A/N This was all originally supposed to be part of chapter one but it got too damn long for that. Actually, when I was tentatively brainstorming this story the ending of chapter three was the ending of chapter one, but the saga of things always turning out longer than I anticipated continues. :)

Thank you so much for all your kind words! They mean more to me than I could ever express in words.

I apologize in advance for any and all mistakes :)

Chapter Two

The doorknob rattled as a key was inserted.

Sam stared at it in shock for half a second, still in disbelief that the funeral home was being broken into, before backing up a couple of steps so that he was encased in the shadows of the staircase. He didn't have time to do anything else besides grab the gun out from his waistband before the doorknob turned, opening.

His heart rate spiked as he flipped the safety off. He didn't have that many weapons on him considering, just the gun, a silver knife, and a small flask of holy water. At the moment it had felt like a lot to take on a simple night of watching cameras but suddenly it felt very insufficient.

A woman in a long puffy coat pushed the door inwards, tucking a key into her pocket. For half a moment, Sam thought that it was Mrs. Phillips, but it couldn't be, he realized a moment later. She was too short for one and her hair was the wrong color.

Huh…Sam raised his eyebrows as he continued to watch her from the shadows. She was making herself right at home. She hadn't even brought a flashlight to help her find her way as she headed straight for the stairs that led to the embalming room. Although it appeared like Mrs. Phillips had been true to her word and hadn't told anyone about Sam. She didn't seem to be expecting any additional security besides the cameras which would have been taken care of when she cut the power.

As he watched her walk across the entryway, he had mere seconds to decide if he was going to remain in the shadows and watch or if he was going to attack. On one hand, he had no clue what she was and if his weapons would even work against her. He could probably stay right where he was and never be noticed…but on the other hand, he did have the element of surprise and that wasn't to be taken lightly. Besides how many times had they faced off against complete unknowns before and came out victorious?

They might never have another chance like this again and it was better to attack now than wait for her to find him. This could be their one shot to put an end to whatever was happening here and Sam didn't think he knew how to sit something out if someone else was in trouble.

Making his decision, Sam jumped off the steps and landed right behind the woman. Wrapping one arm around her chest, he yanked her back and dug the tip of his gun into her side.

"Don't move—" he began to say but with a startled shriek, the woman was shoving him back and breaking his hold with a strength that she shouldn't have had. Sam stumbled into the wall but quickly found his balance as he snapped his gun back up to train on her chest, eyeing her more warily.

Whatever she was, he didn't think that she was human.

She had leapt back as well and they stared at each other, several feet separating them. For a moment, Sam could see fear in her face before she abruptly began to laugh, the fear dispersing into coldness.

"Go ahead, try and shoot me, I dare you. They'll be picking you up in pieces," she said, her voice coming out deeper and rougher than he had been expecting.

It was Sam's turn to smile.

"I'm not scared of you," he said, holding the gun steadily on her even as he took a step closer. "See, I hunt things like you for a living."

Her lips curled up into a malicious grin as she began to advance and Sam moved to the right, forcing them in a wide circle. "Yeah, well, whatever you mean by 'hunt', I'm sure that you've never come across someone like me before."

"Lady, you'd be surprised by the things that I've come across."

They continued to circle each other, neither quite willing to make the first move as they sized each other up. She had no visible weapons, but Sam was too experienced a hunter to assume that meant that she wasn't dangerous.

Sam's back was to the stairs that led to the embalming room when she grew bored of their little dance. With nothing more than a twitch in warning she lunged at him with abnormal speed, her hands outstretched and reaching for his throat.

The only thing that saved Sam was years of experience and quick reflexes. Changing his aim to her shoulder instead of her chest on the off chance that she was human, he fired off two shots in quick succession.

His first bullet slammed into her shoulder but the second one just winged her. She staggered into him with a grunt as her momentum continued to carry her forward and Sam shoved her back, easily keeping his own balance.

"Don't come any closer," he insisted, keeping his gun trained on her as she let out a hiss, her opposite hand coming up to press against the bloody hole in her coat.

Sam waited, watching her warily for her next move.

