Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the CW series SPN, but I do own my original characters, plot, and words. Sorry this took so long to post, I'm working on the next chapter already!

Gloria woke as a soft sound caught her ears. She opened her eyes slowly letting them adjust to the dim room. Rain still pounded on the roof and thunder cracked in the distance. A shadow on the wall caught her eye, making her rise from the bed slightly. "Dean?"

She rolled over and felt her heart freeze in her chest. Dean lay a foot from her, his green eyes wild with panic as tears rolled down his flushed cheeks as he stared up at a—Gloria had no name for it….It was tall, its skin gray and leathery. A long fingered hand was held tightly to Dean's mouth, covering it, cutting off his air and any plea for help. It locked eyes with Gloria, a low, guttural growl cutting through the air, jolting her out of her shock.

She rolled off the bed and grabbed her Beretta from the table before whirling around and taking aim. It bared its long jagged teeth at her as it continued to hold its hand over Dean's mouth; as though her presence was little deterrent to its errand. Gloria's eyes flicked to Dean; his hands were clutching at the bed sheets, his knuckles white from his grip.

"What are you," Gloria demanded as she flipped off the safety.

The being in the room shifted and leered at her but didn't move from Dean's side.

"Dean, listen to me—"

"He listens to us now," it rasped at her, interrupting her attempt to soothe Dean's panic; the perverse smile on its face made her stomach sink.

Gloria didn't hesitate as she pulled the trigger, counting until she was halfway through the clip. She lowered the firearm, seeing nothing but holes in the far wall and Dean quaking on the bed, his hands held tightly around his stomach as he listed from side to side. A low guttural noise from the kitchen made her leap towards Dean, pushing him towards the headboard as she placed herself between Dean and whatever was lurking inside the cabin with them. A shift in the shadows outside of the bedroom door startled her, making her snake a protective arm around Dean, pushing him further behind her.

She walked slowly to the door, looking cautiously through the doorway before slamming it shut and using the last of the salt to lay down a heavy line. She shoved the dresser in front of it before grabbing her cellphone and dialing Sam.

"Something's in the cabin with us," she whispered as soon as he answered.

"Is Dean still with you," Sam demanded. "Is he alright?"

"We're okay," Gloria whispered. "I've got salt lines at all the doors and windows…how the hell did it get in here?"

"I don't know—"

"What the hell do I do now? I've used half my ammunition, the last of the salt, and a dresser to barricade the door."

"That might be all you can do, for now, except to maybe handcuff yourself to Dean…you'd lose your ability to fight, but you'll keep him grounded to you. If you've got any iron or silver, use that too. You might as well cover all of your bases."

"And that's going to work," Gloria asked as Dean began to cough.

"More like a theory," Sam admitted. "We're working on it."

Before Gloria could reply, the sound of Dean gagging caught her ear and drew her attention.

"Call you back," she snapped as she dropped the call and rushed to Dean. His lips were turning blue, his eyes wide with panic as he clawed at his throat. She pulled him to the side of bed and pushed his hands away, not hesitating this time as she jammed her fingers into his mouth, trying to find the source of the problem. She felt the edge of something lodged far back in his throat and fought to get ahold of it.

"Don't swallow, whatever it is, don't swallow it, Dean," Gloria whispered just as she felt it slide past her fingertips. Dean gagged and coughed as he swallowed the foreign object, his eyes locking onto Gloria's. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Dean spoke.

"….please…," he rasped, his voice raw and broken.

Gloria nodded before grabbing him and pulling him upright on the bed, forcing his head down low between his knees, and shoved her fingers back into his throat. She felt the first heave shake his whole body, his back arching from the tension. His hands twisted the bed sheets as she fought to make him expel the contents of his stomach. Gloria ignored the bile that suddenly flowed from the man's mouth, running down her hand and arm, her eyes searching the waste for the object they were desperately trying to dispel from him. One more painful and breathless heave brought up the object.

Gloria immediately recognized the crescent shaped pastry, its appearance near identical to the one Dean had thrown up in the car earlier that morning. She frowned as she discovered that part of the pastry was missing, a portion that somehow Dean hadn't been able to force loose. She fished the pastry from the bile and tossed it aside before grabbing a cold, wet wash cloth for Dean. He lay motionless on the bed, not even bothering to fight her as she gently cleaned his face and hands. He watched her silently, his eyes full of exhaustion and glassy from fever.

