Finally! After way too long my muse finally resurfaced and I was able to finish this! Sorry for the length of time it took to complete!

Thanks to all those who stuck with it! Hope it's worth the wait

Shifting into neutral Dean cut the engine as soon as he turned off the highway, not wanting to let the telltale rumble of the Impala's engine alert Molly to his return. And as the car coasted further into the parking lot Dean couldn't help but glance toward the curtain-shrouded window of the room he still technically shared with his brother, only to be painfully reminded of the horrible situation inside.

A deep pang of guilt immediately washed over him. Because, not only had he left Sammy alone with Molly, he had done so more-or-less willingly. Or - if not willingly - at least of his own accord. Even though he had known that Molly had been seriously intent on causing his little brother harm. And, not only had he left the room voluntarily, he left the motel, the immediate area, the city, and then the state.

Left to embark on a two-day, two-thousand mile, round-trip to Michigan that, when all was said and done, had amounted to nothing more than a colossal waste of time.

He was still no closer to freeing his brother from Molly's evil clutches than he had been before he'd left. He hadn't been able to locate Molly's remains in order to salt and burn them, making it impossible for him to destroy the malevolent spirit. He still hadn't even figured out how he could.

He had no ideas. And no plan.


He didn't even know how he was going to get back inside their room.

And he sincerely doubted that Molly had unlocked the door while he'd been gone. Nor did he think that simply walking up to the door and knocking, followed by his sweetest 'Hi-honey-I'm-home' routine wasn't likely to get him inside either. It was much more likely to result in another physical go-round with the volatile poltergeist; something Dean needed to avoid at all costs. Because as much as he hated to admit it, he knew he was currently in no shape – either mentally or physically - to try to take her on again.

But the good news was that she hadn't come rushing out through that same door and proceeded to tear him to shreds. Probably because, for whatever reason, she wasn't yet aware that he was sitting right outside.

But how long that would last was anybody's guess.

And something that Dean desperately needed to use to his advantage.

Glancing quickly over at Chris, Dean regretfully realized that he was nothing more than a useless, naïve kid. Albeit, the very kid who was responsible for having released Molly's vengeful spirit and placing Sammy's very existence in jeopardy. And, by doing so, making Dean want nothing more than to tear him apart piece by piece, limb by painful limb, until there was nothing left of him.

But doing so would be just another waste of time. And would only relegate Dean down to the same level as Molly.

Sighing, Dean cleared his mind and seriously set about formulating a plan.

The first thing he had to do was figure out how to protect Chris. Because, whether the poor kid knew it or not, he was going to be Dean's ticket into that room. And, regardless of his true emotions, Dean didn't really want to see the same thing happen to him that was happening to Sam.

Dean just needed to use him as a diversion.

Throwing the gearshift into park, Dean reached into the backseat and grabbed the big bag of salt that was sitting on the floor behind him, a deep and searing pain ripping through his torso as he lifted it into the front seat. Instantly reminded of his current physical limitations Dean nevertheless manoeuvred the bag onto his lap before taking a deep breath, opening his door and setting the heavy sack gingerly on the ground.

Before getting out, Dean turned toward Chris and ordered, "Whatever happens, don't get out of the car. Don't roll down the window. And don't open the door. Do you understand me?"

Chris stared bewilderedly back at him, answering only. "I thought you said Molly was here."

"She is," replied Dean as he slowly got out of the car, "Just not quite the way you remember her."

"What do you mean by that?"

Dean glared down at Chris, not bothering to offer an explanation. "Just stay in the car."

Walking around to the back of the Impala Dean opened the trunk, being careful to be as quiet as possible. Rummaging through the vast array of weapons and supplies, he selected a silver 6-shooter that he tucked securely into the waistband of his jeans. Then he grabbed a dusty, cloth bag from the back of the trunk that contained the last of their goofer dust. He went back to where he had left the bag of salt and poured the entire contents of the cloth bag into the salt, hoping that, without any lore to back him up, the combination of the two ingredients would be strong enough to keep Molly away from Chris long enough for him to rescue Sam.

Because Dean's was theorizing that as soon as she caught sight of her old boyfriend, her memories and feelings for him would come flooding back and she'd immediately go after him, forgetting all about Sam and thus providing Dean with the opportunity to save his brother.

The trick was going to be getting her to spot Chris before she noticed him.

After emptying the cloth sack, Dean stirred the goofer dust into the salt until he was satisfied that they were thoroughly mixed whereupon he refilled the cloth bag and stuffed it inside his jacket pocket; thinking that having some on his person just might prove to be handy. Standing, he hoisted the heavy bag onto his hip and began to pour a thick, solid line of the mixture all the way around the Impala. When he was finished Dean readjusted the bag's position and, with mixed emotions about what the salt might do to his precious baby, he nevertheless ran an unbroken line of it along the bottom of each window as an extra precaution.

As he approached the front passenger door, Chris lowered the window and stuck his head out, enquiring innocently, "What the hell you doin', Man?"

