Title: Ashes, the Rain and I
Summary: Coda to 10x12 About a boy. What if Hänsel had turned Sam into a teenager instead of Dean? Protective!BigBro!Dean. Teen!Sam. Slight AU.
Warning: Rated K+ for language and violence
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the show… Just playing around.
Author's note: The title is the name of a song from the James Gang (it's the song that's played in the beginning of the episode). The picture for this story belongs to the amazing artist Petite Madame.
Ashes, the Rain and I
Dean could barely hear the dial tone over the sound of his pounding heart.
Gnawing nervously on his lower lip, he paced the parking lot of the dive bar, all the while listening to the mechanic beep on the other end of the line.
"Hey, this is Sam. Leave a message after the—"
"Goddamnit, Sammy…" Dean ground out in frustration when his call went straight to voicemail for the fifth time in a row.
He had tried to contact his little brother for about an hour now and so far his efforts had been to no avail.
All different kinds of scenarios had played out in his mind about what could have made his brother drop off the radar like that, but he couldn't come up with anything that would excuse a total radio silence, especially considering that they were in the middle of a hunt.
It just wasn't like Sam to do something so irresponsible.
They had an unspoken rule about always picking up the phone when they were splitting up on a job.
Because if there was one thing that sent Dean's protective streak into overdrive, it was a little brother who didn't respond to his calls and could be, for all he knew, in a potential life-or-death situation.
Dean closed his eyes, carefully massaging his temples in an attempt to calm himself down, before he made a bee-line for the entrance of the bar.
It was remotely crowded for a work day and the air inside was smoky and stale with the scent of human bodies and beer.
Somewhere in the back, classic rock blared loudly through the sound machine and Dean thought he had been right when he said that this kind of location was right down his alley.
Too bad Sam had taken up on his hesitancy to talk to the locals and made the offer to question the bar patrons himself while Dean had stayed back.
The kid had always been too damn' perceptive for his own good.
And now that his little brother wasn't reacting to his calls, Dean couldn't help but think that if only he had been a little bit more adamant about doing the questioning himself, he would be missing now instead of Sam.
A scantily clad blonde strutted by him, winking at him in a silent prompt to follow her to the bar, but Dean turned her down with a curt smile and a shake of his head, unable to focus on anything else but his missing brother.
As tempting as the gold locks and the sinfully long legs might have been, Dean knew he would never forgive himself if anything was to happen to Sammy while he was philandering with some no-name girl in a run-down bar.
So instead he turned towards the bartender- a bulky guy with messy dark hair and a scruff beard, who was currently downing a shot of Whisky behind the bar.
"Hey, uhm...you wouldn't by any chance, have seen a guy about this tall—" Dean lifted a flat hand into the air to indicate his brother's ginormous size. "Long shaggy hair, kinda like an overgrown puppy?"
The bartender looked at him as if he had lost his mind, bushy eyebrows scrunched up in obvious annoyance at having been interrupted at his private drinking session.
"Dogs aren't allowed in here," he grunted, reaching out to prepare another drink for himself, Whisky sloshing over the rim of the shot-glass.
Dean snorted, lips twisting into a mirthless smile.
Guy thought he was funny.
How cute.
He leaned in close enough to make the guy squirm, eyes turning fierce and demanding in the span of a second. "Alright let's try this again, buddy. You see him, or not?"
"What if I did?" the bar tender rebuked in a snappish tone and Dean's fingers tightened on the man's wrist until he saw a glimmer of pain in his glassy eyes.
The guy's gaze flickered down to the counter top of the bar and Dean's heart skipped a beat when he followed it, spotting Sam's phone between various bottles of alcohol and a bowl with pressed lime juice.
The sight sent a spark of anger through Dean's veins.
Grabbing the guy by the shoulders, Dean slammed him up against the shelf of bottles behind them, eliciting a shocked squeak of protest and getting right up in his face.
A bottle of gin smashed to the ground with a loud splatter, shards of glass and clear liquid scattering across the tiled floor.
"Now listen up you son of a bitch cause my patience is wearing a little thin here... That phone on your counter?" Dean snarled, gritting his teeth. "It belongs to my kid brother- the shaggy haired, tall guy I was talking about earlier, remember?"
The guy nodded frantically, breath going faster than before.
"Now you're going to tell me what you did to him, or this will turn ugly real quick."
