Chapter 9--Slaves and Masters

James had a huge smile on his face as he scribbled on another yellow post-it note. He started to laugh as he gazed upon his handy work; sticking the last one on the mirror, he put the cap back on the marker and quickly left.

He imagined Sam's reaction when he saw what had been done to his home. He snickered as Sam's scared face flashed through his mind and as he visualized Sam's violent temper tantrum, he couldn't help laughing out loud. He felt alive! The adrenaline was pumping through him making his heart race faster than it ever had before. He ran to his car…anticipating, waiting, excited. He tried to think of something else but eventually his mind went back to Sam…what was Sam doing? What would he do to Sam next? How would he torture him when he got Sam alone?

James found himself sometimes fantasizing, but lately he was always thinking, planning, anticipating the screams, the blood, the cries and pleas for him to stop and never giving the young man any relief. In the end, it was always the same vision…Sam's death. To James' surprise, he became aroused with his fantasies…often having to relieve himself.

He was married; his wife a twenty-five year old girl, his daughter's best friend was seven months pregnant. His daughter, Melissa was furious with him for becoming involved with her, but to him it was worth the sacrifice. He was in his mid-forties and a young, gorgeous twenty-five year old girl was interested in him…often doing things other girls wouldn't unless they were bought and paid for. However, he soon found himself less than interested in his wife…she had gained a lot of weight while pregnant and her eating habits turned him off. To his surprise, he started to fantasize about killing Sam during sex, killing was what really got him going, not the over-sized ex-beauty queen.

James saw Sam's car and held his breath…he watched his wristwatch, knowing how long it would take for Sam to get inside. A smile came across his face, his hands shook with excitement, the adrenaline pumping, he could feel himself getting aroused again. He wondered why hurting this boy was turning him on. Was it the pain? Was it the knowledge that he did it specifically to Sam…? Or maybe it was the power?

He was a forklift operator, he'd never rise to a position of importance or authority. He often got into trouble with the law; and with a family of police officers, that made him a disgrace. But this…with this he had control, no one knew what he did, except for Sam. He put fear on that boy's face; often Sam looked over his shoulder, wondering if his stalker was behind him…was he going to kill him? When would he strike? And when his stalker did, how long would he keep Sam alive for?

Sam walked into his apartment, starving and tired; he could feel the weight of this job, taking lives, taking souls. Lately his dream world had turned against him, never allowing him to forget, reminding him of what he had done and who he really was.

He walked to the fridge and opened it, shocked to see post-it notes on all his containers. One read:

Ingredients include:

Chicken,

Rice,

Vegetables,

Rat poison

Another read

This is good stuff, do you make this when your boyfriend comes by. Or that red headed tramp you like to fuck.

Sam could feel his hands shaking as he dropped the two containers; his breathing hitched, he started to hyperventilate. It was becoming difficult to breathe! He picked-up another container…it was transparent.

It read.

Sorry, I was hungry but I left you something else I know you will love.

Inside was a dead rat!

Sam shut the door. He bent over as if he was in pain and he threw up. What had he done to deserve this? How much more could he take? Sam wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He stood and looked around, there weren't anymore post-it notes in the kitchen. He walked to his bedroom and quickly put a hand to his nose as the rancid acidic smell invaded his senses.

James went into a fit of laughter as Sam walked to the bed, smelling the little present he'd left Sam. James was thrilled that Sam's apartment had such large windows and he could see as much as he could of what went on inside from his location across the street.

Sam inspected the bed, it was wet, the smell…yep! It was urine; the deranged psycho who has been stalking him for the past month and a half urinated on his bed. Sheets, pillows, and mattress! Sam felt like being sick again…his hands were covered with another man's urine, his hands wouldn't stop shaking as he ran to the washroom.

The youngest Winchester reached the dingy basin, grabbing the soap and opening the water he began scrubbing at his hands; rubbing, using his nails scraping into the tender skin, his hands turning red. He rinsed his hands, again using his nails to get in as much as he could as if he had a disease in his hands he had to get rid of.

