A/Ns: Aaaaaalright, so it's been a while. [Insert sheepish back-of-head-rubbing here] I'm so sorry guys! It's really bugging me, these huge gaps in time without writing or updates. I've actually been thinking on that, why I'm struggling to write so much, and realized I've locked myself in a vicious cycle. For the years I kep this story updating regularly (or mostly regularly), your flood of reviews, feedback, and encouragement is what kept me writing it. It's my motivation, pure and simple. I love planning the story, that never goes far from my mind, but the actual writing of it is woooork. And the charge I get from you guys loving my ideas is what keeps me writing them, so I can share them with you.

Which is pretty fanastic, in my opinion, buuuut it does leave one small problem. In my current life, which has changed drastically since Covid (for better and worse in many ways!), I don't have the dedicated, carved out writing time like I used to. While I'm working to reclaim that time with structure and routine (oof, two words I may desperately need but also completey suck at self-enforcing XD), I haven't been writing regularly, which means updates can go months in between. After the high of that first week of comments, I...totally lose focus and my brain and hobbies drift elsewhere. And then it takes me time to realize I've drifted, and time to get back into the story. And then the cycle repeats

Ugh, it sucks, because I LOVE this story. I have so, so, so many amazing things planned that I can't wait to share with you all! Like Gabriel, and Adam. Guys, I haven't forgotten ADAM. And I have such great things planned for that poor, underused boy. You're gonna love his story as much as you've all loved Andy's! So I gotta get us there! But, to do that, I've realized I need to peace out for a couple more months. I have GOT to get a stockpile of chapters going so that we can return to weekly or biweekly updates. That was the key to me writing and being able to update this beastie of a story so regularly for so long. It's you guys; you're my special ingredient (quoting Kung Fu Panda here for anyone who just tilted their head like Cas and thought, 'I don't understand that referece')

So, this is the last chapter I'm going to post for a while. I have NOT given up this story and have no plans to, but I won't be posting until I have a stockpile of work. I'm hoping to get myself to the season finale before I start up again. Though knowing me, that'll be a good 30 chapters away (not the, like, 10 I have planned) so I'll give up after I manage to write, hmmmm, let's say 8 of them or so, and start posting again.

What can I say. I'm Verbose and Impatient as F*

But, also, here's a chapter becaue I couldn't just post a note. That would be awful, and even I'm not *that* evil.

Chapter Warnings: We're back to Andy and Bobby, which means somewhat of a filler chapter, but also with a pretty important plot piece? Like, two important plot pieces, that is.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 85

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Jody Mills – Sioux Falls Sheriff for four years running, loving wife, mother of the world's best toddler, and drip coffee aficionado – was attempting to finish up some pesky paperwork on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. A gorgeous, sunny day so picturesque they'd be writing poems about it, no doubt. A day she could have spent at the park with her husband and son. Sadly, for one, Sheriff Mills, her Sunday would be spent indoors, on duty, for several hours yet, whether or not she finished her paperwork.

Such was the life of a small-town sheriff.

As much as she wanted to be pushing Owen on the swings or laughing at his antics as he climbed up the slide rather than down, her family daydreams weren't what kept her from the relatively easy work of custody forms, incident reports, and Digger's latest release papers after a night in the drunk tank. No, that would be her cell, buzzing away with the fifth incoming text in as many minutes.

Jody attempted to ignore it, as she'd (sort of) managed for the last four of those minutes. But, as a sixth and seventh message came in with its loud, accompanying buzzing, she gave up the good fight. Paperwork was boring anyway. Besides, she was the Sheriff, it was her job to help people. And if the amount of texts coming in rapid fire order was suggesting anything, it was that someone clearly needed help.

Even if that help was just a lecture about how real adults had jobs and lives, and shouldn't be bothered incessantly.

A lecture that went over about as well as Jody had been expecting, given just who her latest pen pal was (if it could be called that in this day and age – and she just knew said 'pen pal' would make fun of her for such an old fashioned term. Squirrelly little kid). The latest round of Andy's antics included a photo of Sarge covered head to tail in mud, tongue lolling in a huge grin, paired with a question of how, exactly, to make a muddy dog stay in a tub. That one had been followed about three minutes later by another picture, this one of an absolutely wrecked bathroom, muddy paw prints disappearing out the door, no dog in sight. Jody wished the kid the best of luck for when his grumpy landlord came back home to that (which got her several dozen crying emojis in response, much to her amusement).

She was still chuckling to herself, phone in hand, when the door to the small Sheriff's office opened and a stranger strolled in.

"Howdy," Jody greeted with a share of Midwestern friendliness at the unfamiliar face. The suit, sans a blazer, rolled up sleeves of a pristine dress shirt, and solid, neutral colored tie all said important. The multiple files tucked under his arm, a photograph paper-clipped to the outside of one of them, said Fed. Not something they saw a lot of in Souix Falls, South Dakota.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" the man asked congenially enough, though there was something dark in his eyes that immediately set Jody on edge. Nothing aimed at her, per say, but it was obvious this man was here on a mission.

"Nah, 'course not," she replied in an equally light tone, tucking her phone back into her hip holster. "Just helping a wayward kid handle his first dog. What can I do for you, Mr...?"

"Henriksen." The man offered his hand, which the Sheriff shook. "Agent Victor Henriksen, FBI. I'm looking for a couple of fugitives, and word is there's a man in your town who knows 'em."

The agent set his files – three of them, it turned out – onto the counter, and the smile slid right off Jody's face at the picture attached to the top one. The spitting image of Bobby Singer's 'nephew,' new to town as of two months ago. The young man who'd bumped into her outside the grocery store weeks back with a favor to ask. The goofy, tragically mute kid who was, in fact, the very same 'pen pal' she'd been texting thirty seconds before regarding taking proper care of that damn favor.

"Don't suppose you know a resident by the name of Robert Singer, Sheriff?"

Jody raised her eyes back up to the federal agent. She let out a huff of air and forced the corner of her mouth into a smile. She doubted it was convincing. "You mean the town drunk?"

-o-o-o-

It was not a closely guarded secret that Victor Henrisken didn't think much of local law enforcement. Don't get him wrong, it wasn't that he found them incompetent; most of them did their jobs just fine. It was that their job wasn't his job, and they were grossly incompetent when it came to doing his job. Which, for the most part, made them largely useless to him and more often an obstacle than an assist.

