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Visions 7 Prologue
Supernatural, Hug, Dean, Sam
I decided to post all of Visions 7 on here for my reader's pleasure.  If you have NOT read the rest of the visions series, you are going to want to go to ff.net and read those first!  :)  

Sam wasn't sure how it had come to this.
After all they had been through.....
All he had lived through......
This was how he was going to die?
It didn't seem fair.
It didn't seem right.
He couldn't stop it.
He could barely find it in him to care.
Without Dean?
There was no point in fighting anyway.

Visions 7 Chapter 1
Supernatural, Hug, Dean, Sam
 "Hey dad."
Sam swallowed. He wasn't sure he liked this, not at all.
Dean refused to look at him, his shoulders stiff with anger that Sam knew wasn't directed at him. At least not all of it.
They hadn't exactly agreed on whether or not calling their dad in was a good idea considering how their conversation a few months before had gone.
But Sam was tired.
He was tired of the fighting. He was tired of the distance between him and his father. Something nagged at him, some deep part of him was beginning to recognize that none of them would live forever.  Heck, Sam was fairly sure he wasn't going to live to the age of 40 or maybe even 30. What would he do if he wasn't the one to die first, like he kinda thought he would? What if it was their dad? Or...or heaven forbid...Dean? Sam knew it was time to extend the olive branch.
He had simply told Dean he wanted dad's help.
"Sam." If John was surprised to hear his youngest son's voice, he didn't show it.
"I, uh...We're working on a case and I was wondering if you would come up and give us a hand. This thing that's killing people off..." Sam sighed. "We don't know what it is. It doesn't fit any of the regular patterns of...well, anything. We'd appreciate your opinion."
Please dad. We're stronger together. As a family. We always have been.
John hesitated and Sam felt his heart drop.
That's when John spoke, his voice firm and unquestioning.
"Alright. I'm coming. Just tell me where you are."
Sam fidgeted again where he was sitting at the table, pretending to do research on the laptop, though Dean knew the kid was just trying to find something to distract himself with.
Dean sighed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
He couldn't decide whether or not he was happy their dad was coming. He had agreed: that was a good sign. Or at least it could be. It would depend on his motivation for coming. Helping his useless sons? Not good. Going to support his children because they were his? Good.
Dean loved his father. He did. But Sam always came first and Dean wasn't sure their father was ready to get over the mind-reading incident of several months before.
Then Sam fidgeted again, restlessly, and Dean couldn't just sit there anymore.
"Sam. It'll be okay, kiddo. Relax."
Sam glanced over at him, surprised. "I thought I was the mind-reader."
"You're rubbing off on me."
Sam snorted. "Heaven help us."
Dean flashed him a fake-hurt look. "Ouch. That's not very nice. I would never abuse the power of mind reading."
"Yeah whatever."
Dean hid his grin. "I find your lack of faith disturbing."
"Oh. Oh no. There is no way you're starting that again." But Sam sounded amused.
"Dream squasher."
"Bubble burster."
"You're so sad."
This is awkward.
Sam sighed.
John clearly didn't know how to interact with Sam, what was too much, what to say.
Crap, dad, it's mind reading, I didn't grow horns and a tail!
But what really surprised Sam?
His dad was trying.
He had looked Sam in the eyes when he walked up, greeted him just as he'd greeted Dean.
He sat reading over all the research Sam had done, then thought for a while, flipping through several pages of his journal.
"I kind of thought it was related to the Wendigo." Sam said softly.
John glanced at him, looking impressed, much to Sam's additional surprise. "You're right, actually. It's a relative of the Wendigo. You kill it in a similiar manner, except it's susceptible to bullets as well as fire. It's a little slower than the Wendigo, but ten times stronger and has massive claws. Nothing to mess around with."
Sam nodded, glancing at Dean, who looked thoughtful, probably already contemplating what he was going to do to the creature and how best to go about the fight.
"This is good work, Sam. Thorough research."
Sam stared at John in shock, but his dad didn't look at him, standing and walking towards the door. "I'm gonna make sure I have what I need in the truck. When you guys are ready we can head out."
Sam and Dean watched their father go, then stared at each other.
"Should I get the holy water?" Sam finally asked.
Dean snorted, trying to contain a burst of laughter. I knew you'd come around! Oh, crap, dad. Thank you.
The three Winchesters were prepared for this fight. Each had their handguns securely tucked in their belts, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.  Sam had a pack holding three make-shift flame throwers that they would probably pull out once they got closer to their destination.  They had figured out a basic area to search, where they thought it's hunting grounds were and were heading that way now.
Sam was nervous.
He wasn't sure why exactly.
He would swear someone was watching, but none of his senses, human or otherwise, warned him of anyone that wasn't supposed to be there.
Dean had glanced around several times, looking carefully at their surroundings, but he apparently hadn't seen anything either.
John was stiff, prepared, alert.
This hunt shouldn't be hard, Sam knew. They were more than prepared. Sam knew that too.
Then why am I so afraid?
A wicked smile spread across the face of the man standing in the shadows.
Let the games begin.

