Sam didn't gradually come to, or any cliché like that. He jolted awake as suddenly as the car had been hit, looking around him in a daze without really seeing anything while his hand blindly groped for the colt. He could hear voices, noise, but he didn't have enough of his bearings to make sense of it yet, he could only catch snippets.

"…Dean!"

"…voice of rage and ruin…"

"…Sam!"

"…go around tonight…"

"…get away from…"

"…bound to take your life…"

"…omnis immundus…"

"…there's a bad moon on the rise!"

Sam gained enough presence of mind to ignore half of that once he realized it was a song playing over a radio, though the rest caught his muddled attention. That was Deja's voice, and it was mixed in with a few collision sounds and a demonic shriek. He pulled back the hammer to the colt, holding it pointed towards the door so that he was ready for whatever appeared on the other side.

There were a few tense moments of sudden silence before Sam heard uneven footsteps headed his way, and he put his finger on the trigger of the colt the same moment the Impala's driver side door opened and revealed a very bloody Deja.

She looked like she'd just stepped out of Carrie, blood matting her hair, face, and clothes and harshly illuminated in the semi-truck's headlights

Though to be fair, she'd had a lot of Dean's blood on her before they left the cabin.

Sam let out a shaky sigh of relief, leaning back in his seat and lowering the colt. "Deja…are you all right?"

"Don't ask me if I'm all right, you're the one who got hit by a semi," Deja said, voice shaking as she backed away from the driver's side and opened the back door. Now that the immediate danger seemed to be gone, Sam turned his head to his father in the seat beside him.

"Dad? Dad?" Sam croaked, taking in his father's slumped and bloody form beside him.

"Dean?" Deja suddenly said behind Sam, her voice far too fearful for his liking—the tone sent ice down his spine. "Dean!"

Sam turned despite the pain, trying to see his brother. The window was smashed and blood was all over Dean now, and he was dangerously pale. "Dean!"

Dean didn't so much as stir. Sam wasn't even sure he was breathing.

A phone's dial tones reached Sam's ears, and he turned a little more to see Deja put a hand on Dean's face, paling at whatever she felt before her fingers dropped to feel for a pulse. A voice must have come over the line because Deja started speaking, her voice strained and cracking as she spoke. "I need to report a three car accident…there's four people seriously injured, um, one all right but in shock. The car in front of me got hit by a semi, we were driving a friend who lost a lot of blood to the hospital, and I spun out…all three drivers are conscious counting me, but um…me and my friends are hurt really bad, and two of them aren't waking up including my friend that lost a lot of blood, but semi driver's fine. We're about ten minutes away from a hospital, we just passed mile marker…"

*****************************

When Dean woke up, he felt like he had wads of cotton in his mouth, parched and in desperate need of a drink. He was a little achy too, but he felt relatively fine, sitting up and glancing in disinterest around the room he was in.

The hospital room he was in.

The last thing he remembered was…

The semi-truck. The horn and the lights and the sound of screeching metal.

An ambulance or something must have made it to them—he didn't know, he didn't remember anything after that. He must have been out.

Grimacing, Dean swung off the bed, bare feet landing soundlessly on the ground before he wandered cautiously out into the deserted hallway, a voice echoing on a P.A. overhead.

"Sam?" Dean called, looking in the room right across the room he'd been in and seeing nothing. "Deja? Dad?"

Where are they? Are they okay? Did Deja wreck too? Where am I know?

Dean's questions only continued to build as he made his way down the hall to search more of the hospital. "Anybody?"

Heading down a stairway, Dean finally found another human being, sighing softly in relief when he saw the blonde woman at the nurse's station.

"Excuse me," Dean said, limping down the stairs and approaching the desk. "Hi. I, uh…I think I was in a car accident, with my dad and my brother…maybe a friend of mine, too, blonde woman…I just need to find them."

The woman didn't so much as acknowledge his presence or his voice, staring at the computer screen in front of her with a file in her hands.

Maybe she just didn't realize he was talking to her? Maybe she was too absorbed in what she was doing? Maybe she was having an episode?

"Hello?" Dean asked. Still no reaction. Worried, Dean reached over and snapped his fingers a few times in her face, waving his hand right in front of her eyes.

