I'm being haunted by a whisper
A chill comes over me
I've been trapped inside this moment
I'm not victim, I'm not a freak

Free me before I slip away
Heal me, wake me from this day
Can somebody help me?

I've seen the face of my affliction
Of my reality, I'm being tortured
By the future of things that are yet to be
I'm being haunted by a vision

Somebody Help Me

Cole's POV

St. Luke's Hospital

One Month After John's Death

I glanced up from the charting I was doing at the desk as the automatic doors at the ambulance bay slid open, admitting a couple of blood drenched paramedics and a screaming man securely belted to a gurney.

I stopped dead as I rounded the desk. "Whoa." I said my voice came out so low, I was sure no one heard it. Right before my very eyes was a man who literally had a pair of garden shears sticking out of his skull.

That was all I saw from the man's head but I knew that couldn't be all that was wrong with the man, the paramedics were too blood soaked for that to be it.

"What do we have?" I asked rushing to the man's side. Paul came up on the other side running alongside the gurney into the trauma room.

"46 year old male, hit by a car. He's lost a lot of blood, his pressure was dropping on the way over here so we started two large bore IV's. We got his pressure stabilized but I don't think it'll last." Chrys said.

"Any other external injuries?" Paul asked.

"Other than the fact that he's being held together by the windshield? None that we could find." She responded.

Paul pulled off his stethoscope, listening to the man's lung sounds. I moved around him grabbing gauze, and sterile saline to pack the shears in so they didn't move unnecessarily. Why the hell the damned paramedics hadn't done it before hand I had no freaking clue.

I glanced up as a few more nurses and another attending poured into the room, to help us with the patient. "Cole. What the hell are you doing? Get over here." Paul snapped at me.

I hurried over with gauze and sterile saline and began methodically packing the man's wounds. Paul had opened the man's chest after the other paramedic had hopped down from where they'd begun CPR.

"Cole what are you doing? Bag him!" The doctor ordered me. I looked at him confused, was he stupid the man was screaming. Why would he possibly think he was dead?

Another nurse pushed past me grabbing the ambu bag and fitting it over the screaming man's face. I stared at her shocked as she began to bag him.

All of a sudden I wasn't in the trauma room anymore, I felt like I was in a cave where there were dozens of tables in a room. The table before me had a man on it, with a pair of shears sticking out of his forehead.

I tried to move from where I was, but I couldn't. I glanced down my hands were bound to the table, anger and fury swept through me at being held down, unable to defend myself. Not to mention that man was getting on my damn nerves with all of his screaming.

I glanced around praying his screams wouldn't rile the demons up. I could use a respite. When I turned back to the man, I was back in the trauma room, and the patient before me was a bloody mess covered in bits of glass and several pieces stuck out of him holding the dying man together.

He was flatlining on the monitor. The only beeps heard were Paul massaging and forcing the heart to pump blood while another attending attempted to repair the damage to the man's heart.

"I need another dose of Epi." Paul said. "We've got to get this man's heart beating."

I whirled to the crash cart someone had placed behind me and opened the top drawer going for the high dose Epinephrine.

I grabbed the syringe and pushed the contents into the patient's IV line glancing back at the monitor, nothing.

When I glanced back down at my patient, I locked eyes with the man on the table. "Please. Please help me. I'm sorry I wish to God I'd never done it." He said sobbing.

I looked into his eyes, this man was fully aware of what was happening to him. "Done what?" I asked. "What did you do?" I said trying to get some information out of him.

"It doesn't matter." He said sobbing loudly, "You can't help me. No one can help me."

"What does it look like he did Cole?" Paul asked and I tore my gaze away to meet Paul's, he was in the room with all the tables with me, coming nearer to the table I found myself bound too. "He's crashed his car, and now he's going to Hell for it." He said.

I held his gaze as his eyes turned to a familiar inky darkness I knew all too well. I panicked pulling against my bindings, but it was no use, I was trapped.

Suddenly I was back in the trauma room as the patient was being wheeled out on the stretcher; Paul had hold of my arm and was speaking in a low tone to me. "I'll go and speak with the family in a minute, they're going to go through hell while he recovers, but it looks like he might be okay."

I lowered my gaze from his trying to hide my anxiety at what was happening to me.

"Cole?" He asked, pausing until I met his gaze. "Are you okay?" He asked softly, pulling on my arm and guiding me to the side of the trauma room, while housekeeping came in and turned the room over.

Nodding, I forced my gaze into a semi-confident look that I wasn't feeling at all sure about. I felt shaken and rattled. Something was wrong, so very wrong. I released a shaky breathe. "I'm fine. Paul thanks for the concern, but I'm good." I said, turning away from him dismissively.

"Okay, well if you're sure." Paul said not looking convinced.

I kept walking not bothering to reassure him. I needed a minute.

Making my way into the employee bathrooms, I locked the door behind me, before glancing cautiously in the mirror.

My own brown eyes met my reflection in the mirror. Sometimes I wasn't sure, often it felt like someone else was looking out through my eyes, taking in everything I saw on a daily basis.

