Chapter 9: The Mind's Eye

Dean couldn't erase the image of Sammy lying in an unmoving heap of tangled limps and slowly advancing blood. The pain alone threatened to tear him apart, but he still couldn't unsee that scene. At this point he had no desire to trek back into the world of awareness. Hell every time he did he was reminded of his heinous act and the tragedies that had followed. So, he chose to remain locked in the darkness, away from the unending pain, away from the disappointment and the blood. He allowed his mind to wander through what he knew, or thought he knew. Unfortunately, Dean was finding that there were holes, gaps in his memories that made no sense.

There was no denying what he'd done, Dean had watched himself kill Sam. Had felt the reverberation of the hammer through his entire arm; that clear memory sent a zing of pain so profound through him that he wondered how he was even breathing. But then he'd seen Sammy, and his brother had begged him to realize that it was all a dream. That he wasn't trapped in this reality of death and anguish. So, he tried to do what he'd been asked; and the moment he opened his eyes all he could see was the motionless face of his baby brother.

He was done with it, with all it!

Christ, I'm so tired of being the family disappointment. I've spent my entire life trying to prove that I am the man dad wanted me to be, but I just keep missing the mark. Compounding realizations just kept layering new levels of pain to an already overburdened soul. Dean had no desire to try again. Maybe you were right to walk away all those times Sammy.

Dean was drawn into the crystal-clear memory of the night he found a twelve-year old Sam missing.

22 years ago...

He'd been out getting them some grub and had spent way too much time flirting with the super cute waitress at the skeezy diner just up the road from their motel. Walking into their empty room, he'd nearly been cut in half by the sharp edges of guilt upon realizing that his brother wasn't waiting in the blue and gold room.

The smell of stale cigarettes and water damage made his stomach turn dangerously. At least that's what he was going to blame the clawing nausea on. His heart clenched painfully, like someone had twisted razor wire around it; he'd left Sam alone and now his little brother was missing. Their lives were dangerous enough and Dean had been more worried about trying to get to second base with that blonde chick than making sure his brother got dinner. What the hell kind of brother does that make me?

Failure was a word that Dean Winchester was far too familiar with. He'd spent his entire life trying not to be the weak link in their small family. But while Sam had the will to be his own person, Dean couldn't afford to. He had to be the protector, the father, the playmate, and the big brother. There wasn't much time left for him to decide who he really wanted to be.

Tearing through their room in flurry of activity he searched for any signs, any clues as to the fate of his only sibling, Dean hadn't found a damn thing. Terror didn't begin to describe how he was feeling. Vivid images of all the things that could be happening to Sam at this very moment assaulted him and he couldn't do a thing stop it. Bile churned deep in his throat sending him thundering toward the bathroom, throwing open the lid on the toilet he dropped to his knees. Dean barely made it before he was emptying the contents of his stomach. The faint smell of old urine sent his sensitive stomach flipping again and he kept vomiting until his sides ached and his throat burned.

Eventually there was nothing left but the acidic taste of stomach bile. Sinking back onto his heels he scrubbed his hand down his face, grimacing at the feeling of vomit on his chin. Without turning, he reached up and grabbed the threadbare towel. The material was scratchy as he wiped it over his jaw and lips. The only thing he could think about was finding Sam, but he had nothing to go on. There were no clues about the type of monster, or worse, that had stolen his brother while he'd been out.

Trying to get laid. Be honest with yourself here, Dean. You wanted to get some action and you were willing to let Sammy stick it out alone until you did. The only reason you're back now is because she doesn't get off until midnight. He chided himself harshly. This was his fault. He'd let his guard down and his brother had paid a steep price for his libido. So much for being a good brother.

He couldn't stop the continual evisceration of his emotions because his brother's fate hung in the balance. Not that he had the right to, at least not in his own mind. Their dad—

Ah shit. Dad.

John Winchester was due back the next morning, they were supposed to be heading on to a new hunt in Nebraska. Fear mixed with his already frantic state and Dean knew that there would be hell to pay when their father found about this. It wasn't that John was abusive, but he wasn't Mother Theresa either. As the elder son, Dean had been on the receiving end of more than one lesson in obedience. He'd been tasked with protecting Sammy when their father was out; and he'd failed.