It was hard to keep his voice down and Dean really had to fight the urge to just bash the guy's face in, but eventually his efforts to keep his composure paid off when the bar tender finally sputtered a shaky explanation.
"H-he went outside, man, I didn't do anything to him..."
Dean jostled the guy a little harder, ramming him up against the storage shelf for emphasis. "The phone! Where did you get it from?"
"I-I found it outside by the dumpster with some other shit- clothes and s-shoes… I swear!"
Dean slammed a flat palm against the wall in anger at coming too late.
"Damnit!" he swore trying to calm the quench the pulsing rage in his chest and then turned towards the bartender with a final warning. "You better be telling the truth."
Taking a step back, he whirled around and grabbed Sam's phone before heading for the exit.
As soon as the cool night air whipped against his skin, Dean broke out into a run, heading for the row of garbage containers behind the building.
"Sam!" he yelled, turning in a half-circle as his eyes frantically scanned his surroundings for any sign of his absent brother. "Sammy!"
Apart from the mountains of trash littering the ground, Dean didn't notice anything out of the ordinary until his attentive gaze suddenly latched onto a wayward shoe that lay partly hidden beneath a dumpster.
Pulling it out from beneath the container, Dean easily identified the footwear as his brothers' and dropped it back to the ground with a worried sigh. "Shit, Sam… what the hell have you gotten yourself into, this time?"
Right next to the shoe, Dean found his brother's discarded clothing- the cheap dark blue FBI suit Sam had worn before they parted ways.
He straightened up again, driving trembling fingers through his spiky hair before turning back towards the Impala, when a slight commotion at the other end of the parking lot caught his attention.
As he moved closer, the shadowy silhouettes of two people came into focus, their voices loud and angry, seemingly fighting over something.
Dean's eyes narrowed when he noticed that one of the two was a young boy, who was clearly upset about something, his voice rising with panic as he tried to make the other person understand.
Knowing he couldn't just turn his back on a potentially dangerous situation- especially if there was a kid involved- Dean swore under his breath and tucked his gun back into the waistband of his jeans.
"Hey!" he called out over the distance, jogging up to the kid and the older man who stood right next to him. "Everything alright over here?"
The dim light of the street lanterns wasn't strong enough to illuminate the boy's face, but Dean was still able to make out huge, unblinking eyes from behind a curtain of tousled bangs.
And despite the overall crappiness of the situation- with Sam being missing and all- Dean couldn't help the small smile that settled on his lips at the odd resemblance the boy had to his little brother.
Crouching down, Dean sent a glance back over his shoulder to the scruff looking guy with dirty clothing, before letting his watchful gaze resettle on the frightened kid.
"You okay?" he asked in a soft tone, a strange sense of protectiveness washing over him. "The guy give you any trouble?"
"I ain't giving no one trouble, man- this little bastard just tried to highjack my freaking car!" the guy slurred, swaying lightly on his feet.
Even from where he was sitting on his haunches, Dean wrinkled his nose at the distinct reek of alcohol coming from the guy's clothes.
Dean raised an eyebrow, staring questioningly at the dark haired kid in front of him.
"That true, kiddo?"
For all intents and purposes, the boy didn't look like your typical small-time criminal whose favorite past time activity was auto theft.
From what Dean could tell the boy's clothing was a little too big on him, dark hoodie sitting loosely on his thin shoulders and his washed-out jeans was a few centimeters to short around his ankles.
He was wearing hand-me-downs, Dean figured, which meant there probably was a family somewhere around.
And judging from the look of fear and confusion on his young face, he wasn't used to stealing either. Even though he seemed capable of it.
No, this kid was no criminal. Not even a petty one...
He just looked like an innocent teen who grew up in a shitty environment and Dean could relate to that.
"Hey, I'm talking to you…" he urged when the kid refused to answer his question.
Shrinking back from Dean's demanding tone, the kid bumped up against the navy blue Honda he had apparently tried to steal and his eyes went even wider as he frantically scanned the area for a way to escape.
"No I d-didn't—" he uttered in a small voice and Dean almost cringed at the sound of it, feeling that prickle of familiarity in the back of his mind.
"I didn't do anything, I s-swear…"
Dean's eyes narrowed, his pulse kicking up a notch.
He knew that voice...
