever Shandor had released, Adam didn't want to get that intimate with it.

One trip to Hell was enough.

Scattering the salt by hand was haphazard, the line seriously zigzagging whenever the room decided to spin, but Adam managed to close himself into the corner, his back against the crawling wall behind him. It might buy him some time to get help.

He completed the work just in time. A huge, clawed hand reached over the lip of the hole and pulled. An instant later, the demon rose up into the room. Its skin was black and oily, glistening in the flickering light of the lantern and the glow of hellfire from below.

The beast had the head of a goat, hairless, but crowned with three great, curved horns and pointed, laid-back ears, and an inverted pentagram carved into its forehead. A thick, horse-like neck connected the ponderous head to a muscular humanoid body. Four powerful arms swiveled out from its multi-jointed shoulders, with large five-fingered hands. Each long finger ended in a razor sharp claw. Legs as thick as tree trunks supported the creature's weight on cloven-hoofed feet.

Standing seven feet—eight or nine with its horns—it was simply one of the most ferocious things Adam had ever seen. And he'd seen Lucifer and Michael in their natural forms. Staring at it as it struggled onto its feet, Adam shook his head in near-disbelief.

"You are one ugly mother—"

The demon pitched its head back and roared, the throaty sound vibrating the floor and Adam's bones. It didn't do anything for his headache, either. He scrambled back against the shifting wall, willing it to move slower so his salt line wouldn't be outflanked. Adam dug his cell out of his pocket and dialed Dean's number, the first on the list.

Dean answered quickly. "Adam? Are you okay?"

"Um…."

The demon took a halting step forward, obviously testing its limbs.

"Not really."

"Shandor is headed your way! If—"

"Been here already," Adam interrupted quickly. "He sacrificed himself, I think. Brought the demon up."

"You mean—?"

"Yeah. It's here."

The demon's dead, shark-like eyes fixed on Adam, watching his every move.

"It's looking at me."

He heard Sam's voice in the background. "That's…not good."

Adam rolled his eyes. "You're telling me, Stanford."

"We've reached the stairs. We're on our way down. The house is going crazy up here," Dean said, his voice crackling through the speaker as the signal fluctuated. "Is it half as ugly as that picture Sam dug up?"

The demon lowered itself onto its front arms and began stalking toward Adam's corner, a deep, angry growl resonating from its throat.

Adam swallowed thickly and spoke softer. "I think it can hear you, Dean."

Dean's voice changed; he was talking away from the phone. "I thought you said it would need a human host."

"I said most of them do, Dean!" Sam replied angrily. "This is no time to nitpick!"

"Adam, can you get out of there?"

Adam glanced around. The demon blocked his view of the stairs leading back into the house. Behind him, the wall had slid enough to reveal more of the hidden room. He flailed to find his flashlight and shone it through the opening. The room beyond was empty, but another set of stairs leading up could be seen through a narrow door in the farthest wall.

"I think so. There's more stairs behind a wall."

"Take 'em," Dean ordered. "See if we can meet up on the first floor."

Adam closed the phone and retrieved his handgun, which fortunately had landed near him. The demon was moving haltingly toward him, still. It seemed to sense the salt barrier between them, and was shuffling left and right, looking for a path of attack.

He didn't give it a chance. The wall had moved enough so Adam could squeeze through the opening. So long as he didn't breathe. The demon clearly realized what he was doing, because it angled itself closer to the wall, trying to reach across the salt line. It howled when its hands were repelled.

It took several long, uncomfortable seconds, but Adam managed to squeeze through the slender gap and enter the hidden room. It was only fifteen or twenty feet across, small next to the basement. There were some boxes and storage cabinets in the room, but they were open and obviously empty. Whatever Shandor or his cult had kept in there, it was long gone.

On the other side of the wall, the demon bellowed angrily. Adam bolted for the almost-hidden stairs, pausing only to check the chamber on his gun. His head pounded with each hurried step, but he pressed forward; he'd pass out later.

When he was within arm's reach of the doorway, Adam heard the thump-thump-thump-thump of heavy feet behind him. An instant later, the demon exploded out of the wall, horns first. Its bulk demolished the wood, sending splinters and fragments hurtling across the room. The metal framework continued moving, slightly faster now that its wood covering was removed.

