One:

The rich, thick red carpet rolled out over the marble floor is painted in rainbow hues of the scene of Christ's ascension in the stain glass mural overlooking the altar. This amazing cathedral of a church in Palo Alto, California seems so rapturous and lavish compared to the small parish Pastor Jim Murphy presides over back home in Lebanon, Oregon.

Still, whatever his misgivings and insecurities, Samuel Murphy, adopted son of Jim Murphy, is in Palo Alto to attend Stanford on an academic scholarship to study Theology and dabble in Law. Stanford is as good a place as any for both interests.

He takes in a deep breath, bracing himself for the confessional. Being the youngest and newest priest in the parish makes him a bit nervous when it comes to confession. He feels just as inclined and drawn to sin as those who come to him seeking absolution. Sometimes in his darkest moments he feels he was born of sin. It is at those times that he prays most.

He slips into his side of the confessional, hears the sound of someone entering the other side. He opens the small window, seeing shadows and green eyes that almost glow in the darkness.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned…"

That deep, dark, sultry voice shakes Father Samuel Murphy from his sleep and sends a shiver up his spine. In the morning he will call Pastor Jim to confess more of his impure thoughts.

----------

It's taken him months to finally get a look at his father's journal, and while he's jotted down notes, very little of it makes sense. There are liberal mentions of the yellow-eyed demon responsible for the deaths of his mother and little brother, and a sigil, but still the bastard doesn't have a name, or at least not a name his father's discovered.

He shifts his position, pulls the pen from him mouth and makes a few more notes in a notebook of his own. Once he's satisfied with what he's managed to gain from his father's journal he carefully closes the journal and places it where he found it. He's careful because he doesn't want his father to know he's read it. The confrontation from the last time he touched John Winchester's journal without permission was disastrous, and that's putting it mildly.

Dean chews on the end of the pen as he rubs his eyes and tries to make sense of the sigil that is somehow connected with the yellow-eyed bastard. He nearly jumps at the sound of the door rattling. He draws his gun and doesn't lower his aim until his father steps over the line of salt at the door's threshold.

He pulls the gun back and puts the safety on, his eyes locking with the sharp gaze of his father, and he thinks maybe this is all getting to be too much. Sure he's a hunter, and being cautious is a way of life, but this constant paranoia of demons nipping at his heels is finally grating on him, and he's only twenty-six years old. Having grown up around this damn near his whole life isn't much of a plausible excuse anymore. He's tired down to his bones, and while he hunts for good reasons, destroying evil and saving lives, it doesn't chase away the shadows, the emptiness that has taken root inside of him over the years.

Dean Winchester is missing out on something, and he knows it. He wants to stay strong for his father, wants to keep hunting with the ol' man, but John's been pulling away more and more lately, going on lone hunts, leaving Dean behind, and while John is all the family Dean has, it's getting harder and harder to hold on to something that's been broken for so long, even if all Dean's ever wanted was a family. A real family instead of this nomadic existence, not that he doesn't adore his girl, the Impala, but having a place to call home, or someone to really share this lifestyle with would make it worthwhile.

"Still fast on the draw, son. That's good," John says, and the gruff praise is no longer enough for Dean, and looking up he can see something in his father's eyes, shadows. Another lone hunt, probably followed by another, and Dean will be left alone to his own pursuits, his own hunts. He knew this was coming, but he never expected it to come so soon.

"So, where we headed to now, Dad?" Dean asks.

John runs his hand over his beard before he answers, "I'm goin' up to Jericho, to have a look around at a disturbance I've picked up on, some kind of phantom hitchhiker. I shouldn't be gone for more than a couple of days. It's just a simple one-man job. Why don't you take some time off for yourself? Have a little fun? You're still young."

Dean just nods, because it's what is expected of him. He takes orders, never goes against them. Going against orders can get people hurt, or worse, killed. So whether or not he likes it, he'll grit his teeth and hang back, let his father play Lone Ranger once again. Of course if he does have this sudden bout of free time, well that doesn't mean he can't do a little research of his own.

John notices the look on his son's face and raises a brow, "That's a dangerous look, boy. What you got in that damn fool head of yours?"

Dean shrugs. "I was just thinkin' I bet I could score some free pie outta that cute waitress back at the diner."

