oOo

"Now it's your turn, the ashes will burn and wither away."

- Feed the Machine, Nickelback.

oOo

Then:

Unknown number.

Please be Sammy.

Swiping it with his thumb, he jammed it up against his ear. Held his breath.

"Dean?"

"Sam!"

oOo

Now:

Lebanon, Kansas

Dean's heart skipped a beat and the knot loosened in his stomach at the sound of his brother's voice. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Baby's cold surface, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Sammy, are you okay?" he asked, pressing his phone hard into his ear, almost wishing that, if he pressed hard enough, Sam would be there. This needed to be the end; this needed to be the chance he had to get Sam back. He couldn't take another failure.

He just couldn't.

oOo

West Homer Street, Chicago

He sounded so…genuine. So much like Dean. The concern laced through his tone was everything it was meant to be and it jabbed straight through Sam's heart. He didn't need to act: the tears that welled and fell were real. He looked to Thomas who nodded reassuringly, reaching out one hand and squeezing his shoulder.

"No…I'm really not," he choked, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself. He sat propped against an old desk in the warehouse, fixing his eyes on the square of sunlight that poured in through the window. They'd left the house an hour beforehand, arriving in the abandoned warehouse where Thomas had walked him through how everything would work. The Englishman stood beside him, keeping close constantly, reassuring him.

"That's okay, Sammy; it is. Talk to me: where are you? What happened?" The knife twisted deeper, sending wave after wave of agony through him. Despair, sorrow and anger warred in him. That Lucifer could manipulate him so easily…he hated it. But for now, he needed to use it. The hatred would have its use later.

"I got out – he thought he could trust me. He was wrong," Sam whispered, flicking his gaze to Thomas who nodded encouragingly, "it's taken me this long to get a cell phone."

"That's good, Sam," Dean soothed. While he tried to fight it, Sam couldn't deny how listening to his brother's voice brought him comfort. He didn't want anything from Lucifer and for his bond with his brother to be tainted by him…

Hold it onto it. Use it.

"I need you to tell me where you are. Look around: what can you see?" Dean's voice prompted. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to reign himself in. Thomas patted his leg gently.

"You're okay: keep going," Thomas mouthed, smiling again when Sam looked up to him. His knuckles whitened around the phone.

"I'm in an industrial area – I don't know which city," Sam lied, swallowing hard.

"That's okay, that doesn't matter. Can you see a street sign, any business signs?"

Thomas pointed across the street, out through the window.

"I ran past a Gas'n'Sip down the road. Hang on," Sam paused, as if he was looking around, nodding in acknowledgement to Thomas. "I'm on West Homer Street."

"Gimme a sec," Dean's voice muttered. Sam closed his eyes, fighting the trembling that was brushing through him. Thomas' hand was warm and reassuring, keeping him grounded. He couldn't do it without him.

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

"I'm just bringin' it up, Sammy, stay on the phone," Dean explained, his voice exuding a calm that his fumbling fingers betrayed as he switched his phone to speaker and brought up his map app.

"Okay."

He hated the way his brother sounded; he'd thought Sam had sounded awful the last time he'd managed to escape. But this time…this was so much worse. He sounded hollow and anxious – there was no confidence in his tone. Pushing the thought aside – he'd deal with it later – Dean punched in the street name, relieved when it popped up. Chicago.

"You're in Chicago, Sammy," he confirmed, taking the phone back off speaker. "Are you near where you were kept?"

"No. I got out and ran."

"That's good," Dean smiled tightly. "I need you to find somewhere to hide – somewhere you don't think he'll find you. We'll be there before you know it."

"We?" he frowned at the uncertainty in Sam's voice.

"Yeah, Cas, Jody and Ketch from the British Men of Letters are all here. They've been helpin' me–" Dean explained.

"No!" Sam's bark was strangled. "You can't. I need you, Dean."

"Sam they're here to help–"

"Dean, you need to listen. Ketch has been working with Thomas. You can't trust him." Dean's blood ran cold. His world vacuumed, sucking the air from his lungs and the sound from his ears, leaving him in a strange bubble that had him leaning against Baby for support.

"What?" It came out harsher than he meant it to.

