So it's Tuesday. Like I promised, how could I not update after all of those reviews?

Guys I am so touched by all of you support, and I hope that you continue to love the intrigue and the character interactions of my work. I fixed a few mistakes that were pointed out to me in the first chapter; I hope I did a better job on this one. I got my crazy smart sister to check this one out for me. It's a bit shorter, only by a few hundred words, but it just seemed a good place to end the chapter.

I am so happy with all of your support that I hope you will continue to give.

Grief's Possession

Chapter Two: Danger of Dreams

The illuminating screen cast a pale light across a darkened room. The sore eyes of the younger Winchester stared on, blinking lazily, as his cold hands pounded briskly on the darkened keys of his laptop. The bright light and scrolling pixels did nothing for the increasing ache in his head and back. The lights remained off after Dean leftThe dark shadows had never inspired fear in his heart and was never confining, just an empty place with out warm and light.

Suppressing long yawn, he desperately took a hearty drink of the black coffee the nice room service woman had brought. Dean would have been thrilled to answer the door, and more, but Sam had settled to just thank the girl, wistfully watching her as she walked away down the hall. Her blonde hair stood out in the bright lights of the fixtures. Vowing to actually find useful information before Dean called, 'to wake him up with news', he downed the cup, and poured himself out another from the pot.

The local newspaper, 'borrowed' after a quick stroll through the lounge, had revealed the young woman's obituary and a sale at Hunting Outfitters. Karin Lewison was a perfect student, had excelled at volleyball, and had been engaged to her late devoted boyfriend. Apparently all loved her. After looking at the list of grieving family members, Sam had no doubt that she would have had any lack of a support system after her boyfriend's death.

The details of Mark Trochie's death were sketchier and more vague, at best. He was interred at Silverstone Cemetery, wherever that was, and the road that had been described as the seen of the accident was marked as 'a small back road east of Calgary'. There was not a picture of either of them though, not even on their previous high school's page. Sam was fervently wishing Dean was having better luck with the family. Recalling the vehemence of the phone conversation with the younger brother, he was happy to have let Dean go deal alone – however horrible that sounded–.

Sam saved the information onto a hastily created Word file and closed the laptop. He glanced at the phonewilling it to ring and end the boredom of being here alone. One hand reached to pull out the Internet cord out of the wall, and the other went back to the blue coffee mug. Sam stood up unsteadily to walk to the bathroom to have a shower when shaking hand splashed burning coffee onto his only clean shirt. His other hand moved to steady the cup and he put it down. "Hm… Dean's right, figure that, I should get some sleep…" Sam threw off the stained shirt, and pulled out of his pants, and crawled under the frigid comforter and tried to relax his sore neck.

Eyes focused intently on the ceiling above his head. The white specs formed into interesting shapes as his mind wandered. The noise rising off the streets penetrated his inattentive musings. Bellowing sirens drove the cynic in him to the surface; he wondered what trouble Dean was into now. The bed was getting increasingly warmer; the stickiness of the sheets were feeling more irritating. Getting up once to turn on the air conditioner turned out to be a step down. The endless drone of the window mounted unit pressed on through the night. Especially the sounds of who Sam was sure was getting lucky in the next room down did nothing to aid his tired and blackening mood.

Sam realized vaguely that he must have been dreaming when he looked up and saw Jessica standing that the end of his bed smiling at him. Her adoring gaze caught Sam's eyes, and something other love than flickered behind blue eyes. The voice that seemed to be Jess's echoed in his head, "Come join me, beg and be complete."

The blade appeared in Sam's hand. When the small etchings on the hilt glinted, his dark eyes were drawn to it. A strange noise echoed in the back ground eerily. It seemed out of place, so Sam pushed it out of his unconsciousness.

The phone rang on.