I heaved a sigh leaning heavily on the sink. I ran some cold water before splashing it in my face, preparing to put on a competent show until dawn then I was going to find the underlying cause of this one way or another. Something had to give.

I'm sorry. A plea for forgiveness resounded through my mind and on the heels of that plea an unbearable wave of agony rocked through me. For weeks now, I'd had the unbelievable feeling of connecting with someone. Someone was in horrible pain.

No problems of this magnitude couldn't be solved with a human, I needed someone of extraordinary capabilities. But for now the good doctor would have to do.

John's POV

10 years in Hell

The room they kept me in was burning hot. A raging inferno that had to be over hell's pitted fires itself. There wasn't any noticeable ventilation in sight other than the outline of a barred doorway.

On my first day here, I'd moved to the bars and touched them, however I'd quickly learned not to do that as my hands had burned almost to the bone, the skin blistering off and appearing to disintegrate before my very eyes. The flesh beneath had burned hot and fast almost instantaneously second or third degree burns.

Breathing was difficult, the air too hot to take into my lungs leaving behind a scalding sensation in its wake.

The floor beneath my feet appeared to be immune to the heat, made from some sort of stone. I guess Patrick wasn't kidding when he said Hell was fire and brimstone.

Most of the time I was in this room I was forced to stand kept under a bright spotlight. The way I saw it I was safe under this spotlight, so long as I kept on my feet. But I was never able to last very long.

Once I'd toppled over from sheer exhaustion and it was then I heard them. Demons. Their cackling grated on my human ears, their voices much more displeasing to the ear down in Hell. When I collapsed or sometimes sat from sheer defiance – well more necessity than defiance, but they didn't see it that way, when I'd fall to my knees, they moved forward prowling the edges of the circle of light, darting forward to take vicious bone cracking blows with cane rods as thick as my arms.

I waited with baited breath prepared for the inevitable spotlight that would be soon placed on me. They were coming I could hear them. I always heard them. The moments stretched out and fear became a living breathing entity within me. My mouth became dry and my heart raced as my cell door swung open to reveal a demon I was becoming all too familiar with.

She stood tall and ramrod straight her bright red hair a riot of curls the color of blood, I wondered if it could actually be colored from the blood of her victims. She was one of the most sadistic demons I'd come across in the pit, and she seemed to have a particularly vested interest in breaking me.

My stomach lurched and my heart sank as the air rushed from my lungs in a sick twisted anticipation. This was going to be bad, but then it was always bad. Even the most mild form of torture they dreamed up caused my heart to race uncontrollably, and had me begging for mercy. Mercy that would be granted if I simply picked up a blade and began to torture souls on my own. I grit my teeth preparing for the inevitable pain that would soon follow.

Dr. Manghan's Office

Crestwood Psychiatric Services

One and a half Month's after John's Death

I licked my lips glancing at my watch for the thousandth time. What the hell was I doing here? I shut my eyes against the image of a man being force fed a demon's Johnson. I grimaced attempting to breathe through the image.

Right. That's what I was doing here. What in the hell had convinced me to go to a shrink was beyond me. I knew what was out there. I knew of the reality that demons existed and while yes a select few humans were in fact cuckoo for cocoa puffs, some of them did have the ability to sense true evil as it walked among us.

And instead of going and seeking one of those useful human beings out, I'd sought to come here and attempt to spill my guts, as well as I thought I would be able to, to a human psychiatrist. I was losing my damn mind.

I stood up from the chair I was waiting in, tossing the magazine to the side before straightening my clothes, this was stupid, and no shrink would be able to help me. I just needed to leave, go and figure things out for myself.

I seemed to have this battle every time I came here. He had once prescribed me medications but I'd refused to take them. I knew he thought I was insane but now I'd given him no reason to have me hospitalized so I thought I was good. I just had to finish this dance once and for all I knew there was no way in hell he could commit me to a psychiatric hospital if I gave him nothing to work with. Besides, I'd made up my mind that this was my final time to go and see him. He was useless to me.

I headed around the row of chairs, moving across the expensive and tasteful lobby of a private practice psychiatrist and towards the elevator that would take me down to the foyer, away from this place, down to where I could get some real help in the trenches of the hunting underground.

"Cole Singer?" The receptionist's voice called out.

I turned around cringing internally. Dammit I'd been caught trying to slink off now I had to go see the crazy bastard.

I smiled at the pretty redhead, who stood indicating I follow her. She spoke as she walked. "He'll see you now." She said softly leading me to an expensive looking mahogany office door. She knocked twice and waited with me for the okay.

Immediately my opinion of the quack went downhill. He was like the lord waiting in his dining hall to be revered, and feared by his subjects. Freaking imbecile.

The receptionist opened the door and waved me inside. I glanced around taking in the large ornate desk that looked like it was mostly for show. The actual black leather couch that I'd thought was always strictly a dramatization in the movies. The huge floor to ceiling bookshelves that covered almost every inch of available space except for the door and the large floor to ceiling windows that covered the far southern wall.

