Hey guys! Sorry for the late chapter! Please tell me what you think of this chapter in the reviews! I love hearing from you guys. A special thanks to my awesome beta-reader and co-author Phoenixofthelostandforgotten. She puts up with a lot of shizz from me, and deserves the best. Thanks for reading.

Lots o' Love

~Miss Vannix

Chapter 5:

I was curled up on the back seat of the Impala when my phone vibrated once in my pocket, letting me know that I had a notification. I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at the lock screen with a little smile. It was the day Ingrid and I found out we'd passed the finals, and we'd gone out drinking. Huge smiles had graced our faces, happiness floating in our eyes. It was before she'd gotten sick, before I'd made the deal. I opened the phone and saw that I had a missed call and a voicemail. Both from Ingrid. I dismissed the call and opened the voicemail, pressing the phone to my ear. Ingrid's sweet voice greeted me.

Hey, 're not answering again, so I'll just tell you what the doc told me. I had one last check up which I told you about in the last voicemail. I'm in the clear, Jay. It's gone! I wished you were here to celebrate with me, but it's okay. Truly. I know you had to look for your brothers even if you wouldn't tell me why, but I really hope you will call me back. You can come to me for anything, remember that, Jay. I love you, bye.

The message clicked off, and I choked back tears. Led Zeppelin blared from the Impala's speakers, covering up any sound I'd made. I'd told Ingrid that I was going searching for my brothers, and if she didn't hear from me, that I was okay and not to worry about me. In the beginning, she left me alone, for a few weeks, but when she called and I didn't answer, and then she called again and I still didn't answer, she called more. It finally got to the point that I just turned my phone off and tried to forget about the calls in general. I had to remind myself of why I was doing this, not talking to my best friend, and causing her to worry about me.

I reached down into the floorboard and shoved my phone into my duffel laying on the ground, then grabbed the pillow right next to it. After placing the pillow against the door, I plopped my head against it and closed my eyes, hoping to clear my mind. I slowly opened my eyes when the music was turned down and Dean's voice could be heard.

"How much farther, Sammy?"

"Uh… about another fifty miles or so," Sam replied, refolding the map back to its regular rectangular shape.

"Good, cause I'm getting hungry. What about you, Jack? Hungry?" Dean called back at me.

I sat up in the seat and rolled the kinks out of my shoulders, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. "I could eat."

Dean smiled back in the mirror at me, again turning the music up.

It was a little over forty-five minutes later when the sign declaring we'd entered Thornton came into view, population 127,359. Dean stopped at the first restaurant we came across, which just happened to be an Arby's. After ordering the food and paying for it, Dean began to look for a motel we could check into. We'd been on the road for a little over nine hours now, and he'd driven it straight through with just a few stops every now and then, one when he had to use the bathroom, and another when we had to eat. Dean rolled through the quiet, darkened streets of Thornton, the music turned down to a slight murmur in the background, headlights on dim. He drove around for another ten minutes before he stopped and flicked on his turning signal.

It had to be the seediest motel in Thornton, with a blinking sign that read vacancy, though only the last three letters of the word were lit up. It looked like it hadn't been repainted in decades. Dean turned into the cracked and pot hole-ridden parking lot, jumping out of the car, and running inside, only to come out a few minutes later, holding two keys in his hand.

"Last room on the first floor. Two queens and a cot." He gave a smile, his teeth a flash of white in the dark.

He then pulled the Impala into a parking stall and shut the engine off. I got out into the chilly night air and stretched, groaning as my joints popped. I grabbed my duffel off of the floorboard and grabbed my back-pack out of the trunk. I followed after Dean and Sam, walking into the motel. My eyes quickly took in the reception area. Just a rack of magazines that were at least forty years old, a simple desk that was covered in papers, and a greasy man who stood behind it. A sickening smile came to his face as his eyes raked over my body, taking in my yoga pants, oversized t-shirt, Carhartt coat, and simple tennis shoes. His smile made me sick, and his roaming eyes made me feel dirty. I didn't notice that Dean had stopped to wait for me until I bumped into him, forcing me to rip my eyes away from the dirty clerk.