Long after she had cleaned them both up, Dean continued to dry heave, his arms wrapped protectively around his stomach. His head rested upon his knees, his back to the bed's headboard. She could almost see the effect of the pastry on him as his body digested it; whatever it was, it was breaking down into his system rapidly. His hands began to tremble, the sound of the handcuffs clinking together catching her attention. She sat close with her back to him, her eyes trained on the door and her hand on her Beretta. She could feel the heat rising from him from just inches away.

She scooted up the bed towards him, moving slowly. "Dean?"

He whimpered and burrowed his face further into his arms.

"Dean, can you hear me?"

"Let me go…want to go home…"

"We're working on it, okay, Dean? Can you tell me what that thing was?"

Dean lifted his face from his knees, rubbing his eyes. His gaze wandered around the room, not stopping to look at anything particular. Gloria moved closer, grabbing his chin and forcing his face towards her own. She frowned and cursed when she saw the milky whiteness of his eyes, she could barely make out the edges of his widely blown pupils through the haze. "Dammit, Dean. What the hell did that thing do to you?"

Sweat began to break out across his skin, making him shiver. Gloria gently laid a hand on the nape of his neck, feeling the heat once more flare across his skin. As her hand lingered on his neck, his eyes finally settled on her; a look of confusion crossed his face before he pulled away from her touch, cowering against the headboard.

"Let me go…you're not her…she's dead…"

Gloria moved towards him and spoke softly. "Dean, you with me, man?"

He jerked, startled by her voice, his hands coming up defensively but immediately covering his mouth.

"…No more...Sammy…"

"Shit! I forgot about Sam…" Gloria exclaimed as she grabbed the phone and dialed.

"What the hell is happening down there," Sam yelled into the phone, anger and concern mixing in his voice.

"We're okay, at least for now…sort of," Gloria said as she heard a soft murmur from Dean. She grabbed her pack and began to sort through the contents for anything else to protect them with. "Whatever it was, it forced something into Dean's mouth. I made him throw it up, but it looks like part of it just isn't going to come back up, pretty sure whatever it was has hit his bloodstream…his fever had skyrocketed again, his eyes have gone white and his pupils are blown…he's delirious, I think."

"This just keeps getting better and better," Sam muttered into the phone. "We've got to figure this out."

"No shit, Sherlock," Gloria snapped.

"Any chance you can move Dean out of there," Sam asked.

"Not without knowing what's on the other side of the door," Gloria explained. "We're sitting ducks."

"Did it was say anything," Sam asked. "Or give any clue why it wants Dean?"

"It didn't even act like I was a threat…but it did make a run for it when I started shooting... Although, it could have left because it got what it wanted…it got that pastry thing into Dean's mouth. It's acting like a poison almost, I would have sworn to you that when he was in the tub, his fever was down and he responded to his name. As soon as he digested part of that thing, he went back to fevered and crazy," Gloria explained. "It said 'he listens to us now' and that's kinda discomforting at the moment."

The phone was silent as Bobby and Sam spoke in the background. She could hear the beginnings of an argument before Sam suddenly returned to the phone.

"Gloria, we're won't be there until about sunrise, and we're already breaking every speed limit between us and you," Sam said apologetically. "It's a twenty one hour drive without stops…"

"I know," Gloria said with a frown. "Trust me, if I could get us out of here, I would. I'll be lucky if the military police don't kick the door down to investigate the gunshots. I'm so getting court martialed for this…"

"Lucky for you, there's a huge storm right over you guys," Sam said. "Lots of thunder and lightning."

Gloria nodded and glanced toward the window. "Hopefully the campground is empty then, except for us. In the meantime, I'm down some serious supplies. Some of our stuff is in the kitchen and as for Dean, well, I'm not sure what to do for him anymore. His fever seems to be driven by whatever they gave him, probably his body trying to fight it off. We're out of gauze too and what he has on is soaked. I should have driven his ass to the hospital…"

"Gloria, trust me, you could be without power, water, and warmth and Dean would still be better off with you than he has been at times in the past…and no hospitals, please. Trust me, they can't begin to help him and we'll have a hell of a time getting him out if he starts rambling crazy stuff. We've got to avoid a psych visit at all costs…He's tough, he can hang on until we get there," Sam explained. "But that doesn't answer the big question now…"

"How to protect him?"

"No…if you're pinned down on Fort Eustis…how do we get on base to help you?"

