The Darkness, It Wants Part 3

[sailorhathor]

Part 3

You know the drill.

Out in the hall, Dean hoped to himself that Paul hadn't locked the door behind him; he didn't want to make a lot of noise getting back in. If Paul removed one of those damn warding crystals again... he found the front door unlocked.

What he saw before him in Paul's living room simultaneously perplexed Dean and horrified him. Sammy lay on the air mattress, staring up at the ceiling, shaking and grunting in pain. He pounded his left fist into the mattress angrily. Paul held the wrist of Sam's right hand. He wasn't making any noise, just quietly sitting there on his knees, eyes closed, looking like he was taking Sam's pulse. Or praying.

"Paul! What's going on?" Dean cried. He got on the air mattress and looked at them both. "Paul!" He had to resist adding, What are you doing to my brother?!

Paul didn't answer.

"Paul!" Dean pried Paul's hand off Sam's wrist.

Gasping, Paul leaned to one side, eyes popping open and chest heaving with deep breaths. "Oh God... oh God..." he panted. Paul looked around, blinking. "Dean?"

"What's happening?"

"Oh..." Paul made an attempt to catch his breath. "Your brother's having a vision. I touched..." Another heavy breath. "...I touched him and I could see what he was seeing."

"What? Have you ever done that before?"

"No. I must go back in, Dean. You won't believe it. We're learning so many important things."

Dean leaned over his brother, waving a hand in front of his eyes. Sam did not react to him. "Sam? Sammy!" Dean shook him. Sam, again, did not react. "How long has he been in?"

"I don't know; how long did your phone call take?"

Looking up sharply, Dean seemed terrified by that question. "I was down there at least ten minutes."

"Then he's been under for ten minutes," Paul replied.

Eyes wide, Dean returned to his efforts to pull Sam out of it. "Sammy! Sammy! Wake up! Come back to me! This is dangerous! You've never done this before!"

"Dean, let me go back in. Maybe I can bring Sam out of the vision." Truthfully, Paul had no idea if he could really do that, or where this little narrative was going to end. But he had to try.

A look of helpless concern on his face, Dean asked, "Are you in pain?"

"No. Not at all."

"Then go in and get 'im." Dean added, "Take care of my baby brother."

"I will." Paul stroked Dean's cheek, and then, with a little prayer, took hold of Sam's wrist again.

When Paul reentered the vision, it appeared to be moving faster. Chad approached a dark-skinned man in a parking lot after dark. "Excuse me. Are you Gregory Anderson?"

"Yes."

Without saying another word, Chad simply pulled a knife and began stabbing the man, shoving him up against his car.

The vision changed again. Chad took off a bloody coat and tossed it in a dumpster. Now, he walked a parking lot on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The waves beat thunderously against the rocks. It all would have been a very majestic sight if he hadn't had eyes only for the girl near the guardrail, the Asian teenage girl looking through the telescopic machine at the Pacific Ocean.

"Sam?" Paul called to him.

Sam, visibly upset, looked at Paul. "Where'd you go? You were gone for a second."

"Dean came back. He's worried about you. You've been in this vision for over ten minutes."

Surprised, Sam exclaimed, "Shit."

Chad was next to the Asian girl now, pretending he wanted to use the telescope beside her. "Um, do you have a quarter?"

"Sam, maybe we should go now," said Paul. "Dean says you've never done this before."

"But this is important," Sam protested. The girl smiled at Chad and looked in her purse for change. "I have to see what happened."

"Sam, we already know what happened - "

"No we don't! Look how many new things we've learned already." Sam gestured toward the demonic form floating toward Chad, ready to coach him through it. "That thing murdered Jessica. It murdered my mother. Whatever I'm here to learn, I'm going to learn all of it."

The girl put a quarter in Chad's hand. "Here," she said.

Chad softly touched her fingers when she gave him the coin. "I hope this doesn't sound sleazy, but you're really pretty."

She giggled, obviously flattered.

He pointed to her keychain, which had a name on it. "Natsumi? Is that your name?"

"Uh huh," Natsumi said with a bubbly smile.