"I heard him – Thomas – on the phone; he was talking to the Men of Letters. He was talking to Ketch. You can't bring him. Please don't," Sam begged. Dean hadn't realised how hard he was gripping the phone until he heard the plastic groan in his hand.

He would kill him. Best in the Men of Letters or not, having anything to do with Thomas' plans put an instant death sentence on the Englishman's head. Clenching his teeth until his jaw ached, Dean tried to reign in the rage that threatened to sweep over him and drive him back into the bunker to gut Ketch there and then.

"Please, Dean," Sam repeated, his plea piercing through the anger that was beginning to engulf him. He'd deal with Ketch, but not yet. Sam needed him.

"Okay, okay. I won't. I promise," Dean reassured, fighting to quell the fire that burned hot just behind his eyes. Sam needed him strong, not raging. "I need you to do two things for me, Sam, alright? Turn the GPS on on the phone you've got. Then you're gonna text me every half an hour until I get there. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah, I can," Sam's voice was small, smaller than Dean could bear.

"I'll be there as soon as I can. I'm comin' for you, Sammy; I'll see you real soon," Dean reassured, already heading back into the bunker.

"I'll wait. Hurry, Dean, please." The phone disconnected and Dean swallowed his anger.

Ketch.

He trusted his brother; if Sam said there was something going on with Ketch then he believed him. Yet he didn't have the time to confront the Englishman. He'd deal with him later. But he couldn't just leave; the bastard would suspect something. Looking down at his phone again, Dean swore under his breath. Chicago was a ten hour drive; Sam needed him there now. Running a hand over the bristly stubble on his cheek, he calculated his next moves, looking for the best option. There was no magic solution for this; he had to go with his gut.

Striding back into the bunker, he bypassed the library, heading for the corridor to the archives through the war room instead. A quick sidelong glance placed both Jody and Ketch at the table in the library, still working on Sam's location – a moot point seeing as how Ketch apparently knew it.

Dean's fists clenched.

Cas was busy in one of the side rooms when Dean found him, his head buried in a book. He looked up when Dean approached, noting straightaway the hard glint in his eyes.

"What happened?"

"Sam just called," Dean replied, his voice hard. Cas' eyes widened.

"He got out? Where is he?"

"Chicago. We need to go. Now," Dean barked, but kept his voice low; he didn't want it travelling down the corridor. Cas frowned.

"Are Jody and Ketch ready?" he asked. Dean gave a minute shake of his head.

"We're not going with them."

"What? Dean, we need all the back-up we have –"

"Cas, listen to me. Sam said that he thinks Ketch is workin' with Thomas. I ain't got time to question him; I have to get to Sam. I can't risk him turnin' tables on us when we're there; he needs to stay. Jody can keep an eye on him. No, I don't wanna leave her with him, but we haven't got a lot of options right now," Dean hissed, fixing Cas with a glare, watching the angel's frown morph into a look of shock, horror and then anger. He nodded his understanding. Dean gave him a tight smile. "Go to the Impala; I'll meet you there."

Cas nodded again and slipped out, going the same way Dean had come. Dean followed him to the door but turned right, heading towards the library from the kitchen, passing through his room to grab his jacket on the way.

When he entered the library, Jody looked up and smiled, the look dropping when she saw his expression. He shook his head when she opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, instead holding up his phone in a wordless gesture. She nodded in acknowledgement, slipping her own phone onto silent. Ketch simply stared at the map.

"I'm headin' out for a supply run – we've got nothin' left in the kitchen. Either of you want anythin' specific?" Dean asked, standing at the head of the table.

"No. Thank you," Ketch replied without looking up.

"Nah, I'm fine," Jody answered, her eyes tightening slightly around the corners as she scrutinised Dean's look. She knew instantly that something was up.

"Alright. I'll be back later. Text me if you find anythin'," Dean called as he headed out towards the garage, his phone already out as he typed a message to Jody.

Sam called. He's on West Homer Street in Chicago. Says Ketch is working with Thomas. Watch him – don't tell him where I'm going.

He hit send and walked out of the bunker, jogging up to the car where Cas already sat waiting for him.

It was time to get his brother back.

oOo

West Homer Street, Chicago

It's Cas. Dean and I are on our way. No Ketch.

I'm in an old shipping warehouse: the third one on the right. I'm okay.

