AN: I have something which may be approaching something like a plan. Let's see if I can get this done without a 6 year break

Also, I'm aware I have switched tenses. Sorry lol

John raps on the door. I shuffle nervously while we wait, ridiculously aware of how still John is standing, his hand on his gun. Nothing. John knocks again then pulls a small, black case out his pocket. He crouches down and begins picking the lock. I raise an eyebrow but can't honestly say I'm surprised. I bite the skin around my thumb nail as John works, glancing up and down the hallway in case someone might see us breaking and entering.

There's a click and John is turning the door handle and entering the room.

Dean is lying on the bed. He's not even under the covers. He is on his back with his head turned away from us, eerily still.

"Dean?" I say uncertainty. My words are unreasonably loud in the quiet of the room. I feel like I should have whispered it, like we are kids at a sleepover and I am not unsure if Dean's fallen asleep.

I creep closer. John's behind me, disconcertingly silent. I reach out a hand and touch Dean's arm. It's clammy and almost cold the touch and I have to fight an instinctive shiver of repulsion. "Dean?" I repeat softly. "It's Jess". I shake his arm hard and his head flops limply towards me.

I scream.

All I can think is that Dean looks dead. His skin is blue tinged and white foam is frothing at his mouth. His skin is glazed with sweat. And I swear he's not breathing. For a single moment my shriek seems to echo in the room as I freeze.

In contrast, John surges into action. He lunges past me and immediately wipes away the foam.

"Dammit, Dean!" John is pulling out his cell, holding it to his ear with one hand while the other ghosts over Dean's face, checking for signs of life. I'm terrified to ask. Terrified of the answer, my hands are pressed to my mouth and the room is shrinking in on itself. There's nothing but Dean, still not moving.

He thrusts the cell into my hands so he can shake Dean violently. Forcing life into Dean through sheer force of will. "Come on, son!".

There's someone on the other end of the phone. "John?" That someone is a man who sounds none too pleased. "This better be goddam important." The man grumbles.

I look to John for help, but he's still shaking Dean. I'm guessing he called this person for a reason. "Hello?" I say, all of a sudden words are bubbling inside me. "Dean's hurt and he's blue and he's foaming at the mouth and…."

I am teetering on the verge of hysteria so it is a relief when John snatches the phone back. "Singer, Dean's hurt. Looks like a poison or venom of some kind." He barks.

I hear a muffled voice as Singer, whoever he is, replies.

"I don't know". Uncertainty laces John's voice. "He was flying solo."

"Skin has a blue cast. White foam coming from the mouth." John lifts up Dean's shirt. I gasp, the slices I had seen previously weeping a clear fluid " Wound appears to have originated from claws."

John nods. "Rosemary, yarrow, salt." He starts towards the door. "I should have that in the truck."

On his way past, he gives me the phone. "Monitor Dean's condition. Tell Bobby if anything changes. I'll be back in a few minutes". Then he's gone. I stare at the cell I'm holding. Bobby says something.

I quickly lift the phone to my ear. "Sorry?"

"That idgit." Bobby swears. "Hunting alone. Damned fool thing to do." I am not sure what he is talking about but I am kind of offended on Dean's behalf. "Who are you then?"

I blink, not sure how to answer that. "Uh… I'm…" Luckily, John barrels in through the door and takes the phone from me.

"I've got the stuff." John sets a bowl and he's putting stuff into it and muttering in some kind of old language. Every now and then he pauses, obviously waiting for instruction from Bobby. I stand there useless, both unable to look at Dean and unable to take my eyes off him. Moore foam has formed at his mouth. Finally, John jumps up and materilises next to Dean with his bowl of stuff. He's pouring it into Dean's mouth and for a horrifying moment nothing happens. John pours more and I surge towards him to stop him. It's going to choke Dean. It is going to kill him if… no.

Before I can grab the bowl away, something miraculous happens

Dean drags in a sputtering breath. And another.

I burst into tears, sobbing in huge ugly gasps and hug Dean as best I can. John clears his throat and awkwardly pats me on the shoulder. "He's gonna pull through." He says, his voice gruff but gentle.