Summary:  The last year of Dean's life is full of demon killing, anger, angst, and life with his brother.
Spoilers:  Set post "All Hell Breaks Loose - Part 2".
Disclaimer:  All things "Supernatural" belong to Kripke.

It had been two days since the boy’s had killed the water wraith, since Sam had drowned, Dean had saved him, and realized he was going to have to make an all out effort to get out of the deal he made with the demon. It was day 112 of the last year of Dean’s life; he figured that he had 253 days left to come up with some kind of plan.

Sam had been extremely tired since his near death experience, the second such experience in the last year. It was obvious to Dean that Sam needed a break, but Sam denied it. He kept up his research, when he wasn’t sleeping, but he looked drained, and he slept more than he searched. Dean decided on the third day after the water wraith, that they would move on, but he did not tell Sammy, they were not going to hunt. He would just object. Sam would only say they had too many demons left to kill, too may people to save, to many people he could talk to about the deal with the demon. Dean knew Sam asked questions at every stop, went to every library, searched every local site, in every town they went to. Dean decided to keep it to himself that his goal was to find a quiet, out of the way place, and rest for a few weeks.

Dean loaded the duffle bags into the trunk of the Impala and then went back inside to check on Sam. Sam was lying back across the bed; his knees bent, shoes on, but dragging on the floor. His left hand was lying open on his chest, his other hand lying limply at his side. He looked a little pale for Dean’s liking.

“Sam”, Dean leaned over to look Sam in the face, “You okay?”

Sam looked up at Dean with lazy eyes. Dean tiled in a little closer and he heard Sam speak in a low whisper, “Noooo…”

No was not the response Dean had expected. Sam never admitted when he was sick, or did not feel good. It was a given, he would blow Dean off, not admit when he was wupped. Dean quickly sat down and reached a hand up to Sam’s forehead.

“Jez, you’re burning up, Sammy”, Dean said as he ran his hands through Sam’s sweat drenched hair.

“Sam….” Dean touched his cheek. Sam wheezed in some air and Dean lifted his hand off his chest, holding it in his own hand, he laid his ear down on his brother’s chest. He could hear the congestion in Sam’s lungs. The wheezing very prominent as he struggled to take in air.

“Sam...You should have said something earlier”. Dean’s head raised and he looked in Sam’s eyes.

“I…I know, thought…’gasp’, thought ‘gasp’, I wz OK”. Sam said raggedly.

“Ok, let’s get you to the doctor”, Dean said as he placed an arm around Sammy and gently lifted him to a sitting position. Sam swayed as he sat up placing a hand on Dean’s arm to steady him.

The Impala rumbled into the hospital emergency room entrance and pulled quickly to a stop. Dean glanced over at Sam.

“Okay Sam, lets get you looked at”.

“K…” Sam wheezed.

Dean ran around to the passenger side door, Sam falling toward him, out of the seat, as he swung the door open. Dean helped his brother to stand, Sam leaning heavily into Dean’s grasp. Slowly, they made their way to the emergency door. As the doors slid open, Dean pulled Sammy up higher in his arms and led him to an empty seat. Two and one half hours later, they were still waiting to see a doctor. Sam’s wheezing getting louder as they sat.

“Okay, that’s it”, Dean spouted, eyebrows arching into a wicked glare.

“De…it’s ‘gasp’ its okay”. Sam whispered as he glanced from his too long bangs over to his brother, fever making his hair stick to his forehead.

Dean jumped up, stomped to the nurse at the front desk and slammed his fist down on the counter.

“My brother needs a doctor…NOW”, Dean growled out.

Sam snickered to himself, his brother sounded just like his Dad. If Dean knew that, he would certainly change his demeanor.

“I’m sorry, Mr.…Mr.…Winston is it, your brother is next”, the nurse stammered out.

Finally, after two hours and 45 minutes, Sam was taken back to an examination room. Dean helped him to get up on the table, and sat himself down in the chair next to Sam. Sam closed his eyes, dozing while waiting on the doctor.

A nurse came in and took Sam’s blood pressure, temperature and asked about his symptoms. Sam was talking so low, that Dean spoke up and answered the questions for him.

