Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, read, alerted, and favorited. Special thanks to Windyfontaine, LoupGarouAngel, and Shadow who reviewed faithfully and reminded me that people were still reading.
Well, we've reached the end. I hope you've enjoyed the ride as much as I have. -grin-
The first thing he noticed was somehow he'd ended up on the floor of the warehouse. Dust seemed to fill every crevice in his nose and mouth, causing him to roll over as he sneezed and coughed. Carefully he brought himself to a sitting position, satisfied the world wasn't going to freak out on him again and stayed still. He looked around, noting with dismay that he was alone. Where had his new Dean gone? Maybe he himself was dead. Maybe this is what death looked like.
The last thing he'd remembered was a gunshot echoing through his ears, a blinding pain tearing through his back, knocking him to the ground. Deanna, that bitch, had shot him! Grimacing, he reached around and probed the sore area, relieved when he didn't find a gaping hole. He brought his hand back around and gingerly poked at his cheek, equally relieved to find it still intact. Dried trails of blood still crusted his face, but the injuries he'd sustained in the alternate world hadn't seemed to follow him.
Either that or he was dead, and he was now in some kind of hell.
"Sam?" The unsure voice that had grated on his nerves for as long as he could remember came back to haunt him. "Sam!"
Okay, maybe it wasn't just haunting him, and maybe he wasn't dead. Dean came running from the bay door of the warehouse, his boots sounding heavy as they approached.
"You okay?" his brother said, slightly out of breath as he knelt down beside him.
"I'm fine!" Sam said, the phantom pain from the bullet still throbbing. Why did he have to come back to life? Why couldn't he have just stayed dead? He had finally found peace, and would have even given up his claim on the Dean he wanted for some simple peace. "Get the fuck away from me."
Dean stiffened his spine when Sam half expected him to start crying. "You know what Sam?" he said, his tone resentful.
"What?" Sam mocked. He offered up his hand, and instead of taking it to help him to his feet, Dean backed away.
"Let's get one thing clear. You will no longer speak down to me, got it?"
Sam's eyes widened as he listened, suddenly not sure if he'd actually ended up in the right place. Where the hell had the sniveling, whining, crying Dean gone? "Dean, don't even-"
"No!" Dean retaliated, his hands balling into fists. "For once in your life you're going to shut up and listen to what I have to say. You...you may not like it, but I have been shown that I am not your punching bag, something you can hit whenever you feel like it! I re-I refuse to be your bitch!" Panic swelled slightly in his stomach, but anger overrode it. He was done, and on a roll.
Sam wasn't sure where this new front had come from, but he wasn't going to listen to the bull. He grimaced as he stood up, glad he didn't have to fully straighten to look at his shorter brother in the eye. His back was screaming at him, and all he needed now was silence and a bottle of Jack. And maybe a perky blonde who wouldn't do a whole lot of talking but knew the buttons to push on a man.
Not this sudden bravado put on by his weaker older brother.
"Oh is that the way it's going to be?" Sam taunted, his face crumpling in an expression of mock sorrow. "You finally got some balls?"
"You know what Sam? I am so sick of you doing that to me, trying to tear me down and to continue to kick me while I'm below you! It's not going to happen anymore."
"You say that now," Sam said, shaking his head. "But we'll be back to the way we were in an hour. Now give me my fucking keys and I'll forgive your little outburst."
"I think I'll drive this time," Dean said thoughtfully, his chin rising as he twirled the keys deftly between his fingers.
"The hell you will!" Sam said, a determined stride carrying him across the small space until he was face to face with Dean.
"Back off Sam," Dean warned, his eyes darkening as he took stance.
"Oh and what are you going to do? Cry and flick your tears at me? Pout until-" The sentence was cut off as Dean reared back and brought his fist up, hitting in the exact spot his alternate version had. Sam cried out as he fell to the ground, once again feeling his cheekbone shatter. The years of pain and anger, shame at being beat down must have finally snapped.
"When you've picked yourself up, I'll see you at the hotel. Wipe your feet before you come in and don't get blood all over," Dean added, turning with satisfaction after catching the bewildered look on Sam's face. Whistling AC/DC, Dean made his way to his Impala, a lightness in his step he hadn't felt since he'd stood by that lake and had been encouraged by his alternate brother. He felt the rumble of the car beneath him, heard the rocks grind beneath the tires as he stomped on the gas pedal. Tomorrow was looking brighter already.