Paul pressed him. "Sam, I told your brother I would take care of you. Please come back with me."

"Not until it's all over."

"Natsumi, can I ask you something?"

"Depends on what it is," she giggled.

Chad lingered with his hand touching hers. "Why would you burn a baby alive?"

Fear and surprise rippled across her youthful face. She couldn't be more than fifteen. "What?"

His expression changing, Chad grabbed her wrist. Natsumi tried to pull away from this stranger, who was now looking at her with disgust and anger. "God showed me what you're planning to do. How can you do it? Why are you making me hurt you?!"

"Are you crazy? Hel - "

Natsumi started to scream for help, but Chad spun her around and held her prone with her arm wrapped tight against her chest, covering her mouth with his free hand. "How can you look so pretty but be so evil? The first girl I killed was pretty too, but she had a protector. God said it was a demon. But I overcame it."

To the girl, this was insane babble. She struggled against him as he dragged and carried her over to the guardrail, whimpering against his hand. Her pink faux leather purse with its 'Natsumi' keychain hanging from the zipper pull fell to the pavement.

"I never wanted to kill anybody. Do you understand that? You made me do this with your murderous thoughts, you bitch." Chad forced her over the top of the guardrail. Natsumi screamed and attempted to keep her feet on the safe side of it, but she was now hanging over the edge of the cliff. "You brought this on yourself," he said, and threw her over the edge.

Natsumi let out a terrified scream as she disappeared over the side.

Both Paul and Sam winced. "Sam, please... let's go. I can't watch anymore of this."

Shaking his head, Sam said, "You can go if you want, but I'm staying until the end."

Scene switching, and Chad was climbing down the side of the cliff, sweating and whining with the effort. He found the girl on a small cliff fifty feet below.

Bleeding from the head, leg twisted under her, Natsumi hovered near death. She saw Chad, and whimpered, "No... no... go away."

He knelt beside her, pulling a knife. "Why do you have to make this harder on me?"

Natsumi tried to say, "No, I want my mom - " as Chad slit her throat.

Turning away, Paul almost sobbed, "Sam, please!"

It suddenly occurred to Sam how little he knew about Paul Callan. Why was he trying so hard to get Sam to leave? "Paul, what year were you born?"

He paused, wondering what caused this turn of conversation. "1973. Why?"

"How did your mother die?"

That surprised him too, but he answered. "Cancer. I was almost five."

Sam didn't say anything for a while. "Oh," he finally replied, then added, "I told you I was staying 'til this is... oh shit, Paul, look!"

Paul did, and saw Dean's car, the Impala, in the parking lot of a neon-lit bar. Loud rock music wafted through the walls. Chad snuck up to the back of the car and crouched behind it, Tommy joining him. He coached Chad through picking the lock.

"God, that's right - Dean is a God is Nowhere person. Did Chad try to kill him?" Paul wondered aloud.

Sam added, "Well, if he did, we know how it turned out."

After getting the trunk open, Tommy told him about the hidden compartment. Chad gawked at all the weapons. "You see? This one is totally ready for the horrible things he and his buddies have planned. He's been practicing by carving up the women he charms into coming home with him. Already he has an insatiable taste for killing."

Picking up a machete, Chad's eyes widened at the blood on its blade. "His name is Dean Winchester?"

"Yes." Tommy pointed out a blade on a long handle; it barely fit in the trunk. "Why don't you kill him with one of his own weapons? Just last week, he chopped up a woman with that one."

Both Sam and Paul angrily said, "Liar," and then looked at each other.

Chad obediently took out the blade and gazed at it. "Sick bastard. This one will be a pleasure."

By the time Dean came out of the bar, his arm around the waist of a buxom blonde, Chad had been waiting by the door with the weapon for several minutes. "Did you really work with Paul Newman on your last movie?" the blonde asked.

"You bet I did, sweetheart. You don't mind doing your screen test at my hotel, do you?" Dean asked.

"Not at all."

Paul rolled his eyes. "Good lord, Dean."

