I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the Winchester brothers. But a girl can wish...can't she?

Hi guys! Wow so many questions. I really want to answer you guys, especially because

some of you are asking the same questions. Trust me, I understand your confusion. All I can do is promise you that I will sum everything up by the end of the story. I'm taking your confusion to heart, so I will be sure everything gets answered...if it doesn't, I'll just have to write another chapter...yes? The only thing I will say, is that I will bring some note of Jess into this just for you guys. On with the story...

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Heavy fog swirled in wispy ringlets as Dean made his way through the open space in front of him. There were no landmarks, no directions. Just fog; as far as he could see in every direction. The fog was thick; so thick he couldn't see his feet as he looked down. His hands were barely visible unless he placed them directly in front of his face. He could feel the clamminess on his skin. He could feel it invading his lungs, his chest tightening with the dampness in the air. "Sam! Sam, where are you?" He called out, voice echoing through the denseness, waiting for an answer that never came.

So he continued on, floating through the fog that consumed him, calling for the brother that was lost to him. He'd heard him once. That's what prompted him to enter the swirling maze in the first place. Sam's weak, distant voice had entered his head, pleading for Dean to come find him. And he'd come. He'd entered. He'd searched.

The ethereal voice suddenly filled his mind, surrounding him from all sides, and Dean spun quickly in search of the source. He saw a light, faint at first, but it grew stronger. And there was Sammy, floating above him, beckoning him. "Come back to me, Dean. I need you. Please." The words echoed in surreal quality, entering Dean's ears repeatedly. "Please...please...please..."

"I'm coming Sam. I'm here." Dean stepped forward, reaching for his brother. Their hands met, but went right though each other, leaving only distorted air and stretched colors. And then there were more. Sam wasn't alone any longer. Turning slowly, Dean could see other faces hovering high up. Faces of victims; ones he had saved, ones he'd tried to save, ones that had died. They all floated in an out of his line of sight, waving him toward them. Pleas for their savior to come to them. To come with them. He could feel their hands on his shoulders, intangible, but still there somehow. They tugged at him, hollow words filling his head, bouncing around his skull, chanting his name, begging for his help. 'Dean, we need you. Dean help us. We're lost without you. Please Dean."

"Dean. Dean, please. Wake up. Dean!" The tightness on his shoulder intensified, pulling harder, and he flailed his arms. They had to get off. He couldn't take it; didn't want it. They didn't want him. They wanted a hunter. And he was the hunter.

"Get off me! Please. Let go." He whimpered, struggling from the hands that were determined to pull him in. "I want to stay!"

"DEAN!" The voice grew firmer, attached itself to a body. Dean's eyes shot open, trying to focus on the face in front of him. Relief washed over him as Sam's worried face came into view, and he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"Sam. You're here." He reached above him, clamping a hand around the grab bar above him and pulled himself into a sit, bracing both arms behind him to maintain the position. He broke eye contact, suddenly embarrassed by the childish nightmare he'd just been pulled from. Dean didn't have nightmare's. That was Sam's thing. Was. His Sam had nightmare's. But this Sam seemed just about as well-adjusted as they came.

A week had passed in complete bliss, and somehow Dean had managed to totally shove his dilemma to the back of his mind. Everything had gone so perfectly the night of the get-together at the bar. Sure, a few of the guys had seemed uncomfortable around the wheelchair, staring too long, offering too much help. Dean had felt somewhat babied. But that didn't really matter, because he was being babied by his friends. He had friends. And the next day Luke had called, inviting them to a basketball game. Dean had been hesitant at first, the fact that he knew nothing about basketball making him worry that his secret would be expelled. But Sam had assured him that it was an easy game to learn. As long as he cheered when the rest of the crowd cheered Luke would be none the wiser.

There had been other activities that week, too. Family dinner's. More visits to the bar with his friends. He'd impressed them with his pool skills, brushing off the newly honed skill with an inane response that it was easier from his new angle. They had accepted it without flinching, no one even suspecting the real reason for the talent. He and Laura had done several movies, and even spent an unbelievable, yet slightly awkward, night at her apartment reassuring Dean that he 'still had it.'

Only the visits to the rehab facility interrupted the ultimate experience of normal, and Dean went grudgingly. It was the only time he thought of his other world, remembering Sam's own struggle for recovery. But oddly enough, a lot of the thoughts cursed his brother for being able to recover when he, himself, could not. Sam had always known there would be a possibility to walk again, and the exercises he and Harry had performed worked toward that goal. Dean would never walk. His therapist worked only on strength training exercises and coping exercises. He stretched the unfeeling limbs to their limit, keeping them limber only for ease of transport. The man had been noticeably surprised when Dean bench pressed his own weight on the first attempt, reveling at the idea that the boy hadn't lost more muscle mass during his six weeks unconscious. He'd told Dean in no uncertain terms that most patients could barely lift a five pound weight during the first week in therapy, and then eyed him with curiosity, analyzing him. Dean had shrugged it off, somehow convincing the man that it was just a fluke. He was just a fluke.

Everyone in this world was ignorantly unaware of the haunts that went bump in the night. There were no questions, no accusations, because the ideas never even crossed their minds. They were much more willing to accept a lack of explanation than to develop idealistic answers to the haunting questions that surrounded Dean's very existence.

Everyone, that is, except for Dean. As he stared blankly through Sam, remembering the dream that had been so vivid it could have been reality, he was overcome with guilt at the fact that he'd allowed himself to forget. And not only had he forgotten, he'd accepted. He'd ignored the nagging feelings that something wasn't right, becoming so enamored with his new world that he'd accepted it as home. But this wasn't home. Not his home anyway. And the dream had been his subconscious' way of getting him back on track.

"Sam, we've gotta get back to the library," Dean insisted, lining the wheelchair up against the bed and sliding into it, the muscles in his shirtless upper body rippling as they strained against his full weight.

Reeling from shock, Sam chased after Dean, a few steps behind his brother as he made a beeline to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face to wash away the sticky feel of residual sweat. "Wait. The library? I thought you'd gotten over all that crap. Everything's been so good."

Dean shook his head, frantically shoving himself from the room and to the dresser, pulling out fresh clothes. "Not over it. I just let myself get wrapped up in all this perfection, and managed to forget all of it. But I've remembered now. And I can't let myself get distracted again. Are you with me, or not?"

"I guess I'm with you." Pain-filled emotion spoke volumes in Sam's voice and body, but there was nothing he could do about Dean's determination. If he didn't help then Dean would just find another way.

"Then let's go," Dean ordered, making his way to the front door. "We'll grab breakfast on the way."

They called Laura on the way and she agreed to meet them. As Dean hung up the phone he considered her tone of voice. He'd heard it before. It was the same tone the other Laura had used when they had discussed his leaving, and that was just to leave town. Now he was planning on leaving the planet, maybe even the galaxy. He had no idea how this whole thing worked, but he knew he would never see these people again. They knew it, too.

Aside from the call to Laura, the first half of the drive into town was made in silence. But Dean's hesitant voice cut through the tension as the downtown buildings came into view. "Sam, do you mind if I ask you a question? I mean, it's not really personal. It just may be a little weird."

Breaking his gaze from the road Sam shot Dean a funny look. "Weirder than you jumping into my brother's body and coming from another universe?"

Dean laughed. "Touche. Alright, here it is. Are you now, or have you ever dated a girl named Jessica?"

"Not just dating. We're engaged," Sam offered eagerly, not even flinching as Dean dredged up another of his many 'psychic' moments. "Let me guess, your Sam dated her too?"

Dean nodded, confirming Sam's own suspicions. "Things didn't end so well for him, though. Just do me a favor and treat her right, OK? For him?"

Chewing on his bottom lip, Sam looked at Dean again. The way he spoke, Sam already knew the 'bad' ending that had occurred. "She died too, didn't she."

"Yeah," Dean answered quietly. "He watched her die. So will you do that for me? Will you take care of her?"

"Of course," Sam agreed. "She's the love of my life."

Dean smiled as the library came into view, relief washing over him. At least in one life Sammy would get the happy ending he deserved.

xxxxxxx

"Here's something," Laura chirped, trying desperately to feign enthusiasm as she searched for a way to send her new boyfriend back where he came from. She turned the monitor screen towards the boys, her finger pointing to one particular line. "That brain creature that you guys went up against...there's speculation that they hold transference powers. But it hasn't really been tested all that much because most of the victims die before they can experience their wishes. Maybe that's what happened...I mean, both you guys survived. And apparently that's unusual."

Reading the page over her shoulder, Dean shook his head, frustrated. "It sounds logical, but it was weeks before I showed up here. There was a whole other creature before anything happened. I didn't wake up here until I killed the Devils Elbow Destroyer and then watched Sam die. There's got to be more."

Laura turned back to the computer, entering more key words into the search engine while Sam and Dean continued to scour their own web sites. Another several minutes passed and then it was Sam's turn to display his screen. "I found another name for that Destroyer thing. It's called a Pathuma; some kind of mystical half panther half human thing. And it says these creature's also have transference powers. That's weird, right? That the only two beasts you went up against in that time period had transference powers?"

Dean inched closer, studying the page intently. "Yeah, that is weird," he allowed. "And I'm sure it has something to do with why I'm here. I just wish I knew what." He read more, ingesting every word on the screen. "Wait, you have to make a wish when your blood mixes with its blood. And the emotion has to come from the heart. It has to be genuine."

Hands clenched the wheels of his chair tightly, the rim digging itself firmly into the soft flesh. "Print that page, Sam. We'll need to take it with us."

"Sure." Sam sprang to action, clicking print on the toolbar and grabbing the printed result before Dean's choice of words registered fully in his mind. It wasn't so much what he'd said as it was how he'd said it. The printed pages were laid out on the table in front of Dean by shaking hands. Sam chose his own words carefully, already knowing the answer before he asked it, but still hoping he was wrong.

"Taking it with us?" he parroted. "You mean back home, right?"

He'd expected the response, but, to Sam, it still felt like a punch to the gut. "No, little brother. We're taking it with us to Missouri. Small town, known as Devil's elbow."