Deathly lost, this can't be real
Cannot stand this hell I feel
Bobby had expected the brothers to be out of sorts when they arrived on his doorstep about mid-afternoon the day after their father had passed away.
But he wasn't expecting this.
Dean looked as though he'd spent the night trying to drown his grief in beer and Sam looked like any harsh words directed at him would see him bursting into tears.
Bobby knew losing a father wasn't easy for anyone but he was still shocked at the Winchesters attitude as they climbed the porch.
"Got yer car all ready, Dean," Bobby told the eldest brother, "So you can start workin' on her whenever yer ready."
Dean gave the grizzled hunter a half-hearted smile, "Thanks, Bobby."
"You two want beer?" Bobby asked as Dean and Sam stepped inside, dropping their duffel bags at the door, "Or something stronger?"
"I could use a drink," Dean said but Sam shook his head, "I'm kind of tired, Bobby. I think I'll just go upstairs fro a while."
Bobby peered concernedly at the young man. Sam's face was pale and unshaven; he had dark circles beneath his eyes as well.
The veteran hunter nodded, "You take as long as you need to, Son."
Sam bobbed his head once, picked up his duffel and plodded up the creaky staircase. Both Bobby and Dean remained silent as they listened to the door of the guest bedroom close behind the young man.
"How about that beer?" Dean asked, focusing Bobby's attention on him once again.
The older man nodded and made his way to the kitchen, pulling two bottles of beer from his ancient refrigerator.
Tossing the cap to his beer onto the counter, Bobby took a seat at the table and looked at Dean as the younger man had a long drink of alcohol.
"You up to telling me what happened?" the grizzled hunter asked and Dean lowered his bottle, peering at him.
"Dad died," the younger man answered carefully, "His doctor said it probably had something to do with the accident."
Bobby took a drink of his beer.
"Wanna tell me the truth?"
Dean stared at him.
"Don't look so shocked," the veteran hunter said, "Sam called me while you were indisposed to tell me what was going on. You were wanderin' around the hospital as a ghostie and yer Daddy was on the mend as far as anyone could tell."
The young man's lips thinned.
"If I tell you," he began seriously, "You have to promise, and I mean swear it, that you won't tell Sammy what I'm going to tell you."
Bobby leaned forward, elbows on the table, "What is it, Son?"
"I think it was the Yellow-Eyed Demon that killed Dad."
SPN
Sam dropped his duffel bag on the bed furthest from the door- a habit that was impossible to break, it seemed- and sat down. He had half been hoping that once he and Dean arrived at Bobby's that he'd begin feeling better. Sam's hopes were dashed, however.
Sighing, Sam stood and moved to stare out the window that offered a good view of the overgrown backyard. Bowing his head, Sam rested his brow against the cool glass of the window and closed his eyes.
He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to leave. But he didn't have much of a choice. He couldn't stand Dean's accusatory looks and tone. Dean didn't want him around; that was clear. Dean blamed him for their father's death.
Sam just felt cowardly. He was going to run away, just like he always did.
"I guess that's all I'm good for," he muttered, "Hurting people and then running away."
He had rarely felt so lost in his life.
Dean was the only family member he had left and he didn't want to leave him. Maybe… just maybe Dean would forgive him eventually.
Not likely, Sam thought, not with Dean's legendary ability to hold a grudge almost as long as Dad can- could- I'll be a senior citizen before he finally looks at me like his little brother again.
With that thought, Sam's lip trembled and tears welled up in his eyes. He didn't want Dean to hate him, not now; he wanted to be Dean's brother again. He needed his older sibling in this hour of loss.
But Sam was alone.
SPN
Bobby's eyebrows rose in shock and he gaped at Dean.
"Are you certain that's what happened?"
The young man nodded, "That bastard kind of… I don't know… possessed the Reaper I guess and forced her to bring me back."
"An' you think yer father had something to do with that?" Bobby continued.
"Yeah," Dean said, "I mean, I'm pretty sure. How else would I be standing here right now? I think Dad made a deal with that son of a bitch. I think Dad knew I wasn't going to make it and so he sold his soul for me."
The grizzled hunter shook his head and took his baseball cap off, scratching at his thinning reddish hair.