"You son of a bitch," she swore roughly as her hand came away stained red. Before Sam could even respond she let out a long, in-human shriek, and rolled her head back, allowing her jaw to drop open. Her mouth deformed into a gaping hole, showing off a pair of thin, long, fangs. Something yellow and thick and nothing like anything that Sam had seen before was dripping from them.

"Oh, wow. That's just gross," he muttered, shifting his aim to center mass as whatever reservations he might have had about her being human faded. Whatever she was, the world would be better off without it.

She let out another shriek that threatened to pierce his eardrums and then charged. Sam didn't hesitate this time to unload his clip into her chest and she staggered back with the force of the bullets.

She stared at him a moment before her fangs receded and her jaw snapped shut. She went down onto her knees, gasping, as blood began to soak through the holes on the right side of her chest, staining her white coat a deep scarlet.

Sam took a cautious step back, keeping his distance and still holding his gun at the ready while he waited to see what would happen next. She bent forward and blood began to drip rapidly down onto the floor before she coughed. Globs of blood splattered across the wood and Sam tightened his grip on his gun.

Any moment now the death throes would start or she would collapse…only, she didn't.

"Ow," she muttered instead, bringing the arm that wasn't bracing herself up to wipe at the blood on her mouth and smearing it across her cheek. She winced, breathing heavily, but then pushed herself upwards to kneel straight.

"Damnit." Sam's brain jumped from one bad conclusion to another. This wasn't good. That meant that normal weapons probably didn't work against her, even if they did have the power to hurt her momentarily. His gun was all but useless.

A pit of worry began to bubble up in his stomach, but he forced it back down as he exchanged his gun for his silver knife.

Everything had a weakness, he just had to find hers.

She coughed again, clearing the last of the blood from her lungs, before smiling crookedly up at him, showing off her bloody teeth. "Told you that you shouldn't mess with me." Shrugging off her coat, she tossed it aside, revealing that underneath she was wearing a pair of scrubs.

Sam tightened his grip on his knife, keeping one hand up to ward off any coming attacks, and glanced back to see how far away the main door was just in case he needed to make a run for it.

It was too far away, but he might be able to circle them back around and then make for it. He tried to move in that direction, but she wasn't having it as she leaped forward, forcing him back.

Sam ducked her advance, slashing out with his knife. His first swing didn't catch on anything but her sleeve but the next one created a long, ragged, cut along her collarbone that instantly began to leak blood. It didn't do anything else. In fact, it didn't even seem to faze her as she pushed past the knife, crowding in on him.

Alright, silver was a no-go.

He jerked back and tried to shove his knife into her jugular all the same to keep her away from him but she had already gotten a handful of his shirt. Letting out that awful shriek again she brought yanked him closer into her face before throwing him back with superhuman strength. Sam crashed backward through the door and into one of the viewing rooms. His head rebounded off the tile and he blinked hard to free his vision of the starbursts that resulted.

She was on him in the next moment, her hands locking around his throat. Sam didn't give her time to get a good grip. Locking his legs around her, he rolled, putting himself on top.

Raising the knife with his right hand, Sam brought it slashing down straight towards where her heart should be. Maybe that was the secret, maybe he had to cut it out, but before he could try that theory, she reached up and grabbed his forearm, holding him off with an ease that was starting to concern Sam. He dropped his knife, caught it with his left hand, and slammed it downwards.

It would have worked beautifully if she hadn't moved faster than he possibly could have and neatly avoided the knife. She let out a scream and thrust herself upwards, forcing them to roll once again. She didn't allow them to stop until she was on top. She laughed even as warm blood dripped down onto Sam from multiple cuts across her body and planted one knee on his right shoulder to keep him pinned as she loomed over him.

Sam still had the knife in his left hand and he slashed it up at her, once again aiming for her jugular. Before his knife could sink into her flesh, she caught his arm just above the elbow in one hand before wrapping her other around his wrist.

Violently and with brutal strength, she snapped his arm backward into an unnatural position. With an audible crack, the bone there broke.

Sam's vision went white.

He might have screamed. He might have even completely passed out, he didn't know. All that Sam knew was that when everything stopped being burst of bright, hot pain, he'd dropped the knife.

Above him, the woman was just staring at him, watching him work through the pain. "I always wanted to try this, but they watch too closely at the hospital. I couldn't afford to leave any evidence behind, to lose my job, but with you…" She giggled and Sam could feel her hands wrapping around his throat, effectively tearing his attention away from his now useless and throbbing arm.