"I think I could go for a little something to eat," John replies, and then adds, "Just remember, can't stay out late. So don't go hittin' that bar tonight. Check out is at 10 a.m. sharp. We can't push our luck with Mr. Craven's credit limit. Got it?"

"Yes sir," Dean replies out of habit.

----------

Sam picks up the receiver on the payphone, deposits a couple of quarters and makes his phone call. Three rings later and a sigh of relief pours out of him at the sound of the familiar voice of Pastor Jim, the only father he's ever known.

"Sam? It's good hearing from you, son. How are things at St. Thomas Aquinas? What about school?" Jim asks, and then adds, "How are you, boy? What's going on in that head of yours?"

Sam swallows thickly and says, "I had another dream, Jim. I had another dream and it's leading to impure thoughts. I can't confess to any of the other priests of the parish, it's bad enough they hardly trust me, even with you in my corner. They say the things I'm interested in will tear me away from the church, make me an enemy of God."

"You're a good boy, Sam, you always have been. Don't listen to a bunch of overstuffed clergymen that hide behind the skirt of their God in religious politics. You are a remarkable young man, one I'm proud to say I've raised. Now tell me what's troubling you."

Sam clears his throat. "It's the same as before. I'm in the confessional and a man comes to confess. I open the window, and I can see his eyes, green fire, and then he speaks. He just says, 'Forgive me father for I have sinned,' and I wake up. I wake up with my heart racing and I try to imagine what he looks like, why he feels so familiar. He makes me want things, things that I shouldn't want as a man of the cloth."

"So this man makes you fear for your virtue?" Jim says, a hint of humor in his voice.

"Yeah, I know how it sounds, but there's just something about him. That voice, the eyes," Sam replies.

"Sometimes one's path lies beyond the church. I trust that you will always make the right decision regarding your heart, and remember that God always forgives if you seek penance," Jim says, and then after a moment continues, "But a man, you say? That's a bit of a surprise. If anything I thought you would find temptation in that young woman, Jess, that you always talk about. Have you always felt an inclination towards men?"

"I've never felt anything like this towards anyone. Besides, it's only a dream. He couldn't possibly exist."

"You would be surprised. Now tell me why you want that old text on the hierarchy of the Princes of Hell."

"Well, I'm working on a paper for my Christian Mythology course…"

A few minutes and a couple of quarters later he's hanging up the phone and being poked in the side by a very familiar finger. He shakes his head as he looks down into the impish, pretty face of Jessica Moore, a pretty little blonde with sparkling hazel eyes and a smile that could brighten any room. Right now that smile is devilish.

"So, Sammy, who ya talkin' to?" she asks as she bounces on her feet.

"Pastor Jim."

She raises a brow at him. "Official church business?"

He laughs at that. "Hardly. I was just confessing my sins to the man that raised me."

Jessica's eyes widen comically. "You're a priest. What kind of sins could you commit? Did you forget to pray over your lunch? That's just horrible! How do expect us lowly sinners to repent if you can't even keep on the straight and narrow?"

Sam chuckles at that. "Yeah, somethin' like that. So Jess, need me to walk you home?"

"Only if you carry my books and act like my boyfriend."

He rolls his eyes. "Who are you trying to make jealous this week? And why haven't you told them I'm a man of the cloth?"

She shrugs, her laughter bubbling out of her as she replies, "And steal my thunder? Please, you're a sure thing to keeping a guy in line or getting Alex Mannigan's attention."

"When you snag him you'll have to bring him by St. Thomas Aquinas and introduce us properly."

Jess smacks him in the arm. "You just want to see the look on his face when he sees you dressed all in black with the collar on! That is so mean!"

Sam shrugs. "Have to get my kicks somewhere," he says, and he finds that they've reached her building.

He gives her back her books, and then leans down, pressing his lips to her forehead in brotherly affection. Of all the kinds of people he expected to meet, Jessica Moore was a refreshing surprise, a sweet girl next-door type, all bright eyed and smiles, playful, and sincere. He remembers his first day at Stanford nearly four years ago, he was months away from gaining his collar after being raised within the church, and was trying to find his first class. Jess had run into him, bounced off of him and landed on her butt. She glared up at him, then rolled her eyes, gave him directions to his class and asked him out. Later that night he'd broken her heart by telling her he was joining the clergy at St. Thomas Aquinas. They'd been friends ever since.

