Disclaimer: I've got dibs on the plot, original characters, and such. The CW and Supernatural…eh, not so much.

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! They are awesome to find in my inbox and I appreciate every one who takes the time to send me one! THANKS! … Alrighty then, let's see if we can get Dean to cooperate and get into the damn car, shall we?

IMPORTANT NOTICES:

I made a slight change in Crowley's conversation in the last chapter: 100 years changed to 7 years. Had to go with the lore I found, toooo good to ignore!

Don't go looking up this shit—you could but you'd ruin the story for yourself (and utterly dishearten me…I've been sleeping with an old library reference book of symbols and lore, don't test me). I'm going to have to fabricate a few details since the only hardcore lore exists in some dusty private libraries overseas. I don't have a passport… Woe is me.

In this chapter, we will encounter an old OFC of mine, Alice (Alison) Hilty, from 'In the Fold'. It's not a requirement to read that one first (obviously) but Bobby needed a resource and she was feeling helpful. NOT a marysue, trust me.

ANOTHER IMPORTANT ANNOUCEMENT….Find me on Tumblr…Please…I'm wifey-mcwiferson... Use the dash! I'm newish to it….help a girl out….Besides, I'm dying to ask stupid stuff…like what, if any, soundtracks you guys listen to while reading this…I know what I use to write it ;)

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

"What's wrong," Marty asked worried as he raced into the room.

"Dean's gone. The door was open and his IV is on the floor. He must have woken up and wandered off," Bobby explained hurriedly as he ran back in the cabin and grabbed a flashlight. "Keep an eye on Sam. I've got to find Dean before the military personal or those damn Dean snatchers do."

Bobby raced out into the storm looking for Dean, the beam of light from the flashlight cutting a swath through the rain. Thunder and lightning continued to crack and flash overhead as rain pelted down. "Dean! DEAN!"

Bobby carefully looked around the cabin before racing off to the cabins that littered the area. None of them were lit from within and Bobby tried each door only to find them all locked tightly. Bobby glanced down the roadway, wondering if Dean would have stuck to the developed area or taken off into the woods near the cabin.

Bobby ran back to the cabin, his mind whirling with worry. "No sign of him and I can't track him through all this rain. I need you out there helping," Bobby snapped as soon as he stepped through the door. "What a time for Sam to be down and out."

"Let me drain the water from the tub so Sam doesn't drown while we're outside," Marty said.

Bobby adjusted his cap and scowled. "It'll be a miracle if I can get that kid home before—"

He stopped midsentence, realizing what he had obviously overlooked. "Home…. –Stay with Sam, I'll be back in a minute. I know where he went," Bobby said as he headed for the door.

He trudged back across the porch and stepped into the rain, slowly approaching the Impala. He must have run right past Dean in his hurry, overlooking the one place Dean would have gone. Even in Dean's addled mind, the Impala was home. It was the place he felt safe, no matter how bad off he might really be.

Bobby slowly popped open the passenger side door and slid onto the bench seat, closing the door as quietly as possible. He sat still and silent until he could make out the sound of Dean's breathing coming from the backseat.

"Dean?"

When he didn't answer, Bobby slowly slid around and looked back at the young man. Dean lay on the seat, a thick wool blanket pulled over him. He looked up at Bobby, his eyes filled with distrust and discomfort. Bobby could detect more green in them this time, the white finally fading. "Dean, it's Bobby, kid. Can you hear me?"

Dean sat up before moving closer to the door, ready to run; not really sure he could trust what he was hearing and seeing.

"Just stay put, Dean. I don't want to run through this rain after you. You're back, kid. Don't know where you went, but you're back now," Bobby said, a sense of relief in his voice. It felt good to say it finally say out loud. Now if he could just keep Dean in the car.

Dean sat silently, staring past Bobby out into the storm as lightning lit up the sky.

"Do you remember being taken from my kitchen? You walked right out the door and disappeared."

When Dean didn't respond, Bobby kept talking. "That was well over a week ago. You ended up here in Virginia, on Fort Eustis, an Army base. We found a hunter here on base; she had already found you, laying in a ditch half frozen. You've been hallucinating and running a high fever since then."

Bobby waited a minute before continuing on. He wanted a sign from Dean that he was back and ready to deal with reality. "Dean? Talk to me, son."

