An End
(or maybe just another beginning)

Dean always thought that the worst part of the hunt was the waiting. He hated how he would have to lie hours in the dark in uncomfortable positions, waiting for something to appear. Every noise put him on edge, adrenaline flooding his veins every time he heard the squeak of a step, and then annoyance when he charged forward, gun or weapon up to find nothing there. He found that being that on edge and anxious was more painful for him then the eventual struggle and kill, even with all its ripped mutilated flesh and fresh bruising.

He found it funny how much his old life resembled his new as he waited for the judge to come back into the room with his verdict. He tapped his foot impatiently, closing his eyes because he had nothing better to do or see. It was going on an hour and the room had stayed as stony silent as it was when the police's lawyers finished their argument on why he deserved two years in jail. Dean admitted they put up a good argument and it did scare him that he could be sent there because of all his previous misdemeanors, but at the same time, he just wanted to laugh at the sheer stupidity of the trial. He didn't deserve time in jail. He didn't hurt anybody or made them fear for their lives. He didn't take anything or fraud somebody. He just roughed up some police officers who had drawn guns on him for no good reason and proceeded to try to subdue him without telling him what was going on. None of them ended up with permanent damage. All should be forgiven.

He looked across the room at Sam who was staring off into space. He followed his brother's gaze to the opposing lawyers. They looked sharp, clean lines in the man's suit, heels on the young woman with just the right height to make her look imitating without making her some fetish fantasy. Both of them were in their early 30s, not that much older then Dean or his own lawyers, but it was more like light years away in maturity. They had their acts together. They wielded power. Dean could read the longing in Sam's eyes to be just like them. He made a mental note that if he wasn't given jail time, he'd start working on the paperwork to get Sam the money to go to Stanford. It was only fair since he took him from that dream once before.

His father was next to Sam, face down. It looked to Dean like he could be praying. He looked very nervous and Dean felt guilty for putting his father through this. He didn't know how to make it up to him besides next time, not flipping out on the cops.

The door opened with a ceremonious bang, and everyone in the small room looked to the judge, who walked to the center of the big table, and sat down slowly.

The judge began reading off the charges in technical jargon that Dean didn't understand nor cared to understand. He prattled on and Dean zoned it for the part that read his sentence.

"I pronounce the defendant…" He paused, probably to get the maximum rise of the spectators, " guilty."

Dean shut his open mouth before he swore or said something nasty at the judge. He suddenly felt cold and a desire to scream or cry, maybe both.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. It didn't offer him any comfort.

"The minimum punishment for this crime is 2 years of jail time," Dean didn't need reminding, " However, given the circumstances, I recommend the defendant be given a lighter sentence of thirty hours of community service."

Dean was relieved to hear it and he exhaled, thanking every god he knew of for granting him such good luck. He heard the lawyers and judge leave the room, probably to argue out the technical details of his community service, and he stood up.

"Let's get out of here," he told his brother and father, and they followed him, sparing them all the awkward conversation and hugs that were customary.

They exited the courthouse and Dean was amazed at how bright it was outside. They had had to park the car a mile away in a parking garage and the family started making the long trek. Normally it would had annoyed Dean, but he was just happy to see the sun and feel it on his face.

"I didn't see Layla there," Sam commented from behind him. "Didn't want her to see you like this?"

"Nah…doctor's appointment."

Dean didn't see Sam's worried expression. " Is there something wrong with her?"

"No," Dean stepped off the sidewalk to avoid an aggressive passerby. " It's a check-up, she ending her radiation and all."

"Are you going to see her later tonight?"

"No. Why would I be?"

"Uh, you have the night off, you got out of going to jail, why wouldn't you want to see her?"

"It sounds like someone wants me out of the house tonight," Dean turned around, smiling wolfishly.

"Maybe," Sam looked at his feet.

"Going to bang that lawyer chick of yours?"

Sam gave him a disapproving stare at the lewdness.

