After a LONG LONG WAY TOO LONG of a break, I am BACK!

back in black starts to play

Hahahaha, I am SO SORRY it took so long. I'm not sure how this happened...yet it did. I realized that I never finished rewriting the story...or finishing it at all... So today I rewrote another chapter! If I keep going, I'll have around 7 more chapters to give you! (i'll know more when i'm done rewriting) But the hard part after that is finishing it after i've taken a break from it so long... so wish me luck!

Again, i'm so sorry! Here's the new chapter!

Dean closed and locked the door behind him the moment he strode into the motel room

Dean closed and locked the door behind him the moment he strode into the motel room. He rubbed his sore, tired eyes and took out his cell phone, scrolling down the contact list until Missouri was highlighted. He needed to give Missouri a call because he had run into a slight problem… He just needed to ask her a few question.

He sat on his bed, in an attempt to ease his weary legs while listening to Missouri's phone ring a few times before she picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Missouri, it's Dean—"

"Dean Winchester! I have been waiting for you for an entire week now, boy!"

Dean was confused. "I didn't know you could see the future, too…"

"Why have you called?"

Dean frowned. She foresees him calling her but she can't tell why he called? He thought mind reading was her specialty, not future seeing… Since when had she been able to see the future? But then again, she could be just fooling around with him… She did seem to like that…

Dean shook his head. He was definitely thinking about this too much. "Well, there's been these weird things happening to people, and I think this one kid has been causing it. I think he might be psychic—a mind reader. So I thought I'd ask you if… I mean, if there's anything you can tell me, I could really use some info."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "IF you want some information, you'll have to come to my house," Missouri said evenly.

This put Dean back into the state of confusion. "Why?"

"Because what I need to say needs to be said to your face."

Dean's eyebrows creased and his frown remained. "Uh… Okay… I'm not too far from there. I guess I'll leave tomorrow morning… So I should be there… I don't know…sometime tomorrow morning. Is that okay?"

"Perfect, Dean. I'll see you then." And Missouri hung up.

Dean slowly closed his phone. What could be so important about mind readers that Missouri couldn't say it over the phone? He really didn't have the time to go to Missouri's house and back, even if it was only a half an hour, or maybe forty-five minutes away. A lot could happen while he was gone… But luckily enough for him, the psychic kid didn't seem to be in the killing mood—yet. He would have to make it really quick.

He rubbed his forehead tiredly, tossing his phone aside and falling backwards onto his mattress. It seemed like right after he had left Sam, all it had been was hunt after hunt after hunt. There was barely enough time to take a breath. There was just too much evil out there… If Sam had been there, he would have insisted on taking a short rest every handful of hunts or so. But now there was no Sam to stop him. The only time he wasn't on a hunt was when he was sleeping, driving, or looking for something else to kill. Now he had more scars to show off, and quite a few more stories he could file away.

But he did have to admit, Sam was definitely better at exorcisms. Dean, even though he had been doing exorcisms longer than Sam, just couldn't read Latin as fast as his little brother. Even when he really needed it to be done fast, he just couldn't go that fast without it sounding like gibberish. He had to perform a few exorcisms over the past few months, and the first time it didn't even work. He realized that he had gotten a little rusty when it came to Latin, since he had been letting Sam do all the reading…

It all comes back to Sam again, Dean thought. Why does it always come back to Sam?

"That was Dean," Missouri informed John and Sam, who, until then, were eating silently at the dinner table.

Sam's eyes instantly brightened. "He's coming?!"

Missouri nodded. "I talked him into it."

Sam smiled, for the first time in days.

"You tricked him, didn't you?" John asked. "He wouldn't really come if he knew we were here waiting for him."

Missouri paused for a moment before nodding again." I didn't mention you or Sam," she agreed. "He thinks that he's only coming here for information. He said that he'll be here tomorrow morning."

"Did he sound okay?" Sam questioned. "He isn't hurt or sick or something, is he?"

Missouri smiled at him. She could feel all the thoughts that were running through Sam's head at that moment. Happy and worried and relieved thoughts shot through his mind at the speed of light. "Yes, he sounded perfectly fine."

Sam returned to his happy mood, only being able to say, "Awesome."

