A/N: First of all, let me just say: WOW. I honestly didn't expect this to get so well received. I mean, sweet wounded Tabitha, 30 reviews for one chapter? Seriously, the most reviews I've EVER had for a story has been 29, and that particular piece had four chapters!
So here's to you, the reviewers: You guys are stellar! You really made my day, saying all those wonderful, helpful things about my writing. You guys really do make it all worth while. And since you all did such a marvelous job (I'm still blushing, seriously!), here's the reward. As promised, I went ahead and wrote up a second chapter. Aren't you proud of me? An update in only four days! It's unheard of. /grin/
Warnings: Same as the first chapter, with Sam-angst being quite a bit heavier this time around, since I tackle the story from his perspective. And let me tell you, I had fun. /devious smile/ Beware the overload of cheesy drama; it can be nauseating at first. As always, H/c, a little swearing though I don't think I dropped the F-bomb this time (I don't know, I lose track. Dean's mouth gets away from me sometimes /giggle/), and there is a scene that is a tad more gruesome than your typical off-hand mention of blood and injury, although it's nothing that they would avoid on the actual show. Oh, and I really didn't get a chance to proof-read this one--I was far too eager to share it with you all, before one of you resorted to something drastic, lol. I did spell-check, of course, but there might be a few more errors in this than there was last time. Bare with me, and try not to laugh too hard at my expense.
Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my imagination, and sometimes even that escapes me.
So let's just jump right in, shall we? It picks up where we left off with Missouri in her small, quaint home in Kansas. If you'll recall, she'd just heard someone coming up the stairs. Wonder who it is….
II. Take Me Home
For a moment or two after Dean cut the connection, Missouri remained where she was, the finality of a dial tone buzzing tonelessly in her ear. She could still feel lingering traces of Dean's fear and guilt; the emotions were so powerful she could sense them even now, after the call had ended. She shuddered; the intensity of it gave her goose bumps.
"Missouri?"
Distracted and thus caught off-guard, she jumped at the quiet query. Turning around with a hand over her heart, she treated the man in the stairwell with her fiercest stare. "John Winchester, you got to warn a person before you just go sneaking up on them like that. You nearly gave this poor woman a heart attack!"
John met her glare with a dry smile. "I didn't think that rule applied to psychics. Didn't you know I was coming?"
Although she was expecting a comment like this, it didn't stop the flush of embarrassment that sent blood rushing to her face. Pointedly she decided to ignore the jibe; instead she glared even more severely at her house guest and gestured at the phone still held in her hand. "That was your eldest son on the phone just now. He called to tell me that—"
"That he and Sam are in trouble," John sighed, rubbing his hand over a face that hadn't seen a razor in days. The stubble kept good company with the dark circles under his eyes and the sallow sag in his cheekbones. "I know. He called my cell and left a message not too long ago."
Missouri stared at him, not in anger now but in shock. "You mean to tell me you wouldn't even pick up the phone to talk to him? John, do you have any idea what kind of trouble those boys are in?"
"I know they ran up against the thing that killed Mary, but that they managed to escape," said John evenly, but there was no mistaking the growing worry in his eyes, behind his steely composure. Missouri gave him a skeptical look, one which he glared fiercely back at. "Look, my boys are strong, capable, and more intelligent than I've ever given them credit for. They're grown men now, Missouri, and they don't need their father to come charging to their rescue whenever things go wrong."
Yes, they do! They need their father, John, they've always needed you! And here you stand, ignoring their very existence. Abandoning them!
But unfortunately, John Winchester could not read minds, and Missouri didn't have the heart to say such cruel things to his face. When she spoke, her tone was as gentle as she could make it. "Whenever things go wrong?" She echoed, and shook her head. "This isn't something as simple as a ghost hunt gone wrong. This thing that attacked them, it is pure evil. Not some vengeful spook."
John did not meet her eyes. "I know that. Of course I know that. But..."
