Where's Waldo?

Disclaimer: I'm up to nine converts to Supernatural fandom, but they STILL aren't offering shares based on recruits so I don't own any of it. sniff

Beta'd: By Wysawyg who offers not only great suggestions, but catches the heck out of homophone and comma abuse. Thanks for taking time out of YOUR writing to edit mine!!

Special Note: To SupernaturalSammy67, the scenes you requested were already in the works, but I did beef them up a bit since you asked so nice.

Warning: Sorry folks, fairly long chapter ahead. I got a little long-winded. I wanted to get to a certain point and it took a bit to get us there. BG.

…………………………………………………………Chapter 7………………………………………………………..

Sam narrowed his eyes and racked his brain. He knew he recognized the odor and it was driving him crazy. Finally it came to him. At Stanford Jess had a friend that smelled like the cigarette Mike had been smoking: Chas - the stoner - Townsend. "Dean," Sam said in a hushed whisper. "I think Mike was smoking pot."

"Really?" Dean replied with raised eyebrows. "Huh." He closed his eyes, lacking the ambition for any further response. The smell in here was getting overpowering. After a bit, Sam started laughing again. "What's so funny?" Dean asked, cracking one eye open again.

"Stoned Mountain Mike is driving your car," Sam laughed.

Dean closed his eye and groaned, "Well hell."

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Sam snoozed lightly near the doorway to Mike's hut. He'd managed to get the aloe and the ointment cream applied to Dean's face, arms and back before crashing. He had all intentions of checking the cuts on his own arm and the snake bite, but his exhausted body had had other ideas and he had fallen asleep. The only noise other than Dean's light wheezing was a large, black fly buzzing lazily through the one room abode.

When the canvas flap was pulled to the side, Sam snapped awake, his Beretta drawn. Behind him, he heard Dean move as well. "Easy boys, it's me," Mike said, throwing his arms up in a protective stance. "Just got back with your car."

"Thanks," Sam replied, flipping the safety back on and tucking his gun into the waistband of his jeans. He turned to look at Dean just in time to see him ease himself back into a supine position.

"Did she miss me?" Dean asked.

"I'm sure she did," Mike replied with a grin through his grizzly beard. "She's as dusty as heck and she sure looked lonely down there."

"You drove her nice and gentle?" Dean asked sternly.

"Course, be afraid not to," Mike replied. He walked into the hut and tossed the keys to Sam on the way by.

Sam caught the keys deftly in his right hand. "Dean, are you ready to head to town?" Sam asked, carefully avoiding the subject of the doctor.

Dean narrowed his eyes and appraised Sam's appearance. "Just some bleeding on your head?" Dean asked suspiciously. "That's it?"

Sam started to deny anything else was wrong, but one look at Dean's expression and he knew he would never get away with the lie. "It's nothing serious."

"Really, Sam?" Dean asked, awareness glinting in his moss green eyes. "Because if that's true? Then you look like crap."

"Nice, thanks," Sam replied sardonically. He slowly pried himself off the hard-packed ground and limped towards Dean. His ankle had stiffened considerably in the few hours he had been inactive. He caught the look on Dean's face and decided distraction was the best defense. He gathered the flashlight and confiscated the knife Dean had managed to get his hands on while Sam slept, shoving them both into the duffel bag.

"Hey," Dean protested. "I had that."

"And now I do," Sam stated with a raised eyebrow and a head nod. Dean sat up, reaching for the duffel bag and hissed in pain.

"Why don't you boys have something to eat before we head down to the car?" Mike asked, presenting the boys with a type of hot grain cereal he had obviously just whipped up on his makeshift sterno-burner stove.

Dean eyed the cereal and quipped, "There's no special ingredients in here, is there?" His stomach gurgled in anticipation of food. He really was hungry.

"Special?" Mike asked with a puzzled expression.

"Yeah, special. You know, like special brownies?" Dean asked, holding up the bowl.

Mike laughed. "Nah, I wouldn't waste it like that. You both were hurting before I left and I figured you'd actually get some rest if you were feeling better."

"We wouldn't have agreed to that," Sam piped in, his face wrinkled in disapproval.

"I figured as much," Mike replied good-naturedly. "Worked though, didn't it?"

Sam frowned, but didn't belabor the point. Obviously Mike had their best interests at heart even if Sam did not approve of his methods. He dug into his cereal with gusto when his stomach overpowered his reluctance to taste anything Mike had concocted.

"It's good," Dean said when Mike set down a mug next to him. Dean looked down into the cup and stated with a frown, "I said, no tea."

