A/N: Alright, everyone. I'm sorry for the late updates. Last week we were bombarded with company, making the number of people in this home go up to 11…

So, I hope to get the updates back on track. The good news is there are only four more chapters to go!

And last but not least, I'd like to thank Wild Wolf Free17 for taking the time out of her day to beta this for me.


Walking Just to Stumble

Chapter 7

When Dean woke, it was to the unwelcome taste of copper and the bittersweet sensation of his muscles being flexed. He realized that he was tied up to a wooden chair – still in his captor's lair.

"Morning, Dean." He took in the sound of Gordon's voice, scoffing.

"What? We're not in too much of a playful mood this morning, are we?" Dean heard the sound of footsteps coming towards him, and another man's laugh.

For all this time, as far as he could recall, it had just been Gordon and him. Just him listening to Gordon's haunting laugh while being physically and verbally abused. Now, though, there was a stranger's laugh. Yet, as Dean's stomach began to throb from the un-stitched stab wound, it became vaguely familiar.

"Miss me, son?" Dean, once more, opened his sleep-crusted eyes to see the unfortunately-memorable form of a man from ages ago. He re-closed his eyes as another torrent of pain overtook him, his wrists pushing against their binds. "James."

"Right." He could feel the man stepping closer to him, breaking the barriers of his comfort-zone. "You look like hell, by the way." Dean's wrists broke tighter into the ropes, burning themselves forcefully.

"Recalling memories, there, Dean?" It was Gordon, this time around. The sound of him saying his name made Dean's brain go into a spasm.

"How-" Dean's chin dropped against the area where his neck and chest became one. He was now too weak to hold his head up any longer. "-ow'd you make it disappear?" The bar and all of the people from however long ago that was. He figured Gordon would first rub the question in his face, and then give him a lie of an answer.

He was wrong.

"Simple, Dean. Mind control." Ah, so it was a setup. All of those people who directed him to Gordon had been brainwashed. He had been brainwashed into believing he'd walked into a bar. Or, maybe it was a vision-ness spell that Gordon had brought up. At least something in his life was explainable.

Maybe even Sam's blindness was a part of mind control. Maybe the gas that was splashed on Sam was really water. And if he could figure out a way to get loose and kill James and Gordon, dismissing the fact that they were humans, his brother could see again.

For the first time in little over a week, Dean felt reassurance. Before he slipped back into unconsciousness, he found his brain spelling out the words, "Thank you, Gordon." And he wouldn't take for granted one other thing that he'd learned – Gordon had some source of power.


John Winchester closed his eyes in pain and relief at the fact that Sam had finally fallen asleep. Years ago seemed to carry happy, haunting memories back to him from when Dean was preoccupied and he used to put Sam to sleep. Before, little Sam always asked for a "happy" bedtime story. Now, Sam asked for John's promise of finding Dean. And soon.

But before now, John had never realized how much he missed putting Sam to sleep with a "happy" bed time story. And, carrying on Mary's tradition, he stood by the door, watching his mighty-giant breath in, and whispered "Angels are watching over you."

Not knowing how true that was, he took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen.

Did I leave that window open? He couldn't remember for the life of him. John watched, transfixed, as a small piece of note-paper flittered through the window, landing gracefully on the kitchen counter.

Panic groping at his mind, John took a quick step towards the paper and scooped it up; reading the short message over and over again.

Your sons' time's running out, John.

Angels probably won't be of much help either.

Shit. Now he had a ransom. This one though, included both of his sons.

John dropped the letter and raced to the door. Too late, Gordon was already gone.


As the blood came flooding in, Sam forced his conscious to connect – he needed to wake up, and now.

Still, the blood came, leaving him sweating and calling out for John. He knew the words were reaching outside of his closed box. He knew his father could find a way to wake him up, to get rid of the blood. Just make his world be blank again.

He sighed in relief as he felt a smooth hand on his arm; the blood rushed away, leaving him in nothingness again. Blindly, Sam opened his eyes – a new form of black seeped in on him as his eyes seized in their sockets. He could feel his brain twitching with the newfound color; yet it seemed so familiar. He shut his eyes tightly and reopened them just in time to feel a drop of perspiration dribble in. Once more, his eyes convulsed, sending him images of wood panels, and fire.

Sam shivered and jumped, realizing that the fire was touching his arm. By now, he was hollering like mad for his father. Had John already been engulfed in the scorching flames?

The fire moved, rubbing his arm, making humming sounds as it did so. As five seconds passed by, confusion crawled into the victim as he realized his arm wasn't burning. Or even on fire – nor could he smell the dreadful smoke; and he knew that that sense was one of his best.

The fire on his arm took the form of a delicate, feminine hand; the thicker burst of flames transformed into sheets of the purest white, and at the top, golden locks of hair.

"It's going to be okay, Sam." Never before in his life had Sam felt so calm and safe.

His eyes, now their clear-green, opened wider and his head tilted up in awe. "I'm always protecting you."

Burning tears rushed into Sam's eyes as the angelic figure took its complete, entire appearance. "Mom?"