“He’s been feeling tired lately, before, before he fell in the lake last week, and almost drowned”. Dean said loudly, as the doctor glanced up at him from Sam.

The doctor listened to Sam’s lungs, pressed around on his back and neck and then shined a light in his eyes. Sam winced at the headache the light caused him to have.

“Well”, the young doctor said as he turned on the stool to face Dean. “Looks like your brother has pneumonia, probably due to the fall in the lake, although, I think you were probably run down before hand”.

“Whoa…” Dean said as his hand coming up and pulling through his hair. “Sam… I could kick your ass”, he muttered.

The doctor looked wide eyed from Dean back to Sam.

“Okay, calm down… I will prescribe antibiotics to take three times a day, they are strong pills, and must be taken with food. I will also give you some pain relievers for the head ache and pain, take Tylenol for the fever. You need to take it easy, and by easy, I mean don’t do anything, or you will end up in the hospital”. The doctor glared and nodded at Sam.

Sam shook his head, acknowledging the doctors instructions.

The doctor looked back to Dean, “If his symptoms don’t improve or his fever goes up, bring him back, this is nothing to mess around with”.

Dean extended his hand to the doctor as he got up to leave the room.

“The nurse will bring you the prescriptions”. He said as he shook Dean’s hand and left the room.

Dean turned to yell at Sam, but his mouth slammed shut, when he saw that Sam was sound asleep lying on the exam table.

Once Sam’s prescriptions were filled, Tylenol and antibiotics administered, Dean tucked Sam into the front seat, a blanket draped over him.

“Let’s find a place we can stay for a couple of weeks, Sam”. Dean said as he pulled out onto the road. Sam head lay, eyes looking hazily at Dean from the passenger seat.

“K….” Sam said as he dozed back to sleep.

Dean drove for two hours until he passed through a small town outside of Louisville. He pulled into the motel as he glanced over at his sleeping brother. He opened the door and stepped quickly into the lobby of the Bluegrass Inn motel. He talked briefly with the manager about the weather and where the best place to eat was located in this little town. He was back out quickly and pulling the car into the parking spot in front of number 17, their new home for the next two weeks… two weeks, at least, Dean thought as he went around helping Sam into the room.

“Sammy… come-on bro, lets get you inside”, Dean said gently as he shook his brother’s shoulder to wake him up.

“Ummmm…” was all Sam said as he leaned into Dean and attempted to stand.

“Whoa there, kiddo”, Dean said as Sam swayed into him. “I gotcha”, and Dean slung Sam’s arm up around his neck and helped his brother to walk into the room. “Move your feet, Sam, shit… I can’t drag your ass everywhere”. Dean snarked out as he attempted to get Sam inside. Sam glanced up at Dean and snickered. Dean smiled, and thought to himself; well at least he is coherent now.

Once Dean had Sam comfortably deposited on his bed, shoes removed, covers pulled up to his neck, he retrieved the bags from the trunk, turned up the air condition, and lay down across his own bed. Sam may be sick, but Dean was just beat. Sleep claimed them both for the long afternoon.

Dean woke around 5:30 p.m. and checked on his brother, gave his some food, medicine and helped him to change into his t-shirt and sleep pants. Once Sam was fed, doped up, and comfortable he flipped on the T.V. to watch the news. Sam was sleeping, again. Boy, Dean laughed to himself, this was going to be a long two weeks.

In the quiet of the motel room, Dean’s thoughts once again ran to the deal. What was he going to do to get out of it? He had to do something, look at this situation right here, it was a prime example that Sam really needed him. His brother had no one else. Dean knew he had always taken care of Sam and he was more than a brother to him, he was closer to a father figure. Dean knew his Dad may have been special to him, but to Sam, well, they never got along well, so it was Dean that was Sam’s whole world. Think…think… think… Dean thought again, there has to be something I can do, the T.V. quietly playing in the back round and Sam sleeping on.

Dean awoke as the sun streamed in the window and onto his face. Day 113, Dean thought, as he stretched and swung his feet over the bed. He looked at the clock, 7:05 a.m. He had been sleeping long enough, and he was hungry. He quickly dressed, glanced over at Sam, and then put a quickly scribbled note on the pillow next to Sam’s head. “Gone for food, back in just a view… Dean”.