Henriksen could be a real asshole sometimes, and he knew it. It wasn't his default state all of the time, but then he didn't have the time or luxury of playing nice on the job, either. Law enforcement officers were grown-ass professionals who could – or at least should be able to – handle having their feelings hurt and toes stepped on. If they couldn't, well that wasn't really Victor's concern either, was it?

Which was why he didn't bother explaining himself to the local Sheriff of this backwater town he'd found himself in outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Sheriff Mills seemed competent enough for a small town sheriff, but Henriksen didn't really care beyond that. He didn't need her to do his job here, so he didn't need to involve her beyond the common courtesy of alerting her to his presence.

His job – thisparticular job – wasn't a collaborative one.

Sheriff Mills didn't seem too pleased with that. Nor particularly impressed by him, either. Not that it mattered to Victor.

"He in some sort of trouble?" she asked, referring to Robert Singer, the man he was in town to see. A man he was sure was, or at least had been at some point, harboring and providing aid to the Winchesters. Perhaps he didn't know they were criminals and wanted men. Either way, Victor planned on making the situation – and Mr. Singer's position in any future, illegal involvement – crystal clear.

"No."

Sheriff Mill's raised a further unimpressed eyebrow, hand going to her hip. "The FBI going door to door for the next census, then? Seems a waste of man power, you ask me."

"I didn't." He drummed his fingers atop the files he'd brought with him. "What can you tell me about him?"

The sheriff's eyes dropped to that stack of papers, Andy Gallagher's face staring up from the photograph paper clipped to the outside. Her gaze transferred back to the FBI agent. "About Bobby Singer?"

Victor just stared, starting to question her competency after all. It had been a simple question.

When no confirmation or response at all came from Henriksen, the small town Sheriff visibly bristled, her annoyance with him clearly growing. Her expression leveled out some, however, remaining professional as she straightened up. "He's gotten into trouble a couple of times, mostly public drunkenness. Doesn't know when to go home from the bar, and then insists on driving himself because he's a stubborn old fool. Nothing too serious, though. He's pretty harmless, especially since all the local dive bars know to take his keys off him on a bad night."

"Any idea what he's drinking himself into an early grave for?"

Sheriff Mills eyed him before answering. Maybe just sizing him up. Or sizing up his right to know. "He lost his wife. Badly. Home invasion gone wrong, longer back then I've been on the job. She didn't make it, he did. They never caught the guy."

Victor hummed non-committedly. He knew some people got that tangled up in others, fell that hard in love that they never got over the loss. But it wasn't his speed. Victor had never known an emotion like that, capable of overwhelming all else. Probably why he had multiple ex-wives.

The sheriff didn't seem all that pleased by his lack of empathy, but Victor disregarded it. He hadn't been harsh, merely neutral. Besides, Robert Singer didn't need his sympathy. He'd sure need a hell of a lot more if it turned out he was knowingly harboring the Winchesters.

Victor tapped his finger on the counter with a tight smile. "Thanks for the info, Sheriff."

Before he could turn to leave, Sheriff Mills was already rounding the office counter she'd been standing behind. "I'll join you on your interview," she said with a tone that left no room for disagreement. "Since he's not in any trouble, the least I can do is show you the way to the property."

Henriksen held back his grimace. Held back the groan too, as he shared an even tighter smile with the woman who seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Maybe she was more than competent for a small town sheriff. He stood by his behavior, but it was possible he could have caught more flies with honey than vinegar this go around. Oh well, you couldn't win them all.

"Not necessary, Ma'am. That's what GPS is for."

Her return smile mirrored his own almost down to a tee; Sheriff Mills knew exactly how unwanted she was on this trip, and now Agent Henriksen knew exactly how swayed she was by that information. Which was to say, not at all.

"My town, my town drunk. After you, Agent."

Victor ground his teeth, but didn't fight. She did, technically, have jurisdiction and he couldn't fault her nerve, cheeky though it may be. For now, at least. They headed out of the station together, Victor climbing into his rental and Sheriff Mills into her jeep. She pulled out of the parking lot first, the FBI agent following begrudgingly behind.

-o-o-o-

Andy came barreling down the stairs, two at a time with Sarge hot on his heels, when Bobby trudged through the front door. The old hunter was tired and in need of a shower and his own damn bed after two days on a hunt in North Dakota that had gotten him home way too damn early in the morning. He shoulda just forked over the cash to spend another night at that crap motel.

Damn Wendigoes. He was getting too old for flamethrowers, super speed, and ancient mattresses that more closely resembled stone than anything soft.

"Alright, alright, I see you," Bobby grumbled and grumped to both kid and dog, each vying for his attention. Andy was waving something in his face, hands moving a mile a minute with the old hunter only catching half of what he was saying. Sarge was sniffing up and down his pant leg for all the post-hunt smells he was sure to be carrying. Bobby jostled his leg when that long snout went a little too high and a lot too inward for the comfort of any man. "Let me set my damn bag down first."

Both strays followed him into the den, where he dumped his duffles, one full dirt-smeared, sweat-soaked clothes, the other clanking with empty gas canisters from his now-spent, homemade flamethrowers. Finally, with the deep breath of a parent who knows better than to expect a quiet house or restful afternoon, the old man turned to kid and dog.

Bobby sank onto the couch, arms already open to receive the long snout and wiggly body that filled his hands. At the same time, he met Andy's barely-patient gaze and nodded for the kid – vibrating with energy trying to keep in whatever it was he had to say – to begin.

'Okay, so get this…' is how it started, before Andy dug a hand into his hoodie's pocket, fisting whatever was in there and then holding it out towards Bobby. At the same time, the kid switched from ASL to speaking straight into the man's head, pictogram edition.

The old hunter, who had no clue where this was going as the images frankly made as much sense as some of the kid's pre-mute ramblings, held out his hand. The ancient coin, hand-pressed metal warmed from Andy's palm, fell heavy into Bobby's own. The images assaulting his brain finally stopped.

It took him a moment, transferring raised brows from the coin to the kid, before he realized Andy was grinning. He gestured at the coin, like Bobby was supposed to be understanding something he clearly wasn't. When the old hunter kept on staring, Andy sighed dramatically and darted forward to scoop the Persian sleep coin out of Bobby's hand.

The kid's brain images immediately started up again, so suddenly that Bobby actually winced, something he hadn't done since the early days of Andy's gift.