25.7877° N, 80.2241° W

Castiel stood at the edge of the dock, his eyes closed and face tilted towards the setting sun. A passerby might imagine he was enjoying the sound of the waves, warmth of the sun, or any one of the reasons people flocked to the water's edge. He was, in fact, listening to the heavenly chatter about the war that continued to rage in Heaven. He knew that the longer it went on; Heaven's structure would weaken and crumble. It would be a prime time to take over the empire that God had abandoned. A small nudge here…there… it was easy work to undermine the authority of those that still held rank.

He would set it all right when he assumed authority.

First though, he needed Purgatory. And that meant negotiating with Crowley. For every light, there must be darkness. If people had nothing to fear, they had no motivation to be good. No reason to strive to overcome their human flaws. He needed some motivation and Crowley would be the one to provide it. 'Well controlled chaos,' Castiel thought to himself as he smiled lightly.

"I have something for you," a gravelly voice stated, interrupting his thoughts.

Castiel turned and frowned. "You found him?"

"Something like that, yes," Crowley said. "He's in Virginia. Bobby and Sam are on their way to him now."

"How do you know this? Did one of your people find him?"

"No. For all our efforts, we missed him. Not surprising though, Virginia is a place I'd rather avoid. It's a rather low ranking state for deal making…not a profitable market, too many gun-toting, Jeep driving types. Now, people who live in the Bible belt and drive minivans…those are the easy targets. Anyhow, one of my people heard it from Bobby and Sam themselves," Crowley said smugly.

Castiel stared at Crowley. "When?"

"Earlier today, they stopped for a bite to eat at a diner near the interstate…waitresses do make the best spies. They're headed to him now. He's with a hunter and therefore not our problem any longer."

"And your people will not pursue him?"

Crowley smiled. "I have bigger fish to fry than Dean Winchester…such as Purgatory. My people have orders to stay away from the Winchesters until things change."

"What things," Castiel asked, his eyes flashing.

"You know…things. Once the power struggle is all over in Heaven and you and I run the world, I'll have to revisit some old scores," Crowley explained casually as he moved to the dock's edge. "Why are we meeting here? It reeks of dead fish."

Castiel turned toward the water. "I enjoy the sailboats."

"Sailboats," Crowley scoffed. "Waste of time. There's a special circle of hell for sailors, did you know that?"

Castiel glanced at Crowley, unsure if he was misidentifying sarcasm. "They are beautiful. There is one coming in later that once belonged to Clarke Gable. I would very much like to see it dock."

Crowley shook his head. "Angels…you've seen everything in the world and you're going to wait here for some ratty old boat that probably belongs to some over sexed, speedo wearing man. We have work to do, Castiel. Surely, there is something that needs you attention."

"Do we know yet what was taking Dean?"

"No and as far as I'm concerned, it's not our problem to handle."

Castiel nodded as he felt Crowley vanish from his side. If Dean or Sam needed him, they would call upon him. With their Enochian markings, it was still impossible to find them without first being summoned or called. He turned his attention back to the glittering waves. He had more important things to do than worry about Dean. Dean had Sam and Bobby watching out for him; and it was time they learned that Castiel was no longer just an angel available for their beck and call. He was about to be a god.

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Gloria shifted the last of the furniture against the door. She had already moved everything except the bed but she couldn't help rearranging the furniture for another time. She was full of nervous energy and being trapped by a mystery monster in small room occupied by a paranoid, delusion-ridden hunter was enough to make her want to count her ammunition for a third time.

Behind her, Dean was huddled in the corner of the room, his back to the wall. His milky eyes were closed against the dim light. Gloria watched as he rubbed at his eyes again, a confused look on his face. She moved slowly toward him, the handcuffs tucked back in her pocket. His hands shook as she placed her hand on his forehead.

Before he could say anything, she spoke. "Sam's coming."

He pushed his face into his arms, hiding from her as best as he could.

"Sammy…"

"Dean, look at me," Gloria said, almost overcome with the desperation to be away from the room and the two beings she needed to keep apart at all costs. "Look at me!"

Dean slowly raised his head, his milky eyes looking right through her. He shivered, fear evident on his face.

"Dean, what do you see?"

Somewhere in Dean's Mind

Dean was lost.

He knew that something was nearby, something that knew his name. His head throbbed as he tried to fight through the confusion. He felt every thought slip away from him, leaving him more and more confused the harder he tried to focus on what was happening.

