Author's Note: Thanks for hanging in there while this story gets written. I looked back to see the timestamps and realized just how much has changed in my life since this story started. I've enjoyed every chapter, every review, and every twist and turn in the story.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Bobby glanced at the clock hanging precariously on the wall of the cellar. It was nearly time for Jenn to call him back with instructions for what they hoped would cure Sam. He brushed the sawdust from the top of the box and took a deep breath. The wood was rough under his hand, splinters pricking his palm as he ran a hand over the lid. He wasn't sure what Jenn's instructions were going to be but he knew the box had to be strong. After much consideration, he had used cypress. Its dense grain made it strong and heavy. Whatever was going to happen, he needed to know the box could contain Sam in all his demon blood glory.

Bobby slowly dragged the box between the two cots, into the center of the panic room. He took a step back and looked at it. It was as close to Sam's height and width as Bobby could guess. The less room Sam had to struggle the better it was bound to be. He knew it was just another tool, like any of the hundred they had custom made for a specific job, but its appearance turned his stomach.

It was a coffin; he had built a damn coffin.

All it needed now was a body.

He hurried up the steps when the phone rang, plucking the phone from its cradle. "What?"

"Is your old fax machine still plugged in? Check it for the instructions."

They didn't waste time with small talk anymore, not when they were working. He and Jenn had worked together off and on a few times over the years. Nowadays she was busy with her kids and some drawn out hunt for a skin walker somewhere within the higher ranks of her day job.

He headed for the dust covered fax machine that perched at the end of the counter. Few people had the number for it anymore and the list got smaller every year. Email had changed everything in just a few years. "So you and Eleanor Dearhart agree this is going to work, right," Bobby asked as he grabbed the pages off the machine. They were sketchy, he couldn't even remember the last time he had added ink to the machine.

"We agree this is probably the only option you have. Keep in mind though, this whole thing is new. People like us usually get to work with spells and incantations that have been around for ages. This is a very new interpretation of a very old idea. It could be bullshit, or it could be a damn nice cure for demon blood."

"So you're saying that if he dies, it ain't your fault," Bobby said gruffly as he flipped through the pages in his hands, scanning the list.

"Exactly. So I've sent you the sigil you're going to need to put on the box. Either burn it into the wood or carve it. Follow the instructions to invoke it and you should be good to go."

Bobby shook his head, readjusting the phone. "You're making this sound to easy. Makes me nervous. Am I going to need to restrain him or sedate him for this?"

Jenn cleared her throat and mumbled something Bobby couldn't quite hear. "What was that?"

She coughed into the phone. "We don't really have any reason to think this is going to be painful, but I can't imagine detoxing from demon blood is going to be all shits and giggles, no matter how it's done. So here's the kicker, that box is going to strip Sam of impurities. All of them. Narcotics, booze, whatever you want to fill him up with…I think the box is going to remove those too. Nothing is going to bring him any relief until it's done. And you might as well assume that it's going to make it worse before it gets any better, so I'd say restrain him if at all possible."

Bobby adjusted his cap and switched the phone to the other ear. "Well, there was the difficult part I was expecting to hear."

"Sorry Bobby. It's just a guess; maybe he'll get lucky and it'll be completely painless and quick," Jenn offered with forced enthusiasm.

Bobby frowned. "Don't sugar coat it. This is going to be hell and you know it."

"Yeah, probably. Did you build a box big enough for him?"

"Yeah…looks like a damn coffin. It's just deep enough for him to lie down in."

"The snugger, the better. Look—we can keep looking for another way. But I'm just not sure how long it might take and if Sam can wait for something else."

"No. This is it."

"Alright, well, if you need anything else, you know where to find me. Let me know how it goes."

"Sure thing, Jenn. Thanks for your help," Bobby said before he dropped the phone back into its cradle. The symbol wasn't all that complicated and the instructions to invoke it didn't look to difficult. He frowned at the simplicity of it. Nothing was ever as easy as a few words muttered over a wooden box. Like he had told Alice over the years, harnessing a symbol's power always came with a price.

Jefferson City, Missouri

Crowley sighed impatiently and looked up at Alice, studying her face. Her eyes were set on the syringe that was currently hanging from his arm; she didn't breathe as the syringe slowly filled.

He watched as she laid yet another blood filled syringe on the table, the ninth in a line-up of ten. "Do you always carry syringes in the car," Crowley asked as she plucked the tenth syringe up from the table.

"You don't even want to know what's in the Impala's trunk. So you think one an hour will keep him alive?"