The good doctor himself was currently seated in a large overstuffed chair next to a small table. When the door opened he stood, moving towards me to shake my hand.

"Doctor, this is Cole Singer she's your seven o'clock appointment." The receptionist said smiling lightly at him.

Dr. Manghan shook my hand though his attention was currently centered on something the receptionist was saying. `

I had a feeling this was going to be the longest hour of my life.

John's POV

Twenty Five Years in Hell

I'd been in hell for decades now and I welcomed the opportunity for water and fresh air, even if it was simply a hallucination. As far as hallucinations are concerned, it was pretty vivid.

I could smell the grass, smell the pine trees around me, and feel the cool breeze on my face. I felt the wind billowing softly around me, forcing my body to move, and digging the meat hooks deeper into my flesh. I tried to remain as still as possible, it hurt a little less that way.

I tried desperately to drown out the pain of the hooks digging deeper into my flesh, the agony of the wind causing me to sway back and forth from the two oaks I was currently suspended from.

I heard the droning buzz of flies as they bit viciously, feasting on my raw, festering, infected back as Alistair ran a dull blade over my skin, separating sinew, muscle, and tendons from my skin.

Alistair had spent the last two days making tiny incisions along the front of my body. After the first few hours, I didn't even feel the pain anymore. Then when that became evident, he'd started in on my back skinning me alive at times using his bare hands to rip and tear my skin from me when he tired of the dull blade's effectiveness.

I was given water in small amounts mostly just enough to keep myself hydrated, and my vocal cords working. The mornings always started out the same I'd make up my mind that no matter what tortures they had cooked up for me today I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing me scream. As usual my resolve only lasted an hour two at the most before I fell prey to the pain of hell.

I focused on the few tactile sensations I knew were mine and mine alone. My heartbeat for one the fast erratic beat as the pain increased tenfold and I fought desperately to hold on to anything that would make it stop. I breathed through my mouth inhaling enough to clear my mind but not deep enough to draw the scent of my own blood and rotting and decaying flesh into my nostrils, I had only managed to get used to the scent, when a new sense would take over and this time it was the audible sound of water dripping.

I focused on the cool sound of dripping water, trying any way I could to shove this pain aside. Drip, drip, drip, drip. In a steady pattern, sometimes larger drops would fall, other times I swear I heard splashes. I dropped my gaze, focusing on the cool relief it would bring to my parched throat and shredded vocal cords, and looked to the ground below me. I closed my eyes in horror the dripping water wasn't water at all. It was my own blood running in rivers down my body and sinking into the lush carpet of pine needles and oak leaves below me.

I had a moment to wonder if this hallucination was really a hallucination and not just some beautiful forest that had grown up into such gorgeous trees from the blood of the souls brought here and forced to endure such torment.

Pamela Barnes' House

Four Months After John's Death

I smiled to myself, a genuine smile for the first time in weeks. I'd missed Pamela. We'd gone back a very long time. Dad had needed someone to perform a séance in a house haunted by this little old woman, although grandma had some game.

I'd been forbidden to finish the hunt because Casper had tried to shish kabob me with a chair leg. It had all been a huge misunderstanding. I may have tried to hit on her single son and grandma had just gotten all kinds of defensive.

So Pamela had been called in to perform a séance while I'd been on house arrest. She and dad had gotten the job done and anytime dad needed some witchy woo stuff done he'd always gone to her.

Pamela walked into the room carrying a beer and a cold can of coke for me. I took it with a huge grin. "Thanks Pamela." I said.

"Not a problem." She said with a smile. Her gorgeous clear green eyes narrowed on me shrewdly. "You still piss off granny ghosts?"

"Nah. Gave that one up almost as soon as it started. That sweet little old lady tried to skewer me." I said indignantly. "I wasn't doing anything other than flirting with her son. He was a grown man and allowed to make his own decisions." I said faking irritation.

"You're lucky she was the only one who had anything to say about it." Pamela said with a knowing smile. "You know your dad shot him right?" She said humor saturating her voice.

"No really?" I asked incredulously. "Dad never said a word to me."

"He did. Granny attacked her own son, and your dad fired and missed, hitting him instead of her. He probably missed on purpose." Pamela said with a chuckle.

"Where did he hit the guy?" I asked uneasy that someone had gotten hurt because I'd been young and stupid enough to play mind games with grown men.

Pamela grinned at my unease taking pleasure in it. "It was not a big deal, a flesh wound to the shoulder, still though I bet he thinks of you every time it gets cold and his bed is empty."

I laughed, unable to help myself. God I missed the old days when things were easier and less complicated. "Yeah damn things were more fun back then." I said softly.

Pamela's smiled faded, and she took the time to really look at me. "Your dad's worried about you."

"I know he is." I answered. "Honestly, I'm worried about me." I said. "I might be hallucinating Hell just a little bit."

"Hell, like basement, the GM Manufacturer of demons?" She said a frown crossing her face.

"Yeah. It started out as just nightmares, really bad, vivid dreams that left a bad taste in my mouth, but now…" I paused trailing off hesitantly. "I've started hallucinating." I said dropping my bombshell.