"This…this isn't real…can't be…"

Bobby considered Dean's words; harsh, fearful, and pained. "No, Dean, that's what I'm telling you. This is real. This is the real Impala, I am the real Bobby, and the real Sam is inside getting cooled down from his own fever."

Dean laughed; his voice rough and hoarse from disuse. "Yeah, right…"

"Dean, I know you've probably seen some crazy stuff, and you disappearing and reappearing all over the place is messing with your head. I'm guessing that a lot of what you've seen isn't real."

Dean scoffed. "Just like those other men…guess they weren't real either, were they?"

"No, Dean. I don't doubt that they're real. But they're still being held…well, prisoner, I guess. You got loose because I paid someone to hunt your ass down another way and to shake you loose. You were on the mend too, until one of those tall, gray beasties broke in and force fed you one of those goddamn pastries. Gloria said she made you throw a bunch of it up, but you still digested part of it. And you're still digesting it, but the sounds of it," Bobby said firmly. "It's making you hallucinate…"

Dean snorted disrespectfully. "Nice try, but I know what this is…"

"And what is it," Bobby asked, hopeful that Dean really did know what had happened to him and could provide Bobby with the crucial clue he needed to determine what they could hunt down to end this nightmare.

"D'jinn. I got taken by a goddamn D'jinn," Dean snapped. "I saw the IV in my arm…must have had a moment of lucidity before I got another dose of the toxins…and now, I'm sitting in an imaginary Impala, talking nonsense to an imaginary Bobby about being trapped in my own friggin imagination. I'm screwed unless Sammy or the real Bobby finds me…"

Bobby shook his head in frustration. "The IV was for fluids, Dean. You feel that fire under your skin? That's a fever you've been fight for over a day. Your brains are cooking and you're just out of sorts right now, not suffering from some D'jinn's toxins."

Dean glared at Bobby. "That's just what imaginary Bobby would say…to make me feel better at a time like this…"

Bobby wanted to smack the damnable argument right out of him. How was he supposed to make Dean believe him?

"It's never been my job to make you feel better, just to help you and Sam, even when it made you feel worse," Bobby spat gruffly. "Get out of the car."

"No," Dean said angrily from his place on the backseat. "This is my fantasy. Pretty sure that means I get to decide what I do. And I want to stay here until Sam finds me."

Bobby turned to look at Dean. "Look here then, genius. If you were really taken down by a D'jinn and had a moment of lucidity before getting dosed again, you wouldn't remember it, you dumbass. You might have a few seconds of something being out of place, but the whole fantasy wouldn't disappear. You'd be back in some super fantastic fantasy where you're shacked up with some red headed waitress and have a trunk load of pie. But no, you're a miserable wreck who's hiding in the back of his own goddamn car!"

Dean looked up at Bobby, one eyebrow rising slightly. "If that's the best theory my inner Bobby can offer up, I'm either dying or dead…"

"Listen here, you irritable idjit, you were getting taken by something real, something that left bruises all over you—Hell, you've got a goddamn handprint on your face—and whatever was taking you, is going to come back for you. You want to hide out here and wait for it to come back…cause that's just about the stupidest idea I've heard yet," Bobby said, trying to compel Dean into listening to him. He didn't want to drag Dean back into the house, kicking and screaming and fighting. But he would if he had to. "Try to remember what you've seen."

Dean closed his eyes, trying to figure out what was real. Bobby sounded real and looked real. But then, if this was Dean's imagination, he would. Dean listened to the rain pounding on the Impala's roof. A shiver ran through him as he recalled the sound of the men's hysteria and prattling conversations with imaginary people…he swallowed as the taste of bile rose in his throat.

"I want you to be real…," Dean muttered as he glanced up at Bobby. "But I need to know…"

"Remember that day in my house…," Bobby said. He tried to recall what Charlotte had told him, anything that would help him convince Dean that he was really in danger; that he needed to listen to Bobby. It was almost cruel to ask him to remember reality when his own hallucinated beliefs were truly the safer version. He just needed Dean to come back into the cabin with him.

"You were taken by something; it made you walk right out the door. Sam tried to stop you…he ended up with a concussion."

Dean frowned as he pulled the blanket higher around him. Bobby watched him, frustrated as Dean seemed to balk at his words. "Listen, Dean. Try to remember," he said firmly but gently.

