I hope there are still people who aren't so fed up with my updates who still want to read the fic… I hope those that do tune in like this, my very thorough and wonderful beta, Little Wing, and I spent a lot of time on it.

I'll quit blabbering until the end, so here you guys go:

Grief's Possession

Chapter Five: Looking Through All's Thoughts

Locked in a staring competition with his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Sam struggled to find solace in his thoughts. Leaning heavily against the faux marble sink Sam continued with the one-sided staring competition; all the while ignoring the droning sound of the water still pouring from the faucet. Trying bleakly to stave off his active mind, and seek a peace of sorts, Sam concentrated almost fully on his eyes in the mirror. A wisp of his thoughts stretched away, and it jerked him back to the look in Dean's eyes when he apologized, sincerely begged forgiveness mere hours earlier. His brother's hazel eyes, would have looked red-rimmed had not Sam known better. Sam's mind blocked his mind from further retreating back, deeper in earlier memories. Dimly Sam knew his own psyche's mechanism, for dealing with harsh situations, was acting to preserve his sanity, at least for now.

Sam reached his free hand up to probe the deep contusions that colored his face a dark purple, after bracing a hand on the counter top. Hissing slightly at the pain his own touch caused, he cursed the situation. He almost couldn't tell but the swollen bruises seemed to be down a bit. Continuing to stare at his newly odd reflection, Sam noted how between the bruises and swelling there was a new symmetry- if not an odd one- to his face. Suppressing a strong urge to yawn he reached into the cooling water as it flowed from the tap and filled his cupped hand. Sam lazily splashed the liquid on his face he quelled the need for sleep- he'd done enough of that in the day since the possession. One of his hands braced on the counter reached up and probed the deep contusions that dominated his visage. The swelling contrasted against his lean wearying expression. Sam suppressed the welling urge to yawn and sleep, he had done enough of that lately, and it brought nothing but pain.

Every time Sam closed the heavy lids of his eyes, he saw her. Her face convoluted the innocent purity of Jess's face. Her ghastly grim image over shadowed anything Sam remembered about his loving girlfriend. Her sweet memory was being permanently marred by the angry specter's hopeless culling of lonely hearts. To Sam's memory every pure moment with he, was gone, replaced by a hollow shape of what their love had been. Not even his origin nightmares, his uncorrected prophecy of her death, rivaled these in horrifying him.

Allowing a deep sigh to escape his tender throat, Sam stubbornly wiped at the tears that had begun to seep from his eyes. Gritting his teeth in frustration over the events of the last few hours, Sam quickly wished he hadn't as a wave of pain washed through him. The needles of tightened muscled ripped through his jaw, and down the sides of his face to his bent neck. Growling in anger at himself for causing the wash of pain, he shut his eyes and hoped that Dean hadn't heard him. Dean wouldn't have heard with his attention to rapt, he was too busy wasting money, watching some near NC-17 rated movie.

A sudden harsh knock to the wood grain door jarred Sam from his reverie of self-loathing and exhaustion. Shutting off the faucet to the sink threatening to over flow, he listened as a ragged breath was drawn and a quiet question was asked, "Hey, Sam, you gonna take that shower? 'Cause, I'd really like to get in there sometime this century." After Dean's first sentence of suspicious concern, came the brother Sam had grown to ignore.

Sam would have had some sort of retort, with a long confusing word in it, ready on any other day. He just didn't have the heart for the banter, not after hearing the concern transcending its way through Dean's normally nonchalant tone. "Sam, hurry your ass up! I've met chicks that have taken less time than you, and sure looked a whole lot prettier when they were done."

Ah the sympathy…Sam knew well that if Dean thought he was showing any sort of residual sympathy or unwarranted kindness- his stronghold of repressed and 'weak emotions' would turn him into a frail hunter- an easier target. He knew and never expected his brother to be anything other than the unfazed rock who had thrown away his innocence to become what he had to become.