Pamela's frown deepened, her gaze showing worry. "I thought the only people that hallucinated where those destined to go to hell." She said.

"So did I." I said taking a drink of my coke.

"You got something to tell me?" She asked arching an eyebrow at me.

"No way in hell would I be dumb enough to sell my soul to a demon!" I said hotly. "That's why I need to figure out what in the hell is happening to me. Cause let me tell you trying to take care of an addict who's tweaking while hallucinating that you're gonna get hung at the gallows at the same damn time is really confusing!" I said.

"Wow seriously?" Pamela asked. "That has got to suck."

"It does." I agreed. Then I dropped the other shoe. "I think this doesn't necessarily have anything to do with me…. I'm starting to think there's a connection, like a link. Between me and someone else. I don't know how to use it, and I've been doing some research on the subject and getting nowhere. So I came to see you." I said with a shrug. "I figured if anyone could help me figure this out you could." I said.

She looked at me shrewdly. "Does your family have any psychic abilities?" She asked.

I felt an instant rejection to the idea, "Could you imagine my dad being a psychic?" I questioned, incredulously.

Pamela smirked at me her gaze brightening. "No." We both said smiling and shaking our heads.

"What about your mother?" Pamela asked.

"I really don't know." I said softly. Trying to keep the memories of my mother under wraps, the night she died wasn't necessarily one of my favorite things to revisit and that had gotten worse since my nightmares had started coming.

"Well, there's a few things we can do to figure this out." Pamela said all business. "You just might not like them very much." She said with a grin.

Five Month's After John's Death

This early November evening was cool, rain clouds darkened the horizon turning everything a deep dark purple, and in the distance lightning forked and crackled, thunder rumbling ominously. I hurried into the house where Pamela already had everything set up and was lighting the last of the candles.

Things were looking witchier every time I came to her. I didn't much care at this point because the torture scenes were getting worse by the day. It was getting even harder to go in to work and pretend nothing was wrong, although thankfully I was far enough along in my pregnancy that many people attributed it to the fact that I was tired and drained by my pregnancy so I was forgetful, and prone to bursts of hysterics.

Which totally wasn't the case I was just slowly losing my goddamned mind because of some creepy connection I had with another person whom I didn't even know. But I couldn't exactly let them know that one. I'd taken to meditation to help clear my thoughts and strengthen this strange bond, now that I was becoming more aware of it I could tell when I actively connected with him, and when his pain became so unbearable he sought relief burrowing deep within my mind to distract and distance himself.

So far he had yet to answer me and I knew his reluctance was more self-preservation than rejection or defiance. After everything he'd been through, he couldn't be sure I was nothing more than a hallucination, so I was once again trying to actively build a stronger connection with him trying to work out who he was and what the hell I could do to stop his suffering.

"Are you sure this is the only way we can figure this out?" I asked nervously, seating myself across from Pamela in the center of the pentagram she'd drawn. The outer circle was ringed with salt to cleanse the area and give us a good protected space for the energy we were going to raise to connect this broken and fragmented bridge, and also to protect us from harm. This was the second or third time we'd tried this particular method of trying to connect with my imaginary friend. So far, all the previous attempts had been unsuccessful.

"Yes." Pamela said sharply. "Now quit your bitching and focus." She said taking a deep breathe.

I rolled my shoulders placing my hands on my knees. As a hunter, I wasn't too fond of witchcraft. It made me very uneasy, and the components needed for spells and rituals were typically hard to come by. It really sucked; that this was the only way she could find to help me. I took in a deep breathe closing my eyes and attempting to concentrate. For one heartbeat, and then another. I opened one eye, nothing was happening.

"Close your eyes and concentrate."

"I am concentrating." I said warily, a part of me wasn't so sure I wanted to do this.

"No you're not you moron. Close your eyes and let's just get a damn starting point." Pamela said her voice taking on an edge.

Hold on. Just hold on a little bit longer I can send help, I just need to know where to send it too. I breathed through the link. I wasn't sure if it even reached him, but at this point I had to believe it did.

I risked a moment to glance out the window straight into the darkening skies, as a white-hot jagged spear of electricity lit up the sky, feeling as though it had pierced my very brain.

I cried out, the knowledge of who and what I was dealing with hitting me clear as day, how in the hell did I miss this? Pamela's chanting receded into the background becoming nothing more than a nuisance.

I could hear someone talking while bringing in another victim, but things were so hazy it was nothing more than a droning buzz of white noise. I reached expanding my mind and the voice became stronger. "Don't you like the present, we've brought you?" The voice of a demon questioned, thrumming with uncontrollable glee.

I stiffened, going still, afraid to move, and terrified to hope. I'd done it I'd actively touched him. I tried to focus, breathing my way through the pain, his pain, and I let my mind expand reaching out strongly to him. John. Baby? I questioned waiting on tenterhooks for his reply.

I told myself not to hope, not to truly believe it. But this was John, I had to believe. I had to believe in him.

