Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic on this for me. Thanks also SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for your help and support.

Chapter Eight

Sam knew even before his eyes were all the way open that he was the only one in the room by the absence of Dean's soft breaths as he slept. That was unusual. Sam usually woke first, and when he didn't, he was woken by Dean's movements around the room. He must have been more tired than he realized to sleep through it, which was strange as he hadn't been sleeping well lately.

He rolled over and swung his legs around to the edge of the bed, then stood and stuffed his feet into his boots. He could hear movement in the kitchen, and he directed his path there, thinking that finding Dean in search of coffee was the most likely outcome. He pushed open the door and saw Ellen at the counter, but there was no sign of Dean.

"Hey, sweetie," she said when she caught sight of him. "Coffee?"

Sam nodded vaguely and took the mug she held out to him. He took a sip, feeling it burn some of the chill from him, and asked, "Where's Dean?"

"I've got to go to by the store," she said, her attention on pouring herself a mug of coffee instead of Sam. "We need pretzels and—" She frowned. "Who?"

"Dean," he said. "Have you seen him?"

"Who's Dean?" She looked politely confused.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Dean. My brother."

Deep furrows creased her forehead. "Are you feeling okay?"

"No," Sam said honestly. "I'm confused as all hell. Where is my brother?"

"Sam, honey, you don't have a brother." Ellen's confused look was morphing into a worried one.

Sam scowled at her. "Not even a little funny, Ellen."

"I'm not trying to be funny," she said. "And I don't understand why you are. "

"Dean," Sam said emphatically. "Dean Winchester. My brother."

She shook her head and turned away. "I don't know what the joke is, Sam. You don't have a brother. You have a sister, Jo."

"No," Sam said firmly. "I have Dean. I found him. Or he found me. We were together last night. We were here."

"Sam, last night you came home alone." There was no trace of humor in her. She wasn't teasing, not that he thought she would ever joke about something like this with him.

Since shortly after Dean had moved into The Roadhouse, signs of his presence had appeared. Not just in the bedroom, but in the kitchen, too. There was a picture of him and Jo on the pin board. His handwriting was on notes under magnets on the fridge door. His jacket had been on the back of a chair when they'd gone to bed the night before. Sam looked for those things for proof now that he wasn't losing his mind.

They weren't there. There were photos and notes, but none of them were of or from Dean. Sam ran into bar. There was usually a framed shot of him and Dean taken without their notice that Ellen had behind the bar counter. The frame was there, but the photograph was of Sam alone sitting on the hood of the Impala, facing away from the camera and looking off into the distance.

He picked it up and stared at it, as if the image would change if he looked hard enough. It didn't. The picture remained resolutely Sam. Alone.

"Sam, are you okay" Ellen asked behind him.

Sam turned. "No, I'm not."

"Come sit down and talk to me."

He allowed himself to be led to a table and guided into a chair. He felt like he was on autopilot. The shock was so real and intense. Dean was gone. Where? And why didn't Ellen know who he was? If it was someone else, anyone else, he would have suspected a joke or trick, but Ellen would never do that to him. Other people would though. The demons would think it was a real joke to screw with him like this.

He looked at Ellen and spoke clearly. "Christo!"

She blinked brown eyes, looking stunned. "I'm not a demon." Her voice softened. "Honey, what's going on?""

"Last night, I went to sleep with Dean Winchester in the other bed. This morning, I woke up and he's gone."

"Sam, there is no Dean Winchester," she said firmly.

"There is!" Sam slapped a hand down on the table.

She started at the loud sound and he shook his head apologetically.

"Something's happened," he said. "I don't know what or why, but you've forgotten Dean."

"There was never a Dean," she said emphatically.

Sam lurched to his feet. The chair he was on clattered to the floor. "There was!"

There was no belief in her face, only concern. She didn't believe him—couldn't maybe. The Ellen he knew would have had room for a little doubt in her own beliefs in the face of his certainty. She wouldn't just rule it out.

He didn't understand what was happening. The list of possibilities flew through his mind: a Djinn? No. He hadn't been on a regular hunt since the sky started falling on them. He would remember that. And it wasn't a Djinn's MO to give someone a nightmare. They were all about delivering on wishes. Sam would never wish this. A nervous breakdown? Possible. He'd certainly been under enough strain lately, but it was a strange form to take. A spell?" That wasn't out of the realm of possibility. He had pissed off enough people over the course of his life that a witch coming down on him wasn't a stretch.