She breaks him from his train of thought as she lets out her usual sigh and shakes her head. "It's a real shame, Sam. You're the hottest man of the cloth I've ever met, and I swear if my mom ever heard me say that she'd give me a good smack. It's such a shame though. You're breaking a lot of hearts to be at one with God, you know that right?"

Sam just smiles at her. "Just remember, God loves you Jess. Oh and try toning it down. You nearly gave Father Laramie a coronary with your last confession."

"How is that my fault? I thought you were working the confessional that day!" she replies with a pout, and Sam just laughs as he waves and heads toward Waverley Street.

----------

He's been on his own for a little over a week, and he's taking his "much needed downtime" in South Dakota at Singer's Salvage Yard. The set of custom made silver knives he ordered a while back were waiting on him upon his arrival and he finished the Impala's annual tune-up a couple of days ago. Now there's nothing left to do except pour over Bobby Singer's sizeable book collection on the occult. Well that, and driving Bobby Singer bat-shit crazy.

He's making more progress in the deterioration of what's left of Bobby's all-around good temperament and sanity. And he's pretty damn pleased with himself about it too, if the constant smug expression is anything to go by. Bobby thinks it's a look that's constantly on the Devil's face, and he wouldn't put it past one of the Winchesters actually being THE Devil, he's tried the exorcism route on them before.

"Damn Winchesters," Bobby grumbles as he walks past a devilishly grinning Dean to get to the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge.

The grin really should have tipped him off, but after a day of towing old junkers from one dump to the next he's tired. Or maybe just getting too damn old for this shit. Losing his touch. Naw, he's just really tired.

He pulls out the first bottle he lays eyes on. The cap pops off easy, real easy, but he doesn't think much of it until he tips the bottle to his mouth then coughs and sputters in between cussing. That's when he hears the laughter, storms out of his kitchen and roars, "Damn you Winchesters! Damn you all, you little shit!"

By then Dean's made it to his feet and hauled ass out the door before Bobby can find Linda, his favorite shotgun. The screen door opens with a bang and Bobby's cussing, but by then Dean has reached the relative safety of the Impala, and decides to go into town for a while, or at least until Bobby cools down and gets over his pissy tasting beer.

Three hours later finds him happily mellow with an extra three hundred dollars to his name thanks to a few friendly games of pool. He takes a healthy swig from his bottle of beer, then he takes out his cell phone and figures it's best to call Bobby before impeding further on his hospitality.

And the first thing Dean hears?

"You damn fool idjit! You come 'round here again and I'll fill your hide with buckshot and set the dogs loose on ya! Bout as damn fool minded and obsessed as your Daddy! But pissin' in a man's beer?! That makes ya damn near worse!" Bobby snarls.

Dean doesn't even try to hide the chuckle, which only makes Bobby grouse a little longer about "damn fool Winchesters".

After Bobby's done cussing him up and down, Dean turns serious and says, "What about a lead on Dad's demon? I've been through damn near every book you've got and still nothing. Can you think of anyone or anywhere else I could try?"

"Hang on," Bobby says and Dean can hear rustling in the background, then Bobby's back. "I heard tell of somebody that knows a good bit about demons. The way ol' Jim tells it, the guy's an expert that could put me to shame. Last I heard he's out in California near some fancy college in a place called Palo Alto. There's a couple of churches out there, don't know which one he's at. His name is Father Samuel Murphy. Got all that?"

Dean scoffs a little. "You're sending me to a priest?"

"Damn idjit! If anyone's soul needs saving it's definitely yours, or your damn fool Daddy's, but I doubt anything could be done to help him, he's so hell bent on being a bastard," Bobby replies.

Bobby's in the middle of yet another rant involving all things Winchester and hell bound when Dean finally hangs up on him.

Dean finishes his beer, and a smile tugs at his lips. California, a college town, all those college trust fund babies itching to lose at pool and college girls. Like Girls Gone Wild college girls. All that with the possibility of answers to the weird shit about the Demon in his father's journal as a bonus. This road trip, all in all, promises to be a win as far as he can see.