On the other end of the line, Dean swore steadily, his voice increasing in volume. "Sam, pick up the phone, Sam, Sam…" With as much forged enthusiasm as he could muster, he walked back in the front door of the white bi-level home on the outer fringes of the city. Margaret Lewison's scarcely composed façade set a somber tone. When Dean first walked through the threshold of their family he was unsettled by the calm atmosphere of their house. The gravity of the situation became apparent when he realized these people had assumed that she was possessed for all the wrong reasons, and that they were right.

After Mark's death, their daughter had chosen to become reclusive and barely said two words to anyone, and they never saw her cry. Dean said as little as he could about the oddness of her behavior, mostly due to the fact it reminded him greatly of two other people he knew quite well. Her younger brother was her only confidant; he said that she dreamed of him coming to her, telling her to join him in the afterlife. Those dreams sparked Dean's interest. A quick trip up into her bedroom proved to Dean the sorrow of her parents. The room had become a shrine.

Pictures of her sat on every available space, her countenance always smiling. Sometimes she was shown playing sports, other times accepting awards. She always had her boyfriend somewhere underfoot. Dean shuddered and looked around the room, half expecting their ghosts to come at him. The happy faces in the pictures followed him around the room. The older woman and Mr. Lewison hovered at the door anxiously. Dean pulled out the EMF reader and started to scan in about the room. Nothing picked up, except one tear stained picture of the couple that was crammed in a worn playbook of Romeo and Juliet.

Receiving permission to take them back to his brother to analyze, Dean declared that he was done, and that they'd both be back the next afternoon with a couple cleansing spells to ensure that their ghosts moved on. Dean looked guiltily back at Margaret as she made the sign of the cross across her chest as she left the room. He had no proof that their tortured souls lingered in this plane, or even if it was the boyfriend that drove her to commit suicide. All he could tell them was that there were some strange readings he got off the book and the worn picture inside.

He relaxed into the seat of Impala and marked the biting coolness of the leather seats. Taking a quick glance at the watch around his wrist, he cringed at the time. 1:13. Pulling out of the drive off their next-door neighbor, Dean managed not to get killed in his trip back across the city to the hotel. After nearly falling asleep while stopped a red light, Dean finally pulled into the hotel's parking lot and ended up parking in the back corner by an alley. It was the only available spot.

Stumbling out of the car, he turned and locked the door. He stumbled to foyer of the hotel, barely being able to place one foot in front of the other and acquired the added embarrassment of having to ask the cute blonde at the registry what room he was in. Despite all the charisma he lofted onto her, she still got the impression he had come from some party and was just a charming drunk. Dean took little offence to her innocent brush offs, he did look like he was hammered and had the after effects pounding full away at the little coherency he had left.

Returning the glare of the hotel attendant working on the elevator, Dean pulled his jacket closer to himself in the cool night air. He trudged towards the emergency stairs, his mind starting to slip into his own thoughts. The trudge up six flights had him breathing heavily. Smiling to himself as a beautiful brunette slipped out of the room next to theirs, checking him out on her way down the hall, he fumbled for the key shoved in his back pocket. After going through various fabricated identities, Dean found the card and pushed his way through the heavy door.

The rumpled bed barely revealed a human-like shape lying asleep. Dean searched in the dark at the foot of his bed for the duffel bag with his clothes. He declared silently to remind his brother in the morning to be more on his guard while alone, and to answer the phone. He grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of shorts to change into after a shower and stepped quietly back across the creaking boards. Yawning profusely, he tried to head into the bathroom to get clean, though something appeared to be blocking the white painted entryway. When he discovered the reason the door wouldn't open, he swore. There was body in front of it.

"Sam, what are you doing in there, get out of the way." Dean peered through the crack he had managed to shove open and saw Sam's reflection in the mirror. His younger brother lay on the floor, his head and neck resting at an angle against the door. He looked incredibly pale, and there was a small pool of blood dripping from his right temple. Dean tried open the door without dropping his brother unto the ground, but the sickening sound of his head hitting the tile made Dean wince. There was a small mark blood on a sharp corner of the sink where he guessed Sam tripped and hit his head.

