A/N I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. All credit goes to Kripke and co. See Prologue for disclaimer regarding characters and setting. Hope you enjoy, and love to get reviews (hint hint ;) ) as they keep me motivated to write more! PS a little treat for you Sam girls out there coming up :D

Chapter 4

Dean is running, legs pumping, lungs burning in his throat, pushing aside brambles and bushes as he makes his way through the thick woods. He can hear the snarls of the hellhound at his heels; can hear the thud of his heart as it pounds in his chest, the harried gasps of his unsteady breathing. In the distance, a clock is chiming, the sound of each clang lingering in the night. Each note is more ominous than the last, seemingly mocking Dean as he struggles to free himself of the beast which incessantly haunts his dreams. Always there, always ready for the kill, eager to sink its incisors into Dean's throat.

Dean continues to run, occasionally glancing behind to see just how close the hellhound is, always finding it to be far too close for comfort. And then, suddenly, Dean stops short, staring at a brick wall, trapping him. Dean turns, pressing his back as far as he can against the bricks, trying to keep an expression of bravado on his face but failing miserably. This is it. This is the end. In a few minutes he will be drug to Hell, screaming and begging for mercy.

And suddenly, the mutt is gone, with Sam standing before him, a smile of pure hatred on his usually calm and gentle face. He pulls out a dagger, eyes it hungrily, taunting his brother as he waves the blade before his terrified green eyes. He says nothing, just stares as his brother before plunging the blade in his chest.

XXX

Sam sits bolt upright in his bed, trembling, body slick with sweat, the clock on his cell phone reading 5:45. He sits for a while, trying to even out his unsteady breathing, running a shaky hand through his mop of brown hair. He had dreamed of killing his brother. Christ, he had dreamed of killing Dean! For a moment, Sam thinks he is going to lose his shit, to start freaking out in the middle of the motel room, but after taking a few deep breaths, begins to calm down, the panic attack slowly easing off. A quick glance reveals that Dean is asleep in the bed beside him, snoring softly, a lore book resting on his lap. Thank God he doesn't seem to be having any nightmares, Sam thought. Last thing the guy needs right about now is another reminder of what's going to happen. Sam closes his eyes, memory of the dream flooding back. What's going to happen if I don't stop this.

Finally feeling at least somewhat calm, Sam tosses his blankets aside and makes his way to the bathroom for a quick shower. It may be only 6AM, but he's fully awake (his damned subconscious made sure of that) and ready to get some research done. Anything to distract him. Quietly, so as not to disturb his sleeping brother, Sam closes the door, slips out of his boxers, and climbs into the tub, turning on the stream as hot as he dares. The water actually does help, the steam and spray soothing the tension in his shoulders and upper back. He just stands there, allowing the water to cascade along his body, until he feels the water start to cool down.

He can't let his brother die. He just can't. He'd rather die himself than let anything happen to his big brother. All his life, it had been Dean trying to protect him. Now he has the chance to return the favor, and is at the moment helpless to do so. Granted, it isn't easy to research with Dean insisting on taking other jobs, leading him on hunts in all corners of the continent. Nova Scotia? Dean drives all the way to Canada? Granted, Canadians experienced supernatural phenomena just as Americans did, and had every right to be protected too, but Sam knew that Dean's intentions had not been to just save another civilian. The farther the commute, the better. The more distracted his brother was, the less likely he would try to research his own case and try to save his own ass. Well guess what Dean. It isn't going to work. Shivering in the sudden cold, Sam quickly dresses and leaves the bathroom, eager to fire up his laptop and start researching. Only this time, he doesn't look up water spirits.

XXX

"I think I finally have something here." Sam looks up from his laptop and across the table where Dean is leafing through a pile of death certificates the brothers had managed to score from the county offices. The elder Winchester looks up from his own research, reaching for his beer as he does so. "Yeah, what do you got?"

"Remember how Chelsea Alderson swore victim number three had a hickey on the right side of his neck?"

"Yeah." Dean chuckled. The guy had a little action before he went to see the big man in the sky. Not many people were that lucky. Sam merely rolled his eyes, and went back to reading from the screen. "She also said he was calling out a name, something like Ethan."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Where are you going with this, Sam?"

"God you're so impatient." Sam sighed before continuing. "Anyway, I was looking around some other stories about past drowning victims when I came up with this." He turned the laptop around so that Dean could read the contents of the web page. "Happened in June of 1994. Vanessa MacLeod, age 22, was out for a walk along the Antigonish Harbour with her boyfriend, one Jason Williams, when her ex-boyfriend found them. Surprise, surprise, ex is jealous and offs her. Waits for lover boy to go home, knocks out Vanessa and ties her to the driver's seat of the car."