----------

He really doesn't know how he gets talked into these things, aside from he's a huge, overgrown pushover when it comes to his best friend, one Jessica Lee Moore. He still can't believe he's out in what she terms "normal" clothes, and has him going out to the local university bar just so she can stalk, or "scope" out (as she put it, but Sam thinks his term stalk is more apt), Alex Mannigan in what is his "natural habitat". No wonder Father Laramie and the rest of the clergy shake their heads and think less of him. They hardly agree with his research into the occult, but thus far they've kept quiet on that. No, their difference of opinion simply boils down to Sam wearing regular clothes outside of the church, of course Sam's argument regarded nuns in plainclothes, and his "proof" had been some old Elvis movie and Dead Man Walking with Susan Sarandon. Father Laramie had looked constipated afterward, but didn't push the issue, because Sam also reasonably pointed out that his official dress, complete with collar, could distract the other students on campus. Going out to bars, has never been a part of his valiant argument however.

"Jess, I can't believe you," Sam says with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head.

She sticks her tongue out at him with a grin and says, "Oh please, how can you judge us properly from the pulpit? You have to dive into the cesspool to really get us sinners, Father Sammy!"

He groans. "You do realize that God is the one that handles the judgment, right?"

Jessica snorts and shakes her head. "I didn't know you thought so highly of Father Laramie."

Sam actually grins at that observation, because leave it to Jess to point out the obvious, and then she adds, "Besides, I need a nice, tall, wholesome boy to play my fake boyfriend, be my personal bodyguard, make all the girls jealous, get the guys to look, and get me back home without compromising my pristine reputation. So you're kinda my only option here."

"Don't I just feel loved?" he replies dryly.

She giggles, and presses a kiss to his cheek as they step into the loud, smoky atmosphere of the bar as she says, "Just remember Sam, baby Jesus loves you."

As soon as they are inside the bar Sam notices Rebecca, Zack and Adam waving them over. Sam groans again, just what he needs, a night of putting up with drunken debauchery, to reassure his standing in the church. He'll be sticking to orange juice and tap water for the duration of the night, thank you very much.

He flashes a smile at Adam, Rebecca, and her brother Zack, as he and Jess take a seat at the table. There's already a pitcher of beer and five mugs. Sam lifts a brow at the empty mug in front of him.

Adam slaps his shoulder heartily and says, "Still not drinking with the likes of us bottom feedin' sinners? Come on Sam, lighten up. It's no big deal, just a little drink among friends."

"What can I say?" Sam replies with a shy grin. "I'm a wine on Sunday's kinda guy."

"That's really something, sticking to your guns like that," Rebecca says. "It's a real shame you're a priest. You know how many hearts you're breaking? You're denying the world many beautiful babies. You're absolutely crushing all my hopes and dreams for the pretty people of the future."

Sam shakes his head at that, and then Zack, obviously ahead in tonight's drinking game, adds in his own two cents. "You know most reasonably good looking guys who take on the priesthood are just guilty gay Catholics trying to play it nice."

He receives smacks of indignation from Jess and Rebecca on Sam's behalf.

Sam gets up and heads to the bar to get something "virginal" to drink. The bartender, Jan, also the owner of the bar, looks up at him with a smile and says, "Seeing you in a place like this almost makes me forget you're respectable Father Sam."

Sam blushes at her like he always does as she gives him a tall glass of orange juice. "It's Sam tonight, okay? No collar, no calling me Father. It makes me feel weird being called that outside of the church when I'm not dressed the part, you know?"

She chuckles. "I can imagine. Watch your friends tonight, especially Adam. I think I got trouble brewing over at the pool tables. Some stranger just showed up and he's been hustling the rich kids all night. Got a real swagger to him, this guy. Looks like he eats, breathes, and shits trouble."

"Think I could take him?" Sam asks.

Jan smiles at him. "The only priest I know who's a pool shark on the side. Of course you could take him kid. I'd like to see someone bust that cocky bastard's balls before some poor kid gets the shit kicked out of him over fifty bucks."