As he finally finished, he looked to his right and saw more post-it notes. One on the toilet said:

Don't forget to put the seat down.

He turned to the bathtub and saw one on the tile, it read:

I'm watching you, always watching you, wherever you go…I'll be watching you.

On Sam's shampoo and body cleanser it read:

How dirty boys get clean, you're a dirty boy aren't you?

Sam turned to the mirror and froze…what did that one say? He had an idea…the sicko saw his scars. It was a mirror, it didn't take a genius to finger it out, he lowered his head and started to walk away.

"Sam where are you going?" His alter ego asked. Damn it when will it shut-up? When will it just leave me alone?

"Leave me alone…I have nothing to say to you?" He screamed.

"Look at what it says!" The image shouted commanding Sam to face what he was…what he knew he was.

"No!" He screamed putting his hands over his ears.

"Face reality Sam, face what we are!" His image screamed louder, louder than Sam.

"Nooooo!" He turned to slam his fists into the mirror, which would cause more pain for him, more scars, to be more revolting than he already was. He stopped when he saw the post-it note…it read:

Can't look yourself in the mirror? Because you're a murderer or because your revolting, hideous, disgusting. You are repulsive!

Sam froze…the words hit home. Everything he had been feeling was in a little, yellow, square post-it note. He moved forward, mumbling the words to himself, becoming more a part of him…each word described him, the true Sam Winchester, the person on the other side of the duct tape. He traced the words with his fingers, the words Murderer, Revolting, Hideous, Disgusting, and Repulsive leaving his lips in a whisper.

A tear fell from his hazel eyes, he repeated the five words over and over again…..Hideous……Repulsive, new words came to his lips, Unloved, Unwanted, and Repugnant, these were his words.

Sam was finally able to leave the washroom, his image allowed him to leave, satisfied that it had tortured and maimed the poor boy enough. The stench of the urine infested bed assaulted his nose once again and he covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve. He went to the bed to get rid of it, when he saw the phone. He ran to it, he couldn't take it anymore, he needed to call him, he needed to know that he wasn't the monster in the mirror.

He quickly dialed the number, he heard it ring once…twice…three times, what was he thinking? Of course he wouldn't answer, but there was an answer.

"Hello?" The voice was groggy, awoken from a deep slumber or too many nights burning the midnight oil.

There was no answer.

"Who is this" The voice came again, more alert, guarded, still no answer. "I'm going to hang-up."

"Dad…" More tears, it felt so good and hurt so much to hear his father's voice. "I'm so sorry!"

"Sammy…is that you?" John sat-up, pulling the sheets off. He held his breath, hoping, praying…no pleading to god to just give him back his son; he promised he would never let him go, an embrace that would never end.

"I'm so sorry, dad." Sam went into an open cry.

John could feel his pain, it was as if it traveled through the phone cord and radiated through his body, he swallowed hard at the mountain-sized lump in his throat and his unwanted and unshed tears.

"I know you are son…but…" John didn't know what to say; he wanted to forgive Sam, but he couldn't just forget all the bad things his son had done. John heard Sam say he knew where Dean was, he heard him say he'd beaten his brother. How could Sam do that?

"I can fix this, whatever it is I can fix it. It's what dads do." John heard silence, sniffling, and heavy breathing.

"You can't dad," Sam finally spoke. The words hurt John to the core; Sam had said a lot of things to him, some hurtful, some true even if he was too proud to admit it, but Sam never said his dad couldn't fix things. The middle-aged man always held the belief that he could fix things, everything for his sons, and he hoped that they believed it too.

"I can try son," he said softly as tears ran down his stubbly face; a hand finding its way up and down his face to get rid of the tears.

"Do you love me?" Sam whispered. It surprised him how quiet and weak his voice was. He felt like a child running to his dad, clinging to his oversized leg, hoping he would stop the bully from hurting him.

