❛ ⋆ ˚｡ ꗃ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 027. . .  ❜ 🔪 ࿐
🔦 👻 ❪  𝗲𝗽𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗱𝗲 22, 𝘀𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝟬𝟭  ❫
' and it's all I have.'

     Bowie knows he's dreaming. His fingers tips felt funny, and his feet felt heavier than normal. He wouldn't allow himself to get scared, because it was only a dream, right? Even if the feeling of his heartbeat pounding against his lungs made him hyperventilate, and the sulfur that stung his nose made it hard for him to breathe.

He's standing in a long hallway of an unfamiliar cellar. Six doors, three on each side were all wooden, and locked. The seventh door was straight ahead, metal. Chained up.

It was screaming behind the door.

Pounding on it so loudly, Bowie felt each vibration. The shrill was inhuman, it growled in frustration with each bang on the metal. Calling his name, begging to be released.

Bowie didn't want to, but his body forced his feet forward. Each stepped weighed down by his free will, fighting to keep control.

"You can't have me," Bowie sneers through his teeth, "I won't let you!"

When the banging gets louder, so does his heartbeat, causing his body to feel like it's on fire. It won't stop screaming, the room starts to fill with strong winds, forcing his feet to stumble closer.

Bowie covers his ears, closes his eyes, "You'll never win, Azazel! You can't have them! I'll never let you in! I'll never kill again!"

     A tug on his shoulder pulls him back from the door. When he opens his eyes, Sam is standing over him, tugging at his shoulder. He looks concerned, even with most of his face hidden by the dark of their motel room.

Bowie felt sweaty, his clothes sticking to his skin as he sat up and shifted away. He didn't like being touched.

"Are you okay?" Sam questions, moving to sit beside him, invading the distance that Bowie was trying to make, "You were muttering in your sleep. Crying even."

"It was just a nightmare," Bowie mutters, he doesn't want to speak.

Not when John and Dean were sleeping in the same room just across from them.

Sam hesitates, and uses sign language slowly, he'd been practicing for a few weeks now, one of the only things to do when you're not thinking about the hunt, 'What did you dream about?'

Bowie's sighs, his sleeves are longer than his hand, maybe the unfortune side effect of fighting possession was the life being sucked out of you, making you pale and skin to the bone. He uses the sleeve to rub his eye, before pulling his hands out to sign.

'Being gone, I guess,' Bowie signs back even slower.

Sam shifts to get comfortable, nodding, positioning his hands around awkwardly before finding a rhythm, 'Did he torture you?'

Sam's questions made Bowie want to go another round with the entity leeching in his head. But he was glad that Sam woke him up from his nightmare.

He closed his fist, bending his wrist up and down fast, 'Yes.'

Sam sighs, leaning his head on his knee as he looks at his big brother. "My nightmares are getting bad, too." He confides in him with words, missing Bowie's comfort. He looked around to make sure John and Dean were still sleeping, before he leaned in with a whisper, "I can feel my powers getting stronger, too. It's like, the closer we get to this thing, the worse it gets."

Bowie's shoulders slumped, feeling bad.

Yet, as bad as he felt, he had too much on his plate for anyone else. He's trying not to drown. Bowie was tired of caring, and he felt bad about it. It just takes too much energy, trying to get Kit out of his head. Trying to sort his real feelings from the demonic ones mustering around.

'Then, leave.' Bowie signed firmly, his face hard.

Sam seemed confused, "What do you mean?"

Bowie looks around the room once, making sure Dean didn't stir.

"Go, and don't come back. Go back to Stanford, Sam." Bowie's voice starts to raw at the feeling of desperation forming, not looking at him.

Sam laughs in confusion; but it dies on his lips when the words really process, "Why are you saying that? I-I can't just leave, not now-"

"This is going to get ugly, Sam. You have no idea just how bad," Bowie carefully picks his words, already feeling a phantom pressure on his voice as he did, "You shouldn't be here. Not if this all has something to do with you, it'll be like handing you right to him."

Sam shook his head, "You don't know that. We'll come up with a plan. We'll kill him, Bow."

"Not before he kills one of us first." He whispers back.

A long silence rests between them.

"What happened out there?" Sam asks more firmly, "When we got separated, I mean. How-, How are you still alive?"

Bowie wanted to be honest. He wanted to admit that he was selfish enough to strike a deal with Azazel out of revenge. Taking the bait, was taking a life. The life of a horrible human being, yes. But it cost Bowie so much more.

His own body. His own mind. Bowie was a puppet, and the only way his strings would snap is if they were wrapped around his neck.

Each day, he fights with the demonic evil that tries to twist his soul every second, trying to take hold of him. The price of selling your soul.

And it's only day four.

He could argue that in the heat of the moment it was the right choice.

He was at his lowest. Betrayed by his brothers, stuck in a room with his abuser, bleeding out of his chest.

Would Sam and Dean forgive that? Even with the context?

Probably not. Not when it involved murder.

Kit.

He was an innocent. He was the first innocent blood that Bowie's ever spilt, destroying his whole life philosophy. Protect the people, kill the monsters. Don't ever use what you've learned for evil.

All just another reason why Bowie Winchester would never be worthy of anything good.

What would Sam think of him then?

"He just talked shit," Bowie says honestly, shaking himself from thought, "Went on and on about all the bad things he did. Monster monologues, you know I hate those. My powers came in handy. He threw some things my way. . .but uh," Bowie trails off, remembering the knife he took from Azazel, the screams of his rapist, the blood on his hands from Kit. "I was able to fight them off."

Sam leans back, feeling unconvinced, "You really just fought your way out?"

Bowie shrugs it off, "Nothing against my strength, right?"

"Do you really think that's all you can do?" Sam inquired, thinking to himself, "I can see things before they happen, but sometimes, I feel like there's more to it. Like that's just the surface."

Bowie thinks about all he knew. All the unexplainable things he could do, "I'll admit. I don't think people can use their senses to the extent I can. I always thought I could play it off as something I studied, but truthfully? Before I even trained with John, before I lost my hearing. I've always felt myself at a different frequency than others."

Sam takes a moment, collecting himself, "Dean wasn't himself, when we thought you died. He hardly spoke, pretending like he could just. . .move on, even for a moment. But I know him. I could hear him crying in the bathroom, and in the car."

Bowie's stomach twisted in guilt. The one time he wouldn't dare give his brothers credit for caring about him, or the benefit of the doubt – was the time that they fought for him harder than ever.

It was complicated. Knowing that they didn't deserve the benefit of the doubt but wishing more than anything to give it to them anyway.