Hell, that's been my job since that night. He'd never fully recovered from seeing his mother burn on the ceiling of Sammy's room. That image was, quite literally, burned into his psyche.

Tossing the towel into the tub, he forced his legs to move. Once he was on his feet, Dean turned toward the main room. Pain lanced through him as he stared at Sam's perfectly made bed. It was on the inside of the room, because Sammy never slept by the door; it was one of Dean's cardinal rules. The rest of room was somewhere between chaos and cleanliness.

The Winchester's never let maids into their rooms, so any cleaning or tidying up had to come from them. That wasn't exactly Dean's strong suit. His eyes flickered to his messy sheets and rumbled blankets. One pillow was crushed into a weird semblance of itself, the other was missing altogether. Probably on the floor. It was a wonder that he and Sam were even related. They were so different that it was almost scary.

His brother was genius-level smart; in contrast, Dean wasn't under any false illusions as to his own academic capacities. He didn't have a future outside of hunting, he knew that. This was it for him. Maybe he could get a job as a mechanic somewhere, if he had to. Bobby had been teaching him how to pull apart an engine and Dean was turning out to be a quick study. But a real life? One with college and a wife, a family other than Sammy? That just wasn't in the cards for him.

It didn't occur to Dean often, the idea of how he might die, but every once in a while, he would get drawn into thinking about his future. Knowing what he knew, well, people with that type of knowledge understood that their lives were unimportant in the grand scheme of things. He would die at the edge of a blade or from the barrel of a gun; either way, his death would be bloody. And I'll probably die alone. As much as Dean wanted, no needed, to keep Sam with him, always; he knew how badly his baby brother wanted out of this life. Sam didn't want to be a hunter, he never had. Which meant at some point, he would leave Dean behind and move onto a life of his choosing.

That was the culmination of everything that he feared. Being alone. No family. No Sammy, nothing. He told Sam once that it scared him, the things he was willing to do or kill to protect his family. And he'd meant it, but mostly because he didn't know who he'd be without them.

Unshed tears burned just behind his eyes, swiping at them Dean turned toward the door.

Pulling in a deep breath, Dean grabbed the Impala's keys off the nightstand where he'd tossed them before realizing that his brother was gone. Grinding his teeth together, he stalked out toward the parking lot.

The air was cool. Or at least as cool as it ever got in Flagstaff, Arizona. There was a storm rolling in, lightning streaked across the distance and Dean jerked at an unexpected crack of thunder.

It had the same sound as a leather belt striking flesh. His muscles coiled at the remembered pains and he took a deep breath. Trying to ignore the lashing that was definitely in his future Dean jammed the key into the lock and pulled open the driver side door.

Sinking into the buttery soft black leather he allowed the familiar scent and feel of the car to soothe him. Dean wrapped his long fingers around the steering wheel. But he didn't start the car, instead he slid the key into the ignition before laying his forehead against the top of the wheel. Tilting his head to the right, he allowed his gaze to focus on the empty seat beside him. Sam's seat.

And this time he couldn't stop the tears as they rolled down his cheeks in a steady stream. Dean's chest heaved with the magnitude of his aching loss and for once he didn't have to try and hide it, so he didn't.

He had no idea how long he sat there. Eventually his tears dried, and his eyes took on a gritty sensation. Leaning back, he finally started the engine. Eight cylinders fired up and the Impala rumbled beneath his legs in a familiar vibration that he would never tire of. He loved this car almost as much as he loved his family. It had been the only other constant thing in his life.

The storm unleashed hell around two-thirty in the morning. Rain fell in sheets so thick that the lights from the Impala drown out, making it difficult to keep the heavy classic on the asphalt. He had no idea how long he drove or how many gas stations and all-night diners he stopped at. But no dice, no one had seen his floppy-haired little brother. It was like Sam had just disappeared in a poof of smoke.

Unfortunately, Dean knew better than that. Something had to have taken him, so it was just a matter of time until he found the trail. His head was spinning and all he wanted was to get blink stinking drunk and pass out for a few hours. That way he could start it all over again tomorrow.

Pulling back into the motel lot, his blood ran cold at the sight of his father's black Chevy truck. "I am so dead." He murmured quietly. Shoving down the desire to run like hell, he killed the engine and climbed from the car. Rain pelted him hard enough to soak through his army jacket within seconds. By the time he made it to the door, his short blonde hair was plastered to his skull.