"She doesn't deserve you," Dean told him.

"I know."

"She is hot though…" Dean shrugged. " I'll call Layla up. See if we can do anything."

"Thanks."

Dean smiled back at his brother and turned around.


Sam had no intention of seeing Katie. It was just the perfect excuse to get Dean to see Layla and he didn't even have to think it up. He still hadn't figured out a way to tell Dean. He thought about it all through the trial and every time he rehearsed the conversation in his mind, he would panic the minute he got to telling Dean. And when he fought through his wave of nausea and told Dean, the look that his brother got on his face made him want to die. But every time in the real world, he spoke to Dean, he was overwhelmed, drowning in his guilt for hiding such an important secret for his brother. Either way, he was forced into being miserable. He knew that his actions were selfish. He didn't have the courage to do anything about it. He knew If their roles were reversed, he would want Dean to tell him if Jess was going to die. But Dean was always the stronger of the two of them, the one who always did the right thing.

Sam sighed, grabbing the remote off of the floor. He hit the on button and flickered through the channels. There was nothing on that wasn't soap operas or talk shows, and he shut the TV off.

"Off to see Layla?" Sam asked as Dean passed by the living room.

"Yeah. It was weird, didn't even have to ask her on a date. The minute I called, she asked me to come over to hang out," Dean shrugged. Sam felt ill but managed to give a somewhat encouraging smile.

"Have a nice date."

"You too," and with that Dean was gone and Sam cursed himself out for not getting the guts to tell his brother the real reason Layla was calling. Something inside him told him that Layla suspected she would be dying soon. It was just the way Dean kept paraphrasing their conversations as being odd and out of the ordinary. It bothered Sam that Dean wasn't aware of the ominous undertones that Sam was sensing but then again, Sam knew what he had to be looking out for.

"What's bothering you?" His father's gruff voice floated to his ears and Sam looked up to see his father staring at him, beer in hand, decked out in cut-off shorts and a ratty oversized t-shirt.

"Nothing. I'm just thinking of some stuff."

"Does it have to do anything with some vision of yours?"

Sam shook his head.

It was like John saw right through his lie. " You can't stop them from dying, others from feeling pain. It's the natural order of things."

"It's not like that," Sam told him.

"Then what is it?"

"If you could stop it, would you?"

John thought about it for a second. " There is no way to stop death. We're not God…"

"I stopped Dean from dying," Sam interrupted.

"And now he lives a cursed life," John interjected softly.

Sam had never thought about it in that manner, or never allowed himself to think of his actions as anything but unholy. " What if you knew ahead of time that something was going to happen? And you had the ability to stop it."

"I would want to try my hardest to prevent it. But Sam, you need to ask yourself: Was it inevitable? Is it worth it, inferring with the will of whatever thing runs this world?"

"I don't know if it is," Sam whispered.

John walked around the couch and took a seat on the armrest of the chair. " What is this really about?"

Sam found himself spilling his guts. " It's not that I want to save anyone, I know I can't, but what if I can save someone else from feeling pain? What if I could tell them that someone they love is going to die? So they're prepared…and…"

"No one is ever prepared, not even the ones who know it's coming. You may spare them a little pain but they're losing much more then they gain, knowing."

Sam didn't ask what his father meant. It wasn't important. " So, don't tell him?"

He could see his father's mind working, trying to put into place what he was talking about. Sam prayed he wouldn't, and his father answered with a shrug. " Do what you believe is best."

His father's words of Dean living a cursed life echoed through his brain and it made him unsure to trust his judgment.

"What if I don't know what's best?" Sam asked.

"Then you do what you can."


After a knock, she opened the door, dressed in baggy tan jeans, thermal shirt, and to Dean's amusement, fuzzy purple slippers.

"Nice slippers," he commented, following her into the motel room.

She shrugged, unconcerned. It made Dean feel content to know she was comfortable enough with him to not dress up and put up an image.