There was silence. John was surprised by the question. Neither one of his boys ever asked him if he loved them…why was Sam asking? Didn't he know that John loved him?

"Of course I do, you're my son," John let out a huge breath. He finally spoke the words, well, he sort of did, Sam would never doubt his love ever again…would he?

"You're lying!" Sam spat out the accusation.

"What…? Why…why would you think I'm lying?"

"Because…because you don't…admit it you don't love me! You can't even say the words…how could you…you gave up on me…you hate me don't you?" Sam screamed as he stood-up and started to pace.

"Hate you? Never Sammy…I could never…"

"Stop lying…how can you…I'm hideous, I'm a monster…" Sam swung at the lamp sitting on his night table.

"Is that what Luke Sullivan has been feeding you? You're not hideous, you're my son!"

"Wow! Amazing! Do you think I'm stupid? I have a mind of my own. I can come to my own conclusions…dad!" Sam's voice held such abhorrence, such distrust, where had all this anger and hatred come from?

John leaned forward resting his elbow on his knee, his face hid inside his palm. The way Sam had said 'dad' held such venom, what was going on with his youngest?

"Its okay dad, don't worry you still have Dean…oh right, no you don't!" Sam slammed the phone down.

John dropped the phone, not raising his head. Bobby heard the whole conversation from the hallway and wanted to comfort his friend, but he knew better. John was a proud man and he would want to deal with it privately. He walked away.

James watched from below. He hadn't anticipated Sam's reaction; it was more than he ever imagined. Sam was hurt, it was deep, raw, James could feel the raw, jagged, bloody wounds. It seeped through every inch of Sam's body. The middle-aged man knew he hit a sore spot with the mirror and held his breath as the boy ran to the washroom.

Sam was crying…James felt no remorse, no pity, take no prisoners…feel no pity, this was war, and benevolence wasn't something you showed in war. James watched as Sam made a phone call, who was he talking to?

James snorted "Calling your whore…" He laughed, "Need her to kiss your little booboo, poor baby?"

From where he was sitting, he could see Sam say the word "dad". The boy had a family? He shook his head in disgust…the little brat had a family? Maybe he should look into who they are…make them pay for what their little boy had done to his brother. Maybe he should make the boy watch as he dismembered his dad, ripping, tearing, the screams, the blood. James could feel the blood racing through his veins; his heart was pumping so fast he thought it would burst through his chest…then Sam hung up, angry, raking a shaky hand up and down his hairless, smooth head

He was pacing, restless, edgy, pacing faster, his hands shook. James could see the look on Sam's face…the boy was scared, no he was petrified! He'd put that fear in Sam, he'd made him look outside wondering who was watching him. What were they going to do…and when?

A smile came across James's face, he never felt so alive! He saw a young prostitute walking to his car and rolled down his window to proposition the girl when a man came from behind her.

"I don't think you want to deal with this guy, sweetheart he's a real sicko. Here's fifty get lost." The man handed the girl money, and she quickly took it and left wondering if this guy had just saved her life.

The man quickly made his way to the passenger side, pulling something from behind him, and got in.

"What the fu…" James started; he froze when he saw the gun in the stranger's hand.

"Shut up and drive!" When James did nothing, the man shouted, "Now!" James obeyed.

The man gave directions and, keeping the gun low, they were soon at an abandoned warehouse. James could see the man was furious…the hatred was coming off of him in waves.

"Get out!" The man commanded. "And don't try anything!" He added. James exited with his hands in front of him, signifying he wouldn't try anything.

"Listen buddy, I don't know what I've done, but, if you want the car, go ahead."

"Step away from the car, and stand over there!" The man shouted and point to a spot that was a few yards from him.

James again obeyed the man's commands…this time without hesitation.

"On your knees." James bent down onto his knees. "You sick son of bitch, what the hell is wrong with you?" The man hissed; he kept a safe distance away from James, but was close enough to get in an easy fatal shot.

"What are you talking about?" James shifted. The cold, wet combination of mud and snow was gnawing at his knees, soaking his once warm flesh.