"Why would he do that?" Dean asked, "Dad has been hunting the Yellow-Eyed Demon for years and to just let that go… to give into that asshole now…"
Bobby sighed, "I ain't gonna act like I understand what was going on in yer Daddy's head. He told me a bit about that demon but not everything. Hunters never do."
Dean nodded. Not even Bobby told his story in full detail. All the young man knew was that Bobby's wife, Karen, had been possessed by a demon and had died shortly afterwards. The details of which were kept from him.
"It's clear that John did care about you," Bobby said, "A great, great deal to do something like that."
Dean bit his lip, his eyes suddenly pricking with tears.
"There was something he told me," Dean whispered hesitantly, "Before he died that… I think might also be part of the reason he did what he did."
Bobby waited patiently for the young man to continue.
"He said that if I couldn't save Sammy, that I'd… that I'd have to kill him."
Dean looked up and Bobby drew in a sharp breath, stunned.
"I don't know what it means for sure," Dean continued, "But I have a feeling it has to do with the demon."
That's just like Johnny Winchester, Bobby thought bitterly before he could stop himself, shirking his responsibly and laying it on his son's shoulders instead.
"Does that make any sense?" Dean asked, his tone desperate, "What am I supposed to save Sam from? And how can I kill him. He's my brother."
Bobby shook his head, "I don't know about that, son. But what I do know, is that yer Daddy was wrong to put that burden on you. That just ain't right."
Dean didn't look satisfied. He still needed some kind of answer.
"I guess only time will tell," he told the young man, "We'll have to keep our eyes and ears open."
Dean looked slightly better for Bobby's words, whatever event John's words had foretold, it could be weeks, months or even years in the future, "And make sure Sammy's safe."
"Right," Bobby agreed, "Keep yer brother safe."
Emptiness is filling me
To the point of agony
Dean ran a gentle hand over the Impala's crumpled hood.
"Oh Baby," he murmured to the classic Chevy, "Look at you."
Although his beloved car wasn't completely destroyed, the damage to the Impala made a lump form in his throat.
"Don't worry girl," he continued thickly, "I'll fix you up, good as new."
At least this was something he could fix. Sam had been quiet and sad since arriving at Bobby's and even though Dean himself wasn't in the best of moods either, he at least hadn't shut himself away in the guest bedroom all afternoon.
SPN
Bobby raised a hand and rapped his knuckles lightly against the door of the guest bedroom.
"Sam?" he called quietly in case the young man was resting, "Are you awake, Son?"
There was no answer from beyond the door. The veteran hunter waited for a minute before deciding to leave well enough alone and headed downstairs.
Deciding to check on the Sam's brother, Bobby peered out the kitchen window and saw Dean bending over the Chevy, examining her injuries.
Sighing, Bobby turned away and took a seat at the table.
What was he going to do with those boys?
SPN
Sam stared blankly at the wall across from his bed. He lay on his side on his bed, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs.
His stomach hurt.
He knew it wasn't anything he ate; he hadn't eaten anything since before his father's passing yesterday morning.
It was the guilt. That's what it was.
Sam closed his eyes and groaned miserably.
He wished the pain would go away.
Suddenly, Sam's eyes snapped open and he jumped from the bed. Placing a hand over his mouth, Sam gagged and ran to the door.
He bolted down the hallway and into the bathroom the guest and master bedrooms shared. Cracking his knees against the floor as he dropped in front of the toilet, Sam barely had time to open the lid before the meager contents of his stomach came back up.
"Sam?" a voice called from somewhere behind him but the young man barely heard it, the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears was too loud.
"Sam? Son, are you alright?" Bobby's voice asked and the younger man felt a calloused hand land on his shoulder.
Sam lifted his head and wiped a hand across his mouth. Bobby peered down at him with a worried expression on his weathered face.
"When was the last time you ate?" the veteran hunter asked.
Sam shrugged; he couldn't feel less like eating. His stomach felt as though it had just been turned inside out and the pulsing in his head was beginning to form a headache.
"C'mon," Bobby murmured, "I'll make you something."
Sam stood shakily, "You really don't have to do that-"
Bobby's grey eyes were sharp, "Humour me, would you?"
Sighing, Sam nodded and followed the grizzled hunter downstairs.
"Did you get any rest?" Bobby asked and Sam raised one shoulder in a noncommittal gesture.
"This feeling won't last forever, Son," the older man said seriously, "It gets better. Believe me."