He needed help.

He made the journey to Sioux Falls on autopilot, unaware of the turns or change of gears. It wasn't until he was pulling onto Bobby's property that he snapped back to himself, inwardly wondering how the hell he'd made it this far without driving the Impala into the guardrail.

He pulled the car to a halt beside Bobby's Chevelle and climbed out. Close to what he hoped would be help, he felt a thrill of nerves. He saw a curtain twitch as he made for the door, and he smiled at the sign of life. It would have been a pain in the ass to make it to Bobby's only to find the man on a liquor run.

He scaled the steps and knocked. There was a pause before the door opened, as if Bobby was deciding whether or not to acknowledge the summons. Sam learned quickly that wasn't it. Bobby was arming himself. The barrel of a sawn-off shotgun appeared first and then Bobby peered out.

"Bobby! What the hell? It's me, Sam."

"I can see that," Bobby said in a voice full of ill-suppressed anger.

"Then why are you pointing a gun at me?"

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "One too many knocks to that thick skull of yours, Winchester? I made a promise, and you used to know I always kept my word."

"Okay," Sam said slowly. "What exactly did you promise?"

"That the next time I saw you or your daddy, I'd fill your asses with buckshot. So, I have to ask myself, why the hell you'd come back?"

"I need help," Sam said.

Bobby laughed shortly and harshly. "I'll say."

"Dean's gone," Sam said.

"And who the hell is Dean?"

It wasn't that Sam hadn't expected the question, but hearing it spoken still made a twist of ice imbed in his chest and twist.

"My brother," Sam said. "And your son. Basically anyway. You're like a father to him—have been for years."

"In what ass-backwards world is that true?" Bobby asked with a scowl.

"The real world. Look, I don't have time to go into it all with you, but I need your help. Someone or something has wiped Dean from Ellen's memory and apparently yours, too. There's no sign of him at The Roadhouse."

Bobby shook his head looking amused. "Have you considered the possibility that you're crazy? I mean, the rest of us have known it for a while, but you always were slow on the uptake. The fact you're here adds credence to the theory, and that you're spouting crap about me having a son, when I swore I would never…"

"And yet you do," Sam said angrily. "And you couldn't ask for better. He's a hero."

"Like you and your daddy, right?"

"I'm no hero," Sam said shortly.

"Agreed. Now we've established that, let's test and see if you're suicidal."

"I just need a little help. There has to be something else that can do this other than a djinn."

Bobby cocked his gun. "I'm going to give you until one to get off my property before I pull the trigger."

"Bobby, please," Sam pleaded.

"Five… Four… Three…"

Sam saw the truth of the threat in Bobby's eyes and he turned tail and ran for the car. It felt wrong to flee, but he was certain Bobby really would pull the trigger, and there was no guarantee the angels would swoop in to save him in this new, strange world.

Sam was halfway out of the arch that marked the edge of Bobby's property when the answer came to him with all the jolt of an electric shock. The damn angels.

They had dumped Dean in that future world in which Sam had said yes to Lucifer—a false world because Sam would never, never, say yes. He didn't know what the message behind this excursion was, but he was sure he was right. This was down to those dicks.

Sam pulled the car over in an almost empty parking lot on the other side of town and climbed out. He took a moment took look around, and then, finding himself alone, he raised his eyes heavenward and said, "Castiel. I need to talk. I am on the corner of Park and Twelfth, Sioux Falls." He waited a moment, and then when there was no response, he said, "Please, Cas."

There was a rustling sound and then Castiel's dry and familiar voice spoke behind him. "Who are you?"

Sam spun on his heel. He had known there was a chance he wouldn't get the angel he knew, the one that was on his side. He'd thought that even if Castiel wasn't his Cas, he would know who Sam was, though. He was the vessel of Lucifer after all. "Cas, it's me, Sam."

"My name is Castiel."

"Okay, sure," Sam said. "Castiel, I need help. Some of your dick buddies have set me up. Neither Bobby nor Ellen know who Dean is. I can't find any sign of him anywhere."

"How do you even know who I am?"