He never even got the key in the lock before his father threw open the door. "You look like a drowned rat." John's eye's shifted just over Dean's left shoulder and then he frowned. "Where's your brother?"

It took everything he had to relay what he knew to his dad. And it broke something deep inside of Dean to do it. John just listened at first, but then his eyes had narrowed, and he'd crossed his arms over his chest as anger suffused his face. After he'd finished explained, Dean found he couldn't even meet his father's eyes.

"So, you left your brother unprotected for what? Some greasy burger and an easy lay?" The vicious edge in John's voice cut Dean to the bone. It wasn't that his dad was wrong; it was the fact that he was right. Despite what Sammy thought, their father knew them very well.

The open-palm slap came so fast that Dean didn't even have time to register the strike before he was spinning backwards, landing on the edge of Sam's bed. "Do you have any idea what could be happening to him right now? Is this what you wanted?" He stalked forward, his raging expression one that the elder son hadn't seen very often. "Well congrats Dean, now you can have all the time you want to yourself."

"Dad—"

John smacked his outstretched hand away, "No! I gave you one job, Dean. One job. Protect Sam so I can hunt the thing that killed mom. Apparently, I'm going to have to figure something else out after we find your brother. Because you can't be trusted to do your job."

Slowly, Dean staggered to his feet. He wasn't expecting a second blow. Finding himself on the floor with a split lip and an ache just below his left eye he knew that his father had lashed out again. Not that he blamed the man. Hell, Dean would have kicked his own ass if he could have.

"If he dies…" John nearly choked on the words as his throat thickened with emotions. Swallowing he tried again. "If he dies…that's on you, Dean." He didn't say another word, just turned and slammed the door open and disappeared into the pouring rain.

Dean folded in on himself as grief nearly crushed him. He'd lost his brother and disappointed his father on a level that he'd never be able to fully recover from.

Two weeks later…

The bruising had finally started to fade, but the damage done to Dean's heart wasn't something that would heal. He'd gotten into it a few more times over the past weeks with his father, hence the green and yellow under the purple along his cheek and jawline. He couldn't hold it against the man, after all it was Dean's fault that they were past the point of thinking they were rescuing Sam. Neither of them had been able to deny the probability that they were now looking for a corpse.

Hope had never been one of Dean's strongest qualities, and what little he'd bit he did have had slowly faded into nothing. He'd watched his father drink himself into a stupor most nights; those had been the bad nights. Dean had tried to stay out of the way; that was a bit hard to do when he was living in the motel room.

Glancing in the mirror, he was startled to realize that he'd lost weight. He tried to remember the last time he'd eaten more than a few bites and found that he couldn't. Lowering his gaze, Dean grabbed his toothbrush and depressed the paste onto it. He was just going through the motions of living. He knew it. His father knew it. But the grief was too deep for either of them to reach out and offer any sort of comfort. So they just existed together.

"What the hell?"

His father's shocked voice cut through the closed door. Hurrying to pull his t-shirt over his head, Dean rushed from the bathroom. His mouth dropped open and he blinked in shock.

Standing in the doorway with his black duffle was Sam. And he wasn't hurt or dirty; it was like he'd been on a field trip or something. Dean ground his teeth together even as his hands twitched with the need to touch Sam; to make sure that he was real.

John pulled his youngest son into a hug that nearly crushed the kid. Tears dripped down his cheeks as he allowed the emotions that had nearly crippled him for the past two weeks to finally flow free.

"Um, dad—" Sam's muffled words were drowned in the flannel shirt. "I can't breathe." He finished. After a few more seconds, his dad finally released him before looking back at Dean.

Something flickered in his eyes, but Dean averted his gaze before he could recognize the silent apology.

Sam's attention shifted to his brother, and he frowned at what he saw there. Dean was thinner than he'd been a couple of weeks ago and there were multiple bruises along his face. "Where have you been?" The harsh edge wasn't something that his brother directed at him very often. It sent a chill down Sam's spine.

"I just needed some time alone." He swallowed, averting his eyes when Dean's gaze hardened.

Nodding, Dean didn't say anything else. He just grabbed his jacket and the keys before brushing past Sam into the slowly brightening sky.

"Dean?"