Dean rubbed at his eyes, wishing nothing more than to be able to look Bobby in the eye without the blinding lights messing with his vision. He tried to remember the last time he had been at Bobby's house. The last time he had spoken to Sam. A memory trickled up, a deep frown settling on his face.

"I….I walked out…I asked you to let me go…right?"

"You did…I wished I had fought you on it, kept you in the house…"

"I had to go," Dean muttered, trying to piece everything together. "It hurt…I had to go to them…"

Bobby nodded and kept going. "The place you went, the place they took you…it was dark, rainy…there were trees there. Lots of trees."

The ache of uncertainty increased, making Dean frown.

"It would have smelly somewhat earthy….," Bobby said, watching Dean's face for any sign of recognition. He watched as Dean stared at his hands, his eyes not really seeing anything, his breath coming out faster. "Dean? You okay, kid?"

"I…I don't want to go back…"

"To where," Bobby asked hopefully. He needed Dean to keep talking.

"The shack..."

Bobby glanced at the cabin, just a few yards from the car. "I know it's not great, but I'd hardly call that a shack."

Dean didn't say anything, just glanced out the other window, not toward the cabin, but at the stand of trees a few hundred feet from the cabins. Bobby watched as Dean pulled the blanket higher, blocking his view of the trees.

"You didn't mean this cabin, did you," Bobby asked as he read Dean's body language. The kid was scared of something, something he couldn't name or even see; but his trust in Bobby was greater than his fear of whatever he thought was out in the dark recesses of the woods.

"The shack…it was full of men…they weren't right…they weren't even scared…the rain kept coming in through the roof… cold, Bobby, really cold," Dean said, his voice full of frustration and near hysteria. "I don't know…none of this makes any sense."

"Listen here, kid. This fever is going to break eventually and you'll be able to piece this together. You can argue with me later, but we need to head back inside the cabin. If Sam's anything like you, hallucinating and belligerent, Marty's going to need some help with him."

Dean didn't move from his place on the seat. "You are one bossy hallucination," he croaked out as he tried to clear his throat.

"You keep sitting there and I'll show you bossy…," Bobby muttered as he climbed out of the car. He yanked the back door open and waited as Dean slowly stepped out of the car and into the rain. He looked so defeated that Bobby almost felt sorry for him as he motioned for Dean to walk to the cabin. "You can talk nonsense inside while I help your brother out."

Dean allowed himself to be propelled across the terrain, rainwater soaking though the blanket. "Where are my clothes," he asked with a shiver.

Bobby chuckled. "What? Did your delusional pants and shirt go missing? They're in the cabin. Gloria had to strip you to your boxers to get you into the tub."

As Dean stepped into the cabin, he shielded his eyes from the bright light. Bobby grabbed his elbow and led him to the couch, his legs trembling under him as he went. He was exhausted and collapsed in a heap with a groan. "Just my luck..."

"What was that," Bobby asked he sat on the edge of the coffee table, intent on bringing Dean back to reality if it took them staying awake the whole night talking.

"I'm supposed to be living some friggin fantastic fantasy while some D'jinn sucks the life out of me and instead I'm sick and stuck talking to you."

"It's been real fun for me too," Bobby said with a tired chuckle as he picked up another IV kit.

"No," Dean said as he pulled away from Bobby, his hands coming up defensively. "Not happening."

"Then you've got to drink some water, eat something, and take a few pills for me. You're choice," Bobby explained, watching Dean closely. Dean shook his head from side to side, warily watching Bobby's movements.

"First, I'm going to go check on Sam and Marty. You stay put while we get your brother out here."

Dean closed his eyes again, trying to figure out what all was real. He wanted Sam. He was miserably hot but wracked with shivers and he knew Sam couldn't fix him, but he needed his little brother, even if he was only a hallucination.

Dean's eyes flew open as he felt something cold around his arm. Bobby, fake or not, had handcuffed him to the coffee table. "Might not stop you, but it'll slow you down for a minute. I'll go get Sam for you."

Bobby trudged down the hallway, shaking his head in disbelief over their current predicament. Things just continued to get worse and he was ready for a break.

