Dean wanted to push away the EMTs around him. Though he was able to sit up on his own, one paramedic was vigilant about pressing an oxygen mask over his face. Another leaned in to take his vitals.

The only thing stopping him from cursing them out and refusing treatment was the persistent coughing he was forced to endure. His throat burned worse than when his dad first offered him a taste of cheap whiskey. Equally painful were his eyes as they blinked away ash. Tears streamed down his face of their own accord. Hands shaking, he wiped them away so he could see.

His gaze followed Sam into the ambulance, noting how his arms flailed against the straps over his chest. He hated to be restrained. Dean knew as much by now. How Sam had managed to break the cuffs in the motel room was still a mystery to him. But sometimes restraint was necessary. It kept people from doing stupid things, like busting into flaming apartments.

He vividly remembered watching Sam kick the door open, and a plume of smoke pouring into the night. When the smoke dissipated, Sam was nowhere to be seen.

Dean hadn't thought twice before bolting through the housing gate and racing up the stairs two at a time. It wasn't about protecting his investment or protecting what some hunters might deem his property. It was about rescuing one emotionally distraught human being, who wouldn't realize – couldn't realize – that if anyone was inside the apartment, it was too late to save them.

By the time he'd entered the apartment, Sam's blurred silhouette was collapsing outside the bedroom. Dean had shouted for him, burying his nose and mouth in his jacket. One glance into the bedroom revealed someone on the ceiling, of all places, but they were burnt to a crisp. Sam wasn't. From how he'd collapsed on the floor, he either wanted to be or he was in some sort of shock.

Dean's hands fell on his chest, shaking him, but a glassy stare had been his only response. Left with no other option, he'd carried Sam from the apartment. There was a moment when he hadn't been sure if he could get them out of there. But with adrenaline raging through his veins, he'd carried Sam down the stairs before collapsing from exhaustion.

Now he watched helplessly as Sam was separated from him yet again, if only temporarily. It crossed his mind how he'd partnered with a Giver to be a safer hunter, to avoid injury and a premature death. But instead, he'd just barely survived one of the deadliest situations of his life. The irony wasn't lost on him.

He didn't realize he was chuckling until a female paramedic gripped his shoulder to ground him. "Sir, can you hear me? I think you might be suffering from a mild form of hysteria."

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Dean shook her off. He removed the mask from his face and tossed it toward her bag. "I'm not hysterical, sweetheart, and I'm not riding in an ambulance either. I can drive myself to the hospital."

Without looking up, he felt gazes being traded over his head. Moisture from the grass was starting to soak through his jeans. He really wasn't in the mood to argue.

"I didn't hit my head," he coughed. "I'm coherent, damn it, and I'm saying no."

Though clearly hesitant to refrain from administering treatment, there was nothing they could do without his consent. With a curt nod from the female paramedic, the EMTs began stowing their gear.

"You're suffering from smoke inhalation, and you may have debris in your eyes. I don't recommend operating a motor vehicle in your condition," she said stiffly, handing him an iPad and stylus. "I need you to sign this form, officially refusing on-scene medical treatment and transportation. The police will want to speak with you, but if you insist on driving yourself to the emergency room, simply inform them and they will escort you."

Her glare might have fazed those she supervised, but Dean flashed his most charming smile before scrawling his name. The smile didn't reach his eyes, strained and teary-eyed as it was, but she could take it or leave it. Sam's ambulance was driving away. If he didn't move soon, he wouldn't be able to follow.

Struggling not to groan as he stood, Dean staggered to the parking lot. The police were still trying to wrap their heads around the situation, thank God. They hadn't yet secured a perimeter. They didn't try to stop him when he climbed into his car. And when he drove off, worried half out of his mind over Sam's condition, he only attracted the attention of a young woman in a pickup truck.

"I must admit, I'm rather disappointed in you, Sam." The possessed paramedic sighed, hands shifting to cradle Sam's wrist. The touch stung where his skin had been grated away by the handcuff dangling there. It was nothing compared to the shifting of bones in his broken hand. He cried out, bucking against the gurney straps.

The demon's grip tightened. He bent to whisper into Sam's ear. "All you had to do was save her. I sent you every tool you needed. The temptation to go to her. The vision of what I'd be forced to do if you didn't. My daughter's vessel, steered in the right direction to expedite your journey." He shook his head. "You were still too late, and I was forced to save myself… and all of my children, including you… from her."

The handcuff clinked as it broke apart and clattered to the ambulance floor.

"What are you talking about?" Sam rasped, throat raw from inhaling smoke.

A dreamy look overcame the demon's face. "Aren't you tired of serving them, Sam? Tired of being used for the gifts I've given you? Change is coming." He gazed down at him fondly. "And you, being the strongest of your kind - as poor Jessica was the strongest of her kind – you will lead all visionaries in the greatest war against hunters that hell has ever known."

Sam's head was spinning and his hand was aching, and it was all too much to take in at once. He didn't understand what the demon was saying. Of course he was tired of being used, they all were. But being a pawn in a war didn't sound much better.

As if the demon could read his thoughts, he grabbed Sam's shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. "Haven't you been listening to me, Sam? You're not a pawn. You could never be a pawn. With your abilities, developed above the rest, you're a knight, a leader before them. Jessica was also a knight and we lost her in tonight's battle, but the war hasn't yet begun. You can take your revenge then, strike down every hunter who ever owned you, and then some."

Whatever the demon meant, it didn't matter. Not to Sam. There was only one thing that mattered.

"Hunters didn't kill Jess. You did."

There was a sigh, before Sam felt the bones in his hand realign and mend. His heart lurched with the knowledge that it was Jessica's gift healing him. It was her spirit, her love, her dream of a normal life…

"There are hunters who believe they can turn even the strongest members of my own army against me, Sam." The demon continued healing him, hands drifting over his chest and ribs, under his C-collar, over both wrists. "But they're wrong. All of you are my children, not theirs, and if I must choose between one tainted child and the safety of the rest… I choose the rest. Because the time has come to take a stand. With me."

"You?" Sam echoed, barely noticing when the demon shone a penlight into his eyes. "Who are you?"

The demon chuckled. "You think your gifts are the result of some random gene pool? Perhaps a paranormal curse that befalls a precious few? No. You have a gift because I chose you, Sam. Because I chose you, and every Giver in existence to be an extension of myself. To help me exterminate the cockroaches that are hunters, so we - the demons, the monsters, and the gifted - can stop living in fear. My name is Azazel. And I'm here to set you free."

Sam swallowed, trying to hide his fear. "You're insane. You're a demon and a murderer, and when I'm strong enough, the only one I'll exterminate is you."

He flinched when a soft hand rested on his forehead. "Hold on to that anger, Sam. That bitterness and pain will only mold you into a better soldier. But I think you require a little incentive to point it in the right direction. Sleep now."

The ominous words followed him into darkness.

So a bit of plot hath been revealed... I know, you love plot, but bromance is better. It's coming. Are the boys brothers? What exactly happened to Jess? Is Dean as okay as he thinks he is? And what is this "incentive" Azazel speaks of? All will be revealed.

05/14/14:

NOT DROPPED. Not WIP forever! *Shields face* Please don't throw rotten vegetables at me. I'm going to try to write more this summer. Really. Even if it's just Saturday afternoons and stuff. It's not just this fic I neglect, so don't feel bad. Often, I neglect dinner. Or reading time. Or sleep. I'm just busy, busy, busy. Working myself to death.