With Dean only a few yards away, Chad decided to strike. He ran up behind him and stabbed at him with the blade. Dean, hearing Chad's feet crunching on the gravel, turned just in time to jerk his midsection out of the way; the blade whooshed past his stomach. Dean grabbed the weapon's shaft, twisted it out of Chad's hand, and elbowed him in the nose, all with only a few motions. Chad stumbled back into the side of the bar, his hands to his nose, which was gushing blood.

The blonde hardly had time to scream.

Dean glared at this kid who had just tried to kill him. "Who the fuck are you?"

Chad stared at him in surprise before turning and running away as fast as he could.

Sighing and throwing up his hands in defeat, Tommy looked up at the demon. "Well, that didn't go well."

"No." The demon glowered down at Tommy. "It didn't."

Dean wanted to go after the guy, but he couldn't leave his date alone in a dark parking lot. He flipped the blade in the air and caught it by the shaft, showing off. "Musta been a mugger."

"Wow," the woman exclaimed. "Are you a stuntman?"

Dean flashed a charming smile. "I have been known to dabble in a little of everything."

Shocked at seeing this side of Dean, Paul could only laugh and shake his head. Why did a guy that good-looking need to lie to get women, or more importantly, why did Dean feel he needed to lie?

After this defeat, Chad's mood seemed to change considerably. Before, he was becoming almost cocky when he killed these people, telling the last one that she had brought her murder on herself. Now, he gripped the steering wheel tightly in his hands, plainly having second thoughts. Rain poured down from the dark night sky. The sky was crying again; he liked to think it was crying for him. He wasn't sure he could go through with anymore of it. From the car, he could see Gretchen Albright walk past her front window. If he was going to say something, it was now or never. "Look, I think what we've been doing is wrong. Maybe it's better if we just call it quits."

The child in the passenger seat turned toward Chad with a critical look in his eye. "Chad, you can't quit now. We've talked about how important this is," Tommy said.

Halfway through his sentence, Chad tried to talk over him. "People are getting hurt." He heard Tommy, however, and couldn't be more tired of being reminded how important this work was. He was just a nineteen-year-old kid. Why him? "I don't want to do this anymore!" Chad yelled, whimpering with the threatening tears.

For a child, Tommy could muster up a mighty scolding tone. "Chad..."

"Please don't make me do this," he pleaded. Gretchen passed by her living room window again. "There's got to be another way."

The demon was in the back seat. It leaned forward, putting a tendril that looked like a hand to Chad's ear and whispering to him. "There isn't. You know what will happen to the world if you don't finish it."

The being that Chad thought was God filled his mind with the images, the horrible images of what the God is Nowhere people would do if he didn't kill them all. Instantly, the fear melted away. "Okay, okay, you're right. You're right."

Tommy smiled mischievously at the form in the back seat.

The tormented college student, with a resigned look on his face, said, "Just tell me when to go."

"Go now," Tommy replied.

Chad got out of the car into the rainy Massachusetts night and headed toward the house to murder Gretchen Albright.

Waiting only briefly, Tommy began to laugh, almost cackle. "For a second there, I thought he might actually quit."

"No. We've got too tight a rein on his mind. I'm not sure I've ever seen someone so easy to manipulate," the demon remarked. "My kids are usually more strong-willed than that. How shameful." He sighed. "He's not my favorite, you know. That's why I'm testing him this way. It's turned out to be pretty fun, sending an innocent kid on such a dark path."

Tommy laughed again. "It sure has! Once we're done, you gotta find a body to possess. It's really weird talking to you like this."

"We can't let anyone see me, can we?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong - I wasn't complaining. I understand. I may be just a mere Shade, but even I know what an honor it is to work with a demon of your stature."

The misty form seemed to smile. "We do make a good team. Now get in there and coach the kid through it."

"Sure thing, Azazel!"

Paul, clearly stunned, repeated, "Azazel?!"

*****

Still on the outside, Dean watched his brother's pain continue, becoming more and more anxious. "Paul... what's taking so long?"

*****

Tommy was down on the kitchen floor, beating his hand against the linoleum like a wrestling referee counting out a competitor who had been pinned. "Keep it up, Chad! Just a couple more minutes!"

