Author's Notes: Sorry this took me so long to update :) It's been a busy week, and I just got back from the Bite of Oregon, where I met Cat Cora, the famous chef from Iron Chef! She's awesome, and I love her, so it was a good day. Anyway, here is chapter three. I wanted to thank everyone for being so interested in my story! It makes me so glad to know that there are those who are intrigued and want to read further. And to answer your question, 1000Greensun, I actually...can neither confirm nor deny if there will be any sort of shipping going on in here, mostly because I kind of just let the characters go on their own accord as I write them. As it stands now, the answer is no. But I never say never. Some of my favorite pairings have ended up from that kind of concept.

As with the previous chapters, I would love to get some feedback on what I've written, so please don't hesitate to leave reviews!

Also, yes, ahead of time, I do know the difference when I say spoon and when I say spork. However, Sam does not know when he recalls things. ;)

"Sammy."

A pause.

Then:

"Sammy!"

Sam shifted, rolling over in the uncomfortable bed in which he currently found himself. His upper back and shoulders ached a little. The mattress was as hard as a rock, and it felt like he was sleeping on a slate of stone.

"What, you deaf? Sam, wake up. Come on, we gotta go."

At first, it took him a moment to open his eyes. When he did, everything was a little blurry. But what really caught his attention was that there was an awful lot of light in the room. His reflex was to groan quietly and shield his eyes. Then, beside him, a weighty something suddenly plopped down. He grunted.

"You didn't drink that much, you big baby. Rise and shine, cupcake. Come on, or I'll drag you out to the car in your pajamas and the whole world can gawk at your bird legs."

As quickly as the weight had landed beside him, it disappeared. He heard the heavy steps of booted feet becoming fainter—walking away—while lifting himself up in the bed. Sam stretched, though carefully. Finally, he reopened his eyes.

Standing in the bathroom just a few yards away from him was his brother, Dean. He was dressed as he always was: a pair of worn-in boots and jeans, along with a basic grey shirt, covered by a casual, collared button-up. He was fixing his already styled hair. Clearly, he was preening.

At first Sam felt like he was dreaming. This couldn't be real. There was no way in hell that Dean was standing there, right before him.

His voice was unsure, but hopeful. "Dean?"

Dean turned his head to the side and put down his comb on the counter. "Finally! Come on, Sam. We have to be at that estate sale in a half-hour. Get your ass outta bed."

Sam couldn't remember anything about an estate sale at that moment, but that didn't matter. The pain in his back and shoulders didn't matter, either. Nothing did. Dean was back—through some miracle­—and that was all that the younger hunter could think of. He hurriedly removed the covers from over him, practically tossing them into a bundle on the floor as he flung himself out of the bed and into the bathroom. He stood in the doorway for a moment, simply staring at his brother.

Dean noticed this, and he raised an eyebrow. "What? Is there something on my face?"

Although Sam knew that Dean hated chick-flick moments, he couldn't help himself. Feeling overwhelmingly happy and restored, the younger hunter reached out and brought his brother into a tight, loving embrace. He rested his head against the other's, almost clinging to him. Despite Dean's at first confused attempts to pull away, Sam didn't let go.

"Sam. Sam! What the hell? What's gotten into you?"

When he finally pulled back, the taller one blinked several times. He could feel that familiar tightening sensation in his throat that told him he would tear up if he weren't careful. So, speaking somewhat softly, he said: "Just happy to see you, is all."

Dean didn't look like he believed a word of it, but miraculously he said nothing. Instead he just turned and stared at himself for a moment longer in the mirror, reaching up to pick at a stray hair. "If you're done with your little Lifetime moment, then go get ready. We don't got much time." He turned to his brother.

Sam caught himself staring. "Huh? Oh. Yeah, okay."

Dean's face contorted some with concern. He, too, stared, and after a pause, said: "Sam, you all right? You're not acting like you normally do."

"I'm fine," Sam assured his brother quickly. "Just…a little dazed from waking up like that. I was dreaming." That conclusion—that he was dreaming—seemed to come very naturally to him. All that he had suffered through: watching Dean die; fighting with Bobby; arguing with Ruby…it had all been a dream. This—this was reality. Him and Dean, together in a motel room, getting ready for whatever the world was offering to them.