Dean drove around the small town near the motel looking for a McDonalds or Burger King, something with a breakfast menu. He swore under his breath when he realized the only eating establishment near the motel was ‘Taco, Taco, and Burrito’ and that did not sound too appealing. He could drive further from the motel, but was too worried about Sam to venture anymore than 10 to 15 minutes from him. What a god forsaken town, he thought. When he arrived back at the motel, he woke Sam, who was still in a fever induced sleep.

“Sam”, he prodded, “You need to wake up and eat something”.

“Not hungry”, Sam mumbled and pulled the cover up over half his face, only his eyes and nose peering out from the blanket.

“Come on, Sammy… here; at least eat some of it”. Dean encourage.

“What is it?” Sam peered bleary eyed at the object in Dean’s hand.

“A breakfast burrito”, Dean said as he slid into Sam’s hand.

“Gross… I don’t think I can eat that”, Sam wheezed out and then had a small coughing fit, dropping the burrito on the bed as he clasped both hands up to his chest.

“Geez, that hurts”, Sam said foggily, bloodshot eyes looking up at Dean.

“Okay Sam, what can you eat, cause you are so eating something”, Dean said as he grabbed the messy breakfast burrito off the bed and stuffed it back in the bag. It did look pretty disgusting, but hey, it tasted good, Dean smirked to himself.

“Fruit”, Sam rolled to his side, closing his eyes, and burrowing further down in the pillow.

“Ok, you are such a girl…. I will be right back. I’m going to get you some fruit”. Dean picked up his car keys on the nightstand and headed out the door again, giving one last glance at his sleeping brother.

Sam’s vision was fever induced. He was seeing a big bell, deserted streets, and dust blowing wildly in the wind. He was in Cold Oak again…alone.

Sweat dripped down Sam’s face as he thrashed about in the bed, gasping for air.

The demon was standing right in front of him, grinning wickedly with his yellow eyes.

He tossed in his sleep, arms flailing, moaning, covers bundling around his legs.

“Noooo….no,” Sam panted out, his heart racing in his chest. He felt a hand clasp his shoulder in his foggy mind; he quickly turned to see Andy.

“Hey there, Winchester”, Andy said with a quirky grin.

“Andy”, Sam took a step closer and reached out to touch him.

“It’s me”, Andy sighed, “I’m in your dream, kind of neat, huh.” Andy smiled.

“I’m dream’n”, Sam ventured, still not sure weather he was having a dream, a nightmare, or a vision. “The demon, the demon was here”, he said unsteadily.

“You’re just dreamin, man”. Andy laughed a light laugh and motioned to Sam to walk with him.

“Sam, you know you can learn to control your powers”, Andy’s eyes darted up to see Sam’s. “You know you can, I did, Ava did, and you can too”.

“But, Ava was evil”, Sam stopped and looked into Andy’s face.

“Yes, but I wasn’t, your powers…. you can control them, control your powers”, Andy leaned in placing both hands on Sam’s shoulders. “Try”.

Andy begin to fade away, the dream becoming woozy, the buildings and streets in Cold Oak waving and finally disappearing totally from Sam’s fever induced conscious.

Dean juggled the bag of fruit in one hand, and the key to the motel room in the other, finally getting the key to turn in the lock, the door swinging open.

“Sam, I’m back… feeling like I got the whole freaking fruit stand here….” Dean sat the bag on the table and dropped the keys with a loud clunk. Glancing over at Sam, he could see the fever coming off of his brother in waves. Sam was languishing on the bed, pillow thrown to the floor. The covers were wrapped around his gangly legs, arms hanging limp, breath coming out in wheezing gasps. Dean could see his face was red with heat, hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks.

“Sammy”, Dean stepped quickly over to the bed and placed his hand on Sam’s forehead.

“Whew…. We gotta get that fever down”, he mumbled to himself.

Dean stepped hurriedly to the bathroom and pushed the rubber stopper down in the tub, beginning to fill it with cold water. He ran back to Sam, who was lying very still on the bed, eyes closed.

“Sammy…Sam…Sam”, can you hear me; Dean leaned down and said loudly in his ear.

Sam eyes dragged open into mere slits as he looked up at Dean, his arms reaching up and floundering around trying grasp onto him.