Sam read the message thread again and again, his eyes glued to the screen. It was the second text he'd sent: an hour had passed. If Lucifer was planning to keep this 'realistic', he'd been there in another nine hours. A large chunk of Sam wished that he wouldn't – that he'd just pop up – so that they could get this over with. He was so tired of waiting all the time.

And reading the texts over and over again wasn't helping, but he couldn't stop himself. It was like a scab he just couldn't stop picking at even when it began to bleed. He knew it wasn't Dean – he did – but it made him feel like Dean was really coming and really cared and that was what he hated the most: that Lucifer knew that's how he'd feel and was using it against him. Playing with his emotions, like always.

No more.

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

Ketch paced the length of the library table, his mind turning over and over. Something was missing, something was off. While he wasn't a particularly empathetic individual, he could feel the tension rising off Jody. At first, he'd pegged it as frustration at not pinpointing Thomas' location. Yet it was morphing, moulding into an anger that he couldn't place.

He looked at his watch for the first time in a while. Dean had been gone for three hours.

Looking at Jody again, his eyes scrunched around the edges as he scrutinised her. The sheriff was on the laptop still, her fingers running over the keyboard, but her eyes kept darting back to her phone which sat on the table beside her. Since Dean had gone, it hadn't lit up once, but it was like she was waiting for it to do so. She hadn't paid that much attention to it before, so why now?

"I'm just going to get a glass of water; do you want one?" he asked, keeping his suspicions from his tone.

"Yeah, that'd be good, thanks," she replied, barely looking up at him. He strode off, heading out towards the kitchen. The bunker was quiet: too much so. Walking past the kitchen, he headed for the archives, his hackles rising as his suspicions rose. Swinging around the doorframe, Ketch's eyes narrowed at the empty room.

The angel was gone.

There was something amiss and he didn't like being in the dark. Just to be sure, he checked all the rooms out the back but found them all empty.

Dean had lied and Ketch wanted to know why.

Soundlessly treading back towards the library, he strained his ears and was rewarded with the sound he had expected.

"…No, I don't think he suspects anything, but it's not gonna be long," he heard her murmured, keeping her voice deliberately low. There was a long pause. "Look, I'll do what I can, but Ketch isn't an idiot and eventually he'll put two and two together…yeah, I'll be safe. You too. Call me later."

Silence reigned again and Ketch stayed where he was for a moment, absorbing what he'd heard. Something had happened and they were keeping him in the dark. Surely they had to know that that was detrimental to helping them find Sam? Unless they thought he was compromised or that Thomas had lured Dean out. Either way it had to be a trap: one that the imbecile was driving straight into. Ketch scowled. Hunters were too impulsive, too emotional. If they lost Sam now, it was their own fault.

Striding back into the library, he locked his cold gaze onto Jody who looked up at him, frowning when she saw his hands were empty. Her shoulders tensed as he loomed over her.

"Would you care to explain what's going on?" he asked, bypassing the niceties. There wasn't time. Jody just stared up at him; he could see her mind whirling behind her eyes. His jaw clenched. "Jody, the longer it takes for you to tell me, the more danger you're putting Dean – and Sam – in."

She swallowed, but her gaze didn't leave him.

"How long has it been goin' on?" she asked, her voice hard steel. He frowned.

"How long has what been going on? I don't care for games, Jody."

"Neither do we," Jody snarled, standing abruptly and drawing her gun in one fluid movement, aiming it straight at him, her hold unwavering. "How long have you been workin' with Thomas?"

Ketch balked, eyebrows lifting momentarily in surprise. He regained his composure almost instantly. Clever lad.

"Is that what he told Dean?" he scoffed.

"It's what Sam told Dean," she hissed, keeping her aim true. Her knuckles whitened. Of course. There was no way Dean would believe Thomas. But his brother? Dean would never doubt him.

"Jody, I need you to listen to me very carefully," he kept his voice smooth and calm, raising his hands, palms up. "Do you remember what I told you about Sam and how Thomas had probably broken him? This is exactly what I was talking about."

Jody shifted uncomfortably.

"What evidence have I given you to doubt my intentions?" he asked. She shook her head, readjusting her hold on the gun.

"You haven't," she murmured.