Baphomet cast an angry glance around, then spotted Adam near the stairs. It charged, roaring and bearing a set of long fangs from its drooling mouth.

Adam spun and ran backward, firing his .45 seven times as he retreated. One round went wide, the next grazed the demon's ear, but the remaining five planted themselves in the creature's head and neck. Baphomet stumbled, shaking its massive head as though Adam had dazed it, but didn't seem too injured.

He turned back and bolted through the stairwell door, smirking to himself. Five hits out of seven. "God, I'll never complain about training again!"

Halfway up the stairs, he heard the demon ram the narrow doorway and stop, pounding on the walls in blunted fury.

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Sam found a relatively stable area near the den where they could regroup. He had Dean's duffel bag on the floor, rummaging for weapons they could use against the demon. They'd come in fully loaded, just in case, but some of their tools were split between the three bags, and two of them were downstairs with the demon.

"How long do you figure we have until the trap is completely open?" Dean asked, eyeing the still-moving ceiling panels. The walls on the first floor had stabilized, finally, only a few segments were still shifting into position. The floor was littered with shattered glass and toppled furnishings where the walls had shifted away from their regular locations.

"Don't know." Sam shook his head, glancing up at his brother from where he worked. "I'd say we have some time. The design is amazing, but it's old and probably corroded. The fact that it's moving at all is a miracle."

"Or a curse," Dean added.

"Funny how close those two usually are, eh?" Sam went back to organizing. "We've got two shotguns and plenty of salt rounds. We know a few exorcisms by heart, but all the holy water is in the other bags, and we're a man short."

"Not anymore," Adam's voice called from behind them. He was making his way up the hall toward them, having to climb over a few upended cabinets and bookshelves.

Dean smiled at the younger man. "Adam, thank God." He frowned as the blond hunter got to them. "Hey, what's this?" He reached out and touched the base of his brother's skull, finding still damp blood. "Are you all right?"

Sam turned, taking in Adam's bedraggled appearance.

Adam winced when Dean probed the back of his head. "Had a rough encounter with a wall when Shandor released the demon."

Dean held up a hand with three fingers extended. "How many fingers do you see?"

Adam frowned, then shot Dean an apologetic look. "Will you be mad if I say six?"

Dean scowled. "Damn it. You've got a concussion. Sit down here." He guided Adam to the floor beside them. "You get a good look at the thing?"

"Does it look like the pictures?" Sam asked, stepping over to examine the younger man's injury himself. The wound wasn't bad, but it was swollen and probably hurt like a bitch.

"Well," Adam took a few deep breaths, "it sorta looks like a goat. Though it makes you look short."

"Yikes," Dean murmured. "Did it attack you at all?"

"It came after me when I ran. I burned half a clip of iron rounds into his head, but all that did was slow it down."

Sam looked at Dean in alarm. "We've got to stop it before the trap opens all the way. If that thing gets out—"

"It'll probably eat the neighbors. And us!" Dean agreed bleakly. He bit his lip, thinking.

Sam handed Adam a cloth to press against the lump on his head.

Dean began to nod.

Sam knew that meant he had a plan. We're doomed.

"All right. Do we have any spray paint?" Dean asked.

Sam pointed at the floor. "In the other bags in the basement."

"That…actually works. Okay. I think I know how to handle this. We need to set a trap, and then lead this demon into it."

Sam frowned and forced himself not to inquire about his older brother's mental health. "And try not to get killed in the process. How are we going to get down there without it attacking us?"

"Leave that to me." Dean grinned, and then Sam knew they were in trouble.

"What can I do?" Adam asked, pushing himself to his feet with some effort.

At that, Dean frowned. "Find your way outside and get to the car. You're in no condition to fight this thing."

"I'm not leaving you guys in here alone," Adam countered stubbornly.

Sam nodded sagely. "He's your brother, all right, Dean."

Dean glared at him. "Yeah, he shows a little attitude and suddenly he's my brother."

Adam wasn't amused. "I'm not leaving."

"How can you shoot this thing when you're seeing double?" Sam asked, trying to be reasonable.

"It'll be harder to miss that way."