The motel room was like every other motel room he had ever stayed in; only this one didn't have water stains on the ceilings and suspicious white stains on the bedding. Layla and her mother's suitcases were in the corner next to the TV, propped open and empty, clothes instead spilling out against the wall, over and around empty pizza boxes and garbage bags.

"I apologize for the mess," she told him, returning from the kitchen with a cheap beer in one hand, a glass of water in the other for herself. She handed it to him and he twisted off the cap.

"It's fine. Not any worse then our house."

"Still…" she wrinkled her nose. " I should have cleaned up."

"Then why didn't you?" Dean took a seat on the unmade bed.

"Too lazy," she smiled, sitting next to him. " It'd look better if we could get the garbage bags out of here."

It didn't make sense to Dean why she couldn't just do it. So he asked, " Any reason why you can't?"

She rolled her eyes. " Stupid doctor orders. I'm not supposed to be around people who could be sick. So my mother takes it to mean I can't leave and no one is allowed in because they may contaminate me," she sighed. " So, yeah, I didn't really have a doctor's appointment today. Sorry."

It didn't bother Dean in the least bit that she lied. He was more concerned about other matters. " Is it okay that I'm here, then?"

She chuckled at the worried look on his face. "It's fine. My mother left town a few hours ago to meet up with some alternative medicine crackpot healer. She wouldn't be back until sometime tomorrow."

Dean smirked. " How rebellious."

"Boredom does that," she scooted up the bed to set her empty glass of water on the nightstand.

"And me?"

Layla followed through with his plea for validation. " And you." She smiled at him. " Anyhow, since we can't have some wild party here to celebrate you getting off, do you want to watch a movie?"

Dean could have thought of things he rather do, but a movie was right up there with them. "What do you got?"

"Hmm… " She got on her knees and leaned over to snatch the yellow bag of videos off the drawers. " I know what you did last summer, Jason X, Nightmare…" she stopped reading off the titles and looked at him. " I take it you aren't fond of horror movies."

"They can be a little too close to reality at times," Dean admitted.

"What about Scary Movie 2? I heard it was really bad."

"That's fine," Dean shrugged. She beamed as she took the tape out of the case and popped it into the VCR. Grabbing the remote, she plopped back down on the bed next to Dean, grabbing his hand.

"Just if it gets scary."

Dean didn't think she needed an excuse.


The drapes were open. She didn't notice as she went through the motions on the TV, thrusting her hands into the air and jumping in place. She looked like a fool, but a cute one, dressed in a plaid button-down shirt and polka-dotted boxers.

People stopped as they walked on the streets to pause and stared at her aerobic routine. Some laughed, some seemed mortified for the girl, so clueless that she had an audience, and all except for one man walked away after some time. He just plunked down on a bench, and watched her.

He stayed that way until the TV program ended, and she wiped her sweaty forehead on her shirt, and took a swig out of her water bottle, out of viewing range of the window. He was gone when she returned back to her living room and went to shut the curtains, keeping the window open.

The curtains grew darker as she shut out the lights of her apartment. The cars drove down Main Street, honking, lights flashing everywhere, and the drapes of her window fluttered open and shut as the wind blew through her window.

There was movement in the apartment. Only snapshots of motion but there was a man approaching a girl who stepped back, a lunge on his part. girl falling backwards. With the next flutter of the curtain, nothing could be seen but the white wall of the other side of the room.

Sam's neck hurt and he opened his eyes. His head was resting on the armrest, higher then the rest of his body, which was sunk into the couch, and he groaned, sitting up. He leaned his neck to both sides and then reached his fingers back there to massage the tense muscles.

"What time is it?" he asked his father who was sitting in the armchair, reading a book. Sam noted it was Hemingway.

"Around nine. Why?"

"She's not dead…" Sam mumbled, then laughed at the realization. He could save her. " I'm taking the car."

"Go ahead." He sounded disinterested. John went back to reading his book and Sam went to Dean's room to get the keys to the Cordoba.