"It's more like coffee," Mike corrected. "Dried dandelion root." He placed a cup beside Sam before taking a seat on the hard ground with his own bowl of cereal.

"How far is it to the car?" Sam asked, swallowing a large mouthful of cereal.

"Less than a mile and it is mostly downhill to boot," Mike replied. He pointed his spoon at Dean and continued, "Should be able to get him there in less than an hour."

"I'm not going anywhere until Sam 'fesses up," Dean stated, his eyes sparking in defiance. "You may have slipped it past me last night, but I can tell something's wrong."

Sam flushed guiltily and spoke into his bowl of cereal. "I'm fine…"

"Don't," Dean warned him angrily. "Sam, don't lie to me."

Frustrated hazel met angry green and Sam caved. "It's possible that I've been up close and personal with the area fauna," he confessed.

"That dead cat was you, wasn't it?" Mike asked. "I was tracking it and found it under a bush near your car."

"Yeah," Sam replied. "But, I managed to walk away with only a few scratches on my arm."

"And your ankle?" Dean asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Uh, no," Sam replied hesitantly. "Actually, it's more like a snake bite."

"Damn it, Sam," Dean said hotly. "I'm not going anywhere until you let Mike take a look."

"We're an hour from the doctor," Sam disagreed. "It's nothing that can't wait until then."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to agree with Dean on this one, kid," Mike interjected. Dean smirked and Sam tossed him a look of pure annoyance.

"Hey, you were more than happy when he agreed with you, earlier," Dean stated. "A snake bite can get infected if it isn't taken care of."

"Fine," Sam huffed. "As long as we still get going soon."

"Can you roll up or take off that long sleeved shirt?" Mike asked. "I'll take a look at that first. Don't think you're getting out of anything," he added at the smug look on Dean's face. "I'm going to check you over once more before we head out."

Sam made a face at Dean, but quickly replaced it with a neutral look when Mike turned back to him. "Shirt?" Mike asked, pointing to Sam's arm.

"Yeah, okay," Sam replied. He unsnapped his outer shirt and removed it, folding it carefully before setting it down. He glared at Dean when he started laughing. "What?"

"OCD much?" Dean asked. "You're being awfully particular with a dirty, torn shirt there, little brother."

"Ha, ha, ha," Sam replied. He winced when Mike pulled up the sleeve of his t-shirt and poked at the cuts on his left arm.

"They don't look too bad," Mike observed. "Looks like you did a pretty good job cleaning them up."

"They're not very deep," Sam replied.

"That's surprising," Mike commented. "Those cats have big claws. Must have only been a glancing swipe." He released his hold on Sam's arm and moved to his right ankle. Sam's boot and sock were discarded next to Dean and Mike hiked up Sam's jeans to his knee before he could react.

Mike whistled and Dean leaned in closer to look, ignoring the tight pulling of bruises on his back. "That looks bad," Dean muttered quietly to Mike.

"Sam, I'm going to clean this up a bit, but you need the doc to take a close look at it when you get to town," Mike cautioned. He cleaned the wound, applied some home-made ointment cream and placed a light dressing on it within minutes. "Now you," Mike stated, turning to Dean.

Dean uncharacteristically offered no protest as Mike moved around to his back and examined the bruises. "You're wheezing a bit," Mike stated. "I'd say you definitely have some type of rib injury." Dean nodded, watching as Sam carefully pulled on his sock and boot. How the heck Sam had managed to hide the injury from him yesterday escaped him, but he was back on full alert now.

Sam pulled on his shirt and walked slowly behind Dean. He had to stoop to walk with the low ceiling and the limp slowed him further. By the time he maneuvered to Dean's back, Mike was finishing his cursory inspection. "If you can get some more aloe on that burn and cream on those cuts, we can go," Mike said.

"Got it," Sam replied, picking up the white cream. It smelled a little of lilac and Sam wondered what exactly Mike had mixed into it.

Mike collected the bowls and the empty mugs. He nodded to the brothers on his way out the door. "Holler if you need help getting out of here. I'll be outside checking on my mushrooms."

"Of course he grows mushrooms," Dean smirked. "That is one happy hermit." He bit back a groan when Sam hit a sore spot.

"They may not be that kind of mushroom," Sam replied. He handed Dean the jar of aloe and returned Dean's grin. "Okay, I'm sure they are that kind of mushroom."

"Hand me my shirt, will ya?" Dean asked. "What time is it, anyway?"