The answering touch I felt in my mind was fragile, tenuous at best and definitely not the domineering, so enticing and utterly male frame of mind that John had while he was alive. The demons were so close to breaking him and they were so entirely unaware, they needed to remain in the dark about this. Nicole? He breathed into my mind; the touch was so feather light I barely felt it, just a faint stirring in my mind.

At the sound of his voice, I felt a horrible vice-like pain, squeezing and gripping my heart, until there was actual pain. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I was having a heart attack.

I sensed a moment of hesitation from John, and felt his absolute horror and instant rejection of what he was seeing in Hell. I felt our connection wavering, there was a flash of lightning and thunder boomed through the walls of the house, shaking the very foundation of the building. I swallowed hard against the pain John was in both emotional and physical.

I felt a hand grip my forearm, the grip hard and unshakeable, I locked eyes with Pamela silently begging and pleading with her not to distract me. "I've got him. It's John." I said my voice pleading. It was draining and difficult being in two places at once, and I desperately needed to be with John.

The bridge was fading; John was slipping away from me even as I reached for him desperate to hold onto the connection for just a little bit longer. Then he was gone, out of my reach and I was left gasping for air and feeling more emotionally and physically drained than I'd ever felt before.

John's POV

Fifty Years in Hell

I felt like I was finally going insane. The demons responsible for my torture had finally found a way to break me down and shred my resolve. At first, I'd resisted the connection, staying silent and never acknowledging the voice. That voice sounded so familiar, but I'd been down here almost fifty years so I was positive she'd moved on by now. She would have a husband, more children my child would have siblings. She would have a home with someone who loved her unconditionally, be with someone who was good for her. It couldn't possibly be her.

This voice was always there whispering softly to me begging me to hold out, to endure whatever they'd put me through. She'd tell me snippets of her escapades, the results of an ultrasound, the fact that she was pregnant and having a boy.

I was afraid if I acknowledged that her voice was real, it would turn out to be nothing more than a hallucination, a trick, and a way for the demons to break me down. I never said anything to her I never answered her questions. She would hold long one-sided conversations often discussing work, she would ask a question and immediately answer herself as if I had answered her.

I never dared to believe she was real, but I knew I'd come to depend on that voice. She would help me, take me to another place, and distract me from the torture. In the hours she wasn't with me I would mentally take apart cars and put them back together, paying attention to every detail. Sometimes I would dismantle and reassemble bombs, landmines, and weapons. I would hunt the supernatural, recite Latin exorcisms in my head, which did no good because we were all already in hell, and then it was back to weapons. I traveled back and forth covering whatever I could to keep myself from going insane.

I turned my head quickly at the sound of approaching footsteps, and I rose so fast my head was spinning from the change in position and lack of food. They'd spent the last two weeks starving me, and my body was desperate for any form of nutrients, I'd begun scratching at my forearms until blood dripped steadily, and greedily swallowed the ruby red liquid. I wouldn't give in and I wouldn't beg for food, to even ask for the food I so desperately craved would be met with a proposal. Pick up a blade, torture souls; you can have all the food you could possibly want.

Alistair practically bound his way into the room whistling the tune of Amazing Grace. He was excited and in a good mood. My heart dropped down into my stomach in despair. That meant I was in for a rough day.

Another demon entered the room dragging a fresh soul behind him but I kept my eyes trained on Alistair, he was my biggest worry for now. I narrowed my eyes at him, I'd never been kept in the same quarters with another soul I'd always been secluded, even in the brief periods I was with others I was kept under lock and key for some reason I was valuable to them. What was he up to now?

I focused on Alistair, my gaze smoldering hot and defiant.

"Well, well, well, Johnny boy. You're in for a real treat today." He said smiling at me, his eyes appearing bright and amused. I lifted my chin, refusing to show that that statement intimidated me, but I paled from the thought of what was to come.

"What's the matter? Don't you recognize him?" Alistair was practically humming to himself he appeared so excited. "Oh go on, have a little looksee." He said his voice thrumming with barely contained glee.

Reluctantly I tore my gaze away from Alistair, and what I saw made my heart stop.

As I tore my gaze from Alistair, I felt the connection bridge like a white-hot sizzling bolt of lightning. She was here again, I felt her. John. Baby? The voice questioned. For years I'd been terrified telling myself there was no way it was her, but suddenly hearing her voice, hearing her saying my name, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt it was Nicole.

Still I hesitated answering her, mentally preparing myself for the anguish and heartbreak I would feel when yet another demon strutted through my cell door to cackle and gloat at my stupidity and hope.

I grit my teeth preparing for the inevitable. Nicole. I asked cautiously barely bothering to breathe my full attention was pulled from the other demon and his prize, although I kept an eye on him at all times.

The bridge wavered between Nicole and I and I fought to keep it going pushing the walls of my mind trying to expand them, and force the connection. It was no use she was gone. I was once again all alone.

Cole's POV

Five Months After John's Death

I fought down a rising sob. Things had been so unbelievably hard since John had died. But now knowing his soul was still around, and actually in hell being tortured by demons, we had a starting point but it wouldn't do me any good if I couldn't connect with him and keep it open.