Chad had the tape measure wrapped tightly around Gretchen Albright's throat. She lay struggling on the floor, clawing at the tape measure and his hands, trying to gasp for breath. Only strangled choking noises of distress escaped her mouth, her legs kicking wildly.

The look on Chad's face was twisted, tormented, on the verge of crying or throwing up, or maybe doing both. A howl built in his throat. "Goddamn it, just die already! Why does it take so long?!"

"Don't stop now! She'll be dead soon," said Tommy.

Azazel watched from nearby, hovering close to a corner of the kitchen counter. "Look, she's losing consciousness. Tell him to keep choking her for a while longer, just to be sure."

Gretchen's eyes rolled up into her head, and she fainted.

"Don't slack up, Chad. We have to make sure she's dead," Tommy reiterated.

Chad nodded vigorously and continued pulling the tape measure taut. He couldn't help but be relieved that the woman had passed out; doing this was always easier when they weren't struggling and making those horrible sounds.

When it was done, Chad released the tape measure with shaking hands and backpedaled a few feet across the kitchen floor. He whimpered helplessly. "That was awful," he moaned.

Grinning, Tommy sat up on his knees. "You did it, Chad. Another one down." Then, waving a triumphant fist in the air, he sang, "Whomp, whomp, whomp, another one bites the dust!"

Azazel caught his eye and shook his head. Tommy immediately wiped the evil smile off his face, trying to behave.

Floating over next to Chad, Azazel whispered in his ear, "You did a good job, Chad. I was starting to think you were weak, but I underestimated you. You are worthy of the task I have set before you. You are my warrior. I'm proud of you."

For a moment, Chad looked satisfied with himself, basking in "God's" approval. Then his face paled and he leapt up, went for the sink, and vomited into it.

Tommy and Azazel took advantage of the distraction to have a short conversation. "You want him to get Gretchen's journal and leave it on the table, open to the page that has 'God is Nowhere' written on it, right?"

"Right," Azazel replied. "So the police find it."

Tommy snickered behind his hand. "It's funny to me that all of this is really about manipulating Paul Callan."

In reaction, Paul's eyebrows went up in shock.

Azazel nodded his misty head. "He's not one of mine, but he's very important to the fate of the world. Everyone where I come from would like to see him dark. It's just a bonus that we get rid of the God is Nowhere people in the process."

Laughing softly, Tommy declared, "Boss, you're a genius!" And they both shared a good chuckle.

Sam and Paul looked at each other once again. "You were right, Sam," Paul began. "It was important that we finish this."

When they turned their attention back to the vision, Chad was leaning into the window of a car. "Danielle?"

The woman looked up at him with a fearful expression. Before she could properly react, Chad raised the rifle and shot her.

The loud sound of the gun startled both Sam and Paul out of this scene and into the next. They could see the Paul of the past fighting with Chad, the two of them punching each other around Kenneth Webster's kitchen. What Paul hadn't been able to see that night was the Tommy imposter chasing them, air punching like a boxer in a movie. "Deck him like this, Chad! Hit 'im again! Be careful not to kill Paul; we still need him!"

The demon floated rapidly across the room and smacked Tommy in the back of the head, like a parent would do to a wicked-tongued child. "Don't say it like that," Azazel snapped. "It sounds suspicious."

Looking annoyed, Tommy rubbed his head. "Right. Sorry, Boss."

"Paul, is that really you?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. This is when I came into the story. I stopped Chad from killing Kenneth Webster, the sixth God is Nowhere person. Or, I guess, the seventh."

"Hey, way to go," Sam remarked.

Paul looked at the floor, wondering if he deserved the verbal pat on the back after what he'd considered doing to Mr. Webster later that night. As if the force in control of the visions heard him, the scene switched, and Paul now saw the floor of Kenneth Webster's hospital room under his feet. He looked up.

There he was, standing in the doorway of the hospital room, looking at Mr. Webster sleeping uneasily in the bed after the beating Chad Goodwell had given him. Paul felt uneasy himself as he watched this scene. Would Sam know what he had thought that night? The awful thoughts that had gone through his head?