Feeling the overwhelming urge to comfort the boy, Dean moved a little closer and raised his hands in a placating gesture, not wanting to spook the frightened kid even more.
"Hey it's alright. Nobody's gonna hurt you. Even if you did try to steal that car- and we don't know that yet—"
"Like hell you we don't! I caught the sneaky lil' bastard red-handed," the guy snarled, taking a threatening step forward and Dean practically fumed with anger when he saw the kid flinch back in fear.
"Maybe I ought to teach the brat some manners—"
Dean snarled- honest to god snarled- at the stranger as he shot up from the ground and squared his shoulders, building a solid front of muscle between the frightened boy and the moron who was stupid enough to think he could make a move on him.
Grabbing the guy by the lapels of his army jacket, Dean pulled him close enough to see his pupils widen in fear.
"You touch one hair on the kid's body and I'll kick your sorry ass six ways to Sunday. He's off freaking limits, you understand?!"
The guy nodded his understanding, writhing and twisting uncomfortably in Dean's iron grip. "Alright, man I get it, I u-understand…"
"Good."
With a last warning jostle to the man's shoulders, Dean shoved him back, causing him to stumble and lose his balance as he fell to the ground.
Dean snorted and shot the man an angry glower. "Drunk ass like you shouldn't be driving anyways..."
On second thought, Dean grumbled under his breath and pulled his FBI badge from his jeans pocket, flipping it open. "You know what, why don't you give me your driving license while we're at it?"
Because letting this completely jagged asshole get back into his trashy car was like standing by and watching a Wendigo rip somebody's throat out and Dean had no intentions of letting that happen.
Chances where high this guy would cause an accident and kill himself or others in the process if he tried to start up a car in his condition.
"Y-you can't do that… I did-nn't even drive anywhere…" the drunk retorted.
Dean's expression grew stony. "Buddy, I'm from the Feds, I can do whatever the hell I want. And if I have any say in the matter you'll never drive anything ever again. Now give me your license and the keys to this car or I'm gonna take you to the next police station and leave your drunk ass to rot in a freaking cell, you get me?"
The guy hastily pulled his battered license and car keys from his jacket and handed them over with a pinched look on his face, before bailing from the scene.
Watching after the guy as he scrambled off towards the entrance of the bar, Dean turned around once more, reverting his attention onto the scrawny boy who reminded him so much of his younger brother, only to find him suddenly gone.
The spot where the kid had stood only seconds before was now vacated and Dean's heart leapt in his chest at realization that the kid must have bailed in the few minutes his attention had been elsewhere.
"Goddamnit, I don't have time for this…" he muttered under his breath.
Every fiber of his being wanted to get into the Impala and floor the gas pedal, getting away from here and focusing on the task of getting his brother back, but there was an inexplicable need to find that boy and make sure he was alright first, that Dean couldn't really explain.
For some reason he felt incredibly protective of the kid he had only just met and couldn't bear the thought of him staying at this god-awful place all by himself surrounded by scanty women and low-life thugs in the middle of nowhere.
Swearing lowly under his breath, Dean pleaded silently for Sam's forgiveness, hoping his impromptu search operation wouldn't cause a big delay in his quest to find his brother and get him out of whatever trouble he was in.
But in his heart he knew that Sam would never want him to put his safety over the one of an innocent child.
There was no question about that.
Which made his decision a little easier.
"Hey, kid! Where the hell did you go?" Dean barked out, jogging from one end of the parking lot to the other, his watchful gaze sweeping over the darkened area in hopes of finding that shaggy brown mop of hair somewhere in between cars.
Finally his eyes caught movement at the line of trees bordering the cemented ground to his far left.
Slowly backing away from the entrance of the bar, Dean crept up to the patch of greenery without trying to make too much noise.
The leaves were rustling in a foretelling whisper and Dean ducked through a draping tree brunch, hand going for his pearl-handled revolver.
He didn't mean to startle the boy even more than necessary by pointing a gun at him, but the fact that they were theoretically still working a case here and that Sam had been reduced to a pile of discarded clothing not even two hours ago had him automatically reaching for his weapon.
But his hand grasped at nothing, the familiar feeling of steel missing from where it should be against his back.
Dean closed his eyes and locked his jaw in frustration.
How the hell had he missed someone stealing his fucking gun from his jeans?