Dean sighed, relenting. "Fine. But you're sticking with me. Don't wander off."

Sam reached down and grabbed a shotgun. "What do you have in mind?"

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The farther down the stairs Dean got, the stupider his plan started sounding. He could already hear the demon growling and snarling somewhere below him. They had determined from the house plans that the stairwell ran up near the center of the elaborate trap. The demon would be able to move up or down the stairs, but not out into the house.

At least for a while. The house was still moving.

They laid more salt at the entrances to the first and second floors, just in case. At Adam's suggestion, they poured the salt along the walls as well as the doors, to make sure the thing didn't just bust through them. Covering the two entrances had used up all their remaining rock salt—they couldn't find any table salt in the wrecked kitchen—so it had to be enough.

Dean reached the basement and slowed, bending to see beyond the entranceway. The demon seemed to be out of sight, behind the stairs. Probably in the other room where Adam had escaped.

Raising his shotgun, Dean crept to the bottom of the steps and scanned the dark room. Light from their lantern still flickered, casting long shadows across the open space. He couldn't see anything, and even the demon's heavy breathing had stopped.

Dean heard the movement to his immediate right before he saw the clawed hand swooping down. Reflexively, he dove forward and rolled across the cool concrete. He came up and turned. The demon was right by the stairs, its clawed hand shredding the drywall to the left of where Dean's face had been seconds earlier.

He came up firing, sending two blasts of rock salt into the demon's torso. It stumbled back, clutching at its chest, and shrieked.

At least rock salt hurts it, Dean thought. He wasted no time bolting back up the stairs, reloading his shotgun without looking down.

The demon recovered and lunged around the corner of the stairwell, swiping at Dean's ankles with two of its arms. Dean felt the denim of his jeans split at the left ankle. Too close.

He turned when he reached the top of the first flight, putting two more shells into his pursuer. The demon was infuriated. It gave chase, its cloven feet clicking against the stairs.

Dean didn't wait, just turned and took the steps two at a time, Baphomet close on his tail.

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Sam peeked around the corner. The basement was empty. Dean's distraction had worked; the demon was racing up the main stairwell.

Silently, he slipped out of the narrow secret staircase into the hidden room. Adam had been right: the demon had made short work of the moving wall. Debris was everywhere. Long claw marks marred the walls and floor where the creature had tried unsuccessfully to get out.

He moved quickly over to where their duffel bags rested. Their supplies were scattered, but he found the spray paint cans easily enough.

The hole where the demon had emerged was large but clean. Most of the debris and dislodged stone had landed farther out, along the walls. There was plenty of space to draw a new devil's trap around its resting place.

Gunfire sounded in the house above him. Sam took a deep breath and went to work as quietly as he could.

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There were different kinds of demons. Some were the smoky, gaseous kind hunters dealt with all the time, while others were corporeal. Some were smart, some were dumb. Some remembered being human, and were thus more sympathetic…some were just pure evil. But the one thing they all shared in common was a massive ego.

So, when Dean got the jump on Baphomet and injured it, however mildly, it was more or less a sure bet it wouldn't give up until it was feasting on Dean's sweet hide.

It was unclear yet if Baphomet fell into the smart or the dumb category, but either way, it didn't disappoint. It followed Dean doggedly, even though it was somewhat slowed by the congested stairwell.

Dean swung past the first floor landing, not stopping or looking back. He kept running, bounding toward the second floor as quickly as he could. The demon was only seconds behind him. It passed the doorway to the first floor with barely a glance.

When Dean reached the second floor, he crossed through the doorway into the devastated hallway outside the study and stopped. They'd done better than just line the wall. The entire landing was covered in scattered salt pellets. The demon could go no further.

Baphomet seemed to sense the problem, careening to a stop just a few steps short of the landing. In its haste, it ended up on all fours—or, sixes—just one step away from where Dean was waiting for it.

"Wrong turn, fugly." Dean fired his shotgun with both barrels, point blank.

The blast struck the demon in the head and chest with enough force to knock it backward. It tumbled down the steps, landing in a heap on the flight below, howling in pain. Dean reloaded his weapon, stepping out onto the landing to get a clear shot.