"I'm talking about Sam…I saw what you did!" He shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Sam…? Are you the one he called? You got one sick little boy there buddy! You won't have to worry about your disgrace of a son…I'll take care of him real soon." James' laugh was cut short as the man kicked him in the face. James fell to the ground face first into the mud. He put a hand to his newly bruised face and groaned.

"He's not my son, but his father is a friend of mine. I like the kid; he doesn't deserve what you are doing to him."

James quickly got up, resisting the urge to wince at the pain, not wanting to show this stranger any physical weakness. "Doesn't deserve what I am doing to him? He deserves it and more. He murdered my brother!" he spat.

The man stood there, silent, his hand not wavering, but James could see what was in the man's eyes. "Oh, so you know he's a murderer. How much do you know? Maybe we can team up, and we'll get the little son of a bitch!" The man punched James.

"Let's get somethin' straight…I work alone, I don't associate with psychos, and I don't want to hurt Sam! I'm trying to protect him!" the man growled.

"What's your name boy? I want to remember you." The man punched James again.

"Don't call me boy!" He growled.

The middle-aged man rubbed his face; no broken bones but man he was going to feel it tomorrow.

"But, I'll tell you my name so you'll never forget it. It's Caleb." Caleb pressed his lips together into a thin line and walked to the slightly older man, pressing his gun firmly against his temple.

"Please I have a daughter, and my wife is pregnant!" James pleaded.

"I know." A smile came across Caleb's face and he cocked the hammer. "But, they'd be so much better without you!" James turned his head and could see Caleb's index finger pressing gently against the trigger.

"I might reconsider if you never go near Sam ever again."

"Alright, alright, I'll…I'll leave him alone." Caleb hesitated than moved away, his gun still drawn.

"If I ever see you near Sam…I swear I will ruin your life! And don't you dare make excuses, I know you live in the east, Sam's in the west…no excuses!" Caleb lowered the gun, cringing at the sight of James. He looked down and saw that James had soiled himself.

"Ugh! Why does that always happen?" Caleb turned around and walked to a car that was hidden in the shadows of the warehouse. James stayed on his knees as he watched Caleb leave.

Luke Sullivan walked down his steps, trying to adjust his cufflinks, fumbling with the right one as he always did. His butler, Francis smiled at his boss' inability to always put the right one on.

"You can never get the right one on, sir," he smiled as he fitted the cufflink, then he reached for the blazer sitting neatly on the arm chair and held it out for Luke to slip into.

"Thank-you, I have to go…I'm late." Luke sprinted for the door.

"Actually, sir, I have something pressing to discuss with you."

"Can't it wait? I'm late." Luke reached for his cell, searching for the number in his speed dial.

"No, sir it can't" Francis reached into his blazer and took out an envelope. Seeing that this was important to his friend, Luke quickly put his cell away. "It's with a heavy heart that I have to…resign." Francis handed Luke the envelope and the albino took it

"Why are you resigning?" Luke played with the envelope in his hands, tossing it from one hand to the other. He stared the elderly man in the eyes with wide red eyes.

"I have been with you for quite sometime, sir. I remember the young man who didn't want anyone to touch him, everyone had to call him master. But, soon I saw the young man inside and despite your…occupation, if you will, there is a person who breathes, bleeds, and loves."

"So, why are you leaving?" Sullivan asked, feeling like a little boy who just found out his best friend was moving away and never coming back.

"Because I don't like the company you keep. My daughter is with child, and the idea of something happening to her or her child because of my association with you, is unsettling to say the least."

"You mean Sam? He wouldn't hurt anyone, he's a little…"

"It is Sam, but it is also your father, and your visitor yesterday. Sir…he had black eyes. Also, I have been doing some digging around; there are men and woman…hunters, if they deem you as a threat, as I am certain they do, they might harm me as well…maybe my family."

Luke was silent as he held his head low, still playing with the envelope. "I'll give you a generous severance pay." His voice quiet, he cleared his throat not wanting the elderly man to hear the crack in his voice.

