Chapter Five

Sorry this took so long. Vacation and then sick and then family visiting. Hopefully, I'll get to write this faster from now on. Entering slow winter months at work.

Anyway, this story looks like it's moving slow, but it seems a wrong way to go to simply jump forward a few weeks/months to bring Buffy in. We need to see Dean and Sam and Bobby dealing with this when it first happens.

Dean followed Bobby down the steps to the parking lot, Sam bringing up the rear.

"She's about four hours down the interstate," said Bobby. "Try to keep up." He headed to his car.

Dean's gaze left Bobby and fell upon the Impala, his eyes widening as his jaw dropped a little.

"I assume you'll want to drive," said Sam, tossing the keys to Dean.

Dean's hand came up unerringly, and he caught the keys without even looking, his gaze glued to the sleek black body of his baby. After everything he had seen the past forty years in that hellish nightmare, nothing had ever looked so good as the muscle car sitting in front of him at that moment. A smile stretched its way across his face.

Dean chuckled. "Oh, I almost forgot!" He walked over to the driver's door of the Impala, running his hand along the roof. "Hey, sweetheart, you miss me?" He opened the driver's door and climbed into the seat, closing the door behind him.

He had no idea how soothing the leather seat of a car could actually be. It was like an old friend welcoming him home. His gaze swept over the familiar dash of the car he hadn't realized he had missed this much. His sweep of the interior brought his attention to the radio, where a malicious parasite seemed to be growing out of the radio.

Dean glared over at Sam as he climbed in next to Dean, closing his door. "What the hell is that?"

"That's an iPod jack," Sam told him with a slight smile and a shrug.

The bastard doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed at defacing my baby, Dean thought annoyingly.

"You were supposed to take care of her, not douche her up," Dean growled at him.

"Dean, I thought it was my car," Sam dismissed.

I never actually gave it to you, Dean thought with a sneer in Sam's direction. It became yours by default.

Dean turned to the ignition, turning the key as the car started. Instantly, some stupid soft rock crap began playing from the iPod in the jack.

"You're the only one for me…"

Dean glared over at Sam. "Really?"

Sam shrugged innocently, like his choice of music wasn't an affront to everything that was holy.

Dean reached towards the stereo in frustration, grabbing the iPod and ripping it out of the jack. In his annoyance with Sam and his defiling of the car, the iPod cracked in several places in Dean's grip.

"Dean!" exclaimed Sam in indignation, tearing it out of his grasp and checking it.

Dean had froze, staring in shock at his hand and then in dread over at his brother. Despite how much he ragged on Sam's music and his preference for electronic trinkets over cassettes, Dean knew better than to get between Sam and his electronics, just as Sam knew not to mess with the Impala.

Sam finished examining the iPod and sighing in defeat, glaring over at Dean.

Dean smiled uneasily. "Okay…In my defense, I don't know my own strength."

Sam's jaw clenched as he tossed the broken iPod into the backseat, narrowing his eyes at Dean.

Dean looked back out the windshield, shifting into reverse. Dammit, I'm totally buying him a new one, aren't I?

Dean pulled out of the parking lot, following Bobby's car towards the interstate. There was companionable silence for a few minutes.

"So…" said Dean finally.

Sam glanced over at him.

"You, uh…" muttered Dean, shifting uneasily in his seat. "You're using your…abilities, or whatever."

Sam hesitated for a moment. "Yeah…"

Dean left it there for the moment before giving in to what he was sure was gonna turn into a chick-flick moment. "How?"

Sam frowned. "What do you mean, how?"

"Like, how does it work?" asked Dean.

"You're seriously asking me what I can do?" Sam asked him.

Dean shrugged. "Looks like."

Sam shifted in his seat. "Well…I can pull demons out of their hosts and send them back to hell."

"With your mind?" asked Dean. "No exorcisms, nothing?"

"Yeah," said Sam.

"And Ruby taught you that, huh?"

Sam sighed exasperatedly. "Look, I know you don't like her."

"Understatement," muttered Dean.

Sam sighed again, looking out his window.

Dean glanced over at Sam, narrowing his eyes at him. "Why do you trust her so much?"

"I told you," said Sam, still looking out the window.