His protest trailed off as he searched for an excuse he couldn't find the words for. Missouri, feeling suddenly tired, rested the phone back on its cradle and closed the distance between them. She rested a hand on his arm. "John, you know I have nothing but the greatest confidence in your sons, and I know you feel the same way. Dean is very resourceful, and almost as stubborn as you. Sam...his powers are growing every day. Hell, I can feel his energy even when he's hundreds of miles from Kansas. But neither of them were ready to face this thing. They're lucky to even be alive."
"But they are alive," John shrugged out of her grip, "They were strong enough without me. They always have been."
But the seed of doubt had been planted. Missouri could tell by his composure, by the anxiety in his voice. Yet still he clung to the firm belief that he had to abstain from contact his sons. She had often seen him this way, torn between his duty as a father and his self-imposed mission. It was a never ending battle, and it was tearing the man up inside. She didn't need a psychic's powers to see that.
A new approach was needed if she ever hoped to convince this man that she was right. Carefully keeping accusation out of her voice, she persisted, "Dean sounded absolutely frantic, and you know better than me how good that boy is at keeping a poker-face. I'm worried about Sam, John. Really worried."
"Don't you think I am?" And she could see that he was. She could also sense it; fear rolled of John Winchester in waves, the sort of unchecked terror only a parent can feel when he knows his son is in danger.
Knowing this, Missouri strained to keep the tartness out of her words. "You sure have a funny way of showing it."
John groaned, a mixture of frustration and helplessness. "What is it you want me to do? Get in the car and drive to Jersey right now?"
"I don't know," Missouri said, raising her eyebrows. "Don't ask me to decide for you. Of course, I think you ought to decide for yourself what's best for you and your boys. But you better do it soon. As soon as the sun rises, I'm on my way to Illinois."
"Illinois?"
Forgetting all about her tea, sitting untouched on the kitchen counter, Missouri scaled the stairs to her room. "That's where I'm meeting Dean. I'm bringing your boys home, John. Whether or not you're gonna welcome them back is up to you, but I expect you know the right answer, somewhere in that blackened heart of yours."
Scowling, John watched her limp up the stairs. If he had been less mature--more like Sam or Dean--he would have made a face at her retreating back. "Psychics..." he muttered under his breath, and went in search of the aforementioned tea. "They always have to have the last word."
But the thing that infuriated him most...
Missouri was right.
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Arena hadn't followed the plan. She wasn't supposed to be anywhere near this place; she was supposed to have gone home and locked all her doors, all her windows, and drawn a ring of salt around her bed. She was supposed to have been safe.
Contrary to popular belief, Fate hates the term "supposed to."
Sam cursed again under his breath, a not-so-mild oath that his great Aunt Linda would have had him eating soap for. He should have known that Arena wouldn't have just given up and gone home like a good little girl. It had been too easy to get her to acquiesce; she'd been to willing, too eager. The teenager was obsessed with Dean, and selflessly helpful to a fault. Of course she would follow him to the barn. She had spiritual powers; she probably thought she could be of some use.
What she didn't know--what Sam had just realized--was that those same spiritual powers made her a perfect vessel for possession. At the very least, she could be used as bait. And with that thing on the loose...
Sam put on an extra burst of speed, making his legs and lungs scream in protest. So many consecutive sleepless nights had put him past the point of exhaustion, and the terrain was growing steadily steeper and rockier. Still, he forced himself to go on, to go even faster. Ahead, the single baleful light from the barn loft burned like a beacon, spurring him on. Just a little more...just a little farther...
But the knowledge of what was waiting for him in that barn made his steps falter, made his already unsteady legs turn to jelly. The thing that had killed his mother and Jessica...it was waiting for him there. It was always waiting for him. Twice he had escaped it. Would he be able to this time? Especially since he might very well be on his own now, since Dean hadn't been warned in time about the mortal danger he was in. His older brother didn't know about Arena's spiritual prowess. He wouldn't know that the sweet, charming girl that he now gazed upon might be creature that had murdered their mother. Perhaps he was already dead...
