Alright fellas, here's the next part! I'm so sorry about the delay, and I'm sad to report that this chapter contains filler. I hope you don't really notice it as filler, but it is filler, and I didn't mean to include it. But, you see...I'm stalling. I'm not ready with the next part yet, and it was either this or silence.

Sam felt an immediate rush of relief and gratitude. "All right, then I guess I'm coming with you!"

He knew he was asking a lot of John by insisting on traveling with him, and now that he knew he could, he hurried to make compromises, trying to ease his sudden guilt. "If I drive you crazy or if you're ever uncomfortable with me around, just tell me and I'll leave," he told him, jerking his arm in demonstration. "All right? This doesn't have to be permanent. I can leave if things don't work out."

The adam's apple in John's throat bobbed up and down. "Well, you gotta pack, don't you?"

Sam grinned. "Yeah, actually, I do." He literally bounced in his seat, suddenly filled with excitement. A thousand thoughts swirled in his head. "Oh, wow, okay. I need to..." He trailed off, mentally making a list of everything he'd need to do. "Oh, man, I hope Becky or Zach are home."

"Yeah, me too," John remarked dryly. "Maybe they can talk some sense into you."

Sam flashed him a grin as he pushed open his car door. "C'mon, you need to help me move."

"Hey, this is a car, not a minivan," John retorted. "And there's no way I'm gonna strap furniture to the roof of my baby."

With a grin, Sam assured him he didn't have any furniture and very little possessions. He had moved into the Warren's already-furnished spare bedroom and never felt comfortable making it his own, so it was still mostly full with the same things that had been there before him. Things that were Rebecca's, not his.

Looking back, he found it strange how few possessions he did have. Mostly just clothes, a few books--but no mementos, no picture frames, nothing personal. He wasn't leaving much of a life behind, he realized wryly.

As they walked up to the apartment, Sam suddenly grew nervous about telling the Warrens he would be leaving. He knew what he was doing was impulsive, definitely not the "responsible" thing to do. It didn't matter what others thought, he told himself. But as he led John through the front door, he started to dread facing them. He worried about their disapproval - especially after they took him in and gave him so much. He cared about them too deeply to just brush off their reactions.

But it turned out he had nothing to worry about.

At his announcement, Rebecca's eyes widened and her lips spread into a broad grin. And then - to Sam's mortification – she burst straight into tears, throwing her arms around him and squeezing tight. Beside her, Zach nodded slowly with a small smile, a satisfied look on his face.

Sam was taken aback, but when he asked why they were being so understanding, they shrugged off his question with vague answers.

"I think this will be good for you," Rebecca told him at length, beaming and sad at the same time. "I'm going to miss you so much though!"

"I'm going to miss you too," Sam replied, still somewhat dazed.

"But I'm so happy you made this decision," she went on. When Sam gave her a questioning look, she gave him a crooked smile. "Sam, it's been over a year since I last saw you excited about anything," she explained, touching his arm. Sam blinked at her, stunned. He wanted to disagree with her but found he couldn't.

John, meanwhile, was leaning against the wall, his face pinched into a tight expression. His mouth opened a couple of times, on the verge of protesting, but ultimately he kept quiet.

"You'll visit, right?" Rebecca pressed him, drawing his attention back.

"Of course!" he assured her. "You know I will."

Rebecca laughed. "No, actually, I don't. You didn't before."

Sam frowned before he realized what she was referring to. "Yeah, well, this time I'll be mentally stable," he told her with a smirk.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zach make his way to John. They had a short conversation, one held in whispered tones Sam couldn't hear, and then Zach clapped a hand to John's shoulder, shaking his head with a sigh.

"I'll hold you to that, you know," Rebecca told Sam, grinning. "If you don't visit, I'll hunt you down myself."

Sam smiled, feeling a growing warmth inside. He really was going to miss them. But at the same time, he felt no regret. He was nervous - his reasoning side cringed at the obvious irresponsibility - but not regretful. This decision felt right to him.

It struck him then that the Warrens weren't nearly as shocked as they should be. They were surprised, certainly, but Sam thought that if a friend of his had announced he was dropping out of school to hunt ghosts, he'd be rather floored by it.

Then again, 48 hours ago he hadn't even known ghosts existed, and yet he here he was, already deciding to devote his life to finding them. At least the Warrens had known of John and his "profession" for over a year.