Missouri then turned her gaze on John. His thoughts had been muffled by Sam's loud ones, but now she could concentrate on him He wasn't as happy as Sam—well, Missouri doubted that anyone could be as happy as Sam right now. But it was really strange, almost as if—

"Did he say what time he would come tomorrow morning?" Sam asked, cutting off her train of thought.

Missouri shook her head at him. "No, honey."

Sam smiled again anyway. When you come, Dean, I'm gonna apologize… We can finish what we started—finally.

The next day, Sam got up at nine and stared out the window. He watched the road for five whole hours, nearly jumping every time he heard a car, and growing disappointed when it wasn't Dean. He was losing hope again, and wondered if his vision really was a dream after all.

"Y'can't stare out that window all day," Missouri said, coming up behind him.

"He isn't coming. My vision lied."

"Visions don't 'lie', Sam. It showed you that he would come here. He probably got tied up doing something, but he'll come eventually—because you saw it. And no, it wasn't a dream."

"If he isn't coming," John began slowly, "then we have time for a hunt." Over the past half hour or so, the older man had sat on the couch, reading the paper. He now handed that paper to Sam.

MAN KILLED WHILE RESTORING HOUSE, the headline read.

"Thomas Fordman was helping a couple restore a house they had bought," John said, not waiting for Sam to read the story himself, "and while he was working, a chandelier fell on him. It was supposedly an accident, but the other workers claimed that they saw a ghost of a teenage girl cutting the ropes that held the chandelier. The ropes did look like they got cut, but of course, no one believes that it might have been a spirit."

"Dad, we can't go on a hunt now!" Sam protested, glancing out the window again. Dean was going to come any minute, he was sure of it.

"Missouri will call us if Dean comes. Besides, this place is only forty-five minutes away. It won't take that long," John reassured him.

"Your father's right," Missouri chimed in. "I can keep your brother here if he comes. You need to take care of these people."

John nodded. "Exactly, Sam. You know how these things are. This incident probably isn't the first one this spirit has caused."

Sam thought about it for a long time. He finally sighed, giving one last glance through the window before nodding. "Okay, let's go."

"That's my boy," John said happily as he pushed himself off the couch. "Let's not waste time. We leave tonight."

Sam and John had planned on breaking into the house to check it out, but were surprised to find the door unlocked.

John carefully eased open the door and motioned for Sam to follow him. The house was dark and silent, like a winter night. The silence was never broken—the house was far from the road, so not even the sound of passing cars could be heard. The driveway itself must have been a half a mile long. Sam remembered seeing a motel across the street, and filed it away in the back of his mind in case they needed someplace to stay.

He couldn't do much research on the way over, but managed to find out about some more incidents that were probably caused by this spirit. Not anything too serious—things that would probably be considered pranks, but apparently this spirit decided to take it to the next level.

Sam crept through the house, completely alert. There was something wrong…he knew it. Maybe the spirit was somewhere right now, just waiting for the right time to…

Suddenly, a loud sound that Sam knew immediately was heard throughout the house. It was a shotgun. Sam lifted his own shotgun in reflex, and looked to his father questioningly.

"It came from upstairs. Someone must be getting attacked," John shot out quickly, bounding up the stairs with Sam at his heels.

There was a loud clattering sound that came from the bedroom at the end of a hall. The sound was followed by a thud.

John and Sam burst through the door, shotguns raised. The first thing Sam saw was the spirit, pale and aglow, with stringy black hair streaming in every direction and a knife pointing threateningly at the other person in the room. Sitting on the other side of the room, beside a shattered blue vase, was Dean, who held up a book in one hand and his lighter in the other.

"Bad luck," he spat out, either not realizing that John and Sam were there, or simply ignoring them. He let the flame of his lighter catch the pages of the book. Dean threw the burning book into a metal wastebasket, and watched as the spirit disintegrated along with the book. It was only once it was over when he finally, slowly and carefully, raised his eyes to meet those of his brother's.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, going over to his brother and kneeling down. "Are you okay?" He didn't just mean after the hunt—he meant after all this time.

Dean stood up and brushed himself off. He idly began to pick shards of blue glass from the palm of his hand. "Uh, yeah, I'm good." And though he didn't show it on his face, he began to panic. He wasn't entirely sure why, but didn't have time to think about it. He walked past his father without even glancing at him and strode down the hall, and then down the steps. He held his arm close to his chest, Sam realized as he followed, his mind nearly blank. John only trailed behind, not saying a word—but Sam knew that wouldn't last for long.