"What the-"

The assault ended as abruptly as it began once the weight of old coin fell into his palm again.

Bobby stared down at the charmed chunk of metal, realization settling in his abused brain. He looked back up at Andy, who was grinning widely now, nodding along with Bobby's assumption. He held two thumbs up, his equivalent of 'Cool, right?'

"Huh. I'll be damned." The hunter looked down at the coin again, flipping it in his palm to briefly inspect it. "How'd you figure that one out?"

The silence – in hand language, mind language, and even friggin' body language – tipped Bobby off to the answer of that question long before Andy came up with a good lie.

"You didn't," Bobby growled, eyes narrowing on the already guilty looking kid, who most definitely had. The only way to find out you had a magical telepathy-blocking coin – and Andy sure as shit had been more than confident in that theory, enough so that it wasn't a theory anymore – was to test it on someone.

The brat had gone to town while Bobby was off on a hunt and tested his theory. Which was- it was-

"Of all the hair-brained, idiotic, stupid things you could risk!" Bobby hollered, chasing the kid out of the den as Andy took off running like a friggin cartoon. Sarge went barking after them, agreeing that yes, it was a good time for a game of chase. "Of all the idjits I deal with on a daily basis, you have got to be the biggest, most-"

A knock on the front door – firm and demanding enough to break through the chaos – halted all two legged participants. Sarge crashed into Bobby, who 'oof!'ed into Andy, before the German Shepherd was bounding over to the door instead with insistent, alerting barks. To let the humans know someone was there. Obviously.

"Alright, alright, enough," Bobby grumbled towards the dog, who immediately silenced. Sarge obediently settled on his haunches, staring intently up at the doorknob with just enough head tilt to be unfairly adorable (in the opinion of all two legged participants). He sat, steadily awaiting the moment his human would open the door and reveal their newest (soon-to-be-licked-and-smelled-intently) house guest. "Move, you dingus."

Sarge shuffled a foot and a half to the side, never completely leaving his sat position, so Bobby could open the door. Andy was walking up on his right, running-for-his-life temporarily forgotten, when the old hunter turned the knob. Lucky for both of them – or perhaps it was some sort of exceedingly helpful divine intervention – Andy was blocked from sight by the width of the wood swinging back as Bobby Singer opened his front door to reveal one Agent Victor Henriksen, standing on his front step, Sheriff Mills just behind him.

Bobby kept the door tucked tight to his frame, hand gesturing frantically at Andy to get the hell back, further out of sight, while his face betrayed nothing. "Sheriff. Mr…?"

"Agent," Victor corrected with a bland smile that was anything but friendly. He flashed his badge. "Henriksen, with the FBI."

Behind the door, Andy backed himself right up to the wall, eyes impossibly wide. He hadn't really been with-it enough to see or hear the FBI agent that had chased them out of that Sturgis hospital three months ago, but he sure as shit recognized that name.

They were so, so screwed.

"Can I help you with something, Agent?" Bobby asked, tone not particularly welcoming but not outright defensive either. Just a grumpy man annoyed to be bothered at his home.

"I think you probably can," Henriksen answered, and though the words themselves might have been innocuous enough, Bobby could hear the threat behind them. "I'm looking for the Winchesters, Mr. Singer."

"John Winchester?" the old hunter replied, raising his eyebrows. "Haven't heard from him in years."

"And his sons?"

Bobby stared at the agent, letting the silence stretch between them. Let the FBI agent draw his own conclusions about what that silence meant. Andy, on the other hand, was pretty sure he was going to have a heart attack tucked behind the door. There was no way Agent Henriksen would miss the sound of his heart beating itself straight through his ribs like a battering ram.

"What's this about, Agent?" Bobby finally asked, words drawn with caution. Henrisken just smiled. It was not a comforting gesture. Not that it was intended to be.

"I'm sure you're aware that Dean and Sam Winchester are wanted fugitives."

It wasn't a question. Bobby raised his eyebrows.

"Hadn't heard."

"No?" The FBI agent was absolutely faking surprise. Even Andy, tucked behind a door and struggling to hear the conversation over his own panic, could tell.

The old home owner harrumphed. "We ain't exactly pen pals, Agent."

"What are you, then?" Henriksen countered without missing a beat. "What exactly is your relationship with the Winchesters, Mr. Singer?"

Behind the FBI agent, Sheriff Mills was watching Bobby with a neutral expression. He resisted glancing her way. The two were hardly on good terms. Jody put up with a lot of the crap that came with having a hunter in her town and not knowing it. For the most part, she assumed Bobby Singer was a harmless low-grade pain in her ass that could be largely left to his own devices. An assumption which had been working just fine for the old hunter over the last half decade Jody had been in charge. He was not looking forward to a shift in that arrangement, damnit.

"They're clients," he answered with a one-shoulder shrug, his other side pressed against the door. He'd kept his hand on the inside knob, in case he needed to signal Andy, and was using his body to more or less block Agent Henriksen's view into his house. Not that there was anything to see but Sarge sitting to his left. At this point, though, Bobby wasn't taking any chances.

"Of your automotive business?" The skepticism in Henriksen's tone was so thick it was insulting. Bobby didn't hide what he thought about that.

"Yeah, when they're passing through and need it. But I got a side business, selling occult shit," he growled. Sheriff Mill's eyebrows rose, but she otherwise stayed a quiet bystander. "Their daddy used to come to me for books and the occasional trinket. Guess he passed the word onto his boys."

"Hm," the agent hummed and there wasn't a single person witness to that conversation that thought he believed the old man. "And I'm sure these trinkets are all legal?"

Bobby rolled his eyes for show, but he didn't have to summon up much acting for the performance. "It's antiques and herbs, Agent. You can get half of it on the internet these days. Hell, most of the plants you can get at a damn nursery, so long as you're willing to dry 'em yourself. Not that I tell any of my clients that."

Behind the door, Andy spared a moment – in between bouts of pure panic, mind you – to applaud Bobby for how damn good an actor he was. Though, really, he hadn't done much lying at all. Easiest lie to sell was one closest to the truth, he supposed.

"Mind showing us some of this 'occult' side business of yours?"

Andy stiffened. Henriksen was vying to get into the house. Shit! He glanced around, trying to figure out if he could bolt for the panic room without being seen. His eyes caught on Sarge, sitting just to Bobby's left, waiting patiently to greet the visitors. Son of a bitch, even if Andy could get away, Sarge would just follow him, probably alerting their guests to his presence in the house.