Visions 7 Chapter 2
Supernatural, Hug, Dean, Sam
Um...let's see. I have a warning...if you don't want to read it, then don't read the next line and just skip down... :)
WARNING: character death
Okay! Here's the story!

Sam froze.
A chill went down his spine, a cold soaking into his limbs.
The creature was close.
Dean and his father must have felt it too, because they stopped, each drawing their gun.
That's when a huge clawed creature leapt from the trees. It wasn't as fast as a Wendigo, thank goodness, but it was fast and it was halfway across the clearing, heading straight for Dean, before any of the hunters had their guns raised.
Sam's reflexes kicked in, his gun up and he was firing before his brain had even gotten over the fact that it was headed straight for his big brother.
His shots were well-aimed and the creature skidded to a halt, turning to face Sam, burning fury in its gaze. It was moving for him a second later.
Sam cocked his gun once more, pulling the trigger.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, nothing.
Taking several rapid steps back, he started to try to fix the problem, unsure of exactly how to do that.
The creature was still approaching, even faster than before, ignoring the sound of the two hunters firing, managing to put a tree between him and Dean.
Dean's cry was, to Sam's slight surprise, echoed by their father.
Giving up on the gun, Sam concentrated, reaching out to push the creature away, hopefully far enough that he could have a second to pull out the flamethrower in place of his useless gun.
What the-
Sam froze, panic finally building in his mind.
This is it.
I'm gonna die.
It's over.
I'm so sorry, Dean. Dad.
Guilt for his final thought.
Please let it be quick.
And John was suddenly there, standing between his youngest child and the creature, a tall strong protective wall. Fearless and determined.
The creature lashed out.
Dean fired.
A screech and the creature fell.
So did John.
"Dad!" Sam caught him, lowering him to the ground, trying rapidly to inspect the damage.
It only took him a second to realize it was fatal.
Blood already stained his dad's clothing, gushing from several horribly deep wounds. Any deeper and they would have cut him in half.
Dean was there, dropping to his knees.
"I'm sorry. Oh, dad, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Sam was frantically repeating, his panic not banished, just changing directions.
John shushed him. "Sammy. Sam. It's okay. It was gonna happen, Sam. It's okay." he gasped.
Dean was stiff on the other side of the father, shock and fear and horror all warring on his face.
John looked over at his oldest, managing to grab his arm forcefully for someone so severely wounded. "I'm proud of you, son."
Dean began shaking his head frantically. John squeezed his arm.
"Dean. You raised your brother right. You did a good job. You're a darn good hunter and a good man. I'm proud of you."
Dean began to cry. "Dad. Dad, no...don't-"
John's breathing was getting harsher and he was clearly struggling.
"I-I'm sorry, Sam. I made mistakes with you. I-I know I did. I'm th-thankful you h-had your brother, b-but I'm a-also sorry it w-wasn't m-me you c-could turn to. I-I hope you know..." He trailed off.
There were some things that their father could never say, even when death was upon him.
Sam smiled through his tears and nodded firmly. "Yeah. Yeah, dad. I know. Me too."
John managed a small smile and a nod, then relaxed back against the leaves beneath him, struggling for air.
He gasped once.
His eyes slid shut.
He was gone.
The two remaining Winchesters remained at their father's side for what felt like an eternity.
The silence was only broken by the nearly silent sobs from Sam.

