Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. If I did, (spoilers) Bobby and Ellen would still be alive, the Leviathans would have NEVER left Purgatory, and the plot would be more focused on creepy legends rather than how much blood can be splattered in a single episode slot. Sorry for anyone who disagrees. It's just how I feel. I'm not much for after season 4 or 5. But this isn't about me, other than how I don't own Sam, Dean, or anyone affiliated with them.

A/N: Hey, guys! *sheepishly grins and waves hesitantly* Sup? Well, I can honestly say that I did not mean for there to be yet another ridiculous gap between updates. I fully intended to update within a week or two. But… it's time to play: WHEEL OF EXCUSES! Will it be: I got hurt again and haven't felt like doing much at all lately? I'm taking a seminar class with ridiculous amounts of reading and writing and haven't had much time for fan-fiction? I've been spending every extra moment of my time with le boyfriend, whom I will be graduating without at the end of the semester, so I want to spend every second available with him? I've been so focused on my original books that I haven't been able to write fan-fiction? And the wheel lands on… ALL OF THE ABOVE! I'm so sorry, guys – honestly! I've got to stop making promises that I apparently can't keep, even though I fully intend to do so. I'm terrible. And I grovel (gravel? No, I think it's grovel.) at your (hopefully?) forgiving feet. So, I'll shut up now, and get on with the story. Thanks for the reviews, and please read and review this, even though with my track record with on-time updating, I probably don't deserve it. And, yeah, I sort of jacked the wheel of excuses bit from The Ultimate Spiderman, which, much like Supernatural, I do not own. And now… on with the show! :) Please review!

I'd Follow You Anywhere

Chapter Eight

"I still don't get it," Dean said as he sped in the direction that he had left his brother.

"There's a surprise," Bobby grunted sarcastically. Normally, Dean would have a smart retort on the tip of his tongue at Bobby's criticism, but right now he was too busy trying to peer through the pouring rain for any sign of Sam to think of a rebuttal.

"I thought specters were just another name for ghosts. You know, you could use ghost, spirit, and specter interchangeably."

"A common mistake," Bobby admitted. "Most hunters never meet one of these sneaky little bastards, and so they don't ever learn about them. I make it a point, like your dad did, to find out anything and everything I can about the supernatural, so that I'll be ready when something like this does come up."

Dean could hear the reproach for being lax on research in Bobby's voice, although in his defense, he thought that he and Sam researched quite a lot for their jobs. Well, Sam researched and then told Dean what he'd found out. But it wasn't like they had been going in blind. Expect, well, this time, it seemed that they had indeed gone in blind. Not that he would admit it. "We just thought it was a simple salt n' burn, at least at first," Dean defended himself. He had now come to the approximate spot that he'd left Sam, and through the rain that was pounding down harder than ever, he could see no trace of his brother. "But then it got… weird."

"Yeah, and you shoulda called me as soon as it did, ya idget. But never mind. Listen closely. A specter is a type of spirit, sure. It's origins are obscure, but from what little I've been able to dig up, the first sightings of these guys were in the forests of Scotland, Ireland, all those Celtic areas, before Christianity was introduced by the Romans. So they're way old. In some of the older tales, they're called will o' the wisps."

"Those, I've heard of. They lure travelers to their death, right? But they're not real. I mean, they're in kid's stories and old, boring poems, but I've never heard anything about them actually existing." Dean was itching to jump out of the car now and go after his brother, but he knew that he had to hear Bobby out first so that he would be better prepared for when he did go after Sam and the specter.

Bobby snorted. "Seriously, kid? After all this time in the hunting business, and you're surprised that anything exists? You're soft."

"Am not!" Dean protested petulantly, before schooling his tone and trying to calm down enough to finish the conversation civilly. He needed answers, and fast. "Look, just tell me what we're dealing with. And quickly, please, I don't know how much time I – Sam – we have left."