Shit, shit, shit!

"Sure do," Bobby countered immediately, gruff turned up to eleven. He kept his body language surprisingly at ease, however, careful not to pull the door any tighter to his side. They'd be royally screwed if he gave Henriksen even a hint that there was something in that house worth hiding. Let alone that it was hiding less than a foot from the door. "Unless you got a warrant."

Agent Henriksen chuckled. "You have something to hide, Mr. Singer?"

"Sure do," he repeated with no less gruff this time, but a heck of a lot more sarcasm. "And I'm going to keep hiding it right behind this door and my civil rights. You want the tour, show me a warrant. Now, you want something else or can I get back to watching Oprah?"

Andy actually had to slap a hand over his mouth to avoid the burst of laughter that unexpectedly bubbled up. Not that any noise would have come out (surprise silver lining to being mute? Makes you great at hiding. Andy was a true ninja these days. At least in his mind), but it was more of a gut reaction to Bobby sassing the FBI.

The huff of a not-laugh that Henriksen let out was somehow still terrifying. "Nah, that'll be all for today. I'm sure now that you've been informed the Winchesters are fugitives, you won't be entertaining them as 'clients' again?"

"Taking a phone callain't harboring or abetting, Agent Henriksen," Bobby responded with narrowed eyes. "Unless the laws changed lately?"

The smile the FBI agent returned was all teeth. "Just be sure to call when they plan their next shopping trip." He handed over a crisp, white business card that Bobby snatched with little patience. "Not reporting the location of a known fugitive is accessory after the fact and I will haul your ass to jail. Have a good day, Mr. Singer."

Bobby shut the door on the FBI agent's retreating figure and an unhappy looking Jody Mills. He didn't move from the doorway, just looked to his right to share a wide-eyed, relieved breath with Andy, who'd been trapped behind the door for the entire length of conversation. Every awkward, hair-raising minute of it.

'Holy shit,' Andy signed immediately. 'Holy shit!'

"Well, balls," the old hunter muttered alongside one hell of a sigh. "We better let the boys know."

The words were not five seconds past his lips – Andy already pulling his cell out of his hoodie pocket – when Sarge started barking. Both hunters jumped at the loud, unexpected noise, before another knock, sharper and more demanding, sounded on the front door once more.

-o-o-o-

Jody had turned away from Robert Singer's closed door and followed after the FBI agent. Henriksen was already to his car, pulling open the driver's side door. The sheriff realized his business here was concluded and he didn't plan on sticking around past that. On to the next town's residents to harass, she supposed. But what did she know, she was just a small town sheriff, not someone the FBI had time for.

With a hand on her hip and Henriksen just about to climb into his car, Jody asked, "You got enough for a warrant?"

Translation: Should I expect my town to be graced by your sunny disposition anytime soon?

The Agent paused, putting his hand on top of the door and regarding her across from it. Jody wondered if he'd forgotten she was even there. After a moment, Henriksen shook his head. "Nah, nothing a judge would buy off on. This was more about shaking branches and hoping something worthwhile fell out."

Jody was surprised by the honesty. She debated for half a second before opting to push her luck. "You think Bobby Singer could be harboring a fugitive?"

The sheriff couldn't help the glance over her shoulder back at Singer's house. Harmless, that's what she'd called him. Not because he was incapable of violence – no, she knew he had at least two firearms on property (legally registered, of course) and a mean right hook according to several bar fights over the years. But he'd never been disrespectful toward her or her people in any of their interactions, never violent or volatile when brought in, even after a nasty altercation with another drunk or loud mouth. Bobby Singer was harmless in her book because every time she talked to him, gruff as he might be, Jody only saw a broken, hurting man who was lonely.

Having the kid around had been good for him, she'd thought. Hoped. No, she'd known having Andy around would be good for the old man.

Except for the part where said kid was apparently a wanted man running around with a pair that was even worse. Jody bit back the sigh at how complicated things had just gotten in her town.

"Don't know," Henriksen answered her question with a shrug, as if it didn't really matter one way or another. It probably didn't, Jody suspected. This FBI Agent didn't seem the type to be discouraged by a lead not panning out. He'd catch the Winchesters one way or another, whether Bobby Singer was involved or not.

"It's possible he doesn't know who they really are. The Winchesters charm a lot of people, Sheriff. Hell, half their victims claim they're good people. Heroes, even." Henriksen snorted, shaking his head at the gall of some criminals. "I don't think it's a crime to fall for that. Doesn't make Singer a bad man. But it does make him a thorn in my side."

With that, the FBI agent sank into the front seat. Knowing their conversation was over, Jody didn't bother with any more questions about his case. Instead, she came to stand by the still open door. "You need a guide back into town?"

Henriksen declined, as she figured he would, and shut his door. He reversed away from the main house before turning his rental car around and heading for the gate of Singer Salvage. Jody watched him leave, brow slowly furling as she thought about everything she'd learned in the last hour about her supposed town drunk.

With a frown, she turned to Bobby Singer's house and stalked back up those steps.

-o-o-o-

Bobby shoved the kid away from the front door at the same time Andy scrambled back into his protective corner, making for somewhat of a scramble between the two. As he silenced Sarge's barking with a single hand motion, the old hunter leveled one hell of a warning look Andy's way before wrapping his hand around the doorknob.

Like Andy needed the reminder to stay hidden. Him, the wanted felon.

"Alright, Bobby," Sheriff Mills said loudly as he swung the door open. She had one hand on hip and a tone that sounded about ten seconds away from murdering them both. "Where's the kid and what the hell is going on?"

Bobby settled on the most neutral expression he could muster as his brain raced through possible answers. He could tell her the kid had moved on, or wasn't here at the moment, or play especially dumb and ask what kid (that was, admittedly, more of a Dean move and not one Bobby thought he could pull off, let alone get away with). He'd just settled on stalling – the kid's not here at the moment – when Andy friggin' stepped out from behind the door.

So much for staying hidden.

To add insult to injury, the kid gave Sheriff Mills a sheepish wave. Bobby very seriously considered shoving him back behind the door. It wouldn't get them out of the monumental shitstorm he'd just stepped them into, but it would be cathartic. Bobby settled for a glare that could make even monsters turn tail and run instead.

The damn Jedi was, of course, immune to such a stare.