Visions 7 Chapter 3
Supernatural, Hug, Dean, Sam
  Hey all! Here's the next chapter! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! Everything's going to get much, much, much, much worse before it gets better, but.......well, that's what we're all here for right? :)

  I had this ready to post like three days ago, but ff.net won't let me edit any of my stories. I don't know how to fix it and it's really irritating. So, yeah, I hope that's fixed soon.......

  A week of tense silence followed that fateful night.
  Sam had never felt so disconnected from his brother. Even when they were fighting they had been brothers, there had still been something between them. He could always trust his brother to be there when he really needed him.
  He wasn't so sure.
  If he was honest with himself......he had never felt so alone.
  Dean had spent a good portion of the week drinking.
  Day after day, Sam watched his brother go to the local bar and get as drunk as he could possibly manage. He left often, but never told Sam where he was going.
  Sam was a little surprised by how much it hurt every time Dean walked right passed him in their motel room and didn't say a word, didn't even look at him.
  Sam had been left to fend for himself.
  Dean woke up before Sam several times, but never got his brother breakfast as he normally would. He got breakfast.....just none for Sam.
  Frankly, Sam was almost glad to be able to leave the intense tension behind for a few minutes to get his own breakfast. He was so sick of the motel room. They hadn't left the town, they hadn't even left the motel room.
  Dean hadn't even talked to him.
  Sam had never seen his brother in such a state of strong and horrible grief. He had never been so shunned by his sibling, even at their worst times.
  Sam wasn't sure how to balance reaching out to Dean and dealing with his own horrid grief and guilt. Normally, Dean would reach out to him. Sam had always thought that they would suffer through every trial together, that no matter what happened they would get through it because they were together.
  Being proven wrong sucked.
  Especially when you learned the hard way.
  Dean's glare, so full of intense anger and almost hatred, had quickly detered Sam from trying more than once to reach out to his brother.
  He had had nightmares about receiving that look from Dean. It was the look that Dean usually received for people who were threatening Sam, not for Sam himself.
  Sam found it surprisingly terrifying.
  The nightmares of being hunted returned, despite the fact that they had always been about.....about their dad before.
  They were about Dean.
  Sam woke up screaming every night.
  Dean never stirred.
  Sam could clearly remember his breaking point.
  He had tried so hard to give Dean space, hoped that Dean would come around and help him bear the burden that he thought was going to kill him.
  Dad. Dad, I'm sorry.
  Dad hadn't blamed him but did Dean?
  It was with this in mind that Sam watched Dean come back from another night of drinking, walking right passed him without looking.
  That's when Sam broke.
  He needed to see his brother's loving gaze, his teasing smile.
  He wanted the pain to go away. He didn't know how to deal with it alone. He had never had to before. How could he start now?
  Dean froze.
  It was the first words that had been spoken for a week between the two of them and Sam felt it like a physical pain.
  "Dean, please. Please talk to me. Let me help you. We-we don't...don't have to do this alone."
  Dean exloded. "It's not your job to fix me Sam."
  That hurt.
  "I'm your brother, Dean. Not only do I have a responsibility to help, but I want to help."
  Dean spun around to face him. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure I want you to be that for me! You certainly weren't there for dad!"
  Sam froze. "What?" his tone was soft, broken.
  Dean stared at him, fury in his eyes, evident in the fists clenched at his side, shaking like he was trying to keep himself from hitting his younger brother. "It's your fault, Sam! If you had just taken the time to clean your gun, if you hadn't froze, if you had just used your stupid powers, you could have done something! You could have saved him, but you did nothing! It's your fault, because you freaking froze!"
  Sam had never heard such hurtful words spoken from his brother's mouth, nor had he known such pain was possible. He had suffered a lot in his short life time, but nothing compared to the pain of knowing that his brother blamed him. Truly blamed him and hated him for it.
  He sat down hard on the bed, staring blankly at the floor. Some distant part of him recognized that he could very well be going into shock.
  Dean stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
  He was probably going back to the bar, if it was even open.
  Sam lost track of time after that.
  Minutes passed into hours, but it all felt like eternities to the youngest Winchester.
  Dean's words spun around and around in Sam's head, the last week of silent suffering on both their parts.
  It's your fault.
  It's your fault.
  It's your fault.
  Dad is dead, because of you.
  Dean hates you.