Sam lifts his orange juice in salute as he makes his way toward the pool table and the stranger currently kicking some drunk jock's ass. The stranger is bent over the table, his back to Sam, lining up his shot, and wiggling his ass before hitting the cue ball. He sinks the fourteen, and then straightens. He moves to the other side of the table, calls the eight in the top left corner and with a clack of balls, he's won another fifty bucks. He holds his hand out to the jock, a cocksure smirk on his face, wiggling his fingers like it'll get the jock to dig the money out any faster.

Sam has this guy pegged as an asshole from the get go, and then the stranger opens his mouth. "Come on hot shot, ain't got all night for you to dig up the cash. Man up and pay up."

A shiver crawls coldly up Sam's spine, his eyes widen, and his heartbeat quickens. That's when the jock drops the money, two twenties and a ten into the stranger's hand and the stranger looks up at him with a grin, green eyes sparkling with a challenge.

"Well, well, looks like I got another challenger. Whatcha puttin' in the pot, Sasquatch?" the stranger asks, and then chuckles as he notices the drink in Sam's hand. "If you're drinking fruity shit I'd guess you're loaded, but you don't dress the part. So tell ya what. First game's for free, but every shot I sink you have to tell me something about yourself, and every shot you sink you can ask me a question and I'll answer it to the best of my ability. You up for it?"

Sam swallows thickly, and inside his mind is racing with Hail Marys and Our Fathers. He gives a shaky nod, and the stranger's grin turns into a predatory smirk.

"Good, and I'll break, but I promise you'll get a chance to shoot at least once, just so you can ask me my name," the stranger says with a showy wink.

Sam nods in response and wonders if his vocal chords will remember how to work any time soon in this stranger's presence. He knows this man's voice, and those bright, almost burning, green eyes. This is the man from his dreams, the one that tempts him, and it's worse in reality than in dreams, because now Sam knows that temptation is real, practically giving him a devil-may-care grin, daring him to give in to all of those impure thoughts he's been having lately.

Sam racks the balls, steps back, reaches for the pool stick the jock abandoned and watches as the stranger bends over the table, wiggles his ass, lines up the cue ball, winks at him, and then makes his shot. He sinks the eleven and pulls back with a smug smile. "Guess I'm big balls, or high balls, however you wanna call it. I'm going for nine in the side," he says and then sinks it.

He looks up with a wiggle of his eyebrows, his tongue slipping across his mouth and then he's speaking, and Sam is almost lost in the sound of the man's voice. "So, college boy, got a name and a hometown?"

Sam huffs. "That's two questions."

The stranger snorts. "Nope, it's just a question that requires two answers."

"Fine, I'm Sam, and I'm from Oregon."

"That's all I get?" the stranger asks, and Sam glares in response.

The stranger laughs then calls the twelve in the lower right pocket, making it look easy, and Sam has to admit the stranger knows his way around a pool table, but once he gets an opening, that's all he'll need.

"Who you goin' home with later on tonight?" the stranger asks.

Sam's face flushes, but he's saved from answering as Jess slips up behind him, her fingers dancing along his left shoulder as she looks over at the stranger and says, "With me. And what's with the twenty questions about my Sammy here?"

"Rules of the game. He agreed when he wracked the balls, sweetheart," the stranger replies with a sly wink at Jess, and Sam doesn't like that one bit.

The stranger doesn't call his next shot, banks the cue ball off the side and watches as it rolls to a stop.

Sam walks around the table, carefully taking note of the position of all the balls on the table. He bends down, lines up with the cue ball, his brow furrowed in concentration as he narrows in on his target and calls the three in the lower left corner. He makes the shot, and then looks up at the stranger. "Got a name and a hometown?"

The stranger chuckles and says, "Winchester, Dean Winchester, and I'm from a little ol' place called Lawrence, Kansas."

Something about the stranger's name and where he's from strikes a chord in Sam, almost like he's familiar, like Sam should know this cocky jerk. Of course if Sam's dreams are anything to go by, then he does kind of know the guy.

Sam sees the two set in the middle of the table, and with a shy grin calls it in the right side. The stranger, Dean, lifts a brow and a small chuckle escapes him as he watches Sam hit the cue ball. The two goes into the right side pocket, and Sam looks up, his hazel eyes sparkling in the smoky light of the bar.

"So, Dean, what are you doing out here in California, so far away from home?" Sam asks.