Ignoring the concern, he heard buried inside Sam's question, Dean climbed into the Impala. He didn't even look back at the motel room as he fired up the engine and threw rocks in his haste to get out of the parking lot. As angry and hurt as he was, Dean couldn't quite stop himself from looking in the rear-view mirror. He saw Sammy standing in the slot where the car had been parked moments ago. The kid's shoulders were slumped, and his head had dropped forward onto his chest, the sorrow clearly evident in his body position.

Knowing that he'd just hurt his brother sent another wave of guilt through him. God, I don't need any more of that.

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Sam came back to himself in the slow and painful way that always accompanied a sideways hunt. Honestly, he hadn't missed waking up after being injured. It used to happen a lot more often, before they had met Castiel. Since rescuing Dean from hell, the angel had taken a keen interest in keeping them, mostly, healthy. Sam took a few moments to center himself before forcing his heavy eyelids to part.

The familiar ache in his lower back meant he'd been stabbed by something. Racking his memory, he wasn't able to come up with the answer and that scared him. A groan slipped past his lips and he shifted, stretching along his shoulders and instantly regretting that action.

"Sam?" Cas's rough tone cut through the noise inside his head and he managed to focus more clearly. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I got stabbed in the back." He allowed his gaze to roam until it landed on the concerned face of his brother's best friend. "Cas, did I get stabbed in the back?"

The look that passed across his blue eyes sent a shiver through Sam. "You were trying to save Dean. Do you remember that?"

The memories flooded back in at the mention of his brother and Sam bit his lower lip at the broken version he'd met inside Dean's head. He hadn't been able to see past the effects of the spell to realize that Sam wasn't dead; that he had not killed him with a 26oz hammer to the skull. "Oh God." He breathed.

Tilting his head up, he stared expectantly at the angel, knowing that Castiel couldn't read his mind. But he wasn't sure how to articulate what he'd witnessed inside his brother's mind. His lower right side zinged, and he groaned with discomfort. "Is he…?" Sam tried to come up with a way to ask what he needed to know. "Awake?"

He watched as the angel tried to decide on whether or not to lie to him. "I need to know."

Sighing, "No. He is not awake."

Something that crossed between anger and frustration flared up inside Sam. "What does that mean?" Fear rolled over his anger and he wondered if Dean had slipped back into the spell-coma. He hadn't realized just how much hope he'd placed on that spell Rowena had cast. It had been devastating believing that his brother had sacrificed himself for the world, yet again and no one but Sam and their small band of cohorts would ever know. If their positions had been reversed, Dean would never have stopped trying to find another way. He wasn't programmed to let Sam die; it just wasn't in his DNA makeup.

For a long time Sam hadn't understood how his brother could be so selfish. But then Dean had died at the hands of Metatron and it had ripped into parts of Sam that he could still feel bleeding at times. What he'd witnessed inside his brother's head had reinforced that Dean still carried a metric ton of guilt for his time as a demon. Because only that type of self-loathing could have spawned a hell-world where Dean had managed to kill Sam.

Shoving down the pain, he forced himself into a seated position. Taking several deep breaths, he started to rise. Immediately Castiel was trying to push him back down. "Sam. What're you doing? You need to rest."

It was funny to hear the angel giving him advice on healing. Wait a deuce, why hadn't their angelic medical provider already healed him? "Cas, can't you just take care of this?" He gestured toward his back, while resisting the shorter man's efforts to reinstall him in the bed.

A look of supreme annoyance spread over the pale face. "No. Something about the blood magic prevents me from healing your injury." He paused for a moment before adding, "Or Dean's."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "You still can't heal Dean?"

Shaking his head, "No."

Their collective gazes were drawn to the door as Mary and Rowena blocked out the light from the hallway. Mary remained silent, but Rowena had no such compunctions. "I told you not to get hurt in there, didn't I?"

Was she really chiding him? "Stabbed in the back, Rowena. It's not like I was looking for a fight."

"And yet the fight found you anyways, didn't it?" She shot back in a biting tone that set his teeth on edge. "Shouldn't one of you be with Dean?"

The redhead rolled her eyes. "Ach, trust me, Dean-o isn't going anywhere."