But no. No, Dean couldn't be dead. Sam knew that for a fact, and it wasn't just his denial talking to him. The thing killed with fire. Since the barn was not yet ablaze, he knew that Dean was still alive.
He still had time. Dean had always been there for him. Now it was Sam's turn to protect him.
Fueled by determination, Sam found the strength to make his tired, sore legs to pump faster, covering the hilly ground in long strides that ate up the distance between him and the barn. He was at the threshold in what seemed like seconds, and in a second of weakness he bend double, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. Then he forced himself to straighten, and step shakily forward through the open doors.
It was dark within. Thin, dust spattered beams of light filtered in through the cracks in the ceiling, but the illumination was swallowed up by the darkness below, the darkness in which Sam crouched, straining to control his heavy breathing. Every inhale was twice as loud in the oppressive silence; his frantic heartbeat sounded like the thundering of a bass drum. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, repeating the process until he able to do so without exercising conscious thought. Even when he was breathing normally again, his pulse was his racing, his heart still pounding. A cold sweat had broken out over his body, and small tremors raced unchecked down his spine.
Sam was terrified.
It was this place. He'd seen it so often in his nightmares; glimpses in black in white, snatches of a foggy, fuzzy picture as if seen through bad reception on a television. All of them ended as he scaled the wooden, molding ladder, never allowing him to see what was waiting for him at the top. He had his suspicions, but the confirmation was never made, night after night.
It was the not knowing that made the dream so frightening. He would always wake, shaking and dripping in sweat, like he was now, always afraid to attempt sleep again, just in case...just in case the next time he actually would find out.
But this was no dream. Sam shuddered, gazing upon the familiar ladder in front of him. Whoever...whatever...was at the top, he would soon find out.
For a moment, he considered running. The thought was so tempting, sweet like candy and much more tantalizing. If he left now, he could make it back to the car and be miles away from Shawnee by sunrise. Where ever he wanted to go...back to law school...back to a normal life...forget about the thing that hunted him...
But the thing would never forget about him, and he could never outrun it. Besides that, he couldn't leave Dean. Life, even a normal life, wouldn't be the same without Dean. And life, he knew, would be bitter and empty, knowing that he had left his brother to die at the hands of the thing
Sam grabbed the sides of the ladder with both hands, feeling its damp, rotting surface all to real under his palms, and started climbing. For every rung he ascended, his heart hammered twice as hard against his chest and his stomach gave an unsettling flip-flop.
Get it together, Sammy. Dean'll never let you hear the end of it if he finds out you're acting like such a pansy. He already thinks you're too weak for this job already. Prove him wrong. You can do this.
The last rung was in his hands all too soon. Sam reached for the next and touched a warped wooden floor, run smooth by time and the trespassing of many feet. Steeling himself with one last deep breath that was too shaky for his liking, he pulled himself up into the loft.
Surprisingly, it was empty. The small space was occupied by nothing but hay and spare farming tools. No Arena. And no Dean, either. A sigh of relief came from Sam in the form of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Arena hadn't come hear after all. That meant Dean must still be at the park, conducting his research. Arena wouldn't dare go there, she was too scared of the place. Dean was safe.
Sam started to turn around, to go back to the hotel and put the barn from his mind forever.
Something hot and wet dripped onto his forehead, then onto his cheek.
He froze mid-step, heart skipping a few dizzying beats.
Oh God no...Not that...Let it be something else...anything else...
Another drop splattered onto his nose; a drop trickled into the corner of his mouth. Sam nearly retched at the sour, metallic taste on his tongue.
Blood.
A part of him didn't want to look. Out of sight, out of mind. He didn't want to see, he didn't want to know. But a force, of his own nature or of the supernatural, forced his chin up, raised his face to the ceiling.