"Just like the last time. Shit Sammy, we were on the right track. Why the same MO? Copycat?"

"That's what I'm thinking," Sam agreed, unscrewing the cap from his bottled water and taking a swig. Dean eyed his beer with a slight feeling of guilt. Yeah maybe it was barely past noon, but considering the fact that in less than a year he would be dancing the two-step in Hell he figured he may as well enjoy some of the littler things in life.

"Anyway," Sam continued, noticing the sort of faraway expression in his brother's eyes, "I do think the kid was trying to do the copycat thing, you know, pin the murder on someone else. Thing is, the kid isn't really all that bright. Never bothered to check that the original perp was already arrested for the crime, and never made sure that the boyfriend was really gone. Turns out it was Jason who spotted him wandering the woods before the murder. Granted he never actually saw the guy kill his girlfriend, but it was good enough to place him at the scene of the crime. Plus, the dumbass left the pipe he'd used and his footprints at the scene of the crime. Left his DNA all over the place. Guy was caught in a few weeks."

"Okay, poindexter," Dean smirked, "so the kid's an idiot. Go on."

"So anyway, once our victim is tied to the truck, the kid does the whole "shove 'er in neutral and let gravity do the rest thing. Car rolls in the lake and our victim drowns."

"Again, explains the whole water spirit thing." Dean started to look inpatient, waving his hand absently as he reached again for his beer. Sam rolled his eyes and continued. "So, guess what the ex's name is?"

"Ethan?"

"No, but I think maybe our witness didn't quite get the name write." Sam scrolled down the page, and highlighted a name before turning it back to his brother.

"Nathan Long. Nathan sounds a little like Ethan, doesn't it?"

Sam nodded. "Exactly. I think we might actually have our water spirit." Turning the laptop back in his direction, he continued to work, Dean watching in silence for a moment before returning to his own research. He wanted to find more information on Nathan Long, maybe find more on where the body was buried. Hopefully, this time the salt and burn would go a little more smoothly. A pang of guilt hit him for a moment as he recalled how he had hoped that their case would go on a little longer than planned. If they'd paid more attention in the first place, Alex LeBlanc would not be six feet under now. And Sam wouldn't still be trying to juggle between researching the case and trying to find a way to renege Dean's deal. Because Dean knew his brother like the back of his own hand. There was no way in hell that the kid wasn't trying to juggle both at once and trying (rather poorly, considering the dark bags beneath his eyes and the constant look of exhaustion on his usually young face) to make it seem that he wasn't. Sammy may be books smart, and was one of the best hunters out there, but he had never been one to hide his feelings. Dean, on the other hand, could easily mask them. In fact, Sam was the only one to see right through him. But Sammy, he was like an open book. And Dean knew that the closer he got to the end, the worse his little brother would be. Dean sighed, tried to push the thoughts out of the way. He couldn't let Sam save him. The demon had flat out told him that any attempts to wiggle his way out would result in his younger brother's death. He couldn't have that happen. Fuck, the reason he was in this mess to begin with was to make sure this didn't happen.

"Think I found the family." Sam's tired voice snapped Dean back to the present. Dean looked up as his brother continued to read.

"The MacLeods, Karen and Joseph, 159 Beechwood Drive, Antigonish. Three children, one of them deceased, one Vanessa MacLeod, DOD June 26, 1994 at age 22. Murdered by one Nathan Long, currently held in maximum security. Sound about right?"

Dean nodded and grabbed the keys to the Impala from the night stand. "Guess we're going to visit the MacLeods."

XXX

Sam logged off his laptop and began stuffing any necessary weapons into his duffel. Outside, Dean was waiting in the Impala, windows down, Zeppelin's "When the Levee Breaks" blaring from the speakers. It was a wonder the man wasn't half deaf by now. Snapping the laptop closed, Sam stuffed the device on top of his clothes and double checked his breast pocket, ensuring that his CSIS badge was where it belonged. He looked up, and let out a little gasp.

"Hey Sam, you don't look so good."

Sam froze, staring at the blonde woman standing before him, smiling rather devilishly. His heart was pounding, but somehow he managed to remain calm, despite the mistrust and anger at seeing the woman standing before him. He gritted his teeth and spat out a name, the words poison on his lips.

"Ruby."

Hope you like my little cliffie! I know the last few chapters have been set up but I promise we'll be getting into some action soon. Thanks for sticking around, let me know what you think!