He gently pushed me a few steps in front of him, his eyes still on the clerk, who now noticed that Dean was glaring at him.

"You come near our room, and I'll shoot you. You come near my sister, and you'll wish you hadn't. Got it?"

The clerk gave a jerky nod, and I couldn't help but smile. I looked back at Dean who glared at the dirty man-literally and figuratively-until he flinched and looked away.

"Thanks, Dean," I whispered as we followed after Sam in the quiet hallway.

"It was nothing." He shrugged it off and walked into the open door of our hotel room.

I followed in after him and did a double take. The hotel room looked like the seventies had puked and no one had cleaned it up. A stained shag rug lay on the floor, an orange table and chairs set up in the corner. In front of the window, the pleather covering was cracked, showing the yellow foam inside that was slowly pushing its way to freedom. The cot was folded up in front of the TV (which had rabbit ears and probably no color), and what I hoped was a clean blanket folded on top of it. Two queen beds were pushed up against the wall across from the TV, a rickety nightstand placed between them. The comforters were an off white color, but looked mostly clean. Sam dropped his duffel down on the bed farthest from the door.

"You can have first shower, Jack. I'm going to move the cot beside Sam's bed, and we'll get started on researching in the morning," Dean said as he closed and locked the door, throwing his duffel on the other queen.

I nodded my thanks and headed for the bathroom.

…

It was around three in the morning when the first grunt and gasp woke me up. I groggily looked up, shoving dark curls out of my eyes. When it didn't happen again, I put my head back against the pillow, snuggling into the warmth of the bed. Another groan made my eyes shoot open. That was definitely not something I was imagining. I freed myself from the covers and pressed my toes into the shag carpet. I let my eyes adjust to the darkness engulfing the room, and stood, rubbing my bare arms against the chill. I looked for the source of the sounds. I first looked to Sam's bed. He slept peacefully on his back, his left arm hanging off of the bed.

Then I looked to the bed Dean was sleeping in. The blankets were twisted around his thrashing body, another gasp escaping his lips. His face was covered in a sheet of sweat, a terrified look gracing his features. It clicked in my head then. He was having a nightmare. I shuffled over to the bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I gently sat down on the edge of the bed, and laid a hand on his arm, feeling the clammy skin there.

"Dean, c'mon. Wake up, you're having a nightmare," I murmured in the darkness, shaking his arm gently.

He jumped slightly and his arm flew up. I barely had enough time to block the knife clutched tightly in his hand. I held his wrist firmly, my breathing fast as his eyes snapped open, the scared green orbs locking on my face.

"Jack?" His voice was hoarse, confusion making his brow furrow.

"Yeah, you were having a nightmare," I whispered as I pried the knife out of his hand and set it on the nightstand.

I placed his hand gently on the bed and gave it a soothing pat as he stared at me. "It's okay, you don't have to talk about it. I get it."

I started to stand, but a hand wrapping around my wrist made me stop and look down. Dean's eyes were wide with barely suppressed panic, and fingers were clutching my wrist, fingertips nearly white from holding on too tightly. He seemed to realize what he'd done, and quickly let go. He cleared his throat.

"You wanna watch some TV?" He looked away, the muscle in his jaw fluttering.

I smiled softly as I plopped back down on the bed and pushed against his hip. "Can't get back to sleep anyways, so scootch your boot."

He gave a breathless laugh and rolled over the other side of the bed, allowing me enough room to climb on. I crawled in, making myself comfortable as Dean flipped on the TV, eventually finding some old Western movie to watch, a small smile making his lips turn up at the corners.

…

Dean Pov:

It was hot, the fire burning his skin, the smell of sulfur pushing its way up his nostrils and down his throat, gagging him. He screamed as he felt the white-hot pain of a knife slicing through the skin on his chest. His ears were filled with screams and crazy laughter. The coppery tang of fresh blood coated his tongue, running out of his mouth and down his chin. He begged for someone, anyone, to save him. He cried out for Sam, Bobby, even Castiel. His calls went unanswered, his prayers unheeded. He was entirely alone. Alistair laughed as he brought the knife down again.