I met Pamela's questioning gaze. I'd been coming here for months now trying to open the connection and we'd been unsuccessful every time we'd tried but now, something had changed.

"It… It was John. Pamela I connected with John." I said softly. "I couldn't hold him to me it was like something was blocking me." I said.

Pamela looked shocked. Since I'd started coming back around she'd learned a lot about John and I, and I'd never once heard her complain which was good I'd needed someone to talk to. I couldn't be as honest about things with Beth, there were things John wouldn't want me to tell her. But Pamela, she was a big girl and could take it plus as far as I knew she didn't know the Winchester's.

"You sure Cole?" She asked her gaze showing worry.

I nodded. "Why didn't you connect with me, try to strengthen the bond?" I demanded from her.

She was silent a bit and when she finally did reply, her voice was calm and rock steady. "I did try Cole. Whatever link you're both using is a bridge that is solidly between the two of you. I couldn't access it." She said worriedly.

"What?" I questioned, she looked like she had more to say.

"Cole I know you say your family didn't have any psychic talent, but someone has to have had something." She said. "To have connected with someone repeatedly as you have for the last four months, there is something big in play here." She explained.

"Well I don't know, and I'm not exactly sure where to start looking either." I said

"No reason to worry. When you meditate, you need to start working on expanding your range. Strengthening the connection for as long as you can, holding it beyond your endurance, but not too long, it'll take a lot out of you and with you being pregnant maybe wait to do the heavy lifting until after the baby's born?" She explained.

I opened my mouth to protest, but Pamela cut me off. "You'll be no use to him if you run yourself down. You want to help him hold out against his torture you have to take care of yourself first." She said sternly.

I nodded accepting my fate.

"But for now let's see what we can't do about opening this connection permanently. " She said straightening her posture and rolling her shoulders.

"Yeah let's go." I agreed eager and anxious to be connecting with John again.

Pamela began chanting and I waited a heartbeat, two, and then three before joining with her echoing her words carefully. Lightning crackled very close to the house thunder rumbling ominously behind it. My mouth was dry and my heart pounded as I pictured all of the horrible things that could possibly be happening to John. I shook my head the tiniest bit trying to clear it of those images; I needed a clear head for this spell to work.

The storm outside grew to a fever pitch the wind shrieking and moaning, lightning sizzling in the ever darkening sky, thunder crashing through the heavens. I jumped as the wind blew the screen door against the house causing it to slam into the house repeatedly. The wind seemed to be battering the house, to be honest I was surprised it was still standing.

Magic wasn't my way it never had been. It made me uneasy, and growing up as a hunter, I'd learned that magic was a sign of demon activity, witches got their powers from demons, they did stupid stuff like sell their souls.

I'd never done it I never would. But I couldn't deny being in this protective circle with Pamela, the storm growing so destructive outside, almost as if it was answering our call for power, and fueling it to permanently bridge the connection.

I jumped almost a foot in the air as the door slammed open, and the wind rushed through the house like a freight train, swirling around Pamela and me, feeding the energy and power building within the room. I felt something within me moving, unfurling rapidly, growing and expanding, awakening and answering the unspoken call for a pure untapped source of energy.

Electricity crackled within the room, the walls shook with the force of the wind battering them both outside and within the walls. Power built inside of our circle until it was a living breathing entity.

John's POV

Fifty Years in Hell

I could hear someone screaming. That wasn't unusual, someone was always screaming. What struck me was the way they were screaming. They sounded so completely broken and hopeless, and full of despair.

I prayed for someone to help them because the closer I came to the surface within my own mind, the more the pain took over wracking my entire body, and the man's screaming kept pulling me from the safety of my own mind. I couldn't imagine what had happened, for once I didn't remember something and I was thankful to be ignorant.

I pulled myself together, needing to find out what was going on. Had I broken yet? Was I the man who was weeping like a child? I had to know for sure. Then I heard footsteps. Five, four, three, two, and….. One.

I didn't even bother to lift my head I knew who had come for me, Briony. She was one of the worst. She favored man made devices, particularly electric powered devices. I'd once seen her put a drill bit through a man's eye. And I'd been the soul close enough to feel the man's blood wash over me as though sprayed through a garden hose.

At the time, I couldn't deny that his blood had felt like a cool breeze and was a welcome relief from the unbearable, incessant, never relenting heat of the pit. I'd found myself lifting my face to it, welcoming the cooler temperature of the unlucky bastards bodily fluids.

"John. We've got a guest lined up for us today. Isn't that exciting?" Her voice made my blood run cold. I forced my eyes open taking in Briony's voice. I stood hurriedly, dropping my gaze to the ground in a silent show of submission.

I hadn't broken yet, but at the rate things were going it was simply a matter of time.

She moved slowly into the room, her gaze locked on me like a tiger waiting for their prey to make one wrong move. My gaze darkened upon her frame, as she approached me. The manacles binding my wrists opened falling to the floor with a simple click from her fingers, and she snapped another pair of shackles into place.