"I know you said, after this you're leaving for good this time. When this is over, I..." Sam hesitates, sliding off the bed, "Maybe I can come with you."

Bowie raises his head, sitting up straighter, "What?"

Sam shrugs, "I can go with you. We'd have no reason to keep hunting. I'd rather go with you now, then hunt for the rest of my life without my brother."

Bowie's eyes shift to the other bed, "What about Dean?"

That, Sam couldn't answer.

By morning, Bowie is standing in front of his board, marker against his lip as he stared at the connecting red strings of every single hunt across the USA map, every suspicious sighting of Yellow Eyes, even a picture of Meg's host with black sharpie-colored eyes and a Hitler mustache – Dean's idea.

Even while being so deep in thought, Bowie snaps out of his tunnel vision just enough the second he felt John's presence lingering around him, looking over his work. 

The motel wasn't a small one, and yet Bowie felt suffocated.

It had been four days since the Winchester men reunited, and within those days Bowie struggles to battle the demonic entity leeching on his brain. He really didn't have energy for John's bullshit, and he'd be a fool to let his guard down.

"This is good," John claims, crossing his arms, "Simplified it better than I ever could."

The compliment rolls off Bowie's skin, not bothering with a response. He looks around John's motel room. All the walls were covered head to toe with specific lore, highlighted passages, notes, pictures of demonic entities with arrows.

It was messy, Bowie can agree.

It took Bowie 6 hours to go through every single idea and lead John ever had.

He threw away all the dumb leads and ideas straight into a trashcan (Bow's words to his face.) before taking John's brilliant, scattered brain and making it readable. 

Simplifying it to a single plan.

Which only took him 2 hours. A record.

"All we need is the location," Bowie replies, "We can summon him to us."

"Tried that, he won't bite unless he wants something really bad." John explains, slowly faltering at his own words. He becomes firm suddenly, biting his tongue.

Bowie smirks, looking at his board. He loved the idea of shame and paranoia eating away at John's little brain – simply because he wasn't reacting the way his stepfather wanted him to. They both knew what John did, and Bowie could feel him waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Why haven't you said anything?" John questions, his voice low. He wanted to get straight to the point, and Bowie could feel the chess pieces of their little game move.

"About what?" Bowie asked innocently, biting his marker cap and moving past him to sit with his brothers. "I finished the board."

John clears his throat, and composes himself, addressing all three of them, "This is it. Our whole lives we've been searching for this demon, right? Not a trace, just nothing, until about a year ago, for the first time I picked up a trail."

"That's when you took off," Dean comments, looking between his younger brothers, "I went to find Bowie and Sam a bit after."

John nods, "The demon must have come out of hiding or hibernation."

"Or he was always there, watching," Bowie comments, making Sam shiver at the thought. If only Sam knew, Bowie thinks. If only this deal with Azazel didn't make him physically unable to speak about it.

"Show me the trail," Dean commands.

Bowie stands up and grabs his long pointer stick, "Okay, follow me quick because I'm only going through it once. It started in Arizona, then traveled down to New Jersey, California – figures, am I right?"

Dean snorted a laugh.

"Thank you. Anyways, the houses burned to the ground, we came across all those goofy kids like Sam. We should all really get a support group going on –" Bowie looks pointily at Sam, "Get you some friends."

"Be serious!" John snaps. Bowie instantly stops talking, flinching, pulling at his hearing aid. "It's going after families, just like it went after us!"

"Don't yell at him." Dean bit back firmly. John sucks his teeth.

"Families with infants," Sam concludes.

"The night of the kid's 6 month birthday," John nods.

Bowie frowns, looking at Sam. He was only six months old the night their lives were destroyed forever. He never even got a taste of what a normal life could be. Never heard their mother's silk voice sing lullabies, or remember the old bedrooms, the smell.

His eyes locked on Dean, who was already looking at him.

Once again, they felt connected with each other in their own brotherly way.

They can't remember being 4 and 2, but they remember what it felt like to be innocent little brothers sharing a room, playing with dinosaurs and cowboy figurines.

Maybe there's a universe where Dean and Bowie Winchester could love each other like brothers, instead of viewing each other as enemies before all else. Where they grew up, side-by-side, the best of friends.

"So, this demon is going after these kids for some reason, the same way it came for me?" Sam looked hurt, upset, "So Mom's death, Jessica. It's all 'cause of me?"

"We don't know that Sam."

"Oh, really? I'd say we're pretty damn sure, Dean!" He yells.

"For the last time, what happened to them is not your fault!" Dean yells back.

"Do you know how small an infant is, Sam?" Bowie questions. "Think about it like holding a long watermelon." He emphasized his hand motions.

"I don't see your point," Sam rolls his eyes.

"My point is, how can an infant be at fault for murder?" Bowie says bluntly, "Be logical. Yellow Eyes is at fault."

"It might not be my fault but it's my problem!"

Dean motioned between them, "No, it's not your problem, it's our problem!"

John slowly stands, "Okay, that's enough. I wish I had more answers, I do. I've always been one step behind it. I've never gotten there in time to save. . ." He couldn't continue.

"All right, so, how do we find it before it hits again?" Dean changed the subject.

"There are signs, it looks me a while to see the pattern, but in the days before these fires, signs crop up in an area." John explains, motioning for Bowie to take over.

Bowie points to pictures as he spoke, "Cattle disembowelment, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms. All these things happened in Lawerence before mom died, a week before to be exact." He glanced at Sam, "And in Palo Alto. They're starting again."

Sam clenched his fists at his side, "Where?"

Bowie points at the last pictures, "Salvation, Iowa."

"Then that's where we'll go," Dean stands up.

Bowie's bags are already packed, not feeling comfortable enough to get settled around these people. He's been distant, making his usual remarks and quips so he wouldn't raise suspicion.

Sam goes to turn off the TV, because Dean always left it on. He paused, his face scrunching in confusion at the news. Slowly, he turns up the volume.

". . .This is your host Desman Chack, and we're coming to you live with updates from last Wednesday's gruesome attack off highway I-90. County Sheriff, Amos Palmer, has given previous claims that the unidentifiable body found tied to a tree in the forest, was the cause of a mentally unstable, hostile individual on the loose. Now, however, after three days of silence, another body had been found."

Bowie looks away from the board and around the room, a ringing in his ear starting to echo once again. Dean and John focused on the Reporter, looking at the pictures of the crime scenes.

The forest. The apartment complex.

Bowie feels himself sweating.

"Coroner's report states that the body had been lifeless for over three days, meaning the murders had taken place only 48 hours from each other, only an hour away between the crime scenes."

He pulls at his fingers, trying to stay calm.

