I appreciate the feedback! Now on with the final chapter!

"This is about the life at school in year 2002." Derek's voice boomed out of John's head as he shook his head no. Following Derek to another room, he couldn't help but think what Dean was up to.

"What about his feelings towards his father? It's filled with hate and pain."

Again, John shook his head no. He felt like he was on a boring museum tour as he walked to another room. Surely there had to be something here that interested him.

"His dreams?"

John bit his lip and hesitated, then shook his head.

Derek hummed. "Oh, what about connections? I think you might find this one interesting. It's short, too."

"Connections?" John asked, confusion clear in his voice.

"About this house."

John nodded.

"Today, I've finally found this house! This is it, the house my mother was murdered in and the house where everything normal came to an end. I spend most of my days after school here and it has become my second home. I decided that I needed a faster and safer way to travel to and from my house and this house, so I came up with a brilliant idea. I drew up a map of where to dig, the exact directions as I took a few floorboards away one day, and found what I had been looking for.

Underneath the foundation of the house was dirt. With my bare hands, I managed to dig a small tunnel. Day by day, the tunnel grew not only in length but in height, too. After several months of hard work, I had successfully dug a tunnel that began at the basement of the house I now live in, and ended at the house my mother died in. I began shaping the tunnel into a beautiful arch shape in the following days and pretty soon, it was complete.

I killed my first person the next day and no matter how loud he screamed, no one heard. At times, I would need to bring him to the tunnel and beat him incase he called too loudly and some people passing by had heard. After my job was completed, I used the tunnel to go back to my house and no one suspected a thing.

One night, I was staying in the abandoned house, I knocked over a candle and the place quickly caught on fire. The beautiful pale blue walls were becoming black and brown planks of wood in mere seconds. Luckily enough, the fire hadn't spread so much because I managed to put it out. I looked around and everything smelt of smoke- everything looked black and burnt. But no matter, this was my mother's house and I have to believe that angels- especially the angel that is my mother- is watching over it."

John swallowed back bile.

"Seems like he's a bit of a madman."

"A madman would be an understatement." John said bitterly.

Sympathetic eyes scanned his face and John had to look away. There was too much anger and resentment in his eyes that he couldn't afford to show.

"Would you like to call your son and see how your youngest is going?" He kindly offered. He seemed to understand as he smiled warmly towards John.

"Uh yeah, thanks."

"We can continue later. There's quite a bit that you might be interested in. I saw a few fascinating walls when I walked in."

John smiled but it didn't reach his eyes before he walked away.


"I'm guessing you don't want to know about his girlfriend?" Derek suggested after John had returned.

John almost laughed if the situation wasn't so serious. He nearly forgotten that Dylan was still a young teenager learning to grow up and take on bigger roles. He scrunched his face up and shook his head.

"What about how he killed his father?" At that, John snapped his head up.

"Yes, yes please."

"About time you took interest on something." He teased.

John smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

"I am going to kill my father tomorrow. I have it planned out exactly the way I want it to turn out. When he slips into his troubled and alcohol-filled sleep, I will tie him up first. I have scorpions in my basement that are jumping out of their skin to meet their victim. If my father tries to escape in any way, I will not hesitate in cutting off his legs with my blade.

He has caused me so much trouble; so much pain and suffering just seeing him live his life. I think it'd be better if I ended it before something happens to him. His eyes are dead and unseeing- I've always hoped that one day he will snap awake and look at his darling son with his two lively eyes and show him the affection a father should show. I have been missing that feeling for so long…too long.

But how, I ask myself, will I make it so the blame doesn't fall on me? I am a total genius. It wasn't until only a few years ago that I discovered my double jointed shoulders. I can easily pop them out of my socket without any pain. I will tie myself up and make it look like someone else did it. I know my dearest friend, Sam, will notice something gone wrong in the morning. He will find me all tied up and distressed. He's such an easy person to trick.