Sam nodded and sat down at the kitchen table while Bobby pottered around.
"Where's Dean?" Sam asked hesitantly.
"Outside," Bobby answered, his back to Sam, "Working on that Impala."
Sam wrapped his arms around his middle as the pain in his abused stomach seemed to spread and become hotter, sharper, no longer the discomfort of a cramped muscle but a livid wound.
Growing darkness taking dawn
I was me, but now he's gone
Sam stared at the Impala surrounded by a halo of orange light of sunset.
He and Bobby were sitting on the porch steps while Dean worked on the car. He wanted to get it fixed as soon as possible, which meant working until nightfall, apparently.
"How you feeling?" Bobby asked Sam quietly and the younger man shrugged.
"Better," he lied.
Dean hadn't said anything to him- hadn't even looked at him- when he'd sat on the creaky porch steps with Bobby ten minutes earlier and that only made Sam feel worse.
"Another twenty minutes or so, Dean," Bobby called to the elder Winchester, "And you'll have to stop that."
Dean muttered something but Sam didn't hear what it was. He was probably saying that he'd grab a flashlight and work on his car in pitch black if he had to.
Sam sighed and his gaze slid away from his brother.
Dean would not even notice if he walked out.
'You can leave but you'll still feel this way,' the voice spoke up and Sam cringed.
'Sure, you won't have to face Dean but you'll still have to live with yourself,' the voice continued, 'And know that your father's dead- that your mother and girlfriend are dead- because of you.'
What do I do then? Sam wondered.
SPN
"Sam!" Dean snapped, finally gaining his sibling's attention. It was around nine at night- the world outside dark and mysterious- but Dean wasn't ready to turn in, as Sam seemed to be. So, instead of pulling on the jogging pants and t-shirt he always wore to bed, he attempted to get Sam to focus on him so he could talk to the younger man. A task which proved difficult.
His younger brother looked over at him but there was something wrong; Dean could see it in his brother's face, in his eyes.
"Hey, are you okay?" he asked, concernedly.
"Yeah," Sam muttered and Dean frowned.
"SAM!" he shouted and his brother jumped.
"I'm just tired, Dean," Sam replied, looking hurt and turned away from him.
The older brother opened his mouth to call his sibling's name again but decided against it. Maybe Sam was just tired, as he said. He, unlike Dean, didn't have a project to keep his mind occupied- off thoughts of their father.
"Okay," Dean said quietly, "Well, I'll be downstairs for a while."
Sam didn't reply.
Dean left the bedroom and headed down to the living room. He found Bobby sitting at his desk, lamp casting a warm yellow glow across the pages of an old book he was reading.
"Does Sam seem a bit weird to you?" Dean asked the grizzled hunter.
Bobby looked up, "Weird how?"
Dean shrugged, "He's acting like he's been drugged or something. Kind of distant."
"Grief affects everyone differently, Dean," the veteran hunter told him, "I'm sure that in a few days he'll snap out of it."
Dean nodded somewhat distractedly.
"He's just… not himself and its creeping me out…" he commented, "It's even worse than when his girlfriend died."
Bobby's lips pursed, "All I can suggest is try and talk to him. Let him know he's not going through this on his own."
Dean grimaced but nodded. Sam hadn't wanted to talk about Jessica's death when that had happened so he wasn't sure his brother would be too keen on discussing their father's passing with him either.
"Okay," Dean said aloud, "I will. Tomorrow. Right now I just want to chill and take in some mindless television."
He took a seat on the grizzled hunter's saggy brown couch and turned on the TV, finding an old action movie he'd seen a thousand times but watched because he didn't want to think about anything else that evening.
No one but me can save myself, but it's too late
Now I can't think, think why should I even try
Sam lay awake, agonizing over what he should do. Dean was in the bed next to his, fast asleep.
Can't I talk to him? Sam thought, he's Dean, my big brother.
I could always talk to Dean about anything.
But then Sam recalled Dean's accusing glare when he'd ran into their father's room at the hospital for the last time, imagined Dean rolling over and telling him to shut the fuck up and go back to sleep.
I have to leave. I will leave; Sam decided and sat up, grabbing his duffel bag from beside his bed.
He quietly crossed the bedroom, pausing when Dean grunted loudly and rolled over in his sleep to face the door. Sam held his breath and only let it out once Dean was snoring regularly again.