"I'm not really sure," Sam replied honestly, wiping his hands off on his jeans and pulling out his cell phone. "Oh man, it's already one-thirty." He tossed Dean his t-shirt and resisted the urge to help Dean as he struggled into it. He shoved Dean's folded coat along with his own into the duffel bag and returned with Dean's socks and boots.

Dean pulled on the first sock and boot easily. He winced as he slowly pulled the second sock over the purple and red swollen ankle. He sat, trying to muster the gumption to pull the boot over the enlarged limb when Sam broke in, "Dean, you're never going to get that boot on. Don't even try."

Dean was about to argue when Sam ripped the boot out of his grip and tucked it into the burgeoning duffel. "You take anything else away from me today, Sam, and I'll kick your ass," Dean warned.

"That'd be a trick," Sam teased. His expression grew serious and he stood as much as he could in the small space. He pulled the duffel over his right arm and reached down to help Dean to his feet.

"This is gonna suck," Dean said with a small groan. He gripped Sam's left arm tightly to remain upright and immediately loosened his grip when he felt Sam stiffen. "Sorry, Sammy."

"S'okay," Sam replied. "Let's go." He steadied Dean and together they moved towards the door.

They made slow progress out of the hut, both of them hunkered down and limping. Mike was standing right outside the door, his hand up shading his eyes. "Looks like we're in for a summer rain tonight. Better get a move on." He moved in towards the Winchesters and took his place on Dean's left side. "We'll stop every fifteen minutes, rest and drink some water. It's only going to get hotter for the next three hours."

"Great, it already feels pretty hot," Dean complained.

"Well, don't just stand there," Sam replied. "Let's get hopping."

Dean glared and slapped Sam on the chest his free hand. "Funny."

Sam chuckled and Mike pulled Dean's arm around his neck. His smaller stature made him a better leaning post than Sam. "I think we can be down to the car in forty-five minutes."

The brothers both nodded and the trio walked slowly through the thick grove of trees and headed downhill towards Waldo road.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Dean sat on a flat rock in the sun-dappled space under a very tall, old-growth tree. He sipped carefully from the re-filled canteen and tried to control his wheezing breath. He glanced over at Sam, hoping he had managed to hide his growing difficulties from his brother. Sam's concerned hazel eyes flicked over to him and he could tell that Sam knew. This was the last stop. According to Mike they should be able to make it to the car within about ten minutes from here. He breathed a small sigh and mentally prepared himself for another leg of the journey. He tuned into the conversation Sam and Mike were having just in time to hear Mike's reply.

"I can do better than that," Mike replied. "I can draw you a map to the site and if you give me some time, I can draw you pictures of the shrine. I hoped I could catch a ride with you boys to town. I'm going to pick up some provisions and have a bite to eat at Tubby's. I should have the drawings done by the time you are finished at doc's place."

"That'd be great, Mike," Sam replied with a dimpled grin. "Thanks."

"I'd take you there myself, but I ain't stepping foot inside the boundaries of that thing at night. You've seen some of those spirits, haven't ya?" Mike asked, rubbing a hand over his beard.

"Yeah, but there's more to it than just spirits," Sam said, his voice cracking slightly. If Mike noticed he made no mention of it, but Dean noticed.

"I'm ready to get going," Dean stated, screwing back on the lid of the canteen.

Sam and Mike stood and walked the short distance to Dean. Both of them grabbed an arm and hauled him to his feet. "We're almost there," Mike reassured them.

As promised, ten minutes later the Impala's black paint glinted in the afternoon sun despite the layer of dust covering her exterior. "Ah, baby," Dean said fondly, tapping the Impala on the roof. "I'm sorry for leaving you out here so long."

Sam smiled as he opened the passenger door and allowed Dean to climb in, shutting the door behind him. Admittedly, he was a little surprised when Dean didn't try to slide over to the driver's side. Unlocking the back door for Mike, Sam hobbled around to the driver's side and slid in behind the wheel. He sighed, relieved to be on the final step of getting his big brother to a doctor. He pulled the keys out of his pocket, slipped them into the ignition and took a great deal of satisfaction as the Impala roared to life. As he drove quickly down the road, great clouds of dust kicked up behind the car.

"We don't really have a lot of money for a doctor," Sam stated, glancing slide-long at Dean who was panting shallowly with his arms cradled around his ribs. He realized, belatedly, that their fake insurance or credit cards would not work because Mike already knew their true first names. "We don't have insurance and…"

"Don't sweat it," Mike interrupted, shifting noisily in the backseat. "Doc B doesn't charge much and he'll let you work something out. You don't have any of that new money, do you?"