It was Arena. Stomach brutally slashed open in a fashion he was starting to become horrifyingly familiar with. Her blue eyes were wide open and staring at him, her mouth open in a silent scream.
But it was not the death of the Jersey girl, however tragic, that forced all the air out of Sam's lungs, made his knees so weak that they could no longer hold him, made his stomach roil like he was going to be sick. It was not Arena's blood that had dripped onto his forehead.
It was Dean's.
Sam stared, transfixed, into his older brother's sightless eyes, which were so full of accusation and wrath that he heaved and vomited onto the loft's blood stained floor. And he could see it now; the entire room was dripping with it. Blood. Dean's blood.
Sam watched the solitary spark leap into existence beneath Dean's body. The fire quickly consumed him, enveloping Arena and the entire building in flame. Sam felt the heat against his body, felt the pain of it burning him alive. He stumbled back, fumbling for the ladder, and plunged over the edge of the loft.
A figure emerged from the fire and watched him fall. In that moment, even as the wind roared passed his blistered, burned body, Sam saw it smile.
You are mine
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"NO!"
The terrified scream ripped from Sam's throat even before his eyes had fully opened. A unfamiliar ceiling--bodiless--swam into view, and confusion washed over him along with waves of fear. Where was he? The barn...it was on fire...he'd tripped...Sam started, remembering the nauseating feeling of plummeting off the edge of the loft. How was he still alive? That fall should have killed him, the fire should have killed him...He could still feel the agony of flames licking his body, scalding his flesh. He ached all over, his right side throbbed with pain. Why...?
You are mine.
The echoing voice of the thing sounded so close, almost as if it where whispering in his ear. Panic gripped him; in a burst of adrenaline, he sat bolt upright, breathing hard. The thing was after him again, it had followed him. He had to run, he had to get away--
--then his right side exploded with such fierce pain all other thought was obliterated from his head. Sam screamed again, this time a cry of agony, shutting his eyes tight as if to shield him. He forced himself to be still, hunched over on himself, one hand clutching his side, too afraid to move in case it made the hurt worse--
"Sammy?"
The voice was soft and full of concern. Not the voice of the thing. It was familiar to him, but Sam couldn't think of the name. He couldn't think of anything past the pain. He tried to speak but all that came out was a groan.
"Sam, you need to lie down. You'll ruin all the hard work I just did stitching up your stomach. Not too fast now. That's it. Easy does it."
Sam let the owner of the calming voice help him lie back, shivering as cold hands guided him back onto a lumpy mattress and firm pillows. Little by little the red haze of pain faded until he was able to think clearly again. He opened his eyes.
It was Dean. Dean was sitting next to him on the bed, regarding him with a worried look.
Dean's blood dripped into his eyes. Dean was pinned to the ceiling, gutted like a fish. Dean was screaming at him that's he failed, that Sam had let him die. It was all Sam's fault, Sam was cursed--
The memory was even clearer than the voice of the thing. Sam jolted in surprised, recoiling from his brother as if he'd grown another head. The pain flared up again, and he grimaced, instantly growing still. It didn't help.
Dean restrained him anyway, holding him gently but firmly by the shoulders and pinning him to the mattress. Sam shivered; his brother's hands were like ice against his hot skin. It felt real. But was it?
"What did I just say? Stop moving around," Dean scolded him, but the rebuke was empty of any real scorn. Sam shook his head, unable to get a grip on reality; every time he blinked he saw his brother suspended on the ceiling. The horrifying scene in the barn...it had been so real...had it been a dream? Or was he dreaming now? Would he soon wake, burned and bleeding, in the hands of the thing? If that were true, he had to tell Dean now, while he had the chance. He had to apologize for failing him.
"Dean," Sam started, surprised at how weak he sounded. "Dean, I'm sorry. I let you down."
"What? Sammy, what are you talking about?"