"Because I know you!" Sam said. "And you know me. I've known you a year now. You helped us. Dammit, Cas, you Fell for us."

"I have not Fallen. I would never Fall." He sounded angry.

"Yeah, I didn't think so either. You had a stick up your ass the size of a Buick, but you did it. Now, I need you to help me. I'm pretty sure some of your buddies have zapped me into screwy-world and I need out. I have to get to Dean." He had to get him back.

"I do not know who you are. I do not know how you even know about angels. But I can assure you we have nothing to do with whatever psychotic break you seem to be experiencing."

"Psychotic break!" Sam glared at him.

"I believe that is the term, yes. You need a doctor, not an angel."

"You dick! There is an apocalypse raging, and I need to be there with Dean and you to stop it. I can't do shit stuck here, so tell whichever of your dick brothers did this to me that I am done, I get the message or whatever. Bounce me back to the real world so I can fight!"

Castiel was frowning at him. "You are not a demon," he stated. "You are not an angel."

"No shit."

"So how do you know about the apocalypse?"

"Because I started it!" Sam shouted. "I sent Dean to Hell and he broke the first seal. I killed Lilith and broke the last. Now, Lucifer is out and trying to get my consent to run around in my skin."

Castiel looked amused. "I do not know how you know about these things, but I can reassure you of this, the apocalypse is not raging. Lilith is dead, but it was at the hands of Raphael, not some human. And Lucifer is still trapped within his cage." His lips pressed into a thin line. "And even if he was free, he would not want anything from you. You see, his vessel must be from a specific bloodline, so of course you are not it."

Sam frowned. "Then who is?"

"That is not your concern. Now, I suggest you find yourself a competent doctor. Perhaps some medication, too."

"Cas, you asshole, listen to me," Sam started, but the angel was already gone, leaving Sam alone without answers or assistance.

He threw himself back into the car and bowed his head over the steering wheel. For a few minutes, he just sat, trying to come to terms with his disappointment, and then anger took over. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He couldn't stay in this Deanless world, but he didn't know how to get out of it.

He needed to think. He needed a drink. He needed Dean.

He pulled his wallet from his pocket and thumbed though the bills. He had enough to get himself good and loaded if he wanted, and he did want, but he knew he shouldn't. He was about to flip the wallet closed when he saw something in one of the compartments: the corner of a creased business card. He pulled it out and his eyes widened. It was Dean's card; the one Sam had carried to Cold Oak, Snake Creek, Maryland, and every stop along the way. It had been his talisman at first, and then later a reminder of what Dean had given up.

At The Roadhouse there had been no sign of Dean. Ellen, Bobby, even Castiel knew nothing about him. There was nothing in this world that made Sam think Dean was a part of it, other than this card.

Sam turned it over in his hand, seeing the neatly embossed number and name. That was when he noticed what was wrong. The card didn't have Dean Winchester's name on it; it read Dean Smith.

Without thought, Sam pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed in the number. It was his one, last, best hope. He lifted the phone to his ear and held his breath as it rang.

"Dean Smith," a familiar voice said.

"Dean," Sam breathed.

"Yes. Can I help you?"

"It's me, Sam."

There was a beat of silence and then Dean said almost apologetically, "I'm sorry, Sam who?"

Sam closed his eyes. "Doesn't matter."

"Wait," Dean said quickly. "I'm sorry—"

Sam ended the call and lowered the phone to his side, bowing his head over the steering wheel again. Not a Deanless world—just a brotherless one. Which was worse? He didn't know.

Sam pulled up on the opposite side of the road to the familiar house. It was almost exactly the same as it had been when Sam was last there, except there was an SUV in the driveway instead of Dean's bike. It was both a relief and a disappointment. Sam had come there to see, just see, his brother, but now that he was there, he thought maybe it was better to not see him after all. It would hurt. Because this couldn't end well. Sam knew that now.

He'd had the drive south from Sioux Falls to think, and he'd come to the realization that there was no good outcome here. Not for him anyway. Ideally, he would stay in this world forever, without an apocalypse. With Dean not dragged back into the hunting life. With Lilith dead and the angels staying on their clouds. Sam would lose things. He wouldn't have Bobby or Castiel in his life, and things with them were just starting to work, and he wouldn't have Dean, but they would have better. Didn't they deserve that? Life without him? He wanted them, but that was a selfish want.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the rumble of an engine coming along the road. He recognized it, as he had ridden that bike for months when Dean was gone. The bike pulled up behind the SUV on the drive and then the engine was cut.