She began to squeeze with all her strength, strangling him. Sam wheezed raggedly and tilted his head back in an effort to fight for air. His flask of holy water was in his pocket but she was kneeling directly over it, pressing it into his flesh, and there was no way that he was going to be able to grab it. He tried to wriggle free but that had no better results and he brought his good hand up uselessly to try and claw at her face. He dug his fingernails into her cheek and then ripped them backward with as much force as he could. It was enough to take chunks of skin with it, but she just increased the pressure in response.

Letting out another giggle, she rolled her head back so that her fangs could descend.

White spots were once again dancing in front of his vision as Sam struggled in vain to breathe. He couldn't breathe—he couldn't—this was it. He was going to die, strangled to death by what he didn't even know.

Her grip loosened a little as she bent down, ready to sink teeth into him and Sam used what little remained of his strength to thrust his good hand up. He caught it against her chin and there was enough force behind it to snap her jaw shut before her fangs had a chance to recede.

She screeched in pain and let go with surprise.

Gasping and coughing for air, Sam shoved her off him and then clambered unsteadily onto his feet. He dived for the open door that would lead back into the main room. He wasn't stupid. There were times when running was the best option and to stay right now would be nothing short of suicide.

"No!"

She sprang up from the ground and before he could take more than a couple of steps tackled him sideways and backwards.

It was just bad luck that the glass doors that led out into the garden were right there, and they hit them hard. Sam hadn't even realized that they had been in that particular viewing room until he was shattering the glass with his body. Pain flared across dozens of different locations as the glass sliced through his skin like a hot knife through butter. It flared even hotter and more intense a second later when they hit the cement patio, the woman on top.

For a moment, Sam couldn't breathe for the pain and he wheezed out a gasp, trying to convince his body to move, to do anything. She was panting hard as well, blood and sweat lining her face as she stared at him with increasing hatred.

She was going to kill him.

The knowledge settled something cold in Sam's chest and he scrambled backward with his good hand, looking for something—anything—that he could use as a weapon. It didn't even have to kill her, he just wanted to subdue her long enough for him to get away.

First the cold concrete and then coarse, dead, grass, met his fingertips and Sam dragged his hand upwards desperately, looking for—and there it was. His hand closed around something cold and heavy. Yanking it upwards and out of the ground, he swung it hard and smashed the side of it into the woman's head. She tumbled to the side with a grunt as blood began to seep from her hairline.

Sam didn't waste his advantage as he rolled over and straddled her hips, pinning her to the ground and raising his weapon. It was the spindly cast iron angel that had been stuck into the ground right outside the door. Thick blood now stained one of the angel's wings.

The woman groaned underneath him, shifting and preparing to attack again but Sam wasn't going to give her the chance.

Gripping the heavy figurine so that the long, straight rod was downward, Sam raised it above his head. Without hesitating, he slammed it down into the woman's chest and into her heart. Yanking it out sent a gush of blood spreading across his knees and down her chest but Sam didn't stop as he stabbed her again and again and again until he was panting and the woman wasn't moving.

She lay underneath him, fresh blood trickling out of her mouth and her unseeing eyes staring up into the dark clouds that were covering the sky.

She was dead.

Sam slumped forward, leaning heavily against the figurine. Iron. Who knew. He needed to start carrying both an iron and a silver knife with him everywhere he went from now on. Or maybe it was just the fact that he'd repeatedly stabbed her in the heart, that could be it too.

Closing his eyes, Sam tried to steady his heavy breathing and swallowed thickly. Now that he wasn't moving or focusing on surviving, pain was wrapping around his whole body and demanding his attention. With every breath that he took, he could feel the pieces of glass that had embedded themselves into his skin burning. His back and arms had to be cut up to hell and he could feel the warm slickness of blood testifying to that.

But he could handle all that. It was just pain and Sam and pain were more than familiar with each other.

His arm, on the other hand…Sam wasn't sure that he could handle that.

Taking another moment, Sam squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath in preparation. It would be fine. It couldn't be that bad.