"Looking for this?" a shaky voice had him whirl around, facing the barrel of his own gun from where the kid stood hidden in the trees' shadows.
"Whoa, hey…" Dean raised his palms in a clear gesture of 'I-mean-you-no-harm', marveling about how deftly this boy had managed to pull a number on an experienced hunter like himself.
Clearly the kid was way more capable of taking care of himself than Dean had given him credit for.
"Why don't you give that back to me and we have a chat, huh?" Dean calmly urged, taking a step closer to the boy.
He was halted in his movement the next second, when the kid's frame tensed and his finger cocked the hammer of the gun back with practiced ease.
"Yeah I don't think so," the kid snapped back, none of the previous shakiness left in his voice.
He sounded determined now and his aim was unwavering. "Where did you get this gun from?"
Dean blinked at the unexpected question, frown creasing his forehead even as he stilled his movements.
He had the sneaky suspicion that there was a lot more to the kid than he had first thought.
It was probably wise to tread lightly with the boy if he didn't want to get his head blown off…
"Look, I'm not going to hurt you, alright? Give me my revolver back and we can talk this out—"
Dean was cut off by the sharp sound of a gun firing, bullet zipping through the air and lodging itself deeply in the ground right next to where he was standing on the muddy earth.
Gasping in shock, Dean automatically jumped to the side, heart leaping into his throat at the unexpected weapon's discharge.
"I asked where you got this gun from!" the boy demanded, voice cracking slightly with emotion.
Dean slowly raised his frantic gaze to meet the boy's eyes, breath going fast and heavy at very nearly having been shot by a freaking kid.
"Tell me now, or the next one's going through your knee."
Okay… Dean had to give it to him, for a freaking baby the kid had guts.
Dean was starting to get a little pissed off by the boy's behavior.
"Alright, tough guy, that's enough. Why don't you—"
A second shot rang out and this time Dean felt a sharp ripple of fire where the bullet nicked the flesh on his calve.
"Gah- fuck—" he gasped, staggering slightly when his muscles trembled from shock and pain.
"Where. Did you. Get this from?" the kid repeated, the words hacked off as if that would somehow make his question easier to understand.
Dean clamped a hand over the bleeding flesh wound on his leg, squeezing his eyes closed while he tried to ride out the pain.
He bit his lower lip, taking a deep breath before looking up at the freaking little bastard that had shot him through a hazy veil of agony.
"My father," he pressed out curtly from behind clenched teeth. "It was my old man's. He gave it to me when I turned—"
"Seventeen," the boy finished his sentence for him and Dean's eyes grew wide with astonishment.
How in the world did the little shit know that?
"What was your father's name?" the kid further questioned in a rushed voice.
Dean swallowed past his pain and straightened up a little, narrowing his eyes at the kid in suspicion.
The prickling sense of déjà-vu he had had from the second he had first seen the shaggy haired kid at the parking lot flared to new life and went into overdrive.
"John," Dean gave back slowly, taking a limping step forward. "His name was John."
The kid's aim wavered, his shoulders sagging a little as his breath audibly caught in his throat.
"What kind of car was he driving?"
And then it finally clicked.
Dean's confused expression smoothed out into his slow smile, his heart filling with warmth and his eyes going soft at the realization that the trembling boy in front of him was not just a random kid from the streets.
This was the kid he had raised.
This was his kid…
Dean swallowed before answering in a low voice. "A black Chevy Impala 67. Best ride anyone could ever hope for."
When the boy gasped out a choked-off sound between a laugh and a sob, dropping his arm to the side and taking his aim off his approaching form, Dean knew with absolute certainty that the kid was nobody else but his brother.
"Sammy," he rasped out and that was all it took for the boy's careful resistance to crumble.
"Dean?" the younger version of his brother croaked, voice catching on his brother's name even as he shot forward and wrapped his scrawny arms around Dean's waist, burying his face in his older brother's chest. "Oh god… please tell me it's really you."
"The one and only," Dean murmured a little dumbfounded at holding a young version of Sammy in his arms.
Sam pulled back a little, squinting up at Dean with brimming eyes. "What's going on, Dean- why am I here? And how- I mean- why do you look like that—"
"Slow down, dude. One question after another, alright?" Dean muttered softly in response to his brother's nervous rambling and ruffled the kid's silken tufts of hair.
