Wow. You know, when I logged off last night I had 107 reviews that the site wouldn't let me read (grumbles). Today I get on and find so many more. Thank you all so much!

As for how long the planning of a story takes (becuase supernaturals asked), it really depends. I know that the only planning for my Angel's Wings series (which you all should read if you haven't yet :)) was basically "I want to write a story where Dean sprouts wings but doesn't end up with Sam in the end." Seriously. It just kind of went from there.

With this story, I had the main idea, with a few scenes that I really liked, and just started typing. I got the idea to put flashbacks in while I was walking through the halls in my school one day, and the birthday scene that ended the last chapter was actually supposed to be the epilogue for the Christmas story I'm currently working on (I know it's early, but I have a heavy class load next year!).

I guess what I;m trying to say is that there isn't much planning. No outline (and if I do make one, I usually stray away from it pretty quick). I just kind of let the story go where it goes (like the one I'm currently working on, an MPreg story that was supposed to be funny, but SO wasn't by the end of page one. I just know it's gonna be angsty!).

Hope that answers your question :)

Sammy quickly jotted down the notes, nodding as the voice on the other end of the telephone gave him directions to a small Wisconsin town. Joshua had called his cell early that morning, long before Sam had bothered to roll over and climb out of bed. Turned out that Josh had found a hunt, a very intriguing one by the sound of it.

"And you really think it's a hellmouth?" Sam asked, underlining the phrase in his notebook.

"Maybe not a hellmouth," the other hunter replied, "but something like it. There's been a lot of activity in the area recently. People going missing, others turning up dead, animal corpses littering roadsides. There's something going on up in Wisconsin, Sammy. Something bad."

Sam nodded. "I'll talk to Dean, see how soon we can head out."

"Thanks, man," Josh said.

"No problem. See you soon?"

"Yeah." The line clicked.

o0o0o0o0o

In a cozy home in Michigan, Joshua Bounty hung up his phone, a grin spreading over his face as his eyes turned an oily shade of black. "Sooner than you think."

o0o0o0o0o

"Treason, Wisconsin."

"Catchy name," Dean quipped, finally bringing his head off the table and cringing at the sore muscles in his neck and back, "any reason you're starting the day with it?"

"Joshua called," Sam stated down across from his brother and eyeing the older man with concern, "seems to be overrun by a swarm of nasties lately."

"Did you just say 'nasties?'" Dean asked, blinking in confusion, "because I could've sworn I just heard you say 'nasties.' Is that even a word?"

"It is if I say it is. Now focus, Dean, this is important. Josh says there's something going on in Treason. Something demonic. He thinks it may be an open hellmouth. He wants us to check it out for him."

"Going to a place called Treason because someone we haven't heard from in nearly a year told us they've got demons coming out the persqueeter a couple of days after you have a vision about us getting our asses kicked in some run-down motel because our little Yellow-eyed friend showed up uninvited just doesn't seem like a good idea right now, Sammy."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Did you even breathe in there?"

"I'm just saying," Dean muttered, leaning across the table, "that I value my life and yours. I'm not heading into this if that freak's lying in wait for us."

"And I'm saying that it's all right," the younger psychic countered, "because I saw some motel stationary in my vision. We were in Iowa when the demon attacked, not Wisconsin. We should be safe."

"But you're not sure."

"Nothing's ever sure, Dean."

"I don't want to walk into a trap."

"It's perfectly safe. I trust Josh. Besides, those people in that town are in trouble."

"You're overly-emoting."

"Pot calling the kettle black."

"We could wait it out," Dean reasoned, "I mean, these people have to learn to fend for themselves eventually. We're not always going to be there to protect them. Call Josh back and tell him to take the case. He can call if he needs back-up. Until then, we can hang out here a little longer. At least we know we're safe here."

Sammy leaned back in his seat. Safety. Comfort. Warmth. Love. It must have been so much better than some second-rate motel room in a small Wisconsin town. No wonder he wanted to stay. Too bad he couldn't. "We have to. I already promised."

"Fine," the elder finally conceded, "but if I get my ass pinned to a wall by some demon, I'm blaming you."

"Even if it does happen- which it won't- we'll survive."

"That's what you think," Dean grinned, "let's just say Coke won't be your only turn-on if you're wrong about this."

o0o0o0o0o

The car roared down the highway, leaving Kansas far behind as the brothers headed up to Treason. The interior of the car, however, was freakishly quiet. The radio had been turned down to the point that the usually blaring classic rock was barely louder than a whisper. There was no conversation, no brotherly banter, not even a sniffle. Just silence.

Sam glanced over at his brother, who stared out the windshield, his eyes never moving, hands never leaving the comforting leather of the wheel. Sammy cleared his throat.

Dean's eyes began to stray from the concrete that stretched endlessly before him just in time to see Sam's head whip toward the window. He turned back to the road.

Sammy let his eyes wander back to his brother, finally turning his head to get a better look. That had been a close call. Dean had almost seen him. He wasn't sure why that was a bad thing, just knew that it was.