"Dean, c'mon. Wake up, you're having a nightmare." A soft voice with a melodic lilt to it forced its way over the screams and into his ears. Jacklynn. What was she doing here? She wasn't in Hell too, was she? No, she's too nice for that. It must be another trick. He felt a hand on his arm and he jumped, his arm swinging up, knife clutched in a death grip in his sweating palm.

When his arm was stopped, fingers encircling his wrist, his eyes snapped open, searching for who had ahold of him. His wandering eyes stopped on his sister, who had his wrist in her right hand, the knife inches from her chest.

"Jack?" Talking felt like swallowing razor blades.

"Yeah. You were having a nightmare," she whispered as she gently pried the knife out of his hand and set it down on the desk. She then laid his hand back on the bed and gave it a soothing pat. He couldn't help but stare. "It's okay, you don't have to talk about it. I get it."

She went to stand and he almost panicked, his hand snaking out to clutch at her wrist. She looked down at him, surprised, and he quickly let go of her hand, clearing his throat.

"You want to watch some TV?" It was the first question that came to his mind. He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts and have to think through the nightmare. He looked away from her, clenching his jaw, not wanting to see her reject him.

Dean again looked at her as she plopped down on the bed next to him and shoved at his hip.

"Can't get back to sleep anyways, so scootch your boot."

He couldn't help the breathless laugh that escaped his lips as he rolled over and made himself comfortable leaning against the headboard. He grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV, finding an old Western that he remembered bits and pieces of but couldn't remember the name to.

He and Jack didn't talk much, just little comments here and there on the movie. He made a comment about the gunslinger and the sheriff, but when it went unanswered, he looked over. Jack had passed out at some point, her body leaning against his, her head on his shoulder. Dean gave a small smile and made himself more comfortable. He looked down at Jack, the baby sister he never got to know, never got to see grow up, and now here she was, needing help and yet at the same time giving it.

His eyes were drawn down to her stomach where the bump rested between her hips, getting bigger everyday. He ripped his eyes away from her stomach and back to the TV. He clenched his jaw. He would talk to Cas. He had to know something, had to be able to help her. That is, if he even answered his prayer. Or, hell. Maybe they were alone in this, Sam, Jack, and him. It wouldn't be the first time the Winchesters had to rely on each other to get through something, and it surely wouldn't be the last.

…

The smell of herbs made me wrinkle my nose, and I'd never heard the words the man spoke before. He stood a few feet away in front of a rough wooden table, several things cluttering the table top. A dented metal bowl, several books, candles, herbs, and a knife. I tried yelling at the man, snapping my fingers in front of his face, and even jumping up and down, but to no avail. I stopped jumping and confusedly looked at him. Why couldn't he hear or see me? A shiver came over me that I couldn't repress, and that's when I realized that I was still in my night clothes. Cotton shorts and an old, soft t-shirt that fit a little snug. I crossed my arms over my chest and shivered again, curling my bare toes into the dirt that covered the concrete floor.

Since it seemed I was stuck here, I decided to watch him. The man had hair as dark the night surrounding him, and when he looked up and the candlelight caught his face just right, I could tell that he had blue eyes. He looked familiar. I cocked my head to the side as I tried to place this mysterious man, but came up empty. I watched in fascination as he finished chanting, picked up the knife from the table, and sliced the palm of his left hand, holding it over the bowl. Calmly taking out a handkerchief, the mysterious man wrapped it around the wound, then lit a match and dropped it in the basin. I gave a jump as the ingredients in it sparked.

I felt a tugging sensation, and I was pulled away from the familiar man. I was slammed down, yelping as my bare knees collided with cobblestone. I groaned as I fell sideways, off my knees and onto my ass. As I sat on the floor and tried to ignore the stinging in my knees, I took in my surroundings. I was in an even darker room than the last, with only a few torches hanging on the wall to light the area. The smell of sulfur hung thickly in the air, and it was uncomfortably hot here. I could feel my skin begin to turn pink with heat. A sudden voice made me jump, and I searched for its owner. I found him easily enough and I gasped, then clamped a hand over my mouth, scared they'd heard me. Then I remembered: they couldn't hear me. I removed my hand from my mouth as I stared at the barely illuminated face. It was the greasy clerk from the hotel! What the hell? His voice made me jump and scoot away. I wasn't one to scare easily, but his voice made my skin crawl and my heart pound.