Dean woke slowly, barely slitting one eye open before slamming it shut against the bright light. He took a deep breath and tried again, this time slowly until he was ready for the light. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized the sun had rose and was bearing down on him from the huge gaping hole of the roof. He turned his head to the side, and when he didn't spot his brother he very carefully he turned it the other way. "There you are Sammy."
Sam had landed in the same spot as last time, his body stretched out over a pile of support beams. Grimacing against the massive head ache pounding its way through his head, Dean sat up carefully. He coughed a few times, trying to expel the dust from his lungs and his throat. "Sam," he called, his voice hoarse.
"Mmmm?" Sam answered, his hand coming up to waive his brother off. "Few more minutes," he mumbled.
"Come on princess, time to get up." Dean stood, decided his head didn't like the movement, and made his way unsteadily over to the pile. "Where are you hurt?"
"I think an easier question would be, where am I not hurt." Landing on the pile of beams hadn't been any more fun the second time around, and his body was protesting. He opened his eyes, and found Dean staring down at him, not in much better shape.
"Can you walk?"
Sam wanted to protest, wanted to say no, but instead he nodded, "Yeah."
"Come on," Dean grunted as he took hold of one of Sam's hands and pulled him up. Sam gasped as he was pulled upright, pain tearing its way through his back and down his limbs.
"You good?" Dean said, not sure he could catch his brother if he went tumbling backwards. He reached forward and took Sam's arm anyway, and draped it around his shoulders. His head was killing him, but by the looks of it and by the way Sam was clutching at his ribs, Dean had come out relatively unharmed.
"Yeah, a few days in the hot tub and maybe a massage would really help," Sam suggested, wheezing as he and Dean made their way outside. He wasn't sure, but he might have cracked a few ribs. His right kidney was also killing him, he at least was sure of the fact that he had hit a beam dead on.
"Hang on a minute," Dean said, stopping them short. "You sure you're my Sam?"
Sam smiled, ducking his head. "Yeah. I just think, maybe after seeing how the other Sams were, that it was time for me to take a bit of a break, lighten up a little."
"Okay, I definitely have the wrong Sam," Dean said, about ready to drop the punk on his ass.
"No, I just think maybe you had a point, maybe we should go see the Grand Canyon, and hell we could swing by the Statue of Liberty on the way."
Dean nodded in approval, and once again steered his brother towards the car. "Maybe Amsterdam too?"
"Don't push your luck," Sam said, grinning. "We still have a demon to hunt and kill."
"Speaking of the yellow-eyed sob, it's too bad we didn't steal the colt before we came back."
The mood was immediately darkened as they thought about what their alternate world had chosen to do with the colt. Dean shuddered and felt slightly ill at the cold, dead look in her eyes as she pulled the trigger, killing her own father.
Dean helped Sam settle into the passenger side of the Impala, adding an "Amsterdam was worth a shot" as he closed the door. Smiling himself, he moved around and dropped into the driver's seat. The bright morning sun had warmed the interior of the car; the smell of old leather heavily permitted the air, putting the boys at ease as they rode back in silence.
Dean watched in amazement as Sam gestured with his pool stick at the corner pocket.
"There's no way," he taunted, leaning on his own stick as Sam lined up his shot. The cue ball hit the eight ball, glancing off of the side pocket, and rolling until it fell down into corner pocket.
Dean's eyes widened, and his jaw dropped slightly. "Okay Sammy, you win this game, next loser buys another round?" he suggested as he gestured to their near empty beer mugs.
"That's what you said about the last game," Sam said, shaking his head. "You better pay up this time you cheap ass."
"Oh man," Dean said, shaking his head as he reached for his wallet and walked off towards the bar.
Sam smiled as his brother weaved his way through the bodies, stopping only to watch as a tall busty redhead passed him by. Sam smiled as Dean frowned at him, and simply waived him back up towards the bar. Dean wasn't going to get out of buying that round. They were pretty evenly matched when it came to pool, they both had been vying for the eight ball, and Sam just had the luck of having an open shot. Besides, he had bought the last round, it was Dean's turn.
Sam reflected on the past couple of days. It had been nice and slow, they had slept in and spent most of the morning either watching TV or going for runs. Sam was still a bit stiff, but he often found exercise would help give him back his mobility. He'd been surprised when Dean had opted to join him, and they usually ran a couple miles before returning to the motel for another nap.