Dean managed to squeeze in the door, and reached to stem the bleeding on Sam's head. "What do I do with you, Sammy?" Pulling open an eyelid, he shown a flashlight into the exposed pupil. It reacted, slowly. Dean pulled Sam slowly out of the corner and checked to make sure he was breathing. Short pants greeted Dean's ears as he debated whether or not to risk moving him to his bed.

A low moan offered his answer when Sam's eyes fluttered open. Unfocused eyes caught Dean's face. "Dean…wh-what the hell am I doing here?" He pushed himself up, and looking startled, pulled a long knife out from underneath himself. "What's going on?"

"Sam, you look like you just tried to fight a, well something large that just kicked your ass. What were you doing?" Dean suppressed the fear, and tried pulling his brother up. Sam stood, rocking badly, and suddenly turned and puked into the toilet. "Sammy, come on, you need to relax. Let's sit down and I'll see if I need to stitch you up."

Dean pulled Sam's arm over his shoulder and hooked his closer arm around Sam's waist. Stumbling slowly to the green lazy boy in the corner of the room, Dean walked his brother to large supporting chair. Sam eased into it, dropping limply against the cushions. Cradling his head in his hands look winced as Dean flicked on their lights. Dean returned with their random assembly of bandages, gauze and sterile needles and thread. Taking a glass of clean water and a facecloth from the bathroom, he tried to gently clear away the blood that stuck to Sam's face and temple. "Sam, do you remember what happened?"

"Uh, I think I think it was a nightmare…" Sam looked perturbed. His wandering eyes fixed on a bright portrait on the other side of the room. Dean bandaged the side of his head.

Dean shook his head, trying to quell rising worry, "Must have been some nightmare." Sam shut his eyes and Dean felt his brother go limp.

"Hate to break it to you, but you remember the deal. You're pretty concussed so you can't sleep right now. Come on, where's that insomnia when you need it?" Dean pushed a smile on to his face as Sam's angry eyes locked with his.

"Jessica…she said that I should sleep…with her." Dean coughed, hiding a rising amusement, and ran a finger back and forth in front of Sam's eyes to see if he was tracking. He was, barely. "But that couldn't have been her. She said her goodbye. I saw her. It wasn't her, I knew so I went into the light. She would never ask that of me. Then I felt it push me…." Sam trailed off and his eyelids dropped again.

"Sam!" Dean softly slapped his face, "Sammy, who pushed you? Is that how you hit your head? Sam!"

Dark eyes opened again, glazed and weary, "It's just a dream, just like the other. Just like Jess' death."

Dean shook his head. Sam was making as much sense as he did when he was trying to read Latin protection rites after downing a six-pack. "Sam, I've got an idea… Do you know how to play Geography? Come on, college boy. It's my favorite game of intellect."

"Dean," Sam said in a moment of clarity, "it's the only game of intellect you can play. I've beaten you at everything else since I could talk."

"You have not! I remember a certain game of I Spy in 1998." Dean smiled.

"Dean, when you ask later what I was talking about, before, I won't answer. Please just trust me to judge." Sam closed his eyes, and Dean couldn't wake him. All night Dean sat at his brother's side wondering what the strange words Sam had uttered, wondering what they meant, and knowing that his brother would never tell him. Sam would carry whatever burden he held on his own. Even if it killed him. Dean's mind wandered back to the scene in the bathroom realizing the knife Sam had held briefly was still on the floor. Leaving his brother to rest in unconsciousness alone he went to collect it before they forgot and some maid found it and called the police.

Dean pushed open the door and saw the blood marks smeared all over the floor, and across the countertops. "Going to have to clean that up now too." Dean picked up the knife that had dropped from Sam's hand in mystification. It had a lengthy curved blade with small etchings in the leather wrapped hilt. He had never seen it before, and Sam didn't own anything like it. "Where'd this come from?"