"An eyewitness driving on highway I-90, also says they saw a man with blood on his clothes. No clear description currently."

"Those took place the same day we all met up again," Sam concluded, "Do you think this has something to do with Yellow Eyes? That he's sending a message?"

'How is Sammy gonna feel when he finds out that his big brother Bowie, has been going around killing people?' It echoes in his subconscious.

"What message?" Dean scoffs, "That Yellow Eyes kills people? Yeah, we've got the gist our whole lives."

Sam bites his nail, listening to the report describe how brutal the attacks were, "Doesn't the first one sound odd? Tied to a tree, that could've been a sacrifice." He continues to deduct.

'Or justice,' It grumbles. At this point it just felt like a constant migraine.

"We need to focus on one thing atta time," John grumbles, "We have work to do," He turns the TV off, and leaves to start the car.

Dean is packing his bags, his face pinched with too many thoughts and emotions to speak.

Sam, however, always had much to say. "Do you think we should investigate those murders? Just to be sure."

"No," Bowie exclaims far too quickly. Dean can't help but slow his packing, his eyes scanning his brother's expression. "John is right, we're running out of time. Not everything concerns us, and when we finally finish this, you both can go your own way and solve whatever Scooby mystery you want."

Sam and Dean falter. They remembered what Bowie said the night they killed those Vampires. Going their separate ways, never seeing each other again.

Bowie had threatened the concept before – hell, he's done it before. Dean feels a sting of rage in his chest, it starts to flare with every deep breath as he continued to let his thoughts purge every aspect of him.

He can understand, fearing hunting after Azazel clearly did a number on him. The jitteriness? His pale and bone figure, and sunken eyes? Dean has seen it in countless hunters throughout the years.

Dean's even heard Bowie muttering to himself in the last three days. He felt bad, yet something still felt wrong to him. Something out of place.

The second they were all together again, it was like he was meeting Bowie for the first time. He recalls the first few months of their search for John. The toxic arguments, the discomfort. No trust, no safety.

It was like Bowie had forgotten all the good. All the hard work.

Dean had allowed himself to let his guard down, to try and rewrite the mentality given to him by his father in hopes of salvaging a bond.

He took a leap into new waters, because Bowie made it look easy. And now that Dean's had a taste of a life worth living on his own free will, it was like he was stuck.

After this, no Sam? No Bowie?

His eyes were finally open to just how much their father had done. Now Dean felt alone in the knowledge. He couldn't go back to hunting with his father alone, but there was nowhere else he could go.

His family was falling apart.

"Since when do you ever agree with him?" Sam gets frustrated.

"It's just not something I think we should be focusing on right now; we already have a lot on our plates." He replied smoothly, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "We can't save everybody."

As he leaves, Dean's lips pinched together, "Is it just me or does something not feel right with, Bow?"

Sam let out a sigh through his nose, "Besides the fact that he's leaving the second this is over? Or the fact that three days ago we thought he was dead, and how he's back with more hate towards us than ever before?"

Dean hums, "O-kay, so you see it all too? Cool."

"We need to figure out what's going on," Sam exclaims, heading for the door, "It's like the only ones left in the dark are us."

The drive to Salvation, Iowa gave Sam and Dean enough time to drill questions out of Bowie. The youngest had forced him to sit upfront with Dean – which made Bowie feel out of place.

He felt a heavy stare on the side of his face and looked up to see both brothers staring at him.

Bowie clenched, raising the volumes back up on his hearing aids, "You done?" He snaps, "Road not interesting enough for you?"

"How'd you escape, Yellow Eyes?" Sam instantly questions, leaning half his body over the bench seat so Bowie can read his lips better.

"I told you. He let me go." He says through his teeth.

"But you also said you had to fight your way out," Dean remembers, picking his words carefully, "What did you fight? It's got you all worked up."

Bowie hates being interrogated, turning his full body to face them as they continued to drive, "I'm fine, I'm just focused."

"Well, we aren't fine!" Sam snapped, "We thought you were dead."

"Well, I'm not. You're welcome, now you get to use me for yet another day." Bowie grumbles under his breath.

Dean hears it and slams on the brake, jerking them all forward before he pulled off to the side, "What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"Nothing."

"No. Something. What do you mean using you? We don't use you!" Sam raised his voice.

Bowie felt a rage bubble up, his face getting red.

'Give into our anger,' It tries to per sway.

"Oh, you don't? We wouldn't have even gotten this far if it wasn't for me. I have been pulling your idiotic weights since we've started hunting together! Every hunting strategy? Mine. Every lead on John? Mine. All you two did, was hunt monsters across the states, while I spent every waking moment, of every day looking for the worst person on this planet!"

As Bowie speaks in all one breath, he finds himself getting more comfortable with the feeling of anger, his migraine slowly going away as he allowed himself to let go.

"And the worst part? The second we found him; you ran into his arms like little boys. As if the truth could be swept under the rug just a second longer to fulfill your sick fantasy for a decent dad!" Bowie continued, and Dean flinched. "We were supposed to go into that situation, united. Together. And yet again, I'm tossed aside the second you're done."

He even laughs at the thought, making his brothers concerned.

"You almost had me convinced that things could change." He finished bitterly.

Dean is clenching his knuckles on the steering wheel, watching as John also parked ahead, getting out of the car to figure out what was going on with them.

"Things have changed," Dean says with determination, pulling his keys out, "And when this is over, I'm going to prove it to you. And you're gonna stay. Not out of obligation, but because you'll want to. I'm sure of it."

He gets out of the car, meeting John halfway. Sam and Bowie followed out, still feeling the tension from the car as they walked side by side.

"I just got a call from Caleb," John tells them.

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine. Jim Murphy's dead."

"Pastor Jim?" Sam emphasized to confirm. "How?"

"Throat was slashed. He bled out," John explains. "Looks like they found traces of sulfur at his place."

"A demon," Dean concludes. He paused, "The demon?"

"I don't know. Could be he just went careless, or he slipped up. Maybe the demon knows we're getting close."

"We should we do?" Dean asked.

"Now we act like every second counts. There's two hospitals and a health center in this county. We split up, cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's gonna be six months in the next week."

Sam falters, "Dad, that could be dozens of kids. How the hell are we gonna know which ones the right one?"

"We'll check all of them, that's how!"

"It's a stupid plan," Bowie grumbles under his breath.

"And you got a better one?" John questions. Bowie didn't. So, he rolled his eyes, and let John continue being a lunatic, "Anyone else?"

"No, sir." Sam mutters.

"This ends now. I'm ending it, I don't care what it takes." John vows before getting into his truck, ready to set the pace on the road.