Their night life had consisted of going to the bars, goofing off and hustling a few games here and there. They were still good on money, so they weren't hard core broke but it was nice to pocket a few twenties here and there. Tonight, they were here for pure fun. Not once had Dean complained about taking a couple days off, nor did he seem restless. If anything his attitude had improved and he smiled a lot more. It seemed like they were both getting back on track.
A few times Sam had wanted to talk to Dean about what Deanna had said to him, but as normal he would be shot down before the full "Dean we need to talk" could leave his lips. Finally, the previous night, Dean had broken down and they'd finally had a talk. He'd found Dean resting on the hood of the Impala, his back propped up by the windshield and his head pillowed by his arm. In the other hand he held a beer bottle, taking the occasional sips as he stared at the stars.
Dean would probably always feel that guilt, though when they had left Samantha had been alive and well. They both knew the truth; she had backed away from him giving the Sam-on-a-rampage a clear shot of her. Sam was just glad his brother hadn't been shot in the altercation. He knew if given the chance, Dean would have thrown himself in the path of the oncoming bullet.
She hadn't developed the sixth sense when it came to working with Dean, so she hadn't known any better. She hadn't known that Dean would have diffused the situation, that he would have found a way to get them both safely out. Dean didn't allow that to put any less guilt on his shoulders and he would probably always feel the life draining out of her as he held her. As carefully as he could, Sam let his brother know it was okay to feel bad that Samantha had been killed, but in no way was he to feel responsible.
"It's okay Sammy," Dean had simply replied, holding his bottle up. Sam raised his and tapped it to Dean's offered one, and then they had both taken a sip. "You just have to let me work through this on my own. We're all okay though, we're gonna be okay." They had left it at that. Sam had watched as Dean dealt with the events of the past few days in his own way, but the thing that put Sam at ease was he seemed to be dealing, and coming back out. Once he requested to do it on his own, Sam had backed off, while keeping a steady eye on him at the same time.
Sam snapped back to the crowded bar but his smile faded as Dean rushed back towards him, his hands empty. "Don't tell me you're weaseling out on me," Sam groaned.
"No, dude, we got a bigger problem." He nodded his head, and they both made their way from the tables to a quieter corner.
"What's up?" Sam asked as soon as they were in the clear.
"That other demon is sitting at the bar."
"What? What other demon?"
"That old guy, the one that was first with the Oden at the warehouse. He's sitting up at the bar."
"Did he see you?" Sam asked, his sore muscles tensing for the first time in days.
"I don't think so, he looks pretty toasted."
"Toasted?" Sam asked, unable to picture the demon that had been trying to kill them as toasted.
"Yeah. I'd say he's on his tenth Scotch, and is barely sitting up on his barstool."
"What do we do?"
Dean thought for a moment, looking back to the bar where the large white haired demon sat. "We have to exorcise him. We can't forget he tried to kill us. I say we send him to hell."
"Sounds like a plan, but we can't exactly do it in a crowded bar," Sam argued.
"Yeah, and he doesn't look like he's going to leave any time soon. I say we wait him out, and then ambush him when he leaves. You got all the supplies to do an exorcism?"
Sam nodded. "Everything I should need is in the car. Bar closes in half an hour, so we shouldn't have to wait him out that long."
"Go get your little demon busting kit ready then, I'll keep an eye on the target." Sam noticed his brother's gaze wasn't quite on the demon, but was following a certain redhead as she moved around behind the bar.
"Okay Charlie Brown, you go talk to the Little Redheaded Girl and I'll meet you back here in a few." Sam laughed as Dean sent a good-natured jab at his shoulder, pushing him along. "I'm goin' I'm goin'."
Somehow, Sam just didn't feel right attacking this demon. Sure the thing had tried to kill them, and was pretty sure he had talked the Oden into going after them. And they couldn't forget about all of the innocent people, who had been killed, just to draw them to that place. Still, in his drunken and pathetic state, the demon just didn't seem like that much of a threat. He almost felt like the big bad bully picking on the little kid. It just wasn't going to be that much of a fight.
He had all of the necessary materials laid out before him and was just running through a double check when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He stood upright, having not even heard the person approach. Hissing slightly when his head hit the top of the open trunk, he turned and came face to face with Dean.