Dean shrugs, chalks up his stick and replies, "I don't really stay tied down to one place for long. My home is my car and whatever motel takes me in for the night. Been like that all my life. Right now though? Here in sunny California? I figured I could get a tan while I track down a contact of my Dad's."

"So basically you're homeless and don't have a job?" Sam says, and then blushes furiously as he realizes what he's just said, and he quickly tries to apologize, "Look man, I'm sorry."

Dean snickers and shakes his head. He reaches out and pats Sam on the shoulder as he gives in to full out laughter. "Dude, you take things way too serious. It's no big deal. I choose to live this way. Besides I got my ways of making money, and I kind of do have this job. Well, I guess you could say it's more a purpose in life, so I'm fulfilled or some bullshit like that."

Sam bends down, trying to scope out his next shot, when Dean says, "Looks like your girl's gone and found herself someone else to take home tonight. So what say you to upping the stakes of this little game?"

Sam straightens and looks toward the bar in the direction Dean just nodded. He rolls his eyes at the sight of Jess flirting madly with Alex Mannigan, and was Mannigan's hand on Jess' ass. So not cool. Not cool at ALL. There's a squeeze on his shoulder that pulls Sam back from his concern for his best friend and Dean is giving him the cockiest smile he's ever seen on anyone, but there's something like relief and mischief in those green eyes that makes Sam's mouth go dry and blood rush through his body and roar in his ears. He's never felt like this about anyone before, which is what had made his decision to go into the priesthood such an easy one. He's felt lust, but he's never been so tempted before. Never thought he would meet Mr. Green-Eyes-and-Come-Hither-Voice for real. The big cosmic joke is definitely on him.

Sam meets the challenge in Dean's eyes and says, "What exactly did you have in mind?"

Dean smirks. "Well if you win, I'll do whatever you want, go wherever you want. If I win, you come back with me to my motel, and we'll go from there," Dean replies in a husky tone that does funny things to Sam's stomach, and with a wink his hand slips from Sam's back, trails the knobs of Sam's spine, and finally stops to give Sam's ass a nice, hearty squeeze, and Sam swallows thickly.

"What, Sammy? You afraid you're not good enough to beat me? Looks like you've got game to me."

Sam draws in his bottom lip for a moment, and then his eyes narrow as he nods at Dean. "You're on, and the name is Sam, not Sammy."

Dean backs up, a devil may care grin pulling at full lips that should be illegal on a man that looks like Dean, his hands up in surrender, and he says, "Whatever you say, Sam."

Of course a few minutes later Dean is left gob smacked when Sam finally calls the eight and makes it. Sam looks up with a boyish grin, and Dean shakes his head, reaches for his nearly forgotten bottle of Corona, and tilts it back. He can feel Sam's eyes on him as he swallows and he can't help the smirk as he finishes off the beer and then meets Sam's gaze head on, taking in just how tall the kid is.

"Christ, you're tall. What did they feed you growing up? And to prove I can take defeat like a man, where to Sasquatch?" Dean asks as he digs a set of keys out of his pocket.

Sam inclines his head toward the bar where Alex is getting more than a little friendly with Jess. "We take her home and then I call it a night."

Dean's mouth actually drops open at that and he gives his head a shake to make sure he heard correctly. "You can't be serious? She's over there practically sittin' in that guy's lap and you have me completely at your beck and call and you want me to play chauffer to your drunk girlfriend? What the hell is wrong with you? I mean you're in college, what happened to experimenting?"

"You said if I won you'd do whatever I want and go wherever I want. So help me get her out of here with most of her dignity in tact, and then you've held up your end of the bargain," Sam replies with a shrug, and Dean can't believe his luck. This kid can't be for real, especially not with all the glances he's been passing Dean's way. Dean's been reading people his whole life, he knows Sam has to see something he likes to stare for most of their game. There's just something here that he can't quite put his finger on, but Sam's right, he made a deal, Sam won, and he'll just have to go back to the motel without gettin' any tonight. Damn, and he had high hopes for this kid.

Sam puts his pool stick up and heads across the bar to get Jessica, wondering what's with her to let some guy grope her so openly in public. She's a little on the wild and free spirited side, but this is way beyond the norm for her. When he reaches them, Jess looks up with glassy eyes and a giggle and something in Sam's stomach sinks. He narrows his eyes on Alex before he gently, but firmly, takes Jess' arm and helps her to her feet. She looks up at him with a confused smile and pats him on the chest.