"I will watch over the gate, sire."

A voice came from the shadowed end of the room. "Good. You fail me this time and you'll wish you hadn't ever sold your soul." The voice was British and commanding, promising horrible consequences if his orders weren't obeyed.

…

I awoke with a gasp, my eyes popping open and my skin burning. I threw off the blanket that had been placed over me and sat up, wide eyed.

"Jack?"

I looked up into Sam and Dean's questioning faces, their eyes heavy with worry. I swung my legs over to the side of the bed, and winced with the movement. I looked down in confusion, then gasped. My knees were covered in drying blood, and I pulled my hands up into my line of vision, looking at the scrapes on the heels of my palms.

"Whoa! Is that blood?" Sam's voice rang out.

My hands were being pulled away from in front of my face, and my twin's face swam into view. I could feel another set of hands prodding at my knees, and with a sharp hiss of pain, it brought me out of my daze.

"Yeah… I uh, yeah. That's blood." I gave a nod and swallowed thickly.

Sam looked at me. "What happened Jack? Why do you feel like you're burning up, and why do you smell like sulfur?"

Dean stood up and grabbed his duffel which he started to rummage through. He produced a first aid kit a few seconds later and opened it, turning it over and dumping it onto the comforter. He grabbed the bottle of Peroxide, leaving the box's other contents strewn across the comforter. I turned my attention from him and focused on Sam.

"I had a dream. "

Sam looked confused for a moment, before he shook his head. "You had a dream? What kind of dream?"

"I was sitting and watching, they couldn't see or hear me. First I dreamed about a man who was… he was putting things in a bowl. Different herbs and things. His blood, and then a match. He was muttering the whole time… I couldn't understand what he was saying. It then felt like I was being pulled, and I was then dropped down onto cobblestone, causing the blood and scrapes you see here. This room was dark. Very dark, with only a few torches in the room, but just enough to see a face. The clerk. He promised to watch… a gate. Yes, a gate."

Sam and Dean were both silent, looking at each other and having a silent conversation that I couldn't understand.

Sam looked back to me, his eyes calculating and I could practically see the wheels turning in his head. "Are you certain it was the clerk?"

I nodded. "Yes, it was definitely him. I could also sketch the first guy for you, if you want."

"You can draw?" Sam questioned,surprised. I nodded as Dean finished inspecting and cleaning my knees and gave them a pat. He pulled himself on the bed across from mine, next to Sam, and looked at me for a second. "You can have the bathroom first, Jack."

I had a feeling it was so he and Sam could talk alone, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I stunk like sulfur, and I could feel the dirt and grime coating my body. I stood on wobbly knees and stretched, my spine popping in several places and my muscles groaning in protest. I crossed the hotel room to my duffel, which I promptly dragged to the bathroom. As I stood under the hot spray of the shower, I tried to ignore the discolored tiles of the wall and lather jasmine scented shampoo into my dark curls.

I stood under the water for another six minutes before I stepped out of the shower, reaching for the terry-cloth towels that lined the rack above the toilet. Wrapping one around my hair and another around my body, I padded over to the sink and swiped a hand down the fogged mirror. My reflection stared back at me, dark circles under my eyes, a slight pink tint still clinging to my skin. I turned away from my reflection and opened my duffel. From the duffel I pulled undergarments, sweat pants, and a oversized t-shirt. After I was dressed, I stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of heat.

Sam looked up from his laptop and gave a smile. "Nice," he said, gesturing to the towel still wrapped around my hair.

I rolled my eyes as I shook the now damp towel out of my hair and let it fall in wet, stringy strands down my back. That's when I realized that Dean was missing. "Where's the person who happens to be my older brother?"

Sam, who had returned his eyes to the screen of his laptop, again looked up. "Dean went to pick up breakfast."

I gave a jerk of my head in understanding and sat down on the edge of the bed where I began to slip socks onto my feet. My tennis shoes quickly followed. "So, what's the plan for today?"