Now Sam was irritated. "Not the point." They had all left Dean to stand in his room and castigate him on how he hadn't been careful enough. It wasn't like he'd known what he was walking into with Dean. It's not like you thought it would be a candy land version of our lives either. Licking his lips, he realized just how thirsty he was. "Can I have some water please?" His blue-green gaze flickered to his mother, "And some ibuprofen?"

Mary gave him a half smile and turned toward away. Castiel started to stop her, but she just lifted a hand. "I know where the dispensary is." Her eyes shifted back to her youngest son. "I'll be right back."

"Thanks mom." He managed to call her by that name without his heart flying into his throat. All things considered Sam was a little bit proud of himself for that. Shifting his gaze back to the witch, he asked. "How's Dean?"

A small worry line developed between her sculpted eyebrows and Sam felt his stomach drop. That's probably not good.

"There's very little change. He appears to be free of the spell, but not the damage it inflicted." Sam's confused response had her rushing on to explain. "Dean has a lot of physical injuries. Some of them are from his time with the men of letters, but others are deeper. Psychic in nature. He can't seem to clarify what's real and what isn't." Her voice softened when she saw the pained expression Sam didn't even try to hide. "He has a long road ahead of him." Another long pause. "If he wakes up at all."

That got Sam's undivided attention. "What? Wha…what does that mean?" His frantic eyes shifted between the witch and the angel and back again. "One of you better answer me before I get out of this bed and kick your ass."

Rowena's eyes twinkled. "Not very scary at the moment, Samuel."

He didn't say anything, but his expression darkened to the point that she back up a step. "Alright then, still scary as hell. Damn Winchesters." She finished caustically.

"Can you walk?" Cas asked, stepping up next to the bed.

Sam shifted, grunting at the pain before nodding slightly. He was so tired of being beat up by their lives. No matter how much they managed to overcome there was always another world-ending disaster waiting. The only constant in this fight was his brother. "Think so." If it meant seeing Dean, he would crawl on all fours carrying his guts. "I'm missing your healing touch right about now." He admitted when he allowed the smaller man to take some of his weight.

Lifting azure blue eyes, Castiel started up at him with a surprised expression. Sam smiled down despite his own weakness. "I wish I could take this burden for you, Sam."

"No, this is mine to carry. I would give my life for my brother." He shrugged. "He would do the same for me."

There was a time when he hadn't believed that, but that had passed so many years ago. Even as he'd knelt at his brother's feet after being pummeled by a powered-up version of Dean, he hadn't believed that his hero could complete that slicing arc with the scythe…and he'd been right. In the grand scheme of things, Dean had always chosen Sam. He hadn't realized that until he'd been older and understood the weight that his brother had carried since he'd been a child.

Almost losing his only family to the effects of the Mark, Sam had finally 'got it'. He understood what it was to know that he was alone. Because that had been different than the whole Dick Roman and purgatory thing. Then he'd just thought that Dean was missing and he'd rationalized to himself that his brother was in a better place, better off. He'd been so damn wrong. But with his brother's death, he'd known that there wasn't an irritating older brother waiting on the other end of a phone call or singing, off key, in the kitchen while cooking bacon and pancakes. Those had been the worst months of his life, living alone in the bunker and not knowing what had happened to Dean's body. It had never occurred to him that the mark would have blackened his brother's amazing soul into a demonized version of what it had been.

Even two years later the memory of that night in the bunker still haunted him. Not the fact that Dean had almost killed him, that had happened often enough in their lives that it didn't faze him for too long. No, it had been the terror that the cure wouldn't work, and Sam would be forced to try and kill Dean. Just like his brother had never been able to seal deal where he was concerned, neither had Sam been able to take out his closest friend and partner. Because at this point, they were truly more than simple brothers. That only made the connection deeper, but it was everything else that they'd been through that had forged their relationship in fire.

"Sam?"

"I'm good." Sam took a shallow breath and limped beside the angel. The hallway felt longer than normal as they slowly made their way toward Dean's room. By the time they had traversed the distance, Sam was sweating and breathing in sharp pants. The fiery pain that was crawling up his back made him want to puke. But he needed to see his brother.

Pushing the door open, Castiel helped him into the room. Mary was seated in the chair near the bed, head back and appearing to be asleep. Sam knew better. Hunters were rarely zonked out no matter how they appeared. Rowena was…where exactly? "Where's Rowena?"