"I think ten syringes get him about ten hours. After that, he'll be Hell bound faster than a derailed train full of Atheists."

Done with drawing blood from Crowley, Alice recapped the syringes and placed nine in her jacket pocket. The tenth one was still hot in her hand as she headed back toward the bathroom.

"What exactly is your plan," Crowley asked as he watched her.

"For what?"

"Ten hours gets you what exactly? You hunted him down and captured him, only to give into his addiction the second his well-earned demise crops up. Keeping him alive for another ten hours gets you what exactly? Why bother giving Sam what he wants, only to watch him die later? …Or maybe you're just enough like me to want to see him suffer… Or perhaps you're too weak and can't give him a quick exit from the pain."

"Killing him isn't mercy... its failure," Alice said with a firm shake of her head.

Crowley motioned to the syringe in her hand. "What you're about to inflict upon him isn't mercy either. Do what you will, but don't lie to yourself."

"I'll live with the guilt," Alice said with a flippant shrug.

"He won't. He's going to die. You can't save him now."

Alice smiled brazenly. "Who said anything about now? Thanks to you, I have ten hours to save him. Now get the hell out."

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Castiel brushed the dust from his shoulder as he stepped into Bobby's panic room. He had checked everywhere and hadn't found a trace of Dean anywhere. He was beginning to wonder if Crowley had broken their agreement and interfered with the Winchesters despite his adamant claims. He needed to know if Crowley was planning to use Dean to manipulate their deal regarding purgatory.

"Where is Dean?"

Bobby jumped and spun around; he had been so bogged down in the work and worry that he hadn't heard anyone in the house. Blood trickled down his hand and dotted the wooden box between them. "Jesus Christ! Hasn't Dean ever taught you about sneaking up on people?"

"I can't find Dean, or I could ask him."

Bobby tossed the carving knife back down onto the wooden box and pinched the wound shut. Luckily it wasn't that deep. He needed to finish carving the sigil into the wood but cypress was dense and nearly impossible to carve with the tools he had available. All of the reasons he had chosen it to contain Sam was making it a real bitch to finish. "He's gone," Bobby snapped as he turned back to his work. "A few days ago."

"Where was he headed?"

"He's dead, Cas! He's gone," Bobby spat angrily.

Castiel watched Bobby turn back to the wooden box, resuming the carving. "How?"

Bobby paused for a moment and kept his back to Castiel. "The Fay kept taking him, or trying to. He got worn down, couldn't take it anymore. His body shut down. Least that's what Dr. Fisher said."

"Why did no one call for me?"

Bobby didn't turn around, he knew that one look at the angel and he'd start swinging. "Maybe because you're been too busy to help out around here anymore. Dammit Castiel, I had to summon you the last time we needed you and you barely stayed long enough to even hear what we had to say—"

"When did this happen?"

"A few days ago," Bobby snapped. "I thought you'd have realized it somehow. Dean wouldn't have wanted any more deals made on his behalf; I took the choice away from Sam by cremating him."

"But I've searched for him and found nothing. Not even remains," Castiel explained.

"His remains—"Bobby paused and cleared his throat, trying to push through the lump of emotion. "His remains are in a hex box at the moment, probably why you couldn't find them."

"I should be able to detect his soul, even in death." Castiel watched curiously as Bobby continued his work, not slowing down or looking up from his task.

"And?"

"I can not."

"What does that mean?"

"Neither Heaven or Hell hold him. Even in death I should be able to find him. His soul should be visible," Castiel said, puzzled.

Bobby tossed the knife down on the box and folded his arms over his chest, finally turning to look at the angel. "So let me get this straight. His soul is missing?"

"Yes. Souls always have a destination. I'm unsure why Dean's would be unaccounted for."

"Cas, if Heaven has started some bullshit again—"

"War is being waged in Heaven but I would have heard his name if he was there," Castiel stated.

"Then why can't you find him?"

"I'm unsure. Where are his remains?"

"Like I said, in a hex box. Alice Hilty is transporting them back here. She's bringing Sam back as well."

"What happened to Sam?"

Bobby scoffed. "Dean died. That's what happened to Sam. He ran off, went on a cross country demon killing spree, and started drinking demon blood again. Alice hunted him down and is dragging his sorry ass back here."

"Who is Alice?"

Bobby shook his head. "I forgot you don't know about her. She's an old friend of John Winchester; helped him out a few times back when the boys were just kids. Looked after the boys more than once."

"I've never heard them mentioned her."