Sensations assailed him as lights and colors came at him from all directions, making it impossible to see. He squinted, trying to focus on his surroundings, terrified that the monster was coming back. He had seen it; he knew he had; its real face leering down at him while keeping him from screaming. He wondered where he really was, or if he had even escaped the shack. Dean knew that just because he couldn't see it didn't mean he had escaped it. Plenty of fuglies could mess with your head, turning your reality upside down and inside out. He couldn't see anything except bright lights and colors, his head throbbed painfully as another wave of nausea rolled over him.

He could hear something nearby, footsteps loud and harsh to his suddenly sensitive hearing. His heart beat loudly in his chest, making it hard for him to hear the noise as it approached. He clenched his fists and resolved that no matter what, he'd fight back this time. The first touch to his forehead was hesitant and almost soothing, its skin cool against the fire that raged under his own skin. He pulled in a shaky breath and lashed out, making contact against something hard. He cowered further against the wall, his vision swimming.

"…get away from me…," he slurred. His head pounded in his skull, the sensation of the throbbing made it feel as though his head was about to explode.

"Dean, calm down," a voice said from nearby. "It's okay."

"It's not okay," Dean yelled out, his voice painfully loud to his sensitive ears.

"Can you look at me?"

Dean burrowed his head into his arms. He wasn't going to give the fugly the satisfaction. He'd ignore it until Sammy came and killed it for him.

"Go away…"

"I'm not going away," the voice snapped. "Now look at me."

A cold hand slid under his chin and lifted his head up; he felt as though his head weighed a hundred pounds. He slowly looked up, wondering what he was going to see. Colors blurred and swirled, making his stomach roll, as he tried to focus in on the figure before him.

He scoffed and rolled his head out of the hand when he caught a glimpse of blonde hair. "How many times you gonna look like her….she's dead and gone… nice try…"

The hand pulled away. "Dean, you've gotta pull it together—"

Dean shivered at the sound of his dad's voice. He opened his eyes and felt his stomach drop.

"How much longer we gonna do this for…," he asked angrily. "They're all dead…my fault…"

"I'm sure it's not," the voice said, something about it this time making him uncomfortable. The voice was sincere; unrecognizable. He rubbed his eyes, refusing to open them; refusing to see what fresh hell his captors had laid out for him.

"Leave me alone…" he snapped.

He listened to a curious sigh and the being walking away from him. He moved one hand to his stomach as it growled in hunger, he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten something other than whatever those fuglies had forced into him.

The memory of the overly sweet pastry made his stomach churn with want. His mouth was dry, thirst settling over him. How much longer until Sam saved him? Where was Cas? Didn't anyone care he was missing?

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Gloria sat a few feet from Dean toying with the hand cuffs. She wasn't sure he was going to tolerate being tethered to her, in fact, she knew he wasn't. He had struck out at her, his incoordination landing the blow on her shoulder rather than her face.

She glanced at her watch again, calculating the hours until Sam and Bobby would be arriving. They still had a few hours to go. She sighed and watched Dean rub his eyes again. The whiteness of his eyes was unnerving at best. He continued to try to look around the room but if she moved or spoke his agitation and accusations returned. She wanted to get a good look at his burn site, but until he fell asleep or became less combative, she knew she had to wait.

A soft sound on the other side of the door caught her attention, making her grip her Beretta tightly. She knew there was no way that it was Bobby or Sam out there; it had to be one of those things. After a minute of listening to it, her anger got the better of her. She walked to the door and knocked forcefully.

"Listen up! I'm armed, pissed off, and tired. You wanna make a move to get in here, you better be prepared to meet your maker!"

A soft scratching on the door answered her, sending a shiver down her spine.

"We've come for the tribute," a gravelly voice said from behind the door.

Gloria gripped her Beretta and leveled it at the door, trying to determine the exact place the voice was coming from. "Tribute, huh? Sounds a lot like something we're not interested in."

"The tribute will come when called," the gravelly voice said. "It is time."

Gloria glanced at Dean. He was sitting perfectly still and staring straight at the door. Light twitches near his cheek made her anger boil over.

"Does he have to be alive for the role of tribute," Gloria snapped angrily as she mentally counted up her ammunition again. She could spare one or two for a good show.

A growl near the door followed by a string of indecipherable murmurs caused Dean to stand, clutching the wall for support. The murkiness of his eyes seemed to look right through her as he took a step toward the door, his legs shaking with the effort.

Gloria pulled the trigger and flinched as the sound echoed through the small room. She stared at the splintered hole in the wooden door and smirked, wondering if she had hit the mysterious being on the other side.