Forcing his eyes open, Sam glanced down and then looked away immediately, his stomach lurching uncomfortably. The bone was sticking out of his forearm and his whole arm had been bent to an unnatural angle. He didn't need a doctor to tell him that it wasn't good and that he would probably never regain full use of the arm, if they could save it at all.

Taking a few more deep breaths to get the nausea under control, Sam looked down again and then tentatively tried to move his fingers.

Nothing happened besides the pain flaring up along with the nausea.

Yeah. It was bad.

Gingerly and slowly, he brought his bad arm up to cradle against his chest to protect it so that he could move. It was a mistake and he didn't stop himself from crying out against the sharp pain that resulted.

There was no one around to hear anyway.

Slowly the pain returned to a more manageable level but it left Sam feeling oddly lightheaded and numb.

Using the angel that was still embedded in the woman's chest, he pushed himself upright and then staggered away from the body so that he could throw up. That hurt too and Sam doubled over, his good hand pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought to get himself under control.

"Damnit."

Dean was going to be less than thrilled when he saw the mess that Sam had gotten himself into. That probably meant that he was going to have to sit through a lecture about how Dean had told him that he shouldn't be hunting alone and how Dean had been right and Sam hadn't been.

But Sam had honestly thought that this wasn't going to be a big deal. He had…it had just been watching cameras. She wasn't supposed to come tonight. She wasn't—nothing bad was meant to happen.

It didn't matter, though. Sam had killed her. He'd come out on top, if a little battered, but Cas would be able to fix him up as good as new and that would calm Dean some. He just had to get back to them first, that was all.

Sam still didn't move, letting the wind sweep across him and blow his hair back off his face, drying the sweat there. He breathed the fresh air in slowly, trying to will his legs to move. The adrenaline was fading, and he was fairly positive that shock was taking its place, leaving him sluggish and slow.

He needed to call Dean. Have him come and pick him up and deal with the woman's body. No. Dean wasn't in Centerville just yet. He'd have to call a cab or walk back to the motel—no. Sam didn't think that he'd make it that far. He was just going to call Dean and then wait for him here.

Dean would drop everything and come running; he'd be here as soon as he possibly could.

The thought was motivating and Sam reached for his pocket and his phone.

Only, it wasn't there. A small pit of desperation wormed itself into Sam's guts as he began to frantically search his pockets before the urgency faded and resignation took its place. That's right. He'd left his phone in the upstairs office earlier after Dean had called.

Dean was going to rake him over the coals about that one and it was going to be well deserved. That was only if Dean found out, though. If Sam moved now to get his damn phone then Dean didn't have to know a single damn thing.

Wincing, Sam took an unsteady step towards the shattered door and swore softly as his body protested any movement. He was getting too old for this…

He had almost managed to shuffle to the door when a long, ragged, wheeze, came from behind him.

Sam froze, his heart starting to thud against his chest. There was no way that she could…He was imagining things. Going into shock. She was dead. He knew that she was dead.

The wheeze was followed by another and then a shrill scream broke the night air and Sam spun around, staring at the body.

It wasn't a body anymore.

Her eyes were squeezed closed, and she was thrumming with tension as she arched her back and continued to scream. Something greyish was frothing up from around the end of the angel and Sam took a step back, watching in fascinated horror.

Was it…healing her?

It was the only explanation that he could think of as he watched the grey substance continue to ooze out.

Whatever she was, she was alive and breathing again.

The warning to run and not look back was frantically pulling at him but Sam stared a second longer, unable to tear himself away.

He'd read something about this, hadn't he? Something that took bodies, but that had incredible healing powers, so much so that the creature boarded on immortal?

Even as Sam watched, the woman fumbled for the end of the rod that was still embedded in her chest and gripped it tight. With another scream, she wrenched it out of her chest and dropped it off to the side. Her chest was heaving as blood spurted lazily out of the wounds but she brought both of her trembling hands up to cover it.

Sam's eyes widened with sudden understanding as a thicker, but similar grey substance, began to drip out from her fingertips, covering the injuries. For the first time, Sam felt real fear start to course through his guts. He remembered now, he knew what this monster was. They weren't common, he'd only ever read about them, and at the time had been glad that they'd never gone up against one. He'd never wanted to. He still didn't want to.