"Get in here, Sheriff, before Henriksen decides to come back for round two," Bobby practically growled, for lack of anything better to say.

It wasn't like he could defend himself or Andy in this situation. Jody surely knew the kid wasn't just an urchin in need of a place to stay anymore. No doubt by her tone, she now knew he was a wanted fugitive – despite Henriksen conveniently leaving him out of their friendly little chat – and she would now be obligated to report his location. They were already screwed, might as well be inside and warm while they were at it.

The raised eyebrows were not particularly amused, but Sheriff Mills did step inside the house and allow Bobby to close the door behind her. The hands remained on her hips, though, and even Andy winced at the clear tension in the small foyer.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?" she asked, gaze aimed at Bobby first before turning to Andy. "And you, you're wanted by the FBI? Why?"

The kid exchanged a hesitant glance with Bobby before the hands started up in a flurry of motion. In her spare time – mostly at the office between paperwork and field calls – Jody had been trying her hand (no pun intended) at a little ASL. But she wasn't all that far along yet and Andy was moving much too quickly for her to keep track of any of it.

"Andy, slow down-" She was already shaking her head when he dropped his hands, looking particularly despondent. It didn't matter how angry she was, the kid just tugged at that certain, mom-based heartstring within her. Jody sighed, reaching for the pad and pen at her hip, when Andy raised a hand, curled in a fist with his pointer finger straight out, and dragged it across his neck.

Jody stared. She blinked. She stared some more. "You…you killed someone?"

That couldn't be right. Not this kid. This kid who had first held open a store door for her with a flourish of a bow. Who was a total goofball and texted with the cheesiest code words he could come up with. Who'd gotten a lonely old man a dog because his last had passed away.

This kid was a sweetheart. And Jody prided herself on being a pretty darn good judge of character. No way he was a murderer.

"Does Andy look like a killer to you, Sheriff?" Bobby interrupted, his voice low with something Jody might have called a warning, except she wasn't getting any threatening vibe off him. Just a protective one, she realized.

The kid, however, looked away and Jody knew guilt when she saw it. Jody sighed, having more questions now than when she'd first stepped into the house. She pulled the pad and pen off her hip fully this time. "Andy, what happened? The truth."

Bobby went to answer the question, but she immediately held up a hand. "In his words, Singer."

"The boy can't talk, Sheriff-"

Andy accepted the pad and pen readily. Bobby watched the item exchange hands like it was a ticking time bomb. And it very well could be. He couldn't tell Andy what to write – not to incriminate himself – and he was worried the kid didn't understand how much trouble they were in. The Sheriff had to report them. She didn't have any other choice, and there was nothing they could do or say to talk her out of that responsibility. The more Andy confessed, the deeper the hole he dug, no matter his good intention.

But keeping Andy from being honest and open was like asking water not to be wet.

He ripped off the top three pages and handed them to the Sheriff. Bobby stretched his neck trying to read it in transit, not that it got him much, before Jody started going through them, line after line of brutal honesty. Andy hadn't held back anything. He'd explained the situation in Guthry, how his long lost twin brother had shown up, integrated himself into Andy's life, killed their birth mother, father, and the delivery doctor. Then he'd set his sights on Tracy. Andy had tried to stop him, and when he'd failed, he'd killed Weber in a blind rage. Then he'd ran, knowing how it would look to the cops. The Winchesters and Bobby had taken him in, knowing he wasn't the murderer the police said he was. At least…not the cold-blooded one.

Jody looked up, staring into those wide, honest eyes and trying to ignore the light sheen across them. Andy wasn't playing her, she knew just from his open expression. He was upset, and who could blame him. What the sheriff held in her hands was a horror story.

"Was it self-defense?" she finally asked, voice quiet. She was giving Andy a chance, an out. The kid, God love him, hesitated and then shrugged. This boy was physically incapable of not being honest.

He put the pen back to the pad in his hand, then held up the page when he was done.

'He needed to be stopped.'

Bobby closed his eyes briefly, knowing what the kid was trying to say, even if he knew Andy shouldn't say it aloud. Not to a cop. Weber hadn't been attacking him at the time, so Andy couldn't say the kill hadn't been about revenge. About anger and hurt. But it had also been fear, certainly. Fear of what Webber would do next.

Jody let out a breath of air, but just nodded. It was unclear what her own take away was. Not that Bobby could do anything about it either way. No, he could only hope and pray that Andy wasn't confessing away every last ounce of freedom he had left.

"And the Winchesters?"

The kid went back to writing furiously, and Bobby frowned. He already knew Andy would defend those boys so much more than he'd ever defend himself. Andy's last name might not legally be Winchester, but damn if he didn't fit right in with those brothers.

He handed a single page over, flapping it impatiently as if every second delayed was a second Jody thought the Winchesters murderous monsters, and Andy couldn't stand for that.

"'They're good,'" Jody read aloud, eyebrows betraying the skepticism she mostly kept out of her tone. "'I know what the FBI says about them, but it's not true.'"

The sheriff shifted her doubting gaze over to Bobby, and the old hunter just harrumphed.

"What did you come back here for, Sheriff?" he growled, gesturing to Andy. "Why ask the boy if you're not gonna give what he's got to say a chance?"

Jody didn't have an answer for that, the disbelief in her expression replaced by a frown. What had she come into the house for, if not answers?

Andy was gesturing for their attention, and he scribbled something down quickly before holding it up.

'I can prove it.'

It was Bobby's brows that climbed this time. What the hell did that mean? The kid couldn't possibly mean-

Images assaulted his brain before he could finish thinking the unthinkable, let alone tell the idiot behind that unthinkable thought not to even think about doing what he was thinking about doing. Beside him, Jody gasped in surprise and probably pain, hand shooting to her head as a headache blossomed among images of vampires, ghosts, and a crossroad demon in a devil's trap.

That stupid, suicidal, psychic idjit!

Bobby slapped the Persian Sleep Coin that he hadn't given back to the kid yet right into Jody Mills' hand and, before she could fully register what was going on (or why her head was suddenly perfectly clear when she'd sworn there'd been pain and weird, misplaced thoughts a second ago), hauled Andy several feet away.

"Are you insane?" Bobby hissed, though he might as well be hollering given his tone. Andy actually tried to take a step back from the vitriol, but the old hunter kept a tight grip on his arm. "We don't tell civilians the truth!"