"If he so much as moves another muscle towards this door, I'll shoot him and then neither one of us will have him, understand me," she exclaimed, confidence oozing from her voice. "I've got plenty ammunition to do the job. Don't test me."

A loud screech echoed through the cabin before a subtly sweet aroma filled the room.

"Really, cookies at a time like this? Ah, you're killing me," she murmured as she turned back toward Dean, wondering if the being had released its hold over him.

Dean stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall, sliding down on weak legs until he was sitting on the floor. His head rocked side to side as he rubbed at his eyes. Gloria kneeled next to him and sighed. Dark lines under his eyes matched the hand print shaped bruise that spanned his face.

"Your brother's going to think I beat you up," Gloria said as she slipped the handcuffs back in place. She stared at the miserable and fevered man and sighed deeply. Whatever they were, they had some serious power over the young man. "Let's hope Sam and Bobby figure this out soon…"

Newport News, Virginia

"You sure about this," Bobby asked.

Sam shrugged in the dim motel light that glowed overhead. "Gloria said this is what we have to do to get on base."

Bobby frowned and adjusted his cap. "I don't like going in unarmed."

Sam glanced back at the motel room door as he shifted gears and pulled the Impala back onto the road. They had no intention of sleeping there, but the arsenal had to be left behind and a motel was the only option they had.

"I don't like it either, but we can't go in guns blazing. I'm amazed the Army will even let civilians on base; and if we're going to look and act like civilians, we can't very well show up with a car full of weapons," Sam said with another shrug.

"Well, as long as the housekeeping girls doesn't find the half dozen duffel bags full of knives, guns, and fake IDs; we'll be fine," Bobby said. "I'm not half as worried about the weapons staying behind as I am about getting on base. Can't we just find some spell to get him off the base?"

Sam chuckled. "Nope, not this time. We've got to drive on base and undergo inspection."

"Exactly what I'm worried about," Bobby mumbled.

Sam turned off the main drag and followed the blacktop until signs for the Army base came into view. He slowed the car and maneuvered through the maze of designated lanes before spotting the metal frame building they would have to pass through for base entry.

"Now Gloria said to just not act weird and let them do their thing," Sam said with a shaky sigh. "We've gotten through worse…"

"Can't we just use some fake military or government IDs to get on base," Bobby asked with a huff. "I always wanted to be a drill sergeant…"

Sam laughed. "You're already one, Bobby. But no, we don't want to attract any official attention or have anyone try to escort us or anything. Civilian is the best way."

"Says you."

Bobby grunted as a uniformed man waved them forward into the low hanging opening of the building before motioning for Sam to kill the engine. Sam and Bobby waited silently until the soldier leaned down to the window and said, "Good morning, gentlemen. We'll need to have you exit the vehicle, open all the doors, the trunk and hood, and wait at the front of the vehicle during inspection. Also, we'll need to see some valid photo identification."

Sam and Bobby slowly slid from the Impala, Bobby heading for the front while Sam circled the car, opening everything as he did. He smiled disarmingly to the uniformed man as he handed over the driver's licenses they had put together earlier.

Bobby and Sam watched as the group of men circled the car; one man peered into the interior while another man walked around the car looking underneath it with a mirror performing the routine bomb check. As two of the men peered into the trunk, Sam groaned inwardly. He had fastened down the false bottom of the trunk securely enough, but the devil's trap was still painted on the inside of the trunk.

Bobby caught his eye and shook his head, he knew that few people could recognize it and frankly, if they could, they were the kind of people that might be willing to help them out.

One of the uniformed men handed Sam their driver's licenses and asked, "Who you folks here to see?"

Sam cleared his throat before answering. "Gloria Johnson. We knew her dad before he passed away and thought we'd stop by and see her on her day off."

The man nodded as he looked at his clip board, not really listening. "You know where you're headed?"

"Uh… she gave us directions," Sam said, watching the inspection from the corner of his eye. If they had overlooked something in the car…he wasn't really sure what would happen but they didn't have time to find out. Gloria and Dean needed them.

"Alright, close up your car and you can continue on your route," the man said as he motioned towards the car. Sam and Bobby sprang into action and pulled away from the metal building before continuing toward the main gate.

As Bobby and Sam drove through the last gate that stood between them and Dean, a uniformed man leaned out of the small booth and motioned them on. "Welcome to Fort Eustis."

Author's Note: So they finally made it to the base! Now to drag Dean back to the panic room and figure this thing out… Any thoughts? Requests? Evil quotas that need filling?

Please remember to leave a review! I appreciate it!