"I, uh, I don't think so," Sam replied. "Why?"

"The government uses the computer chip in the metal strip of those new bills to track your whereabouts and what you buy," Mike explained. "But those state quarters are even worse. They're cursed."

Dean snorted and then groaned when the movement jolted his ribs. Sam frowned at Dean. "They're cursed?" Sam asked, managing to keep the laugh out of his voice.

"You mean to tell me you haven't heard about the curse on the state quarters?" Mike asked incredulously. "I would have thought smart boys like you would know all about it."

"Guess not," Sam responded with the lift of an eyebrow.

"It started with the New Hampshire quarter," Mike stated. "The face of the Old Man in the Mountain crumbled to dust in early May after the quarter was minted. There've been odd things happening with every one since then."

"Huh," Sam replied, unable to think of anything else to say. He looked over at Dean in the passenger seat. Dean was already asleep with his head resting on the window.

"He'll be fine," Mike said, making eye contact with Sam in the rearview mirror. "Some proper rest and fluids and he'll be back at 'em."

"I hope you're right," Sam replied. Unable to resist checking Dean again, he glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye. Dean's breathing was still shallow and even asleep he wore an expression of pain.

"I am right," Mike assured him. "Turn here." Mike indicated a dirt road on the right several feet in front of them.

"I'd like to get him on a smoother road," Sam contradicted.

"It's not bad and the doc's clinic is on this road. It goes all the way to town and it'll save us a few miles," Mike explained.

Sam did not reply, but he turned on the side road all the same. It was a smooth gravel road and within minutes they were pulling to a stop in front of an old, two-story farmhouse. The moment Sam killed the engine, Dean's eyes popped open. "Where are we?" Dean asked, lifting his head off the glass and looking around.

"The doctor's," Sam replied, pocketing the keys. "I think," He added taking in the shabby house and the overgrown weeds in the front yard.

Mike was already out of the car and knocking on the front door. When the door opened a short, balding man with horn-rimmed glasses appeared. He was dressed in vibrant green Bermuda shorts with an equally bright orange t-shirt. "Ah, Sam, is the good doctor dressed like Aquaman?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowed attempting to bring things into focus.

Sam laughed. "I think so." He slid out of the car and walked around to the passenger side as the other men approached the Impala. As Mike reached for the passenger side door handle, Sam stepped in front of the door. "I got it," he said.

Mike nodded and turned back towards the doctor while Sam opened the passenger door. He reached inside, but Dean batted his hand away. Dean shouldered his way out of the car and stood leaning against the side to catch his breath. "I'm ready," he wheezed, after a pause.

"Take him directly into the exam room, Mike," the doctor boomed, his deep voice in direct contrast with his small frame.

"Gotcha, Doc B," Mike replied. "Let's get you boys inside," he said, taking up his spot beside Dean.

It was slow going, even the short distance from the Impala to the front porch. The steps into the house were the most difficult to navigate with the three of them on the narrow stairway together. Realizing Sam would not surrender his place at his brother's side, Mike stepped out of the way. On the third attempt, Sam hefted Dean onto the porch and bodily through the door.

"To the left, to the left," Mike called out from behind them.

Sam steered Dean into the small exam room on his left and lowered him none too gently onto the hard exam cot. "Oof," Dean said as the air was forced from his lungs.

"Sorry," Sam apologized. He swung Dean's legs onto the table, forcing him to lie down. Dean propped himself up on his elbows and jutted his chin at the doctor when he walked in.

"Mike tells me you took a tumble into the old Waldo well," Doctor Bailey stated, pushing his glasses further up his nose. He pulled a short, rolling stool from under the table and sat down. He turned to Sam and gave him an appraising look. "Son, there's a shower third door on the right. I suggest you take advantage of it."

Sam's faced turned a deep plum color as he blushed with embarrassment. "Yessir," he mumbled. He fumbled with the door handle and beat it out the door.

Dean chuckled lightly until Doctor Bailey turned his kindly gaze back to him and stated, "Now, let's get down to brass tacks. What kind of injuries did you manage to inflict on yourself?"

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Sam pushed still damp bangs out of his eyes and examined the map Mike had left for him while he was showering. He had to admit, he felt better after cleaning up and the fresh set of clothes went a long way towards improving his personal aroma. He smirked and tapped the map with his finger. It would not be too difficult to find the shrine, but the path to it would not be easy. A suspension foot bridge over the river and rugged terrain stood between them and their destination.