Sam closed the screen to his laptop. "Dean is going to question the victims' families, and you and I are going to the library to research. One of the stories surrounding Riverdale Road is a Hell's Gate."

I cocked my head to the side as a thought occurred to me. "You think this is connected to my dream."

Sam tore his gaze away from mine and focused on the shag carpet. "You're my twin, Jack. When I was a baby, our mother died in a house fire. Pinned to the ceiling. Azazel, the demon that did it, infected me with demon blood. Dean and I have no idea if he did anything to you. We don't know, and Yellow Eyes didn't say anything about you either. We think Mary interrupted him before he could do anything to you. But we don't know for sure. Jack, you're our wild card. We have no idea. My thoughts on this is that you're completely human, and the thing you're carrying inside you is giving you powers."

I was shocked. I hadn't known how my mom had died. None of my foster parents had known, and Jim and Martha had tried not to bring up the time before they took me in. Jim and Martha had been great parents to me, pushing me through school, and treated me like a part of the family. When they took me in, they had three children of their own. I could feel Sam's eyes on me, but the opening of the motel room door stopped him from saying anything.

The smell of coffee announced Dean's arrival by my side before his voice did. A styrofoam cup with a black plastic top was thrust down into my line of vision. "Two spoons of sugar and a shot of milk."

"Thank you," I murmured as I sipped the piping hot liquid. I hadn't told him how I liked my coffee, but he'd apparently been watching.

Sam drank his with a few spoons of sugar and half and half, and Dean drank his with enough sugar to give anybody diabetes. Dean tossed a sausage biscuit my way, causing me to jump and fumble the paper wrapped biscuit to the floor. He stared at me.

"Wow, you suck."

I narrowed my eyes at him and unwrapped the greasy food, taking a bite out of it, chewing slowly. "At least I don't swallow," I muttered under my breath.

Apparently, I was heard. Sam, who'd just taken a swig of his coffee, spit out the scalding hot liquid, and began to laugh in earnest. His cheeks were flushed, and he was fighting to catch his breath. I looked down at my breakfast sandwich and began to pick at the crumbly biscuit, ignoring my twin.

"You want to share with the class, Sammy?" Dean inquired, raising an eyebrow.

I looked up from the sandwich and gave Sam my best glare, promising him with my eyes I'd use him as my test dummy if he dare tell. Sam instantly sobered up and shook his head.

"Just… Thinking," Sam lied (rather horribly). I rolled my eyes, sipped my coffee, and began working on my sketch of last night's magic-worker.

Dean's eyes flicked back and forth between us, and he gave a short nod. "Okay…" He didn't believe one word.

…

Dean dropped Sam and I off at the front doors of the small brick building, the words above the glass door's reading 'Thornton Regional Library.' Dean signaled goodbye with a flick of his first two fingers and drove off to question Therma Wilson, the woman who'd lost her son, and Ryan and Lisa Jackson, who'd lost their daughter.

I watched the Impala fade into the distance of thrift stores, small diners, and a small grocery store before I headed after Sam into the library. The librarian was an older man with thinning gray hair, round glasses, and a hunched back. He was happy to show us where they kept the town history. After showing us the shelves that contained the information, we thanked him and he hobbled to back to his desk, calling over his shoulder to not be afraid to ask him any questions if we had any problems. After finding a table in a dark corner of the library, Sam and I began to tote books and binders full of the town history to the table.

It had to be at least an hour later when Sam's phone rang, bringing me out of the book I was reading about the founders of Thornton. The stories that surrounded Riverdale road were just that: stories. No one had died on the road, no car crashes or women in white. So, how was it that these kids were killed by a phantom car that no ghost even existed for? The only legend that held any truth was the Devil's Gate. After calling Bobby and asking him if there really was a gate to hell on the road, we had our answer: the gate was the real deal.

Sam's phone vibrated on the table, and he picked it up and put it to his ear. "Dean?" His eyes went wide, and he mouthed one word to me: map.

I scrambled through the paper strewn over the scratched wooden table top and came up with the only map on the table: Riverdale Road. I held it up, and he nodded. He then put the phone on speaker. I looked around the library and realized we were seated a good distance from the librarian, and there was nobody in the library besides us.