Again, she didn't so much as twitch. It was like she was staring right…through…

No…oh no…oh, no, no, no…

Dean quickly backtracked, heart pounding in his chest as he made his way back through the halls to the room he'd been in when he woke up. No one even looked his way, a patient wandering the halls looking like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

Someone should have been looking at him, someone should have acknowledged his presence by now, or—

Dean froze in the doorway to the room, staring in horrified shock at the scene in front of him.

It was him. His body lying on a hospital bed with tubes down his nose and throat, I.V.s, and all sorts of other contraptions hooked up to him, like some giant machine keeping him alive. He even watched his own chest rise and fall with every machine-assisted breath.

It was unreal. And terribly clarifying.

He was…he wasn't him. Well, he was, but not all of him. He wasn't really there, as far as anyone else could see, cause he was a spirit.

He was a fucking ghost.

The panic started to settle in, but before he could have a true meltdown, his gaze moved to something else in the room, something else attached to him that wasn't from the hospital.

Her own platinum blonde hair cascaded downwards to mostly shield her face from his view, her head pillowed in the arms folded atop one another next to Dean's side, and the arm on top was not only supporting her head, but linking her to Dean, her fingers intertwined with his unresponsive one, holding him to her. Dean felt some relief return to him to see her okay, not in a hospital room hooked up to machines like him, but in here with him, at his side even now.

Dean moved over to crouch beside her, unsure if he should touch her or not. Could he even touch her?

No, of course you can't, you're a spirit, you idiot.

"Deja…Deja, oh, thank God you're all right," he said softly, reaching out to touch her hand anyway. He pulled away the second his fingers started to phase through her hand, rattled despite the fact he'd pretty much known it would happen. "Deja, please, tell me you can feel me," he pleaded quietly. If she could sense spirits and dark magic, surely she'd be able to sense him standing right beside her?

Footsteps reached the doorway again, and Dean looked up to see another much welcome face.

"Sammy," Dean said in relief, rising to his feet and taking in the sight of his brother. Sam didn't look that much worse than he had at the cabin, just a few more bruises and cuts from what Dean could see, and he wasn't in hospital garb, and seemed to be standing on his own just fine. "You look good…considering."

Sam seemed to be at a strange cross between relieved and devastated, gaze flickering from Deja to Dean before he walked forward, approaching Deja first and placing a hand on her back. Deja woke almost instantly, head lifting to finally show her face. Dean sucked in a sharp breath.

Okay, so not as fine as he'd thought.

It looked like Deja had cut the right side of her head on something, and not just a small scratch either, since Dean could still see the patched-up gash despite her hair, and she had another cut running from her temple across her cheek to her chin. Seeing those, he wouldn't doubt if she had more injuries he just couldn't see.

"Deja, hey—they let you go?" Sam asked in surprise as the woman straightened painstakingly.

"If by let me go you mean they weren't paying attention and I was able to slip away, then yeah, sure," Deja mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

So, Deja was admitted to the hospital too. She must have had things wrong Dean just couldn't see.

"Deja, if the doctors say you need to rest—"

"I can rest just fine right here," Deja said sharply, grip tightening on Dean's hand. Sam didn't say another word on the matter, and Dean had the sneaking suspicion they'd had this argument already as Sam looked at Dean lying on the bed.

"Has the doctor said anything?" Sam asked shakily.

"If the doctor had been by here, there would have been a scene about me being out of bed and in here instead," Deja answered, keeping her eyes on Dean instead of looking at Sam while she talked.

"We should have been told something by now," Sam muttered, staring at Dean's face rather fearfully.

"Hey, I'm gonna be fine, all right? I'm right here—hey, man, tell me you can hear me," Dean said after the solemn silence stretched too long for his liking, looking at his brother this time as he spoke. Sam didn't respond.

Neither of the supernatural sensitive people could hear him.

Perfect.

"How are you doing? Really?" Sam suddenly asked Deja, breaking their silence. Deja sighed.

"I hate hospitals."

"Well that's not a switch," Dean scoffed.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, frowning.

"You've seen Ghost Whisperer, I'm assuming?" Deja said, pausing long enough for Sam to nod before continuing. "Why does Melinda hate hospitals?"

