I had always meant to get away from hunting.
That had been the whole point of going to law school.
To get away from dad.
From life on the road.
From the constant evil and death that surrounded me...
Not that evil and death EVER stopped surrounding me.
I just hadn't taken the time to notice.
I had been able to push it to the side and focus on being a normal college student. Working a normal job.
Living in a normal apartment.
Living contentedly with my normal girlfriend.

_

I roared down the road with one hand gripping the Impala's vinyl steering wheel. I clung to it as if it were a life force, keeping me safe and steady in this world. Away from the world of my dreams. The world where I was forced to face my brother. The brother I had tried so hard to save. Tried so hard to trade places with...

I gritted my teeth and glared out the windshield, letting my gaze wander to the left. I counted the white dashes on the asphalt as they flew by one, two, three..., trying to calm myself. Bring myself back to reality. I felt calm when focusing on something so simple.

But the calm only lasted so long. Because as I watched and counted the lines on the road, my mind began to wander to other things. I began to think of how much closer I was getting Palo Alto. To Stanford. To where Jessica used to be. And the anxiety washed over me in a large, heavy wave, accompanied by a deep ache somewhere in my heart. And a small whisper somewhere in my head.

She's gone, Sam. And it's all your fault. You couldn't have done anything for Dean. But Jessica... You knew, Sam. You knew all about it and said nothing.

I felt tears spring to my eyes and I shook my head, trying to will the thoughts away.

You dreamt all about it, Sam. You saw her. You knew. Was it that important to be normal, Sam? The voice persisted, and I was sure I recognized the voice that was speaking. Suddenly, I was overcome with the urge to run. To get away from whatever, whoever was saying these horrible things.

Look at you. On some crazy goody-goody crusade. Going back to Stanford. Making a martyr out of yourself. It's cute, Sam. Real cute. But it's pointless. You know as well as I do that there's not a speck of natural good in your body. You're pure evil. Just like I wanted you to be. In my mind, an image of a pair of large, yellow eyes appeared. The pupils stood out, round and bulging from the brilliant golden centers. Full of hate and malice. I knew those eyes. As the picture intensified, I felt my head begin to ache as if it were burning from the inside. The voice began to laugh, as if it took pleasure from my pain.

"No!" I yelled into the air, tossing my head back violently to try to clear away the image.

That isn't me. You don't know me. I pushed the accelerator to the floor in rage and pain, wanting so badly to escape. The '67 Chevy responded with a roar. It jumped forward, moving faster and faster. For about a mile the car careened down the straight stretch of interstate, the voice laughing away at me the entire time, filling my aching head with its thunderous noise.

And then, as quickly as it had started, the voice dissipated. It was as if a fan had been turned on in a fog filled room. My head was clear and it no longer ached. My foot released its pressure on the accelerator, and the Impala whined disapprovingly as it slowed down. I looked down and discovered that both hands cluing to the steering wheel for dear life. My knuckles were pure white and as I released my left hand and brought it into my lap, I could see light purple bruises forming in the shape of the bumpy grips.

I pulled over to the right and cut the engine, sitting for a moment. As the reality of what had just happened began to sink in, my body began to tremor. My hands shook in my lap and my knees began to bounce up and down. I even felt the corners of my mouth quiver, as if I was going to cry.

But it wasn't sadness I felt. It was disappointment with myself, for letting that happen. And anger at him, for having the nerve to say all those things to me. I balled my bruised palms into fists. Azazel, you bastard.

I kicked the driver's side door with my left foot. Then, reaching across myself, I yanked on the door handle. The door hinges whined at being mistreated as I threw my full weight against the door, throwing it open. I stepped out and glared down at the road-side gravel beneath my boots. I spread my arms wide, in a taunting gesture.

"I'm here, damn it! Right here. You want me? You can have me. Just bring them back! Bring them all back!"

I stood there, staring at the ground for what felt like hours. When no one answered me, I stomped down hard with my left foot, feeling the tears return to sting my eyes. Bastard demon! I spat on the dirt at my feet before leaning against the Impala and sliding down it's siding, my legs bending and letting me come to rest on the ground.

"You wanted me, why didn't you take me!" I screamed hoarsely from the ground. "Why her? She never did anything to you!"

I let my head fall limply forward and stared at my outstretched legs blankly. My mind traveling back to that night years ago.

Three years ago...

_

Dean had found me. I couldn't believe that he had. Not back then, at least. Looking back now, it's not much of a surprise. We were trained to hunt monsters for a living. A human would have been so much easier.

I hadn't been happy to see him. In fact, I had just wanted him to go away.

But he had dragged me away. To help him find dad.

The whole time we were searching, I had nothing but nightmares. Nightmares about Jessica. Her death. No. Her murder. Every night for a week I saw her lifeless form as soon as I closed my eyes. Suspended from the ceiling of or bedroom, blood dripping from a gaping wound in her stomach. And every night for a week I called out to her; tried to stop it. And every night for a week she burst into flames as soon as I did anything.

And for a week, I didn't say anything to Dean.

Or to Jessica.

I didn't think it meant anything. I didn't want it to mean anything.

So I ignored it.

I called Jess daily and she always sounded so bright and cheery. Like she always was. I didn't see any reason to alarm her, especially if it all meant nothing. If it was all just some elaborate, cruel Freudian slip of my subconscious mind.

But when my fruitless week with Dean was up and I returned home, the joke was clearly on me.

I had thought Jess was just in the shower. So I had wandered into our bedroom and plopped down on the bed, closing my eyes and settling in to wait for her in the peace of our room.

And then I had felt it.

Something drip onto my face from the ceiling.

And I had looked up into Jessica's terror filled eyes. She was suspended just as she had been in my dreams. With a real wound. Dripping real blood.

And as I cried out in horror, the ceiling of our room burst into flames, engulfing Jessica's delicate, pale body and scorching her blonde hair to embers.

I probably would have stayed there and burned with her, had Dean not been waiting outside (for some reason still unknown to me).

So I returned to the life of a hunter, determined to catch Jess' murderer.

_

Sometime after that, I had learned that the yellow-eyed demon Azazel had killed her.
He was the same demon that had killed my mother.
The same demon who had selected myself and other children at birth for his evil purpose. The same demon who's unholy blood coursed through my veins.

But we had killed him, Dean and I...

_

How is he still doing this? I wondered, climbing back into the driver's seat, my mind clear now.

I slammed the door shut and turned the keys in the ignition. Listened to the engine hum for a moment before pulling back out onto the interstate and continuing on my way to Stanford.

"I don't care how he's doing it." I decided out loud, rolling down the window so I could hear the wind rush by. "I'm not going to let him take any more of me."

I'm going to do what's right. I'm going to go on saving people.

Because that is who I am.

I focused on the horizon as the state line came into view.

NOW LEAVING NEVADA
_

NOW ENTERING CALIFORNIA
WELCOME TO THE SUNSHINE STATE