Without opening her eyes, "She went out for some food." His mother's lowered voice told him they were worried about bothering Dean. But as his eyes shifted to the bed, Sam knew that his brother hadn't moved since they'd placed him there.

Mary moved so he could use her chair. Casting grateful eyes in her direction, Sam sank down in a slow awkward manner. His hands were wrapped around his mid-section in the hopes that he could avoid vomiting all over the floor. Somehow, he didn't think that his brother would appreciate the acrid scent of bile in his room.

"How is he?"

Mary shook her head, "No change." She brought him a glass of water and handed him two white pain pills to take the edge off his pain. "How are you doing?" Her tone shifted and he detected concern. It was nice to hear that from someone other than Dean or Cas.

Reaching out, he laid his hand on his brother's chest. The affect was instantaneous. Dean's body arched and yellow arc of power flared beneath Sam's palm. The world started to spin and he couldn't stop his downward descent. Landing in a heap of pain, his entire body went limp.

"Sam!" Cas jumped toward them, but he wasn't able to keep the larger form of the younger brother from landing atop the older one.

"What the hell just happened?" Mary exclaimed, surging toward her boys, almost touching them but pulling back at the last moment. Her eyes took on the frantic look of mother rather than the damaged hunter/wife she'd been since returning to earth.

Laying his hand on Dean's forehead, he frowned. "I can't see what's going on." Shifted his palm to Sam's head, he tried again. "I can't see anything." The genuine frustration in his tone wasn't lost on Mary. It was apparent that this wasn't something that happened to the angel often and when it did, it pissed him off.

"Call the witch." She ground past clenched teeth. "What did that spell do to my boys?" Nothing good. She thought silently. Her blue eyes landed on both of her sons and for the first time she felt more than a passing affection for the men they'd become. Mary had loved Dean and Sam more than life itself but reconciling that love with the full-grown men she'd met upon her resurrection; was difficult. And yet, as she stared at them, she couldn't stop the swell of maternal concern.

Her introspection was interrupted by a Scottish brogue, "Ach, really? These brothers, I can't leave them alone for an hour. Getting themselves all beat up and spellbound." Rowena stomped her foot before crossing to where Cas had shifted Sam, so he was lying next to his brother. "Isn't that cute. Bet they haven't shared a bed in at least ten years."

Castiel glared at her. "Just…what is going on with them?" His gaze shifted to Mary and then back to the witch. "Is this your spell?"

Shaking her head, Rowena's humor died as she gently touched Dean's face. "No. That bitch." She groaned angrily.

"What?" Mary and Castiel asked in unison. They looked at each other quickly before returning their attention to the redhead.

Throwing her hands in the air, "She cast a counter spell. It was buried under the blood magic. Not detectable unless someone tried to restore Dean's mind."

"So by trying to help him, we what? Made it worse?" Mary questioned flatly. She really hadn't missed this. The constant fear of losing the people she loved to the supernatural. God I hate this.

Rowena nodded. "The counter spell, it's connected their fates—"

"Speak English." Castiel warned, stepping forward angrily.

"Sam and Dean will have to work together to find the exit to the spell work. If I try and cast another blood magic spell, I'm afraid it'll kill them both. They're bound by the spell I cast before and the counter that that bitch layered under hers. I can't help them." Her blue eyes lifted to meet the angel's. "And neither can you."

Castiel's gaze shifted to the brothers and he felt the emotions they'd awakened over the past eight years well up. He was worried about them. There was no telling what they'd be exposed to with the spells driving them both. Would it be something they knew? Or something completely new?

"What now?" Mary wondered softly. She moved to take up the seat next the bed. "Do we move Sam back to his room?"

"No." Rowena answered quickly. "The spell connected more than just their minds. Their bodies are tied to it now. Separating them will only make it worse. Give them time. If I've learned one thing about these two lumbering specimens, it's they always find a way to win."

"But this isn't something they're fighting. It's their own minds." Mary remarked with an edge of irritation. "How do they win against themselves?"

TBC…

Author's Note: And…there's the twist. Neither of the brothers is in a good place and now they're fates are tied to figuring out just what the hell Toni Bevel actually did to Dean. Mary and Cas are sidelined and even Rowena can't save them. Just like in all good Supernatural episodes, the boys are best when they're together; and they always manage to save themselves.

Please take a moment and leave a quick review, thank you.

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