"I'm sure that's how she wants it too," Bobby muttered as he wiped a few drops of blood from the wooden box, his finger still bleeding. He turned back to his carving. He wasn't sure what he had expected from Castiel, but him standing calmly in the corner with the news of Dean's death wasn't it.

Castiel continued to watch Bobby carve the sigil in the box. He had seen it before, a few centuries ago. He briefly wondered what Bobby would do with it before he turned his thoughts to Dean. He had died while Castiel had been busy waging war in Heaven. Why hadn't Dean called out to him? He hadn't heard Dean's voice. Not that he could have simply appeared; reorganizing Heaven was a feat not for the fainthearted. He needed allies. Ones he could trust with the news of his alliance with Crowley. He knew Dean wouldn't have agreed with it; which is why Castiel had taken to secrecy. It was important though, his making a partnership Crowley and gaining the necessary power to end the war in Heaven.

"What will you do about Dean's missing soul," Castiel asked impatiently. He had already checked everywhere he could; Bobby would have a plan.

"I'm not the one who thinks its missing," Bobby stated as he turned and glanced at Castiel. "Right now, I've got to work on saving Sam... Can't lose them both."

"And if you succeed in saving Sam?"

"Then I won't have failed them both!... That's what I'll have done," Bobby roared. "One of the Winchesters will have survived this life, that's all I'm hoping for at this point… You want to help? Go find out where Dean's soul is!"

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "I am needed in Heaven. There is a war being waged; legions have been slaughtered in the name of—"

"So why don't you just go set your sorry ass back up on that cloud and finish it, cause you're not needed here," Bobby thundered as he threw the knife down, his fists balled tightly. "Get out and let me save the only boy I've got left!"

Jefferson City, Missouri

"Sam, listen to me. This is going to help you," Alice said as soothingly as possible as she tried to keep the syringe out of his line of sight. She knew typically he had drunk demon blood from his flask but she was prepared to inject it he kept fighting her. Ever since Crowley has left and she had turned her attention to him, he had been fighting her about the blood. They were wasting time that Sam was rapidly running out of.

Sam shook his head miserably, adamantly, as he kept his eyes on her hands. "No, I don't want it." He tried to scoot farther away from her, but she had already pinned him between the wall and the toilet. She hadn't left him any room to escape.

"Sam, we're doing this. We can do this nicely, or you can get your ass whooped and take the blood anyhow. More or less bruises, that's what you get to decide right now."

Sam took a shaky breath, trying to slow the shaking that had returned to his hands. He wiped sweat from his eyes as his fever continued to rage. "If I'm going to die—"

"You're not going to die," Alice coaxed.

"Then let's just go to Bobby's," Sam countered pitifully. "I don't need the demon blood. I can do it."

"Sam, I know Bobby's working on a cure and I'm sure he'll have something sorted out by the time we get there. But in the meantime, you need this."

"What if he can't?" Sam was starting to panic as the pain tore at him. It was getting worse by the second. He felt like his skin was crawling with fire ants. Every noise, every sensation was becoming too much to bear. "What if Crowley's blood makes it worse? ... I can't take any more of this…look at me… "

Alice took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was getting impatient. Taking a minute to study him, she shook her head in frustration. He looked like death warmed over. Dark lines circled his eyes; even his skin had taken on an unhealthy waxiness. She had no idea when he had last slept, or even eaten. Alice considered his words as he continued to beg. He was in pain, and surely the thought of even more unbearable pain was terrifying for him. "I don't know how Crowley's blood will affect you, Sam. But if we don't do this, you'll die."

"He said it's going to hurt! That it might—"

"He said it wasn't merciful to give it to you," Alice countered. "There's a difference."

"But that doesn't mean—." Sam's attention wavered as movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. His breath caught in his throat as he watched Dean step into the bathroom doorway, his black eyes peering down at Sam. He leaned against the wall and smiled down at Sam as he folded his arms over his chest. "I told you, she's trying to kill you. She said you can't have any more demon blood, and now look at her. Making demon deals just to keep you filled to the gills with the stuff."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam murmured as another set of muscle spasms tore through his arms and legs.

It was barely more than a whisper but Alice heard it. She glanced around, knowing full well that only she and Sam were in the room. "Take the blood right now, Sam. If you're seeing Dean again, your withdrawal is about to get much worse; you'll start getting tossed around the room again. I can't do that again and I don't think you can either."

Dean stepped into the room and pointed a knife at Alice. "Taking help from a monster, Sammy? Thought I raised you better than that."