He was on the road a few minutes later and he floored the gas, heading for Main Street as fast as he could. It was the only street he knew of that had a steady stream of traffic and park benches on the sidewalk. He didn't know if it had apartments but it thought it was a safe bet. College students needed housing, and they would want it in places close to the college or food places so they didn't have to walk too far.

He didn't have a plan. There was no time that was indicated in his vision for when the guy and her were in the apartment together. It was near her bedtime but college students, which looked to be about her age, didn't exactly understand that notion. She was doing aerobics on the TV. If it wasn't her own video, it could have been a TV program, which narrowed down the time periods, but he never watched FIT TV or had any desire to do so, which made their information useless.

He pulled the car into a two-hour parking spot, and got out of the car. All the stores were still open on Main Street and he could see college students, advertised by their sweatshirts, buzzing about, coming out of the pizzerias and entering bars. It made him slightly nostalgic and jealous because he never went out with his friends on a regular basis. He was too busy with schoolwork, trying to prove to everyone else and himself that he deserved to be on full scholarship, that being from a backwater town in Kansas didn't make him just as brilliant as his rich friends. It was only in the final two years that he realized it didn't matter. He may have been living the life he always wanted for himself but he wasn't fully enjoying it. He started making friends. His grades only got better the more social he got, which was a shock to him.

Sam pulled himself out of his thoughts, spotting a park bench on the other side of the street, and he darted across the street, cutting off a coming car. He got honked at and then flipped off. It didn't matter to Sam. Something told him it was the right bench. The brick building it overlooked was barren looking, exterior dulled by age, and there were various color curtains in the windows, indicating it had apartments in it. Sam took a seat on the bench, and pulled out the book he had stashed in his back pocket, and began to read, eyes looking up every few minutes to see if any of the curtains had opened up.


"This is boring."

Dean looked over at Layla who was curled up next to him, head leaning against his chest. "Just realizing that?"

"I was hoping it'd get better," she responded, moving her head off him and sitting up straight, Indian style next to him. She reached for the remote at the end of the bed to shut off the video and then tossed the remote onto the drawer.

"Any other brilliant plans for our night?" Dean asked.

She smiled and Dean felt a spike of fear and anticipation by the mischievous look on her face. " I have ideas." She leaned over and kissed him softly, pulling away when he tried to kiss her back. "Sounds good?"

"Yeah," he whispered before she returned to kissing him. He pulled her closer to him, hands slipping under the fabric of her t-shirt to cradle the small of her back. He could feel its valley, from the bumpy ridge of her spine to the sharp indent of her tailbone. It made him realize just how frail she was and he pushed her gently away.

The look in her eyes was hurt and confused as she kneeled on the bed in front of him. Her lips were red, hair mussed, shirt ridden up just below her belly button. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"I'm not sure this is okay," Dean said softly. He knew he looked like a fool. He should have wanted this but it wasn't feeling right.

"Why?" She sounded angry. Dean didn't understand why she would be.

"You're not supposed to be seeing anyone. You're sick. I can get you inviting me in for a movie, maybe making-out, but…sex…no…"

Layla interrupted him. " Do you always make the assumption that someone is planning on sleeping with you?"

Dean blushed. He needed a comeback. " Were you?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. " Did you not want to sleep with me?"

Dean didn't answer.

"Is it because I'm not pretty enough for you?" she said angrily, running her hand across her baldhead. "Does the sight of me disgust you, so much that you can't bear to touch me? Is it…"

It dawned on Dean why she was reacting the way she was, and he hugged her, quieting her instantly. " I think you're beautiful," he whispered into her ear. "Even if you have no hair and are bony or whatever."

"Then why?" she looked up at him, all wide-eyed and innocent looking again.

"I'm scared that I'm going to hurt you…" Dean began.

"I'm not going to break," she interrupted.

"I know but I don't want to be the one who gets you sick all over again."

"I'm always sick, Dean."