There was a brief but tense moment of silence before the old hunter continued grimly. "The old stories talk about a ball of light luring people away from the marshy paths and into the bogs of the English moors and Scottish countryside. That's sort of what they do, but it's a little more cruel than that. They are shape-shifters. Some people who have tried to learn more about them believe that they could actually be the ghosts of shifters, although I'm not so sure. They take the form of a loved one, someone that the victim has lost and misses more than anything. They then lead that person to their death, but not before making them go crazy first. There's really no discernible pattern to their attacks, although they do kill in bursts. I think they're afraid if they lured people to their deaths non-stop, they would either run out of victims or become noticed. There's an old legend – probably a load'a horse crap – that says if someone actually manages to capture a specter or a wisp, and it'll have to grant them one wish, or answer one question, depending on the version you hear. I don't believe it, but—"

"Yeah, that's great, Bobby, you're a skeptic," Dean said impatiently. "But how do we resist it? How do we kill it, or capture it, or whatever? Am I safe now that I know about it? I mean, if I can resist its lure, can it hurt me physically?"

"Not by itself, no, but like I said, it gets into the heads of the people it tricks. And it could still very well get into yours, even if you know the truth. But it can turn parents against their kids, husbands against their wives…"

"And brothers against their brothers," Dean finished darkly. "Crap. Well, what are its weaknesses?"

"A guarded mind. Strength of heart. A strong, unmoving will. And a hell of a lot of pete."

"Pete?" Dean blinked. "Who the heck is Pete?"

"Not Pete, pete, you idiot! It's found in bogs; it's a preservative. It's weird, because a lot of times, specters kill their victims in bogs. But there have been a couple of stories about specters getting dragged into the marsh with their victims, never to come out. There's a bit of poetic justice there. Or injustice. Oh, hell. I don't know. It's ironic, I guess. Most of the time, their victims are too incapacitated and la-la-loopy that they don't even try to defend themselves. But for some reason, when immersed in the bogs themselves, they are trapped, maybe even killed."

"Thanks Bobby," Dean said truthfully, even though he couldn't say that his old friend was that helpful in the end. "I'm going to find Sam now. I'll call you when we get back safely."

There was a long pause. "Make sure you do, kid. Many a hunter's been claimed by a specter because they don't know what they're dealing with. Keep your wits about ya, and keep your head on straight. And don't be an idget. And make sure you take care of your brother and –"

Dean smiled wanly to himself, hung up, and got out of the car into the rain that was coming down in droves.

"Okay, Mr. Specter. It's about time to dance," Dean said solemnly, and then, armed with a couple of salt-filled guns, his already soaked jacket, and way too much overconfidence, the eldest Winchester ran off of the road, regrettably leaving his beautiful baby parked on the side, and went to go find the other baby in his small and broken family – his baby brother. And he was not coming back without him.

Despite himself, Sam was getting seriously freaked out.

He wasn't sure how he had gotten here, to begin with. He didn't think he was drunk. He didn't feel like he had a hangover. He was actually kind of pleasantly numb, although that might have had more to do with the fact that he was soaked with freezing rain than anything. He had no idea where he was. It was getting dark, and rain was pouring down.

He was in an eerie place, a small clearing in a forest of evil-looking mangroves. The ground was soft and squishy, and in places it didn't look solid at all. Despite the thin layer of foliage from the mangrove trees above him, the rain still pelted him mercilessly. The sparse, bluish grass was flooding, and only the tips could be seen over the water now.

And even with the pouring rain and the trees and the cold, there was also fog – a deep, penetrating fog that somehow persisted even with the rain attacking it. Sam wasn't even sure if that was possible, and he was a hunter. He knew that pretty much anything was possible.

He remembered Dean snapping at him about something. What, exactly, he wasn't entirely sure, considering that the cold and whatever else was affecting his brain had made things extremely fuzzy at this point. Dean told him to leave. Sam got out and saw… something. The fabric? Yes, blue fabric. Like that pretty blue sundress Jess used to wear. No, not used to. Wears now. She's alive, somehow. She's here. Somewhere in this hole, Jess is waiting for him. He has to find her.

