Do I still own nothing? Hmm? Yep, pretty sure. Nothing at all, people.

The black twilight hung heavily upon the two as they made their way toward the bus stop. There was a burden upon the brothers, a grief they had carried for years, now it was coming to an end, they thought, culminating in one trip to the hospital that would wreck their lives. No one in the Lynch family could live without Molly. Not seeing her bright smile, hearing the trickle of her laugh, it was enough to make Tommy want to disappear into oblivion. To forget. To sleep without dreaming. Jack clung to his arm; despite his emulation of Tommy's tough bravado, he was still a little boy clutching his only lifeline, and the tears were beginning to fall. Tommy didn't know, couldn't understand what they had found in their baby sister's room. He hadn't seen like Jack had. A pale ghost smeared with scarlet blood. It stained her yellow hair and her pink nightgown. Jack's heart was sinking and he was taking his brother down with him. They sat at the bus stop, and Tommy realized how inane, how trivial life was when death was waiting at your door. He looked at his shoes: stupid high tops he had spent months saving up for. What a waste when he could have been making Molly laugh.

The ride to the hospital was a blur. The brothers were gripping each other so tightly that the fingernail imprints would still be visible the next morning. Tommy knew people were staring, and for some reason he felt angry and extremely protective of the breaking boy next to him. He placed Jack next to the window and sat down, daring any one of the other passengers to look at his brother so he could lash out. He didn't ask Jack to tell him. He didn't want to hurt the boy any more. He didn't want to know. It was probably more of the latter, he thought, that made him in so much awe of the Winchesters. To carry someone else's pain, to dream about them, then to walk away onto the next horror like determined soldiers. It was astonishing how quickly one can walk in and out of the lives of people.

They reached the parking lot and ran, nearly knocking over the person exiting the hospital doors.

"Joe?" Tommy whispered, and the blond boy turned his head around and fixed his eyes on the brothers. A gaze with only malicious intent, his eyes looked as though they were doused in black ink to Tommy, and he staggered backward. A rage burned through him at the thought of a demon being his sister's bedside companion and he lunged forward at the creature that was no longer his best friend but rather something that had to be eradicated. In retrospect, he would realize what lay at the core of every hunter's heart was rage. Rage at the fact that the supernatural can walk among us, carry our loved ones away under our watch. Vengeance, sometimes, was necessary, even to an obsession.

"Tommy? Tommy! Stop, cool it, what's—"

"Joe Burns!" he gasped. "Right there, with the eyes! Don't you…don't you see him too, Jack?" That same sinking feeling he'd had in the gym told him that he was going insane.

"Tommy, stop foolin' around! We gotta go see Molly." Jack paused and flung his hand on his mollified older brother's shoulder. "What's wrong with you?" Tommy thought he had been struck dumb by the black gaze until he responded shakily:

"Nn…Nothing."

"You're fuckin' crazy, you know that?" Jack attempted a moment of lightheartedness, but Tommy plowed ahead, not wanting to hear that all too real truth.

"Jack?" His little brother had paused outside Molly's hospital room, looking in terror back at the tear-streaked face of their mother and the blank expression of their father that beckoned the two inside.

"I, I'm gonna stay here. I…I don't wanna go in unless she's awake." Tommy felt his insides being attacked by sadness for the eyes that were pleading up at him. Tommy merely nodded and marched in. The things he would remember most were the machines keeping his sister alive. It was hard to tell where the wires ended and his sister began. She was still as death, so he rushed cautiously to caress her hand, seeking a modicum of warmth, a flush of life. He knew his parents were in the room with him, but somehow everything around him disappeared when he looked at the small, white face. He could hear them grieving, but it didn't register in his mind. He remembered striding out of the room; it was killing him to leave or stay with the girl either way. He remembered finding Jack pounding on one of the vending machines, complaining that it wouldn't give him any change. He remembered crying. Jack wouldn't remember, refused to remember that small detail. He remembered crying for a long time with his brother in his arms and thinking that they weren't men, they were boys. Thinking that they didn't deserve this and neither did the princess in the room down the hall. Knowing that Jack and Tommy would never be her knights in shining armor because they simply couldn't kill the dragon living inside of her. He remembered a lot from that night, but the thing most burned in his memory, something he would still be able to hear in a city rush hour or a crowd of a hundred thousand. He distinctly heard the wail of a woman who had suffered unimaginable pain. It came at him from all sides, as if he was experiencing it in all senses, in each of his shaking limbs. It was the cry of death.