The older man snapped his head around suddenly, catching Sam in the act of peeking. "Alright, what is it?"

"What do you mean?" Sam shrugged innocently, eyes wandering back toward his window.

"This peeking thing. What, are you five, or something?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, cut the crap, Sam. I know you know. What's wrong?"

The younger man leaned up against the door, letting his head rest against the cool window. "You seemed kind of reluctant to leave today."

"Of course I didn't want to leave. I'm not gonna walk into a trap. Contrary to popular belief, I am smarter than that."

"I know," Sam muttered weakly.

"See," Dean shrugged, "that wasn't so hard to admit."

"No. I mean I know why you wanted to stay so bad."

"You should. I just told you, like, five seconds ago."

"You didn't tell me. Well, you kind of did."

"Did you hit your head?"

"She told me. Missouri. She told me why you wanted to stay."

Dean closed his eyes, sighing softly. "Oh."

"I just want you to know that, even though it might not feel like it now-"

"Sam, don't."

"No, Dean, you need to hear this. You need to know. No matter what you think, I-"

"Don't even start, Sammy, or, so help me, I'll pull this car over, beat you within an inch of your life, tie you to the roof , and drive under a very low bridge. Understood?"

Sam gulped. "Yeah. Got it."

"Good. Now shut up. I can't hear my music." Leaning forward, the older man cranked up the volume, filling the car instantly with a too-loud guitar solo.

Sammy settled back in his seat, still gazing at his brother out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't help but worry. This was something new, an invasion of privacy, and it didn't seem to be going over too well in big brother's mind.

He sighed, closing his eyes and hoping to get in some sleep before arriving in Treason. All at once, a sense of understanding flooded over him. His eyes snapped open and he looked at Dean, who sat, hands on the wheel, staring out at the road, a content smile playing across his face.

"You gotta worry less, man," he grinned, "you'll give yourself an ulcer."

"You-?"

"I get it. Go to sleep. It's gonna be a long drive."

o0o0o0o0o

"Definitely not my choice of décor," Dean muttered as he walked through the door of the motel room he'd rented just outside of Treason. A single blinking lamp that sat on the bedside table provided the room's only light beside the few strangled beams that fought their way through the grime-streaked window. The room was dark red, almost black, and covered in a very tacky splatter patterned wallpaper. Nice.

Shaking his head at the bloody color scheme, the hunter tossed his luggage onto the first bed he saw and promptly began digging through it.

He glanced out the window to see Sam, still sitting in the car, finally starting to wake up. Dean turned back to his duffle bag, sifting through dirty clothes, a few odd weapons, and moldy containers of food to find a piece of paper.

The psychic shuddered in the suddenly chilly room as he scraped the bottom of the bag for a pen. He left the contents of his luggage spread out on the bed as he grabbed his pen and paper and headed to the room's gloomy desk.

More spatters of something dark covered the scratched desktop, but Dean hardly noticed as he sat down and began to write.

Something didn't feel right about Treason. Something didn't feel right about the hunt. Hell, nothing even felt right about the room. And if there was one thing Dean was learning to do, it was trust his feelings.

They hadn't heard from Josh since the reaper thing in Nebraska, so why would he suddenly call with a new hunt? What was up with the town name? And the dark, bloody quality of the room? Honestly, if Dean had paid any attention in high school English, he would have called it foreshadowing and put the town and motel in the Impala's rearview before dark. And the room itself? Well, it was just too cold, too empty. For a place that had been visited by so many people, it should have at least had some kind of resonating emotion in it, right?

No, something didn't sit right with the empath. It felt like a setup.

Slowly, Dean began listing the things that didn't quite make sense. It might have seemed like a pointless thing to do, but his father had always told him that sorting out thoughts could really help in the long run. Besides, maybe showing Sammy something concrete would change his opinion, even if Sam hadn't always agreed with dad's list theory.

Dean shuddered again, pulling his jacket more tightly around himself as the temperature in the room dropped at least another fifteen degrees. He set down the pen and went looking for some form of climate control, betting that, given the quality of the room he was staying in, the closest thing he would find would be a broken hair dryer.

It was at that exact moment that Sam chose to make his grand entrance, stumbling groggily from the car to the open door of the room. He glanced around his latest home, his eyes going wide as his heart stopped and his breath hitched in his chest.

Startled green eyes scanned the room, searching desperately for reassurance, for safety, for something that wasn't so terribly familiar. What they landed upon was a piece of crumpled stationary from a western Iowa motel with a list hastily scrawled on it. A chill ran down the hunter's spine even though it was far from cool in the room.

Gulping down fear, Sammy called his brother's name. he gasped as Dean came into view, emerging from the small closet, shaking violently, teeth chattering. "This is it," Sam whispered, pointing to his brother's list, "we need to leave."

"Won't be that easy, Sammy," Dean replied, blowing warm breath into his cupped hands and rubbing them vigorously together, "it's already here."

The door slammed shut.