Dean ran a hand down his face, though Sam was the one who answered.

"Because she sees ghosts everywhere. You said you can sense ghosts," Sam said with a shake of his head.

"Exactly."

"Great. So even if you do sense me, you're just gonna brush it off. Good to know," Dean said in frustration, looking at Sam.

He still didn't know what state their father was in. Sam and Deja were all right, but what about their dad?

Dean looked at Sam, willing his younger brother to hear him. "How's Dad? Is he okay?" When Sam still didn't react, Dean felt his frustration mount even more. "C'mon, you're the bon-a-fide psychic—give me some ghost whisperin' or something!"

Another voice reached Dean's ears, but unfortunately it was not another familiar one.

On the plus side, it was still an answer to one of his questions.

"Your father's awake. You can go see him if you like," a doctor said as he entered the room, gaze moving from Sam to Deja. Dean sighed in relief, though the doctor was speaking again before he had time to be grateful that their father was all right as well. "You shouldn't be—"

"Doc, anyone tries to move me from his side, I'm gonna bite them, and then I'm gonna make their life hell for the rest of my stay. I've had worse, I'll be fine," Deja interrupted the doctor before he could even finish scolding her.

"Trust me, she probably will," Dean remarked, folding his arms over his chest. Sam, however, was solemn, staring at Dean's unconscious form on the bed.

"Doc, what about my brother?" Sam asked softly. Deja noticeably tensed, and everyone, Dean included, looked to the doctor to see what he would say.

"Well he sustained serious injury—blood loss, contusions to his liver and kidney. But it's the head trauma I'm worried about. There's early signs of cerebral edema."

"Well, what can we do?"

"Well, we won't know his full condition until he wakes up," the doctor said. "If…he wakes up."

"If?" Sam echoed incredulously, and Deja went completely still, gazing at Dean's face and cradling his hand between both of hers now. Dean looked sharply at the doctor.

"Screw you, doc, I'm waking up!" Dean snapped.

"…you need to have realistic expectations, Son," the doctor was saying. Sam looked crestfallen, but Deja looked up and at the doctor with a steely look.

"No offense, doctor, but you don't know him. He's stubborn as hell and he's a fighter, and he'd probably fight the grim reaper himself if he had to. He's going to wake up," Deja said firmly.

"Yeah, listen to Deja, I'm gonna be fine—just go find some hoodoo priest to lay some mojo on me," Dean said fiercely.

Still, Sam looked doubtful.

*****************************

It was horrible watching everyone struggle with what to do while he was hanging on to life—mostly his brother and father. They were already butting heads, arguing over what to do with the colt and how to help Dean, not to mention Dean was pretty sure John knew something about what the demon had said about having a plan for Sam and the other children—he just wasn't saying what, which was frustrating.

Deja…that was a different kind of horrible. It was horrible watching her in the sense that she couldn't hear him, he couldn't say anything to her in response to anything she might say out loud, he couldn't feel her or touch her—that was the pain that came with watching Deja.

But he would much rather watch what Deja was doing than John and Sam. As agonizing as it was not being able to respond…she was bringing him some peace during all of this. In fact, he was watching her right now.

Deja was still seated at Dean's side, her hunter's journal open in her lap as she looked through the pages, searching each one for the second time for something that might help with Dean's situation. Despite her focus on the book, she kept looking up at Dean with a longing look until, eventually, Deja set the book aside, scooting closer to his side and reaching out with her hand to gently brush her fingers across his forehead before they threaded through his hair. Dean's lips parted slightly as he watched, wishing he could feel her touch.

"You're going to be all right," she said quietly. "We'll find a way, and you'll be fine. I promise."

Dean swallowed, watching as her fingers trailed over his temple, across his cheek, and down his jaw before returning to his forehead and starting the cycle over again. "I believe you," he answered, even though he knew she couldn't hear him.

"I just wish I had more hunter contacts to call for help, but…I already told you guys…you're all I've got…" Deja said softly, and Dean felt a pang go through his heart when he saw her start to get choked up, her other hand grasping his limp one once again for reassurance. "Y'know…" she started to continue, but at that moment a nurse walked in, and she immediately silenced.