“De...” Sam whispered as his breath drug in raggedly.

“Come on little brother”, Dean leaned Sam up to a sitting position, looking at him as he slumped into his arms; he realized Sam was never making it to the tub on his own steam. Dean gently bent down and grabbed Sam beneath the knees, laying his head up on his own shoulder, curling him to his chest, like he was still a small child; he heaved him up and off the bed.

“Ummm”, Dean strained as he carried his brother the seven feet from his bed to the bathroom and turned sideways to fit them both through the door. He gently lay Sam down in the tub, he was still in his clothes, no time to remove them, Sam began shivering hard as soon as his heat drenched body hit the cold water.

“No…no…co...cold”, Sam squirmed and tried to push himself out of the tub. Dean held him steady, eventually, Sam began to stop fighting.

“It’s okay, Sammy…I gotcha”. Dean took a rag from the ratty towel rack on the back of the bathroom door; he began to gently wipe off Sam’s sweat drenched brow. Sam slumped back into the tub, head lolling from side to side. His breath began to calm down, the shaking subsiding, he seemed to be getting more oxygen to his weaken body.

“Sammy…you with me here?” Dean asked, concern in his tone.

Sammy slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Dean then around the tub.

“What am I doin’ in here? You tak’n a bath with me?” Sam voice was weak, but his eyes were clear, a small smirk on his face. Dean could see that his fever was down.

Dean quickly grabbed a towel and leaned down to help Sam up and out of the tub.

“You had a high fever, bro; I carried you in here to get your temperature down”. Dean reached down and pulled Sam up to a standing position and began drying him off. Sam swayed on his weak legs. Dean grabbed him to steady his movement. Dean sat Sam down on the cool tile of the bathroom and went to get him some dry clothes.

“Here, Sammy lets get these wet clothes off, and get you back to bed”.

“’Kay” Sam leaned his head back on the wall and waited for Dean to help him. Eventually, after some effort on his part, Dean got Sam changed and back into bed. Sam's mind blank, a light humming in his head. He felt himself starting to drift, just beyond the sleep that was coming to claim him.

“Wait…Sam….take these pills”, Dean held four pills to his brothers lips, and Sam opened his mouth while not even looking at Dean, he sipped on the cup of cool water that Dean was holding to his lips. It felt so good going down his parched throat that he gulped it greedily.

“Whoa, don’t drink to fast, it will make you sick”. Dean sat the cup down on the nightstand, pulled the covers up, and brushed his brother’s too long locks out of his eyes.

“Just rest” he said quietly, barely above a whisper.

Sam heard Dean, his heavy limbs barely wanting to move. He felt callus hands running tenderly through his hair; it lulled him to a peaceful, dream free sleep.

Sam heard tapping…tap, tap, tap… what was the incessant tapping? He scrunched his eyes open; he quickly brought his hand up to shield the sun from glaring into his face. He turned his head to the side, to see his brother Dean, head down, one finger on each hand pounding on the keys of the laptop.

“De…an”, Sam’s voice croaked out. Apparently, when you don’t use it you loose it, Sam thought to himself.

“Well, well, welcome to the land of the living, Sammy”. Dean quickly put the laptop down and jaunted over to the edge of Sam’s bed; sat down, face glaring intently at Sam.

“How you feeling there, sleeping beauty?” Sam was finally coherent, Dean thought. He quickly brushed his hand up to Sam’s face. No fever, thank god, Dean smiled.

Sam pushed himself up toward the headboard on shaky arms.

“Better… I think, how long have I been sleep’n?” Sam ran a weary hand through his own hair and looked at his brother with quizzical eyes.

“About four days, give or take”, Dean grinned at Sammy.

“Wow, I missed four days?!” Sam exclaimed, his voice rising two levels.

“Yep, four of the longest days of my life…” Dean grimaced when he realized what he had just said. Sam shifted in the bed, the frown decorating his face.

Dean patted Sam on he leg, and moved back to the chair he had been sitting in, grabbing the laptop as he sat down.

“Dean, while I was out…out of it…I had a dream”. Sam stuttered out as Dean glanced up from the laptop to stare at Sam.

“What about?” he asked as his fingers stopped intently just above the laptop keys.