His own pulse was racing at the absurdity of what was happening, but he didn't have any answers to Sam's questions either.
In fact, he was equally as clueless about what was going on as his little brother.
The cool autumn breeze chose that moment to pick up and gust around them with renewed force, causing Sam's small frame to shiver against his big brother's side.
Noticing the light tremor that wrecked the kid's frame, Dean pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around Sammy's quivering back, causing the boy to look up at him with glistening eyes. "Thanks."
He seemed to draw a deep-rooted comfort from that one simple gesture of motherly care.
Apparently the small act of tenderness was the ultimate proof that the gruff-looking adult in front of Sam was truly his big brother.
Dean gave him a soft smile. "Don't mention it. Old habits die hard, you know?"
Sam's lips trembled slightly at the corners, eyes shining with a mixture of emotions as he fell forward against Dean's chest once again and tightened his skinny arms around his brother's back.
Dean bit back a pained hiss when the momentum of the hug was putting too much strain on his injured leg, but he wrapped his arms around the small frame of his brother's back all the same.
Sam seemed to catch his choked-off sound of discomfort despite his best efforts to suppress it and pulled back from the embrace with a guilt-riddled expression.
"Oh god, Dean- your leg… I'm so sorry—"
Dean's palm slid down to the base of his kid's neck, squeezing it gently in reassurance.
"Just a flesh wound, Sammy. Don't worry about it…"
"I thought you had stolen it because it looked so much like my brother's," Sam hastily explained, motioning towards the gun in his grip. "How should I have known—"
"Hey," Dean calmly interceded, knowing Sam was getting worked up over their whole situation and talking himself into a frenzy. "Don't sweat it, okay? We got other things to worry about right now- like whatever the hell turned you into a freaking ten-year-old—"
"I'm fourteen," Sam corrected with an annoyed glower. "And I didn't get turned into anything."
Ahhh... there it was. The classical Sammy-bitchface.
Dean frowned at his brother's response. "Wait. What do you mean? What's the last thing you remember?"
Sam shrugged, saggy curtain of bangs obscuring his eyes from Dean's sight.
"I was in the library reading up on the lore about Kelpies for Dad's latest case, when there was this bright light and next thing I know, I'm waking up on this parking lot in the middle of freaking nowhere…"
"And then what? You decided to steal a freaking Honda? Seriously- Sam, I taught you better than that…"
Sam snorted, shaking his head. "You were the one who showed me how to do it, Dean."
"No, I showed you how to steal classy cars- not some half-functioning rust bucket…"
Sam snorted. "Right. You know I was a little too pre-occupied with freaking out over the fact that an invisible force teleported me from a library in Wyoming to a parking lot in bumfuck nowhere to be thinking about the type of car I was going to steal."
"Right... well you should get your priorities straight if you ask me," Dean snickered softly as he limped forward, Sam right by his side as they slowly moved away from the small patch of wood and towards a flickering street lamp.
Leaning back against the lantern and breathing heavily through the agony the small walk had caused him, Dean looked down to meet his brother's guilty gaze.
"I'm really sorry for shooting you…" Sammy apologized once more and it was easy to see that the he was still beating himself up for having caused his big brother pain.
Dean cupped the kid's cheek with a calloused palm, gently brushing his thumb against Sammy's unnaturally soft skin. "It's just a scratch, Sammy. I've had worse than that."
It was the first time he caught a good glimpse of the kid's face and his heart almost came to a full stop at the absurdity of staring at his baby brother's fourteen-year-old features, all young and innocent, bright eyes shimmering in the dim glow of the dirt crusted light bulb.
"What about you, that guy didn't touch you, did he?" Dean asked in a fierce whisper, lifting his brother's chin a little to scan his face for visible injuries.
Because so help him god, Dean was going to go back inside that bar and make the drunkard wish he was never born if he put a single bruise on his brother's body.
"M'fine," Sam assured with a small blush at his brother's mother-henning, trying to shrug Dean's fingers off. "Could've whooped his drunk ass with my hands tied behind my back."
"That's my boy…" Dean chuckled softly, satisfied with the fierceness that resided within his kid brother, beneath layers of cute dimples, puppy-dog-eyes and bashful innocence.
Because Sammy might have been scrawny for a fouteen-year-old, but he sure as hell wasn't defenseless.