"Oh, come on," Dean complained as the nurse smiled timidly at the emotional woman at Dean's bedside.

"This is going to take a while, if you want to…" the nurse started to say, and Deja got to her feet.

"Yeah, I got it," Deja said dismissively leaving the room as fast as she could, though her walk was off.

It must have been one of her injuries bothering her.

Deciding he had nothing else to do, Dean chose to follow her and see what she would do. At first, she seemed to just idly wander the halls, arms wrapped self-consciously around her chest and head ducked low so she was staring at the ground.

It was rather uncharacteristic of her.

Eventually, however, Deja managed to glance up, a small sign that said chapelcatching her eyes. Dean followed her gaze, then stared at her incredulously.

"Really? I mean…seriously? Might I suggest turning to something real, instead of this crap?" Dean asked her as he followed her inside the empty room. Deja looked around as if to make sure she was alone before she sank into one of the chairs, interlocking her fingers together and resting her arms on the chair in front of her.

She didn't look to the Jesus on the cross or up to the sky like Dean had seen many, many people do, but instead bowed her head and closed her eyes, simply sitting there for a few moments, steadying her breathing. As much as Dean didn't believe in God and angels, he was curious to know what she was going to pray for, and was rather disappointed that she seemed to be praying silently.

"So…um…it's me again."

He stood corrected.

As Deja started to pray out loud, Dean moved closer to her, sitting backwards in the chair that she was leaning forwards on and trying to clasp his hands over hers—in vain—as he listened to her speak, watching her every move.

"It's been years since I last did this out loud, so…sorry if it's a little awkward," Deja said shakily with a soft laugh, and Dean smiled weakly. "I've prayed…many times in my life. And with all those prayers, I can honestly say I've never asked for anything for myself, not once. I also know that I am one of the last people who should be asking for something in a prayer…a lot of times I feel like I'm not allowed to pray, or I shouldn't be speaking to you…be it God or angels on the other end of this line…this sometimes oh-so-one-way line…"

Deja grew silent for a moment, and after a few seconds Dean saw her shoulders shake.

Shit, she was crying. She was crying, and he was powerless to do anything as she lifted her head, the tears slipping from her eyes to go with the shaking. Now she was looking upwards, and Dean wished in that moment she could see him right in front of her, listening to her words.

Cause even if he didn't believe in all this, there was someone listening to her prayer, and he wanted her to know it.

He wanted her to know that he could hear her.

"But it's Dean," Deja sobbed, voice cracking. "And I usually try not to ask for help cause I was taught we're helped after we've done all we can do, after we put forth effort ourselves, but I-I don't know what to do. I need help—he needs help. I can't lose him. I have literally lost everyone else in my life that I've cared about, and when I met the Winchesters, I wasn't going to get close to them, they were just going to be more faces I passed right by, but I…something felt different, so I came again, and despite my best efforts to stay away, I still…please…I thought maybe…maybe this time they won't die. And I dared to think of them as friends, despite all my past experience telling me to run for their sake, and mine. And despite how much it scared me, how much I tried to keep my distance, to not cross that line, I still…"

Deja trailed off, closing her eyes and struggling to find her voice again before she continued in a whisper. "I can't lose Dean. I can't. If you take him now, I won't…I won't come back from that. I dare to care for someone for the first time in years, and now…" Deja wiped furiously at her eyes with the back of her hands, eyes still squeezed shut. For a few seconds, Dean was glad no one could see him, because there were tears coming from his eyes, too, as he listened to her pleas for his life. "I am asking for your help. I don't care how, send someone, inspireme, anything, just…help him. And help metake the high road. Because the only solutions that I've thought of have been dark paths and breaking promises to him, even though he doesn't know what those promises are. Please, help Dean…or I will, no matter the cost."

Deja pulled her fingers apart, skin briefly discolored from how tightly she'd held her hands together, and ran her fingers through her hair, bowing her head low while Dean stared at her in shock and pain.

"Deja, I'm not going anywhere," he said, voice low. "I'm going to come through this, you're not going to lose me. So, whatever dark thing you're thinking of doing…don't. Please…you hang on for me."