Exchanging the map for the detailed picture of the shrine, Sam was impressed with Mike's drawing ability. He had barely a moment to look at it before Doctor Bailey emerged from the exam room. "He has three cracked ribs, a moderate concussion and bruised kidneys," he remarked without preamble. "There may be a bit of renal bleeding, but I have him on intravenous fluids. That combined with some actual rest should make him as right as rain before you know it."

Sam felt an eyebrow creeping up towards his hairline and he squashed a snort. "He's resting? What about his ankle?"

"Ah yes, the ankle," Doctor Bailey replied, running a hand through his thin hair. "Nothing's broken, but I suspect there could be torn ligaments. It's difficult to tell with the swelling."

"But, he is resting?" Sam asked, carefully folding the map and the sketch of the shrine. He stuffed them in his back pocket as he stood.

"Well, no," Doctor Bailey admitted, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "You see, the only room I have for patients to sleep in is down the hall and I'll need some assistance getting him there."

"No problem," Sam replied, shouldering the laptop messenger bag and walking towards the room. When the doctor did not enter the room or move out of his way, Sam asked, "Is there something else?"

"Yes, it seems your brother is a bit – concerned, with your well-being," Doctor Bailey said, releasing a sigh of long suffering. "He refuses to be moved or take any medication until he's sure I've looked at you."

Sam frowned with frustration and shouldered past the doctor into the exam room. "Dean, stop being stubborn and let's get you to bed."

Dean blinked lazily at Sam. "What's the matter, Sammy? You seem a little…"

"Twitterpated?" Doctor Bailey supplied helpfully. The sudden image of a gangly limbed Sam skidding about on the ice popped into Dean's head and he chortled lightly.

Sam whirled abruptly to face the doctor. "I thought you said he refused medication?" he asked in a harsh whisper.

"He did," Doctor Bailey replied congenially. "I slipped a Mickey Finn into his I.V. when he wasn't looking. Sometimes the doctor knows best."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sam," Dean chirped. "Not until you let Aquadoc take a look at you too."

Sam sighed, what was it about the people in this area and drugging others without their knowledge? "Come on, Dean," he said. "I'll let him look after we get you to bed."

"I'm not that out of it," Dean replied with a frown. "No offense, but I want to see for myself that you've let the doctor take a look at you."

"He actually became more fixated on it after I gave him the pain reliever," Doctor Bailey commented. "Quite unusual."

"That's not really helping," Sam muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "How long do you think we have until he's out for the count?"

"Based on physiological strength or sheer cussedness?" the doctor asked, "Because he seems to be amply supplied with both."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, how about we get you moved and I have the doctor take a look in the other room?"

"Fine," Dean replied, struggling to sit up. Sam wrapped his good arm around Dean's upper back and helped him up.

"Can you get him by yourself?" Doctor Bailey asked. "I'll gather a few supplies and meet you down there."

"Yeah, we're good," Sam replied with a grunt as he helped Dean stand and supported most of his weight. "Where is it?"

"Second door on the right," the doctor replied, handing him the I.V. bag. "There're hooks by the bed for this. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Right," Sam replied. He staggered out the door, big brother in tow and managed the few steps to the next room. Dean was not as drugged as he initially assumed and he hopped beside Sam at a steady pace.

"A real bed," Dean sighed contentedly as he sank into the mattress. He crossed his arms behind his head and gazed up at Sam. "You're tall," he remarked.

"Mm-hmm," Sam replied, finding the hook and hanging the I.V. bag. He set the laptop down next to the bedside table. "And you're stoned. Again."

"Nah, just less," Dean replied.

"Less what?" Sam asked, scrunching his brow. He sat down on the opposite bed, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

"Just less," Dean replied as if that explained it all. Sam took a good look at Dean and realized the description was apt. He still had an intense expression on his face and he looked ready to spring into action, just less so.

The door squeaked as Doctor Bailey entered. His arms were full of supplies and he dropped several small items on the floor as he walked closer to the brothers and deposited the lot on the small bedside table. "Let's see it," he said without fanfare, kneeling down by Sam.

Sam held out his leg and tried not to wince when Doctor Bailey started his ministrations. Doctor Bailey pushed up his glasses and quickly set to work cleaning the bite on Sam's ankle. He efficiently cleaned the wound and applied a fresh dressing, moving on to the cuts on Sam's arm no longer hidden by a long-sleeved shirt. When he pulled out a syringe and filled it, Sam held up a hand in protest. "Whoa, no."