The brother's stare after him for a moment, and Bowie can't help his scoff.

"Even if it's the life of one of us." Bowie claims pettiness on his tongue as he slid into the backseat.

"Don't say that." Dean mumbled back in desperation.

"Then maybe it shouldn't be true!"

When the Winchesters made it to Salvation, Iowa, they each picked a hospital and split off with the same story. Officers on a case, looking for information.

Bowie always wondered how society could be so idiotic. Here he was, wearing a plain black t-shirt, jeans and his favorite red jacket, and the people behind the desk didn't seem to bat an eye when he flashed his badge.

He sat in front of mountains of files, going through all of them would take days, and somehow John expected him to finish it in a matter of hours.

Bowie wished to be in tune with himself again.

Maybe in the beginning of this journey, he could knock all of these out with six cups of Redbull and a bag of chips, but now the concept of keeping his eyes open for longer than an hour seemed like a chore.

Hour by hour he fights corruption in his soul. Giving in would mean becoming Azazel's personal lapdog for the rest of his mortal life. Telling anyone would mean suffering pain worse than death, a phantom gun to his head.

A rock, and a hard place.

He just needed to buy himself time to find a loophole before he drags anyone else down into his mess.

A phone call brings him back to the case. Sam is calling.

Bowie puts it on speaker, bringing it to his ear, "Anything?"

"I don't even know what I'd be looking for," Sam sighs, "There's so many newborns."

"Yeah, overpopulation is a real thing," Bowie pinched his lips together, "Why are you calling then?"

He didn't mean to come off so snippy, but he couldn't help it and Sam didn't really seem to care.

"I decided to investigate something else. Remember what we heard on the news this morning? About the two murders."

For Bowie, it felt like the air in the room was sucked out. His mouth was dry, "Yeah..."

"Well, I called that Sheriff's department and said I was working on a similar case. They're willing to let us see the bodies in the morgue," Sam says all in one breath, "We should go!"

"John wouldn't let us leave mid-hunt," Bowie replied all too quickly, getting on his feet to calm his nerves, "We should be focusing on one thing at a time."

"Maybe this has something to do with Yellow Eyes, too!" Sam pressed, "I have this feeling-"

"Well drop the feeling." Bowie snaps, instantly regretting it. "Look, I know you want to help as many people as you can, but I personally don't have enough room on my plate for anything else," He backtracks softly, "I'm putting all my energy on this, so ask Dean if you're this invested."

Please don't be invested.

"Fine," Sam sighs, "I'll regroup with you about this later."

Bowie groans and falls back into his chair.

Minutes later Sam calls back again, and Bowie picks it up so fast.

"What?!"

"Bowie!" Sam groans in pain.

Bowie straightens, grabbing his things instantly and running out the door before Sam could even finish, "What's wrong?! What is it??"

"I-I had a vision- I saw a baby! And a mother!"

Bowie zooms into the street, almost knocking into people as he started running in Sam's general direction, "What did you see?? What stood out??"

"I-I need you to draw it."

"On my way."

They met up at the park. Sam looked distraught, stumbling in the sun with a map. Bowie calls his name across the way, and Sam never looked more relieved.

Bowie drops on his knees in the grass, emptying out his art bag, grabbing a sketch pencil.

"The house was white, long," Sam closes his eyes, trying to remember, "A small tree on the right. One. . .two. . .four windows on the first floor, two on the second."

Bowie is sketching so fast and yet the tip of the pencil never breaks, his touch so delicate. Slowly, the picture comes together, Sam is nodding wildly. Seeing his visions on paper made it easier for him.

"Yes! That's it, that's the house!" Sam shouts, "Yellow Eyes will be there. Tonight." He prophesied.

Bowie sighs, "A million houses can look like this."

Sam closes his eyes again, forcing himself to remember his vision that made him grab his head. "I heard a train. They must live by the tracks."

"Okay, okay, this is good." He stands up and collects his things, helping Sam stand, "We should call Dean and-"

"No," Sam firms, "It's the middle of the day, and I could be wrong. No harm in us checking it out, if I'm right, then we'll call."

"Sam, you're usually always right with these things."

Sam wanted more time with Bowie even if it was only a few minutes, trying to show him that it was okay to trust them again. To uncover what really happened before Bowie returned. The youngest just smiles, grabbing the map and running off in a different direction, "Then come on!"

Bowie groans out, running after him.

It was an hour of walking before they found it. The house looked straight out of Bowie's drawing as he held it up to compare, squinting at the rain.

"I could be wrong," He starts, handing Sam the drawing, "But this might be the house."

Sam's eyes are locked across the street, at a young mother and her baby stroller, "And this might be the girl." He replies, knowing for certain as he made a straight jog for her.

Bowie quickly follows, "Wait, wait! What's the plan here? I need a script!" He tried to whisper in his brother's ear.

Sam was already starting to talk, "Hi, here let me hold that for you." He starts off kind, non-threatening as he holds his hand out for her umbrella.

"Oh, thanks." She laughs, closing her umbrella and handing it to Sam. Who instantly pushed it in Bowie's chest.

"She's gorgeous. Is she yours?" Sam plays it up, looking down at the baby girl dressed in a pink raincoat. She seemed unbothered.

"Yeah. ."

"I'm sorry, I'm Sam. This is my brother, Bowie. We just moved in up the block," He lies through his teeth, as the brothers walked on either side of the women.

If anyone was paying attention, it would look like the mother had two guard dogs ready, the way Bowie and Sam both hovered near the stroller out of instinct.

At least she seemed excited about having neighbors, believing the lie and shook their hands. "Oh hey! I'm Monica. This is Rosie!" She introduced. Monica looks at Bowie, "Are you named after David Bowie?"

"He was named after me actually," Bowie nods seriously, clearly a joke if you knew him well enough.

Monica laughs, "Welcome to the neighborhood."

"She's such a good baby," Sam smiles.

"I know! I mean, she never cries, she just stares at everybody. . ." Monica gloats.

Instantly, Bowie side-eyes the baby.

". . .Sometimes she looks at you, and I swear it's like she's reading your mind!"

Bowie side-eyes Sam.

"You a Resident long?" Bowie questions, pushing Sam over casually.

She motions to the house, "Uh, my husband and I, we bought our place just before Rosie was born."

"Oh, and how old is Rosie?" Bowie puts his hand on his chin. One, to seem interested. Two, so he can hide the panic that stretched on his face at her answer.

"She's six months today!"

"Oh noo- I mean happy birthdayy. ." Bowie says in one breath. Sam pushes him aside.

"She's big right? Growing like a weed."