"Stop it!" Sam grabbed his head as the ache behind his eyes turned into white hot pain as his anger at Dean enveloped him.

Alice grabbed Sam and shook him. "Stop, Sam. Listen to me! Calm down."

"Maybe I'll kill her instead," Dean said with a laugh.

"SHUT UP," Sam yelled as the sound of shattering glass filled the room, drowning out his voice. Alice cringed. Sam was getting terribly close to the violent stage again. She had to get him to listen to her. She glanced up at him; he was looking past her at something only he could deal with. "He's not real, Sam. Don't look at him. Look at me. Listen to me!"

"Yeah, look at her, Sammy. She's going to gut you like a pig and toss you into the pit. She's working for Crowley now. Maybe she always has been…"

Alice watched helplessly as Sam's eyes tracked someone only he could see. She had no idea what Sam's delusion of Dean was saying, but from Sam's near panicked appearance she knew it wasn't good. "If you won't listen to me, I guess that only leaves your addiction to talk to," she muttered as she kneeled in front of him, one knee placed to block him and the other leg gently bent to prepare for a quick exit if he got violent. Watching his eyes to make sure he wasn't really paying attention to her, she grabbed his arm and slid the needle in without hesitation.

Halfway through emptying the syringe, Sam seemed to suddenly become aware of her. Their eyes met for a second before Sam seemed to realize what was happening. He shoved her away, kicking at her. "I said I didn't want—Alice…"

"Sam, what's wrong," she asked as she pushed herself up from the floor.

He was staring at the needle in his arm, overjoyed as the pain in his every fiber lessened somewhat but he was also horrified by what Alice had done. "I said—"

Alice waited for him to finish his sentence but instead he just stared at the half full syringe swaying in his arm with every breath he took. He could feel it working; racing through him. He closed his eyes and painfully chuckled in relief as the demon blood relieved the incredible pain that had been tearing him apart for hours. Crowley's blood was powerful. He felt the tremors slowing and the ringing in his ears fading away. The warm rush that enveloped him seemed to make his pain and surroundings fade into nothing.

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled him from the near hypnotic trace of relief that had wrapped around him. Alice waved her hand in front of Sam's face once his eyes opened. She was simultaneously pleased and concerned at how quickly the blood had begun working. "Sam, are you okay?"

His mouth opened and closed without a word. Ignoring her, he turned his attention back to the needle that still hung from his arm. Alice watched in curious disgust as Sam finished emptying the syringe into his arm, his eyes screwed shut in euphoria. The syringe fell from his shaking hands as he leaned exhaustedly against the wall behind him.

"Sam? Sam," she called as she reached out to shake him. He didn't look much worse for wear but that didn't mean she was going to pretend they hadn't just injected demon blood into him.

"What," he muttered through the exhaustion that was creeping over him. He couldn't remember when he had last slept.

"How do you feel?"

A pained chuckle slipped out of his mouth as he fought to stay awake and upright. His arm flopped loosely as he gave her a sloppy thumbs up. "Better."

Alice didn't waste any time in securing his attention. "Want more?"

Sam's eyes slowly slid back open and fell upon the full syringe in her outstretched hand.

"Get in the car. You can have another one in an hour."

As the familiar feeling of fulfillment soothed more of the pain from his aching body, the vision of Dean faded from his vision. A shaky sigh of relief slipped from his mouth. Even a well fed addiction was painful, but this he could manage.

He stared at her, searching her face for any sign of a lie, not that it mattered. She planned on being in charge of every step of his painful detox, at least until she could dump him on Bobby's doorstep; or until he could find a way to ditch her somewhere. "Promise?"

She stared right back, wondering if Sam was capable of understanding how much worse Crowley's blood could make things, even if it kept him alive for the trip. She slipped the full syringe back into her pocket and held her hand out. "Pinky swear."

Somewhere Far, Far Away But Oh So Close

He didn't know where he was or how long he had sat there. Rain had pelted him since he had woken up, but without a rising sun he couldn't begin to know how long he had sat there. Mud caked his clothing and skin. A wet cough tore at his fevered lips, turning into a harsh rattle with every breath. The broken stump behind him offered no shelter from the weather nor did the heavy chain that held him to it.

Across the clearing the familiar shack was barely visible through the rain. Looking at it made his stomach turn, but he dreamed of the warmth it offered. Anything would have been warmer than the rain and mud. Another cough tore through him, interrupting the low whisper of words that had poured from his mouth in repetition since waking in the mud. "Don't eat. Don't drink. Wait for Sam."