Sam watched as Dean climbed off the bike and pulled off his helmet. He looked different, freer, happier. Even from a distance, Sam could see the tense set in his shoulders was gone. He made for the door, and then Sam's heart seemed to falter.

The front door flew open and a little boy came out onto the porch followed by a woman with long, dark hair and a sweet smile. Sam had no idea how old the child was, but he was small and looked unsteady on his feet, as if walking was something recent.

Sam unthinkingly opened the door, and then paused with one foot on the road and the other still in the car. He saw Dean sweep the little boy into his arms and say happily, "Sammy! Have you been a good boy for Mommy?" The little boy nuzzled into Dean's neck. With their faces close, Sam could see the resemblance. The woman leaned forward and she and Dean exchanged a chaste kiss and knowing smile.

Sam's heart seemed to falter before beating on heroically. He was stunned, sick with shock. Dean had a child! He hadn't come here to barge in on Dean's life again, but here was living proof that he couldn't. He was elated for his brother but agonized for himself. That child was Dean's family now. Sam was truly alone.

He closed his eyes, feeling wetness on his cheeks that he swiped away quickly. Without thought, he turned in his seat, getting into the car fully again, and started the engine. He pulled away from the sidewalk, and without looking back, he drove away from his brother.

He was sitting on the hood of the Impala, a bottle of whiskey in his hand and tears still on his face. No matter how many times he wiped them away, they came back again and again. He lifted the bottle by the neck and took a swig.

"Wow, Sam Winchester getting loaded alone," a voice said. "Who would have thought it?" Despite the easy words, the voice was harsh.

Sam looked up and saw the Trickster standing in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest.

"You!" Sam growled. "You did this?"

"Yes. I did this. Don't give me the wounded look. I owed you. You started the damn apocalypse!"

Sam nodded blearily. "Yeah, I did, but what the hell is the point of this, taking Dean away?"

"The point?" The Trickster snorted. "The point is this." He waved a hand up and down, gesturing at Sam. "You, drinking yourself into alcohol poisoning is the point. Your pain. Your loss. The fact you are one bad decision away from swallowing a bullet in hopes of making it stop is the point!"

Sam looked past him. "You could have just killed me."

"Yeah, I could have, but Lucifer would have just brought you right back again. What kind of punishment is that? No, I sat and thought long and hard before acting. I chose your perfect nightmare: your life, without Dean, again."

Sam shook his head slowly. "This isn't my perfect nightmare. Being without Dean, sure, yeah. I screwed things up royally when that happened before—but he was in Hell. This time I can take it because he's got a good life…" He swallowed hard. "He's got a family."

"Yeah, nice touch, right? But you're wrong. This is your perfect nightmare, because you'll have to live it, knowing he's out there but unable to go to him. See, I'm not popping you back to crap town now that you've worked it out. You're going to live this, Sam. I am going to watch you grow old and bitter, and I am going to enjoy every moment of it. I can make this last forever, and then, when you're old enough, ripe enough, desperate enough to do anything to get your brother back, I will…" He sighed. "Oh, really!"

There was a fluttering sound and Castiel appeared between them. "Sam," he said, obviously relieved, then the turned to the Trickster. His eyes widened. "You!"

"Hey, bro," The Trickster said.

Castiel didn't speak. He just stared at The Trickster, awed. It was obviously not the same Castiel Sam had spoken to earlier that day; it was Sam's Cas.

"Cas!" Sam said harshly, drawing the angel's stunned eyes to him. "Get me the hell out of here!"

"I don't think so," Gabriel said, snapping his fingers. There was no flash of light; Castiel wasn't yanked away as he was when banished. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.

Sam's heart sank as his hope of rescue disappeared.

"Nope, no knight in shining trenchcoat for you, Sam," the Trickster said. "You are going to live this hell."

"Hell?" Sam snorted. "You have no idea. You think living a life without Dean is bad? It is. You think living a life without him while he lives the dream with a wife and kid and job he loves is bad? You know nothing about family."

"I know plenty."