Dean kissed her on the forehead. " I know."

"We can't not do things because they may harm us."

"True."

"Please, spend the night…nothing has to happen, just…" Layla paused. " …Stay, be with me."

It weirded Dean out how far their gender roles had reversed and he was being the one persuaded for sex. He made a mental note to himself to figure out why he wasn't being himself, and in response to Layla's request, kissed her, giving her the answer he knew she wanted.

As they kissed, Dean tried to lose himself, trying to forget his nervousness and suspicion, trying to allow himself to give into the sensations. But the feeling of something not being right still nagged at him. The way she kissed him was too aggressive, the look in her eyes when they pulled apart for air too needy, and the way she stripped out of his clothes, too desperate. It reminded Dean of someone who was being chased. They were so scared of dying that they would try to outrun the monster instead of facing it.

It was only when it was done, and she lay pressed naked against his side, his arm thrown around her shoulder, did he realize why he hadn't wanted to sleep with her. Because when he looked at her, he knew that he loved her and that when he lost her, it would kill him. He thought that if he hadn't got involved with her on such an intimate level, it would hurt him less when she passed. But what was done was done, he had fun, and he had no regrets.


Dongs of bells in the church tower across town shook Sam out of his sleepy stupor and he jerked up his head to stare up at the apartment. He didn't know how long he was asleep or just daydreaming but he prayed that he hadn't missed the murder.

He saw a girl walking around her apartment. He couldn't be sure if it was the same girl as his dream because she was so distant but she appeared to have the same hair color. He glanced to his left and saw a person walking alone, directly parallel to the bench. He seemed suspicious to Sam and he wondered if the presumed killer had been sitting next to him while he slept. Sam tracked him visually as the guy crossed the street and went into the door that led to the stairwell to that apartment.

The curtains were closed when Sam looked up at the apartment building, and he watched the wind blow them back and forth, like wisps of smoke. Sam stood up, putting the book back in his back pocket, and he dashed across the street, not bothering with the crosswalk because all the traffic was stopped by the lights. He flung open the door to the stairwell and with a soft exhale, crept quietly up the stairs. He knew he couldn't perform his usual hunt ritual of busting into the place and engaging the demon or sprit or in this case, human, in a fight. Dean wasn't there to back him up if it went wrong. No, he needed the element of surprise, especially since it was a human and therefore, capable of plotting and making decisions.

He went up two flight of stairs and paused by the single door that led into the apartment, pressing his ear against the door to see if he could hear a struggle. It was silent, and Sam worried that he had gotten the wrong apartment. He had just assumed she was on the second floor because there were three floors to the building and her window wasn't near the roof or near ground level. There was still no noise that he could hear from inside the apartment when he checked for the second time and he decided he just needed to trust his rationalizing skills.

He twisted the doorknob and found it unlocked. No girl in their right mind would forget to lock their door and Sam snuck in, feeling a sense of accomplishment. He shut the door behind him, locking it, and just stood there, listening for a source of noise.

He heard running of water. It was a heavy noise and he made the assumption it was from a bathtub filling. He moved closer into the apartment, heading for the living room. The curtains were still fluttering from the wind and Sam noted the speckles of something on the white carpet. He couldn't see what it was nor did he dare to bend down in the middle of a room to find out, but he deducted it was either mud or blood. The only thing that was odd about the room, he noticed, was the way the pillows were strewn around on the floor. They were nowhere near the long L-shaped couch the girl owned, and were in a random pattern.

Sam decided to follow the noise, which led the only room that had any lights on, the bathroom. He crept alongside the wall, watching the ground for shadows of people and keeping every one of his senses open, pausing every time something spooked him.

The bathroom was the size of a large closet and Sam saw that the door was ajar. He set himself flat against the wall and peered inside. He saw a man by the bathtub, and a girl leaning over into the bathtub. His hand was pressed against her skull and it appeared to Sam that he was holding her under and she wasn't putting up much of a fight. Sam wished at that moment he had taken the direct route and had barged in.

