Sorry this one's a bit late, but happy Thursday!


"Alright, so aside from this Lorna girl's phone number, did you actually manage to dig up any information we can actually use?" I ask Dean as we make our way back into our motel room, Chinese takeout in hand. I sit at the table by the window and start to dig in. It's been a long day, but we're still not moving as quickly as I'd like. Dean promised we'd be in and out, but we haven't gone out to shoot anything yet. I've never minded research, but if nothing's dead, we can't leave. And if we can't leave, we can't figure out how to undo Dean's deal. I called Bobby earlier in the day, on my way to the library. That number. Thirteen. It just kept jumping around inside my head, and I needed to feel like I was doing something about it. So I called Bobby and I asked if he could get a head start on research before we got there. I'd been met with an indignant huff followed by one of the angriest retorts I've ever received. It was something along the lines of:

"If you think for one second that I haven't been working my ass off this entire goddamn year to try and save your brother, then you've got no idea what the hell I'm about. Couple days head start? Couple days head start? Boy, I've got over three hundred of 'em. Solve your goddamn case and get your nimrod of a brother over here so we can sort this shit out once and for all."

He'd hung up after that.

"Actually, yeah," Dean replies, hauling me back to the current conversation. He kicks off his boots, settles onto his bed, and begins picking at his chow mein. No doubt he'd find noodles buried somewhere in those sheets tomorrow. "Lorna wasn't very helpful when it comes to our case, I'll give you that, but I checked a few more names off the list. Another guy…what was his name? Bradley…Forrester or something?" he pauses for a second, contemplatively shoving more noodles into his mouth before continuing. "Anyway, Brad or Brett or whatever his name is said his brother complained about this really awful screaming a few weeks before he disappeared. Like he'd hear it every night; the same bloodcurdling scream. Woke him up, left him paranoid and agitated all day."

"Huh," I mumble around a mouthful of teriyaki chicken. It's a little dry. "Any other victims hear this screaming?"

"Yup," Dean confirms. "A few other family members I talked to said their brother or daughter or son or whoever it was complained about this really loud screaming right before they died."

I nod thoughtfully, pulling out my laptop and firing it up. Dean seems content with his food, so we let the conversation die out as we finish our meal, me multi-tasking with more research. After a while, I've managed to scrounge up a few more possibilities, and I share them with my brother.

"Okay really Sam, a screaming skull? Those don't actually exist," Dean snorts, a slew of takeout boxes (and yes, I can see a few stray noodles peeking out from the sheets, even from here) now adorning his bed. "Plus, they don't kill people. They just scare the hell out of them if they get moved from their original spot. And not every house would have a freakin' skull…"

"Dean that was just one possibility, okay? I'm just throwing things out there," I cut in, not willing to hear an extensive rant about an apparently nonexistent supernatural creature. Time. We're just wasting so much time.


ooooooooooooooooo00000000O000000000ooooooooooooooooooo


And another day later, after a visit with the coroner and a few more interviews with family members of the victims, we're still just spinning our wheels. The only positive is that there haven't been any more deaths.

"Well Echoes are out," I say, hunkered down at my laptop once again, this time with the discarded wrappings of a cheeseburger sitting next to me. Not my first choice of a meal, but small towns equal limited options. "The screaming part is possible, but they don't kill people either." I scrunch up my napkin and sink it into the garbage can about fifteen feet away. Dean raises an eyebrow, impressed. "Wendigos are known to impersonate human screams, but these people didn't disappear in the middle of the woods. So right now, my best guesses are a mare or a banshee."

"Thought banshees didn't kill people either though," Dean challenged. "They just tell you when someone's gonna die. A mare though…remind me what those are? They're literally called 'nightmares,' aren't they?"

"Yeah exactly. Mares…or nightmares," I say, reading directly from the site I'd found on them, "are described as an evil spirit or goblin that sits on people's chests while they sleep and brings on bad dreams. So the screaming could just be part of those dreams I guess? Says here if you wake up while the mare is still there, you're a goner."