The Paul from the present time gasped as Azazel walked up behind Paul of the past with the fake Tommy at his side. "You keep quiet. If I whisper to him ever so softly, he'll think it's his conscience talking to him." Azazel moved up beside Paul and began to whisper in his ear. "What if Chad Goodwell was right? What if this is what it all means? If this man is part of a group of people who are going to do something evil to the world, it just may be my Christian duty to stop him. It would be easy to just finish what Chad started. The man is so vulnerable right now... if he is a mere man."

Paul of the past stood silently, looking at Kenneth Webster, sleeping in the bed.

Sam stared at both Pauls, his horror growing. After all, he didn't know how this whole thing had ended up. Maybe no one knew but Paul.

Azazel pressed, "Is this what Tommy saved me for? Is this what that innocent kid died for, so I could save the world? I owe it to him to make sure he didn't die in vain. My life must mean something."

A phantom, transparent Paul walked across the room, toward the bed, while the real Paul stayed in the doorway. Sam realized he was seeing a representation of Paul's thoughts, what he had been thinking of doing that night.

"What if Kenneth Webster helps carry out these horrible plans that Chad was talking about, and I have to know that I did nothing to stop it for the rest of my life? Would I be able to live with myself?" Azazel said in Paul's ear, continuing to pretend to be Paul's inner voice.

The phantom Paul picked up a pillow from the bed and pressed it down over Mr. Webster's face. The helpless man barely struggled; he couldn't. Sam swallowed hard and looked at the Paul of the present, who appeared to be quite ashamed to have someone else seeing his most private thoughts.

Tommy snickered.

Pleased, Azazel whispered, "Yes, that's exactly what I should do. It's what God would want me to do. Sometimes, one has to die to save billions of lives. I should really go over to the bed and smother the man right now, before someone comes. It's the most humane way to finish him off. After the beating Chad delivered, he might not live anyway. I should do it. I should do it."

"Do it," Tommy urged.

Phantom Paul whispered to Kenneth Webster. "Shhhh, let go," he said, telling Mr. Webster to die.

The real Paul of the past fidgeted in the doorway.

"I should do it. I should do it. Do it right now!"

In the mirage that only existed in Paul's thoughts, Kenneth Webster died. A doctor ran up to the door and yelled for Paul to stop. Suddenly, the phantoms froze as a voice interrupted the illusion with an impassioned command.

"STOP." The voice had come from above them. A woman's voice. Azazel and Tommy looked up. "No, baby. You can't be sure that the things Chad Goodwell said are the truth. Mr. Webster is a helpless, badly injured man right now. It would be wrong to hurt him further."

While the phantom doctor did not move, Phantom Paul also looked toward the ceiling. "Mom?"

"Yes, baby. Yes, my Paulie. Turn around and leave the room. You are not meant to kill this man tonight." His mother's voice, full of warmth and love, assured him, "This is not what God wants."

The phantom Paul disappeared.

Sam looked at present-day Paul. He was fighting back tears. "I just thought it was my imagination, that she spoke to me that night," Paul confessed.

Sympathetic, Sam put his other hand over Paul's and squeezed it. "If it's any consolation, if I'd been in your position, I might've thought of killing the man too."

Paul smiled gratefully back at Sam.

"Damn," Azazel growled. "We lost him."

Paul of the past turned and walked from the hospital room.

Back in the present, Paul and Sam jerked in place, crying out. Paul let go of Sam's wrist like his arm had suddenly become a hot burner on a stove. It scared Dean; he jumped a little, eyes wide. Sam and Paul panted without saying anything.

Dean realized as he looked into his brother's eyes that they were now focused, that Sam was seeing him. "Hey, ya doofball," he said, his own eyes shimmering with relief and gratitude. "Welcome back."