"Precisely. Why would I be sent over, by the Men of Letters, to help Thomas when they want to bring him in as much as you do? I have no interest in his delusion: my loyalty is to my Chapter," Ketch continued, lowering his hands. "If I was working with him, why would he trap me in the farmhouse with you all without killing Dean? That would be the most efficient way for me to remove Thomas' greatest obstacle. Why would I be wasting time with you trying to locate them if I already knew where they were?"

Jody's grip loosened but she didn't lower the gun.

"For whatever reason, Thomas has managed to convince Sam to draw Dean out. Now, Sam may not know the purpose of it, but I can tell you, with absolute certainty, that it will be a trap that will get Dean killed. That's what Thomas wants. If Dean is alive, he will never stop hunting for his brother: I know that, you know that and, most importantly, Thomas does. His delusion can only be fulfilled with Dean permanently removed from the situation. And I can tell you this with absolute certainty too: if you don't tell me where they've gone, if you continue to stall, Dean will die. That won't be on my conscience: it'll be on yours. Can you live with that, Jody or are you going to let me do my job?"

Throughout his whole speech, Ketch's steel gaze hadn't left her face once. Unorthodox though he was, Ketch had grown on her and she'd trusted him. She considered herself to be a good judge of people and the more he spoke, the more she realised he was right.

They'd been played. Again.

"Shit," she swore, lowering her gun and running a hand back through her hair. "Chicago. They've gone to Chicago."

Ketch gave one hard nod and looked at his watch.

"They have a three-and-a-half-hour head start on us. We'd better get a move on and hope we're not too late."

oOo

I-80E, Outskirts of Iowa City, Iowa

Dean fingers drummed continuously on the steering wheel, the motion creating random noise rather than any real tune. His nerves hadn't stabilised at all for the last seven hours. The only thing that had stopped him from going nuts were the text messages that Sam sent routinely every half an hour on the dot. Cas read each one out and each one elicited a small sigh of relief before the worry set in again for the next half an hour. It was a self-perpetuating cycle that would only stop when they got there.

He'd never wished for Cas to have his wings back more – not even when he'd prayed for it in the farmhouse. Sam was sitting there alone in some warehouse, waiting for him, waiting for Thomas to find him. His little brother was hugely vulnerable, maybe more so than he'd ever been, and Dean wasn't there for him.

His foot etched down harder on the gas pedal.

"He'll be there, Dean; it'll be fine," Castiel deep bass voice interrupted the silence, expelling it like a balloon that was overfilling.

"I know he will," Dean murmured, overtaking a truck with ease. "I just don't know how we'll get back to 'fine' when we get there."

"What do you mean?"

"Getting' Sam outta there is my first priority. I want him as far away from that bastard as I can get him. But there's no way he gets to live after what he's done. Thomas will die; I'll make sure of it. Ketch too when I find out what he's done."

Cas averted his gaze out of the window at that, hiding his deception.

Ketch isn't involved. We're coming after you. Don't tell Dean – I don't want him to stop or start worrying even more.

Jody had sent the text a couple of hours ago – thankfully his own phone was on silent – and he'd done as she'd asked. By the time they'd catch them up in Chicago, they would be able to explain everything. Dean was still talking, the angel's reverie going unnoticed.

"…Findin' him ain't gonna be easy, but I get the feelin' that he'll try to find us first. Not that it matters; he ain't ever gonna lay a hand on Sam again," Dean growled, his glare fixed on the road ahead. Cas nodded his agreement. Dean wasn't looking for a real conversation; he was just ranting to make himself feel better.

He just hoped that it worked out how it should.

oOo

West Homer Street, Chicago

Sam finished typing the latest text and dropped the phone on the desk beside him. He was sat on the old workspace (since the chair was missing), his back leaning against the wall as he stared out of the window, watching the clouds roll by. They did so lazily, the wind light as it brushed them across the sky.

Was this what it was like for Dean as he waited for Amara?

Sam tried to picture it: seeing his brother standing tall, confident, the way he always did even when he was scared, facing off against The Darkness. Only Sam was able to see past his façade.

No chick flick moments, c'mon.

Yeah, you love chick flicks.

Yeah, you're right: I do.

The memory brought a sad smile to his face. Even in the face of impossible odds, comforting Sam had been Dean's first instinct. His heart squeezed. Dean's connection to Amara had made his task the biggest challenge of his life; he'd openly shared with Sam his feelings about her, letting Sam see how hard it was going to be. At the time, Sam hadn't been able to empathise. Understand, yes, but not fully. Now, he got it.