"Sam, Sammy, thought you 'ere busy with your new friend. No time for me. Just wanna have fun," she says, her words slurring badly, and that's when he feels a warm, solid presence behind him, and not that Alex didn't look worried over Sam glaring at him, but with Dean's bristling presence behind Sam, Alex looks about ready to piss himself.

Dean takes one look at Jess and then his eyes narrow on dark haired, freshly tanned, blue-eyed Alex Mannigan and he growls, "What the hell did you give her?"

Jess giggles again and swats at Dean playfully before she says, "A cosmo. I think that's what he called it."

Jess then stumbles against Sam's chest and like that she's out like a light. Sam picks her up in his arms, his eyes wide, wondering what the hell is going on. He looks up at Dean, fear in his eyes. Dean looks at the limp form of the pretty, blonde girl in Sam's arms, and then at the guy trembling at the bar. He doesn't know what possesses him, but he throws a good punch and then he's grinding the guy's face into the dirty bar, shouts all around him and the bartender with a bat in her hands ready to take a swing at him, demanding to know what's going on.

"Ask pretty boy, here. He spiked my friend's drink. I'm trying to find out with what so I know what I'm up against," Dean growls, and presses the guy's face that much harder into the scarred surface of the bar.

Finally between a shudder, and after clearly pissing himself, Alex Mannigan manages to squeak out an answer, "Blue Nitro."

Dean gives Alex a violent shake. "You gave her fucking GHB? That could kill her! You stupid… Christ!"

At the sound of wheezing breaths and Sam's worried shouts in his direction, Dean let's Alex go. He puts a hand on Sam's shoulder and jerks his head toward the door. Dean's keys are in hand as he jogs toward a '67 Chevy Impala. Sam follows him, long strides eating up the pavement as he looks down worriedly at the small, pale, sweating blonde in his arms.

He unlocks the passenger door for Sam, and watches as Sam gets in the car, still cradling the unconscious girl in his arms. He rounds the car and gets in, wondering what he's gotten himself involved in this time. He slips the key in the ignition and screeches out of the parking lot.

"There's a hospital not too far from here," Sam says, his voice panicky, and Dean doesn't like that tone.

Dean sighs. "We're going back to my motel room. I've got a med kit there, and there's nothing a hospital can do for her, that I can't. If you give her anything without knowing exactly what kind of shit she's got in her system it could kill her. The best thing to do is find a way to keep her cool, and keep her upper body elevated, because it sounds like she's having trouble breathing."

Sam shifts Jessica in his arms and stares at Dean in awe. "What are you? Like some kind of doctor?"

Dean snorts. "Hardly. I'm just a damn good boy scout. Not far now."

A few minutes later they are pulling into the parking lot of a place called Revolver. Sam doesn't question it though as Dean puts the Impala in park. He just gets out, careful about how he shifts Jessica in his arms, worried about how her breath is rattling out of her slightly parted mouth. He follows Dean to a room, and doesn't bother looking around the room, just stares pleadingly at Dean who's tossing a duffel bag and a rolled up leather satchel off the bed. He props up the pillows at one end and then Sam lays Jess down on the bed.

Dean runs to the bathroom and comes back with a cold cloth and the ice bucket full of cold water. He wipes Jessica's pale, sweaty face with the cool cloth, and then he opens her eyes, they roll wildly and her pupils are dilated and not responsive to the light in the room. Her body begins to shudder, and Dean lets out a low curse. Sam is pacing the room and running his hands through his shaggy hair.

"Hey, sit down and hold her hand or something. I'll be right back, okay?" Dean snaps at him, and Dean almost feels guilty for the lost look in Sam's eyes.

Sam nods, pulls a chair toward the bed, takes the girl's small hand in his large one and gives it a squeeze. Dean steps out of the room, noticing Sam's broken the salt line across the threshold, but he'll fix that after he gets the extra blankets out of the trunk of the Impala. He can already see that he's got a long night ahead of him.

Read Chapter Two of Four of TempestQuill's The Road Between Nowhere and Hell