Oh my gosh! It's HERE! Visions 1...no...2...that's not right...3...um...5...not quite...7...getting there...8! HOLY CRAP! This is a long series. Thanks to all of you who have stuck with me to the end here. (And I'm not saying the visions series is over...I might have another book planned...I suppose we'll see...)

Anyway, here's the first chapter! I hope you all enjoy! This is going to be a very fast-paced, action-filled story, but I've got a few chick-flick moments planned to (it's me, of course I do!).

Please review! :)

Of all the stupid bets to lose! This is ridiculous.

Sam shovelled another pile of dirt out of the grave, grumbling under his breath the whole time, vaguely aware of Dean laughing at him nearby.

His brother was on look-out duty, shooting the ghost whenever it tried to stop Sam from his work. Sam had somehow ended up with digging duty...without the use of his telekinesis.

I should have won that bet!

Sam was still in shock from the loss.

Dean had been bored, which was never good, and he had bet his little brother that he could pick up the prettiest girl in a bar after skipping showers for a whole month.

Sam had outright laughed at him, pulled from his research by the ridiculous notion. "Seriously, Dean? Even you couldn't pick up a girl without showering for a month!"

Dean had taken the challenge and had offered a month's digging if he lost.

Sam had agreed.

In hindsight, Sam should have made sure the girl wasn't drunk.

"Feeling the strain there, little brother? How you doing working like a real man?" Dean chuckled, eyes still sharp for the ghost.

Sam shot him a glare that should have disintegrated him on the spot. "Keep talking, Dean, and I'll pants you in a biker bar after dyeing all of your underwear pink."

Dean looked at Sam in horror. "You wouldn't."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Try me."

Dean sighed, shaking his head, fighting a smile. "Touchy, touchy." he grumbled, but he stopped talking.

Sam kept shovelling, his back aching from the hard work, but contrary to his brother's implication, Sam wasn't out of shape. Powers or not, he was in the best physical shape he had ever been in.

Show you strain, jerk.


An hour later, Sam was climbing out of the grave, having unearthed the casket at long last. The ghost had been gaining power over the last hour, leaving Dean on edge.

His brother was more protective than ever after the trickster incident. Sam knew it was guilt. The same guilt that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make Dean let go of.

Sam had long since forgiven his brother, but it saddened him to realize that Dean may never forgive himself.

The youngest Winchester pulled himself back into the hunt, covering the bones with lighter fluid and dropping the bottle back on the ground.


Dean fired at the ghost as it came at them again.

A second later, his brows furrowed at a strange pained noise from Sam. He turned and released the gun just in time to lunge forward and catch Sam before his baby brother toppled into the open grave.

Sam's hands clutched his head in agony, as he began to jerk violently in his sibling's grasp. Strangled gasps and whimpers ripped from his throat.

Dean managed to get them both on the ground, calling Sam's name, even as he was desperately trying to keep an eye out for the ghost.

Vision. Shoot.

Dean hated seeing his little brother in pain and hearing Sam make such pitiful, heart-breaking noises nearly killed him.

The older brother kept his arms wrapped tightly around Sam, trying to keep his little brother from hurting himself with the wild movements.

In his distress, Dean nearly missed the ghost coming at them again. He lunged for the gun, but the one arm he kept around Sam wasn't enough. The ghost tossed Sam like a rag-doll to the other side of the grave, following after him.

Desperate, Dean dug for the lighter in his pocket, his mind on panic mode. Save Sam. Save Sam. Save Sam.

The ghost had ahold of Sam again and was preparing to toss him.

Dean tossed the lit lighter into the grave, not carrying that the lighter was probably decimated by the action. He could get another lighter. Little brothers weren't so replaceable.

The ghost lit up in flames with a shriek, dropping Sam, who fell to the ground in a heap, limp.

The ghost gone, Dean scrambled to Sam's side, his mind running on one frequency. Not again. Please, not again. I can't do this again!

"Sam! Sammy!"

To his surprise, Sam was still gasping, jerking minutely, when he reached his side. Almost as if Dean's presence gave him permission to give in, Sam went stiff, his breath cutting off.

"Come on, come on."

Then, to Dean's alarm, Sam seized, his back arching up off the ground, every muscle stiff and tight, still not breathing.


This had never happened before and Dean didn't know what to do.


Before Dean could even begin to contemplate acting, Castiel was suddenly dropping to his knees beside Sam.

The angel looked more flustered and alarmed, emotional in that moment than Dean had ever seen him.

Cas pressed two fingers to Sam's forehead, his whole body practically vibrating with concentration.

Sam gasped in a breath, pale, coated in sweat, shaking.

Cas pulled back, watching Sam.

Dean did the same, desperate for some response. Sammy.

Sam's eyes opened for just a moment, glazed and frightened, terror broadcasting so clearly from them that Dean's heart stopped.

Then his eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he was out.

Dean gently pulled Sam into his arms, cradling him with tender care, finally looking up at Castiel.

"What the heck just happened?" he asked shakily.

Castiel sighed, shaking his head.

The angel seemed almost human in that moment, touched by despair and fear and looking exhausted.

"We have a problem."