Dean paused, casting him his best don't--question-me glare and replied curtly, "I told you not to roll down the window."

Chris stared at him momentarily, unsure what to think, before he ultimately decided against challenging the older man and rolled the window back up. Dean took a deep breath to replenish his waning strength and then covered the small ledge of the passenger window with the salt composite. Looking over his handiwork to satisfy himself that he had protected both his car and the moron inside it from Molly's wrath as best he could.

Dean dropped the near-empty bag of salt on the ground, grateful to be freed of its cumbersome weight before striding to the back of the Impala, grabbing an old sledgehammer from the trunk and quietly lowering the lid until it latched shut.

With no real idea of what he was going to do next, Dean headed toward the motel room door, wielding the sledgehammer high above his head.


Molly sat on the edge of the bed, expecting Sam to join her at any moment. But he didn't appear and she found herself growing more anxious as more and more time passed. She began to wonder what she had done wrong and why he hadn't yet joined her. After a while the stillness in the room began to overwhelm the antsy poltergeist and she found herself listening to the intermingled noises filtering in from outside in the hopes of hearing Sam's approach.

Listening to the jumbled dine for even the slightest hint that Sam was nearby and looking for her, there was, for one brief moment, a low rumbling sound that she thought she recognised. But as she started to hone in on it, the noise abruptly stopped and she was once again left straining to detect any indication of Sam's arrival.

And she waited, Molly noticed a strange stirring inside her, suggesting that someone or something that she should recognize was nearby. But the feeling didn't match what she had felt the very first time she had discovered Sam's presence and instead of a calming, welcoming sensation it made her feel edgy and uncomfortable, as if this presence denoted a horrible connotation or memory. And although she tried to ignore it, the uneasiness grew inside her, making it harder and harder to focus on the noises outside; they all seemed to be hovering right outside her door. Finally, in her heightened state of anxiety and desperation to find Sam, she was certain that he must be out there, unable to locate her and she sprang from the bed.

As she rushed to the door, Molly completely missed the low, raspy intake of air from the bed behind her…


Dean was about to break the door down with the sledgehammer when the door suddenly flew open. Without a moment's hesitation, he instinctively jumped to the side, fearing that Molly had finally sensed his presence. His heart pounded loudly in his ears as he stood with his back pressed tightly against the outside wall, fully expecting Molly to come out and clobber him.

Only she didn't.

And, for what seemed like an eternity to a man holding his breath, Dean managed to remain immobile, not knowing where the invisible poltergeist was. The weight of the still-upheld sledgehammer drained what little energy he had and, if not for the adrenaline pumping through his body, he would have dropped the damn thing right then and there. But the appearance of his adversary, his hunter's instincts and sense of self-preservation had both kicked into high alert and Dean was able to defeat his overwhelming fatigue while he waited for some something to reveal what had become of Molly.

He didn't have to wait long for, for within seconds of the door flinging open, a slight breeze blew past him, causing Dean to fear that Molly really had seen him. But resisting the temptation to move, Dean continued to scan the area for signs of her whereabouts while he waited for her to grab him. But a moment later he noticed a very slight stirring in the salt mixture around the Impala and he stared at it with bated breath as more and more grains of the salt and goofer dust began to dance in the air, hoisted up by what appeared to be Molly's frantic travelling around the car as she must be searching for a way in.

His plan had paid off.

Molly had to have seen Chris and recognised him, the mere sight of him enough to jar her memory and cause her to focus on him and hopefully forgetting all about Sam. Dean watched for only few more seconds to be convinced that the ring of salt would hold and Chris would follow his orders to stay inside the relative protection of the Impala before he turned and dashed into the motel room.

But the sight that met his eyes almost made his heart stop.

Blood was everywhere. On the furniture, the walls, the carpet, and the bed. But mostly it covering virtually every inch of Sam's lifeless body, the patches of skin that poked in only a few places a dreadful bluish-gray. The entire room resembled a warzone of days-gone-by and Dean stared despondently at the mess that was his brother, the horrible reality of the situation sinking in.

He had taken too long.

And arrived too late.

His baby brother was dead.

Overcome with despair, Dean drew his hands into tight fists, choking down the scream that was threatening to burst from his lungs and ran toward the bed. He stared momentarily down at his brother's inert form before giving into his anguish and pounding his fists down heavily on Sam's chest, causing his little brother's body to flail on the bed like a ragdoll. A single tear dripped from Dean's eye as he straightened up, his devastated gaze fixated on his brother.

Surprisingly, Sam coughed. A weak, phlegmy cough that raked his entire body before giving away to a small outburst of feeble coughing. Sam's eye's flickered open as he tried to catch his breath while Dean hurriedly cradled his head and shoulders in his arm as he pushed the pillows under his brother's head to enable Sam to breathe easier on his own. And while his breaths were shallow and laborious at first they soon began to strengthen and become more steady.