Sam stepped out into the hallway and headed towards the staircase.
Before he knew it, Sam was out the door and standing on Bobby's porch.
Where will I go? Sam thought.
His gaze swept over the Salvage Yard, landing on the Impala for a moment before continuing until Sam spied the rental car.
But he didn't have the key for it.
Thinking, Sam recalled that Bobby usually had a car in the garage. There might be a key there.
Slowly, Sam stepped down from the porch and crossed the driveway, looking over his shoulder as though Dean was about to appear in the doorway, asking him what he thought he was doing?
The garage door screeched when Sam pulled it open but no lights appeared in the house so he continued. Inside was a black 1978 TransAm. Sam closed the garage door and approached the car in the dark.
The door was open and he sat in the driver's seat while he searched for the keys, tossing his duffel onto the passenger's seat. He pulled down one of the shades and the keys fell onto his lap.
Sam started the ignition and the garage was flooded with light as the car's headlights and taillights came on.
The radio started up, blasting a song that Sam instantly recognized from his days at Stanford.
'Last Resort,' by Papa Roach was silenced quickly and Sam sat back, closing his eyes.
Even if I leave, drive across the country, I'll still feel like this, Sam realized.
It's me. It's not going to go away if I leave Dean. But I have to do something. I have to leave. I have to leave.
Sam opened his eyes and stared out the windshield of the TransAm for a long time.
This is best for everybody, Sam thought; I'll be protecting Dean.
Sam got out of the car and stared around the garage, searching. He thought he wouldn't find what he was looking for- and maybe that'd be a sign that he should give up- but then he saw it.
Sam didn't know what Bobby was using the black hose for but he knew what he'd use it for.
He was a failure at everything, he was dangerous but he could make up for that if he was gone.
Sam crouched down at the back of the old car and shoved one end of the hose into the exhaust pipe. Once that was finished, Sam stared at it for a moment, thinking.
This is the best way.
"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam whispered, "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry I wasn't a better brother."
Standing up and wiping a hand across his face- startled when his fingers came away wet- and closed the opposite end of the hose in the right-side door TransAm's backseat.
Walking around the car and opening the left door, Sam climbed into the back. Reaching between the two front seats, the young man pushed down the locking mechanisms on both windows before sitting back.
I can do this, I can. It'll be so easy. I'll just fall asleep.
Sam settled down on his back on the bench seat, his shoulders pressed against one door and his feet pressed against the other.
Sam closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally. Everything was going to be all right, he was going to make up for everything.
Yesterday seems as though it never existed
Death greets me warm, now I will just say goodbye
Dean opened his eyes and instantly knew something wasn't right.
Whether it was his 'big brother' senses tingling or the fact that he had grown accustomed to the sound of Sam's breathing, even while he himself was asleep, Dean knew his sibling wasn't in the room.
Probably went to the can, Dean thought and closed his eyes again.
But that niggling feeling refused to go away, and as the seconds passed, it became stronger and stronger.
Sighing in exasperation, Dean sat up and looked around the room.
The first thing he noticed was that Sam's duffel was gone. The second thing he noticed was a faint rumbling sound.
What the hell was that?
Dean got up and stepped out into the hall. That rumble seemed so familiar but the eldest Winchester could not put his finger on what it was exactly.
Peering down the hall, Dean saw that the bathroom was dark. So Sam wasn't relieving himself after all.
I think that's coming from outside, Dean thought made his way down the stairs.
Heart beginning to pound, Dean headed towards the front door and peered outside.
At first he didn't see anything but then he noticed light was shining against some of the junk cars in the yard- a light that was coming from the direction of Bobby's garage.
"Sam?" Dean called and ran outside, ran towards the light, "Sammy!"
Gravel and bits of metal cut into Dean's bare feet but he barely noticed as he crossed the driveway and shoved open the squeaky metal doors of the garage.
"SAM!"
The car inside was running but there appeared to be no one inside. Where was Sam?
"Sammy!" Dean called and his eyes widened in horror as he caught sight of his brother's shaggy chestnut hair pressed against the back window.
"Shit!" Dean swore and rushed to the car. He grabbed the handle but it didn't budge an inch when he tried to pull the door open.