Sam, too numb to do anything but comply with his brother's request, answered by turning the shower on to full heat. Stepping out of his disheveled clothes, he kicked them into the corner behind the door, leaving them as a new started pile as place to pick up the laundry later. The heat from the water felt good on the tense muscles of his neck and shoulders, as he stood beneath the showerhead. Getting under the water he stood with his face into the showerhead, letting the needles of hot water bounce off his tight neck and shoulder. And from those few seconds of tranquility, Sam found he could not clear his cluttered and wandering mind of the mess of unpleasant thoughts that it'd become, and found the meditative state he'd longed for refused to allow him entry. The spirit's violent intrusion upon his mind and body overpowered all his attempts at finding any short-lived moments of tranquility.

It was the grim memory of the previous day, of how she had slid into his body, wearing him like a broken in boxing glove. Sam found that thinking back now, safe for this small-allotted time, he remembered of how he had barely been able to push back her thrall, hardly been able to keep her from fully accessing his entire soul.

As the drops of water pelted his skin, the memory of her invasion at the Lewison house seized his mind. He physically remembered the pain that was brought by her entity throwing herself against his controlled barriers. After his recitation of the summoning incantation, her prowess threw herself onto him; she had not immediately grappled with him for control. Of the last few nights, her haunting of his dreams, she knew of the power that Jess's nightmare had over him. Her image had distorted to that of his loving girlfriend's. The façade set in his mind showed him, a night they had once experienced, the first time that she had come home with him.

With a deep sigh, Sam closed the book in front of him as he scribbled a quick note about what he'd just read on the nearly covered page. He hated finals, but at the same time he loved the challenge that they presented. The challenge of studying all night and taking the exam with less than four hours sleep only to score an A on it. Soft hands gently massaging his tense shoulders sent a quick shiver down his spine, stopping him mid-reach for the next book in the large pile that sat stacked before him. Her soft sweet scent cascaded over him as he melted into her warm hands as they gently kneaded his shoulders. With a soft groan he allowed his head to slump to his chest. As soon as they were there her hands were gone, and he felt a soft kiss being placed a top his head.

"Brought you something," her voice said in a whisper.

"You didn't have to," he said as she set a plain brown bag down on the table.

"Thought you could use some study snacks. You know, keep the brain going." She smiled and grabbed the chair next to his.

"Thanks." He returned her smile and quickly opened the bag, praying that it wasn't making enough noise to be noticed. Carefully he opened the bag to find a hearty sandwich, a bag of chips and a liter of coke. Taking a quick bite of the long overdue meal, Sam pulled the next book down and began to skim through it and fill up what little room was left on the page.

Finishing the sandwich, he heard a soft thud on the floor by the table. Turning his head quickly he saw Jessica sitting cross-legged on the floor with her full attention on the worn paperback in her hands. He smiled and turned back to his studies.

Quietly he turned the page in his notebook and stole another glance at the beauty on the floor devouring the book that she was reading. She was barely halfway through the thick book, and was currently laying stomach down on the hard floor. Her head was down, cascading blond locks over her shoulders, and she had bent her legs at the knees- waving her feet carelessly through the silent air. He couldn't help but smile. With force he once again turned his attention to the book sitting before him.

The soft turning of pages tore his attention, once again, from the book before. It'd been almost thirty minutes since he'd started reading and he had yet to turn the page! She was perfect. The way that she loved him was perfect. Innocent. Closing the book that he wasn't reading, Sam packed up his things and then helped Jessica from the floor. Quickly they headed for the front doors of the library.

Somewhere in the distance, Sam thought he heard someone call to him. Taking a quick look around he saw no one. Shaking off the odd thought that he knew the voice and that the wonderful memory of the first night that he and Jessica had gone back to his place. Hand in hand they started down the stairs for the first floor when a sudden pain shot through the lower half of his leg.

A howl of anger escaped his tightly pressed lips as he watched Jessica's face change into the hate filled face of the spirit. One that day, he knew how he had been betrayed, how the feel of her hands should have been could, how her mannerisms should have been wrong, how the sound of her voice should have been hoarse. But it wasn't. He would have never realized through his blind need for her, that it was wrong until after he fell, and he felt the radiating amusement and spitefulness waft from her being.

Sam felt how right she had seemed, how well crafted her traitorous mirage had been. Everything that had set Jess apart from his ill-fated relationships and the very occasional one-night stands had been present. The comfort and love, the security and safety, the normality and innocence, had guided through him. And he saw then that it was his failing. The trap of grief and love for Her had nearly made him number thirteen.