“I saw, I was there in Cold Oak…again”, Sam placed his hands against the bed covers, rubbing his palms nervously down the and across the blanket that covered his legs.

“What…you were never gone, Sam, you were right here the whole four days”. Dean nodded at Sam with a knowing look.

“Andy was there, in my dream, talking to me, telling me….” Sam’s voice trailed off. He looked directly into Dean’s eyes.

“Telling me to learn to control my powers, he was so confident, so alive”. Sam looked down at the bedspread, as if it was the most important thing in the room.

“Sam, I’m not sure how you saw Andy, I’m not sure what he told you or why, but I am sure that you can do anything you want too. I have faith in you, in your gifts, abilities, whatever the hell you want to call them. I had hoped you were done with them, with the demon gone, but if they aren’t, if it is due to some freaky blood connection, or whatever….then you…we… just have to accept it, accept them…All I know….is you will always be John Winchester’s son, my brother, and you will never…ever be evil, it is not in you. You are the most compassionate, caring, and giving person that I know.” Dean’s eyes gleamed; he turned his face quickly back down to the laptop, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall.

Sam shifted on the bed, trying not to look uncomfortable. Did his brother just initiate a ‘chick flick’ moment? Sam cleared his throat and threw the covers off his long legs.

“Do you think I have other abilities, like Andy, like Ava? “ Sam asked as he looked innocently back over to Dean, all wide eyed, inquisitive, like a child.

“I don’t know Sam”. Dean sighed, he remembered this look. The look that a small child had given him so many times growing up, asking questions, wanting answers, Dean was never sure if he could give them, but he always tried. He spoke softly as he looked up again at Sam. “I do know…” Sam leaned in tentatively, waiting on a response from his brother.

“I do know…. you need a bath”. Dean’s eyebrows darted up, and a laugh spread across his face. Sam laughed too; he leaned his head down and smelled his t-shirt. He did stink. Sam grabbed the pillow behind his head and threw it at Dean, both of them laughing a hearty laugh, a happy laugh, one they remembered from their childhood, one they had needed for awhile.

One week later, Sam and Dean were going stir crazy. Dean had insisted they stay where they were, took some downtime, for Sam to get over his recent bout with pneumonia. So, they were stuck in this little town, with only 4 channels on the T.V. Dean sat, the remote in his hand, flicking back and forth from one channel to the other, looking for anything beside Jerry Springer to watch. There is not shit on daytime television, the thought to himself.

Sam sat on the bed next to him, leaned up, back against the headboard, holding a fork in one hand, out straight in front of him, staring intently at it. Dean glanced over at him and laughed.

“What the hell are you doing Sammy”, he shifted over to his side so he could see his brother more clearly.

“I’m trying to bend this fork”, Sam said coyly, a big smirk coming up to his lips.

“Oh, come on Sam, are you trying to tell me that you’re a spoon bender?” Dean chuckled loudly.

“No, well, yea…. No, but I hope to be”. Sam’s eyes glimmered up to Dean. “I have a plan; it just came to me since my dream about Andy”.

“What plan”, Dean rolled to a sitting position, flung his legs over he side of the bed, curious eyes glancing from the fork, to Sam, and back to the fork.

“If I can bend this fork, if I can control that, then who says I can’t control other things?” Sam said as he squinted intently at the fork.

Dean stared at the fork himself, willing it to move, willing Sam to make it move….nothing.

After a few minutes of intense staring, Dean grew bored.

“Come on Sammy, it ain’t happening. Dean glared back at the T.V. Sam continued his intense staring and concentrating on the fork, his forehead wrinkled up.

Another five minutes went by; suddenly, Dean stood up, took two large steps toward Sam, grabbed the fork, bent it with his bare hands, and returned it to Sam’s hand.

“There ya go, the fork is bent”, Dean plopped back down on his bed and grabbed the remote, chuckling to himself.

“You’re an ass”, Sam said as he looked from the fork to his brother.

Ah….Dean thought, his usual cocky grin in place, the joys of brotherhood.