"No, you don't. You're giving me a dream. Sure, it's going to suck at times, but just for me. Dean gets to live the life he deserves. That's worth it to me."

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Maybe it would be, if Dean was going to live. This is my world. My power. These are my actors."

"You're saying Dean's not real?" Sam asked.

The Trickster grinned. "I'm saying that's for me to know and you to torment yourself guessing at. Is he enjoying the delicious pot roast the missus made, or is he worrying himself sick over the brother in The Roadhouse who just won't wake up?"

"Tell me, you bastard!" Sam demanded.

The Trickster laughed as he snapped his fingers and disappeared.

It was the fact that there was a chance, even the slimmest chance, that the Trickster was telling the truth when he said Dean had that other life, the real life with a real family, that kept Sam from going to him—at least openly. His life changed completely after that conversation with the Trickster. He purposely changed it.

He didn't hunt.

There was no point. The Trickster had said they were all actors, creations of his own, so when Sam read the news reports saying there were suspicious deaths or other hunters came to him for help, Sam passed them by. He wasn't wasting his time chasing imaginary monsters.

Ellen, the actor version at least, badgered him about it for the first month, worried that he was suffering some kind of nervous breakdown. It wasn't easy to ignore her questions and insistence that he spoke to her at first, but the longer it went on, the better Sam got at it. He had to remind himself daily that it wasn't his Ellen that begged and pleaded for him to let her help.

He worked the bar because there was nothing else to do with his time. He served drinks to creations of the Trickster and drank himself, relieved that he could still feel the burn of alcohol despite the unreality of his situation.

He slept, he ate, he drank, he waited to be an old man so he could get back to the real world and Dean, though he had no guarantee that he would be allowed to return when the time was up. He sometimes wondered if the Trickster would just bounce him right back to the beginning again.

He had one comfort in this new world. His phone calls with Dean.

Once every couple weeks or so, he would call the number on the creased business card and listen to his brother talk. He never replied to Dean's questions or concerns, he just listened. At first Dean would just ask Sam his name, reassure him that he could help, that no problem was insurmountable—obviously convinced Sam's calls were from one of his kids. When that failed to help, Dean started to talk. The first time it happened Sam had managed to cling to his calm for the short duration of the call, and then as soon as he was off, he had sobbed.

"You don't feel like talking?" Dean had asked. "That's okay. I don't mind listening to myself a while…"

He had spoken about everything and nothing. The record he was listening to at the time, the fact he'd tried to cook a meal for his wife and burned it beyond recognition. As time passed and the calls continued, things became more personal. He would tell Sam about his son, the things he was doing and learning. He never called him by name, it was always 'my boy', for which Sam was grateful. He didn't think he could bear to hear his name come from Dean without it being him that he was addressing.

Sam had to marvel at him. Even if wasn't his absent brother he was unknowingly talking to, Dean would have been helping, making whoever it was see there was good out there and hope for the future. He was so good at what he did.

It went on for months, until the day Sam was working at the bar, clearing empty glasses from tables, and the Trickster walked in and tapped him on the shoulder. Sam turned, nodded, and picked up the glasses he'd stacked and carried them to the bar.

"Seriously?" the Trickster said. "You're not even going to throw a punch."

"What would be the point?"

"Satisfaction? For me, I mean. I would enjoying seeing you swing and miss."

"What do you want?" Sam asked tiredly.

"I'd like a cherry coke, please, barkeep."

Sam scowled at him. "I'm not playing performing monkey for you."

"Oh how wrong you are. You've been playing performing monkey for me for months now."

Sam shrugged. "And yet you're about fifty years early, so what do you want?"

The Trickster sighed and took a seat at what had been Sam and Dean's table in the real word. He looked pointedly from Sam to the opposite chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Sam sighed heavily and sat down.

"Better," the Trickster said. "Now, what I want is to talk. See, I'm bored. This all stopped being fun for me about six months ago. Sure, the phone calls are cute, and I never get tired of seeing you cry, but waiting two weeks for entertainment each time is not it."

"I'm sorry," Sam said sardonically. "What would you like me to do?"

"Spice it up a little," he said hopefully, and then shook his head. "Nah. I gave up on that idea about the time you necked your first bottle of Four Roses. Truth is, this just isn't a punishment for you anymore, is it, Sam?"