"The thing. I let it get to you. I let it get Arena," Sam gasped out. The pain was getting worse for some reason. It was shutting down his body, darkening the edges of his vision. No, no he didn't want to go to sleep. If he was truly awake, he might have another nightmare. If he was dreaming right now...he might soon wake up to a reality he didn't want to face. A reality without Dean.
But Dean was shaking his head. "No, no you didn't. It didn't get me, it got you. You saved me, Sammy, you put yourself in danger for me. And don't you ever do it again, you hear?"
"I saved you...? But...I thought..." Sam could see it now, he remembered being in the barn that night. But it had happened differently...The thing had possessed Arena, and Sam had gone to the barn on purpose, to keep it away from Dean...Dean had never been there at all, not until the end...
"You were dreaming, Sammy," Dean said firmly, giving him a small shake. "It was just a dream. Whatever you saw, it didn't really happen, and it isn't going to happen."
"But the barn...you were on the ceiling," Sam muttered, starting to shiver. Dean's hands still felt frigid where they were touching his bare skin, and the contact was starting to hurt. "Your blood was...it dripped onto my...and the fire..."
Dean shook his head again. "I'm fine. There was no fire."
This just didn't fit. Everything else but this. "But I was burned," Sam protested, writhing under Dean's grip. "I can feel it. Let go of me, Dean, please. You're hurting me!"
Dean looked positively alarmed, but he did release Sam's arms. "You have a fever, Sam. A bad one. That's probably why you feel like you were burned 'cause you do kinda feel like you're about to spontaneously combust. I think it's also making you delirious or something because I have never seen you like this."
"I am not delirious," Sam gritted his teeth against the pain, which was making his head spin. His mind was in turmoil; he couldn't seem to form rational thought. His reality spun wildly between Dean's story and his own, although he couldn't be sure if his own version was really the truth or merely a dream. According to Dean it was, but what if he was dreaming right now, or what if Dean way lying to him for some reason, or...
A horrible thought occurred to Sam then, and if any part of his brain had been able to think logically he would have then realized that his fever had indeed made him delirious, for the idea was so ludicrous. But it sounded perfectly sound to him.
"You...you're not Dean. You're not real," Sam inched backward across the bed, hissing at the pain it caused him. "You're the thing...or another shapeshifter. You have to be lying, I saw Dean die!" And he had. On the ceiling of the barn, next to Arena, slashed across the midriff, consumed by fire. The thing, the dark figure, the smile...
You are mine.
"No. No, no, no, no," Sam moaned, a mantra he repeated to himself in hopes that the repetition would make it true. He curled in on himself, cradling his head in his hands, blocking out the images of Dean's mutilated body and the shadow silhouetted by flame.
Then Dean grabbed his hands, forced them down to his sides, and placed his palms against his face, guiding Sam's eyes towards his. "Sammy. Look at me, for Christ's sake. Calm down, you're starting to scare me. I need you to listen. You were dreaming. It was a nightmare, nothing more. I was not in that barn with Arena. You were. I did not get slashed across the stomach. You did. But I saved you, all right? I stopped the thing. It's gone now, long gone. We're miles away from Jersey, so you can relax. I'm taking you home, remember? To Missouri's?"
Missouri Mosley's. The ticket booth in Shawnee Park. Home. Slowly the details of his dream faded and became just that. A dream. The panic lessened it's grip around his heart. Sam nodded slowly when he realized Dean was waiting for an answer. "It just...it was so real," he said in a small voice, sounding pathetic even to his own ears.
"It wasn't," Dean reassured him, and withdrew, walking away from the bed. For a moment Sam thought he was being abandoned, but Dean returned momentarily with a damp cloth in hand and placed it across Sam's forehead.
The coolness was almost painful. "C-Cold," he stammered, and reached up to remove it. Dean caught his hand and put it back at his side.
"It's good for you. Don't touch it," he commanded. After a few seconds silence, he said gruffly, "You should go back to sleep. We're leaving in the morning for Illinois."