*****************************

They were back in Dean's room. And by they, he meant himself, Deja, and John, since Sam still needed to return from a trip to Bobby's to retrieve the colt and some stuff to protect against demons. However, Deja was fast asleep clutching Dean's hand, and had fallen asleep before John even came into the room. She had no idea John was in the room, just…sitting there. Watching Dean. Occasionally looking at the woman holding his unconscious son's hand—not with distaste, which was a better. It was more of a sad, sorrowful expression.

But right now, he was thinking about something else. Something that bothered him since he'd noticed it while bouncing between his father and Deja.

"Come on, Dad…you've got to help me. I got to get better, I got to get back in there. I've got to get back to Deja, to Sammy," Dean pled with his father, glancing at the woman at his bed side. John, of course, didn't react, but Dean kept talking.

"I mean, you haven't called a soul for help. You haven't even tried. Hell, I'd even take you trying a prayer like Deja at this rate, I mean…at least you'd show some sort of motivation to help me instead of just sitting here. She doesn't know what to do, and she's stilldoing more than you!" Dean snapped, pointing at the sleeping woman. He waited a few more minutes, watching John just stare at Dean. Sam and Deja, they talked to him despite him being unconscious, but John…

Nothing.

"Aren't you going to do anything? Aren't you even gonna say anything?" Dean accused, voice growing desperate before culminating into an angry shout. "I've done everything you have ever asked me. Everything. I've given everything I've ever had. Now you're just gonna sit there and you're gonna watch me die?"

Still, nothing. He couldn't take it. He couldn't take how John was doing nothing, especially after what the demon had said.

You fight, and you fight for this family, but the truth is, they don't need you. Not like you need them…

"I mean, what the hell kind of father are you?" Dean yelled at John. He continued to stare at his father until a rumbling sound reached his ears and he turned around, still irritated. "What is that?"

He'd hardly even made it to the door to his room when an iridescent form practically flew past him, and Dean had to jump back to avoid getting run over. Dean looked back at John, who still hadn't moved, and Deja, who still hadn't stirred.

He really hoped John left before Deja woke up.

"I take it you didn't see that," he murmured to his father before heading off in the direction the form had gone. He made it all the way into another wing before he caught movement in the corner of his eyes, and he turned in time to see it disappear into another room. Cautiously, Dean moved forward, turning into the room and then immediately freezing.

It was the nurse he'd tried to talk to before discovering he was a spirit right now, and she was lying on the ground, gasping for air, files scattered around her.

"Help—Help—" she choked out, and, forgetting no one could see or hear him, Dean stuck his head out of the room.

"Hey, I need some help in here!" Dean shouted at the doctors just at the end of the hall, but apparently not close enough to hear the woman calling for help.

"I—" the woman coughed, her breaths coming shallower and less often. "I can't—b-breathe—"

She cut off, breaths suddenly erratic before, abruptly, she stopped breathing altogether, eyes gradually turning glassy.

She was dead.

*****************************

When Sam returned, Dean practically pounced on him, following him all the way into John's room. Deja was in Dean's room right now, and probably didn't even know that Sam was back yet, not that Dean could do much about that even if his focus was elsewhere right now.

Right now, he just wanted Sam's psychic crap to kick into gear so his younger brother could hear him.

"Sammy, tell me you can freakin' hear me, man, there's something in the hospital. Now you got to bring me back, and we got to hunt this thing," Dean all but shouted at his brother as Sam crossed John's room to stand by the window, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His continued silence and lack of a reaction told Dean that he still couldn't hear him. "Sam!"

"You're quiet," John commented, and Dean glanced in his direction a second before Sam suddenly came to life again, throwing the duffel aside as he glared at John.

"You think I wouldn't find out?" Sam accused. John stared at him, face betraying nothing.

"What are you talking about?" John asked steadily, though he probably knew perfectly well what.

"That stuff from Bobby—you don't use it to ward off a demon, you use it to summonone!" Sam shouted, and now it was Dean's turn to stare at his father in shock. "You're planning on bringing the demon here, aren't you, having some stupid macho showdown!"

"I have a plan, Sam," John answered sternly, though that only made Sam even angrier, his voice raising as he jabbed an accusing finger between John and the direction of Dean's rooms.