Leading me to the center of the room, she attached the shackle to another chain drawing my arms up over my head. I trembled as the chain drew higher, so that the only thing supporting my weight was my arms.

Alistair stepped to the side as Briony brushed past him towards the soul she currently had strung up on the rack.

I drew in a sharp trembling breathe. No, not Sam!

His body sliced into ribbons. He'd been the one screaming, he was the one who'd pulled me from the safety of my own mind, unable to bear anymore torment I'd retreated like a coward.

It wasn't him. It couldn't possibly be him. These were demons, they tricked and deceived. Even as I told myself these things repeatedly, my resolve faltered as Briony made her way to him; currently she was holding an automatic nail gun. What if it really was Sam?

I closed my eyes as Briony lifted the gun to Sam's hand. He cried out, desperately trying to maneuver himself away from Briony, but it was no use. There was no getting away. Sam cried out as the nail pierced his hand.

My gut reacted with a distinct punch as the sight of seeing Sammy in such pain caused me physical illness. I was left gasping for air as Alistair stood off to the side, quietly smirking watching Briony torture Sam, then idly turning back to watch the effects Sam's torture had on me. Bastard had what he wanted a way to get to me.

I couldn't watch this. Now that they knew the way to get to me was through my family, it would be a matter of time before I broke. And I couldn't break it wasn't an option. I'd done what I could to save my family.

My boys, Beth, Cole and my child were safe. I would have to be content with that knowledge even as the exact opposite stared me in the face in Hell.

I watched as they ripped Sam apart, bringing in more demons to take some meat out of the hunter. I couldn't take it anymore although there was a crowd of demons watching Sam get tortured the swell of voices was soft, a low murmur at best.

Definitely not anything, that might drown out Sam's screams and desperate pleas for help. I couldn't aid him. I fought fiercely against my bonds doing anything I could think of to get loose, and nothing was working.

Sam was being tortured before my very eyes and I couldn't save him. The demons kept on coming. They weren't even taking the time to put him back together. They just pressed on and on, carving and slicing, ripping him apart, taking man-made power tools to him, everything, they were relentless. Sam continued to cry out and beg me to help him.

Sam's torment continued for hours, and I watched helplessly, unable to aid him. The sounds he was making as the demon's flayed him alive. He was a quivering mass of flesh bone and sinew. His pain sounded like one raw nerve ending being boiled in a huge vat of grease. The sounds he was making were horrible. Then a new demon would start in on him and the sounds would start all over again. They wouldn't even give him a minute to regroup and they certainly weren't healing him. Just when I'd get used to one sound another sound more hopeless and hideous than the last would start up, and I'd have to force myself to become accustomed to that one as well.

Until finally I couldn't possibly take it anymore. I knew of only one way I could possibly help him. It was huge.

I hung my head continuing for mere seconds trying to convince myself that it wasn't Sam. But that notion was long gone now. My body reacted too violently for it to be any other than Sam.

I raised my head fighting the hopelessness and despair that washed over me. It didn't matter. All that mattered was keeping my family safe and currently my family wasn't safe. Sam was in Hell right alongside me being tortured. And I had the power and means at my disposal to do something about it.

"Stop." I said softly. My voice came out so low it was barely a whisper. It managed to come out through dry cracked lips and shredded vocal cords. However, it came out and Alistair heard it. His head swiveled around like a bloodhounds catching a fresh scent, his head raised a fraction of an inch in triumph.

They had what they wanted, what they so desperately needed. I hung my head in shame. I wasn't strong enough to hold out against them. I couldn't do it. I was weak, defenseless a mere shell of the man I had once been.

Alistair snapped his fingers, clearing the room of all demons almost instantly. He was at my side within seconds, "What was that?" He asked his silky voice practically purring.

I dropped my head in defeat. I couldn't believe I was giving in, I knew intellectually that this was not Sam it couldn't be. No one knew where I was no one knew what I'd done to save Dean. There's no way they could have possibly found me.

This weird connection with Cole was nothing more than a trick. And it had been the straw that broke the camel's back. I couldn't take it anymore. This was too much I was too weak. I'd been ripped apart by the demons. I was nothing, definitely not the man I used to be.

I was hopeless and filled with despair. I couldn't take any of this anymore and this was the way to make it stop. I'm sorry. I whispered the plea through my mind desperate for someone to hear me. Someone had to know this wasn't my choice I wouldn't have chosen this if I'd had any other option.

I felt the expanding warmth in my mind. John you have to hold out. Don't give them what they want. Nicole's presence filled my mind, her voice soft, and soothing, giving me strength and resolve even as I watched Alistair torture my son, I knew I would not break. The fact that she was here with me meant I would no longer have to face the endless years alone anymore. Half a century had been long enough. I wasn't sure I could do another fifty years.

Alistair snapped his fingers and the shackles binding my wrists released me instantly. I collapsed into a boneless heap at his feet the fight had completely left me. I was nothing more than a dried shriveled husk of the warrior I'd believed myself to be. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that the pain stopped.