"Sam! Sammy!" Dean cried and glanced around, for something to help him open the door.
Dean hurried to the workbench and grabbed a wrench, his gaze taking in the black hose running from the exhaust pipe to one of the TransAm's doors, and smashed the window Sam's feet were resting against.
Ignoring the glass, Dean reached in and unlocked the door, calling his brother's name as he did so.
"Sam! Sammy! Sam!" Dean climbed into the backseat and shook his sibling's shoulders.
There was no response. In the glow of the overhead light from the car, Dean noticed Sam's skin was very pale, almost grey, and his lips were tinged blue.
"No," Dean growled, "No you don't. C'mon! C'mon Sam!"
Dean grabbed Sam's head, fingers tangling in his hair and pressed his brother's face against his chest.
"Sammy," Dean murmured desperately, "C'mon man, wake up. Wake up!"
I need to get him out of here, Dean thought and began backing out of the car, dragging Sam along with him.
"C'mon Sammy," Dean muttered, even though his brother didn't hear him, "C'mon. It'll be okay, I'm gonna look after you."
Once Dean was out of the TransAm again and Sam was half-out, his lower half sagging against the edge of the seat, the older brother grabbed the younger beneath his shoulders and began dragging him out of the garage.
"Bobby! BOBBY!" Dean called as he stepped quickly out into the driveway, tears streaking down his face.
"Bobby!" Dean cried, his voice cracking because oh god oh god he was supposed to keep sammy safe and sammy wasn't safe sammy had tried to kill himself he might already be dead oh god where was bobby.
"BOBBY!"
W
Dean sat in the uncomfortable brown plastic waiting room chair, hands clasped between his knees, heart heavy.
He had managed to make enough noise to rouse the grizzled hunter and Bobby looked as though he was going to faint at the sight that greeted him when he stepped out onto his front porch.
Barely pausing to throw on his shoes, Bobby had grabbed the keys to one of his cars and made a beeline to Sioux Falls General with the Winchester brothers.
Dean had been forced to say that his brother had tried to kill himself- how else would he explain the carbon monoxide poisoning, especially when neither he nor Bobby displayed symptoms? No, it couldn't have been a household accident.
Dean didn't know what the doctors were going to do with Sam but Bobby had told him they'd probably put him on a 24-hour watch, maybe get someone to come in and talk to the younger Winchester.
Dean didn't like the idea of some mental health doctor coming in to talk to his brother- he could talk to Sam himself- because it made him nervous.
"What if they think Sam's crazy or something?" Dean had asked Bobby because he was the only person he could ask.
"I'm sure everything will be alright," Bobby told him but he looked as anxious as Dean did.
W
"Family of Samuel Winchester?" a tiny, red-haired nurse called and Dean stood up instantly.
"Is he okay?" the older brother asked because he'd been given no news of Sam for hours, not sure if he'd managed to get to his sibling in time.
The small nurse nodded, lips a thin, grim line. She told him that Sam was on a twenty-four hour watch- which was protocol for these situations- and that a counselor was going to come in to talk to him later that day, just as Bobby had said.
"Can we see him?" Dean asked hesitantly because maybe they didn't want family members seeing suicidal patients so soon.
The nurse nodded, "Come this way."
Bobby reached out and squeezed Dean's shoulder as they followed the nurse.
W
Sam's room was on the ground floor of the hospital. Dean wondered if that had something to do with the fact that his brother had tried to kill himself but he didn't ask.
The nurse showed them the room and Dean peered inside.
Sam didn't look like Dean expected he would. Dean didn't know what he expected Sam to look like. What Sam looked like was tired, exhausted really, and sad.
"Sammy?" Dean said and his brother looked up, eyes widening.
"Dean, I'm-" Sam was interrupted when Dean raised a hand.
Dean stepped into the room but said nothing for a long minute.
He knew Bobby had been beside him in the hallway but now he was alone. The older man was giving the brothers some privacy. Bless him.
"Sammy," Dean said and sat down on the chair reserved for visitors.
Sam had an IV line running to a needle inserted into the inside of his elbow, giving him fluids and a white, laminated bracelet. He was wearing a blue hospital gown.
"Sam…" Dean began but paused, "I just… I want… Why? Why did you do it? What were you thinking?"
Sam lowered his head, shamed.
"No," Dean said, "No, Sammy, look at me."