"There is no need for that."

"I want to." Luke lifted his head smiling at the man, excepting his decision to leave.

"I will take care of my things." He bowed his head excusing himself.

"Now?"

"The sooner the better," with that Francis turned and left.

Luke placed the letter on his coffee table and left his condo. He kept his head low, still trying to comprehend what had just happened, he bumped into Sam as he was heading for Luke's condo.

Luke turned around and saw who it was "Not now Sam, I'm late." Luke saw the look on Sam's face and put a hand on his shoulder "Are you okay?"

Sam shook his head, not saying a word. "Why don't you come in?" Luke turned Sam around and led him to the condo. Luke sniffed the air and cringed at the acidic smell. "Phew! You stink!" he put a hand to his mouth and nose.

He started to sniff Sam and quickly realized it was coming from his sleeves. "It's your clothes! Go upstairs, take a shower, and you can wear something of mine…" The younger man gave him a strange look "Don't worry, I have like two or three pairs of jeans and tee's, you won't blend into the décor."

Sam nodded his head and turned around, still not speaking a word.

As soon as Sam was upstairs Luke pulled out his cell and quickly hit the speed dial number, "Hi! Yeah I know…don't yell at me…yes…yes…but…ple…I…would you shut-up for two seconds so I can speak?" Luke regretted it as soon as he said it, pulling the cell away from his ear as he could hear yelling.

"Yes father, I won't speak to you like that again…I promise. I have to take care of something, please understand." he hated begging his father for anything. In fact, since he met Sam, he'd come to a startling realization…he hated his father. Luke listened intently and eventually answered, "Yes father," he quickly hung up and went upstairs to change.

He found Sam's clothes on the floor and picked the younger man's sweater, the one he hid behind, and brought it to his face and smelled it. The smell seemed to only be coming from his sleeves; most likely he was touching something. Luke picked everything up and put it into a hamper. He opened a drawer and pulled out two pairs of jeans and t-shirts leaving one set on the bed and dressing in the other.

He went downstairs with the hamper to the laundry room, staring at the washing machine and trying to figure out which buttons do what. After a while of mumbling to himself, scratching his head in confusion and shaking his head at the different settings, he finally figured it out. By the time he got the laundry in the machine and going, Sam was walking down the steps.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

Sam wanted to tell Luke what had happened, but part of him was fearful of his punishment for screwing up so badly, so he lied. "Nothing…nothing happened, just upset about…" he paused to think "My brother, my dad, I'm just going through a tough time."

"I understand, but why the hell do you smell like urine?" Sam quickly turned his head away. Luke sensed that Sam was hiding something, possibly outright lying. Sam didn't respond, but walked to the fireplace and sat down.

Luke took the hint, the subject was closed. "Are you hungry?" Sam shook his head, not facing Luke. Luke stood there, not knowing what to do…what was he going to do? Tell him the truth you idiot! He'll hate you but at least he'll be free, can start a new life, and make amends with his family.

"Um, Sam…there is…" Luke started.

"Is it alright if I stay here tonight? I promise I won't be in your way. I just…" Sam trailed off; he felt so alone, so isolated. He often went to Taylor's for some semblance of human connection, but it always led to sex and always fell short of any real bonding, connection or anything that was anything but sex. It was strange that the only person he felt any relationship or connection with was Luke.

"Yeah, you can." Yep, Sam was lying, but why? Luke started to pace. He rubbed his chin, trying his best to come up with a way to tell Sam the truth.

"What's wrong?" Sam's voice woke Luke from his thoughts. Sullivan turned his head and said.

"I'll tell you if you tell me. What happened?" His voice turned very serious all of a sudden.

Sam took a deep breath he could tell Luke a half-truth. "I called my dad…we talked, I got upset…I said some things, mean things to him," he shook his head, "Why did I say those things, I'm…alone, I feel so alone, and the funny thing is he gave me everything I have ever wanted, and what do I do? I accuse him of lying." Sam shook his head, and scraped a hand across his eyes.