His mantra continued until someone stepped in front of him and spat in his face. He didn't look up; he knew by now they didn't like that. A harsh blow to his face had taught him that lesson right before he had been chained to the tree. "Get up," the Fay said as it yanked the chain loose from the tree. "Move."

"Where—," Dean asked through chattering teeth as he tried to wade through the mud, the chain around his waist throwing him off balance.

The gray Fay pointed to a distant shack; one with a crooked chimney that bellowed black smoke into the stormy sky. Dean immediately pulled back on the chain. From the stump, he had watched men being led there for days, one at a time through the large doorway. The men never returned to their warm shack, but instead were piled, limp and unmoving, into a wagon that would later be pulled into the dark forest by a handful of large gray Fey. The wagon always disappeared into the trees full and returned empty.

Dean's struggling meant nothing to the Fay dragging him through the mud. He didn't have the strength to escape. The more Dean fought the more the Fay pulled, dragging Dean through the mud to the shack's doorway. Dean desperately grabbed the doorframe, looking for any way to keep from entering the building. The Fay cruelly swung the chain against him, tearing open a strip of flesh along his shoulder. "Walk."

Dean shook his head and held tight, fighting back a sob as the stench of sulfur and rot reached his nose. He wouldn't enter the room. He could feel immense heat pouring through the open doorway and as much as he was frozen from the rain, he had no desire to find out what was happening inside the shack.

The Fay laughed cruelly, making Dean shiver at the eerie sound. He raised a hand high over Dean and swung it down, breaking Dean's hold on the doorframe as his arm exploded in pain. He fell to his knees and cradled his arm. Before he could move, the Fay grabbed the chain and dragged him through the dark doorway. It glanced down at Dean and smiled a crooked, ugly smile. "You're the last one."

Interstate 29

Alice adjusted the mirror and tried to take a minute to appreciate being on the move again. The motel was hours behind them and she was anxious to get Sam into Bobby's capable hands. She tried to roll the tension out of her shoulders but it didn't do any good. Half dragging Sam to the car had all but torn out the last stitches from Bobby.

"As soon as you're fixed up, I'm taking a day off," Alice mumbled as she glanced over at Sam. He was in the front seat only because he had begged her, but she wasn't taking any chances; not when she didn't know how Crowley's blood would affect him. A handful of zip ties had secured his hands, and another three had secured him to the door. She knew he'd get out of handcuffs the second she took her eyes off him.

"You'd never take a day off," he murmured as he rolled his head toward her, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His fever had returned but he knew there wasn't anything they could do about it. "You don't know how."

"How are you feeling," Alice asked with a quick glance at him. He had slept like the dead for the last two hours.

"Better," he lied. The ache of the addiction was burning a hole right through him, gnawing at him like nothing he had ever known. He didn't know if it was worse because of Crowley's blood or because his fixes took so much pain away only for it to return in full force soon after. He needed another fix now, but there was no point in asking Alice for one; she was doling them out at exact hour increments.

"Good. And yes, I would take a day off," she replied as she adjusted the mirror again. "You think I live for this shit?"

Sam snorted and rolled his burning eyes. He glanced at her as he pulled against the zip ties that bound his hands. "Yeah, I think you do."

She frowned and shook her head. "Maybe….Nah, after all this crap I'd take a day off and go for a long walk. Find some place to swim maybe. Maybe spend a few hours in Bobby's garage. Finish the day at the drive-in theater. Stay til dawn watching the creature feature…"

"Sounds like a good plan," Sam murmured as a wave of nausea suddenly came over him. He needed a fix now. "You should do that…"

"If we survive this, we'll all go."

Sam nodded weakly and turned his gaze back out the window, pushing himself to breathe normally. If Alice suspected something was up, she might withhold his next fix. He didn't really feel like he was on the road to recovery, more like the road to his own pyre.

They road in silence for another hour while Sam slept restlessly; Alice didn't ask him how he felt, she could already guess. Aside from the fever, his hands were beginning to shake uncontrollably. With each syringe of demon blood the shaking would stop, only to return a short while later. And as each hour passed, the shaking started sooner.

Alice watched Sam watch the clock. She wasn't even sure if he was awake, or if he knew that he was awake. He seemed to be slipping away, into his head, more and more. She had mixed emotions about her own actions as well. She knew that giving Sam the demon blood was the only way to keep him alive, but watching him yearn for something that was killing him made her stomach turn. She knew the Winchester men were destined to desire the very things that would destroy them. It had already destroyed John.