Sam started to panic. Where was Jess? Why was she torturing him? What was she doing? Why wouldn't she just come out? Oh, how he longed to see her in full again, and not just a tiny snatch of her baby-doll sundress. Her blonde hair, her kind eyes, her mischievous smile. He knew she was here somewhere. He could sense her.

Something reared up in the back of his mind. Something that told him that this wasn't right. Jess was dead, right? She'd been killed, just like his mother had been. She'd been on the ceiling. Burning. Bleeding. No. NO!

He'd seen her. Glimpses here and there. And she was going to come out soon. And they would be together again.

Dean's face loomed in his mind, and he tried once again to remember what they'd argued about. Had it been Jess? Had Dean been telling him that he didn't need to go after her? No, something about that didn't seem right. He had a strange feeling that maybe it had been the other way around. He hesitated in his thought processes – or the sorry excuse for thought processes, anyway – and tried to clear his head. No, he had been warning Dean about something, hadn't he? About… about… Dad? No, surely not. Why would Dad ever want to hurt them?

But Dad was dead. Like Jess was dead.

Something definitely wasn't right here. Sam desperately clawed for the surface of the mire that fogged his addled brain. The cold rain continued to wash over him, and he wished that it would clear his mind like a spray of frigid water usually did. He thought hard, and he felt understanding coming to him. It was just out of his grasp, hovering tantalizingly just out of reach. He knew that he could figure out what was going on if he could just… think…

Jess.

There she was, standing not ten yards away from him. Despite the rain in his eyes and falling between them, he could see her perfectly. She was beautiful… angelic. All thoughts of Dean, any doubts, fled his frazzled mind at the sight of her. Blessed numbness returned, and as he looked into her eyes, he knew that he had to go to her, forget the hazardous terrain that lay between them!

He took a step forward, then another. He realized that his hand was stretched out towards her. He took another step, and his foot started to sink into the mud. He didn't stop, though, until he was about knee deep and ten feet from his beloved. She held out her arm as well, but her hand was not reaching for him. Instead, she held her palm out, indicating that he should stop. Sam's heart sank. She was so close! Why would she deny him now? They were going to be together, forever! Why did she keep doing this to him?

And then she spoke, and he reveled in the sound of her sweet, perfect, lilting voice. "Patience, Sam Winchester." When she said his name, he had to resist every impulse in his frozen body that told him to lunge forward, into her arms, despite her warnings. "It is not time for us to be together. We are waiting for your brother to join us. And your father. And then all four of us can be happy, forever and ever, together. We'll be a true family. Isn't that what you've always wanted? A family? Reconciliation? Love from Dean? Love from John? Love from… me?"

"Yes," he said desperately, and he realized that he did want this, more than anything that he had ever yearned for.

"Who knows? You might even get to meet Mommy again. Wouldn't that be a wonderful reunion?"

"Yes, please," Sam panted desperately. It physically hurt him not to go towards her, but he did what she wanted, because she was Jess and he loved her.

"Then you must be patient. Stay there until I tell you otherwise. When your brother arrives, he may not understand us. I may need you to help me persuade him to join us. How far are you willing to go to bring us all together again?"

"I will do anything," Sam promised. "Anything."

Jess smiled, and Sam didn't even cringe at the sudden darkness in her face and eyes, or the cruelty in her smile. "Good," she purred. "Very good."

Slowly, she faded away, but still Sam heeded her orders, not moving a muscle even as the rain fell and the water rose around his legs. And he waited.

A/N: AAAAHHHH! So much fun to write! Seriously, this is so much freaking fun to write! Why do I keep having these lapses in updates, since I am having so much fun with this? Makes no sense. Anyway, I will try (try being the key word) to update relatively soon. And let me assure you – even though I have never been the most loyal updater, I will always – always come back to my stories, even if it's been months since I've updated. This will be finished, so never give up! Thanks for the support, please review, and I'll try to update ASAP! ;)

~Emachinescat ^..^