Marty stood back from the tub, Sam lying in the cool spray of the shower; he looked far too big for the tub, his knees high against the sides. His clothes were plastered to him, but that was just the price to pay for having a high fever and a combative refusal to be undressed. Bobby stepped into the room and stared down at Sam, who looked like downright miserable in his current state. He looked up at Bobby before rolling back on his good side, a dry heave wracking his frame.

"He's stopped hallucinating," Marty said softly. "Kind of in and out right now, but seems alright enough."

"And the fever," Bobby asked.

"It's started to drop…especially since he started throwing up. It's slowly coming down but a hell of a lot faster than Dean's has," Marty replied with a bemused look. "Apparently, Sam had just enough to get most of the symptoms but for a fraction of the time. Might not have been such a bad idea on his part after all."

Bobby grunted his agreement. "Makes me wonder what would have happened to Dean if Gloria hadn't made him throw most of it up."

"Haven't heard any good guesses from anyone yet?"

Bobby shook his head. "A few good ones, but so far, none of them have panned out. Someone has to have encountered these things before."

"Just gotta find the right person with the right book," Marty muttered as he adjusted the water temperature again.

Well, I've got Dean on the couch again," Bobby explained. "You let me know if you need me."

Bobby headed back to Dean and found him still handcuffed to the table. Dean looked asleep and didn't move as Bobby moved through the kitchen, placing a glass of water and box of crackers near Dean.

"Dean, wake up," Bobby said as he dug three Tylenol from the bottle. "You said no more IV, which means you get to take these with a few glasses of water. Doubt they'll do anything for your fever, but by the look of you, you've gotta be hurting in a few places."

Dean jolted awake and opened his eyes, the green even more pronounced in his eyes now. He frowned at the box of crackers in front of him and gulped back a lump in his throat. A faint memory tickled the back of his mind, a memory of fighting food being shoved in his mouth…those other men…they hadn't fought…they had been trapped.

"No," he muttered as he pushed the box away from him.

"Dean, you have to eat," Bobby argued as he held out the pills in his hand.

"Get away from me," Dean snapped as he pulled away from Bobby, tugging harshly at the handcuffs that held him to the coffee table. The memory of being restrained and prodded made panic rise in his chest. He fought against the handcuff before settling on grabbing the box of crackers and throwing it across the room. He wanted to be free, to be away from the cabin, to be away from hands that wanted to poke and prod at him. He wanted to be back in the Impala, where Sam would know to find him.

"Dean! What the hell was that for," Bobby exclaimed as he stared at the trail of crackers that now littered the floor.

"Let me go! I know what you're doing; you keep trying to make me eat—why? So you can keep me here forever? I know better," Dean accused as he continued to yank on the handcuff, while Bobby tried to grab his hands.

"Dean, stop it! You're going to hurt yourself," Bobby chided as tried to get in Dean's line of sight. "Calm down!"

Dean ignored Bobby, swatting at him the second he tried to restrain Dean.

"Dean, we talked about this," Bobby said as he sat on the coffee table and tried to gently hold Dean's arms still. "You said no IVs so I've offered pills. You take them when I say to and I'll keep that needle out of your arm."

Dean ignored him, tugging painfully against the handcuffs. "Let me go," he howled. "Let me go! I want Sam! — SAM!"

In the back of the cabin, everyone turned to the sound of Dean's cry. Gloria sprung off the bed and tore down the hallway as Marty grabbed Sam under his good arm and began to haul him to his feet. He didn't care if Sam was having a hard time keeping his mind on the present, if the sight of Sam would calm Dean down; Marty would drag Sam back to the couch and deal with the fever there. Sam grabbed at anything he could reach, trying to stay upright and get to Dean. His head throbbed as he and Marty moved quickly up the hallway, Sam holding his aching arm tightly to his chest. He could feel the fever eating at him, but the sound of Dean's voice had been enough to get him to leave the comforting water. He let Marty move him towards Dean and sat on the edge of the coffee table, while Bobby and Gloria tried to calm Dean down. His eyes were screwed shut as he continued to fight everyone. "Let me go! I want Sam!"

"Dean," Sam said softly. "Hey man, I'm here."

Dean's thrashing halted as he opened his eyes and looked around Bobby to Sam. "Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean, I'm right here," Sam said as he reached out and gripped Dean's shoulder, gently pushing Gloria and Bobby to the side. "I'm right here. Everything is okay. We found you. Everything is fine."