"That's exactly my point! Dean is dying, and you have a plan! You know what, you care more about killing this demon than you do saving your own son!"

"No, no, no, guys, don't do this," Dean pleaded, unable to do anything to get them to stop fighting for once.

He didn't want them to fight, not with everything going on, no matter how justified they might feel their anger was.

"Do not tell me how I feel! I am doing this for Dean," John snapped. Dean gave John a look of disbelief: how was summoning the thing that had tried to kill them all helping him?

"How? How is revenge gonna help him? You're not thinking about anybody but yourself, it's the same selfish obsession!" Sam shot back, echoing only a part of Dean's thoughts.

This fight wasn't even about what John was doing anymore—it was rapidly devolving into a huge blowout about anything and everything, and some of it pointless or repetitive.

They didn't need this right now

"Come on, guys, don't do this…" Dean groaned, again rather pointlessly.

"That's funny, you know what, I thought this was your obsession, too!" John growled. "This demon killed your mother, killed yourgirlfriend. You begged me to be part of this hunt! Now if you killed that damn thing when you had the chance, none of this would have happened!"

"It was possessing you, Dad, I would have killed you, too!" Sam said, emphasizing his words as he moved closer to John.

"Yeah, and your brother would be awake right now!"

This is not Sam's fault, Dean thought sharply. "Shut up, both of you!" he said louder, though they still couldn't hear him.

"Go to hell," Sam said simply, though with sincere venom in his words as he stared their father down. John kept it going.

"I should have never taken you along in the first place, I knew it was a mistake—"

"I said shut up!" Dean finally shouted, swinging his hand on instinct towards the closest object, which happened to be a glass of water sitting on a table close to John. To Dean's shock, his hand actually connected with the glass, and it went soaring across the room to smash into a mess of glass and water on the floor. Sam, Dean, and John all stared at the glass for several long moments, all of them stunned into silence over what had just happened. Finally, Dean looked up at Sam. "Dude, I full-on Swayzed that mother."

Before Dean had a chance to revel in his accomplishment any more, he felt a building pain start in his chest, squeezing and compressing and making it hard to breath, slowly dragging him down until he was on his knees, doubled over with a hand clutching at his chest.

"What is it…" Dean trailed off, the words barely making it past his lips as people started to rush by in the hall. John looked like he was about to say something, but before he could, a certain blonde crashed breathless against the doorframe.

"Sam!" Deja gasped, looking breathless, in pain, and with rapidly reddening and moistening eyes.

Oh no…

Sam was already moving, Deja clutching to his sleeve as they hurried back down the hall to where the staff were gathered around Dean.

"All clear."

"Clear!"

A persistent flatline could be heard before Dean even managed to make his way to the other side of Sam and Deja, Sam leaning against the doorframe for support while Deja clutched desperately to his arm, biting down on her fist as she stared at Dean's completely unresponsive form on the bed inside. The doctors tried to jump his heart, the charge arching his body off of the bed, but his body simply flopped lifelessly back onto the bed, the flatline continuing. A soft, pain filled whine built up in Deja's throat—like she was trying to hold back wails—as Dean passed her, her body completely motionless as she stared at Dean.

"Still no pulse," a nurse declared.

"No…" Sam whispered, shaking his head. It seemed while Deja was immobile, Sam couldn't stop moving, weaving in place.

"Okay, let's go again," the lead doctor said, charging up the paddles again. "360."

"Charging."

"All clear."

"Clear!"

Again, the charge arched Dean's body off of the bed, and again, the flatline continued.

"Still no pulse."

Dean couldn't stop watching.

Neither could Deja or Sam, as much as they were falling apart every moment they stood there witnessing the doctors struggle to revive Dean.

"C'mon, Dean…" Deja murmured, voice cracking. "Fight, damn it, fight!"

"Come on, come on," the doctor stressed. "Let's go again. All clear."

"Clear!"

Again—nothing.

"Okay, let's go again."

"Charging!"

Dean froze as, suddenly, he could see the same thing that had killed the girl from the nurse's station, and it was hovering over him—his body, anyway—and he was pretty sure that it was what was keeping him from being revived at the moment. His jaw clenched as he moved around Deja and Sam, getting right up next to his bed.