  Sam froze on that one.
  Dean hates you.
  That's when Sam knew what he had to do.
  It only took minutes for Sam to pack. Long years of practice kept him neat and orderly, keeping it easy to rush out the door if necessary.
  His bag rested by the door, then he went out to the car, which still sat there, having been unmoved for a week now.
  Dean always walked to the bar.
  Sam opened the trunk, staring one last time at the array of weapons they owned, each telling him many stories of past hunts.
  The rifle he had learned to shoot first, Dean's steady and gentle hands guiding him as he held it and aimed.
  The machete he had learned to handle with practiced ease, Dean giving encouragement from the sidelines.
  The journal that together he and Dean had filled with everything they knew about this life, about the creatures they had lived, and even died, fighting side by side.
  Last of all, he laid eyes on his gun.
  It was the handgun that Dean had given him for his 16th birthday, one that was his to use. He cleaned it, he cared for it, he used it.
  His dad had died because of it.
  Somehow Sam knew that if he left it behind Dean would just throw it away.
  I need a weapon anyway.....
  Sam tucked it into the back of his pants, then shut the trunk.
  For some reason, it felt like he was shutting a lot more than that.
  Sam took one last look around the motel room.
  Everything that belonged to him was gone, packed and waiting by the door for him.
  It amazed some distant part of him that wasn't completely numb that over twenty years of living, laughing, loving, fighting, and suffering could come down to a single duffle bag.
  There was just one last thing to do.
  Sam took the letter from his pocket and laid it on Dean's pillow, where he knew his older brother would see it.
  He owed Dean an explanation of some kind.
  If Dean cared enough to read it.
  Maybe Dean was just that done with him, done with him enough to simply throw away the letter without reading it, with nothing more than a 'good riddance'.
  Sam turned his back on the room, grabbed his duffle and walked out the door, shutting it softly behind him.
  It was his first time on his own.
  "Hey Bobby."
  Sam had spent a restless night sleeping in a rental car that he had stolen, sleeping very little.
  He couldn't stop thinking. Dean's words were always there, like a steady stream in the back of his mind: a constant reminder of his utter failure. In the front of his mind were more practical thoughts like, "what do I do now?"
  He had never been on his own before. He had always hunted with Dean by his side. He wasn't used to living on his own and he was barely sure where to even start.
  It had finally occurred to him that calling Bobby and running a few things by him might be a good start.
  "Sam. How you holdin' up, kiddo?"
  Bobby sounded concerned and it tore at Sam's heart.
  "I've been better." was all he could manage.
  Bobby sighed. "How's Dean?"
  "Well.....um......" Sam finally took a deep breath and just plunged in. "We separated."
  Stunned silence.
  Sam grimaced at Bobby's tone. "Dean.....I.....we both feel it would be for the best. It's, uh, it's been a really rough week, Bobby."
  Sam couldn't listen to lecture about staying by Dean's side. He couldn't.
  "Bobby, I just.....I just thought you should know that....that we separated....just in case.....you know, just in case something goes wrong. Dean.....Dean deserves to know if something.....something happened to me. If....if he cares, then maybe you could pass the message along if you don't hear from me."
  "I gotta go, Bobby."
  Sam ended the call, threw the phone into the empty passenger seat.
  He pulled the car over to the side of the road, sat staring at the bleak landscape around him.
  Finally, he bowed his head over the wheel of the car and began to cry.