Another growl escaped Sam's lips as he felt strong arms envelope him, yanking him from the smiling face of the Jessica thing before him. Anger hadn't run hotter though him since the night that she'd died. Who would do such a thing? He was where he belonged. Twisting hard against the arms that held him, he broke the grip. Without looking at his target, Sam let a fist fly; connecting solidly with whomever it was who'd tanked him from the bittersweet memory. In blind rage, Sam hit it again and again and again….until he were just a heap on the floor at his feet.

Sam remembered of how he had looked down, and saw his retracting fist, and Dean's body lying disjointedly on the floor.

A wave of anger, strong and pure, had rippled through Sam's fiber's of being, the power slamming up a wall around his mind, forcing the vengeful spirit from his body. He had found a grip of control of himself, after shaking off the pain she had brought, and compelled speech to thrum out from unfamiliar vocal cords. As he had tried to maintain domination of his body, Sam felt control slipping away and to the blinding blackness he succumbed. The pure agony of thousands of stilettos of rage and isolation stabbed into his body and twisted hard, holding him spellbound as the spirit seemed squeeze him hard around the core of his very soul. From some where within his well-informed intellect a small piece of information forced its way into Sam's mind. This is what it feels like to die in an Iron Maiden, he thought as his last ounce of mental strength left his already exhausted body. With a pain filled yell, Sam relinquished his last bit control he left to her.

Relegated to the very edge of his own mind Sam seethed at her. He sent waves of rage and fury towards her, as he felt Dean grab him in a weak arm lock- an old kid-wrestling move that tried to force Sam to his knees. It was poorly executed at that, and he knew that Dean misjudged his weight distribution. Grudgingly Sam'd had just aided her. Quickly the woman in his head snatched the thought away from him, and tore through his breaking mind to find the countermove. Sam never saw his brother rip through the air, but he heard and felt the impact; it tore at his soul. The large crash followed by a deafening crack made Sam waver. A sly thought broke out of her mind, "Another with me?" That thought, the excited, the pleased image horrified Sam, more than anything he could dare to imagine. The notion that another death, placated the spirit in full control his body made Sam retch. And that it could have been Dean. Only a fleeting glance backwards revealed Dean shifting sideways on the floor squirming, had edged down Sam's horror. The way Dean had rocked, racked with pain, against the cedar desk, showed how badly he had been hit. Dean! Come on man, get up. Damn you, get up, need some help here.

His snarling mind broke through to the spirit, and she turned decisively away from the young man hovering bleakly among the realms of consciousness. Sam would have been wringing his hands, waving dramatically, and anything to get his brother to help him. Damn you, Dean, get your stubborn ass off the damn floor. The intense desire signaled the spiteful spirit. Sam felt his body crouch down, and commanded by the spirit lift Dean off the floor. Drawing as arm back, she had prepared a crushing blow for Dean. Panic gripped Sam as he quickly channeled all his anger, and all his love for his brother in an attempt to pull back his own flying fist. Anger flooded Sam's mind as the spirit realized what he'd done. Turning her anger and mental abilities inward, she snatched his fist out from under Dean's sternum. Dean could have died by Sam's hands.

Through clouded ears Sam could hear Dean swearing at him. As Sam tried to ward off the spirit's intense blows, she shot painful memories to the surface of his quickly tiring mind. He could feel the strong grip of 'Dean's' hand choke off the blood and air to his brain. Sam still saw the white irises stare down at him in a maniacal determination. He felt his hands slap at the smooth leather, and his fingers get wound up in the medallion Dean wore religiously around his neck. He saw another reflection in the mirror looking through bleeding eyes, of him, callously berating him, for not acting on his foreknowledge and saving the only woman he ever knew, that had deeply loved him. The fire's heated that licked down his face, as his deep eyes welled open with shock as he stared into the horrified face of his lover, dead, bleeding onto his body and their sheets. They had faded away with Sam's determination, into one last confusing remembrance. He was running to a man dressed strangely, a deep red crested tunic hung to his knees, and stripped hose ended in short boots. Sam felt like he fell to his knees, and had remembered begging the man for small drop, of what was considered high treason to possess. The confounding image waned off.

