A/N: Just had to give my usual thanks to: Mrs. Winchester, SammysAngel, SVOC Luva, Ghostwriter, Nate and Jake, KatieMalfoy19, ashylns, AzNnEqGrOePnOi for all the reviews, it makes me want to update quicker than usual. and sorry Ghostwriter about the Lacy Peterson thing, yes, I realized when you wrote it that that was in the news, but honestly I was dead asleep when I wrote it and that name just popped into my brain. So I decided to change the last name to Wilson.

Chapter 7

December 12, 2002

Right now my life is spinning out of control. Dad left two nights ago to get rid of a polturgist. He asked me to go with him, and I would have, but I heard Sammy having those nightmares. I know his safety is more important than hunting right now.

I just wish I knew why he was still having those dreams. At 18 you'd think they'd end. But I don't dare ask him. He would just close up and deny he ever had them in the first place.

But it's all going to change soon. Sam's getting what he wants. What he deserves. A life. Ever since he was a kid he wanted to have a normal life. Well, even though Dad doesn't want him to be happy, I do.

Two months ago, when I saw the application for Standford in the mailbox, saw that one of the recommendations had to be from a family relative, I stole it. Sam never knew. When they called for him, asking about the letter, I pretended to be him and told them it wasn't in there.

They sent another, those goddamn people. I didn't know what to do. Showing it to Dad would have started a big arguement. And I really don't want Dad to know I'm supporting Sam on this.

So, this afternoon, I mailed the letter. At first I had no clue what the hell to write about. But then it all just came to me. His skills, hows honest he is with people, and his bravery. I know, with that letter, he's getting in for sure. And he's going to have to stand up against Dad, of all people. I just wish I was strong enough to support him openly.

Maybe one day, when we're really old, and all my good looks have weared off, I'll tell him about it. And about the money. He always asks where my money goes, but I can't possibly tell him that either. That every penny I've earned (well, made) in the past two years has been put in one of those college payment plan things. Because I sure as hell know he can't afford Standford; schlorship or not.

My eyes were burning. I hadn't noticed that the year on the entry date had changed. I didn't realize that this was just four years ago.

But that wasn't the issue. The issue was Dean. I treated him like shit for my entire life, telling him to leave me, to go hunt with Dad.

He not only gave up his...job to take care of me, he helped me get away from him.

My eyes were on fire. The urge to cry was becoming too powerful. Dean, wonderful older brother who had been stepped over all his life, and yet, managed to keep a smile.

Realization dawned on me. I had helped make Dean the freak. He never went out because he was always afraid I'd need him. He never got close to anyone because he was afraid of how they'd take in our family. And me. Hell, he was more of a father to me then Dad ever was. He was the one constantly comforting me in the middle of the night.

And he put my life goals before his. I couldn't help, the tears started flowing.

Dean made sure he followed Dad's every order because he knew I'd be leaving. He tried to protect Dad too, you could say. He knew not to try and start a life because Dad needed one of his with him.

At that moment I felt as if the walls were closing in. My chest tightened, beads of sweat covered my body, I vaguely noticed my t-shirt sticking to my chest.

From somewhere downstairs I heard the television blaring. Mr. Davenport must have gotten home from work. I hoped he couldn't hear my sobs.

That, too, all happened a century ago. I tried to call Dean several times, but he either didn't have it turned on or wasn't answering my calls. I guessed the latter. By eleven I, when I left Dean his fourth voice message, I decided to give up and go to sleep.

Lying that pink bed didn't settle my thoughts, though. It got me thinking to all the memories of me being a teenager, hearing my older brother's reassuring voice when I asked him if everything was alright. He'd always do that squinting thing with his eyes, that bugs the shit outta me, and say, "Course I'm fine. Just doing my job." Unfortunatly, I thought, taking care of me wasn't his job. It was Dad's. I just didn't care enough to notice, until now.

At around three I heard Anna sneak upstairs, trying her best to be quiet. I let out a small groan. In all the madness I had once again forgotten about the murder case. It seemed like an easy job. Lacy, the young teenage girl who got beat to death by her boyfriend, was going around as a spirit killing off guys around that same age.

The only problem was, Dean wasn't going to have my back this time. I'd have to retrace all my steps and make sure the situation stayed under control. Besides, it wasn't anything major, just a ghost. Find the bones, burn them, be done.

Seemed easy enough.

With that in mind I slowly dozed off into a fitful sleep, full of dreams about Dean.