"Yeah." Sam replied sadly, "Monica. . ." He hesitates, feeling tears form as history dared to repeat itself.

He looked at Monica and saw their mother. Was Mary just as happy the day her life ended, too? How agonizing it must feel, having the last thing you see be your baby, seconds from being hurt before you're forced to close your eyes and never wake up.

"Just take care of yourself, okay?" He finished.

"Yeah, you too, Sam." She smiled at them both walking the rest of the home, meeting her husband.

"Wow," Bowie huffed out as they walked away, "That. . .was heavy."

Sam grabbed his face, feeling that now familiar surge of pain crack like lightning against his skull. Bowie looks around before pulling him into an alley.

He rests a hand on his shoulder, trying to help him through it in some way. Bowie could tell it was vivid by the way Sam shook, and his eyes darted back and forth under his eyelids.

"Sam? You're freaking me out! What's wrong?!"

"He's going to kill them, Bow. I know he will."

Sam and Bowie ran three blocks to get back to the Motel. They were breathless, sweating, and rambling over each other as they explained to Dean – and reluctantly John, about Sam's recent vision.

Bowie was leaning against the fridge, drinking water and catching his breath as the Winchester family sat scattered around, all stuck in thought. Sam was at the table, rubbing the headache away. John and Dean sat on each bed.

"A vision?" John repeats for the third time, unable to wrap his head around it.

"Yes." Sam exasperates, "I saw the demon burning a woman on the ceiling."

"Uh-huh. You think it's gonna happen to this woman you met because?" John trails off.

Bowie thought it was like teaching elderly how to use a computer.

"Because these things happen exactly the way I see them. Tell him, Bow!" Sam looks to his brother for help.

Bowie locks eyes with John, and swallows. "Uh. . .yeah, okay." He walks over to his bag, grabbing the drawing to hold up for John and Dean. "I sketched this house as Sam explained it from memory. When we searched the area, we found the exact house, almost like this was a photograph."

"It looks like one," Dean mutters in awe, taking the drawing out of his hands to examine it. He stands up, handing it back, "It started off as nightmares and then he started having them while he was awake."

"Yeah. . ." Sam sighs. Somehow all the brothers end up hovering around each other in the kitchen, both worried for the youngest as Dean and Bowie eyed his every move, "It's like the closer I get to anything involving the demon, the stronger these visions get."

Bowie bit in his bottom lip. He thinks about Azazel's words. He had a plan for Sam. Azazel claims to be building an Army, surely that meant Sam's abilities could be of use for that.

Before he could think about it long, John stands up, his voice sharp with frustration, "All right, when were you gonna tell me about this?"

He was yelling at Dean specifically.

But Dean didn't seem phased by that anymore.

The oldest shrugs, "We didn't know what it meant."

"Something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me!"

Sam rubs his eyes, smiling to himself at the irony of John's words. Bowie outwardly scoffs a laugh. Dean slowly puts down his coffee cup, turning to face his father with a heated glare.

"Call you? Are you kidding me?" He threw his arms up, "Dad, I called you from Lawerence. Sam called you when I was dying. I mean, getting you on the phone? I have a better chance at winning the lottery."

Bowie grins to himself, his pride for Dean made the eldest shift at his own words, surprised to hear them himself.

John is silent, his face unreadable before he nods once, "You're right," He admits. "Although, I'm not real crazy about this new tone of yours." His eyes trail on Bowie knowingly, clenching his jaw.

Bowie's grin turns into a powerful smirk, "We all gotta grow up sometime. Right, John?"

"Look, guys. Visions or no visions, the fact is we know the demon is coming tonight." Sam is quick to remind them all as the sun continues to set, "This family's gonna go through the same hell we went through."

"They won't. No one will, ever again." John vows.

Sam's cellphone rings on the table, "Hello?" His body language changes after just a few exchanges. Sam becomes stiff, his eyes narrowing in confusion and paranoia as he looks around the room, "Just your feelings? That was a seven-story drop."

Dean and Bowie snap their heads at each other.

"Meg!" They mouth.

"My dad? I don't know where my dad is." Sam lies through his teeth, staring John in the eye. He falters for just a second, before handing the phone over to John.

Bowie clenched his jaw when John turned his back to answer the call. The conversation between Meg and John lasted maybe 5 minutes before he hung up and turned back around.

Meg wanted the Colt before the people John knew started dying. See naturally, Bowie wouldn't care about John or his friends. Unless one of those 'friends' happened to be Bobby Singer. Bobby was the first person Bowie thought of when Meg sent her threat.

"I'm going to Lincoln." John firms. "It doesn't seem like I have a choice. If I don't go, a lot of people will die. Our friends die."

Bowie nods, "Solid plan. One life for millions. Good luck, see you!" He waves John away.

Sam slapped his shoulder, turning back to his father. "The demon is coming tonight for Monica and her family. That gun is all we got; you can't just hand it over."

"Who said anything about handing it over?" John narrows, "Look, besides us and a couple vampires, no one's really seen the gun. No one knows what it looks like."

"So what? You're just gonna pick up a ringer at a pawn shop?" Dean scoffs.

"No," John's eyes instantly lock with Bowie's, "Not when we have someone right here that can replicate it."

Bowie scoffs a laugh, "You want me to paint you a prop gun?"

"You're gonna hand Meg a fake gun and hope she doesn't notice?" Dean rolls his eyes.

"As long as it's close, she shouldn't be able to tell the difference," John shrugs.

"Yeah, but for how long?! What happens when she figures it out?"

"I just need to buy a few hours, that's all."

"You mean for us," Sam realized, motioning to the three of them, "You want us to stay here and kill this demon by ourselves?"

"No, Sam. I want to stop losing people we love," John sighs, "I want you to go to school. I want Dean to have a home." He turns his back to them, "I want Mary alive."

Bowie looks up, a bitter agonizing twist in his chest. He would never be considered a Winchester, never in a million years would John wish something good for him. Just for his wife to come back, even if that meant Bowie was out of the picture forever.

"I just want this to be over."

Bowie sat at the table, all his paintbrushes laid out on the table in his specific order, all the colors he needed spread around the table. He had a table lamp in front of him, a magnifier for glasses and gloves.

The Colt was propped in front of him, the antique shop gun in his hands.

He had to admit, this was the most therapeutic thing he had done for himself in months. Bowie forgot just how much he missed it, until the reminder of his situation set in.

Bowie frowns to himself. He could never go back, not like this.

Dean plops into the chair beside him, Bowie is already sighing before he properly sat down.

"How's it going?" Dean asks for the third time of the hour, leaning too close to the light.

Bowie grimaced, grabbing the collar of Dean's leather jacket and pulling his head away from it, "It's getting there."