I couldn't bear this agony any more. I was alone completely and utterly alone. No one would know I would be the only one who knew how unbelievably weak and powerless I'd become. And this was the only way to make it stop, to regain the strength and power I'd lost.

"What was that?" Alistair asked his voice dropping an octave in an effort to contain his glee.

No! The voice, no her voice, roared in denial, raging through my mind like a fierce tornado. Your just tired baby, worn out from fighting with them. You aren't alone anymore.

I don't know if I can do this anymore. I said, tired beyond belief I was tired of being alone, tired of the pain and most of all I was tired of the powerlessness that often overwhelmed me.

You can do this baby. I was strong for you! I wanted to give up, but I didn't because of you! You arrogant son of a bitch you have to hold out. For me, for your sons, for Beth I don't care where you find the strength but damn you, you will find the strength!

I pulled myself up to my knees, and then managed to stumble unsteadily to my feet, but I was up. I glared at Alistair, Cole's anger fueling me, giving me the courage and strength I so desperately needed. "I said, try me you son of a bitch!" I snarled wearily. There was no way to mask the hopelessness from my voice. But for now at least I wasn't giving in.

Cole poured strength into me, as I was thrown back into the wall of my prison, Alistair's face started to fade from sight as the beauty of my Nicole appeared in my mind, nothing, no one was going to take that away from me, not now I could see her before me.

I had no idea it was you Cole. I thought you were some kind of trick the demons were using. I thought wryly.

No, baby. All me, kinda sucks for you though. She said humor pouring through her voice. I felt her laughter brushing the walls of my mind, and my whole concentration became centered upon our conversation, instead of the gruesome scenes playing out in front of me.

You know I rather expected your voice to sound gravely and more mature by now. I said lightly unable to help joking with her. It helped take my mind off the fact that Alistair had moved onto a blowtorch to Sammy's eyes.

There was a pause. A very long pause. And some of Sam's blood splattered across my face. I opened my eyes again forcing myself to look anywhere but at Sam. I couldn't see what they'd done to him. It would ruin me. I'd spent my entire life protecting my boy now to see him fall into the hands of the very beings I'd sought to keep him from, I couldn't bear it.

I wiped my face on my shoulder, forcing my face into a mask of indifference as I stared at Sammy's form. I felt the bridge wavering again. My breathing quickened and my gut lurched at the thought of being here all alone again.

Why would you think that? Cole asked curiosity echoing through the link.

Never mind. I said hurriedly, I finally wasn't alone I wasn't going to worry her more and make her leave me. So talk to me. About something. Anything. I said turning my attention to the predicament with Sam.

That isn't Sam you know that right? Cole asked. You do know he wouldn't do that. Especially after finding out you were dumb enough to do it.

Well tell me how you really feel about this Nicole. I said softly.

I am. I suppressed a shudder that was pure laughter. John. It's only been five months since you died. I closed my eyes, hiding the shock from my face; if the demons had any knowledge of our connection, they would use it to their advantage. It had only been five months but I'd been down here fifty years.

Are they safe? And our son? He hasn't been born yet… I asked quickly, hopefully.

They're safe. Cole said putting me out of my misery. I'm almost eight months along now. She said with a sad note in her voice.

I closed my eyes against the sharp sting of pain I felt with that simple statement. Sweetheart I wouldn't have done this if I'd had any other choice. You know that right? I asked her.

Cole's voice was heavy with regret, and I felt the bridge waver a bit more. I know. The bridge won't hold much longer, we need to do everything we can to preserve it. Let me just stay with you. When I'm stronger we'll do what we can to increase the stability, without blowing the whole thing.

I kept my face indifferent to the tortures Alistair was putting Sam through I knew the truth. I could hold out against them now. I wasn't alone.

Author's Notes: Song for this chapter is Somebody Help Me by Full Blown Rose.

Hey guys so my nursing school has offered those of us who've been unable to pass NCLEX a free-ish two month intense review. I have to go back to studying, retake a HESI Exit Exam, and do remediation and something like 800 NCLEX questions/week. At this point I have no idea if it will help at all or not, but I have to do something. So I'm gonna take them up on their offer, and do the review which means I won't have the time to write as much as I usually do. Also just letting you know that when I do take month long breaks to write a chapter I am still pretty regularly writing I'm just fleshing out ideas for future chapters and such.

So what did you guys think? Do you like the way its heading or have I given you guys a Mary Sue? Are things too predictable? Feedback is very appreciated!

Thank you Belladonna78 for your awesome beta services. I have no idea what you and I will do once both our stories are completed and it makes me sad to even think about it.

Reviews are the only way we get paid, and I know that myself and Belladonna both go without sleep to update and pour our hearts and souls into these characters and we strive to get everything just right so that you, the reader, can have an enjoyable reading experience so please feel free to drop us a simple one liner and let us know how much you enjoy our work, so that we may continue to be inspired and know our work and time and effort is truly appreciated. Reviews are the only form of payment we get, so please read and review…..

Catch you guys later!