Horror cut straight through the shock, leaving Sam's head feeling clearer.

He had to run, he had to get out of here. There was nothing that he could do to stop the Du'a jiraataa and if he stayed then he was most certainly going to die.

"Son of a bitch, ow," he heard her mutter as she started to push herself up. She looked around and her gaze landed on him, making her lips twitch upwards into a terrifying smile. Sam was already turning on his heel and fleeing. He could forget about going after his phone and even calling Dean. Right now he just had to get out of there.

He was ducking through the broken glass door when a hand wrapped around his arm, yanking him ruthlessly down.

The ground came rushing up to meet him as his already unsteady legs gave out and he hit the ground hard on his bad side. Bile rose in his throat as his broken arm flared with a sudden and intense agony and it was all that he could do to stay conscious.

There was nothing that he could do to stop her as the Du'a jiraataa rolled him over off the patio and straddled him. The grey matter was still bubbling and oozing up from her chest and it dripped down onto Sam's face, mixing in with the fresh blood that was still leaking from her clothes.

"Get off!" Sam bucked his hips, feeling slightly desperate, but she just laughed, leaning down with both hands on his shoulders to keep him pinned.

"Oh, do struggle," she crooned, "It just means that you're strong. That you're perfect." She let go with one hand, dragging her nails up Sam's cheek before flattening it across his forehead to hold him still.

"Get off me, don't— you don't want to do this." Sam tried to wrench himself free. Laughing, she increased the force that she was using to pin him down and once again rotated her head, allowing the fangs to drop.

The fear was boiling up hot and sharp in Sam's stomach and he fought the urge to start panicking. No one really knew what they did with the bodies. He didn't want—Dean would go crazy looking for him. Dean would kill himself trying—

Sam's thoughts were drowned out as she pressed his head forcibly to the side, leaving the left side of his neck exposed. Swiftly she bent down and buried her fangs deep into the muscle where his shoulder met his neck.

Sam froze, unable to move even if he had wanted to as the flashback of getting his throat ripped out by vampires only a few months ago sprung up.

Fighting to control the panic, Sam opened his eyes again and breathed in the scent of the grass that was shoved up into his face and focused on that. Not on the way that he could feel the fangs in his neck and shoulder, tearing into muscle and flesh. Not on the way that in just moments she was probably going to rip his throat out.

Not on how he was about to die again.

She bent down further, her teeth digging in deeper and Sam cut off a panicked moan before it could be given voice to. He wasn't giving her that satisfaction. He kept his eyes open, staring into the grass even as he prepared himself for the worst of it.

It would be over soon. Last time it hadn't taken long.

Only, she didn't rip his throat out. To his shock, she released him in a way that almost bordered on gentle and straightened slowly, staring into his eyes. It belied the violence that followed a moment later as she abruptly leaned back down and pressed her mouth over the bite mark, although this time Sam couldn't feel any teeth. He tensed, unsure of what was happening, and then her whole body convulsed and his shoulder was burning with an unnatural pain as something was forced into his bloodstream.

He struggled to break free, his back arching off the ground as his teeth ground together. The burning feeling only intensified until he couldn't stop the scream that was ripped from his throat. He dug his heels into the ground, desperate to escape but he had nowhere to go.

After a long moment, she leisurely released him and then sat upright as her tongue flicked out to catch a drop of his blood that was about to fall from her lips.

Sam slumped back into the grass, gasping desperately and trying to compose himself. The burning pain was dissipating as swiftly as it had come but it left Sam feeling feverish and weak.

He didn't have the strength to do more than flinch away when she gently caressed the side of his face.

"You truly are perfect," she murmured, still lazily smiling before it faded and her voice dropped lower as she straightened. "Now there is only one thing left, and I would say that karma's a bitch, wouldn't you?"

Sam blinked up at her, trying to force his brain to focus and his body to move. This wasn't the time for weakness.

Moving one knee up to pin his good arm firmly to the ground, she stretched, reaching for the same iron angel that Sam had used on her. Sam bucked, trying to upset her balance but his movements lacked any real strength.

The Du'a jiraataa straightened, the angel in hand. Blood and tissue were dripping off of the iron end as she raised it high overhead. Keeping Sam firmly pinned to the ground, she brought it down, hard, with both hands.