Dean nods, "So-"

"Go away." Bowie cuts off instantly, pointing a paintbrush at Dean like a gun.

"I just wanted to-"

"If a single smear, crooked line, or bump on this gun is created because of you, it's another life taken because you don't know how to shush." Bowie waves the brush, "So you can either sit there and shush, or leave."

Dean settles on staying quiet. He watched Bowie work, his eyes burning on the side of his little brother's face, deep in thought.

Knowing Bowie was alive sent Dean down a spiral of emotions. Reliving their childhood in those three days Bowie was missing, up until the last day Dean saw him in that hospital bed.

It ate away at him, eating all the layers Dean put between them in seconds.

And Dean cried.

He cried more in those three days than in a lifetime.

"I'm sorry, Bow." Dean says rawly, soberly. Staring at the side of Bowie's face reminded him so much of his mother.

Bowie looks up, eyebrows turnt down in confusion, "What are you talking about?"

Dean's expression had never been so readable to Bowie. All the regret and shame he harbors. All the pain and struggles he held in. All on his face staring back at him.

"What's wrong with you?" Bowie reels.

"You deserved a better big brother," Dean swallows, "All you wanted was a big brother, and all I cared about was competing with you, making your life worse. I was a horrible brother. I'm sorry."

Slowly, Bowie put down his paintbrush. He thinks about the deal he made with Azazel, all the hatred he felt for Dean. Every part of Bowie wanted to brush this off as another attempt to make amends before they all die. It was all just a ploy to make Dean feel better about himself.

And yet, every part of Bowie could tell that Dean has never meant anything more in his life.

"Dean. ."

"When this is over, I want to come with you." Dean explains. Bowie is reminded of his conversation with Sam this morning, "I wouldn't want to hunt. I wouldn't want to be without my family-"

"I could never see John as-"

"I know," Dean firms, "I don't mean him. I mean you and Sammy. Far as I know, us three? We'll always have each other's backs, no matter what. I can trust you both with my life. We'd never abandon each other. I can't say the same for Dad, not anymore."

Bowie tries to sniff away his tears, looking at his hands, "What if. . .what if I do something horrible?" He thinks, grabbing at his chest where he knows his own soul is weeping, "Something stupid, and reckless that could get someone killed."

He could feel the demonic entity squeeze at his throat, forbidding him to say anymore.

Dean grows rigid, "Does this have something to do with how you escaped?"

Bowie's hands shook. "I-, I-," Everything he wanted to say was blocked out, making more tears form in his eyes, "I just. . .can't always be what you both think I am. I've made a lot of mistakes recently, Dean."

Dean scoffs, pointing to himself, "Do you see who you're talking to? I've been making mistake after mistake since the beginning of this trip, and then some. So, whatever is coming to bite you in the ass later, we'll handle it."

Bowie let out a relieved sigh, the pressure in his throat easing. He still had his doubts, but Dean's words were just enough to ease him for now.

"Hurry up with the gun." Dean slaps his back and stands up.

Bowie grins to himself, "Stop distracting me then."

When the gun was finished, Bowie and Dean met up with Sam and John off the highway.

"You got it?" John demands.

Bowie squints at the sun, throwing the paper bag to him.

"You do realize this is a trap, right? That's why Meg wants you to come alone." Dean deadpans.

John inspects the replica intensely, nodding in satisfaction, "Nice work, Bow."

Bowie mocks him under his breath.

"And I can handle Meg," John smiles, "I got a whole arsenal loaded. Holy water, Mandaic, amulets-"

"Dad, just promise me something." Dean cuts off, "If this thing goes south, just.. get out of there. Don't get yourself killed. You're no good to us dead."

"Same goes for you." He nods. "Okay, listen to me. They made the bullets special for this Colt. There's only four of them left. Without them, this gun is useless. You make every shot count."

"Yes sir." Sam and Dean nod.

Dean anticipates for the Colt to be handed to him. Everyone was shocked when John slowly turned to Bowie, handing him the Colt by the handle.

Slowly, Bowie takes the real one, the weight of it heavy on his hands. "Wha-,"

"You, are the best shot I have ever seen." John explains, "If there is anyone, I know that could take that shot and not miss, it's you."

Bowie looks to his brothers for confirmation, and both seemed content with the choice. Dean nods in encouragement.

"Okay," Bowie answers. "We'll get it done."

"I've been waiting a long time for this fight. Now it's here, and I'm not gonna be in it." John huffs, "It's up to you boys now. It's your fight. You finish it. You finish what I started. Understand?"

Parting ways with John put the brothers in a content silence. Sure, Dean might be the only one slightly worried about the outcome of John, but overall the three of them put it aside for the Hunt.

Bowie sat in his familiar spot in the backseat, his legs propped up as he examined the Colt. He felt his finger twitching near the trigger, the uncontrollable urge to use a bullet for himself. To expell whatever it is taking over him.

Dean pulls up in front of Monica's house, debating with Sam on how they should approach.

"Well, maybe we can tell them there's a gas leak." Sam suggests, "It might get them out of the house for a few hours."

"Yeah? And how many times has that actually worked for us?" Dean hums.

Bowie leans his head in-between the bench seat, "She already knows what Sam and I look like. She thinks we're neighbors. I think we should go in there, get the job done and explain everything later."

"Or we could always tell them the truth." Sam nods at his idea.

"Nahhh." Dean and Bowie drag out.

Sam nods in agreement, "I know. It's just. .with what's coming for these people."

"Sam, we only got one move, and you know it, all right?" Dean reminds, "We got to wait for that Demon to show itself and then we get it before it gets them."

"How are you feeling, Bow?" Sam turns around after a long moment, resting his chin on the bench seat.

Bowie looks away from the gun, "Fine." He hesitates, "Just want to get this over with."

Just maybe, killing Azazel tonight will break the deal between them.

"But it feels weird," Sam thinks, "After all these years, we're finally here. It doesn't seem real."

"We just got to keep our heads on and do our job like always." Dean concludes.

"Yeah, but this isn't like always." Sam scoffs.

Bowie crossed his arms, "It's torn us apart before. What makes us sure it won't do it again?" He admits.

Dean turns his whole body to face Bowie, "It tries to break us apart because it knows we're too strong together. If we stick together on this, we'll win."

Bowie knows Dean's trying to convince himself more than the rest of them.

"Dean, uh. .I wanted to thank you," Sam speaks up suddenly.

Dean looks as confused as when he apologized to Bowie earlier, "For what?"

He gives him a small smile, "For everything. You've always had my back, you know? Even when I knew I couldn't count on anymore, I could always count on my brothers. And now. . .I don't know."