Dean relaxed somewhat, his shoulders drooping as he leaned toward Sam. Bobby watched in surprise as Dean let Sam pull him into a hug. "I've got you, Dean."

"How do I know the difference….," Dean mumbled into Sam's chest, his eyes hidden from everyone. "I need to know what's real…"

Sam sighed deeply. They had all been in that position at some point, and he knew that until Dean was really better, there was no way to answer the question. "You know there is no way for me to answer that…you just have to trust me. Trust all of us."

They sat in that position until Bobby insisted on moving Sam to the armchair, wrapping a blanket around Sam's shivering form while Marty replaced the gauze on his shoulder. Gloria moved to table, the bottle of whiskey in her sights; a glass in Bobby's hand before she could even ask. Bobby poured his own glass, finally convinced it was time to get everyone into the car and away from the cabin before anything else could go wrong. He was about to suggest it when a sound caught his attention.

A low guttural growl came from the hallway, everyone pausing in disbelief. Before anyone could move, the lights dimmed and flickered out, filling the cabin with darkness and the sound of Dean screaming.

"Someone grab ahold of Dean," Bobby yelled out as he grabbed the flashlight from the coffee table and pulled Gloria's Beretta from his jacket. "Sam, get him quiet!"

Bobby and Gloria jumped and moved in the dim light cast off from the flashlight. Marty shoved the coffee table closer to the couch, allowing Gloria to push Dean into the couch cushions, her weight keeping him stationary. "Dean, calm down," she said firmly.

Dean kept right on yelling, threats and pleas rolling off his tongue as everyone else scurried around. As another screech tore through the cabin, Gloria placed her hand desperately over Dean's mouth, trying to quiet him. He thrashed his head side to side, trying to dislodge her hand.

"Sam! I said get him quiet," Bobby snapped again, louder this time.

"I'm trying, Bobby," Sam said. "Dean! Dean, look at me. You have to stop yelling. Stop—"

Before Bobby could turn around again, Marty appeared with a syringe in his hand, pushing Sam to the side. He yanked Dean's arm around and without a word, plunged the needle into Dean's inner elbow and sent the fluid rushing out of sight. He and Sam watched as Dean's movements slowed, his voice disappearing as the drugs went to work. "That should do the trick," Marty said as he handed Sam a flashlight.

"What did you—"

"Quiet, Sam! We need to get our backs to the wall, we're sitting ducks in here," Bobby said quietly as he moved one of the armchairs out of the way. "You and Dean aren't able to fight, so just keep him quiet so we can hear it and figure where the hell it is."

Marty dropped the syringe on the table and moved next to Bobby, kitchen knife in his hand. "Guess that came in handy after all. Seen anything yet?"

"Not a damn thing, I wonder if Dean's yelling spooked it," Bobby said as he dug another flashlight out of a duffel bag. "This might be our best chance to see whatever it is."

Marty nodded as Gloria moved between him and Bobby. "Have you got more ammo anywhere," Bobby asked quietly.

Gloria shook her head apologetically. Bobby sighed before handing her one of the kitchen knives. "Watch over the boys, Marty and I will check it out."

Gloria handed her flashlight to Sam as she removed the handcuff from the table leg and placed it on Sam's good arm, binding Dean to him. "Probably better keep you two together," she muttered as she moved to rearrange the furniture to create a barricade. She watched as Bobby and Marty disappeared around the corner into the hallway, the room darkening as they went.

Bobby and Marty moved into the hallway, years of hunting making their movements silent and cautious. A scratching sound caught Bobby's ears as they moved up the hallway, he and Marty using hand signals as they moved toward the bedroom door. A quick glance into the bedroom brought Bobby to a halt, Marty a step behind him. The lights flickered back on, making Bobby cringe.

Bobby watched as a tall figure slunk across the room; it's leathery skin gray in the dim light filtering in from the bathroom. It moved not unlike a human, its movement's fluid even with its long, lanky limbs. Bobby watched as it moved around the room, a peculiar sound pricking his ears. A frown crossed Bobby's face as he watched the creature stoop low over the bed, sniffing the air as its head swept from side to side. Bobby moved into the bedroom, Marty a step behind him, blocking the doorway.