Sam blinked and squirmed under Dean's proud gaze and just like that the moment was broken, Dean's hand falling away from his brother's face.
"So you're actually your fourteen-year-old self?" he asked slowly, throat constricting at the thought. Because if this wasn't the Sam from his timeline- where the hell did his thirty-one-year-old brother go? And how would Dean be able to get Sam's younger self back to his own universe?
Snorting at his own bizarre trail of thoughts, Dean shook his head. Only in their lives, something like meeting your fourteen-year-old little brother from the past would be part of their daily routine.
Sam nodded his head, hair flopping loosely from side to side. "I guess… I mean… how old am I supposed to be?"
Dean offered up a wry smile, knowing this next part was not going to please his little brother.
"Thirty-one… but look, don't worry okay? We'll figure this out and get you back to your own timeline."
"You realize how crazy that sounds, right?" Sammy asked on a shaky exhale, eyes still transfixed on Dean's older appearance and tracing all the visible changes his brother had undergone through the years.
There were little crow-feet at the corner of his emerald eyes and wrinkles on his forehead and a small fading scar across the cheek that Sam had never seen before.
When Dean noticed his staring, he looked a little sheepish, verdant gaze falling to the ground in something akin to mild embarrassment. "Dude, quit it. I know this is weird, but we'll figure it out, okay?"
Sam found himself nodding automatically, because even if everything else about his brother had changed over the years, the urge to trust his big brother with his life was just as strong as ever.
No matter what the hell was going on here, Dean would take care of him and make things right- just like he always did.
Sam knew that without the flicker of a doubt
"It's just…" he halted himself, rubbing the back of his hoodie-clad neck a little sheepishly. "You're about Dad's age… and you just look so—" old. Sam bit his lower lip before the word could slip from his tongue.
But Dean heard it all the same, his expression morphing into one of offense.
"Hey! I'm thirty-six, okay? And that's not old. It's… it's not even anywhere near old…" Dean protested weakly. "Dad was way older than that when you were fourteen."
Sam chuckled softly at his older brother's stubborn response, finding a hint of familiarity in Dean's horrified expression and the way he refused to acknowledge his own age.
"You sure about that? Cause I swear with the way I could snitch that revolver from your pocket, it almost seemed like you got a little rusty in your old age—"
Dean huffed before pushing himself away from the lantern and continuing his staggering walk towards the spot where he had parked the Impala.
Sam easily fell into pace beside him.
"Anyone ever tell you that you're a smartass?" Dean taunted, elbowing the scrawny kid lightly in the side.
"Yeah? Well you are a jerk."
Dean swallowed, mouth going dry and eyes filling with unexpected wetness. He had almost forgotten how easily he and Sam used to joke around like that when they were still younger.
It was easy to fall right back into the familiar back-and-forth.
"Bitch," the quick-fire response rolled off his tongue with an ease that came from years of praciced brotherly banter and Dean found himself wallowing in a strange sense of nostalgia until Sam's gasp of surprise snapped him back to the present.
"What is it?" Dean wanted to know as he opened the door of the Impala with the tell-tale rusty creak.
His brother ran his fingers over her shiny hood with appraising eyes, before lifting his gaze to look at Dean. "She looks just like… before."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Of course she does. What'd you expect?"
Slipping behind the steering wheel of his baby, Dean waited for his little brother to close the passenger door before looking the kid in the eyes.
"What happens now?" Sam asked a little insecurely, squirming a little in his seat.
Dean sighed. "Now we find who- or whatever did this to you."
"And then?" Sam wanted to know, looking up at his older brother with expectant eyes.
"And then we do what we do best," Dean offered him his trade-mark grin before starting the engine of his baby with a loud roar. "We kick it in the ass."
The end (?)
I know, I know... I shouldn't be starting any other stories while so many of my WIPs are still unfinished. (to my defense- the 4th chapter of Tainted is almost complete and will be posted soon ;)) But after I watched the last episode I just couldn't resist. Because I loved young Dean, but I would have loved young Sam even more. In my crazy mind, the interaction between a grown-up, gruff Mark-of-Cain plagued Dean with an innocent, younger version of Sam would have been PRECIOUS. And baaam- here we go... yet another side project in the making... :P Please - as always, tell me what you thought! :) Should I continue? Should I leave it as it is? The choice is yours! ;)