Sam raised his chin, his eyes swimming.
"Dean… I…" Sam began but then he became choked up.
Dean's hands clenched into fists and he resisted the urge to grab his brother and shake him. Sam was not going to give him the 'puppy eyes' and weasel out of this one. No fucking way.
Dean peered over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps approaching the room and saw a short-squat man in a white lab coat in the doorway.
"Are you Sam's doctor?" he asked and the man nodded, "I am. Dr. Schmitt."
Dean stood and peered at his sibling, "We'll talk later."
He left the room really feeling no better than he had upon entering it.
SPN
Sam refused to meet the counselor's eyes. He fiddled with the edge of the hospital blanket and felt extremely vulnerable.
"Sam," the woman said in a gentle tone, "I'm not here to judge you. I just want to know why you felt as though killing yourself was something you needed to do."
Sam shrugged. He didn't think he'd be able to explain the way he was feeling- the great empty maw in his center was still there- to anyone, even a doctor.
"Has something happened recently in your life? Something negative?" the woman pressed.
Sam still refused to speak.
"Sam," the counselor said, "I'm here to help you."
"No one can help me," he whispered.
SPN
"Can we take Sam home soon or does he have to stay here?" Dean asked Dr. Schmitt nervously.
The doctor frowned, "He completely ignored the counselor I sent and I'm thinking that he'll have to take a-"
Before the man could continue, Dean spoke, "What if I get him to talk? About everything. If I do that can Sam come home with me?"
Dr. Schmitt rubbed his chin, thinking, "Well, it's rather unorthodox… but I want what's best for all my patients, your brother included. Tell you what, if you can get Sam to agree to speak with the counselor, I'll write off his previous behaviour, give him a clean slate, as it were."
Dean blinked, shocked.
"Really?" he asked and the doctor nodded.
"Yes," Dr. Schmitt assured him.
Dean couldn't help but smile despite the circumstances.
W
This time Bobby accompanied Dean to Sam's room.
Dean sat again in the visitor's chair and the grizzled hunter stood beside him, trying not to loom over the youngest Winchester.
"Sammy," Dean began quietly, "Just tell me, man."
Sam didn't want to look at Dean, that much was clear, but something drew the younger sibling's eyes towards his brother's face.
"I'm sorry, Dean," he apologized, his voice barely audible, "I'm sorry about Dad."
"Yeah, me too," Dean agreed.
Sam continued to stare at him for a long moment.
"I should have stayed with him," he said, "I should have been there with him before he…"
Dean felt tears pricking at his eyes but he quickly blinked them away.
"You didn't know," Dean told him, "You didn't know that was going to happen."
"Neither did the doctors, Dean," Sam replied, "They said he was getting better."
Dean frowned; now was not the time to reveal the real reason for their father's death.
"It's my fault," Sam lamented, "It's always been my fault."
Dean's frown deepened and turned to one of confusion.
"What do you mean, Son?" Bobby asked from beside Dean.
"Jessica… and Dad… and Mom… I killed them all," Sam whispered, "It's me. Everyone around me dies."
"No," Dean reached forward and touched Sam's hand but his brother drew away, "That wasn't your fault. Not any of it. Is that… Is that what's been bothering you? You thought it was your fault Dad died?"
Sam nodded, "I was too concerned about you and I didn't… I didn't even get to say goodbye!"
Dean reached forward again wrapped his arms around his brother's shoulders, this time Sam didn't draw away.
"I th-thought you h-hated me," Sam confessed, his voice muffled, "That you bl-blamed me for D-Dad."
Dean's only reply was to squeeze his brother even harder.
"I just… I feel so b-bad… and I d-don't know how to m-make it stop."
"It'll be okay, Sammy," Dean told him, "It will."
Sam shook his head, "I d-don't want to lose you, Dean."
"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy," Dean assured his brother, "I'm staying right here. With you. Always."
SPN
Sam took a sip of his Coca-Cola as he watched Dean work on repairing the Impala.
His older brother turned and looked at him.
"You want to help?"
Sam hesitated for a moment before standing, "Sure? What can I do?"
Dean grinned and held out a socket wrench, "C'mere, let me show you."
Author's Note:
Thanks to all my fantastic readers! I hope you enjoyed this story!
Please take a moment and leave a review, ladies and gents.