Sam shakes the emotion out of his chest, turning to Bowie, "I'm glad I got the chance to be with you again. For a while there, I thought I'd never cross paths with you. I thought you'd never get to meet Jess. Or know about the accomplishments I had. You, being back in my life? Was the greatest thing that came out of all of this."

Bowie and Dean look at each other, both feeling tears form. Instantly, they sniffled them away and nodded at each other.

For the first time; Sam, Dean, and Bowie were on the same boat. The ground had finally leveled at their feet, no one was better than the other, or smarter, or stronger. There was no rivalry, or jealousy, or hatred.

Just brothers.

"Anyways, I just wanted to say that in case something happened."

And just like a brother, Sam ruins the moment.

Bowie slaps the back of his head hard, "What the fuck was that?!"

"Don't say just in case something happens to you!" Dean snaps, "I don't want to hear that fucking speech, man! Nobody is dying tonight. Not us, not that family, nobody."

Bowie plows on, "We're all going in, and we're all coming out."

"Except that Demon," Dean adds, "That evil son of a bitch isn't getting any older than tonight. You understand me?"

Sam nods, shutting up instantly. His brothers' words swarm him with confidence as they all put their gaze back onto Monica's house.

"I think one of you two should use the gun." Bowie spoke suddenly.

Dean reels at his words, "What? Why?"

"I. . . just don't think I'm the right person for the job." Bowie concludes.

"Bowie, I once witnessed you shoot a Wendigo in a tree while it was camouflage just because you felt it move," Sam recalls in praise.

"Yeah, and it was because you felt it jump through the vibration on a tree." Dean deadpans, "That's some next level shit."

Bowie shook his head, "Azazel is different."

"Yeah, well Dad chose you." Dean firms, "He's been hunting this thing for decades, and he chose you to shoot. It's gotta be you man."

That was the end of it. Bowie leaned back against his seat in desperation.

Now, they just needed to wait for the perfect moment to strike.

In that time, Dean tried to call John. No answer. Bowie didn't know whether to be relieved. The radio in the car starts to go haywire, flipping through channels. The wind starts to pick up, causing leaves and fallen branches to smash against the windows.

When the lights flickered only on Monica's property did Sam and Dean realize that the demon was coming.

Bowie knew Azazel was coming by the hairs on his arms standing up, the tightness of his throat and the clawing in his chest. The closer he got to Azazel now made every corrupt piece of himself stronger.

"He's coming!" Sam announced.

The trio slides out of the Impala, getting their weapons ready as they ran towards Monica's house. Sam and Dean step back as Bowie slides to his knees and picks the lock.

Together, they enter as quietly as possible. Which wasn't needed when they were met with the baseball bat of an angry husband.

"What are you doing here?! Get out of my house!" He swings it at Dean, who dodged. Then Bowie, who catches the baseball bat in his fist, stopping the husband's uproar in seconds.

Bowie pushes the husband to Dean, who pins him against the wall with the bat.

"Mr. Holt, please!" Sam tries to reason.

"Listen, we're trying to help you!" Dean hissed.

"Charlie, is everything okay down there?" Monica calls from the top of the staircase.

Bowie felt they didn't have time for this. They'd blow their cover this way, if Azazel didn't know they were here already.

Bowie pulls out his beretta and points it to Charlie's temple, "Tell her everything is fine, or your gray walls will have a splash of red before you could scream." He threatens lowly.

"Bowie!" Sam snaps with shocked eyes, "What the hell!"

"What?!" He snaps, "We aren't going to hurt anyone, but he won't listen, so we have to scare him!"

"Okay, well now he knows you won't hurt him!" Dean deadpans.

Charlie takes a breath, debating his options before screaming out, "Monica! Get the baby!"

"No! Don't go into the nursery!" Sam shouts, "Bowie! Quick!"

Bowie used the handle of his gun to knock Charlie unconscious. He sprints up the stairs after Sam. When they enter the nursery, it was like running to a point in time. 

The baby in the crib, the mother on the ceiling, the demon standing over the infant with those haunting yellow eyes.

Bowie raises the gun, never one to blink before a shot was taken. But for some reason, the second he made eye contact with Azazel, it was like every muscle in his fingers were stiff.

His hand was shaking, using all his strength to fight the power Azazel had over him.

"What are you doing?! Take the shot!" Sam bellows.

The Demon grins madly.

Bowie felt tears start to wield when his own hand turned against him, turning the gun to his own face. His whole body was on fire. It was like Azazel knew what he was thinking, what he thought he wanted.

No control.

Sam's yells at the sight, running up to Bowie and wrestling the gun out of his hands. Azazel uses the moment to poof away, dropping Monica from the ceiling.

Azazel's disappearance gave Bowie the ability to regain his will, releasing the Colt and falling back on the floor.

"My baby!" Monica sobs, "Rosie!"

"Go! Get her out of here, I got it!" Dean comes running in, grabbing the baby from the crib before it burst into flames. Sam drags Monica out of the room.

Bowie is still on the floor, watching the fire dance in a twisted blaze. Azazel had won without the need to succeed.

"Bow! Come on!" Dean drags him up by one arm, giving Bowie the baby in hopes to snap him into the hunt.

It works. Once the infant was placed into Bowie's arms, the pure cry alone brought him right back. Bowie conceals the baby from the smoke with his jacket, bolting out the door as fast as he could.

"You stay away from my family!" Charlie screams on the lawn, finally conscious.

"No, Charlie, don't! They saved us!" Monica vows. "They saved us," She takes the baby from Bowie, hugging Rosie close.

"It's still in there!" Sam sees Azazel from the window, wanting to run back inside now that he was in control of the Colt.

Dean refused, holding him back, "Sam, no!"

"Let me go. Dean, let me go! It's still in there!"

"It's burning to the ground, it's suicide!" Dean tries to reason.

"I don't care!"

"I do!"

Bowie swallows the lump in his throat, grabbing both his brother's shoulders, "Let's go back to the motel, we can regroup then."

Sam glares daggers at him, slamming into his shoulder as he walks back to the car.

Dean's eyes widen a little, Bowie didn't move a muscle, just sighing through his nose and rolling his eyes, "What the hell happened in that nursery?"

Bowie's eyes watered slightly, "If I could tell you, I would."

The ride back to the Motel was silent. Inside, Dean spent most of his time trying to get John on the line. 

Every hour he didn't check in, there was a sinking feeling that John didn't make it out.

Bowie is sitting on the couch, zoned out.

"Somethings happened!" Dean concludes, calling the line again.

"If you had just let me go back in there, I could have ended all this." Sam thinks.