The next morning, Molly was awake and her blue eyes savored her alertness and seemed to swallow whole all those unsuspecting saps that dared look once at her. Hours later, no matter how weak she was physically, her mind began to grow restless.

"Tell me the rest of the story, Tommy," she begged him.

"What story would that be, miss?"

"The ghost story," she said, her weariness unintentionally showing through. His mother shot a warning glance at him; her vigilance had been restored with Molly's regained consciousness.

"Don't worry, Ma, it's a good story. Extra scary," he winked at the little girl. She smiled.

"He's lying, Mommy. It's about a princess."

"I'm watching you, smart aleck," Mrs. Lynch warned.

"Yeah, yeah," he smirked. Things seemed to be going back to normal, outwardly, at least, despite the undercurrent of fear that rolled through their minds. His mother left for the cafeteria, leaving only Tommy and Molly in the room.

"Well, when I first saw the princess, she asked me for help. Not all princesses have it easy, ya know. The pink was almost blinding me, though, and I had to ask her to repeat the question. Me being blind and all." Molly responded with a laugh.

"Settle down, kiddo. I'm not that funny. You gotta rest, ya know, Moll. Anyway, since I was such an attractive St. Clare's attendee, she was naturally drawn to my presence. That's probably why she appeared to me in the first place, ya know. She asked me if I could save her from her big bad meanie father. He was the king, see. And he was going to lock her up with a great big dragon because she didn't want to grow up and become queen. She was almost eighteen, and you know, in the supernatural world, the monarchy is very strict. She wouldn't be able to play dress up or run around with her friends anymore. It was forbidden." He paused for a moment, checking Molly to make sure he wasn't wearing her out.

"Well? Did you help her, Tommy? What happened next?" she asked impatiently at his hesitance.

"I told her I was sorry but my family needed me. Once you go to their world, you can never come back, ya know. They can come here, but if you were to visit there, you'd be gone forever. I said my baby sister has too much fun with me, she simply couldn't survive without my radiant presence," he grinned. "She wasn't happy with me, to say the least. But I had a dream about her last night. She saved herself. She fought the dragon all by herself and made up with her father. And everything was okay." He frowned, trying to keep the growing lump in his throat from making itself known. "You're a lot like her, Moll-doll. Ya know?" He swallowed. "You could be a lot like her." He saw his baby sister falling asleep. "You could save yourself, right?" And he heard his voice broke and stood up to pace the room. His father was standing in the doorway, an amused and yet simultaneously despairing look on his face.

"How much did you hear?" he asked.

"You know I can't pass up a good story, Tom."

"You know, I…I didn't mean anything by that. With the princess' father and stuff," he blushed. His father scrubbed his face with one hand. His black hair stood out at all ends; his disheveled appearance exposed the man's vulnerability.

"I'm sorry for what I've been like lately. Sometimes…," he stopped and scanned his eyes across the room. "I don't want this to be the only life for her. I wish I could provide…something better for my children, but no matter how hard I try," he gestured his arm at the white hospital room, as if it would serve the purpose of unspoken words. Tommy felt he was being unfairly thrust into this adult club of his father's. He knew everything he was saying. Just didn't want to hear it.

"It's fine, Dad," he interrupted, sounding harsher than he meant to. "I…I have to go somewhere. Get out of here," he muttered more quietly under his breath. He had been feeling like a caged animal since he had heard the mournful cry the night before. He was beginning to piece things together.

One bus trip later, Tommy checked his house to make sure he was the only one home and ventured up into he and Jack's bedroom. Under piles of clothes and sports equipment lay a metal box. He plucked the key from under his mattress and unlocked the box, revealing the shiny, cold blackness of the .38 inside. He had bought it off a high schooler notorious for illegal trades, after Jack had been beat up by a couple of local kids. He needed to protect his family once again, he thought, slipping the weapon in the waistband of his boxers. As he swept his shirt over the conspicuous shape, he made his way to the phone and pulled out the dirty piece of paper that held the only piece of information he wanted now.

"Hello?"

"Sam? It's Tommy. Tommy Lynch."

"Tommy? Hey, is everything okay? What do you need, kid?"

"Revenge." Tommy had replied to Dean, who sat there utterly baffled by the boy's chilling tone after he had hung up the phone. There was a question in his voice, a lost, scared tone that Dean couldn't miss. But he'd be damned if he had heard a more determined voice than that of his own father.

A/N: Sorry if it was all a bit confusing. The reason for Tommy's extremity will for sure be explained in my next installment. Until then, thanks for reading & please review!