Battling his own demons, Sam had felt her attempt to merge her personality with his own. Sam had tried to force himself to break away from her, she spiraled him down again. Sam had stood bodily in his mind. Around him shifted, he saw a shadow of himself standing, wavering at Jessica's grave, for the first time since the funeral. He had saw himself drop to be kneeling beside where she would always rest- the dirt mound not yet covered with grass- for the first time since her funeral. As a tear began to form behind his eyes, the image suddenly twisted and knew he was shown something else. Sam was standing before the grave of another. The name on the freshly carved stone was a man's, echoed out at him, though he didn't recognize it. A cool night breeze blanketed him as a sorrowed sob pulled his attention from the stone to the woman at the grave. He noticed with a certain amount of recognition, a red haired woman kneeling on the freshly dug soil, battering her fists against the newly cut headstone.

Shaking off her cognizance he came to, to find himself looking up at his brother through her twisted interpretation of his eyes. He noticed himself straitening and then ambling forward, to find himself moving quickly towards his brother's face. The intentions broadcasted from the parasite that leeched his body all but good. He saw the troubling conclusion flash through Dean's seamless poker face and he knew what his brother was going to- had to- do. In a quick ambush, he kept himself from presenting a guard. The spirit roared past him, too late. As Dean's fists crashed into the pressure points in his face, Sam suddenly felt all the pain he had been hiding. Trapped within his mind, Sam screamed until there was nothing left but exhaustion. He was sure that had his scream been an actual vocal sound it would have alerted the entire block, having 911 calls from all the Lewison's neighbors flood the system.

Lost in an endless wave of torment, Sam could not prepare for her latest attack. As Sam's mind hovered on the edge of blackness, he could feel her. He could feel that she, his mighty puppeteer, was open to him, and an invasion of his own. She who would have puppeteer his body was opened to him, to his own invasion. Her light attracted him, a lonely wolf baying unanswered up to the moon, and seeing no other path back to his own took to her mind. The timeless hours of being a ghostlike presence, watching her knife slip into her own chest, hearing her own love slain by her king for false accusations of insurrection, all of her memories rewound before Sam's mind eye.

A bitter shock pushed at him unexpectedly, and he knew he had been suddenly alone, very alone, in his body. And through that shock he felt an airtight compression closed around his neck. The surprised question of "Dean," never made past his cold lips.

Sam's hand came up to where a day earlier, Dean, had rightfully strangled his only brother. The sobering thought brought him from the tasking flashback of what he had know of the terrible battle of wills that had nearly killed his brother, Dean.

Shivering against the water that'd run so long that it needed to reheat in their area's tank, Sam twisted off the taps. Shaking off the memory of one of the most unsettling nights of his life, he stepped gingerly over the edge of the tub and grabbed the single remaining towel. Drying off, emptily, he unlocked the bathroom door and went to find something cleaner to wear. His entrance in the bathroom, and decision to get wet, was more of a plan to give himself and his brother some space to figure things out.

Dean sat shirtless with his shoulder's slumped on the edge of the bed watching the channel eleven news. The haggard expression and bruised face rebelled from the normal lively and healthy look Sam was accustomed to seeing on his brother. With a twinge of regret and guilt Sam noticed the deep purple bruising on Dean's lower back, just under the ribs centered by his spine. The unnatural pale tone to the center of it showed the bleeding still ran deep. Funny green and blues ran through to the black edges. The muscle tones looked thinner and limper to what he knew his brother had. Sam looked away when Dean stood up, his hazel eyes barely covering the throbbing twinge pain the act caused.

"'Bout damn time you came of there. I thought you'd turned into a water wraith and slipped down the drain never to be heard from again." Dean looked his brother up and down, and made a thumb jerk over to the pile of duffel bags. "Put some clothes on Lady Godiva." With that last thought Dean pushed past his brother and entered the bathroom, slamming shut the door. Through the thin walls Sam was sure that everyone within a twenty-yard radius heard Dean's proclaim as he stepped into the shower, "God it feels good to be clean!" Then as he let the water warm up to where Sam had the shower temp originally, "shit! It burns."