Doctor Bailey used an alcohol wipe to clean a spot on Sam's arm. "It's a strong antibiotic, nothing else." He grinned widely at Sam and while Sam debated whether or not to trust the doctor, he took advantage of Sam's hesitation and drove the needle home. "There you go, all finished. It's a good thing you both came to see me. His condition needs monitoring for a couple of days and that bite was on the verge of becoming something pretty serious."

"But, he's good?" Dean piped up, his eyelids drooping.

"Sure is," Doctor Bailey replied. "You can get some sleep now."

Dean made eye contact with Sam who nodded. Dean visibly relaxed and settled back into the pillows.

Doctor Bailey stood with cracking knees. "Don't ever get old, son," the doctor stated tapping Sam lightly on the leg. "It's not fun."

"I don't think that's going to be an issue," Sam muttered under his breath.

"What?" Doctor Bailey asked, looking over at Sam. He was busy throwing away package wrappers.

"I said, thank you," Sam replied. He pulled the diagram of the shrine out of his back pocket, turned in the bed so his legs were stretched out in front of him and started to examine the picture. Some of the symbols looked familiar and once the doctor left, he'd get on the computer to begin researching.

Doctor Bailey puttered around for a bit longer, before heading out the door. "Let me know when he wakes and I'll give him a stronger painkiller. Try to get more rest," he lectured, looking over to the sleeping Dean. "It looks as if you both need it."

Sam nodded politely, but the moment the door clicked shut, he pulled out his computer and booted it up. He didn't know what William Gibbs had created out there in the woods, but whatever it was, it needed to be stopped.

He tapped the keys lightly, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to disturb Dean. He hated when Dean was hurting and he wished they could forget about the replay hauntings in the woods. In fact, he wished they could forget all about their obligations and responsibilities for awhile. He understood Dean's feelings so much better now, when he was buckling under the weight of the burden he carried. Sam wanted to let everything go, especially with the looming year ahead promising demons, pain and if Sam could not stop it, a trip into hell - because if that's what it took to save his big brother – he could do no less.

Shrugging off the melancholy feelings, Sam looked over at Dean again. Dean appeared to be resting peacefully for the first time in two days. He stopped typing and took in the nearly perfect moment. For this one small snippet of time, they were safe and they were relatively okay and that made everything all right in Sam's book.

With a sigh, Sam hijacked the doctor's wireless connection. He hoped he could assemble the pieces of the puzzle into a picture they could use to stop the replay hauntings in the extinct town of Waldo.

…………………………………………………….………Supernatural………………………………………………………

As always – Feedback Welcome!

AN: This would be why the lawyers at work caution us against putting anything in writing. Here it is Thursday and it took me six days to get out another chapter. )c:

Let's leave it at, I'll TRY to get out the chapters more than once a week. Sorry!

On a side note: My mother sent me an email at work on Tuesday titled: TraSan. I remembered then, that at her insistence, I had given her the link to my page when they were visiting in March. I had cautioned mom at that time that the stories were not her usual cup of tea. They were about a television show dealing with ghosts, demons and supernatural stuff (and she doesn't like to watch that sort of thing). I honestly never expected her to pop over to my page and read anything. When her email landed, I picked up the phone and called her.

Me: "So, what'd you think?"

Mom: "I loved it."

Me: "You're supposed to say that, you're my mom."

Mom: "Well…"

Me: "Well, what? It's okay; I can always use some constructive feedback."

Mom: "I can see you in some of it."

Me: "I'm sure. It's very difficult to keep yourself out of your writing entirely. What in particular?"

Mom: "One of the brothers…Dean."

Me: "Why? Because he can be a little bossy or because he's sarcastic?"

Mom: "I'm surprised that you admit that."

Me: "What? That I'm bossy or that I'm sarcastic? Mom, I'm the oldest. Of course, I'm bossy."

The funny part is really when I relayed the story to my husband.

Me: "So I asked her, what in particular?"

And my darling husband, who has read NONE of my stories, replied: "It was Dean, right? 'Cause he's bossy AND a smart ass."

Gotta love him. Jerk.

Please note: It was not Dean they were comparing me to precisely. It was his MOUTH. LOL.

Needless to say, mom, if you're reading this: Um…there's some bad language (nothing worse than the show) and themes you may not approve of. (c;

And to the rest of you who don't know me? I hope Dean always sounds like Dean and Sam always sounds like Sam. BG.