Sam quickly packed most of his belongings – which mainly entailed throwing as many clothes and necessities that would fit into his suitcase. He also decided to bring a couple of books, stashing them into a bookbag and leaving the rest behind. In the end, he only had three bags: the small suitcase, the bookbag, and the duffle bag he had already packed for their Oregon trip. Considering those bags would be the extent of his belongings, he figured he did pretty good. John would grumble, but there was plenty of room in the Impala.

The Warrens were gracious enough to offer to store the rest of Sam's things for him for an indefinite time, and Sam knew they had his cell number in case they changed their mind. He wondered when he would have his own place to keep his things, and it scared him that he had no idea.

But he can worry about that latter. Maybe this could be his destiny.

ooOOoo

Sam threw his bags into the backseat and slammed the door shut. He caught John watching him over the top of the car. As intense as his gaze was, Sam couldn't read the emotion behind it. It made him uncomfortable not knowing what the other man was thinking.

In sync, they pulled open the front doors and slid into their respective seats. Sam's heart was still racing. This jump into a new life thrilled him and scared him at the same time, and he had to stop himself from fidgeting. John, however, sat stiffly in his seat, his steely gaze turned somewhere between the windshield and Sam, looking at neither.

"I can't let you do this, Sam," he said at length.

"We've already been through this," Sam replied. "You said it was my choice."

"Yeah, well, maybe I take that back," he retorted gruffly.

Sam felt his stomach twist again, afraid of John changing his mind. "Do you not want me here?" he asked, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from dipping.

"I told you, it's not that," John replied, gripping the steering wheel like it was his anchor. "I shouldn't let you do this."

Sam understood then, suddenly recognizing the intense emotion that poisoned his voice. John felt guilty.

"I'm an adult, John. I think I can make my own decisions," Sam told him. "And if I make the wrong one, I can always come back here."

But this only seemed to upset John further. They sat in silence for several long moments as Sam desperately searched for something to say.

"Fine," John said at last. "But if you change your mind, you're finding your own damn way home."

Sam laughed gratefully, relieved the tension was finally broken. Then John started the car and pulled away from the curb. Sam never thought to look back.

ooOOoo

After leaving Stanford, they headed southeast, making their way towards the panhandle of Texas. While Sam had been asleep that morning at the hotel, John had gotten a phone call from a friend or acquaintance or someone, needing his help. John wasn't sure what the problem was – his contact didn't know, and the details were sketchy.

Something was attacking people, that's all John needed to know.

It was evening though when they left Sam's apartment, so they only drove five hours before they stopped at a roadside motel. After the long drive they had already went through earlier that day, Sam was especially grateful. This lifestyle, he realized, involved a lot of driving, a lot of long distances, but he figured they had put in enough hours that day. John even let Sam drive for a while - albeit with a strict warning that whatever happens to the car, John will make sure the exact same thing happens to Sam.

This hotel was much like the last. Same floor plan, same cheap furniture, slightly better television model but worse reception, and a different but still tacky bedspread pattern. John claimed the bed closest to the TV, again, and Sam dumped his bag next to the other one.

"So this is my life now..." he said, surveying the room.

"Until you change your mind."

Sam ignored his remark as he dug through his bag for his toothpaste and brush. He was exhausted, and even the tropical bedspread-covered mattress was looking pretty cozy to him.

They took turns in the bathroom, each quickly getting ready for bed. When John came out, Sam noticed he had already changed into an old t-shirt. Still, Sam had a hard time keeping his eyes away from the claw marks on his arm.

John wasted no time climbing into bed, and Sam followed suit, burrowing into the covers. Reaching over, he snapped the bedside lamp off, plunging the room into cool darkness. He sank back into the bed and stretched out, pulling a sheet up over his shoulder. Within seconds, he was asleep.

At first it was a deep sleep, full of dark nothingness. But midway through the night, visions of flames and Jessica's terrified face came to him. Assaulted him—like they always did. Her body floating above him, crowned with fire, her face gaping with fear. Sam cried out for her, strained for her, but he couldn't reach her.

And then the flames erupted into a fireball that swallowed her whole.

And a hand on his shoulder jerked him awake.

Sam's head surged off his pillow as he gasped for air. As he sucked in a few deep lungfuls, he let his head fall back and strained his eyes in the darkness. "John?" he panted.