Pulling on a pair of boxers, sweat pants, and a hoodie- one of Dean's as a last resort- Sam took a quick look in the mirror to ensure that in his hurry to get going and get clean clothes he was wearing every thing the right way out. Taking a second look in the mirror, he noticed that the lettering on the sweater was in the guise of an optometrist's eye chart that said, "If you can read this, you are standing to close."

It was a hell of a lot better than Dean's last fairly clean shirt, that Sam was nearly positive was a left over from one of Dean's more recent booty calls, which read "Porn Star" with the playboy bunny underneath. Judging by the low cut neckline and the long distance phone number written just inside the front neck hem- upside down and in Dean's hand, like he wrote it when someone was still in it- Sam was more than sure that he was right.

Throwing all the clothes he could find, including the ones in the bathroom, into a black garbage bag he left Dean butchering the already massacred AC/DC song "Back in Black" in the shower. Making sure he had one of the keycards Sam trudged off to one of the elevators with a ten-dollar bill in hand to exchange at the front desk for enough change to use the washing machines. Walking up to the front desk, he plastered a smile on his face shallow enough to make Paris Hilton look sincere, and stepped in line to wait patiently until he could get to the front.

For the second time, in two days, Sam realized how much he detested waiting in lines. Eyes of all ages seemed to be watching him. It didn't make him self-conscious, it was however an annoyance. Sam knew the separation of being labeled a freak well; of being marked as different in all those normal eyes. The tight smile was making his jaw throb, so he relaxed his face, and noticed some wide eyes. Casting a quick glance at the security screen he noticed how much like a murderous zombie he looked, the thought made him want to laugh.

Changing the entire bill into quarters he traipsed through the small lobby toward the stairs. Unnaturally tired by the end of his trip up the three flights of stairs, he took the hotel desk clerk's directions. After one wrong turn into the main supply room and some liberated packages of hotel-sized toiletries, Sam found the spacious laundry room. Six women stood apart going about their various jobs, and two teenagers looked up from their magazines giving him a one-over. The pair's sudden teenage attraction, not dampened by the marks of the fight still visible on Sam's face, had the pair giggling. Sam started sorting the clothes, and pretended not to notice the horror-struck reprimand the pair received from whom he assumed was their mother.

Throwing the darks into one washer and most of the lights into another, he looked through the assortment of items he'd liberated from pants before washing. Three fake ids, about eighty dollars in unmarked bills, five silver bullets, a stiletto, and Dean's wallet fully loaded with the last case's plain old boring police badge and strangely enough real car keys. Hastily stashing all the personal items before one or more of his fellow maids saw the interesting nature of the objects, he tried find a place to sit for the half an hour he had to wait before the cloths were done.

Moving a low footstool against the wall, Sam sat bored for an hour long five minutes twiddling his thumbs. Spending too long of a time in Dean's Impala was getting to him. Deciding that his only options, other than borrowing a copy of Teen People from his growing fan club, were to be bored or take a nap, Sam glanced around the room-pretty sure he was not going to be mugged- and let his head drop to his chest.

For once dropping into sleep took no effort. His mind slid easily into the dream, ignoring his attempts at pushing it away. He lay reclined on the somewhat comfortable bed in a small room the white walls reflecting the near noon sun in a bright brilliance. His melancholy eyes had long studied then forgotten the small wood border than ran all the way around the room. A white curtain hung from the ceiling secluding him from two other patients. This he knew, and he also knew where he was; a hospital. He looked down at foreign hands that oddly felt right. In their unyielding grip they held the knife. The polished blade faced inwards. Sam could see something else too. She hovered above him, sliding the knife inwards. Her low and cursing voice cut through their own thoughts of terror. Her monotone repeated, "For fear of that I still will stay with thee, And never from this palace of dim night, Depart again: here, here will we remain." Through his scream, as the knife bit through his flesh, he heard another person's soul pattern his voice. Together they cried, "No, I can't!"

Jerking awake, Sam straightened in his seat too fast and looked up into a few concerned faces of the now fourteen people in the laundry room. Two would be Good Samaritans backed away from him their eyes searching, but his quickly erected poker face stopped them from asking questions. Trying desperately not seem embarrassed, he could only imagine what he was screaming only seconds before. He knew he had yelled something, his jaw hurt and his throat was dry. Shaking off their inquisitive glances, he shoved the clothes into a jumbo dryer.

After starting the load, Sam headed for a phone. Finding one he just stood there staring at it, trying to summon the courage to dial his room number. Someone just died, he thought; he was sure. Sam tried to remember if it was the same knife Dean had found with him that was used to murder the patient. Through an already foggy recollection of the dream, all he knew for sure was the terror and grief whomever was just slaughtered had felt. His hand dropped down. Dean would insist that they immediately go check this all out, and that would get them into trouble. They'd both handled the knife, their fingerprints would be on it; instantaneously shoving them to the top of the prime suspect list. Sam stiffened, how would they explain to the nice officers why one of the U.S.'s currently dead serial killers was still alive and kicking in their country?

Sam shook his head Dean would probably, on the spot, fabricate some cock and bull story that played him out as gallant hero, and Sam the lowly dim-witted squire. Sam backtracked even further. How would he explain to Dean his dreams, and not touch on Jess. Sam had no desire to hear more accusations of betrayal and hurt flow out of Dean's mouth. Sam could still clearly remember the look Dean had given him when he refused to tell Dean why Mary Worthington's spirit would have come after him.

Sam remained by the phone for ten minutes before some arrogant suit pushed past him to grab the receiver. Sam's half-raised hand dropped back down to his side, and he pursed his lips. Dean definitely would have pushed the self-righteous jerk out of his ivory tower and then stolen his wallet. But Sam took it as divine intervention and made his way back to the half dry clothes for something to do.

Forty minutes later after the last load was done and folded, though Sam knew full well that within three minutes of being in Dean's possession they would look like they had been through a tropical storm, eaten by wolves, then thrown up over the edge of cliff, he left the laundry room. Hefting the heavy bag he hoped that the small knife in the bottom of it wouldn't rip a hole. Walking over to where a sign proclaimed the elevators were, he eventually made it to his room door. Spending nearly two minutes trying to get the card to work, he discovered it was an old one from a Best Western nearly four hundred miles to the south.

Banging on the door viciously, Sam shouted, "Dean let me in! I've got to tell you something," when it remained unanswered for what felt like an hour.

Dean opened it part way, and poked his head out. "Dude, you didn't leave me anything to wear! Not even a towel! I know that I harassed sometimes you as a child, hell still do, but leaving me to become a nudist for two hours, is not funny." Sam gestured down to the black garbage bag, and opened it revealing the apparently much needed treasures. "Good, catch the door before it shuts, and don't come in 'til I make it to the bathroom."

Sam bit back a smirk, "Are we not very confidant of our manhood?"

Dean glowered at him, "For your information… shut up… It's a long story I don't feel like telling the entire hotel."

Kicking the door open further with his foot, Sam stifled a laugh as Dean took off into towards bathroom. "Performance anxiety," he muttered after the retreating form. Sam grabbed the shut door with his free hand and cringed as he saw Dean's entire back profile bolt into the bathroom.

"I heard that, Sam. Just get me some damn clothes." Sam obliged as slowly as he could; lofting a pair of jeans, and other essentials at his brother's emerged head. When down, the younger Winchester pulled up his duffel bag and began to stow away his share of the clothes. The TV was still on. As the news report began, Sam noticed nothing unusual and tuned it out. Dean emerged a few minutes later, buttoning up his shirt, "ah, to smell like outside fresh dryer sheets… This truly is heaven."

"So why are we so worried that someone might see a full moon, all of a sudden?" Sam smirked at Dean's embarrassed expression.

"Well I kinda fell asleep on the bed with only a sheet after you took forever with the laundry. And this maid knocked on the door. I was really conked out… so I… uh didn't wake up. She kind of came in and left the door wide open. And proceeded to scared the hell out of me. Suffice to say the sheet got dropped and this gaggle of teenagers, all of them female, walked past. And I've been getting people banging at the door asking why I 'desensitized' their children, on and off for the past half an hour." Dean swallowed and gauged Sam's mood, "Well when none of the girls screamed, and a few whistled I knew I still had it."

"Dean, were they even sixteen?" Sam shuddered, and somehow trampled the breaking smirk. Realizing that he had begun packing Dean's things in his bag as well, he dumped everything out, to start over.

