Disclaimer: Realistically, most of this story probably does belong to me. But Sam and Dean are STILL not mine...

For those who read Draconian Premonition: Welcome to the Sequel. (I got it up much sooner than I expected...) You are going to find this story very different and much MUCH longer then DP.

For those who haven't read Draconian Premonition: It is not necessary for you to read the prequel. If you read this story first, DP might just have what you might call - spoilers.

To everyone: I hope you enjoy! Remember... virtual cookies for those who review ;)

"The Great Sparzella! Psychic Wonder of New York City!"

Yup. That's me. That's my job. Tell people what they want to hear. That's right, my job is to spew bullshit to random people. And the pay is crap.

When I started this job, it felt like fate. A twisted fate, but fate. See… what people don't know, (besides my real name) is that although what I tell them is false, that doesn't mean I don't 'see' things.

I lay in bed. My entire body shaking with the recent, blissful act. (Screw the bible. I'll live in sin if I damn well want to!) I turned my body to lie upon his. I breathed his scent in. I whispered to him, "I don't care whatever it is… you can always depend on me." He held me close and pressed his lips to mine.

"I'll keep that in mind," he whispered.

Beep! Beep! Beep! – SLAM!

I hate alarm clocks.

And that wasn't a vision. That was just a memory.

Ever since I was little, I have avoided social situations. I was constantly paranoid, and jumpy from the lack of sleep. People always looked at me like… well, whatever it is like, I don't like it. That changed junior year of high school. He was a transfer student and a loner. Never talked to anyone, never acknowledged anyone, not even the teachers. No wonder everyone hated him! He was just down right rude! At least I acknowledge people when spoken to. Anyway, I eventually got the guts to talk to him. That's when my world changed. We talked more and more, and eventually started to go steady in our senior year. We stayed together even through college and after. And through all those years, I never told him about my dreams. My nightmares. Towards the end of high school, they had actually almost entire dissipated. I would have a couple a year after that. So, I never really saw a reason to tell him if they're almost nonexistent. Yes, I know. Just an excuse. But you know what?…it worked for me!

I stepped out of the shower and reached for one of my many hair products. My clients are more easily impressed (and therefore pay better) if I look the part. I absolutely hate it.

Two years ago, a couple years after we got out of college, he proposed to me. We were already living together in a small apartment and yes, living quite in sin. Now it was time to take that final step and say, 'I want to spend the rest of my life in your arms.' Before answering his proposal, I told him to give me a couple days. I needed to decide once and for all if I was going to tell him about what I was. Because if I don't tell him before, than I know I'll never tell him.

However, the very next day, when I came home from my hated job, he was gone. He had left a letter on the kitchen table

I love you. My proposal still stands.

No matter what.

I haven't seen or heard from him since. Now I'm 27 years old, still loving him and wondering if he still loves me.

I slipped into my silk dress covered with so many sequins that they should have just glued them together to make an entirely separate dress. I grabbed the sequined headdress and put it over my now towering hair job. I walked through my room door to my workplace. Yes, my commute is a total of ten feet.

My first appointment is scheduled for six. That leaves me with about 10 minutes. I went into the waiting area (Only really used in the evenings) and poured myself a cup of coffee. I had to finish it before my client shows because drinking coffee is bad for the 'mysterious psychic' image. Tea just doesn't have quite the same effect. Slightly burning my tongue, I gulped down the day-old coffee. "Disgusting," I mumbled. I put the empty mug under my chair and waited. I stared at the cloth covering the crystal ball.

Why me?

"Don't worry," I said in a mystic voice. "You're doing fine."

"Really?"

"Yes. Your boss loves your work. You have nothing to worry about." I had my hand on his shoulder, slowly leading him to the door.

"Alright…" He smiled. "Thanks."

Like after all my other clients, I felt guilty. I try not to think about the false hopes that have been crushed because of me.

I did well in college. As soon as I got out I got a good job in accounting that I loved. But because of my paranoid nature and permanent insomnia I developed as a child made my work less than perfect. Being a psychic was the only job I can get away with being sleepy and paranoid. At first I didn't care. He worked at a car dealership as a manager. His career was soaring. We were getting along just fine. Until he left. Then everything went to hell. I couldn't afford the apartment by myself so I sold it and moved into my workplace.

It was evening. I was slurping on my 15 cent ramen soup as I stared at the rain slamming against the windows. I liked the rain. Especially big storms like this one. I liked the sound of it hitting on buildings and the dark cover the clouds create. It all made me feel calm. It made me feel safe.

I jumped as a sudden knock pounded the door. I looked at the clock. Ugh, she's 20 minutes early. Why can't they ever be late? I stood and walked to the door. Opening it a crack, I peered through. It wasn't' her. For one, the person was way too masculine. Two, he was obviously homeless.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I don't…"

"Wait! Please!" His voice was scratchy and desperate. I opened the door a fraction more. He was young. Late teens… maybe early twenties.

"I'm sorry," I repeated. Closing the door, "I don't have any…"

"I know who you are!" His voice was so desperate it was heart-wrenching. But I know I couldn't do anything for him.

I pointed to the neon sign above the door. "Yeah, Sparzella. Now please…"

"Your name is Claire Shoeman!" I froze. How did he…? "You are a psychic but not of the reading futures variety!" I opened the door wider. I'm sure my facial expression was one of pure shock. "You're not the only one with gifts."

I know... Kinda confusing... Don't worry. It will all explain itself in due time.

AN: Among the readers who are musicians... Can you tell where I got the name Claire Shoeman from...?