John was crouched over him, his face twisted with worry. Once he saw that Sam was awake, he drew back a few feet so he could sit on his own bed. "You're still having nightmares?" he asked, sounding troubled.

Sam sighed and sat up. "Yeah," he admitted reluctantly. Then his eyebrows rose as realization dawned on him. "Oh, but it was just a regular nightmare," he assured him quickly. "Nothing you have to worry about, nothing psychic."

John nodded with a grunt. Sam hoped he would drop it, but he didn't. "What was it about?" he asked after a moment.

Sam looked at his lap. "My girlfriend. Jessica. She died in a fire almost two years ago." He felt the other man's eyes on him as he continued. "I got there too late. I couldn't save her."

He heard John suck in a long breath. "You-you remember that?"

"Yeah," Sam said with an unhappy snort. "My mind blocked most of my memories, but not that one."

"Well...that sucks," John replied awkwardly.

Sam tried to shrug it off. "Just bits and pieces though. Flashes, mostly."

"And you still have nightmares about it."

Sam nodded. "But it's so screwed up. There's the fire, and Jessica—but she's hanging over me. Out of reach. And I can't do anything..." He pressed his lips together. "And then she's gone."

John was listening intently, a grim look on his face. Sam almost wanted to say more, to get it out and lay it bare now that he had a chance. But John seemed too uncomfortable, too disturbed by it, so he didn't. It was a private matter anyway, one he shouldn't burden the other man with.

"Dammit, Sam," John said, his voice heavy. "I'm sorry."

Sam looked at him and gave him a sad, twisted smile. "Me, too," he replied. Then he glanced down, away from the other man's stare.

ooOOoo

They set out early the next morning, packing and leaving as quickly as they had come in the night before.

Neither of them mentioned Sam's nightmare, to his relief. He was still embarrassed by it and he wished he hadn't woken the other man up. Fortunately, Sam had been able to fall asleep almost immediately afterwards – he was used to the nightmare by now, no longer so disturbed that he couldn't sleep. Judging by John's appearance, though, he wasn't so lucky.

They had been on the road for three hours, driving down a long stretch of dusty highway when John suddenly turned down a side lane. Sam was startled, knowing this wasn't part of the directions that were leading them to Texas. A few miles later, he pulled the car and got out, motioning Sam to do the same.

"What's going on?" Sam asked.

John walked around to the back and lifted the trunk. He rummaged through a couple of the weapons stored there and pulled out the shotgun. Sam frowned when John handed it to him, confused and more than a little alarmed.

Then John pulled out a knife and a handgun which he carried himself. With a wave of his head, he indicated the field he'd parked next to, and Sam followed as he started into it. He glanced around, but the area seemed to be deserted. There wasn't another car or building in sight.

They trampled over thin, brown grasses, their feet kicking up ground that was more sand than dirt. Overhead, the sun shone brightly, and its heat beat down on Sam's shoulders. He thought he should be a little nervous, maybe even a little scared, but John seemed relaxed, unconcerned.

He finally came to a rest about fifty feet from a scraggly, twisting tree. "Target practice," he announced.

Sam tilted his head as John continued. "If you're going to be hunting with me, you gotta know what you're doing. We should've done this before we went up to Oregon."

For the next couple of hours, he showed him how to hold a gun, how to load, aim and shoot each one that they had brought with them. Sam was surprised no one came running each time he fired, but John had chosen a truly deserted field.

He also taught him how to handle a knife, both offensively and defensively. He demonstrated different attacks, told him what body parts to aim for and which movements and angles caused the most damage. He even had Sam practice a few throws against the tree.

Sam was skeptical that he could learn all that in just a day, in just a single lesson. But fortunately he seemed to be a natural. It turned out the lighthouse hadn't been a fluke – after only a few clumsy attempts, he found himself hitting the tree with each shot. He picked up all of John's demonstrations easily, and they quickly moved through each lesson and onto the next.

It was a good thing too. The sun was hot, the air was dry, and Sam was covered with sweat. After almost three hours, John finally and mercifully declared that Sam had enough practice for now.

The two of them trekked back to the car, both of them sweaty and tired and Sam filled with a muffled sense of exhilaration. The quick lesson had given him a shot of confidence, and he was starting to feel that he could be a valuable companion, that he really could help John in his hunt.

He was nervous and excited, and he couldn't wait to try.

To be continued...