From below, the demon screeched as more bullets pelted it from below. Adam was on the first floor, hammering away with iron rounds from his reloaded .45.

Dean jogged down closer as the demon tried to recover and put two more blasts into its midsection. It fell, rolling partway down the next flight of steps, in Adam's direction.

"Adam! Stay behind that salt line!" he warned from above.

"Not—not a problem," Adam called back, voice shaking. The kid might need medical attention before the night was over. He was a trooper making it this far.

Dean followed the slowly retreating demon down. It stopped at the first floor landing, swiping the doorway and trying in vain to get at Adam. From his position above, Dean saw Adam sitting back against the wall in the first floor hallway, reloading his handgun and firing again.

He was beginning to think Baphomet belonged in the dumb category. So far it was only reacting to them, not using any strategy. That was fine by Dean; he would be happy to send it packing with a minimum of trouble.

Baphomet tried again, fruitlessly, to breach the doorway where Adam was, but it couldn't. Dean reloaded and moved closer. Suddenly, the demon stopped, and stood taller on its legs. It sniffed the air around it, snorting like a bull. Dean fired, but abruptly, the demon turned and bolted down the steps. The shotgun shells went wide, missing completely.

Dean met Adam at the door and the two headed down the stairs, quickly but cautiously.

Come on, Sammy, be ready!

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Sam worked as fast as he could. The trap had to be large enough to cover the floor around the hole. They wanted to get the demon as close to where it had emerged as possible so it would still be within the large confines of Shandor's original trap.

He sprayed the next section. They only had red paint, and in the gloomy basement, with only the flickering lantern, the reddish tint almost blended in with the gray concrete.

So long as the demon had eyesight similar to a human, they'd be fine.

Sam had only one pie-shaped wedge left in the circular trap. The quick-setting paint meant that seven-eighths of the circle was already dry. He shifted place over toward the stairs and bent to fill in the remaining section.

As he held the can out to draw the final set of sigils, he froze. His mind drew a total blank. Sam looked over at the sigils to his right, from where he'd just come, then at the ones to his left, but…

Sounds like that of an avalanche of wood pierced the quiet room. Sam turned, surprised, only to be caught directly in line with Baphomet as it charged back into the basement.

Sam felt one huge hand close around his throat, and then he was lifted into the air and across the room. Moments later, he was slammed back-first into a wall with crushing force. Agony lanced through his chest and side as he found himself face to face with the massive demon.

Its eyes changed from oily black to glowing red as it leaned in, sniffing him like a wild animal. The glowing orbs seemed to pierce into his mind. The pressure on his throat tightened, cutting off his air.

"I smell the Morning Star…" a deep, gravelly voice echoed in Sam's brain as he struggled for air. "But he is not free… What have you done, subcreature?"

Was it reading his mind? Could it actually smell Lucifer on him? Sam gasped for air, clawing at the demon's immense hand. The thought made him feel sick. He had enough trouble living with his possession by Lucifer; Sam didn't want to have to explain the whole screwed up mess to a berserk demon.

The demon's two rear arms raised above Sam, razor-sharp talons extending from the large fingers. They appeared thick enough to tear him in two.

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Dean arrived in the basement in time to see Sam get rammed into the far wall. He glanced over the floor quickly, noticing immediately that the trap wasn't complete.

"Damn it!" Dean advanced into the room. Adam was right behind him. Dean pointed at the dropped paint can. "Finish that, now!"

His youngest sibling didn't argue, diving for the can and hurriedly checking to see which sigils were left to do. He was already painting when Dean crossed over into the trap himself. The demon was just on the other side, mere feet outside the circle.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, drawing Ruby's demon-killing knife from its sheath. He'd held it in reserve, not knowing if Baphomet would be vulnerable to it. Not all demons were.

The creature didn't turn, just continued trying to twist Sam's head off.

Dean pivoted and flung the knife, then brought his gun up. The knife imbedded itself in the demon's back. It screamed, twisting around to see what had hurt it. Noticing Dean, it released Sam and spun toward him, advancing angrily. Two more shotgun blasts barely slowed it down.

Falling back, Dean crossed the trap, coming out at Adam's side as the younger man discarded the paint can and fired his .45 at the onrushing beast.