*****

Dean scribbled furiously on the pad of paper, trying to get down everything Paul was saying. Sam was allowing him to tell most of the story as he was very obviously in a great deal of pain. His hazel green eyes stayed half-open, occasionally closing, a wet cloth placed across his forehead. Dean couldn't be sure Sam was hearing everything they were saying, as at times, his eyes glassed over again like they did when he was sick, or having a vision. Every once in a while, Dean would stop writing and gently, lovingly rub his brother's head.

"How's that Vicodin treating you, bro?" he asked Sam.

Sam made a pained noise in reply.

Because there was nothing else he could do to take away his brother's pain, Dean tried to concentrate on the work before them; it took his mind off how helpless and frail they really were. "I remember my dad telling me once about a type of doppelganger called a Shade. It's a small time evil spirit, but it can mimic people pretty closely and has the power to make itself invisible. We may be dealing with one of those."

"I thought shade was another name for a ghost," Paul remarked.

"It is. It's just one of those words that has multiple meanings in the supernatural world."

"Is there a way to tell it apart from whoever it's mimicking?"

Dean nodded. "Shades have red irises." He circled the tip of his finger in front of his eye to indicate the colored part around the pupils. "They can hide them, but whenever the light catches their eyes, it's supposed to be easy to see." For a moment, he just looked at Paul, examining him. "Are you sure you're not in pain?"

"I feel fine." He pointed at Sam. "It was his vision; I just piggybacked."

"I see. I think." Sighing, Dean asked, "So you recognize this name, Azazel?"

"Oh yeah. Here's where my degrees come in handy." Paul grinned. "Azazel's story is told in the Book of Enoch. It's not recognized as one of the canonical books of Holy Scripture, but it was supposed to have been written by the great-grandfather of Noah. Azazel was one of the leaders of the Grigori, a group of fallen angels. They were given the job of watching over the affairs of humankind. When they saw how beautiful human women were, they wanted to marry and have children with them, but this was forbidden. They did it anyway. These children were the Nephilim, a hybrid race of war-like superhumans who would cause other men to fall.

"Azazel is also credited with teaching people how to make weapons and cosmetics. These teachings lead to godlessness, and people went astray. For revealing these eternal secrets that should only belong to the denizens of Heaven, for corrupting mankind, Azazel was cast out and into darkness. The Book of Enoch says, 'The whole earth has been corrupted through the works that were taught by Azazel: to him ascribe all sin.' On the day of great judgment, Azazel 'shall be cast into the fire.'"

"Where he belongs," Sam said, and moaned in pain.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked his brother.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam rolled over on his side. "Dean, I'm trying really hard to be strong and not show how much this hurts, but..." Both of his hands went to his head. "Ohhh, shit..."

Putting his arms around Sam's head, Dean cradled it against his chest. "You were under for over ten minutes, Sammy." His voice shook. "You shouldn't do that."

"What we learned was too important," Sam responded weakly.

"It should be me." Sniffling, Dean kissed the top of Sam's head. "Why can't it be me who's in this much pain? Give it to me."

The look of sympathy on Paul's face was so strong as he felt the warmth of Dean's love for his brother and the level at which he suffered, knowing that he couldn't take away Sam's pain. Out of nowhere, Paul scrunched up his face and put his fingers to his temple, making a pained sound. At the same time, Sam relaxed. He looked up at Dean, bewildered.

"Paul?" Dean watched, perplexed, as Paul put both hands to his head and fell over on the end of the air mattress. "Paul?!"

"Oh Christ, it hurts," Paul forced out through gritted teeth.

Before Dean could move, Sam sat up and said, "I feel fine, Dean. All the pain is gone." He went to Paul. "Paul, is it your head?"

"Uh huh," he answered feebly.

Dean hadn't quite gotten it yet. He moved down the mattress to Paul's side. "What the hell just happened?"

"Paul, before the pain started, did you wish that there was something you could do to take away my pain?" Sam asked.

Paul tried to nod.

"Holy crap." He looked at Dean. "Dean, don't you see? He's a fully-functioning empath."

"What does that mean?"

"Don't you remember? They dramatized it on that episode of 'Star Trek' where Kirk, Spock, and Bones were kidnapped by aliens and used as guinea pigs for an empathic woman the aliens wanted to test."