"Looking for something, you evil son of a bitch," Bobby demanded, the Beretta gripped firmly in his hand.

The being turned slowly, something of a twisted smile on its face as it leery at Bobby and walked toward him. "The tribute must be collected," it hissed through jagged teeth. "It's time."

Bobby took a step forward, the door slamming shut behind him as Marty moved to his side. They weren't about to let it out of the room, not while they were still breathing. "He's nobody's tribute," Bobby stated angrily as he took another step toward the towering monster.

The being cocked its head to the side, a pantomime of human confusion. "The choice has been made. No other can be taken."

"Your choice maybe…not ours...certainly not his," Bobby said, his voice dangerously low as he flicked off the safety on the gun.

"Step aside," the being said, its dark eyes flicking from Marty to Bobby.

"Over my dead body," Bobby spat angrily as he lifted the Beretta and took aim.

Sam and Gloria jumped as the sound of a gunshot and a loud screech tore through the cabin. "It's okay, Dean," Sam automatically said as he looked over at Dean. He didn't manage much of a reaction, his movements uncoordinated, not even making the slightest sound as another gunshot echoed through the cabin, followed by silence.

"Should we go see what happened," Gloria asked worriedly as she watched the hallway.

"No," Sam said as he shook his head, wiping sweat out of his eyes. "Bobby will let us know when it's time to move. Until then, we stick with Dean."

Gloria nodded; uncertainty on her face. "What did they give him," she asked as she motioned toward Dean.

"No clue," Sam said. "Knowing Bobby, probably something will knock him on his ass for a few hours while we sort this out and get the hell out of here."

Before Gloria could reply, Bobby appeared in the doorway. "Gloria, get in here."

With a shrug at Sam, she followed Bobby down the hallway and into the bedroom. "What was it?"

"Take a look for yourself," Bobby said as he pointed to the corner of the room. "Is that what you saw skulking around in the cabin?"

Gloria felt her stomach turn as she approached the creature. It was laid out on the floor, its skin just as colorless and leathery as she remembered. Its long fingers were lax, yet still poised as though to beckon one towards it. The bullet wound that had shredded its way through the right eye made her cringe as she kneeled next to the mysterious corpse.

"How did you kill it," she asked incredulously. "I shot it—or one just like—and it didn't die."

"While you and the boys were sleeping, Marty and I sanctified the last of the ammunition. I wasn't sure it would work, but two rounds through the eye seemed to do the trick," Bobby explained.

Gloria nodded her understanding; her dad had often paid a priest to bless the tools of his trade. "Does that tell you what is then?"

Bobby shook his head and adjusted his cap. "It helps narrow the gap, but it's not conclusive by any means. But that's why we're going to perform an autopsy of sorts."

"What?... Please say that's some sort of sick joke."

"Nope," Bobby said almost apologetically. "Now go grab me the kitchen knife and then come back and help me. Marty will stay with Dean and Sam; he's got a few phone calls to make. Bring me your phone as well."

Gloria rushed from the room and gathered the items Bobby requested. "Gloria, what was it," Sam asked as Marty walked in with another duffel bag.

"It's—I don't friggin know, Sam…Bobby wants my help…"

"For what?"

"You don't want to know…"

Gloria moved back to the bedroom and handed Bobby the phone and the knife. "What do we do now?"

"We're going to look for any identifying marks or features. I want you to take pictures with your phone as we go, you never know what might be the thing that gets it recognized," Bobby said as he rolled the creature over, his eyes skillfully looking for any mark that might clue him into what they were looking at. "Could be the face… maybe its leathery skin…who knows."

Gloria spent the next hour photographing everything from its teeth to its long fingered hands. She watched as Bobby slowly dissected the body, a look of pure determination and disgust on his face as he did. The smell was overwhelming of rot and something sickeningly sweet. When Bobby finally moved to wash his hands, Gloria ran past Sam and Dean, out the front door and to the edge of the porch, dry heaving as the smell of the creature clung in the air.

She was standing on the front porch, breathing in the fresh air as rain blew past her when Bobby appeared at her elbow with a glass of whiskey in each hand. "You alright, kid?"

She nodded and took the glass without a word.

"You've done a good job, and while your daddy respected your decision to follow in his footsteps, he didn't want this life for you, and your mother's going to skin me alive for this…Once we leave here, you won't see us again. We'll let you go back to your life without a hitch."