And here, it seemed to be an estate sale. They must have been going to check in and see if they could get any information about the individuals' deaths.

As he turned around to go toward his bag and grab his clothes, Sam said, "So remind me again why we're going to the estate sale. Not all circuits are a go in my brain this morning…"

Dean didn't respond to him. At first, that didn't mean much to the younger hunter. He probably just hadn't heard, or wasn't paying attention. So, after Sam pulled out fresh clothes from the duffel bag, he lifted his head up and started toward the bathroom, only to find that his brother was staring very intently into the large mirror that covered the entirety of the wall above the long counter.

"Dean?"

Dean again didn't respond. Instead, he lifted up a hand to touch his cheek, as if mesmerized by what he saw in the mirror. Up until this point Sam hadn't been looking at it. It actually seemed almost blocked from his vision. But he was curious as to what Dean was seeing. Very curious. And so, with that he focused his attention on the large mirror.

What he saw made him want to throw up. At the base of it all was a very obvious collection of flames—so real in appearance that Sam felt he could reach out and touch them. Surrounding his brother's silhouette were dark, ashen grey and black rock walls. And behind him—it was like Dean was in a cave—was a bright orange horizon, upon which he could make out a tiny figure in the sky. He couldn't recognize it, but he could tell that it was evil, could feel its ominous presence. He could tell that it was coming for Dean, who in the mirror looked worse for wear. But worst of all was the look in his brother's eyes—that expression of complete and utter dread.

Sam tore his gaze away from the mirror and forced it toward Dean, but he fumbled back and let out a disgusted groaning noise at what he saw now standing before him. There was his brother, complete with ash-colored skin, scars and marks littering his face and now mostly visible body, thanks to clothes that looked as if they were torn to shreds by a tiger.

What got to him the worst was the fact that, when they locked eyes, Dean's were entirely black. And the wicked smirk that appeared on his lips was evil. It was pure evil.

"Just a matter of time, Sammy," Dean said in a gravelly voice. "Just a matter of time before I'm like this for good, and you'll have to kill me." A disturbing sneer appeared on his face. "And it'll feel good…oh, it'll feel real good…"

Stumbling back, Sam then all of a sudden felt like he was being pulled up and away from the scene. In an instant he was awake, lying flat on his back in the motel room bed, his fingers tightly gripping the sheets as he gasped for breath. He lay there for a moment, willing his quickly beating heart to calm down and his mind to stop racing. When they finally did he turned and moved to lie on his side, facing the clock. Its neon green numbers read 6:30 AM.

What a horrible dream, he thought. His stomach did uncomfortable flips at the vivid imagery replaying in his mind. Dean, looking like some kind of disgusting demonic victim, telling him that it would feel good to kill him. How contrasting that feeling was to the seemingly endless euphoria that he had experienced at the beginning of the dream.

That had been the third dream in the past two weeks that had made Sam want to claw his eyes out. Every time he woke up from one of them he felt distinctly worse than the time before, and never went back to sleep afterward. He was too tired to realize it, but each and every time, he had woken up at 6:30 in the morning. And as with each and every time, Sam rolled over onto his back once again, staring up at the white ceiling above him, thinking about what had taken place the day before, or a couple days previous.

This time he thought about the last event that had taken place between him and Ruby. After the initial shock had worn off of him using his telekinetic powers against her, he had told her to leave, needing some time alone to sort through everything. Oddly enough, Ruby had complied, and didn't bother him until he happened to call for her next. That was about a week ago, on the afternoon of the 11th. Sam remembered, because he had ventured out on the town the night before for the first time since Dean's death, and returned home with a bottle of Jack Daniels, only to drink himself into a stupor and pass out until the mid-afternoon the following day. He called for Ruby after getting himself into better shape, and she told him further about how he would need to practice his power. Part of her had worried that he would be attacked while she wasn't around, but because Sam barely left the motel room, his whereabouts were likely unknown to anyone, even Lilith.

That late Sunday afternoon, Ruby instigated Sam further as a means of getting him to use his power. And to nobody's surprise, it worked. This time, Sam had managed not only to push Ruby away from him, but also to make her fly into the wall nearby with enough force to knock her briefly unconscious. Although she seemed irritated with that fact, she also appeared nonetheless pleased with his apparently quick progress.