It plunged straight through Sam's shoulder, going all the way through until the angel was sitting flush against his flesh.

Sam's scream of pain gurgled off into choked silence as she yanked the rod free again. Blood immediately began to flow, soaking through his shirt and into the grass. She brought it down again, aiming for his chest and no doubt his heart just like he had earlier.

Sam rolled as much as he could and while the rod missed his heart it still sunk deep into the flesh high up on his chest. She cackled at his attempt even as Sam's hearing faded, his vision threatening to go as well. She pulled the rod free with sickening slowness and now Sam's shirt was completely soaked through with warm blood. Without giving him a moment to recover, she thrust the rod down almost directly onto of the previous wound before pulling it out.

"The others didn't bleed like this when I killed them. They died slow and miserable in their sleep." She regarded him for a moment, the angel still in hand, before she licked her lips. Abruptly bending down, she licked a wide swath down his cheek and neck, making Sam shudder.

With a pleased hum, she repeated the motion. "Just a little taste. For the road, hmm? It has been so, so, long…" She hesitated another moment before ducking low to drag her tongue across Sam's shoulder where it was covered in blood.

Sam closed his eyes, trying to ignore the decidedly unpleasant sensation. She shifted as she moved lower, alleviating some of the pressure on his right arm and Sam tugged it out from under her, freeing it. She didn't seem to notice, or if she did she didn't care.

This was going to be his last opportunity to save himself and he took it. The holy water was still in his pocket, and he hadn't tried that yet. Just maybe this would be the thing that would work against her. He inched his hand towards his pocket and began to wriggle it out. Freeing it, he popped the cap off. The woman was now lapping at the blood that was pooling in the hollow of his throat and Sam was grateful for the distraction just as much as he was disgusted by it.

She bent downwards with a low moan, one hand flexing against Sam's shoulder.

With one smooth motion, Sam flicked the flask upwards, sending an arc of water into her face.

It worked better than Sam had been hoping as she flinched violently back with a shrieking hiss, both hands shooting up to cover her face. The skin had been burned a vicious red where the holy water had landed and Sam went to toss the remaining contents onto her but with a yell she batted it away, sending it flying across the grass.

"You—I—" Words didn't seem to be able to describe her fury and she bent down, pinning him more firmly as she got directly into his face. Letting her fangs descend, she screamed as loudly as she could, sending spittle flying across his face.

Lunging upwards with all the strength that he possessed, Sam grabbed one of her fangs and wrenched it sideways as hard as he could. It ripped out of her gum, tearing off at the root. Without giving her time to process what had happened, Sam shoved the fang sideways like and knife and punched it through the side of her cheek, tearing it open. Pulling it back out of her mouth he jabbed it upwards and sank it deep into something soft, maybe an eye or perhaps a cheek. He went to strike again but she was screaming and pulling away.

Staggering upright, she continued to wail.

"You—" She stopped, spitting blood and more of the grey stuff. Letting out a yell, she whirled around and aimed a kick at him. She caught him in the chest and flung him backward but then turned away to double over, both hands still over her mouth and bloody face as she howled.

It was the window that Sam needed to escape, and even then he wasn't sure that it was going to be enough.

Closing his eyes, he shoved himself into a sitting position and tried to ignore the agony threatening to stop him. Blood was pouring down his shoulder and chest from his own wounds but he couldn't think about that.

Taking a deep breath, Sam shifted to get his knees underneath him before pushing himself up. He managed to get to his feet, but he only made it the yard or so to the cement patio before he collapsed back to the ground, his legs refusing to support his weight.

He tried to get up again but his legs were shaking as the world spun in a lazy circle around him. Sam couldn't run. He could hardly even stand.

For an awful second Sam sat there, panting harshly and leaning on his good arm, and unsure of what to do.

The holy water had worked against her. He didn't have any more of that, but maybe…maybe the inherent pureness of the holy water was a starting point. Maybe other such 'pure' things would work against her.

Ignoring the wave of dizziness that threatened to topple him, Sam dipped his fingers into the blood that was flowing freely from his shoulder and then began to draw a rough circle around him on the cement.