"Uh, Sam? Jack? I could use a little help. Like how to navigate this road!" Dean's voice was panicked.

I could hear the reviving of an engine, and the squealing of tires. My stomach dropped. "Dean, where exactly are you on the road?"

"At the entrance! I just wanted to investigate this damn road when this… piece of shit car came out of nowhere!"

I pinpointed where he was. "Dean, listen to me. You have to follow the road."

"What the hell kind of advice is that, Jack?! Do you have anything more you'd like to add?" Dean growled into the phone.

"Don't let the car run you off the road." I said as I scanned the map, following his progress.

"That's brilliant advice, Jacklynn. Why didn't I think of that before?" Dean's voice dripped with sarcasm.

I ignored him as I looked for something on the map that could help Dean, that would hopefully get the Camaro off his ass for just a few moments. Anything would be helpful. Another road caught my attention. It connected with Riverdale, and hopefully would throw off the Camaro enough for Dean to escape. I again asked where he was, and after I got my answer, I worked out quickly in my head how much time he had before he hit the turn which was half a mile away from him.

"Dean, listen closely. There's a turn coming up on your right. You have to make that turn or you're-"

"Fuck! I missed it!" Dean's voice rang through, making my stomach roll.

"Fucked, Dean. Fucked. You idiot!" I dropped my head to the rough table top with a groan.

With no response from the idiot who happened to be related to me, I lifted up my head and looked over the map one last time, laughing like a loon when I caught a second break.

"Dean, if you miss this next turn, you're dead. Turn right in another mile or so. It'll lead you off the main road and back into safety."

There was a grunt of acknowledgement, then murmured curses, then silence. I couldn't hear anything, and it worried me. Had the line gone dead? Had something worse happened, and the phone cut out? I started to feel sick, and I knew I was going to throw up. Finally, a laugh, a laugh filled with victory and happiness erupted from the lone cell phone on the table. I smiled, and then promptly ran for the nearest bathroom, leaving Sam with the phone. With one hand clamped firmly clamped over my mouth, and the other stretched out in front of me, I found the bathroom.

I slammed the door open, and flung myself into a stall, not bothering to close the dented metal door behind me. Dropping to my knees in front of the porcelain bowl, I heaved my breakfast into it. After I had nothing left in my stomach and my knees were protesting from staying kneeled on the tiles for so long, I forced myself up and turned away as I flushed the contents of my stomach down the pipes.

I stumbled out of the stall, using the wall for support until I stood in front of the counter and the mirror. I studied the fake flowers decorating the speckled countertop and forced myself to look up into the mirror above the sink. My pale face stared back at me, a thin sheet of sweat covering the sickly color. My hair hung in limp curls around my face, and my bangs hung into my now-dull blue eyes. I turned on the cold water and bent down to scoop some into my mouth, quickly swishing it around my mouth and teeth, then spit it back down into the sink. Everything I'd learned in school about being pregnant said that morning sickness should be over around the twelfth week. Mine should be over. But each pregnancy was different.

I splashed water on my face, then stepped out of the bathroom. I slowly walked back to the table, a hand now on my aching head. At the table Sam had begun to put the books away, and looked up with concern when he saw me coming back.

"You alright?" He asked as he stacked books on top of one another for easier transportation back to their correct shelves.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just… tired." I said it, and I realized it was true. I was exhausted. After everything that happened, and round after round of nightmares all night, I didn't feel rested.

Sam nodded and stood up, replacing the books on the shelves and coming back seconds later. "Okay, while you take your nap, Dean and I are going to call Bobby and question the clerk."

I opened my mouth to protest, to say that I could help, but Sam held his hand up with a determined look on his face. "No, you're going to get some rest. Dean and I can handle this."

I rolled my eyes but nodded, letting Sam lead my out of the library with a hand placed on the small of my back. When we stepped out into the bright sunlight, I squinted the Impala pulled up to the curb with a screech of tires on pavement. Dean called over the music for us to hurry up and get in. I had barely shut the door before he was speeding off and towards the hotel.

No one noticed the girl on the sidewalk give a scream as we entered the motel parking lot.