Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed, and I still say please review to those who haven't! ) Here's the next chapter.

Dean was more in shock than anything else--but after a moment, he saw he wasn't hurt. Just a killer headache. He struggled to his feet, and saw that Dean wasn't in the graveyard anymore and Jessica was gone. He was next to a pool of water, maybe a lake, and the water was deep and dark.

Ring, ring, ring, ring

He quickly grabbed his cell phone, and flipped it open. "Sam?" Dean asked.

"I'm in our old house," came Sam's voice. Sam sounded different-tired, worn.

"And?" Dean asked. He peered around the area, which was covered in small bushes. Could be hard to get through, since they were tangled together. Standing on his toes, Dean could see a small town off in the distance. He found himself walking to the town as Sam spoke.

"I saw Mom. She accused me of being the cause of her death--said she knew more than I did. But I faced her, and she's gone now," Sam explained. Dean stopped short. She knew more than they do. Mom had confirmed his suspicions--she knew what was going on.

"Good for you," Dean forced himself to say. "Where you headed to now?

"I don't know yet, you run into anyone?" Dean paused, and he carefully chooses his words when he spoke. A first for Dean.

"Yeah . . . Jessica. Now I dunno where the hell I am," Dean replied. That was enough. He had learned this rule when talking about Jessica: keep it fast, short, and don't let Sam dwell on it. There was a silence on the other end.

"I got to go," Sam suddenly said.

"Why?" But Sam had already hung up. Dean cursed and stuffed the cell phone into his jacket pocket. Than he trudged through the bushes on his way to the town.

"Yeah . . . Jessica. Now I dunno where the hell I am," Dean replied. Sam didn't want to think about Jessica, There was no way he could face her. Because he would always feel guilty, and nothing could change that.

Suddenly, Sam saw something out of the corner of his eye. A figure stooped over, moving fast. It had walked past the nursery door, rushing somewhere, a gun in hand. "I got to go!" Sam told Dean in a quiet voice, pocketing the cell phone. Walking slowly and carefully, Sam made his way to the door and looked down the hallway. Nothing.

He followed the hallway to the only open door. He peaked into the room, and saw the figure.

Dad.

Get it over with! A voice in his head screamed. You have to face him eventually, just do it now. So Sam stepped into the room.

"Hey, Dad," Sam exclaimed. Dad turned. But this wasn't Dad, it couldn't be, it wasn't. Because this man was drunk and crazed-Sam knew that look, rare as Dad had it.

"Sammy!" Dad greeted in a slurred voice. Still toying the gun he made his way over. "Shouldn't you be at college?" The tone had changed instantly to a harsh accusing one. Sam knew he had to choose his words carefully--he wasn't sure who this was. It was a dream.

"Not right now," Sam responded in the same careful tone. Dad had the gun out now, casually pointed at Sam.

"You comin' back to us then? I thought I told you not to come back," Dad accused. Sam held his hands up in surrender.

"I had every right to college. Every right," he declared. Now the gun was against Sam's head--it had happened suddenly. The cold of the gun sent chills down his spine.

"You left us."

I wish Dean was here, Sam realized. Why? How would Dean help?

Dean was always there for Sam. When Sam was sick, hadn't it been Dean who stayed up half the night helping him? When Sam was scared, hadn't it been Dean hugging him?

"Mom would have wanted me to go." That did it. Dad whirled his hand back and smacked Sam. There was a deep pain in his head-a strange tingling feeling. Dad had just done what he had come so close to doing years ago.

"You're not going," Dad told him sternly. There was no room to bargain, no question in Dad's voice.

"You can't do this!" Sam yelled. "I have the grades, I can go! I WANT TO HAVE A LIFE!"

"You have a life! Working with us!" he countered, anger swelling.

"Do you think Mom would want us to be brought up as warriors? Do you think Mom would want me to have just a high school degree?"

Dad whirled his hand back and swept it forward, aiming for Sam's face. He winced and pulled back, just as Dad pulled back his hand too. Then in a stony voice, Dad said, "I'll never know what she would have wanted. That thing killed her."

"I know I did the right thing. You don't scare me," Sam insisted. Dad paused.

"I've always been disappointed in you. Dean's the good 'lil soldier, the good son. You think you're a rebel, but you came with Dean to find me." He smiled a toothy grin. "You love me, but I don't love you.

"No." That was the best Sam could do. "No."

No, I rebelled against you and always will.

No, I came with Dean because I had to.

No, I know you love me.

You might be disappointed in me, and I might love you, but no, you're wrong.

His eyes were squeezed shut. This was going to end, now. When Sam opened his eyes, the room was empty.

Dean had gotten to the town much more quickly than he thought he would. The town seemed to be completely empty. The wind was cold and sharp here, sweeping the streets. And the voices . . . the voices that haunted the streets . . .

It won't be long now, the voices said. Soon Sam will be dead and Dean with him. It won't be long now.

They'll be dead soon enough.

Author's Note: Hmm, I'm not happy with this chapter. Please review! Thanks!