Sam frowned. Missouri lived in Kansas. Wasn't that where Dean said they were going? "Illinois...?"
"We're meeting Missouri there, so I can hide my car. It's about seven hundred miles from here. We can be there within a day if we don't have to stop too much."
"Okay," said Sam, lacking anything more to say and too busy trying to ignore the consistent ache that stemmed from the wound in his side. Dean must have noticed his pained grimace, for he ruffled Sam's hair comfortingly.
"It'll be over soon, Sammy. Try to get some rest. I'll--I'll be right here, okay?"
And even though the words were awkward and the phrasing was uncertain, the bumbling reassurance was enough for Sam. His eyes closed, and despite the pain, he felt safe enough to attempt sleep again.
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For the next few hours, Dean watched intently as his brother slept, alert for any sign of another nightmare. He wanted to make sure Sam didn't have to suffer another replay of the night in the barn in his dreams, as much for Sam's sake as his own. Although he wouldn't admit it, he'd been scared by the sight of his kid brother helpless, vulnerable, and terrified by things that weren't real. Sure, Sam had always been sensitive, but Dean had never seen him so stricken by a nightmare, so sure that what he'd seen had been the truth. It had taken an alarming amount of convincing to make him understand that Dean was unharmed. Dean didn't know how much he could blame on the fever, and how much could be attributed to the trauma Sam had recently been through. Perhaps it was fair bit of both.
Regardless, Dean resigned himself to another night without rest of his own. He supposed it was just as well; the lumpy, uneven mattress of the hotel's twin bed was enough to keep him awake all night anyway. The Comfort Inn they were staying at near Clearfield, Pennsylvania was low-budget at best (at worst it was a flea-infested pit), but it was also inexpensive and, more importantly, low-key. Dean had been watching and listening to the news discreetly, keeping an eye out for his face on the TV or in the paper. So far there had been no mention of an arrest out for the name Jordan Robles, but he couldn't be too careful. Not until he reached Kansas could he relax a little, and even then he had to remain on guard. Hopefully the whole thing would blow over; after a couple of months the Jersey police might even give up on his case.
Not likely. You'll be on the run the rest of your life, ace. And you've managed to drag Sam into it, too. Great job. You've really lived up to your father's expectations.
Dean was starting to wonder if maybe his whole family wasn't crazy. Father mysteriously missing, baby brother plagued by premonitions, and him, the elder, listening to the voice in his head and vehemently telling it to shut up. There wasn't a shrink in the world that had the sanity level required to sort out the Winchester's problems.
He sighed, reclining back into the stiff armchair and propping his feet on the coffee table. Through the moldy lace curtains he could see that dawn was still a few hours away; the only light came from the bulb of a harsh street lamp which flickered and buzzed unsteadily every alternate second. If they left at daybreak they could make it to Illinois by midnight tomorrow night, assuming that they didn't have to make any more emergency stops.
This particular break hadn't been because Dean was too tired to continue driving; his anxiety had him so hyped up it was comparable to being fed caffeine intravenously. Stopping for such a long time actually made him rather nervous, because the longer he stayed in one place, the longer he risked being exposed by the casual observer. But Sam had needed the rest; Dean realized that his brother wouldn't even survive the fifteen hour long drive to Illinois, let alone Kansas, with a freely bleeding stomach wound. So after driving at cruising speed of seventy miles and hour, for three hours straight--the very longest Dean could make himself go--he stopped here, in Clearfield Pennsylvania, two hundred miles from Jersey.
As soon as the sun rises, Dean promised himself. As soon as the sun rises, we'll be on our way. I can wait one night. The police can't be after me yet.
Even as he thought it he knew he was pushing his luck. Now that Sam had been seen to, they should be in the Chevy, driving hard towards the rendezvous point. Their father would have been able to do it. The man had nerves of steel, nothing fazed him.
But after seeing Sammy so out of it...the glazed sheen of pure panic in his eyes...