He will never betray me. He will never lose his trust on me. I wonder if I will enjoy killing him when I have the chance, after all, he did suspect me when Alex was killed. How did he know? He might not be as dumb as he looks. After my father's death, I will plan Sam's death. God has given me this life and now I will live it."

"That's all?" John asked, dumbfounded.

"That's all."

John opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by his shrill cell ring tone. Instantly, he flipped it open and pressed it against his ear.


"Yes, Dad? I've got something. It seems that when Dylan was approved of his cornea transplants. They were from a nine year old boy named Steve Lynt and from the looks of it, he became a vampire at a very young age."

"That would explain…"

"Yeah. Dylan had the eyes of a vampire all along."

John became breathless. Dean noticed the silence.

"What's going on over there? Found anything interesting? –Besides this whole vampire thing, I mean."

"It's absolutely crazy, Dean. The walls are all written over in with Braille."


"You heard me. I'll explain everything once I get back."

"Yeah, you might wanna do that pretty soon, actually."

John's heart beat skyrocketed. "What? Why? Is Sammy-"

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that, Dad. He's completely fine, just awake and asking where you are."

"And what did you tell him?"

"The truth of course."

"I'll be there right now. This stupid house can wait."

"Yeah, and Dad?"

"What is it?"

"Next time you visit those Braille walls, mind if we join?"


"Yeah, Sam wants to know what's been going on through that lunatic's head, too."

"We'll see."

The call was ended and Derek was about to speak when John quickly intercepted. "It's getting late. Mind if I go check on my son?"

"Absolutely no problem. I'll come here another time, and whatever important news I find I'll let you know straight away."

John tilted his head in thought. "Thanks."


It had been four days since Sam has woken up, and Amanda came in telling them that Sam's well enough to leave.

"So, walking stick, Sammy?" Dean had an evil glint to his eyes as he smiled.

"Bite me." He said softly. His throat still hurt quite a bit, but it had healed a lot. His body ached here and there sometimes, but he was ready to get out of this house of white.

"Alright, let's get out of here."

Sam walked with a limp but he was holding well on his own. Even though Dean would never admit it, he glanced to his right every now and again to see is he could help his brother. Sam was truly made with a heart of pure gold.

There was a faint bruise that swept across his throat, but it wasn't as bad as it looked. Sam was capable of talking but yelling across a football field was still out of his league.

They were back at their motel as they packed their duffels and threw them into the Impala.

"Hurry up, you two!" John shouted outside as Dean and Sam were talking inside.


He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and immediately flipped it open. "Yes?"

"Mr. Smithers? I've completed everything over at the house. Seems like everything I told you were the most important things there were in that house."

"What's the rest filled of then?"

"To sum it up in one single word? Crap. It's just about his younger life. I think he stopped writing his entries after his father died."

"Alright, thanks Derek."

"No problem. I'm so glad I could help. Is your son okay?"

"He's fine, thanks."

John sighed in relief and shut his phone. He couldn't wait to put the roads of this town behind the wheels of his Impala.


"I can't wait to get out of this town." Dean grumbled as John shouted outside.

"Five more minutes boys!"

"Too many…unpleasant memories." Sam finished.

"Sam, you couldn't help what happened."

"I know. It doesn't feel right though. He seemed innocent…"

"But he wasn't. Look what he did to you. Look what he did to Alex and his own father! He even damaged my machete!" Dean bit his lip as he looked at the blade he favored the most and kept under his bed.

"Dean? What are you doing?" Sam asked as he saw Dean put his machete in the motel drawer.

"I can't live with owning that, Sam. That blade drew your blood, and I'm never looking at it ever again."

"Dean! That's your favorite machete!"


"Dean, you don't have to."

"Yeah? But I want to. It's different."

"Thanks." He whispered softly.

"Whoa, whoa, I don't know what you're going on about. I just want Dad to get me a better machete. If you think this is about you at all…"

Sam smiled and punched his brother on the arm.

"You're lucky you just got out of hospital. If this situation was anything different, you'd be on the floor pleading for me to get off you."