She glanced at the clock and back at Sam's shaking hands. "You need me to stop?"

Sam followed her gaze to his hands. He tried to hide the difficulty of it, but he finally managed to lace his fingers together and tightly clench his hands into fists. The tremoring was getting worse. He needed more demon blood. "No."

"You want to tell me what it's like?"

"What," he asked, surprised.

"Crowley's blood. How is it different from any other demon's," Alice explained. "You feel more satisfied? Less, maybe? More powerful, or less?"

Sam squirmed at the question. It did feel different, but he couldn't explain how. Dean and Bobby hadn't ever asked him much about his demon blood addiction and other than feeding the need he didn't dwell on the specifics of the experience. Not since Ruby. He had enjoyed everything about those experiences. "I don't know," he admitted as he leaned his face against the cool window. "It's different I guess."

"How?"

He swallowed back the need to vomit as another wave of nausea overcame him. Something tickled the back of his mind; it was growing slowly but with every fix he received it grew larger. It was familiar. He could feel it, a slight influx of power that was beginning to burn through him. He wanted to concentrate on it, feel how much of him it had touched; Alice's talking was a distraction. He wanted her to just stop talking so he could figure out what was happening to him. "It just is."

Alice watched Sam pull again the restraints. He had been doing it more and more over the past half hour, even when he had been asleep. She glanced at the clock again. It was nearly time for his next fix. She shook her head, silently berating herself for not asking Crowley for anything more specific on how the blood would affect Sam. Not that Crowley had any reason to tell her.

"I need to call Bobby when we pull over," Alice grumbled as she glanced at the rest stop signs in the distance.

"Why," Sam asked, sudden worried Alice would decide to hold back his next fix. Bobby hadn't been a fan of his demon blood powers; there wasn't a chance in hell he'd be okay with Sam having more of it.

Alice didn't miss the sudden change in Sam's tone. Everything about him was starting to make her uncomfortable. Something was wrong, beyond the most obvious part of her feeding his addiction. She had missed something. Maybe Bobby could clue her in; it's not like she had ever given anyone demon blood before now.

"Well, we'll be there in a few hours. I should probably give him an update on how you're doing. I'm sure he'd appreciate it," Alice said as she pulled the Impala into a turning lane and headed toward a near empty rest stop.

"Does he know," Sam asked as he motioned toward the empty syringe on the seat between them.

"About the demon blood? Not yet. He's going to be pretty pissed. I might as well fess up about it now and give him time to cool off before we get there," Alice said as she pulled the car into a parking space and killed the engine.

"Are you really going to tell him," Sam asked suddenly, his tone accusatory. "About Crowley's blood?"

Alice turned and looked at him. "Yes, Sam. I am. You got any good reason why I shouldn't?

Sam held his tongue and turned his face away, trying to keep his sudden anger in check. Bobby would make Alice take the last few syringes away. She would listen to Bobby and Sam would end up in agonizing pain again. He shook his head slowly and subconsciously tested the restraints again. "It's time, right? It's been nearly an hour."

Alice checked the clock. "Not yet. Do you feel like you really need it?"

"Yes," Sam snapped. "Why? Are we running out?"

Alice didn't respond as the worry began to build. "Let me call Bobby and get that out of the way. Then we'll do it," Alice mumbled as she slid out car. "Sit tight."

"Where am I going to go," Sam asked loudly as she slammed the door behind her. His gaze instantly shifted to the full syringe she had left sitting on the dash. He glanced out the window and spotted Alice standing a few yards away with her back to him. From her body language, it looked like an argument with Bobby was brewing. Shifting his attention back to the syringe on the dash, he tried to concentrate on the power that was threatening to burn through him. This is what he had needed the whole time. If he had been drinking Crowley's blood, he could have made the cross road demons listen to him from the start.

The syringe shifted slightly on the dash as he concentrated on it. He needed this. He could almost taste it; the blood, and the power. If he could use it now, he could be free.

Author's Note: …So...Dean isn't dead yet. But he looks kinda fucked at this point. Seriously, I never plan ahead so this whole scary shack of doom is news to me. I'm getting a Hell vibe, but I'm not sure how that's going to work out yet.

And Sam, Sam, Sam. What are we going to do with him? More importantly, what is Alice going to do with him? What's the worst that could happen after using Crowley's blood, right?

Thanks for reading! And for those that do, thanks for reviewing. I appreciate the feedback and input. You never know what influences the next chapter!