Dean just couldn't begrudge him one night's rest. He owed it to him.
Truth was, he owed Sam much more that a night's rest in a bed. He just didn't know how he would ever repay him the debt he truly owed.
I let you down, Sammy. And damned if I know what I'm supposed to do next.
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Okay, so I was watching my tape of the Asylum episode last night, and I realized I had conveniently forgotten the trivial matter of the phone call Sam receives at the very end. Oops. My bad. Considering that there won't be a new episode this week because of some cheesy family movie that will run in its place, I figured my omission would be acceptable. Assuming that I don't finish this story before the next episode airs (and believe me, I won't), we'll just have to ignore everything that happens unless I can cleverly devise a way to work the new material in. Sound good? Wonderful.
Now, just a few things to address and I'll let you go. One, I'm hoping I was vague enough in my writing that the title doesn't make much sense just yet. Rest assured, it will. The idea of a certain Winchester brother being "cursed" becomes a central theme once they reach Kansas. And trust me, once they do, angst will abound.
Two, I hope I managed to express my love for the character Missouri. I really got a kick out of her, and I hope they bring her back on the show soon. In the next few chapters, she plays a major role, acting as a sort of guide and mentor to the brothers (especially Sam, with his growing "powers") and as a maternal figure once things…well, you'll see, won't you? Hee hee.
Lastly, a personal response to my reviewers, because I feel you deserve one for taking time to share your own with me. Certainly if you don't feel like slogging through this long mess you don't have to. Take the time to re-read my story and PLEASE--share with me any constructive criticism or questions you may have in a review. Thanks for reading!
Dreema Azaleia Wingblade-- Here's the next chapter, so you don't have to haunt me, lol. Thanks for your review!
Phoebe-- I live to serve. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Spuffyshipper-- I'm glad you liked it. And I hope Dean doesn't get arrested, either. /grin/
ashlyns-- Thank you for your review!
Legolas-Aragorn-r-hot-- Thanks for being patient. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well. Lotsa chick-flick moments in this one, lol. Yay for sappiness! (Btw, your name is very, very true. /wink/)
Adara-chan15-- Oh my…I'm so glad you enjoyed the first chapter, and I was very pleased when I saw that you had written such an extensive review! You're making me blush, though. Hee hee. So you don't think I should separate the brothers, huh? Well, to be honest, I really don't want to separate them either, but they may not have much of a choice….
Aciel-- I've got you hooked? Thank you! That's a wonderful compliment; a writer always enjoys hearing that her readers are enjoying themselves. My gratitude to you for the review!
othravenslvr-- Tee hee hee, yes, well, I have been told that I am incredibly evil, but I always just thought they were jealous. Lol. I'm happy that the brotherly bonding stuff pleased you--I had a lot of fun writing it. Thanks for stopping in!
RC-- This was one of your favorite Supernatural fics? You're jealous of the way I write? Oh geez…/blushes to the roots of her hair/ That's some pretty high praise! I don't think I'm deserving of it, really, but I thank you for inflating my ego, nonetheless. /smile/
Hey, always nice to see a fellow Scariest Places junkie! That show was so interesting to me; too bad they no longer show it on ABC Fam. /sob/
And I totally agree with you on the choppy sentences thing. It's one of my worst faults as a writer. It always sounds so much better in my head when I think it, but then when I read it aloud, I always end up like, "What the hell was I thinking?" Lol. I'll work harder on it, I promise.
Thank you so much for the review!
Anamalia-fear-- I'm glad I have your seal of approval. Thanks for stopping in!
ktlane-- Thank you! I want to find out what happens to Sam, too. /cheeky grin/
Hanyou-demoness-- Thank you so much for all your kind words! Like I said to RC, I'm not sure I'm worthy of the praise, but I thank you for being so thoughtful. Don't cry, though! I wrote this spiffy new chapter! See? No need for tears. I would like it if you left me another review, though. I love hearing from you, and not just because you stoke my overly large ego, lol.