Images crossed through his mind, the equivalent of which was, 'She deserves to know.'

"No, kid, she don't. No one deserves that burden!" Bobby shook his head at the same time he shook Andy by the bicep. "Don't you get it? It ain't a truth, it's hell, and knowing about it just ruins people's lives."

The hurt in Andy's eyes was the first clue that Bobby had said too much. He released the kid, looking away and awkwardly clearing his throat – and the emotion there – away. Problem was, he wasn't wrong. Nothing good ever came from learning about the things that went bump in the night. Not for him, not for the Winchesters, not for Andy. Their lives were hell, and they spent every day just muddling through.

Bobby wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not Jody Mills, not Victor Henriksen. Not anybody. Let them be ignorant, but that much happier. That much less afraid.

"You fix it," the old hunter growled, aware that Sheriff Mills was trying to interject – it's not like she couldn't hear them, after all, they were only half a dozen feet away from her – but he ignored her attempts. "You make her forget all this. Forget that she was ever here, that you're wanted by the FBI. Make her forget it, kid."

If he'd hurt Andy before, Bobby knew what he'd just told the kid to do would hurt a hell of a lot worse. The pain, betrayal, and anger that flitted through Andy's eyes sure hurt like hell for Bobby, but he wouldn't take the request back.

'You mean control her,' Andy signed, the rage making his hands shake and the signs sloppy.

Bobby winced. He'd known the request wasn't a kind one, wasn't one Andy would view favorably, but he hadn't meant for it to be… to be like what the kid's brother had done. This wasn't the same…right?

"Kid, she has to report you to the authorities. It's her job!"

"Hey, 'she' is right here, gentlemen!"

Both men ignored the Sheriff, Bobby hoping he could get through to the kid and Andy almost shaking with rage. It was a mistake, it turned out, as neither man saw her angrily place the coin (which had, for some reason she wasn't particularly aware of, appeared in her hand at some point) onto the entryway table and storm towards them. Which was right when Andy all but exploded.

"You mean control her!" he signed again but, more than that, he yelled. Bobby winced, shutting one eye as he pressed a hand to his temple. The words – spoken clear as day, no picture edition this time – echoed through his skull painfully.

Jody drew up short, holding onto her head, sure, but more than anything stunned. The kid was supposed to be mute, but he'd definitely just opened his mouth and sound had come out. Loudly. Only, that wasn't quite right, and something in Jody instinctively knew it. For starters, the kid hadn't opened his mouth. And Jody knew the difference between hearing something and…whatever it was that had just happened.

"What…" she stood there, still stunned, and stared at the two men. But neither one was paying any attention to her. Andy was still shaking, furious. And then he didn't open his mouth, didn't move his lips, but his voice – or someone's voice – kept right on going.

"That isn't my choice to make!" he shouted, gesturing with hands that were still signing, though just barely, in his anger and distraction. There was a sheen to his eyes that threatened tears, and that damn near broke Bobby's heart. "I'm not Weber! Don't ever ask me to do something he'd do!"

"Kid-" The old hunter's voice was resigned, hand still pressed against his pounding head, but Andy wasn't hearing him.

"She deserves to know the truth. The truth about me,' Andy pressed a hand to his chest, 'and the truth about Sam and Dean!"

"What the hell is going on?" Jody finally snapped, yelling loudly to interrupt the- the- whatever the hell was happening in front of her. And in her head. Or. Something. She really wasn't ready to think about that part yet. "What truth?"

Both men froze at her loud, demanding interruption. Slowly, they turned towards her, Andy blinking in surprise before his expression became nothing short of stricken. As if he'd only just realized what he'd been doing. What he'd been…shouting. Bobby, on the other hand, zeroed in on the coin, sitting useless on the table several feet behind the Sheriff.

"Damnit," he muttered, that same defeat in his tone, only this time tilting towards anger. So much for keeping her out of it, he supposed. Andy had forced their hand with that fit, and there was no backing out now.

Not unless he wanted to bully the poor kid into breaking his moral code. Something Andy clearly felt a lot stronger about than even Bobby had known. It had been stupid of him to ask the kid to do it. No, not stupid. Desperate.

Bobby dropped his arms. Well, shit.

Andy sniffed, raising a hand to wipe his sleeve under his nose and dab at his eyes as fast as he could. Then he started scribbling in the Sheriff's pad again. When he held it up, there were just two words written there.

'I'm psychic.'

Sheriff Mills just stared at it. Bobby sighed, pulled his cap off his head to run a hand through his thinning hair, then resettled the cap.

"Balls," he muttered under his breath before taking a deeper one and launching into the explanation that would take Andy far too long to write down. And Lord knew they did not need a repeat performance of whatever had allowed the boy to speak directly in their minds, sans surrogate images. "The kid used to be able to control people with just his voice. Until someone took that away."

Andy cupped a self-conscious hand over his ever-bandaged throat. The doctors had done a fairly good job patching up his neck, but the damage Scott Carey had done while trying to save his life was not easily hidden. It wasn't like he had the money or luxury of going back for skin grafts to cover up the mangled, burned flesh he'd walked away with. So Andy kept the area covered with a couple layers of gauze at all times. If nothing else, to avoid having to answer questions about the horrific injury. And maybe to make it a little easier to see himself in a mirror in the morning.

Jody was watching him carefully, that caring mother currently at war with the competent law enforcement officer. "Is…. Does that have to do with why you're wanted by the FBI?"

Andy just shrugged and the weight that had been not-so-slowly forming in Jody's gut over the last ten minutes got a lot heavier. He sent Bobby a quick side glance. Permission to take over any time, the hunter figured with a huff.

"Got nothing to do with the warrant. Though his asshat of a brother could do what Andy can. And it's how he got the kid's girl to kill herself." Andy's head dropped at that, avoiding everyone's eyes. "What got him on the FBI's radar was his association with the boys."

"The Winchesters," Jody clarified almost immediately, and Bobby nodded.

Andy was shaking his head and waving his hands immediately, though, and started writing again. He held the pad up.

'They're not the bad guys.'

Bobby let out a huff of air, having no real idea how to explain this situation to the Sheriff. He knew how he'd explain it to a civilian, but they had a whole lot less responsibility when it came to the law than Jody Mills did.

"Sam and Dean ain't what the FBI says they are," he started, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking for the world like he wished he had a time machine to get him out of this conversation.