But the session—during which Ruby poked and prodded at Sam in ways that left him feeling emotionally bruised and sensitive—had angered him pretty badly, and he again ordered her to leave him be. As she left, there was an almost smug look on her face, which he didn't quite understand. Sam hadn't seen her since then and hadn't made any effort to call her. If angering himself was the way to get his power to activate until he managed to get control of it, he could do that, himself, and spare himself the emotional torture that she put him through.

That Wednesday, which was the 14th, after getting himself something to eat from the nearby Taco Bell, Sam sat down at the small table beside the entertainment center with several plastic sporks he had taken from the condiment bar. At first he simply focused on them, trying his best to use his telekinetic ability without getting angry, or desperate. He tried everything—squinting his eyes, waving his hand, even commanding them verbally to move. How come it worked for the chicks on Charmed, but not him? Nothing seemed to work.

Until he started thinking about his brother. It had been almost two weeks since Dean had been killed, and Sam had made progress, but surely not enough to save his brother from Hell. So far, all he had managed to do was push Ruby away and knock her out for a few minutes. That was harder than trying to move plastic sporks, which he seemed absolutely incapable of doing at that moment. Irritated with himself, Sam slammed his balled up fist down on the tabletop, then sighed.

He told himself that he was going to try one more time, and if it didn't work, then he would call Ruby. He stared intently at the sporks then, which had shifted and spun a little in place due to his hand slamming the table. There were four in all, still wrapped in their crinkled plastic bags. What he wouldn't give to make them move…just to prove that he could do it. He wanted nothing more than for them to just…lift up into the air.

And to his surprise, the sporks started to tremble a little on the table's surface, just as he felt a light pang of pain in the back of his head. Each one of them shifted and shook as if someone were touching them. Sam continued to focus intently on them, now intrigued by the fact that they were moving. Again he thought about how much he wanted them to lift up into the air. As if someone had tied little marionette strings to them, each one of the sporks slowly rose into the air, tip first, followed by the handle. They all rose to different heights, but what mattered the most was that they had moved.

Then, as quickly as they had lifted themselves up, they fell back down onto the table with a light clatter. Sam stared at them, but they didn't move again. They stayed stationary.

As he lay there in the bed now recalling this particular event, Sam could remember the feeling coursing through him. It had been somewhere around pride, but there were other things mixed in—several things that he couldn't quite name. Uncertainty, maybe, or even a little shame. All he knew was that, at that moment, he felt oddly good about himself.

He hadn't contacted Ruby to tell her about it yet. According to his phone it was now Saturday, the 17th. And he had a long day ahead of him, since he knew he wasn't going back to sleep any time soon.

Sam trudged his way to the bathroom for a shower. He stayed in there for quite some time, just letting the water run over him. His muscles, but just his body in general, felt more tired lately, and the warm water helped to loosen them up and awaken his senses. When he got out he wrapped a towel around his waist, intent on getting dressed. But as soon as he opened the door he stopped dead in his tracks, feeling his heart jump.

"Ruby."

Sitting with her legs crossed and her hands gripping the edge of the bed was indeed Ruby, and an amused smirk appeared on her face. "Goodness, Sam. I didn't catch you at a bad time, did I?"

Instinctively he gripped the hem of the towel where it clung to his waist, keeping the two flaps close together. "You could have called," he said. Not willing to appear intimidated or caught off guard, he walked over toward the duffel bag he kept his clothes in, lifting it up onto his bed so that he could pull some out.

"I thought about it, but part of me figured that you wouldn't pick up if you knew it was me." She shrugged. "You've been avoiding me, Sammy."

"Sam," he corrected automatically.

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Like I said, you've been avoiding me. I haven't heard from you since…what, last Sunday? Almost a week ago. And here I thought you wanted to work on pumping up your powers so that you could save your brother."

Sam tugged out a fresh pair of boxer briefs, some socks and an undershirt, laying them out on the bed him in a neat pile. He snatched up his pants from where he had tossed them the night before, and, putting them in the pile, took the group of clothes with him back toward the bathroom. Before he disappeared inside to dress, he said, "Yeah." He came back out a few moments later, using the towel to dry his hair.