The Du'a jiraataa had gone down onto her knees and was still cradling her face but he wasn't going to have much time, mere minutes at best. She had brought herself back from the dead, she would be able to heal herself now.

Dipping his fingers back into the gaping hole in his chest, Sam began to scribble symbols around the inside of the unbroken circle, sealing it off. As he did so, he muttered in Latin as well, sealing the sigils with a spell and his own blood.

Sam felt her eyes on him and he glanced briefly up from his work. She was staring at him with pure hatred and Sam could now see the extent of the damage for himself. Her cheek was torn open and one of her eyes was now disfigured.

"You bastard," she snarled, revealing that she was still missing one fang and she staggered to her feet. Sam tried to curb the panic that was making his hands shake worse than they had been before. He wasn't ready. He wasn't going to have enough time. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy killing you. I'm going to make you suffer. I'm going to feast on your flesh, you son of a bitch!" the Du'a jiraataa growled, advancing on him and Sam hurried, forcing his shaking hands and blurry vision to cooperate.

He was so close, only a couple more…

He didn't dare breathe or look over at her as he hurriedly forced the last few figures out even as her sneakers appeared in his vision.

She went to step across the protective circle and Sam jerked his head up, breathing hard and trying to think of anything else that he could use to protect himself. For a moment he thought that it hadn't worked and that she was going to be able to cross it and kill him but then she stopped, a look of utter shock on her mangled face.

Sam smirked, sinking back onto his haunches and clutching his broken arm closer to his chest. She tried again, only to be met with the same result.

Iron and silver may not have affected her, but the protective sigils did just as the holy water had. She wasn't going to be able to cross that. Salt might have worked too if Sam had some on him.

"You can wait for me to die, but you aren't getting my body. Not ever. There is no way that you are going to be able to break that circle," he said, trying to sound smug and not half-dead.

She hissed at him, moving back a step before lunging forward as if speed would help her cross. It didn't. He watched as she began to prowl around the circle with newfound energy, looking for a weakness that she wasn't going to find.

His own energy was rapidly disappearing as blood continued to pump fast and hot from his various wounds. He needed to put pressure on them, stop the bleeding, and wait for Dean to get here or for the Du'a jiraataa to leave.

"It's not going to work," he repeated tiredly after a minute as she continued to pace.

She didn't listen as she continued to circle him, her face a mask of fury, until Sam couldn't stay upright any longer. He slumped down to lean against his good arm, his head hanging. The cement and the symbols blurred dizzyingly together and Sam blinked hard, trying to clear his vision.

He had to lay down, otherwise he was going to pass out. Biting off a groan, Sam allowed himself to crumple onto his side in a somewhat controlled fall where he curled up into a ball, making sure that every part of him remained in the circle.

From his new position, he could feel the warmth of his blood soaking into the cement and across his face. He needed to stop the bleeding.

Shakily, Sam ripped off a tattered part of his shirt and then began to pack it into the wound on his shoulder, trying to slow the steady stream of blood as best as he could. Several major arteries ran through the shoulder and he was starting to grow concerned that one might have been nicked. There was a lot of blood.

Dean and Cas would take care of that. He just had to remain alive long enough for them to get here. Breathing heavily through his nose he repeated his actions for the wound on his chest. He wasn't sure that it had helped as much as he had hoped. He could still feel blood seeping through the makeshift bandages and he pressed his good hand against them, trying to increase pressure and encourage clotting. The bite mark burned dully, but at least that one wasn't bleeding heavily.

Outside of the circle, the Du'a jiraattaa continued to pace, her sneakers going up and down his line of vision and making him increasingly dizzy before they abruptly stopped.

"This is ridiculous. You won't be able to hide from me forever. Eventually, you are going to have to leave that damn circle, and then I will find you."

"My brother will find me first," Sam slurred softly, and when had his voice gotten that weak?

"I don't have time for this," she huffed, and then her shoes moved away, followed by the sounds of glass crunching under her feet as she reentered the funeral home. Sam painstakingly raised his head a couple of inches and tried to track her movements. It proved to be too much and he closed his eyes, focusing on breathing slowly until he didn't feel like he was about to pass out.