Sam glanced up at Dean through blood-encrusted lids. "Molly?" he enquired weakly, his voice nothing more than a throaty whisper.

"My problem now, Dude," came Dean's quick reply, although he didn't feel anywhere near as confident as his words made him sound. He reached for the blanket that was crumpled at the foot of the bed and went to pull it over his brother.

But that gave him an idea.

"Stay with me, Sammy" Dean replied, giving his brother's shoulder an gentle, affectionate pat.

He waited only long enough for Sam to give a barely noticeable nod, before yanking the blanket off the bed and headed hastily for the bathroom. Throwing the blanket in the bathtub, Dean quickly inserted the stopper and turned the water on full-force. As the tub filled with water, he pulled the cloth bag from his jacket pocket and, after saying a short prayer to himself, poured its contents into the water. Then he ran out of the bathroom and quickly located a rosary in Sam's bag.

Back in the bathroom, Dean dropped to his knees in front of the bathtub. He spread the blanket out in the water as best he could, making sure it was completely submerged before carefully placing the rosary on the middle of the blanket. Then, in what may have been his best and fastest recitation of Latin ever, Dean proceeded to bless the tub full of water and its contents.

Not knowing if his plan would work or not, Dean knew that he was out of time. And out of options. Flying by the seat of seat of his pants had always been one of his trademarks and he was hoping that his years of acquired knowledge about the supernatural would give credence to his impromptu, unproven hypothesis. Fully aware that he had little more than a snowball's chance of Hell in succeeding, Dean dragged the heavy, soaked blanket out of the makeshift holy water and gathered in up in his arms.

Sprinting from the bathroom, Dean stole a quick glance at Sam to reassure himself that he was still breathing before he headed for the door in search of Molly. Which, given her lack of a visible body, was going to be slightly harder than finding a needle in a haystack.

And about 800 times more dangerous.

He paused as he reached the threshold of the door, already panting from the physical exertion, each breath an aching reminder of how injured he still was. Staring out at the Impala he was surprised to see it rocking wildly on its wheels as Molly ran in rapid circles around the car while Chris sat terrified, pressed tightly against the passenger seat, inside it.

Somewhat surprised that Chris had actually listened to him, Dean took a long, deep breath as he watched the movement of the levitated salt to determine which direction Molly was going before he leapt from the doorway, unravelling the blanket as he dashed toward the Impala. Stopping just outside the salt ring, he lifted the blanket, letting it fall unhindered to the ground. A second later, just as he'd hoped, Molly crashed into it, causing Dean to stagger backwards. As he worked to regain his footing, Dean quickly lowered his arms, enveloping Molly within the folds of the blanket.

Using the full weight of his body to force her to the ground, he was amazed at how physically real she seemed, the outline of a human body completely visible beneath the blanket. Despite his exhaustion Dean held tight to the blanket, kicking its edges underneath the struggling poltergeist as he held her securely to the ground with his arms and legs.

Molly fought hard to escape the confines of the blanket and it was all that Dean could do to keep her restrained. She punched, kicked, wriggled and squirmed with all the strength and power of a typical netherworld entity, testing Dean's endurance. He was beginning to doubt the viability of his plan, wondering whether all his efforts to this point had been futile, when he suddenly felt her beginning to lose strength.

Uncertain if she was simply tiring and preparing to recoup her energy, Dean tightened the blanket to reduce her range of motion and decrease her ability to break free. But as he pushed the blanket around her body, her form seemed to disintegrate. Everywhere he touched appeared to give way, making her body smaller and smaller and finally convincing him of the effectiveness of his plan and giving him a second wind.

Dean continued to press down on the blanket, tucking it in as fast and as tightly as he could to keep it in contact with his nemesis. But as soon as he tucked in one side it grew loose again as her body dissolved beneath it. Working frantically, Dean thrust and shoved, punched and pummelled the blanket until it lay crumbled on the ground with absolutely no possibility of anything remaining underneath it. Still Dean persisted, tromping all over the blanket with his hands and knees until it was completely stretched out and flat. Only then did he stop and sit up. Leaning back on his heels as he recovered his breath, Dean surveyed the aftermath of his efforts.

The blanket was tattered and torn; whether from the force of containing Molly's spirit or from the physical punishment he had dealt it while destroying her was unknown. The ring of salt around the Impala was still intact – but just barely. In some spots it was less than a quarter of an inch thick, making it obvious that Dean hadn't confronted her any too soon. Dean looked up at Chris, who was still sitting terrified inside the closed-up car and staring back nervously at him. But he was least of Dean's worries.

Without further hesitation, Dean jumped up. He ran back into the motel room, slowing as he approached Sam's bed; his concern for his brother once again rising to the forefront.

Dean had just barely made it to the side of the bed when Sam opened one eye and painfully looked up at him.

Again he queried quietly, "M…Molly?"



Melted. Just like the wicked witch. It was awesome, Sammy. Too bad you missed it."