"Sam, the only thing you would've ended was your life." Dean firms.

Sam looks at Bowie thoughtfully, remembering what he saw in that room, "You don't know that."

"You're just willing to sacrifice yourself?!"

"Damn right I am."

Dean scoffs, "Yeah, well that's not gonna happen as long as I'm around."

"Yeah?" Sam scoffs, motioning to Bowie, "Tell that to the king of self-destruction over here!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Why didn't you shoot?" Sam asked slowly.

Bowie frowns, "Huh?" He hadn't heard him.

Sam stands to his feet angrily, "He was right there! You had the perfect shot, and instead you decided it was the perfect time to point it at yourself?!"

Dean instantly feels small, "What. . ."

Bowie's face reddens, "I was fighting against my own will, Sam! He was basically controlling me!" He reasons.

"Yeah? And why was that so easy for him?!" Sam bellows, "We've spent our whole lives wanting this, and you couldn't pull it together for a full minute? Out of all of us, something like that should've been a walk in the park for you! If you had the willpower to want to kill Yellow Eyes at all! But you didn't want to do that did you?! Second you were given the chance you instantly just gave into killing yourself!"

Dean raised his hands up, "A-all right, you two-"

Bowie got dangerously close, clenching his jaw at his brother's ignorance, "Gave in?" He laughs in his face manically, "Are you seriously yelling at me for not being strong enough to battle an ancient demon with supernatural abilities? You're starting to sound a lot like your daddy!"

"You escaped him before! What happened that that version of you?! That's the Bowie we needed tonight of all nights!"

"If you had any idea how many versions of me, I'm battling right now, you'd have a fucking bullet hole for a throat!" He screams in Sam's face, pointing in accusing finger as his voice altered into something that didn't sound like his own, "You have no idea how hard I fight every day just to-" The words get caught in his throat but he's too angry to stop, "To-to- !" He felt himself fighting off a seizure.

"Bowie!" Dean grabs his arm, panicked.

"I-tried-I," Bowie sounded like he was a glitching record, twitching in pain.

"Bowie.." Sam eased, grabbing his collar, "Bowie, what's happening?!"

His iris's roll to the back of his head, leaving a milky-white glaze over his eyes. Bowie's bodyweight sends him crashing to the floor in what looked like a seizure. Sam and Dean scream his name, dropping to their knees on either side of him.

"What's happening?! What's going on!"

For Bowie, it felt like a tunnel warp, before he was back in that familiar hallway in his dreams. The same wooden doors on the sides, with the same chained door at the end.

Except this time.

Azazel's smirking face is standing in front of it.

"Mian, it's so good to see you again." He greets.

"I'm gonna throw a party when you die," Bowie replies bitterly.

"You boys really thought you had the upper hand back there. You forget, I see all." Azazel grins, "I saw you boys coming a mile away, in fact I was hoping on it. The little ruse with your gun was the cherry on top."

"How?" He chokes, "How are you doing this?"

Azazel's yellow eyes flashed into Bowie's beautiful hazel eyes, "I see through you. You are an extension of me, don't you see that? My little trojan horse. When you took that deal, you gave me access to something so precious. Your own soul."

He holds up his hand, where a hologram of a glowing orb appears, lighting up the hallway so bright Bowie's eyes watered. Black goo like vines were slowly eating away at it like leeches, causing it to flicker and dim.

"I didn't need to possess you, or shove a little minion in you, no! Corrupting you, of all people, turning you into the perfect being you were always meant to be, is a prize in itself." Azazel shines at the thought.

Bowie raised his chin, "You used temptation and manipulation at my lowest."

"Uh, duh, I'm a demon." He motions to himself. Azazel points an accusing finger, "I didn't make you kill Len; you did that on your own. I sure as shit didn't make you kill Kit either, you did that. This has always been what you truly are. A Killer."

"Never," Bowie shakes his head, "I'll never give into you."

"You do realize, the more you fight this. .the more you try to warn Sam and Dean, this will keep happening to you." Azazel motions to his body, "It's either you die fighting it, or you give in, and accept your destiny."

"Then I guess I'll see you in hell either way." Bowie vows.

Azazel just smirks, "I tried to warn you."

He waves a hand, and Bowie is pulled back into the tunnel. His eyes clear, and he's no longer in the hallway. Sam and Dean's worried faces hover over him.

"Oh my god, he's coming to." Dean eased up in relief.

Bowie slowly sits up with their aid, rubbing his head.

"What was that?" Sam grabs his arm, "A-Are you okay?"

Bowie swallows, "I'm. . ."

"Does he look okay to you?!" Dean snaps protectively, "What did that demon do to you?"

Bowie pulls his knees up to his chest, thinking only one thing.

"I need Bobby."

Dean's phone blares, and he rushes to answer, seeing the caller ID, "Dad?!" His eyes widened when the person who answered wasn't John, but Meg. "Where is he? What did you do to him?!"

He hangs up the line.

"They've got Dad!"

"Who? Meg?"

"I just told you, Sammy!" He snaps, grabbing the Colt and his bags.

"What are you doing, Dean?"

"We gotta go!" He shouts in panic, dragging Bowie off the floor. Dean grabs Bowie's duffle bag, handing it to him before grabbing him by the elbow towards the door.

"What? Why!" Sam frowns.

"Because the Demon knows we're in Salvation. All right? It knows we've got the Colt. It's got Dad. It's probably coming for us next, and Bowie needs to be away from this!"

"We've still got three bullets left!" Sam tried to reason, "Let it come!"

Dean turns to Sam, screaming in his face, "Listen, tough guy, we're not ready! I want to waste it, too. I get it. But it's not worth dying over! If hunting this Demon means either of you get killed, then I hope we never find the damn thing!"

"That thing killed Jess! That thing killed mom!"

Dean shakes his head, "You said yourself once that no matter what we do, they're gone and they're never coming back."

Sam grabs Dean by the shirt and pushes him up against the wall.

"Damnit, Sam!" Bowie snaps, using what little energy he had to try and pry him off.

"Don't you say that! Not you! Not after all this, don't say that!" Sam cries.

Dean kept a blank expression, hoping to get through to his baby brother, "Sam, listen. The three of us. You, me, and Bow – that's all we have. And it's all I have. Sometimes, I feel like I'm barely holding it together man." He admits to them, "Without you two. . ."

Sam pulls back, crying harder. Bowie squeezed his fists, trying to remain strong.

"I don't want to do this anymore." Bowie chokes.

"Then you won't." Dean vows, "You won't." 

( 10k words! next chapter is the end of the first act
~ thanks for joining me on this journey! )