Gloria stared wordlessly into the rain.

"I need you to email those pictures to a few people for me before we leave," Bobby said as he handed Gloria a piece of paper. "Names and email addresses are right here."

"Anyone I know," Gloria asked as she unfolded the paper.

"Doubt it. Just a bunch of retired hunters and a few of those who just keep to the books," Bobby explained. "Now that we have a description maybe we can hope that someone else can identify it for us. I'll be hitting the books again as soon as we get Dean into the panic room."

"Third name on the list…My dad had that name in his journal." Gloria looked over the list before sliding it into her pocket.

Bobby huffed and set his glass on the porch railing. "Alice Hilty. She helped him out once or twice. Helped a lot of us out over the years….She's got an extensive library but last I checked she was on the road. I've left her a few voicemails…I haven't heard from her yet but I figured I might as well send her the pictures…"

"So why not just head to her place and check her library while she's out of town?"

Bobby shook his head quickly and chuckled. "Hell, no! Her privacy comes first...the end of her shotgun usually comes second… She'd do just about anything for one of John's boys, but I'll settle for waiting for a phone call. Now let's get back inside—I want you showered, packed up, and out of here in an hour. Go to a friend's house, or your mom's. We'll clean this mess up and get rid of the carcass before it starts to stink up the place."

"When will you leave," Gloria asked, glancing back out into the storm.

"We'll be gone in a few hours," Bobby stated. "We'll get the cabin cleaned out, the boys loaded up, and then head for the interstate. Should be home tomorrow, if we don't have to stop much."

Sam watched quietly as Gloria disappeared down the hallway, a trace of relief on her face. "She heading out?"

"Yep, that girl has done enough," Bobby said as he began stuffing supplies back into duffel bags. "We need to get everyone out of here as soon as we can."

A peculiar sound in the hallway made Sam jump, wincing at the ache in his shoulder. He watched as Marty walked into the room, dragging the end of a tarp behind him, a saw clenched in his other hand.

"You so owe me for this, Singer," Marty snapped; a look of disgust on his face.

Bobby chuckled. "I seem to recall you owing me a few favors. You get rid of that carcass and that'll clear it all up."

"Fine," Marty said. "If it wasn't for the weird smell, wouldn't be too bad of a job."

"What will you do with it," Sam asked curiously as Bobby stooped to remove the handcuff from his wrist.

"Burn it, same as always," Marty said with a shrug. "To wet to burn anything in this storm, so I'll take it a few towns over to a friend of mine. He runs a funeral home….I'll pay him to cremate it."

"Good plan."

"Sam, I know you're not really up to any heavy lifting yet, but I need you to help get us packed up," Bobby said. "I want us on the road in two hours."

"What about Dean?"

"What about him," Bobby asked.

"How are we going to get him off base? He's not even supposed to be here," Sam asked.

"Easy," Gloria said as she walked back into the room. "It's not like they keep a head count at the gate. You'll just drive right out the main gate, no need to stop for anything. You should be fine."

"And how do we get him to South Dakota when he's hallucinating and fighting everyone? It's not he can ride in the trunk…With my shoulder all stitched up, I won't be able to help keep him still if he flips out again," Sam asked worriedly. It's not like they hadn't each had that experience at some point but a nearly twenty four hour drive was pushing it. There would be no way to keep Dean calm, especially if the creatures reappeared to take him.

"Also easy," Marty said as he tossed a small clear bottle to Sam. "Dope him up on the road, get him ass into the panic room, and find out who these ugly, smelly sons of bitches are and kill them."

"When you put it like that…you do kind of make that sound easy," Gloria said hesitantly.

"Practice makes perfect," Marty said with a shrug. "He's not the first hunter who needed to be moved while being crazy."

An hour later, Gloria waved and pulled away from the cabin, her car speeding out of sight and disappearing into the darkness as Sam watched from the porch. "You ready to get this done," Bobby asked from the open doorway.

"Might as well be," Sam said as he turned and watched as Bobby and Marty carried Dean out of the cabin, wrapped in a sheet. He headed to the car, opening the backdoor for them before climbing into the front seat. Dean didn't make a sound as he was laid out on the backseat and covered with a blanket, his handcuffed hands out of sight along with the IV that Marty had replaced. Sam watched as sweat continued to bead on Dean's forehead as the fever raged on, a sure sign that their drive was going to be far from easy.