"Nah, see that doesn't add up either," Dean replies, tossing his own empty wrapper and missing the garbage can by a couple inches. He scowls and makes his way over to stand behind me so he can see the screen.

"Why not?"

"Because these people didn't disappear from their beds. They're all just going about their business when they get snatched."

"So a blackdog then? They do look like animal attacks."

"Doesn't explain the screaming," Dean counters.

"Shit," I say, slamming the screen of my laptop down. "So we've still got nothing."

Dean rubs a hand over his forehead and yawns. "Yeah well, guess we can pick it up again tomorrow."

I let out a frustrated exhale. This is exactly what I didn't want. A seemingly simple hunt has turned into a complete mystery. And mysteries take time. Time we don't have. "Dean, I don't think…"

"What, Sam?" Dean snaps suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. He begins pacing in front of his bed, wearing a hole into the already hideous carpet. "You wanna just walk away while people are still dying? We don't do that. We never do that. I mean, what would Dad say?"

"I don't care what Dad would say, Dean!" I bellow, my dwindling patience gone. I get up from the table and step in front of my brother, halting his pacing. He rolls his neck out and glares at me. I rarely use our height difference to my advantage, but now I straighten up as much as I can, forcing him to really crane his neck if he wants to look me square in the eye. He takes a small step back and proceeds to burn a hole into his crumpled cheeseburger wrapper on the floor instead.

"You said this would be easy, Dean. You said a couple days tops and then we'd be back at Bobby's trying to find a way to save you from this deal. We can't waste anymore of those days here. Let's just call another hunter and have him come take care of it. We've got other things to worry about right now."

Dean's already shaking his head before I've fully finished speaking, his tongue pushed up against the back of his teeth. "Come on, Sam. It's been two fucking days. Two. We still got eleven left. That's…"

"That's not plenty of time!" I'm really yelling now, my voice carrying enough to bounce off of the walls that surround us, reinforcing their impact. "God, why don't you give a shit, Dean? I thought we got over the whole 'I'm not afraid to die' facade. Why can't you just let me help you, let me save you?

The room is silent for a moment. I watch as Dean finally rips his eyes away from the wrapper to look at me, his forehead scrunched in something past agitation. "Because." It comes out as a half-whisper.

"Because why?" I echo his softened tone.

Dean swallows. "Because…because if you can't, then maybe you won't blame yourself so much. Maybe you'll move on."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I ask, trying to read his expression. And again, I can't do it. I can't see him the way he sees me. All I can see is pain, like he's holding back some terrible secret, some monstrous confession. He huffs out a ragged breath, smiling at me.

"Sammy what I'm saying is that I don't believe there's a way out for me anymore. I've pretty much accepted that by now. So I just wanted to save a few more people before I go, and I figured maybe if we just stayed busy…if we just kept moving, you'd forget about it a little bit. Just a little bit. And you'd be able to just be here with me, for this one last year. And then when it was over, you'd be okay. Because this year wouldn't've been about trying to save me and then not being able to. It would've been about hunting. It would've just been about us, you know? And then when it was over, it would just be…over."

Dean stops talking, but he keeps his eyes locked with mine. They are filled with a plea I cannot accept, cannot even begin to contemplate.

"So you're just what…you're just giving up?"

"No that's not…" Dean runs a hand down over his eyes, finally breaking contact. "I'm just saying maybe it's time we accept what we can't change. I don't regret it Sam, not for a second, and I don't want you to spend the rest of your life regretting it either. Thinking maybe it could've gone differently. Because it couldn't have. Because no matter how you slice it, I would've made that deal. And we'd be standing right here. And I'd be…I'd be asking you not to waste the years you have. I'd be asking you to try to forget about me. Just enough to have a life. A real life."

I can't look at him. I can't reply. I can't understand how he doesn't see what he's done to us, to me. The one person he wanted to protect, and he's broken me beyond repair. With his deal, and now with his words. There are tears burning behind my eyelids, a heat I can't escape. I grab my jacket and the Impala's keys. I hear him call after me, long strides to try and reach me. I'm taller. I'm faster.

I slam the door on the way out.


Please leave your thoughts if you have time and thanks for reading!