'You can come help anytime now, Feathers' he thought, mostly sarcastically. It wasn't like they could ask their resident angel to just hop back a couple minutes in time to avoid a bad conversation. That would probably be a major waste of resources. And he'd have to deal with Dean's pissy face and lecture afterward.

Bobby didn't do lectures unless he was the one giving them.

"There's a lot of shit out there that goes bump in the night. With psychics falling at about a one on the scary and dangerous scale, Sheriff."

Jody Mills just stared. Bobby wasn't sure if she was believing any of it. Though Andy had given her quite the demonstration of proof, whether he'd meant to or not.

"Those boys, they help people. They save 'em." At an enthusiastic gesture of agreement from Andy, Bobby added, "They saved Andy. We can explain it all, if you want-"

The sheriff stopped him before he could get started with one raised hand. "I, uh, think psychics and telepathy is about as much as I can handle for one day."

Another huff of air passed Bobby's lips, but at least she wasn't outright arresting them both. That had to be something. Andy, on the other hand, immediately donned a pout and Bobby wanted to grab him by the arms again to give him another good shake. Jody, however, just sighed when she caught sight of it. The mom was winning out over the officer of the law, and she just knew it was going to mean a mountain of paperwork for her.

Jody gestured to the pad still gripped in his hand with a resigned sort of look that guaranteed she'd regret this. Andy wasted no time.

'Monsters are real. We hunt them.'

At least until someone took him out of the game, which Andy added on with a shrug and a gesture at his neck. Had taken away his psychic powers, Jody realized, putting two and two together in a way that she hadn't previously in this conversation. Someone had tried to take away his…telepathy. Or whatever it was.

'Not very successfully,' she thought to herself, still remembering that spike of pain through her head as she heard Andy's…well, not his voice but, er, him. Caught up in the weirdness that was finding a noun for a telepathic voice, Jody flinched when her brain caught up to the critical thought she'd just had, realizing how cruel it had actually been.

She remembered when Andy first arrived in town. She'd seen the faded bruises, the cuts and stitches and bandages. He had been a wreck, and she remembered thinking that someone put that kid through Hell. They'd been plenty successful at hurting him, regardless of how he – or his, um, powers – had adapted.

'Jesus,' Jody thought, glancing down at the pages she still held in her hands. He hadn't just been through hell with one person, this kid had been attacked by someone who was supposed to be a brother, who'd killed his girlfriend in front of him, all but framed him for the murder and ruined his life. That was well before anyone had taken his voice away.

This was all too much. It was too much to take in, too much to process in such a short amount of time. Psychics and monsters and murderers who were actually heroes? And she hadn't even approached the part where she was a damn Sheriff of the law standing in front of a known fugitive. This was too much all at once.

"We can probably prove it if you need us to," Bobby was saying, and Jody looked over at him with wide eyes. She wasn't sure how long he'd been talking, but he was serious. About proving to her that…monsters existed.

The images that had popped into her brain earlier – strange memories, almost, that definitely weren't hers and nothing she could recall seeing before from a movie or anything – came back now. Monsters. A thing with inhuman, pointed teeth, a woman with blood red eyes who'd thrown up black smoke.

They were talking about monsters. Vampires and ghosts and demons.

'Jesus', Jody repeated to herself, eyes only getting wider. She could feel her heart rate picking up, the blood in her veins starting to pulse with an edge of panic. Jody tried to shove it down, the freak-out building along the peripheral.

"I…this is too much," she admitted, raising her hands as if to stop them from adding any more onto it. "I-I need…"

She didn't even know what she needed.

Jody sucked in a deep breath, commanding herself to get a grip. Calm down. Process. After several deep breaths, she managed to look at both men once more. They were staring back with a mix of trepidation and anticipation. She put a hand on her belt, the other asking for her pad and pen back. Andy dutifully tucked the pen back into the little holder attached to the pad and handed it to her.

"I am going to leave," she announced firmly, and Bobby gave her an unimpressed look. Like they might have dared keep her there. "And I am going to…think over everything that…happened here."

"And Andy?" Bobby pressed, earning himself an admonishing glare for his lack of patience. Or tact.

"I don't know, Bobby," Jody snapped back, losing a bit of that calm she'd managed to pull over her internal freak out. "I'm obligated to take him in if he's standing right in front of me. Which is why I'm leaving and I will figure this all out…somewhere else."

Because it was all too much, and she needed space to think. The way Andy's shoulders sagged but he immediately nodded with understanding, sympathetic eyes was not helping.

"I will be back," she promised, though it was more of a threat. Whether she meant it to be or not…even she didn't know. "Tomorrow. Until then, you better both stay right here, in this house, and not even think about leaving town."

The 'or so help me' might not have been put into words, but it was heard loud and clear by both men. And probably even the dog, still sitting patiently to Bobby's left, ears perked up and listening. Andy nodded and actually drew a cross over his heart, dear lord. Bobby just rolled his eyes, which Jody decided she didn't see because she didn't have the bandwidth to smack that man upside the head at the moment.

Or deal with the paperwork that would come from unnecessary rough handling of a citizen. Even if that citizen was a suspect. Instigator. Associate. Whatever.

And then Jody Mills turned and walked out the door, down the steps, and climbed back into her jeep without a backwards glance. As if she hadn't just had her brain attacked by a psychic, learned that monsters were apparently real, or that two certifiably insane people lived in her town and they were both wanted by the FBI for one reason or another.

Jody put the car into drive and pulled out of Singer Salvage.

-o-o-o-

Bobby closed the door, caught between a thoughtful frown and an angry frown. Or so Andy thought of the old man's grumpy facial expression (also known as a frown) when he turned to him.

"That was a reckless move," Bobby immediately chastised, grump getting grumpier.

Andy didn't let it get to him. He could be angry at himself plenty for what had happened with Jody. He'd never meant to…. He'd told himself when he started playing with his new mental ability that he'd never let the telepathy form into words. Words could control people, images left room for interpretation.

And yet.

'What's done is done,' he signed to Bobby, feeling a lot less confident and calm than his hands portrayed.

"Ya damn idjit," Bobby muttered as he pulled out his phone and hit Dean's speed dial. He walked away from Andy, headed for the den as the phone rang and rang. Sarge, who'd left the foyer shortly after the last of their visitors had left without showering him in pets or treats, picked his head up from his spot on the couch. Bobby gave the dog a passing pet, frowning at his phone as it went to voicemail. He hung up and called Sam, only to get the same result. "When you'd last hear from them, kid?"

