As usual, I own nothing! Huge apologies for the gigantor delay between chapters. Reviews would be motivators and much appreciated!! I got pretty lazy, and the story should be ending pretty soon, so here you go:

"Hello?"

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

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

"Revenge. I have some information. Just make sure the door's open." Dean could sense the nervousness in the boy's tone. He'd been keeping vigil over his brother as he slept. For some reason the nightmares Sammy had been struggling to keep at bay had come back with a vengeance with their trip into Boston. He heard a muffled moaning coming from the figure in front of him, and his head whipped around in alarm. He reached over and shook the teen's shoulder gently.

"Sam? Sammy?" A groan was his only reply as he watched his brother begin to toss and turn underneath the covers.

"Wake up, Sammy. It's just a dream. Sam!" A minute later, his brother's eyes snapped at attention, as if he were alerted by one of their father's early morning wake up calls. The expression soon turned to fear as he caught sight of his brother standing over him. His head dropped heavily into his hands as he attempted to slow his breathing.

"You got somethin' to tell me, Sammy?" Dean demanded. Sam smiled weakly, his face still covered by his hands, as he saw through Dean's heavily masked concern. He tried to ignore his worry with jokes and an always casual tone, but Sam knew differently. He extracted his head from his hands with a groan and stared blankly at the wall in front of him, trying to understand the bad movie inside his head.

"I had a dream. About Tommy. I think he's in big trouble, Dean." Dean was shocked at the revelation. Usually, Sam just brushed off his concern about the nightmares, neglecting to expose the innermost details of his REM cycle. Why did Sam know his dreams had significance, he asked himself. Was there really something wrong with the kid, as a gangly and vulnerable fourteen year old Sammy had once confessed to him after a long night of fragmented terrors?

"Hey, kid, it's okay. Tommy just called. He's coming over here now. Sounded scared as hell. What exactly happened in that dream of yours, Sammy?"

"He's coming over?" Sam asked, brushing off Dean's question. "What time is it?"

"About 8:00 in the morning, kiddo. You overslept," he smiled. "I know how much you like to get up and do that extra summer geek work. Too bad when you could be waking up to a Miss Pamela Anderson and those—"

"Dean, I'm not a stupid fifteen year old anymore. I know you didn't sleep with Pam Anderson, dude."

"Oh, cause that was so long ago," Dean smirked. "That chick in Jacksonville looked pretty damn similar, though." He shook his head, as if in awe of his own raw sex appeal. Sam rolled his eyes and swung his feet over the side of his bed. The world tilted as he stood, and he felt an arm propping his body upright.

"Sammy, slow down, bud."

"What the…" Sam shoved his hands back under his eyelids in an attempt to erase the black spots. A frantic rapping on the door interrupted his groggy musings. Dean leapt to answer it when the door swung wildly and a frenzied Tommy entered. Sam looked fearful, while Dean's shoulder straightened with apprehension.

"It's my sister…and Joe…at the hospital…I…no one else could see him," he paused for breath. "Why can't anyone…his eyes…" Tommy alternated between confusion and pure fear in his words, and Dean took a tentative step toward the unstable boy. He was beginning to feel very alone at being the only sound person in the room.

"Hey, Tom, why don't you sit down for a minute, then you can explain everything to us, okay?" He began to guide the shaking boy to his bed, but felt a tug on his hand as Tommy pulled away.

"Don't touch me!" he exclaimed. He looked at Dean with accusing eyes briefly before walking himself to collapse on the bed. Dean noted his wild eyes, searching for an exit like a caged animal. The kid was gonna go into shock if he didn't get some rest and peace of mind. He inwardly scoffed. Peace of mind. He didn't think he knew a single person who had truly experienced the phrase.

"Tommy, what is it?" Sam had recovered and his eyes were owlishly staring at the boy in curiosity and anxiety.

"Didn't I just tell you?!" Tommy responded, harried by his pervading anxiety. Eventually they got Tommy to spill his story out to them after much prodding and Dean's "threat" that if he didn't calm down soon enough, they were going to settle the matter outside and abandon the verbal tactic. He left out the part about the woman's cry at the hospital, though. He already knew it was a banshee, he wasn't stupid. And he knew it meant his sister was going to die.

"Okay, Tommy," Dean said. "We think your friend—"

"He's not my friend," Tommy muttered petulantly.

"Right, well, that kid Joey is being forced by this spirit to do it bidding. We think your sister is the target, but I want to remember that we could be wrong. Is there anything linking your families? Any shared relatives or histories with members of the Burns' family?" Tommy looked taken aback that Dean had asked the question.

"Well, yeah," he explained. "We're like fourth cousins or something. But I don't know how that would—"

"Who told you that you're related to Joey?"

"My grandpa. And you can't interrogate him, 'cause he's dead. Or would you guys just have a séance instead or something?" he replied sarcastically. Dean and Sam looked for him to continue. Tommy sighed.

"Our grandfathers hated each other. Joey's died when we were pretty young, so I never saw the whole thing in action, but my dad says when the two met in a room, everyone could feel hatred bouncing off the walls. Anyway, when my grandpa told me this, we were at Joey's grandfather's wake, only Grandpa wasn't allowed near the body because everyone was suspicious he might slip something in the casket. Have you ever been to an Irish wake?" Tommy asked. Dean and Sam glanced at each other and shook their heads, no, unable to remember their mother's own funeral rites.

"Well, an Irish wake is basically a party where everyone gets drunk and tells stupid stories about the dead person that no one really wanted the dead person's kids to know about. So, when my grandpa told me the story of him and Joseph Burns, I kind of disregarded him, because he was the drunk to end all drunks. When he and his cousin Joe were seventeen, they came over to America. They left their family, belongings, everything, and they knew they'd never see any of them again. As soon as they stepped off the boat, they met this blonde woman. The most beautiful woman in the world. She was probably pretty ugly by today's standards, though. They both fell in love with her, and instantly hated each other because of their rivalry. I don't really remember much of it. All these old guys kept interrupting. All I know is that it ended up that the blonde woman killed herself and the two men swore vengeance on each other," he furrowed his brows. "You know, I hadn't thought of it for years."

"Do you think your sister looks a little bit like this woman?"

"I know so. He had a picture. This is crazy, why is Joey after Molly? Wouldn't it make sense that this spirit dude go after me?"

"He might be after you both, but right now—"

"Does the St. Mary shrine at Our Lady of the Sacred Heart mean anything to you?" Sam interrupted. Tommy was again surprised by the question. Then his brows lifted in realization.

"That's where Joey goes to think."

"We have to get there by midnight or one of you dies."