I'm sorry for this chapter's tardiness. I had a severe case of writer's block, but I am sure I have broken free. So here's hoping I get chapters out faster from here on out.

Thanks to all the people reading this and let me know what you think. So, catch you in chapter three and PEACE…

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Contrary to Sam's worries, Dean did not crash the car. He did, however, go twenty above the speed limit. It helped keep his mind off of things he would rather not dwell on. It was bad enough his subconscious kept taking him back to that day, back to his confession, back to the fact that he did not tell Sam everything, back…

Knock it off, he snapped at his overworked brain. His knuckles stuck out and turned white as his hands tightened on the steering wheel. He just had to keep driving, keep his mind on the task at hand, not think about anything. He pressed his foot to the floor, the Impala's speedometer creeping a few more notches above the average fifty-five.

"Humph," Sam said causing Dean to throw him a quick glance.

"Humph? Humph what?" What's so interesting?" The phrase 'Humph' was never reassuring in their line of work. It could mean a ton of things: 'Humph someone left a package on the front porch,' or 'Humph, there's a giant demon sitting behind you. Maybe it wants to kill you. 'Humph' was a tricky word: a tricky, evil word.

"This wasn't the first time this thing struck," the youngest Winchester responded scanning his computer. "Every few months, in a new state, a few dozen people will end up dead. All with questionable pasts, you know criminal types, and all the same way. No identifiable marks, no reason to be dead."

"When did these killings all start?"

"Um… I can't be sure of the exact date, but it was sometime in the early fall…"

"Let me guess, early September?" Dean asked keeping his eyes locked on the road.

"Mid-way… Oh. Dean, I doubt it has anything to do…"

"Let's just drop it," Dean replied wishing for once that his car went faster. Sam sighed, but let it go. Instead his eyes locked on the speedometer, and he made a sound that was a cross between clearing his throat and scoffing.

"Going a little fast aren't you?" he asked trying and failing to sound nonchalant. Instead of replying, Dean continued to drive.

Sam had told him it would be a day and a half drive, but Dean managed to make it in half a day. Driving fast had its perks, also its consequences, but Dean had come accustomed to driving fast and knew when to avoid a cop. This time was no different.

He pulled up to, yet, another motel. A gypsy lifestyle was something he had grown accustomed to, but it could also grow tiring. Sometimes he wished for a normal life, a life without angels and demons, death… just normalcy. Too bad it's too late for that, he thought bitterly throwing his door open. He didn't bother waking Sam, who had fallen asleep at their last stop, instead gently closing the door and heading toward the office.

A woman was exiting, holding the door open for him. She flashed him a small smile when he thanked her, her bluish-gray eyes sweeping him up and down. He thought she looked familiar, really familiar, but he couldn't place a name to her face. He did take in her pale features, brown hair, and dark, stormy colored eyes before the door closed separating her from him. Shaking his head, remembering the fact that everyone had a twin and that girl could just look like someone he hooked up with, he headed toward the desk.

It took him ten minutes for him to get registered for the night, the night manager having to mess with his computer several times. The guy mentioned something about having 'bugs' in the system from the day manager and his obsession with 'adult entertainment.' Dean knew what an excessive amount of downloaded porn could do to a computer, after hearing Sam bitch about it for several hours, and used to always found it kind of funny. Now, it was just plain annoying.

"Here you go," the manager finally said handing Dean a set of keys and his credit card back. "Sorry about that. I'd fire him, but he's my brother and our mother owns this place. It sucks sometimes, working with my sibling."

"I know what you mean," Dean replied before leaving the office, the door closing behind him. He headed back to the Impala finding Sam still asleep, his face smashed against the window, breath fogging the glass. It was kind of funny, giving Dean an idea.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, not even sure he last did this, and snapped a picture of the scene. It had just become his new background. He stashed his phone in his pocket, heading toward his door, but froze when he felt someone watching him. He turned, his eyes catching another pair staring at him from behind a curtain of a nearby room. The blue-gray orbs were gone the moment they were caught, replaced by tan fabric.

As weird as it was, Dean let it go. He had seen weirder things in his life and really didn't need to add another. Instead he slid behind the wheel of his car, moving it closer to their room. As he turned the motor off, nudging his brother awake, he couldn't help but think, here comes another sleepless night. And it would be. Every night he would awake from dreams of torturing souls, dreams worse than the ones where he, himself, was tortured, feeling a momentary joyous swoop before guilty waves crashed down on him. He hated them, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

Yes, he could tell Sam, but his brother already looked at him different after he admitted he tortured souls. How would Sam look at him if he knew that he enjoyed it? Actually had a sick, pleasure run through him every time he made someone new scream. "Do you hear the screams, Dean. Aren't they like music to your ears…"

"Dean," a voice said, snapping him back to reality. He glanced over at his brother, trying to shake the chills that one quote sent down his spine. "Would you like me to get the bags?" Sam was giving him a worried look, one Dean knew he didn't deserve.

"No, I'll get them," he said quickly, pulling the keys from the ignition and opening his door. He headed toward the back of the car, suppressing any other memories that may attempt to rear their ugly heads.

"Can I have the room key?" Sam asked, closing his door gently. Dean tossed him the key without looking at him, opening the trunk to separate himself from his brother's face. He could sense Sam looking at him, despite the metal barricade, before he turned and headed toward the room. I can handle this, he told himself, anger with himself for allowing the memories to float to the surface. He couldn't let it do it again, and he wouldn't.

Once composed, he collected the bags and slammed the trunk. He headed toward the room, once again aware of someone watching him. This time he didn't look for the familiar gray-blue eyes, just ignored them and closed the motel door behind him. he'd deal with his apparent creepy stalker in the morning…