Sam waited as Marty and Bobby tossed a few duffel bags into the trunk before placing one on the front seat with Sam. "Keep it close," Marty said as he slammed the door.

With some difficulty, he got the zipper open and found a few bags of IV fluids and loaded syringes, presumably with the sedatives Marty had brought along for Dean. He sighed and glanced back at Dean. He wanted to talk to Dean, to have Dean working the case with them—not to be the case and to be useless in helping solve the problem.

Bobby and Marty walked the cabin once more, looking for anything that might look out of place. "Not a bad job on our end," Marty said as Bobby closed the front door behind them. "So…we even now?"

"I said we would be, and we are," Bobby said, shaking Marty's outstretched hand.

The drive to the base's exit was short, Sam nervously glancing back at Dean every few minutes. "Sam, stop that. You're going to get whip lash just from check on him," Bobby scolded even though he himself had the rearview mirror adjusted so he could see Dean. "They're not going to even stop us."

"Hope you're right," Sam muttered.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief as they drove right past the guard station and down the long drive that would take them to the main road.

"Think we'll get to South Dakota without any problems," Sam asked worriedly.

Bobby snorted contemptuously. "Did you hit your head back there? You know this isn't going to go well—it never does when it comes to you two…."

As Bobby pulled the car onto the interstate, his phone rang; making him swerve on the road as he quickly dug it from his pocket.

"Yeah," he said absentmindedly into the phone as he navigated into traffic.

"Bobby Singer…it's been a while," a female voice said, somehow friendly and yet annoyed at the same time.

"Alice," Bobby said, the name catching Sam's ears, making him glance at Bobby. He didn't know they were still in touch.

"I found your voicemails this morning. I haven't been home in a few months; I've been chasing down some leads on my own case here in Florida. But I might have some information for you—"

"Did you look at the pictures?"

"I don't need to see them to know what's after Dean….," she replied confidently. There was something else in her voice that put Bobby on edge, something that sounded a lot like pity. "I remembered reading an old ballad about something like this…"

"So what the hell is it?"

"You're dealing with the Fay—"

"Alice, no one has—"

"I'm still talking, Bobby…Now, listen to me for minute cause I didn't just have my library just rifled through by my neighbor for nothing…he confirmed it. Dean is a Teind…"

Bobby hit the brakes and the Impala slid onto the shoulder of the road, gravel scattering under the tires. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a tithe—"

"For what? Who's collecting it for whom," Bobby demanded angrily. If he found out that Dean had sold his soul yet again, he'd buy the contract from Crowley himself and keep Dean's soul on ice until Judgment Day.

"It's a contract, between the Fay and Hell."

Bobby's stomach churned. "Are you saying—"

"I'm saying that every seven years, the Fay are required to tithe a group of souls to Hell," Alice said. "The way he's been disappearing...just from what details you left on my voicemail, I'd bet my entire collection of books the Fay have him dog eared as part of their payment."

Bobby sat silently, his brain whirling with panic and anger. He glanced at Sam, his eyes boring holes into him, waiting to hear good news.

"You still there, Bobby," Alice asked.

Bobby swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yeah…I'm going to need whatever books you have on this…"

"I already had my neighbor mail copies of the pages. Figured you'd want to read it for yourself."

"I'm going to kill that son of a bitch Crowley for this—"

"This deal goes way back before Crowley; Lucifer himself signed the contract with the Fay. All Crowley can do is collect what's owed to Hell. He can't alter the contract…and the Fay choose their tributes for themselves. Until the tithe is delivered to Hell, Crowley won't even know who's on the list."

"Doesn't matter…that demon is getting summoned for a little not nice pow-pow in my living room. Was there anything about stopping this in the book," Bobby asked.

"No."

So...Anyone other than me smelling that brimstone yet? Bwahahahaaaa! So, yeah…this story has spurned some really interesting reading for me…And holy crap is this story getting more and more involved as it comes together.

Okay: also, for the one smartass who will comment on this…it's pronounced: "Teend" …the E's are long. It's Britishy….Also…if you're British…kudos for being able to say it with the proper accent.

Any thoughts, I'd love to hear them!