He placed the blade in his own duffle bag after he used the towels to soak up the evidence of Sam's fall and threw them into a garbage bag shoved into one of the backpacks pockets. He glanced around the now clean bathroom and smirked, "I've been nice to my brother once, and I'm already reduced to becoming Molly Maid."

A call from the main room had Dean out of the cramped bathroom and rushing to his brother's side. "Dean, uh, could you come here and tell which of the dancing furniture smashed into my head." Sam reclined against the headboard with his head bobbing erratically in an effort to suppress the pressing feeling of vertigo.

"You mean that you don't remember what happened." Dean's eyebrows rose. "I do one nice thing for you, and you don't even pretend to admit it happened. Well Sammy boy, you tripped in the bathroom, and tried to bleed out, from your head. I managed to wake you up and you started spouting crap about a Jessica who wasn't Jessica that you didn't want to sleep with. Oh yah and it was all a crazy dream just like those nightmares you've having."

Sam closed his eyes again, and opened them slowly, shocked. "Dean, that's all I said. Nothing else, at all." Sam looked up from his hands to catch Dean's negative nod. "I feel like a demon is forcing its way between the bones of my skull. I'm not in the mood for games."

Dean looked back at his brother in a mixture of surprise, and insult, "Well you snarled one thing about me sucking at Geography, but that was about it."

"Dean, what did you learn at the Lewison's last night? I found some minor details on the net, and a newspaper." Sam weakly brushed of Dean's icy tone and attempted to focus at their current hunt.

"Sam, nice try, but you will tell what is going on in that little screwed up head of yours. I sat beside you all night while you cried and whimpered in your sleep for Jessica, Mom, even Dad and me, cause I couldn't do a damn thing about it."

"Dean, we need to decide what we're going to do here. I mean we came up here to assure a couple of people that their daughter took her life of her own power, and we are getting paid for it." Sam swallowed and looked away from his brother to stare straight ahead. The next words came out as a strangle. "I'll admit it; I am not exactly a hundred percent. Getting the only woman that you ever loved ripped away from you by an inhuman beast will do that to you." Sam took a deep breath and looked his brother in the eyes, "But what happened here last night was weird. I thought I was asleep, now I don't know what was going on. I think that we should get our money and get out."

"Sam, as much as I think I should agree with you, something screwy is happening here, and at the nice people's house, who are paying us to deal with their ghosts. There was definitely something paranormal happening there. I got an energy signature off of a picture and a book." Dean pulled the knife that Sam found last night out and passed it over to his brother. "And can you explain what the hell this is, and why you magically pulled it out last night?"

Sam took the blade with a mixture of confusion and fascination. "I barely remember you coming here last night, but this…I know I have never seen before. The letters at the bottom look like they were styled in the late fifteen hundreds." Sam squinted, "For fear of that I still will stay with thee, And never from this palace of dim night, Depart again: here, here will I remain."

Dean look of pure ignorance and total bewilderment, forced Sam to laugh through his pain. "Ah, what was that supposed to mean?" Sam's pointed look put a smile on his face. "What college boy, what don't you explain the drama to a poor ignorant fool like me?"

"Dean, you really didn't retain anything from what little school we got to, did you?" Deciding not to shake his head at Dean's 'well duh' look, he explained it in words that a ten year old could have gotten. "Shakespeare, you know 'to be or not to be', 'et tu, Brutus', 'O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo'."

"Classical Literature, this is so not my gig. Wait, Romeo? That's just a little bit too weird. Guess what book had the EMF reader acting crazy?" Dean fumbled around in his jacket and pulled a 'worse for wear' copy of the famous literature out. "There, Sammy boy, tell me why this lights up like a Christmas tree?"

"Sam, Dean. My name is Sam." He jerked the book out of Dean's hands and started flipping through the tattered pages. The photograph fell out and floated on to the bed unnoticed. "Huh, that's pretty coincidental, so you think the boyfriend manifested here? Maybe this was some sort of favorite book for the both of them, and the ghost drove her to act out the end of the play."