Andy, who'd followed after him at a slower pace, shrugged from the open doorway. He leaned against the frame, pulling his phone out as well. With one hand, he signed that the last text was from two days ago.

"Well shit," Bobby mumbled, trying Dean again. They hadn't been on anything noteworthy that the old hunter could recall. Nothing those boys couldn't handle alone.

The ringing switched to voicemail once more. That wasn't good.

'Time to call Cas?' Andy's signing caught Bobby's attention, and the old hunter's frown deepened. Even the kid looked worried now, and he'd just faced down both an FBI Agent and the implosion of his current life situation.

Still, their angelic trump card felt drastic. The boys could be interviewing a witness or actively on the hunt. They might not be able to answer their phones at all. Hell, this could all be a carefully constructed trap by Henriksen to get them to call the Winchesters. Not that Bobby was really buying any of that. Those brothers were a magnet for trouble. And pretty good about answering their phones, especially after repeat calls that usually suggested urgency.

Balls.

Bobby turned back to his phone, holding down his third speed dial.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/Ns: Alrighty! Two important plot pieces indeed (well, one is what Henriksen will do from here on out, but I couldn't actually fit his post Harrassing-Bobby actions into this chapter. Just know, it's an important plot piece :D) But more importantly! Jody is IN THE KNOW. Red alert, Jody Mills just got THE TALK and it is not gonna go well, because when does the talk ever go well? At least her son isn't a zombie yet...right? Right? Anybody? Are those silver-lined crickets I hear in the background?

Update Warning: For anyone who skipped the opening notes, I am going to take a break from posting for a couple months. I know, I know, what on earth has the past couple months been, Silence? The important difference here is that while the last months have been me wallowing away in a writing rut (hey, it's my writing rut and I can cry if I want to), this break is going to have purpose! Or...so I'm planning, at least. I'm going to start stockpiling chapters again, rather than post as I write them. The encouragement and feedback I get from you all enjoying a chapter is what spurs me on to write the next one with some scary relentlessness, actually. Without me posting regularly, I'm not getting that encouragement high regularly, and it's taken me this long to realize omg, guys, without it I just don't write. [insert facepalm here] I mean, I know I've said it a dozen times before, but I also...I dunno, kind of hoped it was just the covid and the quarantine and the change in the world and my different/new routine causing it? SIGH.

Anyway, I'm gonna take that break so that when I do start posting again it will be with regularity again. Which I'm super excited about, no matter how long it takes me to get there. As mentioned in the starting A/Ns, my goal is to get all of season 2 finished up before you hear from me again. In my head, that's only 10 chapters from now!

...Which means I'lll write ten chapters, still be a good 20 from the finale, totally give up due to impatience, and start posting again ;D

See you all in, like, 10 chapters! ;P

Love you all very, very much and appreciate you all even more,

Silence

P.S. Aaaaaaand the spacebar just broke on my laptop. Like, literally while typing 'love you all' Even though this laptop is already missing four other keys (and has been for years) and all my friends laugh at me and ask why I haven't just gotten a new one yet, I don't think I can push on without the spacebar X_X Guess it's time for that new laptop afterall [facepalm]

P.P.S. Also, update on a Monday you may ask? Yup, that's right! Because I got totally distracted with my almost-done-with-this-cold deep cleaning that I always do (I got covid TT_TT - it's actually my third cold in four weeks. Apparently, I don't know how to properly give myself rest and time to recover, so I just kept getting new colds, and the last one was finally the Vid [insert facepalm here]) Anyway, I got distracted forgot I was planning on posting -_- So Monday post it is! And yes, I am writing all of this with no spacebar, using my pointer finger to push that stupid little nub under where the key usually is. -_- It's going great over here, guys ;P

UPDATE 09/01/23 - Hi everybody! I'm alive!! (And also haven't given up on this story!). I owe you guys a heck of a story considering I fell off the face of the earth for six months. So, the first review asking for a profile update came five months ago, and I thought, "yes! That's a great idea. I should update my profile. I will absolutely do that. Tomorrow."

And that went on for five months . I am so sorry for that! I definitely link updating-my-profile with not-updating-the-story, and not-updating-the-story with failure/letting you all down. Which I know, not true. You all have been nothing but supportive of the breaks I have had to take during this story, especially before COVID, and then very much with the last couple years of general upsidedown-ness that was COVID, COVID fallout and then COVID recovery.

Long story short (too late) you all have been super understanding, yet I still have some guilt-driven hold up in my mind about providing a profile update instead of a story update

So, sorry about that, and also: profile update!

Two weeks after I posted the last chapter and said I needed to take a break to write

..my landlord served me an eviction notice . He wanted to move his daughter into my unit. He did have to pay me a very nice relocation fee to do that, but ugh. Renter shopping always sucks, but add to it LA and a 60 day deadline? FML, April and May sucked. Aaanyhoo, I did find myself a new place, but moving was hell! Fun fact: all of my moves leading up to this one have been from a college mindset (I am broke and own nothing) to a expat mindset (I will eventually leave this country and return home, so only buy what you're willing to move). When I moved to LA, both of those mindsets ended. And it was COVID, and retail therapy is a thing for me . Which means, between those two realizations, I became a friggin hoarder, y'all! This move was SO PAINFUL. I was used to not-really-an-adult-yet moving. I LIED to myself and thought, "how much more stuff can it possibly be?"

Anyway! I finally, in the last month, got my house feeling livable. In the meantime, work imploded, I lost all my routines (which kept the depression at bay) aaaaand I fell into a depression without actually realizing that was what was happening.

Good news? I am starting to pull out of it! Guys, guys, guys, I'm WRITING. LIKE, A LOT. I'm only three chapters in, but they're friggin long ass chapters (because of course they are -_-) and all I wanna do is write right now. I make no promises of 'being back' but it's totally what it feels like!!!

No formal commitment to when I will start posting. I would like to get a couple more chapters written. I am on a road trip with my mother for the next two weeks (which will either go fabulously or we'll murder each other) in which I'm hoping to get some writing done...but it's a bit hard to say.

Hopefully I'll get some progress over the next month and feel good enough to start posting come fall. Either way, thought, please be reassured that despite the lengthy wait, I do have new chapters in the works and this story will resume!

Cheers,

Silence