"I've been calling your name man. You should be paying attention."
"Well I wouldn't have to worry about it if someone was doing his job by keeping an eye on the demon."
"He, uh, sort of disappeared on me."
"What?" Sam asked. Great. "What happened?"
"Well, Sally came over and asked-"
"Yeah," Dean's face perked up, "my little red-haired girl. Anyway, she came over to see if I needed anything to drink. Well she has really big," at that point Dean stopped and held his hands in front of his chest, jiggling his eyebrows.
Sam exhaled, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dean, the demon?"
Dean cleared his throat, and looked back towards the bar. "Yeah, by the time Sarah-"
"-whatever, by the time the waitress moved he was gone."
"Well, how hard can it be to find a drunk demon?"
"A little easier than you think my dear boy," Marcus said as he stepped from the shadows, throwing both boys away from each other immediately. The momentum of his hand threw his own unsteady gait off, and the boys didn't land where he'd intended them to. Instead of landing against the Honda in the corner of the parking lot, Sam was thrown over it and landed on the ground, the breath being knocked from his body. Dean landed on a group of trash cans tucked in the corner instead of up against the wall. "Well that juss dinn't work out," the demon muttered as he tipped, leaning against the brick wall of the bar for support.
"You good Sam?" Dean asked as he finally freed himself from the rubber garbage cans.
"Yeah," Sam grunted as he rose to his feet. So much for all of the healing and resting he'd done, he had a whole new group of bruises to add to his list.
"Well that was just plain mean," Dean said as Sam came to stand behind him, and they turned back to the demon.
"I'ma demon," the man slurred, holding up his hands in an over-exaggerated shrug and looking about as threatening as a kid with a baseball bat. "Iss what we do."
"What kind of demon are you exactly?"
"Dean!" Sam hissed. Now was not the time to be playing twenty questions with the killer, they had to get rid of him before he caused them any more trouble. Mentally Sam was already preparing for the exorcism.
"Come on Sam, its not every day we get to do this. So come on, what kind of baddie are you?"
The old man smiled, pride lighting up his eyes. "There's no real name fer me, never was one for the formalities." He tried to stand up, but ended up leaning back up against the bar. Throwing his hands up in a defeated gesture, he continued on: "I juss go around an' cause death and destructtion. You wan' someone dead? I know some of the best ways. I guess you could sort of say I'm a demonic hired gun. Or at least I was. You know, there wass a point when not even other demons would mess with me." The man began to giggle, and fell backwards when the building he was leaning so heavily on suddenly lurched to the side. The small bottle he'd been clutching fell beside him with a soft clank. He peered up at the boys through slit, bloodshot eyes.
"Finish me," he begged, black clouding and swirling in his eyes. "Don' juss send me back ta hell, kill me." For dramatic effect, he hiccupped.
The boys were slightly taken back by this change of events. Here was this demon, supposedly a once greatly feared demon, begging for death. They backed away and Dean sent a questioning look at his brother. Sam shook his head.
"If we could kill demons routinely, with just a few simple words," he whispered, "we'd be doing that instead of just sending them back to hell."
Dean nodded, curling his lips. "You got a point there. So what do we do?"
"Send him back to hell I guess. Just because he'd tipping around drunk, begging for death, doesn't excuse the fact that he killed almost a hundred people just to lure us here. We do what we can until we find a way to actually kill them with out sending them back to hell."
"A violent, unsympathetic plan Sammy, I like it."
Sam sent a glare his brother's way, already digging for his father's journal. He pulled it out, and they approached the demon. He didn't move, he simply laid and watched them.
"Back to hell I take it?"
"It'll be like one big happy high school reunion," Dean said, smirking. "You can go back and tell them all how successful you were."
The demon scoffed, pulling himself up so he was seated. "Yeah, where they all want to kill me for ditching out on them. Don't suppose you guys wouldn't follow me if I tried to escape?"
Dean's smirk dropped, "There really is no escape from us. Sammy-boy here," he clapped his brother on the shoulder, "he's a bit Obsessive Compulsive and we just can't leave a job unfinished."
Sam nodded, "It's true."
The demon's eyes widened, and again he hiccupped. "Ah, I see. Well then, we best get it over with. I s'pose they'll kill me when they see me anyway."
Unable to contain a small outburst of laughter, Dean tried to mingle it with a cough.
Sam began, the Latin easily flowing from his lips as he read over the words he'd seen a thousand times. His elocution, flawless from years of studying Latin with Pastor Jim, was easy going as he said the words almost from memory. Dean's lips moved silently as he lip synced his brother.
Marcus flopped around, his hands circling his throat as pain overrode everything else. The boy kept reading, and it felt like something was clawing its way down his throat to forcefully remove him from his host. Why was it taking so damn long?
Dean winced, almost in sympathy, but mainly in disgust as the demon was expelled from the older man. When the black cloud had fully dispersed from the sky, the street became quiet once more until a car alarm echoed in the distance.
"Everythin' alright out here?"
The boys turned from the panting host to find a tall, muscular bouncer from the bar. He leaned a bit, getting a good view of the man on the ground.
"Our friend here had a bit too much to drink, so we were just getting ready to take him home," Dean supplied. The car alarm started back up, and someone yelled.
Sam nodded, reinforcing Dean's story. He was relieved when the bouncer turned, giving them a cold look over his shoulder. "Just make sure y'all clean up any puke."
"Sir yes sir," Dean mocked. Sam shot him another glare, and Dean shrugged.
"Wass goin' on?" the older man mumbled, his hand weakly waiving in front of his face.
"Come on buddy," Dean grunted as he grabbed the man's arm and pulled him up. He gestured to Sam for help. Slightly crinkling his nose against the smell of the drunken older man, Sam took up the other arm in support.
"Who're you guys? Why am I drunk? Where we goin'?" His words were slurred as he tripped over himself, leaning heavily on the shoulders of both Winchesters.
Dean grimaced as the strong smell of body odor wafted around his head, and he turned to see the sweatshirt of the arm he was supporting completely soaked at the man's pit.
"Do you guys smell that?" the man wondered, sniffing in the air.
"Kind of hard not to," Sam bit out as they continued, making Dean laugh. At least he wasn't the only one suffering.
"Marcus?" Dean tried, stopping short. Sam was thrown off balance as their momentum was interrupted, catching himself and the drunk before they could both fall to the wet asphalt.
"Yeah?" the man smiled weakly.
"Do you know where you live?" The question was met first by an intense look of confusion, then a shake of his head.
"Come on man, I don't even know yer name and ya want to take me home?"
Dean's face flamed and it was Sam's turn to laugh.
"Old man's got a sense of humor, huh?" Dean snapped, his face heating even more as he watched Sam fight to catch his breath. The man between them seemed so out of it, so confused; all he could do was offer a lopsided grin to Sam's fit of laughter.
With his free hand, Sam blotted at his eyes, and continued to gasp between bouts of laughter.
"I say we drop him off at the nearest homeless shelter and let him sober up." Sam laughed again at Dean's suggestion, but stopped when he found that his brother was serious.
"We don't know how long he was possessed Dean, we don't know if he has a home to return to."
"Hello, homeless shelter," Dean tried again.
"How about the nearest hospital?" Sam tried. He was sure someone would help the older man there, and maybe he could get a shower while they were at it.
"The nearest hospital is five miles Sammy. I'm not carrying the man, and I am not putting him in the car."
"We have no choice Dean, we can't just leave him out here."
"Aw come on," Dean whined. "Someone else can help him, our good deed was done when we exorcised him."
"We can't, Dean."
"Fine. But if he stinks up the car, you're cleanin' it."
They downloaded the man into the back seat, letting him stretch out on his side. Despite the chilly night air, they rolled down all of the windows.
"I just don't understand why we need to see everything through to the end," Dean argued as they pulled out of the parking lot.
"I have OCD, remember?" Sam goaded, smirking at Dean's glare.
"Uh, guys?" came the small voice from the back seat.
"Don't you throw my words back at me," Dean argued. "Get your own."
"Uh, guys?" he tried again.
"Why get my own? You make it far too easy," Sam shot back.
"What!" they said simultaneously.
The sounds of the man being sick in the back shoved the last nail in the coffin for Sam. A look of fury crossed over Dean's face and his hands turned white as he hung onto the steering wheel with a death grip. "Sam," he finally growled out through clenched teeth.
"How is this my fault?" Sam asked, his eyes wide in innocence.
"Let's not leave the poor man on the ground, let's get him to a hospital," Dean mimicked.
"I didn't sound like that."
The splash of regurgitated alcohol on leather could be heard as the man retched again, and the smell intensified. Dean was about to pull over to murder both passengers when a small blue sign came into view. The small white 'H' in the center saved them all, and soon they were pulling into an emergency room.
A small nurse was outside, leaning against one of the support beams, a red cherry lighting up her face as she took a draw off of her cigarette. She stomped it out as they pulled up, sauntering over to the car.
"We drop the guy off and leave, Dean." The nurse was small, blonde, and was already making eyes past Sam at Dean as she approached the car.
"No worries, Sammy. Recycled scotch would be enough to turn me off of Pam Anderson."
"Really?" Sam scoffed as he climbed out of the car.
"Not really," Dean grinned, already opening the back door. "But it should help you realize the seriousness of the situation you face. You are so dead."
"Yeah, you'll whatever here in a minute." Dean bent down to haul the man out of the back seat, the smell of vomit almost knocking him over.
"What happened?" the nurse said, a distasteful look crossing her face as Dean tried to hand the man over.
"My brother and I were at a bar, offered to bring him here. By the way he was drinking, wouldn't be surprised if he's close to alcohol poisoning."
The woman looked at Dean as if he was her new hero. "You offered?"
"Yeah," Dean said, making eye contact with Sam. "And all I get is a back seat full of puke for my trouble."
The small nurse passed the man off onto a larger male nurse that had made it outside, who then passed him off into a wheel chair and took him inside.
"I'll bet I could help you out with that back seat." The nurse wasn't even playing hard to get, and if Dean had been in the mood he probably wouldn't have been that interested. He liked women who at least had a little class, and who at least had a little reservation.
Dean shook his head, "Maybe another time."
The nurse pouted, her glossy lower lip suddenly looking huge in the bright light of the emergency room entrance. "Well we at least need you guys to come in and fill out the forms for this guy."
"We don't even know him," Sam said as they both jumped back into the car.
"Might as well classify him as a John Doe," Dean added. "When he sobers up, I'm sure he'll remember who he is."
The nurse nodded, and then slowly walked back inside. Dean pulled the car out of the lot, and bypassed their hotel.
A bit disappointed, Sam turned a questioning gaze on his brother. "Dude, it's like two in the morning. Where are we going?" A nice shower, regardless of temperature, and crawling into bed had started to sound really good to him.
"We can't let this sit over night Sammy." Sam groaned as they pulled into a 24/7 carwash, the amount of lights illuminating the small parking lot blinding them both.
It was going to be a long night.
They sat in the freshly washed Impala, chowing down on greasy sausage sandwiches in the town's only Sonic, trying to ignore the lingering scent of vomit that just would not come out. They had both awoken around nine that morning, packed up their room, and headed out. They'd seen enough action in this town and were ready to go.
Dean scanned the headlines of a national paper, watching for their next gig. Sam sat beside him, half-heartedly surfing through the various news sites on his laptop. The WiFi was slow, and he wasn't getting very far.
"I think I got somethin'," Dean said, throwing the newspaper at Sam.
Dean put the car into reverse, pointing to the opposite page from which Sam was reading.
""Large Dog Kills Woman"?"
"That dog shred the woman into bits."
"So are you thinking a supernatural dog?"
"The best kind."
"I happen to like the kind that don't want to tear your face off," Sam said, his lips curling. "It would be nice to go up against a sweet little Fluffy or a playful little Fido one of these days." It felt good to joke around with his brother, a light-hearted joking way that he would no longer take for granted. He would take his brother over any other universe, any day.
"Well I happen to prefer the kind you get to put down with a silver bullet. And remember Mrs. Resner's Fluffy? That was a vicious dog."
Mrs. Resner had been their neighbor when they had been kids, at one of their various apartments, and had a small toy poodle named Fluffy.
"That's only because you would poke the thing with a stick whenever you could."
"It had razor sharp teeth, it wasn't simple poking, I was defending myself."
The day Sam had come home to find Fluffy attached to Dean, teeth furiously chomping on his forearm, was a sweet memory. Huh, he'd almost forgotten.
"Fluffy was a sweet little dog." The truth was, Fluffy had terrified them both. But she had only attacked Dean.
The classic beauty headed for the Interstate, Rush blaring from her speakers as her occupants continued to argue.
Thanks again, and I'll see you next time!