"Is it just me," Ruby began, "or do you not seem as interested in doing this as you were at first?" She continued speaking before Sam had a chance to even reply. "Because I distinctly remember your croaky, whiny little voice saying, 'I just want to save Dean'. Well, it's been two weeks, Sam, and all you've done is use your powers twice."

He could feel the irritation building up inside of him again, making him want to knock Ruby back into the wall. How dare she, he thought. With an almost cheeky look on his face he said, "Actually, three."

Ruby was mildly surprised. "Three? Oh, really? When was this third time?"

"Wednesday. I made some spoons move."

In retrospect, the way he said it didn't make it sound nearly as interesting as it had actually been.

"I see." The blond haired demon lifted herself to her feet and folded her arms over her chest, moving toward the table, near which Sam was standing.

"So what're you doing here?" Sam asked bluntly. Even though he knew that Ruby had only been instigating him as a means of getting his powers to activate, it nonetheless bothered him still how she did it, and he had no patience for dealing with that today.

"Well, for one, I came to see if you wanted to do a little bit more training. I thought it was weird that you hadn't called, since, you know, you're all about saving your brother." She paused.

"And?"

"Have you not been keeping up on the news?" Ruby shook her head. "There's been reports of healthy men and women suddenly deteriorating before their loved ones' eyes, all of which have died."

Sam blinked and swallowed slowly. He hadn't been keeping up on the news. In fact, every time he opened his laptop, he felt somewhat sick. Hunting had taken a very obvious back seat to saving his brother.

"How many?"

"Just three thus far. Two men, one woman. All were in their mid-20s."

The fact that healthy individuals were slowly dying could mean several things, none of which Sam could be entirely sure until he investigated things further. As bad as it may have sounded, he partially wished that this could have come at a later time, or just not have happened at all. He didn't need this right now. Dean needed to remain first and foremost in his mind.

"I got the address of the latest death. It was the woman. She doesn't live too far from here."

Part of Sam wanted to tell Ruby that he couldn't deal with this at the moment, that he needed—and wanted—to just focus on Dean. But the rest of him knew that if people were dying, Dean would never forgive him for just letting it happen. Sam himself couldn't ultimately forgive himself if he let it happen.

"Ugh."

Ruby snorted. "'Ugh'?"

"One thing at a time," he finally said. Under his breath, he murmured, "Just a little longer, Dean."

"Looks like this could be a good time to learn how to use some of your other dormant powers." Ruby slowly tilted her head to the side.

"Like?"

"I'm sure you know that some demons can selectively view the future," she stated. She eyed him in an almost insinuating manner as she continued speaking. "And some humans, too. After you get some information from the family, who knows? You might be able to even predict the next victim."

"My premonitions were psychically linked," Sam muttered. "The only reason I had them was because they involved children like me."

"That's just the baseline, Sam. Starter steps." Ruby looked briefly away. "You could view so much more if you just worked on it."

He felt himself getting irritated again. "Weren't you the one who told me you couldn't practice passive powers?"

"That's still very true. You can't practice them like you can your active ones. But you can help ease them into happening by doing certain things." She moved away from Sam and headed over to the window, turning away from him while she spoke. "Just…facilitating them so they become habit. Eventually, habit builds strength."

That sounded like another load of bull to Sam. And another thing, it didn't even sound like Ruby. He wanted to ask again why it was she was doing this, why she was helping him, but he knew he would get the same answer that he got before: that she wanted to help humankind, too. At times, Sam wasn't so sure about that. But there was enough evidence to support it, and that made it hard for him to harbor suspicion for too long. That didn't mean that it didn't occasionally rub him the wrong way, however.

"I need to get something to eat," he announced, pausing afterward. "But, I'll go to her house later. Will you…write down the address?"

Ruby nodded, going over to the nightstand and scribbling down the address and name of the woman involved on a pad and paper left by the service phone. When she stood up straight again she looked at Sam. "I've got some things to do today, but I'll stop back in tonight. Don't drink yourself stupid again, all right? It's pretty sad seeing you like that."

As she walked to the door and then out of it, Sam just watched her, feeling mildly stupid and caught off guard.

Had she really caught him doing that?