"No," Sam said honestly.

"Where did I go wrong?" He sounded honestly curious.

"Dean. You gave him what I always wanted for him—a good life. Just because I couldn't be a part of it, doesn't make it any less good."

The Trickster rolled his eyes. "You ignorant ape. Dean hasn't got a good life. Dean has a catatonic brother that right now he is wringing his hands over. This Dean, the one with his own Sammy and wife, that's all me."

Sam closed his eyes. It wasn't like he hadn't known it was a possibility, but to hear it confirmed… it hurt.

"Are you telling me you left Dean with me a wreck all this time?" Sam ground out through his teeth.

"Don't be stupid. Lucifer might not be the smart one, but even he'd notice if his vessel was checked out for six months. He has ways of knowing these things."

"Then how long's it been?" Sam asked.

"Let me think. I took you on a Wednesday in July… that makes it…" He counted on his fingers. "About twelve hours."

Sam reeled back. Twelve hours! Months, months of time had been crammed into half a day. He was grateful for it. Dean hadn't suffered long, but at the same time, it was a mind bend, and it was too long for him to have been gone. Dean, Ellen, they'd be going out of their minds.

Sam was angry. He lurched to his feet, leaned over the table and reached for the Trickster's throat. Before his fingers could curl around the narrow neck, he was spun and pinned against the wall by a hand around his own throat.

"No touching," the Trickster scolded. "It's unwelcome and rude. Especially when I am about to do you a solid."

"You are?" Sam rasped.

"I am. Like I said, this isn't a punishment anymore. And I realized something else; nothing I can come up with is as much of a punishment as what you were already doing to yourself."

Sam's vision blurred as he tried in vain to suck in a breath.

"Look at them, Sam. Look into the eyes of every person you meet and know what you have done to them. See their lives and know they're going to end soon because of you," he said as Sam's eyes slid closed. "See what you did!"

There was a flash of light, Sam drew air into lungs that felt flattened and the most welcome voice in the world to him was saying, "Sam! Sammy!"

Arms wrapped around him and Sam leaned into the warm weight of his brother's embrace.

"Dean," he breathed, greeting and confirmation in one.

"Sammy. Thank God."

Sam closed his eyes, held his brother tighter, and started to cry.

An hour after Sam came back to himself, thirteen hours after Dean woke and found his brother unresponsive in the bed beside him, again, Dean looked over the table at his brother and took in his appearance. He was a little pale, his expression was dour and tired, but it was his eyes that gave away what he was really feeling. He was wrecked, even more so than he had been before.

"Six months?" Ellen said, stunned.

"Give or take," Sam said, taking a swig of his beer.

"That's crazy," Dean said. "How on earth did you cope?"

Sam huffed a laugh. "I didn't. I struggled through each day until the Trickster, Gabriel, whichever—"

"Gabriel," Castiel said confidently.

"—let me out," Sam finished.

"And I wasn't there?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "That was the point, the punishment."

Dean understood. He could think of no worse punishment now than a world without Sam. He had felt that way since he found him again. That was what had driven him to that crossroads and that was what haunted his dreams.

When he'd woken to find Sam gone—that was the only word he could think of to describe Sam's blank stare and inability to respond—he had been out of his mind. When Castiel had mind-melded with him and come back saying whatever had happened to Sam was down to an archangel, Dean had despaired. Castiel had been powerless to bring him out. All they'd been able to do was wait for Sam to come back on his own. Twelve hours without Sam had felt like a lifetime. Six months would have destroyed him.

He looked at Sam. No, he hadn't coped.

Sam shrugged. "Back now anyway," he said bracingly, as if that made it all better.

"What are we going to do about Gabriel, though?" Ellen asked. "Another archangel on our tail is a helluva complication."

"Nothing," Sam said. "Like you said, he's an archangel. There's nothing we can do about him. He'll come back when he wants and we'll have to get through when he does."

"You think he'll come back?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "I'm sure. He's not done with me yet."

Dean shuddered at the certainty in his voice. Gabriel was coming back, and Sam didn't seem scared. He seemed resigned. What would the archangel do to them next time?

So… That was a lot of fun for me to write. How was it for you?

Thank you for the reviews and support for the story so far. I love hearing what you think of the story and really appreciate constructive criticism.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx