Ok, so finally I'm posting my sequal to "Got Them Old Prison Blues". You don't really have to read that one to understand this one, but I make some references that would probably make more sense if you read that one and coughreviewedcough lol. I wrote this before WIAWSNB I swear haha.

Usual disclaimer applies: I don't own anything Supernatural or Winchester related, I just like to borrow them every once in a while...heh heh heh...


Devote not your trust too much to the mockery of dreams,
Nor let yourself be terrified by everything;
Do not become inflated by joyful visions,
For frequently a demon prepares these snares for you. - St. Gregory

Now Leaving Deer Lodge, MT

The rain made a soft pattering sound as it hit the roof of the '67 Impala. The day was bleak; the town hadn't seen much sun in the past week. Three figures stood out in the rain hardly noticing the drops as it dampened their coats.

"You guys will come to visit, won't you?" Jessica asked, she was trying hard not to cry.

"We'll try," Sam reassured her. "But until then, you have our numbers, right?"

Nodding, she finally released her precarious hold on the tears. It wouldn't matter anyway, the water that drizzled from the sky acted as camouflage as it mixed with her tears.

"You guys saved everyone here, we owe you. You'll always have a home here, you'll always be welcome," she said as she wrapped her arms around Sam.

"You take care of yourself," she then said to Dean as she wrapped him in a hug.

Dean looked at Sam for a moment, who just shrugged. Jessica didn't seem to want to let go. Sighing, he returned the hug.

Sniffling, she stepped back onto the sidewalk.

"Bye Jessica," Sam said with a small smile as he followed his brother and climbed into the car. She waved and continued to watch until the sleek black car glided around the corner and out of sight.


What Dreams May Come

Somewhere outside Creede, Colorado

Dean cast a worried look at his sleeping passenger. This was the most peaceful he'd slept in a week, and he was almost worried his brother was dead he was so quiet. Whatever those damn hillbillies had done to his brother seemed to have left a bit of a scar.

Seeing a billboard for a small gas station ahead, he didn't hesitate to pull in. Sam had been out for the past 4 hours, and Dean for once didn't have the heart to wake him so he could drive. He needed a break even though the gas tank was half full.

Pulling up to an empty slot, he slowly climbed out and stretched. He was stiff and sore all of the time now, but it seemed to be getting better as time went. They had faced two psychotic brothers almost a week ago, and both hunters had taken a bit of a beating. Sam had taken the brunt of it, including being stabbed. He shook his head as he remembered seeing his brother go down, a small pool of blood underneath him. Thankfully the piece of wood hadn't gone in that far, and had only needed a short visit to the emergency room and a few stitches.

Suddenly angry all over again, he rammed the pump into the tank and headed towards the station. Walking through the rows and rows of junk food and carbonated beverages, he picked up what he thought Sam might want and grabbed an arm load for himself. Yeah, Sam could use a Twinkie or two. Twinkies always made everyone feel better.

Dumping the contents on the counter, he smiled at the girl behind the counter. Grinning back, she revealed a row of cracked and yellow teeth, two of which were missing.

To hide his shudder, he looked down at the counter trying to look interested at the assortment of lottery tickets spread out underneath a thin plastic cover. A newspaper screamed out at him, catching his attention.

Four Teens Killed In Group Suicide

He wasn't sure why, but something tugged at him. Shrugging, he tossed the paper in with his pile of goodies. If nothing came of that article, maybe they could find something else.

Smiling once more at the cashier, he gathered everything up and headed back out to the car.

"Where are we?" Sam muttered as Dean climbed back in behind the wheel.

"Just outside of Creede Colorado," he replied as he sorted the newly purchase nourishment.

"How long was I out?" the younger said, a little more alert, but he was still rubbing his eyes and stretching.

"Four hours. How'd you sleep?" Sam noticed Dean had yet to make a smart comment.

"Fine. You don't have to worry about me," he muttered.

"I'm not worried. Your sleeping habits are starting to interfere with mine, and that's just something I can't have."

"Whatever man," Sam said with a small grin.

"Oh yeah, check this out," Dean said, tossing a newspaper into his lap.

"Group suicide? That doesn't really sound like something for us."

"I don't know how to explain it, it just felt wrong. What can you get out of the article?"

"Nothing much, just that the group were friends, had been their whole lives," Sam paused, reading the rest of the article. "Two of them were actually cousins. They're claiming depression, but no one knows for sure why they all did it. One kid claims they couldn't live without each other, so when one committed suicide, they all did."

"And this all happened in Creede?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Let's go talk to the families."

"Dean, this just happened two days ago. The families are going to be grieving, and the police have already ruled foul play out so no cops should be poking around. They're not going to want to talk to us. Besides, why even go do this? A bunch of kids killed themselves, nothing supernatural about it."

"I'm telling you Sam, I have a feeling about this."

"Alright, who's psychic now?" Sam teased.

"Whatever bitch. We still have them priest outfits?"

"Dean, no."

"Come on Sammy, these people are going to need guidance in their time of grieving…"



Forgive Me Father...

An hour later they were standing in front of a small two story house. The paint was chipped and peeling, flaking off into the yard which was nothing more than patches of yellow-white grass and dirt.

Sam was back in that room, tied to that chair. The wallpaper was chipped and peeling, yellowed with age.


"Sam? Dude, game face," Dean whispered as he knocked on the old wooden door. Sam shook his head, trying to clear the memory. The door opened and he instantly smiled.

The woman who answered looked tired, beaten. Her hair was tied back, and it looked a little grayer than it probably should have. According to the newspapers, this was Jill Hayden, mother to one of the victims. She was only in her early fourties, but she looked like she'd aged about twenty years in the past two days. Her eyes were empty and gray, and her shoulders seemed to hold all the weight in the world.

"Can I help you?" she said quietly, so quietly the boys almost missed it. Sam spoke first.

"I'm Father Bo, and this is Father Luke. We're priests with the-" Sam began.

"Thank you for coming," she nodded, stepping aside to let them in.

Shrugging, Dean stepped into the dark hallway, Sam close behind.

"We're so sorry for your loss," Sam said gently, placing his hand on her shoulder. His touch was light; almost as if he was afraid she'd crumble on contact.

"I…yes, thank you," she said, almost trance-like. "Please, have a seat."

As soon as they were seated, Jill began to offer them coffee. Dean almost accepted until he saw the look on Sam's face.

"No, thank you," Sam said, gesturing that she should sit herself.

"So, you boys came to help an old lady in her time of grief, huh?" she said, sniffling. There was no sarcasm in her voice, no anger; it was almost void of emotion.

"Jill, what exactly do you think happened?" Dean asked, getting right to the point.

"My baby…my baby was depressed. We didn't recognize the symptoms until it was too late," she sniffled again. "She…she killed herself."

"What kind of symptoms?" Sam asked softly.

"Well, now that I look back on it, none. At least, not until last week."

The boys stayed silent, wanting to let her go her own pace.

Pulling in a deep breath, she continued. "Last week she started talking about how everyone would be better off if she were dead. She started…she started having these dreams. She never told me what she dreamt about, but I could hear her cry out at night. Oh my God, my baby!" the last words came out in heart-wrenching sobs. She put her face in her hands.

"Jill?" a man's voice floated from the other room. A man followed the voice, a concerned look on his face. The man looked about as beat down as the woman, and from the papers they recognized him as Derrick, Jill's husband.

"This is Father Bo and Father Luke," Jill said, nodding at the boys. "This is my husband Derrick."

"Jill, honey, are you alright?" Derrick said after a quick nod to the priests.

"Yes, I'll be fine. I think I just need to lie down. Excuse me Fathers," she said and quietly left the room.

"I'm sorry about that, my wife's just having a hard time with this," Derrick said, sitting in his wife's abandoned seat.

"That's alright," Sam said, giving the man his "look-at-me-I-feel-your-pain-because-I'm-Sammy" look. Dean didn't know how he did it. His brother could be talking to the Devil himself, and after one of those looks the demon would be putty. "We've come too soon."

"No, no, I think you came at just the right time. Lord knows we could all use a little spiritual help."

"How are you holding up Mr. Hayden?" Dean asked.

"Um…As well as can be expected I guess. It was just so sudden, ya know? Last week we were filling out forms for Justine to go to summer camp, and now we're trying to decide what color coffin to put her in." Tears began to gather in the father's tired eyes, threatening to spill. "She liked Cherry, maybe we'll put her in a nice Cherry box."

"Mr. Hayden, your wife said Justine had no symptoms of depression up until last week. What happened last week?" Dean asked, still trying to gently pry information out of him.

"Well, for about the past month she's been having these nightmares. I sat one night and listened to her, she kept saying everyone looked so happy without her, that we would all be better of if she was dead. I tried to talk to her about it, but she said she didn't remember having those dreams. I guess the dreams finally won," he said, finally breaking down.

Sam stood up slowly, motioning for Dean that it was time to go. "Mr. Hayden, once again we are so sorry for your loss. If you ever need anyone to talk to, here's our number. Please don't hesitate to call."

"Thank you for coming."


"Maybe she really was depressed," Sam said, watching Dean thoroughly clean the shotgun.

"Maybe, maybe not. Maybe something happened to her in those dreams," he replied. "Oh, and by the way, Bo and Luke?! That is the last time you get to pick names, Captain Fricken Obvious"

"I still think you're grasping at thin air here man," Sam said, ignoring his brother's last comment. "I didn't get anything from them, nothing more than the grieving parents of a suicidal girl."

"Sam, will you just trust me on this?" Dean said. "I want to go talk to other family members of the kids, and if it turns out there is nothing here, beer's on me for the next month...or it'll be on..." he said, pulling out his newest credit card. "Martin Brawflawcksy."

Sam's eyes widened in shock, and at the same time he was smiling at the ridiculousness of the name. Dean really thought he had something.

"When have I not trusted you? Alright, we'll go talk to the McCready's tomorrow. Their son was Justine's boyfriend." He really hoped after this Dean owed him some beers, but his own uneasy feeling was beginning to grow.

I hope to have the rest uploaded before I go.