It slammed to a halt barely two feet from where Adam kneeled on the floor. The trap was complete. Baphomet was enraged. It raised all four arms and lunged forward, but literally bounced off the mystical barrier between them.

With Sam on all fours and coughing, Dean took up the next task himself. He began an exorcism—the only one he'd memorized, no point in taking away Sam's job—while Adam moved to retrieve his own shotgun from the other side of the room.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion infernalis adversarii, omnis legio…"

The demon roared, trying again to attack Dean, but it was no use.

Dean stepped back a few feet anyway, just in case. "Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte…"

When Adam returned, the demon turned on him, trying vainly to get out of the trap. When it began sniffing at the recently painted section, Adam intervened. He fired two salt rounds into the demon's upper body. It screeched and stumbled back toward the center of the trap and the hole where it had emerged.

Dean paused the recitation long enough to add his own firepower to the attack. His shotgun blast pushed the demon farther back, and it staggered, collapsing halfway into the opening.

"Terribilis Deus de sanctuario suo. Deus Israhel ipse truderit virtutem et fortitudinem plebi Suae. Benedictus deus. Gloria patri!"

With a final, impotent cry, Baphomet fell backward. It never landed. In mid-air, the beast's body erupted in flames, disappearing in an instant in a burst of light and smoke. All that was left was a thin powdering of sulfur on the concrete floor and Ruby's knife.

As soon as the fireworks stopped, an eerie quiet descended over the room. The overturned lantern in the corner finally stopped flickering, and cast a brighter glow over them.

Dean turned to Adam, who was standing a few feet to his right. "You okay?"

The younger man nodded slowly, though he was sweating. "I was really dizzy, but I'm feeling better now."

Dean smirked. "That's the adrenaline. It'll wear off and that headache will be back in force. Why don't you sit down while I check on Sammy?"

Adam nodded and all but collapsed onto the dusty floor. "Sound medical advice."

Trotting across the trap, keeping his shotgun ready just in case, Dean moved to kneel beside his other abused brother. "Sammy? You with us?"

Sam clutched at his neck, but looked up and nodded. His voice was hoarse. "'M alive."

Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder, casting a relieved glance across to Adam, who was sinking closer to the floor as the adrenal high wore off. "Well…that wasn't so hard, now was it?"

If Sam could have managed it, Dean was sure he would have groaned as loud as Adam.

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Dean sat beside Adam at the bar. The diner looked old-fashioned, but apparently it was just a style choice, judging by the menus and choices. He nudged the younger man. "Don't forget to get more ice. That one's mostly water."

"Trust me," Adam answered distractedly, holding the bag against the large lump on the back of his head. "I won't forget." He was eyeing a cute, brunette waitress pouring coffee at the end of the bar.

They had stopped for some food a few miles away from the Flemings' place, on the way to the motel. Dean needed to call Bobby anyway, and they all could use some fuel. "Long night" didn't begin to describe it.

Dean glanced over his shoulder. Sam had been lingering by the Impala, ostensibly putting away the first-aid kit where they'd patched each other up earlier. Now he was sitting on the hood, staring up into the night sky, looking about as alone as someone could look.

He turned back to Adam, who was still staring down the bar. The waitress was headed their way. "Hey, can you handle this? I gotta go outside."

Adam looked at him absently. "What? Oh, yeah, yeah, Dean, go." He waved his hand in the direction of the door. He hid the ice pack beneath the bar as the brunette waitress got closer and smiled brightly. "Hi there!"

Dean left the stool and retreated, laughing. I'm creating a monster.

Exiting into the cool night air, Dean headed for the car, scanning their surroundings. The all-night diner's parking lot was all but empty, a few semis parked near the road. The first hint of dawn was visible through the trees to the East.

He circled around to the nose of the Impala and slid into place next to Sam. Reaching over, Dean gently poked his sibling in the side. Sam winced, grunting softly.

Dean nodded authoritatively. "Yeah, pretty sure those ribs are cracked. We can stop by an ER if you want."

"I've had worse," Sam whispered hoarsely. His neck was bruised badly, but there didn't seem to be any internal damage.