"No, you fed me some line about her supposedly saving you," Dean shot back at him. "How am I supposed to just accept that?"

Sam didn't answer.

"I'm not trying to pick a fight here, man," Dean told him. "I mean, I really want to understand. But I need to know more. I mean, I deserve to know more."

Sam finally glanced over at him, staring for a moment before letting out a deep breath.

"A couple weeks after you, uh…" began Sam, "Ruby finally caught up to me."

*************************************************SPN********************************************************************

"So, then, you guys tracked these demons up here to see if they had anything on Lillith?" asked Dean.

Sam nodded. "We were gonna head out today and scout the town."

Dean shook his head. "So, the good guys are working with a demon now. Guy goes to hell, and the world turns upside down."

There was uncertain silence for a moment before Sam spoke up again.

"Speaking of…" he began, "what was it like?"

Dean frowned over at him. "What, hell?"

"Yeah," said Sam quietly.

Dean looked back out the windshield at the sun starting to break over the horizon, trying to avoid Sam's eyes.

"What was hell like?"

As if that was just an ordinary, everyday question. As if he were merely asking what the weather was like.

What was hell like…

The demon raised his hand again, the bloody lash swinging up into the air before being brought down again on Dean's raw, flayed skin.

Dean cried out in agony, his voice hoarse from screaming too much.

The demon smiled wickedly, flinging the lash up and down again. The pieces of metal and bone at the ends of the lash caught Dean across the face, effectively ripping the tears that had begun to fall right off his skin.

Dean cleared his throat, narrowing his eyes at the car in front of them. "Looks like we made it. Good, my back could use a stretch."

He could feel Sam's sad stare as he resolutely refused to look at him. After a moment, the stare left, leaving Dean feeling surprisingly alone. But he absolutely refused to put more guilt on Sam than he already had.

Yes, Dean could concede that by bringing Sam back and condemning himself to hell, he had put the worst kind of guilt in the world upon his little brother. He hadn't wanted to admit it at the time, so relieved to have his brother back and so thankful that he wouldn't have to live with the isolation for the rest of his life. He hadn't really taken into account until the last few weeks before the deal came due what he had really done to Sam.

If Dean hadn't come back from hell, Sam would have had to live the rest of his life knowing that his brother was in hell because of him. Sam would live every day feeling that if he wasn't alive, his brother would be. And Dean knew Sam; the kid was gonna blame himself no matter how much Dean told him otherwise. So, if less guilt meant not talking to Sam, then so be it.

Dean parked the car behind Bobby's in front of a house, climbing out with Sam.

"So, your psychic friend?" asked Dean.

"Yeah," said Bobby. He glanced over and caught Dean's skeptical look. "She's not some poser. She's actually pretty good at what she does. Surprises even me sometimes." He led them up to the porch and knocked on the door.

A brunette woman in jeans and a tank top answered the door with a smile and a laugh. "Bobby!" She grabbed him into a hug, lifting him briefly from the ground.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," said Bobby.

Pamela stepped back and looked Sam and Dean up and down. "So, these the boys?"

"Sam, Dean," said Bobby. "This is Pamela Barnes, best damn psychic in the state."

Dean smiled at her. "Hey."

"Hi," said Sam.

Pamela's eyes shifted over to Dean, and she frowned slightly, looking into his eyes.

Dean glanced nervously at Bobby and then back at Pamela. Her stare was making him uncomfortable.

Pamela shook herself a little, her frown disappearing. "Dean Winchester. Out of the fire and back in the frying pan, huh? Makes you a rare individual."

"If you say so," shrugged Dean.

"Come on in," said Pamela, ushering them into her house and then shutting the door behind them.

"So, you hear anything?" asked Bobby.

"Well, I Ouija'd my way through a dozen spirits," said Pamela. "No one seems to know who broke your boy out, or why. But I can tell you one thing." She looked over at Dean. "Something sure happened to him."

Dean frowned. "Why do you say that?"

"In all my life, I've never seen anyone…or anything like you," said Pamela. She stepped closer to him. "There's power in you."

"Power?" asked Dean. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Pamela told him. "Just power…an old power."

"So, what's next?" asked Bobby.

"A séance, I think," said Pamela. "See if we can see who did the deed."