His eyes flicked to the time on the phone again.

He couldn't deny it; Lucifer had picked the perfect cover. He'd played Dean so...perfectly that it was difficult to remember who was lurking behind those green eyes. Sam thought back to when he'd supposedly escaped England. The way he'd been cared for during his detox, the comfort, the relief and the way he was made to feel safe. So completely and utterly safe, simply because he thought he was with Dean. The nightmares had remained – there was no way he wouldn't have them no matter how protected he felt – but he'd thought that it was all over.

Then Thomas had come and he'd assumed that he was the monster. Looking back, Sam couldn't believe how wrong he'd been. Unethical though the Englishman's methods had been, he could see their true purpose, which was exactly what Thomas had said all the way along. As…agonising as it had been, Sam knew he would never have accepted what Thomas was trying to tell him at the beginning; Lucifer's hold was too strong. Being free of the devil's – of anyone's – influence was a liberating feeling and one that he clung onto.

Maybe that had been Dean's motivation all those months ago: knowing that he'd be free of Amara's hold over him once he'd set that bomb off. Despite the distance and the fact that they were completely disconnected, Sam felt a renewed unity with his brother. Dean had done it: beaten the toughest opponent and saved them all. He could live up to his brother's legacy: he could do the same.

He looked down again. The minutes clicked closer.

oOo

North Winnebago Avenue, Chicago

The Impala rumbled down the quiet residential road, lined on either side with cars. Dean had driven past the Gas'n'Sip Sam had mentioned and the end of West Homer Street, but the Impala was too conspicuous. If Thomas was looking for Sam, and knew Dean would be too, he'd be looking for the car. Dean couldn't run the risk of giving Thomas a pinpointed location. Instead, he made his way down North Winnebago Avenue: it was close enough that they could fetch the car in a hurry, but far enough away to keep their true destination concealed. Finding a space between a Toyota and a Buick, Dean eased the Impala in before cutting the engine, leaving them surrounded by silence.

"Okay, this is how it's gonna work," Dean began, half turning towards Castiel. "We're gonna scout the outside of the building and go in through different entrances so we can cover the whole building – I don't want surprises. I want Sam outta there as quick and safe as we can. Whoever finds him first calls the other. If you spot that bastard, you gut him, y'hear? As much as I wanna gank him myself, I want him dead quick."

"Of course," Cas replied, giving one hard nod. Dean gave him one back before pulling out his phone, opening the car door at the same time. The squeal intermingled with the dial tone on his phone.

oOo

The phone in Sam's hand rang. He looked at the screen and then up to Thomas. The Englishman nodded. Swiping the screen, he brought it up to his ear.

"Sammy, y'there?"

"Yeah, I'm still here, Dean," Sam replied quietly, running his free hand back through his hair nervously, hating the sick feeling in his gut.

"Alright, me and Cas are here – we're a couple of streets away, but we're comin' to get you. You still in the same place?"

"Third floor, in an office," he confirmed, aching when he could almost see Dean's confident, grim smile; the one he got when he knew he was on the right path.

"We'll be there in a few minutes, just sit tight," Dean's voice reassured him before clicking off. Sam dropped the phone into his lap, staring down at it. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at Thomas.

"He's here – with Cas."

"That's alright; we knew he wouldn't come alone – the real Dean would always bring Castiel," Thomas soothed, motioning Sam up off the desk. His ward did as he was asked obediently. "Let's get you out of here – you don't need to be involved in this bit. It's going to take a little while for me to get him set up, and obviously I'll come and check on you, but I need you to be patient for a couple of hours more, Sam. Then we'll all be free."

Sam nodded, giving him a worn-out smile, trailing behind him and up the stairs to the fourth floor.

oOo

The warehouse was an old shipping building; standard redbrick with a large metal door facing the street and a smaller door sitting to its left. Surprisingly, none of the windows above were smashed despite the building's apparent abandoned air. Walking around its perimeter revealed another door and no one else around; the whole street seemed to be disused. It was too quiet for Dean's liking, but then, every abandoned warehouse he'd ever entered on a hunt had been the same.

