In my dream world, I own Supernatural and all it contains. Sadly, my dream world doesn't really exist. Sigh.

So "Angels and Airwaves" started upsetting me, and I got into this thing. And, well, here it is. The sequel to "Everything Changes." I hope it's good. I really do. Oh, and I apologize in advance for Pennsylvania. I just really wanted pitchforks and torches. Call it artistic liberty.

The trees were becoming way too dense, and her shoulders burned like hell. Clearly, this was not how she expected her weekly hunt to go.

"Devil!"

"This way!"

Oh yeah, and the angry village people following in her wake. That was equally as hellacious, if not more so. As quick as her four legs could carry her, she scrambled through the undergrowth, over rocks, water, and fallen tree limbs, and ran right into a thickening mob. Damn her luck.

"Not so fast." A voice yelled above the rest. "It's high time you were stopped." A large net was thrown over her, pinning her to the ground. No! she wanted to scream I'm not the monster you're looking for! But it wouldn't be any use. These people were angry and terrified; the most dangerous of combinations.

"I say we kill her right now!" A high pitched shrill invaded her sensitive ears.

"Set fire to that pretty little black coat!" Close to her, a deep voice stood out.

"Cut off her limbs one by one."

"Skin her alive."

"Shoot her!"

"No," The same voice that had pinned her to the dank and dirty ground advanced. "We will show her the same kindness she has shown our children. Tomorrow night there will be a hunt for all who wish to participate." The voice belonged to a tall man, Will Liddell, who had helped her find an actual house amidst the Amish community, and shown her nothing but kindness. Until now that is. Now he led the group that wanted her dead for something she didn't even do! "Sorry about this, girl," he said in a lower voice, "but I did warn you."

In return he got nothing but a cold, yellow stare. She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of fear or regret. But that defiance only got her dragged into a tiny, sliver cage. As the door clanged shut she decided, every one of these people were going to die if she didn't first.

x

"Wake up." The rough voice burned through her thoughts like the sliver in her lungs. She was going to die tonight, she knew it. Vaguely, she could make out a semicircle of horses, dogs, and humans centered around her cage. There was a quiet whoosh of the opening door, and, dragging together whatever strength she had left, she crawled out of the prison.

Horses neighed, dogs barked, and the world shifted from foot to foot in anticipation. She knew she had to run. Knew she had to do something, but her veins were too clogged, the blood slowly congealing into a metallic mess, and she couldn't lift herself off the ground. A swift kick in the ribs brought her back to her senses, and she shakily lifted herself up. No chance was she going to be treated like that in front of everyone. She still had her respect, and no amount of murder could take that away.

"You get a head start," the rough voice narrated.

She set off into the forest at an ambling trot, heading for the highway. Becoming road kill was a better option than being shot, stuffed, and displayed for a cruel sense of security.

Her paws dragged the ground, and with each step her head dropped lower and lower. There was no way she could make it. Hell, they wouldn't even make it. Death would claim her first, but she still trudged on. Beyond familiar trees that marked the past safety of her hunting ground, around the twisted roots that she so carefully avoided, through a concave of branches and vines perfect for late night transformations, and passing the crooked fences now drenched in spirit repellent. If wolves could laugh, she would have.

Hoof beats created tangles at her feet with their wicked vibrations, and she wanted nothing more than to fall right there in front of the house that marked the begging of the disappearances. But she couldn't. She wouldn't. The wolf had too much pride, and she had too much hope. Surely someone would show kindness. There had to be some doubt in the group.

"There! Ahead!"

No. There was no doubt. Dragging her useless self up again, she tried to make her legs move faster. Another mile and she could touch the cold asphalt. She dragged herself a few more strides. And then a few more. Until, finally, she could hear the occasional car drive pass the seemingly peaceful forest. The smell of tar and rubber reached her nose, and she could make out iridescent white and yellow lines. Now if only another car would come.

Suddenly, something sharp wedged its way between her ribs. It was a knife. And it was silver. She didn't think it could happen, but her insides seemed to explode into a dripping, fiery hole. The wolf couldn't take it anymore, and, slowly, the black fur was replaced with pale skin, the four legs shrank into two, and glowing, yellow eyes faded into rich hazel. Where the wolf used to lay, a curly headed brunette was stretched out in the middle of the road waiting for a speeding car to finish her off.

She grinned as the vibrant lights rounded the corner and laughed as the breaks screeched. It was all over now. All over. The waiting was the worst part, she decided. Knowing that all you have left is a few seconds, and that, soon, you wouldn't be fighting anymore, but that was the only thing she had left. Waiting… But, where was it? Where was the hit? The momentary pain? The release? A car door slammed. Footsteps next to her broken body. Damn.

"Miss?" The woman's voice was strained. "Miss? Can you hear me? Oh, God!"

She heard the faint dialing of a cell phone, the erratic nine-one-one call, and the woman's shrill voice.

"Honey, please. Can you hear me?"