"You get the hell away from me! Stay back!" he shouted.

"There's no change. Starting CPR," the doctor announced. Dean couldn't see Deja and Sam since they were behind him, though he did hear a much more audible sound of distress from Deja, so he could tell they were in terrible shape.

But right now, he was focused on the thing that was apparently trying to kill him right now.

"I said get back!" Dean shouted with everything he had, reaching out and grabbing the thing's arm to keep it from touching him.

Something he could only compare to a powerful electric current—and he could make that comparison accurately, considering the deadly voltage that had coursed through him when he, Sam, and Deja had been hunting that Rawhead—coursed through him, and he was thrown against the wall with the force of this energy that surged through him when he touched the ghostlike creature hovering over his body. It turned to face him, then simply flew out of the room, Dean giving chase before he could even get all of his bearings back.

Dean rushed down the hall, looking everywhere for the thing that had nearly killed him, but he couldn't spot it. Gnashing his teeth together in frustration, Dean made his way back to his room where Sam and Deja stood in two different stages of relief in his room's doorway. Sam looked like he was going to collapse onto the floor, using the doorframe as support, while Deja had her face buried in his jacket, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs that, whenever they made an audible noise, she choked back.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. I made a promise, and I'm going to get that thing before it gets me," Dean told them, even though he knew they couldn't hear him. "It's some kind of spirit, but I could grab it. And if I can grab it, I can kill it."

Of course, they didn't answer, though Dean noticed when Deja's posture suddenly shifted, tensing as she forced back her sobs. She wiped away her tears with a vengeance, and Sam looked at her when he noticed her shift as well.

"Deja?" Sam asked, worry dripping in his tone. "Deja, are you all right?"

"I need some air," she murmured, palming away the rest of the evidence of her tears before she just started moving. Concerned about what she was about to do—and considering the prayer he'd been present for, worried it was something drastic or dangerous—Dean followed her.

Deja stopped in what Dean assumed was her assigned hospital room to grab that gold dusted hard cover book he'd always wondered about and a duffel out from an unused cabinet in the room.

Wait, when had she retrieved stuff from her car? Was it while Dean was unconscious before he woke up a spirit? Had she told Sam to get a specific duffel in her car or get some items for her? Had she shoved a bunch of stuff together before the paramedics had arrived on the scene of the crash?

To deepen his growing dread of what Deja was doing, she paused before she left the room, looking up with a stormy expression. "If you won't, fine…I will," she said with scary conviction before she was moving again.

"Deja…" Dean said warningly, but he couldn't do anything to stop her from moving.

After a couple turns down a few random halls, when they came to one that was rather empty, Deja pulled out a phone and rapidly punched in a number she apparently had memorized by heart considering how quickly she pounded it out on the keys, starting to look for an empty room with a door while she waited for the ringing to stop and whoever she was calling to answer.

Almost to the end of the hall—it was a dead-end hall—Deja straightened, her expression steely determination as she pressed the phone closer to her ear. "Rachel, it's me. Remember that favor you owe me? I'm cashing in."

"I thought you called all your hunter contacts to help me. Who the hell is Rachel? Deja, what are you doing?" Dean asked her, voice tense as he walked at a fast pace beside Deja, following her into a dark room as she finally found one to her liking. After she shut the door behind her, she put the phone on speaker, setting it down on the floor with the book and her duffel bag, the faint glow barely giving Dean a view of her face as she moved around. He heard the zipper of her duffel, and rustling that told him she was digging inside, but he couldn't see what she was doing.

"Pft, you're always calling for information, I'm your main eyes and ears in the community—the others just pick up on stuff specific to them," a woman said on the other end of the line.

"I'm not asking for regular information, Rachel," Deja deadpanned, and the woman's soft chuckle from her own joke suddenly went silent, signaling she'd heard the same note in Deja's voice that Dean had that told her that Deja was deadly serious. "I need you pulling strings, touching base with every contact you have, pulling up your own cookbook."

"You're not kidding…I mean…I figured I'd pay you back for what you did for me with some information slipped your way here and there, but you're really going for a full settlement. It's big what you want, isn't it?"