"You're not gonna…summon the damn thing here," said Bobby.

"No," said Pamela. "I just want to get a sneak peek at it. Like a crystal ball without the crystal."

"I'm game," said Dean.

Pamela turned and headed into a living room as they followed her. She opened a chest by the wall and took out a black cloth with a symbol on it, spreading it over the table. She walked over to a cabinet and squatted in front of it to grab some items. Dean glanced over to see a tattoo on her lower back that read: Jesse Forever.

Dean nudged Sam with his elbow and gestured to her. "Who's Jesse?"

Pamela laughed and looked back at him. "Well, it wasn't forever."

"His loss," said Dean.

Pamela stood with several candles in hand and walked over to Dean. "Might be your gain." She walked over to the table, setting the candles down.

Dean turned towards Sam, lowering his voice. "Dude, I am so in."

"Yeah, she's gonna eat you alive," Sam muttered.

"Hey, I just got out of jail," shrugged Dean. "Bring it."

Pamela stopped at their shoulders, looking at Sam. "You're invited, too, grumpy." She walked away again.

Dean shoved his finger in Sam's face. "You are not invited."

Pamela headed back to the table with the last of her ingredients. "Alright, boys. Have a seat."

Dean, Sam and Bobby joined Pamela at the table, sitting down as Pamela lit the candles. Once the candles and everything was in place, Pamela took a seat between Bobby and Dean.

"Right," said Pamela. "Take each other's hands."

Sam joined hands with Bobby and Dean as Pamela turned to Dean.

"And I need to touch something our mystery monster touched," said Pamela.

Dean jumped as he felt a hand on his upper thigh. "Whoa!" He felt the hand retreat. "Well, he didn't touch me there."

Pamela laughed. "My mistake."

Dean glanced at the others before releasing Sam's hand and taking his jacket off of his left shoulder, rolling the sleeve of his shirt up. He could sense Sam's stare as Pamela reached for the burn on his shoulder.

"Okay," said Pamela.

They all closed their eyes and joined hands again.

"I invoke, conjure and command you," chanted Pamela. "Appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure and command you; appear unto me before this circle."

Dean opened his eyes and frowned at her. That's it? I could do that.

He closed his eyes again as Pamela continued to chant. Before long, the table began to shake, and Dean opened his eyes to watch. That sixth sense was back, screaming at him to run again.

"I invoke, conjure and command you, appear unto me before this circle," said Pamela.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw the television click on. He glanced over at it, watching as the screen filled with static. The high-pitched hum he had heard at the gas station started up again.

"I invoke, conjure and command—" chanted Pamela. "Castiel?"

Dean's gaze shot over towards her.

"No," said Pamela. "Sorry, Castiel. I don't scare easy."

"Castiel?" asked Dean.

"Its name," Pamela told him. "It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back."

The table continued to shake as the hum grew in volume.

"I conjure and command you, show me your face," chanted Pamela.

As Pamela continued to repeat the phrase, the table began to rattle more violently. Sam and Bobby both opened their eyes, staring at the table in worry. Dean's instincts were yelling at him, and it became very hard to stay seated there as the danger so obviously grew.

"Maybe we should stop," Bobby told her as the hum grew in pitch.

"I almost got it," Pamela shot at him. "I command you, show me your face! Show me your face now!"

Suddenly, the fire flared from the candles several feet into the air. A scream split the air, and Dean's head shot over to Pamela, watching as her eyes flew open and fire burst from them. Dean's jaw dropped as Pamela did also; the fire and hum instantly died down.

Bobby caught Pamela and lowered her to the floor. "Call 911!"

Sam scrambled out of his chair and darted into the next room for a phone. Dean crouched over Pamela next to Bobby, looking in concern at the blood and burnt flesh around her eyes. Pamela's eyes opened, and Dean stared in horror at the empty, burned sockets staring back at him.

"I can't see!" Pamela sobbed. "I can't see! Oh, God!"

Dean stared at the remnants of what this creature had done to Pamela for a moment before glancing up at Bobby.

If this thing burns out a person's eyes just for looking at them, why would it pull me out of hell? Dean wondered.

The only logical explanation for why something this evil would bother with him at all was that it definitely had something nasty planned for him…and it didn't look like there was any way to stop it.