On the 167th day, of the last year of Dean’s life, they boy’s were staying at a run down dump in Homerville, Pennsylvania. The place was gloomy, very little light shining in through the dirty windows, bedspreads old, bathroom sink leaking to a constant drip, drip, drip. Dean was setting at the old table, straining to see in the dim lights, scanning the internet, again, hoping to find some clue as to how he could get out of his deal with the crossroad demon.

Sam, in his usual position, now sat on the floor of their motel room, legs crossed, arms lying at his side, hands and fingers shaped in little circles, wrists arching up to the ceiling. This was his new thing, concentrating on his powers, willing things to happen. Dean thought it was hilarious, but did not want to upset his brother, so he let him have at it. Whatever he could do to make his brother feel like he was going to save him, if this was making Sam feel better, then so be it. Dean did think Sam looked ridiculous each night, but, he kept that knowledge to himself.

There had been three deaths just outside of Homerville, at the site of an old orphanage. According to the research, the orphanage had burned down back in 1957, most of the children escaped, but twelve children’s bodies were found in the basement. People in the area had reported hearing children screaming in the night for the past 50 years, but now, people were dying. So, here they were, once again, hunting the supernatural, fending for the less fortunate, taking care of business.

Sam glanced up at his brother, peering intently at the computer screen. This is going to work, he thought, I am going to save my brother. He brought his eyes back to the front, staring at the glass he had sat on the floor. Move. Move…damn it. Sam’s thoughts were focused, he was willing the glass to move, just a few inches, shatter, something. Still…nothing.

Sam sighed, and shifted to his feet. Dean looked over at his brother, his lips turning up at the corners, but he didn’t say anything. Sammy’s heart was in the right place. He was trying. It was loads better now; at least Sam was sleeping at night, not staying up scouring the internet, making phone calls, looking for a way out of the deal. No, now that was Dean’s job. He was hell bent on not leaving Sam; he was going to find a way because he knew he could not leave his brother.

“So”, Sam sighed again and sat down on the bed closest to where Dean sat. “About these screaming kids… you think they are the problem here?”

Dean turned off the laptop, shut the monitor down, it clicked and sputtered and then went off.

“I think we need a new laptop”, Dean ventured. “This one is fix’n to die... I mean quit on us”. Dean tried not to draw attention to the ‘fix’n to die’ part of that sentence, my bad, he thought. He knew Sam would pick up on it though. Anytime death, dying, or just leaving was mentioned, he saw the hurt in Sam’s eyes, the fear that radiated from the windows of his soul.

“Yea”, Sam said, trying to ignore Dean’s play on words.

“I think we need to find these little vagrants, and fry um”. Dean stood and reached for his jacket, tucked neatly around the back of the chair he had been sitting in moments before.

“It’s nearly midnight Sammy; get your jacket, time to pick up the kids”. Sam laughed and grabbed his coat from the bed.

As the black Impala rumbled up the old gravel drive, high beans glaring into the dark night. The moon shining an eerie light glow over the old shell of a burned out orphanage. They drove past the sign that was swinging in the wind, ‘Homerville Orphanage’.

“We’re here”, Dean said as he pulled the car into park underneath some trees, to the side of the gravel drive. “Now, let’s see if we can find the kiddies”, he turned his head and winked at Sam as he opened the door and walked to the trunk, Sam grinned and followed behind.

Reaching in the trunk, they grabbed the holy water, salt gun, shovel, matches, and gasoline stuffing what they could in their pockets, Dean placed the gun over his shoulder and handed Sam the shovel.

“Why do I get the shovel?” Sam stuck his flashlight in his jacket pocket, glaring at his brother.

“Cause that’s what you do best”, Dean snickered and slammed the trunk closed.

The moon hanging high in the sky made the need for a flashlight unnecessary. Walking up toward the blackened wood peering up into the night sky, Sam felt chills go down his spine.

“This place looks creepy in the dark”. He glanced over to Dean, who nodded his head in agreement.

The ground underneath Dean’s boots crunched as he walked around the burnt out building looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“So where are these kids when this happened? Why didn’t they get out of the building? How do we get rid of them?” Sam asked as he poked around in the dirt and rubble with the shovel.

“Why?, what is with the questions dude?” Dean glared over at Sam. Sam just shrugged up his shoulders and continued to walk.