Dean thought back to his youth spent cooped up in hotel rooms watching reruns on television. "Was that the one with the blue women?"

"No, Dean. Remember, Kirk got a cut on his forehead and the empath took on his injury with just her will? The cut disappeared from his head and reappeared on hers?" Sam described.

Dean seemed to get it. "Paul just took on your pain?"

"Yes! In theory, he should be able to process it out now."

Eyes hopeful, Dean leaned down with his face in front of Paul's. "Paul, process it out. Get rid of Sam's pain now."

He just panted for a few seconds before admitting, "I don't know how."

"What do you mean, you don't know how? How could you take on someone else's pain without knowing how to get rid of it?"

"I... I don't even know how I took it in the first place."

That helpless expression coming back to his face, Dean began to rub Paul's head as he had Sam's.

"I'll get him some Vicodin." Sam got up and ran to the bathroom.

Dean kissed Paul's head. "You big dope. How could you do that to yourself? You stupid, wonderful dope." It suddenly occurred to him that they had an empathic link between them. "Give it to me. Paul, give all the pain to me."

Paul shook his head. "No."

"Paul! I order you to give the pain to me!"

"No!" Paul buried his face in the mattress.

Sam came back with a glass of water and two pills. "Here." They gave the medicine to Paul, who leaned up far enough to drink and then flopped back down, whimpering. "You better get him to bed."

Wrapping Paul's arm around his neck, Dean hauled him up and walk-dragged him to his room. Paul tried not to make too much noise, but it was obvious how bad his head hurt from the expression on his face. As soon as Dean had him out of Sam's sight, he started kissing Paul gratefully on the lips.

"Thank you, thank you," Dean said between kisses. "Thank you for taking away Sammy's pain." He hugged Paul to him.

"Dean, hold me," Paul begged. "Please, hold me."

At first, Dean didn't reply, just put Paul in his bed. He felt torn.

Sam came to the doorway. "He doesn't look good."

"Sammy, get back in bed. Just a few minutes ago, you were in just as much pain."

"And now I'm fine. Dean, he took all my pain away." Sam did a little dance to show how good he felt, spreading out his arms at the end like he was doing a Broadway show. "I think you should stay with him. Sleep in his bed, and keep an eye on him. Paul needs it. I don't. Okay?"

"But what if your pain comes back in the middle of the night?" Dean pressed.

"If I need anything, I'll holler. Alright?" Sam gazed at Paul with that sick, hangdog look on his face. The man had taken away his pain, just like that. He deserved a night alone with his lover. "I'd feel guilty if anything happened to Paul after what he did for me. Look after him."

Another moment of consideration and Dean agreed. "Okay. Goodnight."

He crawled into bed with Paul, turning out the light. Paul immediately wrapped his arms around Dean and cuddled up to his chest. Dean pulled the covers over them. "Shhhh, I'm here. I'm here." He stroked Paul's hair.

"I want to pray. To pray for the pain to go away," Paul said into his chest.

"Okay."

"You pray with me."

"Sure, I'll pray with you. But you've got to say the words first and I'll repeat them, 'cause I don't know prayers so well. And don't you do this for me until you know how to process the pain out, you got it?" Dean insisted.

Making a whimpery sound, Paul retorted, "How do I learn how to do that if I don't practice?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Quit making sense." He figured prayer might be something Paul could focus on, to take his mind off the pain. It might even be how he could learn to shed himself of it. "Okay, you start."

Paul began one of his favorite prayers, the Hail Mary. "Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee."

Dean had heard that one before, and said the words just a short beat behind him. They continued like that until Paul had fallen into a troubled sleep.

Out in the living room, Sam took up the pad of paper and wrote for several minutes. He wanted to get it all down before sleep took some of the details away from him. Everything they had learned... Mr. Keel was going to find it all intensely interesting the next day. Then Sam shut out the light and laid on his side on the air mattress.

A few seconds later, having realized that he had the whole bed to himself, Sam turned over on his back and spread out his long arms and legs with a big smile. "Ahhh," he sighed contentedly.

Out in the night, the Darkness waited.

end