For what felt like a long time, he lay there and listened to the sounds of her moving around the funeral home. He did feel a stab of momentary regret for Rob Mills. No doubt she was taking him with her, that was why she had come after all. He'd failed him. He'd given it his best shot and he'd failed.

Eventually, the front door slammed behind her and then stillness descended upon the funeral home.

It wasn't long after that that the power flickered back on and bright, overhead lights, flooded the garden, making Sam wince. He squeezed his eyes shut against them but there was relief that accompanied the pain.

If she had turned the power back on, it meant that she was gone for good.

He could leave the circle.

Allowing himself a long groan now that no one was around, Sam blinked his eyes open and flinched back when he saw that he was lying in a puddle of his own blood. It was slick across his hands and chest, and his shirt was saturated.

He needed to get to a phone. He had to call Dean. He had to get up. Sam took a steadying breath.

Clouds had started to gather in the sky, blocking out the stars as well as the light of the moon. It was a pity. There was danger in the night, but there was also something strangely wonderful about it, especially in the stars. He'd seen some pretty amazing things over the years, but few could compare to the nights when he and Dean would stop on a clear night and—

Sam jerked himself back to the present, shaking his head. Dean. He had to find a way to get into contact with his brother. His phone was just upstairs. He only had to make it that far. That was it. He just had to get up onto his feet.

He didn't move.

When he got to his phone maybe he would call 911. He didn't know how much time had passed but Dean might still be too far away to be able to help him. It would save everyone time and Dean a lot of worry. Not that his brother would be any happier about getting a call from the hospital. Or maybe he would just have Dean call 911 for him. Send the ambulance to the funeral home.

He was fairly positive that he needed a hospital. He definitely needed one for his broken arm, but his other shoulder was royally screwed up as well. Sam was going to be laid up for weeks without the use of either of his arms and that was going to suck.

Dean was going to freak out when he saw Sam. He was also probably going to use this as an opportunity to try and lecture Sam about how he should be sleeping and eating more. Sam knew that. He did. He just...he was having trouble convincing his body of that.

Before any of that could happen, though, he had to get to his phone.

He just had to get up and get his phone.

Sam closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how to get up. He wasn't even sure he had the strength to sit up.

A vague sense of panic began to take root and Sam let go of his shoulder. If he didn't get help then he was going to bleed out. He'd already lost too much blood and it wasn't showing signs of stopping, he had to move.

Grunting, he forced a hand underneath himself and pushed up, ignoring the stabbing pain that went through his chest and his shoulder as he did so. He could do this. He had to do it. He made it first to his knees and then tried to get to his feet.

The world spun sickeningly out from under him, and Sam staggered to the side, trying to catch himself. He ended up back on his knees and bracing himself on his good hand but even that was trembling badly and threatening to give out at any moment. Panting heavily, he blinked black spots and sweat out of his vision.

He couldn't give up. He had to try again.

Biting down on his lower lip, he tried once again to stand. This time he managed to make it to his feet through pure stubbornness but he didn't make it any further than that as his legs gave out and he crashed back down onto his knees before toppling over to lay on his back. He slumped across the concrete, wheezing raggedly.

Well, that had done absolutely nothing.

Sam groaned softly, bringing his hand up to clutch at his shoulder once again. He'd just lay here for a minute. Regain his strength and then he'd get up, go get Dean.

Sam painstakingly rolled until he was on his side, relieving the pressure on his back where he could feel small pieces of glass digging into his flesh. It would be fine. He'd get up in just a moment. He couldn't do it right now, but he might be able to if he let himself rest.

It was cold out and Sam shivered, trying to curl inward and focus on anything but the pain. He glanced up, but he still couldn't see the stars but that was alright.

Dean was coming. He'd get Sam out of this mess that he'd gotten himself into. Sam took a calming breath, trying to breathe in and out of his nose as he continued to clutch at his shoulder.

They should do that again; they should go out star gazing. Maybe he could even convince Dean to stop on the way back to the bunker.

Although maybe not. It was the middle…of October? He was fairly positive it was October but he couldn't remember for sure. Whatever month it was, it was too damn cold to go out star gazing for hours. But soon. As soon as it warmed up, they would go find some secluded field and watch the stars.

Dean just had to come and get him first, but Sam wasn't going anywhere.

He'd wait right here for Dean.

Dean would come.