Sam paused looking at Luke, waiting, searching….for what? For answers? A means to end to all his pain and misery. Maybe to an end to this existence that held no meaning other than to cause pain and misery to others? Some, he reasoned, did deserve their inevitable and unfortunate destination, but, others….others like Claire and Curtis, what had they done to deserve such a tortuous end? What had he done to deserve this? Was this punishment for his mother's death?

"What? You got nothing? Are you just going to stand there and say nothing?"

Luke just stood there, saying nothing he had nothing for Sam, no answers, no happy ending, just hell on earth.

Sam stood-up "I want to know what you did to me. I want to know." Sam shouted, his eyes held the deepest emotion of rage, the epitome of resentment and frustration. "Why? Why the hell did I say to my father that he was lying when he said he loved me?"

Luke walked closer to Sam, asserting his position, reminding Sam who was master and who was slave.

"When I deem you worthy of knowing, if I ever deem you worthy of that type of information, I will answer you're questions. But, do not forget who is master and who is slave."

"Oh no, you will never let me forget." Sam snarled, moving closer, making it more than clear that their ranks held no meaning at that moment.

"It seems that I have to remind you. You know slaves are not allowed to reject anything that their master demands of them….." He moved closer, Sam shuddered, knowing what he wanted.

"Stay away from me." Sam shouted, Luke quickly backhanded him, the boy's head snapped back from the impact. A thin line of blood ran down the side of his face, mingling liberally with the cool sweat, an inevitable result of being too close to the fireplace. Sam put a hand to his face, it felt real, there was blood, and a slight sensation of pain registered in his brain. It was real, he really was having this conversation, this was no nightmare…..this was real.

Sam took a deep, shaky breath as he turned his head towards Sullivan who was still very angry.

"I'm sorry master, please forgive me." What the hell is wrong with me? Sam wondered, he was making some grounds, why did he give-up so quickly.

A malevolent smile came across the man's pale, ghostly face, he licked his lips in anticipation "Go upstairs and….."

"No!" It was strange, when Sam screamed in defiance; he could've sworn he heard his brother say 'atta boy, you tell that evil son of bitch' in his head.

"What?" Luke screamed, his smile gone, his red eyes wild with fury, a crazed look took over. Sam knew at that moment he was going to feel Luke's wrath, this was his end, he was going to hell, he prayed to god for forgiveness, to at least let his brother and father find his body….maybe they would give the youngest Winchester a decent barrel, the only thing he had left.

Luke slowly moved closer, he shook his head, he moved closer until his lips hovered over top Sam's, he whispered "I'll see you in hell, boy." He reached down and picked-up the poker that was resting in its own niche along with other fireplace accessorizes.

A single tear ran freely down his face, a single defiant tear that ran against orders not to show fear in the face of death……eternal damnation.

"Oh…" Luke wiped the tear away "You're crying," He laughed "That makes sense, because where you're going, your going to be in a looot of pain." He laughed again "But, you already knew that didn't ya."

Luke lifted the poker up, resting the sharp ebony color pointed end just below Sam's chin "But…." He started "I have some…..associates, if you please, who have a vested interest in keeping you alive." He swiped the poker quickly across Sam's neck, leaving a line of crimson in its wake.

Sam let-out a deep shaky breath that left him aching for more oxygen, and his chest heaved from the temporary absence of the vital element.

Luke replaced the item back to its resting place "You can't stay here, unless you stay upstairs."

"I'll leave." The words left Sam's lips as an overwhelming feeling of dread came over him, would he be punished, was that a trick?

Luke waved his hand in disgust, and Sam moved towards the door.

"Sam." Damn it, almost there, almost….

Sam turned around; Luke waved his hand, motioning for Sam to come back. When the slave returned, the master made his desire clear by pointing down. Sam obeyed without hesitation by going on his knees and bowing his head.

