Chapter 10

They'd done everything they could. Dean had been treated and medicated, and was as warm and comfortable as they could make him, but after several hours, it was clear to Bobby that something was still very wrong. He'd told Sam that he would do first watch; he could see the exhaustion wilting him. Bobby had at least slept decently; Sam had lain awake for most of the previous night. The younger man reluctantly agreed, and was now asleep.

Once the sedation had worn off a little, Dean seemed to be trapped in some sort of nightmare state of R.E.M. Bobby did his best to penetrate his fevered state of mind with soothing words and cool towels, but still he jerked and moaned and fought against whatever terrors were vexing him. Twelve hours-the doc said they'd know within twelve hours if the med was effective. Well; four hours had passed, and it seemed that Dean still struggled feverishly against the insidious adversary of infection. He certainly struggled against something.

Bobby was mopping his brow for the hundredth time when Dean bolted upright; eyes open, and terror-filled.

"Easy, son; it's Bobby. It's ok."

"Bobby?" Dean croaked. "I can't ...can't see you-"

Bobby placed his hands on his shoulders, trying to lay him down again. "Dean, what do you see?"

Dean shuddered and breathed with panicked gasps. "Burning...blackness...evil ...it's Sam, they want Sam!" He tried to get up, a terrible urgency consuming him. "Demons! Bobby, they want Sam! They said they have plans, some destiny! They're trying to get me away from him!"

Bobby forced him flat against the pillow, worried he'd tear out his IV, or hurt himself. "Nothing will happen to Sam, he's here and he's safe. It's ok-"

"No!" Dean cried hoarsely, fighting weakly against Bobby's hands. "I can see them, Bobby; they want to claim him! Where's Dad-I need Dad!"

For a second Bobby had difficulty containing him, but his eyes rolled up again and his body tensed in the grip of another seizure. Bobby held him still, to minimize his thrashing. Sam was now awake, and he hovered fearfully. Dean was still trying to speak, he stayed conscious throughout it this time. They felt him relax finally, and he seemed to drift away. "We gotta get that Doc back, this isn't working!" Bobby said grimly.

Dean heard. "No, no doctor! A priest!"

"It's just the fever, Dean," Sam comforted. "You're sick, you just need to-"

"No..no.." Dean sobbed, completely distaught now and twisting away from their hands, "It did something! I can feel it, crawling in my veins! You've gotta stop it! I can see it, like it's in front of me!"

His terror was very real. Sam's mouth went dry. "Dean? What is it?"

He whispered. "Hell! It's Hell-" He shuddered and passed out.

Bobby swore. "Sam, get me the book from the glove box, quick!"

Sam did so, returning with an ancient, cracked leather volume that Bobby never travelled without. It was his most precious bible; chronicling most of the evils they would ever have the misfortune to face, and many of the ways to beat them. He flipped through it impatiently, back and forth, mumbling to himself...

"What, Bobby? What's happening to him-?" Sam demanded anxiously.

Bobby shrugged him off and continued poring over the pages. "Hang on, here's something-" He sped over the passage, eyes flicking back and forth. "Sam, listen: -And they were torn by the demon; it touched its hand unto their blood, after which their eyes saw naught but the fires of hell" He exchanged a glance with Sam. "They sickened then, with fever; wailing of visions and writhing fearfully, until the first tore out his own eyes, so that he would not witness such horrors, and the second opened his veins, so that he would not live with such atrocity. But the third was bound and brought to the church, where he was baptized in blessed waters until the demon's touch had left him-"

"Jesus-!" Sam muttered.

Bobby rubbed a hand over his chin. "He's right, Sam; meds aren't gonna undo this. We need holy water, we need a priest-!"

"A bath of holy water? There's not even a tub in this dive, only a shower."

"Aw hell! Then we need to go where we can get him under water. I'm gonna call Laura."

Despite his misgivings, Sam nodded. She was the only one who knew them and was aware of their need for discretion. Bobby did so, and when he had relayed their urgent request, she agreed to leave the house open for them and to go to the priest that was familiar with her family. She gave directions to her home.

"Right, Sam; gather him up, I'll carry the IV stuff. We can go to her place now, she's fetching the priest."

Sam pushed his hands under Dean's knees and shoulders. He was limp, Sam could feel the burning heat of his brother's skin against his own. He pulled him forward, and stood up, carrying his weight against his body. He wished the Impala was off the tow bed; it was a helluva lot quicker than the ramp truck. Bobby moved just ahead of him, carrying the IV and opening the door. As soon as they were settled, Bobby threw it in gear and tore out of the parking lot in the direction of Laura's house.

"No. I'm not joking, and I'm not crazy, Father Patrick." Laura spoke earnestly with the man who'd seen her mother put into the ground, and who'd baptized her and her sister as infants; the man who'd helped her bury all the people she loved.

"But dear, do you know what it is you're saying? The implications-"

"Father, I do know. In God's name, believe me. I've seen the devil himself, I swear to you and heaven that I know what I'm saying. Father Patrick, please; bring your books, whatever you need; but I'm telling you the truth. It's a demon you need to deal with now, it's no delusion!"

The old priest stared at her, gauging her sanity. Laura Brennen had been through a great deal of trauma, and it could be affecting her mind now. Her story was absurd, really, but she didn't seem out of control, or wildly impassioned. He knew her to be a very direct and no-nonsense, like her father was. She wasn't flighty. In the end he decided she spoke lucidly enough to know what she was suggesting. "Laura, I've known you, known your family for decades. If you feel this is really happening then I am in no position to argue. I've never dealt with anything like this, but it certainly has a deep history in the Church. I know there's protocol; there are words, methods. We learn of this, some of it, but few of us ever have the rotten luck to meet with it."