"Yeah, right. Just keep on dreaming Dean."

"I'm not dreaming. I'm in reality."

"Where demons and vampires and ghosts live. Yep, I'd say we're in reality, and that's the reason no one believes this crap."

Chuckling, Dean swung his duffel over his shoulder. "Which brings this to a definite conclusion. Demons I get. Humans? They're a bunch of…"

"Yeah, I'd rather you not finish that."

"You're a real bitch you know that?"

"Yeah, which is why you threw your machete away for me you jerk."

"You're the one who needs to keep on dreaming!"

"Boys! If you're not done I'm coming in there and dragging your asses out here!"

Thundering laughter filled the motel as Dean and Sam exited. "You drag my ass, I'll punch you to a pulp Dad."

John laughed. "Try as you may."

"It's two against one."

"No, no no Dean. You're by yourself here." Sam said as he sprinted to the passenger seat.

"You bitch!" Dean hollered.

"You're an ass Dean! You freakin' jerk!" Sam's voice came from inside the Impala.

Life was something that shouldn't be underestimated, overlooked or sneered down upon at. It was something that constantly changes around you, leaving your lone shadow to step up and join you where it rightly belongs. Those who fall behind are left to battle their own worlds of abandonment, fear and misery. With loved ones by your side, standing right beside your shoulder to make sure that the path you choose will always be the one in front of you; you will never fail to fall behind in the world of surprises.

"Is that the best you can come up with?" Dean asked, a small smirk creeping up.

Sure, every road has bumps and every bump has flaws. Every crater on the ground holds another ditch in it which might be filled one day. The road was never ending, many sharp turns and other paths that led to different directions with a shiny, perfect surface tempting you to surrender to the hardship of life and accept the easy way of living. The horizon seemed to stretch on forever as the golden crust of the sky fades to a darker shade, the heavens roar as rain belts down at the long stretch of concrete.

Funny how the perfect roads always stay sunny with white clouds and sparkling rainbows.

"Boys, if you don't cut this now and continue to think up of names while I drive to the next town, I'm stringing you both up." His lips curled as he disappeared behind the door of the driver's seat, the engine revving as they pulled out of the driveway.

You start to crumble, your legs buckle as you collapse and stare down the winding road before you. Your knees collide in slow motion at the gravel but suddenly stop as strong arms clutch at your shoulders desperately. They're the ones that matter the most, and together you will walk down the righteous path.

Sam looks at his father behind the wheel, his brother in the backseat and grins to himself that only he himself understands why he's grinning like an idiot. He places his head back and closes his eyes as five precious seconds of peace rushes through his body before his brother slaps his head and the banter starts all over again.

The golden frame of your masterpiece hangs lifelessly on the wall, thin strings barely holding it up. The artwork before you is dull and boring and you decide what to do. You watch as a small parrot flaps its wings and its feet land on the edge of it. The comparison between its beautiful colors and your bare artwork is shameful; embarrassing. Your artwork swings fragilely, and you decide that it's time to start. Your life is in your hands, and the picture you decide to paint is up to the life in your hands. Day by day, the parrot's beautiful colors become one with the painting as the thin strings hanging your work become thick leather straps that will hold forever.


I don't know why I decided to do a "Heroes" type ending how Mohinder kinda finishes it up with some blabber that I don't pay attention to, but I think it sorta fit with this.

Many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this fic. A huge thanks to individuals: Devan, for such nice and supportive words and her lesson on cornea transplants. Jess, for her amusing sense of humor and her encouraging words of kindness. Louise, for telling me that I'm doing such a great job with this fic and the last few paragraphs is dedicated to you. Angel for being such a lovely friend and telling me there's nothing to worry about. And the amazing Jenilee who thought of this wonderful prompt in the first place. I hope you liked it, Jen! And last but not least, everyone who reviewed including my anon. reviewers.

Please tell me how I did, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to you tomorrow since my internet access is getting cut off for a month or so. Until then!