Luke bent down grabbing the back of Sam's neck, pushing his head down further, he whispered insidiously into his ear. "Never forget your place, slave. And the next time I want your body you give it to me willingly."

Sam cringed, he needed his brother so much, he needed to be saved, he never needed to be saved, well that was a lie, he never admitted he needed to be saved. But, he needed Dean so much, before he went to a point of no return.

"Do you understand me?" Luke yelled into his ear.

Sam nodded in obedience, Luke let-go and Sam quickly left, spending the frigate night in his car.

Bobby came out of the bathroom rushing towards John's cell phone . "Hey Caleb!"

"Hey Bobby, is John there?"

"No, he went to get some grub. I didn't realize he hadn't taken his phone. Whatcha got?"

Caleb took a deep breath, "The stalker…James…he stepped things up. He put notes all over Sam's apartment and he took a piss on Sam's bed…Sammy freaked."

"Shit! That asshole took a leak on his bed?" Bobby shivered, Caleb could hear it, "Did you take care of things?"

"Yeah, I did, I'm going to wait and see how things work out. I fixed Sam's place, too; when he comes home today, everything will be like nothing happened."

"Good, anything else?"

"I think Sam's loosing it…he's talking to himself, freaking out, he called John."

"Yeah I know, I heard."

"He needs his daddy, and he needed him yesterday. Are you close to finding Dean?"

"No."

"Okay, I'll keep my eyes peeled."

"Great, thanx Cal, we'll be in touch," Bobby hung-up as John came in.

"What? What is it?" John said as he put the paper bag of food on the motel table.

"James, Sam's stalker, trashed his place, Sam freaked." John opened his mouth to let all hell out, but Bobby put up a hand and continued, "Caleb took care of it. He also thinks Sam is starting to loose his mind, he said he's acting strange."

John took a deep breath, nodded his head and sat down at the table. He quickly opened a book he was reading before.

"John did you hear me?" Bobby asked, his eyes wide with astonishment. Was John loosing it too?

"I heard ya Bobby, loud and clear. It just means we gotta step things up a few notches. We can't rest…my boys need us…need me."

Bobby could tell that John wasn't going to relent. He admired his friend's determination, but he hoped it wouldn't cost John any more than what he'd already lost. The demon hunter quickly rifled through the paper bag, taking all the food out, placing one order in front of John and the other on his own bed.

Bobby ate, John read. After a few hours of research, calls to contacts, and listening to the police scanner, Bobby fell asleep on his bed. John burned the midnight oil until his body couldn't take it anymore and he fell asleep at the table.

John woke lying again in the field. "Oh god, not again!" John exclaimed as he stood-up, again searching for Dean.

"Dad!" John turned around, he'd learned his lesson the first time…he ran to Dean and hugged him.

"Thank god, thank god, are you okay?" He pushed Dean away to arm's length, a smile was across his eldest son's face, John noticed an elderly man behind Dean.

The man had an quizzical look on his face, "This is very odd…this isn't suppose to happen!" The old oriental man exclaimed.

"Who are you?" John inquired, pulling his boy behind him.

"I am a helper, a healer, a guide, your son is a warrior. I intend…" before the man could finish, the same long grotesque fingers dug deep into him, pulling him away…he disappeared.

John quickly turned around, Dean was gone too!

John jerked awake, his fingers still laced into the handle of his coffee mug, can't sleep, don't sleep, don't sleep…John repeated the mantra in his head. He took a quick look into his mug…it was empty. He got up quickly, too quickly, the room spun, his vision became blurry, he held onto the table to regain his senses.

When he was again balanced, he rubbed at his weary red eyes, taking in deep breaths, he moved. The room spun again and before he knew it, his body was falling, his mind registered something wrong, it screamed at him to stop it, to grab hold of the table, but it was too late, his body couldn't take anymore. His mug shattered when his weak, worn-out, exhausted body hit the ground.

So, this is the second field dream that John has had, any ideas what they mean or why John is having these dreams. Hint: The why is very important.