"I talked to Bobby," Dean said, changing the subject. "He called Joshua and Jefferson, and they know a work crew that owes them a favor. They're going to re-floor that basement, build in another devil's trap on top of ours and fill in the whole room. Just to be sure."

The house was a wreck. They'd reversed the levers, once the demon was finally exorcised, but the damage inside had been done. Whole walls had split open, and much of the renovation work the Flemings had done was obliterated.

It was unclear if Shandor's psychotic cult had merely summoned the demon or actually built some sort of Hell Gate, but Bobby was on it. He'd make sure the place was secure before the work crew finished.

"I talked to Annette, too. Explained it all as best I could. She's going to wait until they're done, then sell the place and move back to New York."

Sam nodded slightly. "Good."

They sat silently for a few minutes, Sam staring blankly at the stars, Dean trying to think of something to start the conversation he knew they had to have. It wasn't unlike a hundred other times they'd sat atop the Impala, except this time, Dean wanted to say something and didn't know how.

Adam's words echoed in his head. If you open up, he might.

Rolling the thought over in his head, it came to him. Dean pulled out his cell, opened his drafts, and pulled up the text he'd been delaying for weeks. He held it out to Sam, who took it after a surprised moment.

"What is it?"

Dean shrugged. "It's a text I keep meaning to send to Lisa…but I never do. I guess…I guess I don't want to know what she'd say back."

Sam stared at the message for a long while, then handed it back. "You could patch things up, you know. I think she'd listen."

"Maybe."

They sat in silence a while longer before Sam spoke again. "I, uh…I zoned out. In the basement, I just— I've drawn a devil's trap a thousand times and I just…I got to the last part and drew a blank. It's been happening a lot lately."

Dean sat quietly, turning his head to Sam but not making eye contact, afraid he might frighten him off.

"Sometimes…it's hard to remember that I got out," Sam said darkly. "I can still feel…things they did. You know?"

"Believe me," Dean said earnestly, "I do." Even from the corner of his eye, Dean could see the miserable look on Sam's face.

"I could have gotten you and Adam killed tonight."

Dean finally looked over, trying to keep his expression open. "We…we all went into this with a lot of baggage. I know I did. You did. Adam did. We could have gotten each other…"

Sam shifted, visibly uncomfortable. "Dean, you—you said that if I wanted to talk…"

"Yeah," Dean answered simply.

Sam paused, the reluctance showing on his face. "That demon…it said— It said it could smell Lucifer on me."

Dean grimaced. "Really?"

"That's what it said. I guess that's why it came after me."

"Hmm." Dean blinked, soaking that up. "We better buy some Febreeze."

Sam glared for a moment, before getting the joke, then punched him in the arm.

Dean wanted to make it easy on him. "Sammy…listen, this, all of this, it's more than a five minute conversation, you know? Adam's gonna be on concussion watch for the next few hours, at least…"

Sam smiled faintly. "Yeah."

"So, I was thinkin'," Dean continued. "Maybe we'll fall off the radar for a while. You know? Clear our heads. Show the kid the Grand Canyon. Spend a few months in Baja. Tijuana, man." He let the idea hang in the air a moment, silently hoping Sam would take it. He was almost surprised when his brother did.

"A few months, huh?" Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Clear our heads. Yeah, I like that idea."

He turned slightly, looking over his shoulder into the diner. "I don't know about Baja, though, Dean. Looks like you have competition now."

Dean followed his gaze. Inside, the brunette waitress had settled in front of Adam, resting on her elbows while he animatedly spoke, pointing occasionally to the back of his head. Dean wondered which heroic tale Adam was spinning for her about himself. He seemed to like fire rescue stories.

"Kid's got the knack. It must be hereditary." Dean grinned, then looked at Sam. "Well, obviously it skipped a generation with you, but still."

Sam elbowed him in the ribs. "I don't think the world is ready for two Deans."

Dean faked a grimace. "One Dean. At best, he's Dean-like, thank you very much."

"I dunno…he might be gaining on you," Sam said, barely hiding his smirk.

Dean sighed. It was going to be a long ride to Baja.

END

(One more chapter follows, with a few scenes that were cut from the fanzine print. Chapter 6 is the "Deleted Scenes.")