"Alright, I'm gonna head back to the front and go in that way. You go in this way and we'll meet on the third floor," Dean instructed. Cas nodded and Dean clapped him on the shoulder before heading off, his gun drawn. The angel watched him go before reaching out and snapping the door handle, breaking the lock. He stepped into the dark, his eyes adjusting quickly to the gloom within as he pulled his angel blade out from the folds of his coat. Closing the door softly behind him, Cas walked in, his gaze roaming through the large anteroom he was stood in. It was empty save for a few crates and scraps of paper, the kind left when a building was abandoned in a hurry. His footsteps echoed gently in the cavernous room as he headed towards a set of metal stairs on the other side of the room, keeping his hearing strained, listening constantly for any sound or signs of life. The metal rang dully beneath his feet as he walked up, his eyes fixed on the doorway in front of him.

Something shuffled up ahead.

"Sam?" Cas called softly, his brows furrowing. No answer. He carried on quickly, the angel blade poised and ready. Reaching the door, he saw sunlight gleaming in through the dirt-encrusted windows opposite. Again, the room was vacant save for a few overturned chairs. Something wasn't right though and the hairs on the back of his neck began to bristle. Swinging around, he found himself facing a woman, her eyes full of malice, a tight smile sneering at him.

"Goodbye," she said simply, her bloodied hand poised over a sigil. Cas didn't even have time to yell before she smacked her palm to the wall. The symbol glowed red hot and shot him from the room in flash.

Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, Anna wrapped it around her palm.

"One down, two to go."

oOo

Light filtered down onto the floor of the room as Dean stepped up the final stair and onto the second floor. His heart wanted him to run straight to the third floor, to find Sam, but his head remained level. As with all hunts, he needed to eliminate the possibility of any threats first. Sam was waiting for him and trusted him to do this right. There was no way he was going to let some stupid mistake stand between Sam and his freedom. The floorboards creaked beneath his boots as he walked in, gun raised, shoulders tensed. His eyes swept across the whole room, taking in everything in minute detail – not that there was a lot to take in. A few old work benches lined two of the walls – there was no crawl space beneath them – and a cupboard to the left of the stairs revealed nothing. Closing that door quietly, the hunter readjusted his grip on his gun before walking around the cupboard to the next set of stairs. Gazing up them revealed nothing – again.

"Sam? It's me," he called, wanting to announce himself as he started making his way up the stairs. The last thing Sam needed was for him to just appear. No one answered. Dean's heart began to thrum. No answer didn't mean something bad. Sam was being careful. Nothing more. Walking up, Dean's breath caught in his throat and his grip tightened.

Please be there.

His heart hammered against his ribs as the stairs groaned beneath him. The room ahead was full of sunlight. Sam would want somewhere he could see everything – no shadows for anyone to lurk in. Dean climbed the final step and swung into the room.

"Sam?"

The room was empty.

No. No no no no no.

Dean swallowed hard. He swung his aim to his right and then his left, covering the whole room. Again, he couldn't see anyone. Where the hell was he? Why didn't he say he'd moved? Dean let go of his gun with one hand, reaching into his jeans pocket for his phone. He was about to swipe a call when something caught his eye. He looked up. Sat on the desk, bathed in sunlight, was Sam's memory box.

"What the hell?" he growled softly under his breath, stalking over, his phone lowering to his side, his gun still in the other hand. He was obviously in the right place. Maybe Sam thought Thomas could trace his calls. If he hadn't felt safe, he'd leave another trail to follow, one that he knew Dean would be able to follow. Putting his phone away, he ran his hand over the top, before opening the catch at the front and lifting the lid.

The top burst open off its own accord, jetting a plume of blue powder up into his face. Dean reeled back, coughing, sucking in the dust as his hands went instantly to his eyes, trying to rub the grit from them. He lurched away from the table, unable to catch his breath. He opened his streaming eyes, squinting as the world bucked and swerved, driving him to his knees. Still coughing, he landed heavily, falling onto his side, clawing at his throat as his mouth gaped.

His tear-filled eyes struggled to focus, barely noticing the figure stood over him as his world turned black.

oOo

I am in the process of moving house whilst I write this: I promise will try my HARDEST to write quickly (I'm as excited to see how this plays as many of you are).

Please review!