"Yeh, maybe but that seems too easy, why would they want to go after you, or do you have a better explanation for this piece of handiwork." Dean shoved the knife back into his pack. "Hey, where's that picture?" Dean pulled the photograph out from its spot on the comforter and handed it to his brother. "What's the theory on this?"

Sam face tightened in shock nearly dropped it; "I just remembered something in my dream. They were there, screaming for me to run."

So I'm hoping the end of the chapter left you guys at least a little interested in what's going on. This chapter had a few weird, and maybe seemingly filler elements, but trust me, it will all be revealed in time.

I just want to reiterate my undying appreciation of your guys' support, and then I'm going finish with a mooch for reviews. Thanks guys, I hope to see you all again next week.

Reviewer Responses:

Warriora: Hey thanks for the compliment, I glad your saw something in this fic.

Dyme-Faemne: Thanks for the positive review, and I hoping to keep this quality up.

Marty: I glad you're so enthused about this, this is an awesome show and I hope I can do it justice.

Ghostwriter: Reviews like yours have me smiling all day, one question though, uh this might be the ignorant blonde in me talking, but, what exactly is the flip side?

Dark Fires: Cool name. I hope I updated fast enough for you.

Nate and Jake: You are so kind, I mean this is an amazing amount of praise for only on chapter, I hope I continue to please you.

RatherDashing: Gotta love your penname. I am glad that you like this fic so far.

Cassie: I updated as soon as I could, my writing time is pretty much restricted to after basketball on Saturday and before Life guarding on Sunday. I got like zero sleep this weekend.

Dreema Azaleia Wingblade: Thanks for your outstanding praise, I posted this when I said I would. Hope you enjoyed!

SomeoneElsesDream: I glad you found this captured your attention, and for the fine thing, I say it my way, you say it yours, 'kay?

Christ's Girl: You are very devoted to your faith and I respect your opinion, but I feel that this is truer to the show, and I will continue to choose the dialogue I feel conveys the characters. I hope that this does not turn you off completely.

M.Kena: Did you notice you submitted your review twice, or was that some weird glitch? Anywho, a little criticism never hurt anyone, but I don't have the time to post multiple chapters a week. If you find it long, read it in shifts, or something… Thanks for your compliments, and I hope it doesn't disappoint. I have a feeling I'll hear about it if it did…

Ringwench: Your review brightened my day, yes sarcasm is my baby, it comprises around seventy percent of things that come out of my mouth so, yah. Hope to hear from you again!

HalfshellVenus: I'm glad for your critic's eye, there were a few things that I really need to take another look at. Yep, I have been using the word 'ordinate' wrong probably my entire life, uh thanks. (Nervous laugh) And with the sibling assholeishness thing, you'd be surprised what we can do to each other. But it does seem that they are starting to create and understanding with each other on the show.

Saiyuki123: Thanks for you review, and I hoped that I captured Sam and Dean accurately!

Southerncharm22: I just love reading such detailed and appreciative review like yours. Your devotion is a nice reward for a writers work. This chapter was a little off, so I hope I didn't throw you too badly, Dean's worried and Sam's not all there. You were right with the whole eye color thing, I fixed it. Thanks a lot and I hope to see your reviews again!

LittleWing: Thanks for the inspiring compliments on this story. So I'll have this to you as soon I get through with, might even be earlier than I said in the email.

Cyberchick2007: Thanks for the review. And I actually updated when I said I would.

Charlie: So much thanks for the review: I know I'm doing a good job when I get a comment like Poor Sam or whatever. Sadism is fun…

Moonfairhime: I hope your eagerness was satiated, thanks for the comment!

LostAngel: I hope you think this is as good as the first. See you next week!

Happybear: Cheers to my first reviewer! Thanks for your compliments, and I hope this was fast enough for you!