Dean's eyes suddenly widened, before narrowing in an accusatory glare at Sam. Quickly moving to where his baby brother was packing his bag, Dean grabbed the bag and began to search through it like a crazed man. "What they hell are you doing Dean?" Sam, nearly shouted as he stepped back to get out of Dean's way.

"Where is it! I didn't touch it! Where'd you put the damn thing!" Dean shot him a glare, and cursed, "Shit! She get through to you again! Where is it!"

"Dean, calm down and I'll tell you once you explain what the hell you are looking for." Sam could not understand what Dean was talking about.

Just then a breaking news story sounded loudly on the television. "Preliminary reports coming from City Hospital state that at approximately 11:49 this morning, an elderly patient was found to have committed suicide. But a source with the police has cast some doubt upon that theory. As it seems that a long knife was used, drawing a connection to Karen Lewison who was found dead in a similar manner earlier this month. Until they know more the police refuse to confirm that either death involved any fowl play. Next in sports, the final score of the game between the Red Wings and Leafs."

Sam turned back to the shocked face of Dean. "Remember when I said before I had something to tell you," Sam got an instinctual nod, "That was it."

Dean turned to Sam dropping the bag. "How'd you know that? That was the first newscast I've heard about it, and I'm not seeing word of mouth somehow spreading to your ears that fast!" Sam drew back from his brother's anger and tried to force the words out. His bruised jaw coincidently stiffened up, "I dreamt it… again."

Dean looked at Sam, long and hard, before dropping his gaze to the floor. "You what! What the hell are you telling me, Sam…what the hell?" Dean bent over and picked something out of the duffel. A still bloody dagger was in his hand. Both men could not suppress the cold sinking shiver that descended down their spines.

He he he…

So I got into Sam's head a lot, and a few other people's, hence the title. And you got to see what Sam went through with the fight that took place last chapter. I hope you guys got that, when I first sent it off to my beta, she thought it was something else. If you didn't tell me, and I'll try and fix it.

And I got to give recognition where it is due, Little Wing did a lot this chapter, adding in a lot of extra's and giving out great idea's for others, you have her to thank for the great scene with Sam and Jessica 'studying'. That was mostly her.

I hope this chapter didn't fall flat, and regardless, I want to hear from all of you. Reviews are down a little, mostly I suspect, because I posted right in the middle of that massive Fanfic disaster two weeks ago.

Alright, I'm done rambling, REVIEW, REVIEW!


Mystiksnake: Thanks a lot, I updated as soon as I could, thanks, I've gotta keep the pressure on.

Adara-chan15: Wow, thank for your great review. Thanks for appreciating the time it takes to put this out, and I hope you excuse the lateness. I've always loved to watch the two badgering with each other, it is cute.

Cyberchick2007: Thanks for your very positive review, I did update as soon as I could, I hope you aren't too exasperated by now.

Windyfontaine: Thanks, I try to make longer chapters, since I can't update as quick as I would like. I'm glad you think she's scary, I tried to make her 'bad' but understandable. I'm happy that you like my brand of action, I think of what I would want to see, all the drama, and angst, and then I try to put it into coherent words. Sometimes its better than others. Thanks

SomeoneElsesDream: Thanks a lot, very sweet review.

Ghostwriter: A little late I know, but I'm hoping it good, I know it's a pretty dark chapter, I tried to lighten it up at the almost end.

Dark Fires: Thanks, thanks, a lot, this one is nice and long too!

Stony Angel: I'm glad you took the time to review! Thanks a lot, don't worry, the "The End" isn't here quiet yet. Twisted Flame, after I thought about and looked him up, I did recognize him, he has some great Charmed fics.

Nate and Jake: I'm glad this fic makes you happy, I tried to update as soon as I could, life just keeps getting in the way, that and I've a triple workload until the end of December.

Aciel: OMG, thanks a lot! I'm glad you are so enthusiastic about this fic. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you.

Moonfairyhime: Thanks, always love such kind reviews.

Prinzessin: Thanks a lot, hope to see your reviews again!

Violet Eternity: Thanks a lot! And I love my Fight scene too! And I did have that idea before I saw Skin, I swear!