Thanks again, and PS: the angst level will rise progressively, I hope you're ready. The fun has already started….Mwa Hahahahaha!
Angy-- You're welcome! I'm happy to provide angsty treats for all! As for them getting out of New Jersey…Let's just say that it doesn't matter where they go; trouble will follow.
tricksters apprentice-- /hides behind couch cushion/ Eep! No need to throw things! I was a good little girl; here's the next chappie! Don't hurt me! (lol. Thanks for the review /wink/)
Nate and Jake-- Happy to oblige! Thank you!
Angest182-- ROFL. My writing style screams smart ass? I totally see it! Goodness, when my dad read this he nearly wet himself laughing so hard. He seemed to agree with you completely. /wink/ Your kind words really encouraged me to write more. Thanks for the wonderful review!
DarkAmgel88-- Your wish is my command! Thanks for stopping in!
Lady Padalecki-- Yes, Dean has been bitten by the guilt bug, and it seems I have slapped Sam over the head with the angst stick. Hope I didn't go overboard with it in this chappie….eh heh heh. /sheepish smile/ Thanks for your review, and btw, nice name /nudge nudge wink wink/
Charli-- You make it sound like you're addicted to my fiction. Hey, that almost rhymed! Lol. Thanks a lot, especially for telling me that you'd buy my novel. /wipes away a tear/ Really, that makes me, for lack of a better term, happy. Hugs for all!
Elf Fanatic Lark-- Thank you so much! I'm glad you like my twists; hopefully you'll continue to like them. Hee hee.
supernaturalfan0718-- Thank you, I'm glad you liked it!
Spectral Scribe-- Oh yes, I love delving deeper into the minds of our boys, in particular Sammy. He's just so fun to torment, him being the "sensitive one" and everything, lol. And I laughed at myself for mentioning my novel because it was a shameless plug on my part. Tee hee. Also I laugh because I'll probably never get around to finishing it. I keep getting distracted by the many fandoms out there with gorgeous guys such as Sammy and Dean. /drools/ But I digress. Thank you for reading!
Ghostwriter-- /sighs/ Always good to know that readers won't start throwing sharp objects at me. The position is open though, for my official bodyguard. Would you like to take up the banner and fearlessly throw yourself before my crap-tastic work, defending its honor and glory and such like? Lol, probably not. You wouldn't live long, not with some of the absolute muck I throw out there sometimes. Thanks for the review!
ChaiGrl-- Thank you! I'll try my hardest to continue writing on this one, I promise!
DarkElixier66-- Ack! Don't die! I'll tell you what happens next…/leans in for a conspiratorial whisper….then draws back, a thoughtful look on her face/ You know…before I tell you, I might want to figure it out first myself. Lol. Happy reading!
Gator-Girl-- Thank you! I look forward to hearing from you again!
Mystery-- Oh, thank you so much! I'm glad you liked it! Sam and Dean are just so fun to work with, it makes my job easy, lol.
Stacee Phelps-- They like me, they really like me! Lol. I hope this one was as good as the last!
supernaturalandlostfan-- I'll work hard to make sure the next chapter is just as interesting!
klutzy-kay-- Oh yes, poor Arena. Well, she just had to be a cute damsel in distress with spiritual powers, didn't she? It's her own fault, lol. And yes, Dean would do anything for Sammy, as you will soon see. /evil cackle/ But anyway, thank you for reviewing!
Whew! That's all, folks. BUT--and this is something important--BUT I have one last thing to tell you. Because of the cheesy family movie that will be playing over this week's episode of Supernatural (I assume it will, anyway), you will probably have to wait for an update until next week, when the new episode airs. Sorry! I need a fresh dose of Sammy and Dean in action to keep my inspiration up. I need my Supernatural fix/shakes fist dramatically/
Anyway, see you in a week or so!