“Well, if you had done the research, instead of sitting around on your ass trying to move glasses and bend forks, you would know. But, since I am the awesome big brother that I am, I guess I will tell you what I found out”.

Dean eyes glanced over at Sam and then back to the floor.

“Their bodies were found in the basement, all huddled in the corner, lying on top of each other, they were locked down there. We have to unlock the door and say a blessing, to send their souls to the next plane”. Dean grinned, for once he knew the plan and Sam did not, how amusing.

“Were they all accounted for? Sam said as he stepped around his brother, and scoured the floor for some entry to the basement of the old burnt out building.

“Nope”, Dean leaned down to scrap at a hook on the floor, he pushed aside some debris and there was a latch and a door in the floor. “Yatzee”, Dean reached down and gingerly yanked on the door, it was heavy; he sat the salt gun down on the floor, and proceeded to struggle with the latch using both hands.

“Want to help me out here, little brother”, Dean glanced over at Sam who was standing at the other end of the room, watching Dean eagerly.

“I’m holdin’ the shovel”. Although the light was dim, Dean saw the grin rise up and curl on Sam’s lips.

“Bitch” Dean grunted out as the latch began to give and he heaved the door open with one large grunt.

“Jerk”, Sam stepped over toward the opening, just behind Dean; grabbing his flashlight out of his jacket pocket and shinning it down the hole. Concrete steps leading down further than the light could shine.

Dean reached around to grab the salt gun as Sam stood at the top of the stairs, gripping his flashlight in one hand and the handle of the shovel in the other.

Suddenly the area around the opening grew cold; the low sounds of screaming children echoing through the night air. Dean felt a burning sensation on his arm, like a hand gripping him. He glanced down to see what looked to be a child glaring back up at him, hands wrapped around his sleeve. The next moment happened so quickly that they could barely comprehend it. In a brief second, Sam was pushed down the stairs into the dark opening, the door coming up in the air, and slamming with a thud back down on the floor. Dean was shoved to the right and up against what was left of the back wall of the building, with a large thud; his head hit a wooden beam.

Dean felt the hands on his arm, heard the commotion, and the next thing he knew, he was seeing stars, literally. He felt his head bang into something, and then he slid down to the ground. All knowledge of the living world disappearing as his mind faded to black.

Sam tumbled head first down the stairway, bumping, tumbling, gasping as he continued his assent into darkness. The flashlight thudded loudly as it banged down to the bottom of the stairs, landing with a thud, a light beam shining up the stairway. Slowly, Sam pushed himself to a sitting position, his gangly legs lying halfway up to the third step. Catching his breath, Sam turned his head from side to side looking into the darkness. He heard low screams coming from behind him and quickly grabbed the flashlight and pointed it toward the sound. His mouth fell open in a gape as he saw twelve small apparitions, boys and girls, standing in a huddle, crying, wailing, and hugging to each other.

“It’s okay”, Sam pushed against the wall with his left and turned as he rose to his feet.

He leaned the shovel against the wall, and held his hands out in front of him, flashlight dangling in one had.

“It’s okay”, he said again in a whisper.

One of the children looked up at Sam, large eyes leering at him. “We were locked down here”, he whimpered, tears falling down his ghostly cheeks. “Tommy locked us down here”.

“Why?” Sam asked as he walked toward the small ghosts.

“We all came down here to play, it was fun to play down here”, the smallest boy stated, “until, Tommy decided he wanted to smoke a cigarette”.

The other children all nodded as if in agreement with the little boy.

“When we all said ‘no’, he got mad, he ran up the stairs…” a slightly older child said.

“He locked us all down here”, the small boy said again.

“It’s okay”, Sam said again glancing back up toward the steps he had just descended. Where was Dean?, he thought as he glanced up at the door. “I won’t let you stay locked down here”, he tilted his head and smiled gently at the children.

“O…O…kay”, one of the girls said in a tear induced heave.

Dean slowly felt a conscious thought coming to his mind as he moaned and tried to raise himself from the floor. Where the hell was he; where was Sam? he thought. He heard a loud laugh to his right, and turned on his shaky arms to see a ghost, a child of about ten years old leering at him with hate filled sunken eyes. Dean pushed quickly on his hands to attempt to raise himself from the dirty floor, pain flowing intently through his forehead and around the back of his head. He lifted his hand to rub at the back of his skull, only to feel a golf ball size lump residing there.