She almost cried in her relief. "Thank-you Father."

The two of them raced back to her home.

The ramp truck sped towards the same destination.

"Jesus, hurry, Bobby!" Sam clutched Dean close, feeling his every strained breath, the tremors, the spasms. He'd seen living things die, more than he cared to remember, and he knew this was bad. "It's getting worse!"

"Almost there." Bobby glanced in the rear-view, watching Dean, reassuring himself they weren't too late. Dean coughed and moaned in Sam's arms, words occasionally coherent enough to make out; -demons -a chosen one-destiny-

Sam didn't want to think about what it was that terrified his stalwart brother so much; instead, he kept up a litany of calming words, praying it made a difference.

Bobby breathed a shaky sigh of relief when they pulled into Laura's driveway. She met him there. "Bring him in here." she directed, holding open the door to the hallway.

Sam gathered him up again and hauled his brother into the livingroom. He laid him on the sofa, nodding a greeting to the man who was already in the room. Bobby came in a moment later. "Are you the priest?" he demanded.

"Yes...yes, I'm Father Patrick Dennehy."

Bobby thrust his book into his hands. "Read that passage, fast. We need you to bless the water. If we don't get him under now, he'll die!"

Sam pushed past the two of them. "Where's your tub?" he demanded of Laura.

She led the way, and he began to fill it. Leaving Sam to complete that task, she rejoined the men in the living room. Bobby was explaining the crisis. Father Patrick was shaking his head in disbelief.

"Listen to me!" she interjected, "Father Patrick, I brought this thing, this demon, here. I prayed for help, to avenge Dad and Karin, and what came to me... I thought Dad had come back. But it wasn't heaven that heard me, it was the Devil. Something came in the form of Will Brennen, but it was evil, Father, it was...it was sick. And it tried to kill this man here...it tried to make me kill him. I almost did."

Bobby interrupted. "Father, he was wounded, and when this thing touched him he was poisoned by something demonic. He's consumed by terrible visions, or something... This passage says if we immerse him in holy water, the demon's touch will leave him. Please...help us! Bless the water, we'll put him in the bath. I'm asking you plain, even if you don't believe, how can it hurt?"

Father Patrick looked at them as if they were all mad, but he nodded. It was the power of God they were turning to, and he was his servant. After all...what could it hurt? He followed Laura to the bathroom. The tub was already filled. He glanced at her, and saw the earnest fear in her eyes. -This girl has seen the devil himself more than once- he thought.

He kneeled and closed his eyes. Clutching the crucifix at his throat, he chanted the words over the water, ending with a sign of the cross. He took the cross from around his neck and placed it in the bath. And with that simple bit of ceremony, the water was now holy. He'd never really understood the concept of blessing water. Deep down, he'd thought it was just a superstition continued through the ages to help boost the confidence of the faithful. But he hoped it really was more. He nodded to Laura that it was done.

Laura hurried back to the livingroom. She stood transfixed, as the two men pinned Dean Winchester down against the sofa. He was clearly in the throes of some sort of fit; he was rigid and white-faced, his features twisted and frozen in terror. She shook herself out of her trance. "It's ready!"

Bobby and Sam hauled Dean up and carried him into the bathroom. The dunked him swiftly into the water. Once immersed, he began to thrash; screaming as if the water was boiling the flesh from his bones. Translucent tendrils of red snaked away from his wounds, turning the water a shade of pink. Laura and Father Patrick stood back in horror as Bobby and Sam held Dean's body fully under. Seconds, minutes, ticked by. Dean struggled and squirmed in agony, but they held him firm, never letting him out of the blessed water. Father Patric fearfully began to recite the Lord's prayer out loud. At last, Dean stilled. His resistance to the holy water slackened, and he slipped into a limp quiet. His hands floated, as errant bubbles escaped from his mouth. Panicked, Sam looked to Father Patrick, and then to Bobby. Both men were at a loss, praying the sacrament was done, and that the cure hadn't cost Dean his life.

They lifted his still, white face out of the water, waiting anxiously for him to breathe.

"Come on...come on!" Sam begged. He pressed on his chest, forcing water out. over and over. At last they were rewarded by a coughing gasp.

They all breathed with him in relief. Father Patrick closed his eyes and mouthed a thank-you. Laura began to sob quietly. Bobby swiped at his own eyes and brusquely took charge. "Ok, let's get him out and dried. Laura, do you have a bed we can use?"

Laura nodded and led the way to a spare room. There, they stripped Dean of his wet clothing. He was deathly still; his wounds still weeping dilute blood. Sam tried not to see the taut translucence of his features as he re-bandaged his side and tucked warm blankets around him. He settled in to keep a tense vigil at his brother's bedside.

Downstairs, Laura poured brandy for Father Patrick and Bobby. Father Paddy was shaking, he barely got the glass to his lips. Bobby smiled a little wry smile. Priests. Very few of them understood the power they were entrusted with.

Finally the priest found his voice. "Alright then. Some one want to tell me what in bloody hell that was?"

Bobby sighed wearily. "That, Father, was a little example of the power of your adversary. Call him what you want; Lucifer, the Devil, whatever. It ain't metaphorical. They're not just stories to scare folk straight, Father. Hell is real. And it's full of evil things that are clamoring to get up here and do mayhem. That young man upstairs has made it a vocation to hunt the devil's own when they stray up here on earth, and sometimes the score gets damned close. But not today, thanks to you. We thwarted him tonight. At least I hope we did."

"I...don't understand-"

"You sure you want to?"

The priest sunk into silence. He wasn't sure that he did want to know.