The second they all got outside, everything changed. Dean began to silently walk down the driveway, as if he really thought he could get away from them both without a second thought. In truth, that's what he really hoped would happen.

John caught up with his eldest and let his hand fall on Dean's shoulder. He felt Dean freeze up ever so slightly beneath his touch, but ignored it. "Dean."

Dean was silent.

Sam walked up to them both. "Dean, I need to talk to you…please?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder to his brother. "There really isn't much to talk about, Sammy," he said, his voice even.

"That is one hell of an understatement," John said roughly, making Sam nervous. "You disobeyed my order. I specifically told you to go back and protect your brother, and you—"

"Dad, not now," Sam pleaded.

John shot him a look. "Then when is the right time, Sam? Tomorrow? Next week?"

"Not now," Sam repeated. "Dean, come with us, will you? I really want to talk with you about this…"

Dean kept silent, shrugging off his father's hand before the older man felt his rushing pulse.

John spun Dean around to face him. "You are coming with me and Sam. That's an order."

Dean looked down. "No," he muttered under his breath. "I…can't… I mean, I don't think…"

"You can't?!" John began, getting angry.

"Dad," Sam cautioned, shooting his father a warning look. He then turned his eyes on Dean. "Please, Dean…"

Dean tried to give him a smile. "Ha, Sammy, it sounds like you're trying to talk me out of suicide or something…"

"Well you don't have a choice," John told him, ignoring the smartass comment. "You're coming with us."

Dean shook his head. He really found it hard to say no to his father. "Fine. I have to get my stuff." And he kept walking. "I'm staying in the motel across the street. Just wait for me outside."

John let his eyes linger on his son for a moment. "Sam, go help your brother pack his stuff. I'll be around with the truck."

Once John left for the truck, Dean began to cough. After a few hoarse coughs, Sam came up to him, worried. "Dean, are you okay, man?"

"Oh, man, I can't believe I actually thought he trusted me," Dean got out between more hoarse coughs.

Sam's eyebrows creased. Could those hoarse coughs actually be laughter? He had never in his life heard Dean laugh quite like that.

Dean held his arm closer to his chest and quickened his pace. "Come on," he finally said tightly, the 'coughing fit' over and done with.

The second Sam walked through the door to Dean's room, all he could do was gape. Clothes, salt, weapons, bandages were strewn every which way, like a pack of insane poltergeists had stampeded thought the room.

Dean stripped off his shirt and grabbed a 'clean' one. He pulled it over his head and glanced at Sam. "Throw me those bandages, will yah?"

"Why?" Sam asked warily.

Dean slowly extended his left arm, revealing a long, nasty cut. "She got me."

Sam's eyes widened. "Yeah, and you think you can bandage that yourself?" He shook his head. "Sit down, you idiot."

Dean did so, holding out his arm. "Figured you'd want to take care of it."

Sam nodded absentmindedly and began to bandage his brother's arm, not ignoring the new scars he saw there. "So…about that spirit…"

"Yeah. Sarah Pickford. Lived in that house ten years back and refused to leave. There have been a lot of accidents lately. At first I thought it was the local 'psychic'. This kid actually turned out to be just a regular kid with a good intuition. What a jerk. He really acted suspicious for a while there, too… So anyway, I burned Sarah's bones, but I had come back to the house after that man got squashed by the chandelier—I assume that's how you and Dad heard about it—and I found out that Sarah had a diary that she had been very close to, so I burned that tonight." When Sam was finished taking care of his arm, Dean stood up once more and began to pack. "There's been a lot of trouble in this area recently. I'm not surprised you and Dad came here. So I guess I'm the idiot today."

"Oh, because you didn't ever want to see us again?" Sam inquired, not bothering to hide his anger. "Do you know how worried I was about you? I knew there was a good possibility that you were out there dead."

Dean shrugged, and was silent throughout the rest of the packing. When he finally finished, he hefted his bag and walked out.

YES, ANOTHER CHAPTER UP! After rewriting it, I felt a lot happier with it.. (you should have seen it BEFORE)

I want to update again asap... but i'll feel more motivated if someone reviews!

And anyone who's been waiting for my other supernatural story, Dark Places, i have good news. YOU WON'T HAVE TO WAIT MUCH LONGER! HA.

lol, please review, i haven't gotten any in a while now :)