"SHIT!" I was still not cussing as much as the other men in my family, but there are just days when no other word fits the description of events like damn or Hell! Take tonight for example, seven years after the fact I had walked out. I had gone to a vocational school, gotten certified in respiratory therapy and as an X-ray technician, which was what I working as now.

But was I satisfied? No, I still felt the need to go out and vanquish evil. Like tonight, I was fleeing for my life on my Harley-Davidson from a phantom, headless motorcyclist.

I just wanted…I don't know. Not normality, but balance.

I felt like I was never doing enough. On the one hand, here I was, in a high paying job where I could do some good. Help people at their very worst. On the other, I was also in a position where I knew where real danger lie and someone had to do something. To vanquish the evil that everyone secretly knew was out there but never wanted to admit was real.

It was confusing to say the least.

I did what I could on both fronts, tried to work with my patients and on my days and nights off fight the wicked. But all it did was leave me feeing exhausted and out of place.

And I couldn't be as stressed out as I was and not do something wrong eventually.

It was just a toss up, either I would get myself killed or do somebody else some kind of permanent damage.

Pain slowly sowed through my shoulder, and I realized Headless Joe had stabbed me with a knife. I pulled it out easily enough, turning to see he was still right behind me. Blood ran black in the moonlight and I clamped together my teeth.

It wasn't that the wound hurt. The knife was sharp enough that it went in without much pain and while it would leave a scar, it hadn't caught anything major like a vein.

No, it was just a reminder of how exhausted I was getting.

All I had to do was get this guy to cross the bridge where he died, simple, right? Well the dead motorcyclist in question may have lost his head, but not his mind.

I wanted to slap myself. Now I was making bad jokes like Dean, and I really didn't need to remember that before I died, did I? Because then I'd end up like No Neck here, haunting this stretch of road, until Dean and Sam came along to send me to the great beyond, and damnit, I needed to focus here!

It was just I felt that maybe I had betrayed them in a way. But then I was the one falsely accused.

I didn't want to think about this anymore, so I struck the gas pedal, hitting 95 mph, the pavement pounding under my bike. I was holding onto the handlebars so tightly that my fingers actually started prickling from circulation being cut off.

I had to think of something! Now!

You would think that by now I was used to decapitated dead people. Yeah, well when you have a guy on your ass tailing you on a 1940 Harley, waiting for the opportune time to take your head off, then you can think whatever the hell you want about me!

I shook my head; glad it was still on my neck, still listening for the telltale purr of the 1940 Harley-Davidson motorcycle behind me as we raced through the trees heading towards a small bridge.

"Come on, baby! You aren't even-" I stopped.

I breathed through my helmet, faintly aware of the fact that I sounded like Darth Vader with asthma as I sped through the empty stretch of highway. It was then I realized that the only noise that ripped through the night was my own harsh breathing and the hum of my Harley.

Where was the S.O.B.?

I lessened his speed, lifted up my visor, and began to stop when I heard it. That damn purr of rubber on asphalt. Aw, here we go, round two!

I caught a glimpse of a single headlight through the trees on the road next to me and held my breath. Just as suddenly as I saw it, it was gone. I slammed on the brakes, panting, listening in the inky silence that now seemed to swallow up everything.

Nothing, not even the crickets chirped.

No other choice but to wait, the silence a deafening roar I never wanted to hear again. I swallowed, shifting my foot on the ground, stilling the silence briefly with a crunch of gravel. I sniffed and lifted up my visor, well aware that this thing could pop out any second.

God, I freaking hated these slasher film moments! Never knowing where the thing was in dark, feeling the fear spike, and waiting for the flash of a headlight! I was never watching or reading Sleepy Hollow again after this!

Still nothing! And I couldn't stand the thought of having to wait another year to get this sucker. The ghost of the decapitated motorcyclist came back every anniversary of his death, and for the past three anniversaries he'd gotten violent, taking the heads of anyone who came down this stretch of road.

My headlight suddenly flickered. Ah…I turned around expecting the sucker to be here. Maybe No Neck wasn't finished yet!

But there was nothing there. I wanted to scream! There was no way I could let this thing go on, to terrorize people again next year.

The crunch of gravel sent me out of me musings and I looked back up to see the ghost ahead of me this time, bike suddenly coming to life with a dangerous purr, humming perilously as it closed in. The thing was going to ram me! I slammed on the pedals, turning myself around, my bike letting out a screech in protest as it swerved away.

The phantom headlight nearly blinding me as JI turned once to see it closing in on me. I closed my eyes for a second. I snapped them back open when I felt blood seep out of my shoulder again; the endorphins running rampant in my body were keeping me from feeling the pain like I should.

The bright light behind me was getting too close for me to have liked, and I knew I was running out of time! I turned around again to see the bridge behind me and clenched my jaw again. I had a plane formulated, one of Dean's patented crazy, death-wish plans. I knew what I was going to do was suicidal, mad and I probably wasn't going to make it, but I couldn't let this thing come back!

I inhaled, and then swerved, scraping my leg against the rough asphalt, and knew if I mead it I'd have one hell of a road rash in the morning. Somehow, I managed to stay atop the motorcycle. Holding onto it tightly, I sucked in one more breath, listening to the crunch of gravel as the thing swerved to catch up.

It was now or never and I tapped the brakes, just enough to go neck to neck…if the ghost had a neck. Damnit, I have stop channeling Dean!

The thing tuned to him and I couldn't ignore the stump where the head should be. I shot my hand out, reaching out to grab the ghost motorcycle's handle bar. I caught it and hit the gas on my baby, now literally dragging the ghost to the bridge with me

The ghost seemed to realize what I was doing and dug his nails into my arm, and all I could do was hold on, blood now running down my arm. I was just a few feet away from the bridge.

The ghost became frantic now, trying to punch, kick, and scratch me, slamming a fist into my arm. I yelled, wishing I had some sort of back up now more than ever.

The thing let out a scream as it hit the bridge, the phantom biker bursting into a thousand small embers as though the fires of hell had just been released from it's body. The scream pierced through the dead air and I had to let go, braking hard. My bike screeched as wheels locked up but all I could manage was slumping into my handlebars. Relief set in and the wind whipped around us as the shriek died out slowly.

I gulped in air, trying to calm myself, watching blood run down my arm, the pain finally settling in.

Note to self: No more decapitations!

Funny, I would have blamed John if he were here. The truth was after two years working in some diner after I had left home, I missed them more than I thought possible. Not that I would admit it, but I wrote letters everyday, but never sent them. All of them were in my bag, sealed and never opened. It was easy, back then before I left home. It was a life of move, kill the creature, and move again. It was harder now without any backup and just staying in one place.

Jonathan "Jack" Winchester Jr. just had himself and it was generally enough.

Tonight, though, it almost wasn't. I wanted the backup, the family moments. But I also didn't want the walls between me and John and Dean and Sam.

You could never have it both ways, though, not with the Winchesters. So I chose something else, to walk, to leave the life I knew for one that I deluded myself was enough.

I sat up, not needing this anymore. I had work at the hospital tonight.

I hightailed it out of Elmore before the cops showed up.

Funny how different the hospital was from the scene at the bridge. And not the way you'd think, either. It was just in the hospital, I was hero with a face, I was known. I had a name, a job, and an apartment. I had people who said hello to me and I said hello to them.

But out there, on the hunt, I was a nobody, a hero that the people I had saved wouldn't forget, but they didn't know me. We would never meet again probably.

It was an odd duality, with a giant similarity: No matter which I was, X-ray tech or Demon Hunter, they never knew me. It was a mask either way. Jack Winchester was someone only a few privileged people actually knew.

And only one person came to mind at the moment, Gannie. I should call the older woman, after all, she had taken me in after I had left dad and my brothers. I should let her know I was ok, but something stopped me. I still wasn't sure if I was 'ok'. Something held fast in the air as I looked around the busy hospital. It was like something was going to happen and it was going to be very bad!

I grabbed a cup of coffee in an attempt to take my mind off the mood. I tried to think about Gannie, instead. I had met the southern belle from New Orleans a few days after my cash had run out and I needed more if I was going to get to…wherever! I wasn't even sure where I was going anymore. I felt lost and alone, really alone. No Dean to pick on me, no Sam to be picked on, no John.

It was just me for once…and it bothered me more than anything ever had!

I ended up in a town I didn't know the name of. For the first few nights I stayed in a warehouse that had been abandoned decades ago trying to decide where to go from here. The answer was pretty obvious, get anywhere away from this city! No way was I going to sleep with the mice again and a piece of newspaper as a pillow!

So the next day I tried to find work, but no one wanted to hire me. I didn't have any references or anything. And I was obviously homeless, with my packs over my shoulder and dirty face. Not like I could really help it though. If I left my weapons and packs around, someone would steal them! And Hotel du Junk didn't provide showers!

I finally found myself in a diner across town. It was obviously a trucker's diner, meaning the food was superb despite the fact that on the outside the place looked like it should have fallen down twenty years ago. I was half tempted to waste the last of my two bucks to buy a piece of pie, but I knew I might need the cash later.

I was at the lowest of the low at the time.

It was then I noticed the cash register. It was an older version, the type that could easily be cracked open. I didn't like the thought of stealing, but I was desperate! My family had discarded me, with no place to go and no one to trust.

I decided to take a chance and empty the till. I went up and had just cracked it open when I heard the distinct click behind me. I turned, eye-to-eye with a woman who probably didn't weight 90 pounds soaking wet and holding the shotgun she was aiming at me right now.

I nearly wet myself!

All she did was tsk me and murmur softly "Honey, why in the world would a nice boy like you try and rob a southern belle like myself?"

She lowered the shotgun and gave me a piece of apple pie after that. And we talked. Actually, I talked for once and she listened. I told her everything, my mother's death, my brothers, my father's quest, hunting, traveling, the interest in medicine, the fight, and why I left. The whole time Gannie, as she told me to call her, listened without interruptions. It was a very freeing experience for me, who had always been the quiet one. I had never let my feeling go like that and it was like I was finally able to let it all go. And to a total stranger, no less. But I had a feeling Gannie would understand.

When I finished my story with a sob, I found her patting my shoulder, handing me a Kleenex. She didn't pity me or think I was crazy, and for the first time in years I felt that I wasn't all alone with everything anymore.

I worked there for years afterwards. I slept in the diner at nights. Gannie became a grandma of sorts, babying me, giving me advice, smacking me with that wooden spoon when I became too much to bear. But she never made me feel like a burden or a freak. She even helped me finish high school and go get certified in vocational school. I owe her everything.

When I told her I had to start hunting again, Gannie just nodded and helped me build up contacts.

I always called her after every hunt. It was the least I could do, to tell her that Jack had made it out again. But today I couldn't pick up that phone.

I just had a feeling, one of those sick ones. Where you know something bad is going to happen. It was like the time a possessed cop took out his piece to shoot Dean. Dean must have been 18 and I was 16. I'll never forget watching the cop's eyes as he aimed at Dean or that click that could only be the safety being released. And I just ran, pumping my legs as hard as I could, fighting the tears that threatened to seep out. But I knew, deep down, throat drying up, nauseatedly, that no matter how hard, or fast, or how I ran, I would never reach Dean in time.

Luckily, John showed up in time to hit the cop over the head.

I still get sick when I think about it. It was the exact same feeling that permeated my stomach walls right now. I wanted to throw up my coffee. But I just took of my sweatshirt and put it in the coatroom and entered the main floor. I then saw the rush of doctors as they tore by me.

The floor called out a code blue. Meaning, if you've never watched ER, that someone was dying. I watched the ambulance entrance with a crash cart, people, all on the trauma team, scurry all over the floor in position. Never a good sign. Usually meant there had been accident.

I should have gone to radiology. But I couldn't leave the scene for some reason. Something stopped me, the feeling inside my stomach bursting forth into my legs and chest, holding me there.

It was then all hell broke loose. And if it had been another bullet, I wouldn't have run fast enough!

Instantly doctors, radiologists, nurses and EMTs ran around, lifting the gurney out of the ambulance. A neck brace around a bluish faced male, with brown hair messed and bloody.

"We got flail chest, boy's not breathing!" "IV needs to be wide open!" Someone was trying to put pressure on a bloody wound, blood pouring out the leg and seeping into his jeans, while a RN quickly hooked up an IV of saline.

"He needs to be bagged! Patient cannot breath on his own!" "GCS is 5…"

And I couldn't hear anymore. Because all I could see was my baby brother, wrapped in a foam neck brace, stiff on the board, on a gurney into surgery! And I couldn't breathe! And oh god, but breathing became really difficult then and shit, it hurt to fill my lungs! Sammy, Sam was on that gurney!

They were cutting off the clothes, running down the halls with Sam looking like he should be dead, hell! He had the eyes of a dead man almost! And god, oh, god, I retched. I couldn't stop, the force of it all crashing down, casing me to sink to the floor. God, oh, god, oh god. I couldn't stop. Not when the nurses tried to help me. Not when my stomach was emptied. All I could do was sob heavily on the floor.

Oh god!

OMG! I have reviews! Five! I think I just died! Thank you all so much! I have never got that many for a single chapter in my life!

Thank you ChaiGrl, Estei, Spuffyshipper, Labellefemmeecrivain, and EmSyd!

Sodapop…eh, I guess I see it…sorta…ok, not really, but glad you like Jack!