He slipped in through the crack of the door and before the guy had a chance to see what the noise was, Sam was on the guy, using his weight as a battering ram to slam the guy into the plaster of the shower wall. In one fluid motion, while the man was still surprised, he grabbed the girl and dragged her out of the water, setting her on the cold floor of the bathroom. He hoped that she would regain consciousness and start sputtering out the water herself because he had the killer to deal with. The guy appeared to be thinking coherently again because he took a swing at Sam who just sidestepped him, kicking him in the stomach, making him fall backwards into the tub, which was what Sam wanted. The guy would be immobile, legs caught outside the tub. Sam looked around for something heavy and found it in a compartment of make-up. He grabbed it off the sink and whacked the guy over the head two or three times until the man fell unconscious.

Sam sat down next to the girl who was beginning to cough, and helped her sit up, hitting her back until she managed to spit out most of the water she had swallowed.

"You okay?" he asked her.

"How did you get into my apartment?" she asked, sidestepping his question.

The girl was smart. " Whomever that guy was left it unlocked."

"And how did you get to saving me?"

"I saw…" Sam changed his mind about what he was going to say. " Can't you just be happy that I saved your life?"

The girl shrugged. " I'm happy. Just a bit curious to how you ended up here, that's all." She climbed to her feet. " I'll call the police."

Sam nodded, and he plunked down the lid of the toilet, taking a seat on it to watch the killer, making sure he didn't wake up until then.


The door slamming woke Sam up, and he threw off his comforters. The room was cold and Sam maneuvered around the pile of clothes on his floor to the window. There was dew on the ground outside and he cursed, slamming the window shut. He hated September. It switched too often and quickly from nice warm weather to chilly fall weather. The alarm clock in the corner read 11:23 and Sam tapped the switch to shut the alarm on the clock off, and went out to the kitchen to see what the commotion was.

Dean was sitting in the kitchen, chair tipped back far enough to dump him, head hanging upside down. The coffee was dripping into the pot across the room, and Sam took a seat on the counter.

"Rough night?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Probably better then yours was though."

Sam looked down to his right elbow where a huge purplish bruise had taken residence. " Took down a disgruntled killer boyfriend."

Dean sat forward, bringing the front legs of the chair back to ground. " I got laid."

Sam looked at his brother surprised. Dean said it so causally, so free of his trademark lazy grin and any emotion. All Sam could see was a haunted look in Dean's eye. It made Sam feel ill.

"What's the problem with that?"

"None. It was good, real good. Just…" Dean sighed, pushing himself out of his chair to trot over to the sink to pull out a mug to fill with his freshly brewed coffee. " I just have this feeling that something bad is going to happen now."

Dean took a sip of his coffee and Sam stared at his brother anxiously. He was internally debating over telling Dean when Dean spoke, " You think I'm being stupid."

Sam shook his head. " No. Your instincts are usually right."

Dean nodded, taking another sip. " Okay." He walked over to the freezer and pulled out a container of frozen macaroni and cheese. He grabbed a spoon and set out to scraping it into a bowl to microwave. " Say, you haven't seen anything having to do with Layla, have you."

Dean turned to look at Sam whose eyes seemed transfixed on the spot right above Dean's shoulder. He looked scared, Dean thought, and he turned back to his noodles, picking up the container and setting it into the microwave.

" On second thought, if you did, don't tell me."

"Why not?" Sam asked.

Dean hit the start button on the microwave and turned to face Sam. "I don't think I want to know."

Sam just stayed silent, staring up at his brother who gazed back, seeming to read every thought that passed through Sam's head. The microwave buzzed and Dean hit the button to open the microwave.


End Chapter 7: Stormy Weather



She looks around for me
Don't you know i'm always gonna be here
She doesn't wanna leave
I'm afraid of stormy, stormy weather
There's nothing i can do, there's nothing you won't do