The phone. She needed the woman's phone. Struggling on pins and needles, she lifted her torso off the ground and held out her hand. "Phone," she managed to choke out. Without hesitation, the woman handed the titanium bar over, and she slowly dialed the number she never used, but never forgot.

The voice on the other end was monotone, methodical, emotionless. "This is Dean. If it's an emergency, send me your coordinates and I'll be there as soon as possible." A shrill beep proceeded the message wiping the darkening blood from her lips she attempted a response.

"Dean…Pennsylvania…please…" She collapsed back onto the cement, but held tight to the phone. Sirens wailed in the background, but she barely heard it. There were doors slamming, people shouting, and a very cold hand on her cheek.

"Ma'am," a man's easygoing voice broke the stupor. "My name's Alex. I'm just going to check your pulse, and then we're going to get you wrapped up to go in the ambulance, alright?" He didn't wait for a response, just moved his fingers to the vein in her neck as another set of hands felt the knife in her ribcage. "Ma'am, I'm going to take the phone from you." His fingers started opening her grip.

"No!" she gagged. "Please…"

"Okay," he seemed surprised at the fervor in her voice. "You can hold it for now."

Within minutes, the skilled team had her bandage, secure, and in the hospital bound vehicle. A younger woman sat beside her watching the portable heart monitor. Wanting so bad to close her eyes, but fearful they wouldn't reopen, she clutched the phone to her chest and tried to focus on what the woman was saying.

"Sweetie, we need to take the phone," the woman soothed, "I promise you'll have it back later.

"No," she begged.

The woman laughed quietly, "Now who could you possible be calling right now?"

Ignoring the obvious sarcasm, she whispered, "Winchester." The was a prick in her arm and her eyelids shut on their own.

"There now," the woman said, "I'm sure this Winchester person will be there when you wake up."

How the hell would she know?

XxXxX

He felt his phone vibrating in the back pocket of his jeans, but a legged blonde with a rack the size of an industrial oven's was currently occupying his mouth and he just couldn't drag himself away.

"My place or yours?" she asked as they came up for breath.

"Yours." Dean replied without hesitation.

The second time his phone rang, it dragged him out of a tequila induced sleep. Sam's name flashed on his caller id, and, as quietly as possible, he climbed out of the bed, pulled on his clothes, and left the tiny apartment without a second glance. He stopped at a dinner on the way back to the motel and grabbed two breakfast specials and two large coffees to go, which were promptly ripped from his hands the second he entered the motel room.

"Damn, Sam, when was the last time you ate?"

"Last night," Sam replied with a mouthful of bacon.

Dean sipped his coffee. "It's like you're thirteen again."

Sam shrugged. "I've got our next hunt," he said after swallowing. "Sudden recoveries from terminal illnesses."

"Where?"

"Utah."

Leaning his head against the wall, he sighed, "Why couldn't the sons of bitches pick somewhere fun to screw around?" He crumpled the Styrofoam cup and tossed in into the garbage. "Utah's about six days from here."

"It's a big case, Dean." Sam closed his laptop.

"People are recovering. I don't see the evil."

"People are recovering from terminal illnesses. They should be dying." Sam attempted arguing.

"Is anybody dying?" Dean challenged.

There was a pause. "No."

"So we're going to waste something that's saving people?"

"I never said we should kill it," Sam sulked.

"Try again, Sammy. See if you can find something with sharp teeth and claws."

"It's Sam." He opened his laptop again. "Utah's only four days from here," he muttered.

Dean laughed and fell back onto one of the beds. Right as he shut his eyes he felt his phone vibrate. "Did you leave a message?" he asked pulling the black cell out of his pocket.

"No." Sam's face glowed with the light of the computer screen. It was obvious he was already engrossed in whatever search he had pulled up.

Shaking his head at his little brother's geekiness, Dean flipped open his phone. The number on his screen wasn't familiar, but he hadn't gotten a text with coordinates, so it must not be that big of a deal. Taking his time, Dean dialed his voice mail, entered the password, and held the phone up to his ear.

"Dean…Pennsylvania…please…" A weak voice mumbled into his ear. Suddenly, the voice changed.

"Ma'am," a man's voice replaced the woman's. "My name's Alex. I'm just going to check your pulse, and then we're going to get you wrapped up to go in the ambulance, alright?" It was obvious he hadn't meant to leave Dean any type of message. The girl never hung up. "Ma'am, I'm going to take the phone from you." The man's voice was full of authority, but, also, sympathy. What was going on?

"No!" He had heard that voice before. Who was it? "Please…" It sounded like…but it couldn't be.

"Sam," he called holding out his phone. "See if you know who this is."

Reluctant to tear himself away from the computer, Sam reached out for Dean's phone. Dean watched as his brother's eyes grew twice their normal size.

"It's her, isn't it?"

Sam nodded and began shutting down his computer. "Pennsylvania's only a day away," he stated shoving his things into a bag.

"We'll be there in seven hours." Dean scanned the room for any of his clothes. Spying a solitary shirt, he quickly packed it up and headed toward his car. "Let's go, Sam!"