"Rachel, everything you can find on healing, everything and anything—"

"Healing? Really? For yourself or—"

"Someone else, someone that's hanging in the balance right now, someone who's flatlined more than once," Deja said, voice shaking slightly before she cleared her throat to get it back under control. Dean could hear her setting stuff down and moving about, but he couldn't see her. "I know it's not that developed of a field…"

"Not that developed? Not for what I know you'd consent to—Deja, most of the healing is, ironically and unfortunately, in the dark arts, and even then, it's almost all self-healing stuff."

"Arts—You know someone who can lay some mojo on me and you've waited this long to call them?" Dean accused Deja, jabbing a finger at the phone.

"I don't care, Rachel, everything you find on healing, send it my way, small or large."

"If this person that needs healing is as much in the balance as you say, you might not have the time to self-engineer something," Rachel responded skeptically.

"I'll make time, Rachel. I don't care about the odds, I will make them work, whatever it takes."

On the other end of the line, Rachel sighed. "Whoever this is must be pretty damn important. Who are they?"

Deja was quiet for a moment, Dean waiting to see if she was going to give this woman his name. "He," Deja eventually relented. Rachel seemed to immediately perk up with curiosity.

"He? Oh?" she asked suggestively.

"…he's a hunter."

Dean was thrown for a loop with the immediate reaction of the woman on the other line, her voice dropping to a furious hiss that questioned Deja's sanity.

"A hunter? Deja, what the hell are you thinking? Don't you remember Reid?"

"Reid? That hunter Dad mentioned? What's he got to do with me?" Dean asked, a different kind of worry now coloring his tone.

"Of course I remember, I'll never be able to forget it! But that's not going to happen this time!"

"Oh yeah? Why, you going to magically keep it a secret, pray to the gods—or God, in your unique case—he doesn't find out?"

"What secret? Deja, what the hell is going on, what aren't you telling me? And don't you give me any of that it-doesn't-have-to-do-with-you crap cause obviously it does!" Dean shouted at her, but he remained unheard.

"No—yes—I don't know, I haven't…I never thought I was going to be around long, that I was going to get in this deep, and then things just…happened. I couldn't help it," Deja fumbled, unable to explain the odd dance she and Dean had been involved in to someone who wasn't them and also hadn't seen it firsthand.

"Oh yes you could! You could have turned and ran the other way like you know you should with other hunters!" Rachel snapped. "You might be a hunter, Deja, but you are not one of them."

Normally, Dean would jump to Deja's defense and rip into the woman for saying such a thing, but right now he was rather certain he was missing some key piece of this puzzle that could possibly alter his perception of the woman he'd grown to care for.

"You don't have to remind me, Rachel, I know. But he's—" Deja started to say, but Rachel cut her off.

"If you say different, I swear to my gods, I will kill you through this phone. You don't know that—how can you know that for sure? How can you know for sure he won't do the same thing Reid did when he inevitably finds out?" Rachel asked sharply.

"Find out what? What aren't you telling me? I need to know!" Dean demanded, looking in the general direction of Deja's voice since he still couldn't see her. Deja was quiet for a few seconds before she answered.

"…I don't know…but I can worry about that another time, Rachel. Right now, I just need him to be okay—I can't lose him like everyone else," Deja stated, voice hushed and strangled with emotion. Rachel sighed, taking a moment before she answered, apparently giving up on the subject for now.

"Are you even strong enough to pull off something like this? If you've been running around with hunters for a while, you're probably way out of practice."

"What?" Dean asked, thrown off again by what the two women were talking about. Deja was already speaking.

"For him?" she asked rhetorically, and Dean jumped as the room suddenly became awash in candlelight.

"Jesus!" he shouted, leaping back as he saw the last of the flames jumping to life, suddenly able to see Deja kneeling among the candles that she'd scattered around the room meticulously in the darkness with her gold-dusted book in her lap, a few crystals scattered about and pouches of what seemed to be herbs. As her fingers gracefully finished clenching into a loose fist and she stared at the phone with an eerie calm expression, the last of the candles lit themselves while she answered her own question.

"I'm strong enough."

Dean stared at her, mind blanking for a few moments as his entire being tried to deny what he was seeing, three startled words full of betrayal escaping his lips.

"You…a witch?"