“Sam….SAM….” Dean yelled, looking around for his salt gun.

Sam heard his name, he heard Dean voice yelling it loudly. He quickly jumped over to the steps leading out of the basement and ran to the top, the light from the flashlight shined dully on the wooden hatch above him.

“Dean… Dean”, Sam yelled, throwing the flashlight to the steps. Sam could hear a struggle going on just above the door; he pushed up hard with his shoulder on the wood above him. The hatch moved a little, but did not come open. Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “What to do, what to do…” thoughts running quickly through his mind.

The ghostly figure of the child came quickly to rest right above Dean, he felt bony fingers grabbing for his neck. He needed Sam or the salt gun…now.

“SAM…. Help me”, Dean yelped.

Sam heard Dean screaming his name, his mind was racing. He pushed hard with his shoulder on the door again, adrenaline rushing through his brain, his arms, his body. The door did not budge, anger began to course through Sam’s veins, it was not going down like this, Dean had a year and by God he was doing to have it. Sam’s eyes scrunched up, his head aching as the door of the hatch suddenly blew open slamming hard to the concrete floor above. Sam was stunned, but only for a moment, he ran up the stairs and out into the old burnt orphanage, mind racing, heart thumping as he scanned the room for Dean. His eyes landing on the sight of his brother, lying on the dirty floor, ghost of a horrid child on top of him, hands around his neck.

“Salt gun”, Sam’s mind flatly stated to him. He saw the gun on the floor not two feet from Dean’s grabbing hand. He jumped the five feet, grabbed the salt gun, and fired off a shot at the ghost; it weaved, swayed and faded into the wind. Dean gasped for air, gulping it in greedily as the fog over his brain cleared.

“To…ok, took you long…enough”. Dean reached for Sam’s hand, and pulled himself to a swaying stand. Sam braced his hand on Dean’s arm, steadying him.

Just then, the ghost of the child appeared again, standing right in front of them both, eyes void of life, skin pale, screaming loudly. The ghost reached out for Dean. Sam was livid, fury raging in his mind as the child attempted one more time to hurt his brother.

“Get away from my brother”, he said loudly, his voice echoing on the walls of the burnt out orphanage, his head shooting sharp burst of pain up through his eyes. The ghost glimmered, the boy looking at Sam.

“Get away from your brother?” the ghost said in a low growl, it looked again at Dean, then whispered “Yes”. The ghost seemed to turn to mist, caught up in the wind, rising into the trees and with one last scream disappeared into the dark.

Dean looked at Sam, questions in his eyes, as he weaved and leaned into his brother.

“I gotcha”, Sam guided Dean back to the floor to sit, pressing his head down into his bent knees.

“Stay there”, Sam advised Dean as he reached into Deans coat pocket and pulled out the ‘Book of Blessings’, his brother had marked the page earlier and placed the book in his pocket while at the motel, back when Sam had been busy staring at the glass on the floor.

“This it”, he pointed to the page and Dean nodded slowly. Sam began to read the page…’and so we send these lost souls forward on their journey’; Sam looked up as he finished the last of the page. The mist rose up from the basement swirling, and screaming in low voices. The ghosts of the small children finally escaping the basement, they had been held hostage for fifty years. Dean tilted his head up to watch as they danced around for a few seconds and then disappeared up into the night air.

“Okay, Dean, lets get you out of here and back to the motel, I think we are done”. Sam leaned down and put his arm around Dean’s waist and began to hoist him up.

“What about devil boy…you know the one with his grimy hands around my throat?”

“He’s gone”, Sam stated flatly, eyes glancing to Dean and back to the front.

“Did you…how do you know?” Dean peered back at Sam with wide eyes.

“Just do”, Sam pulled Deans arm up around his shoulder, walking and dragging his brother back to the Impala.

Dean swayed into Sam, sound rushing in his head, not sure if it was because of the head injury he had just obtained, or the notion that Sam had just planted in his brain. Did Sam make that ghost leave him alone? How? Where did it go? How? All the thoughts in Dean’s mind were jumbled, confused, so he stumbled along quietly, not asking, and not wanting to know.