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IT WAS A CRISP, CLEAR NIGHT, THE KIND WHERE THE STARS SEEMED TO SHIMMER just a little brighter than usual, and the air was laced with the earthy scent of pine and wood smoke. Sam and Rosemarie were curled up together on a thick blanket, stretched out beneath the canopy of towering trees surrounding their campfire. The flames flickered in front of them, casting a soft, orange glow that danced over their faces. The crackling of the fire was the only sound, and the warmth it gave off was a welcome relief against the chilly evening air.

Sam's body was angled slightly toward her, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Rosemarie, her face flushed from the cold, had her hands buried in the oversized hoodie she'd stolen from Sam a long time ago. The hoodie, worn and comforting, smelled faintly of him, and it seemed to be the only thing that could warm her up at that moment.

They were both fixated on the fire, watching the flames twist and flicker in mesmerizing patterns. It was peaceful, but there was something in the air, something unspoken between them. The kind of silence that held more meaning than any words could.

After a long pause, Rosemarie broke the stillness, her voice soft but steady, as if she'd been contemplating something for a while. "Do you think we'll be like this forever?" Her words floated into the space between them, not seeking answers, but perhaps a reassurance she wasn't even sure she needed.

Sam turned his head slowly, catching her side profile as she kept her gaze locked on the fire, her expression almost distant, lost in thought. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly as she blinked, and the faint freckles on her cheeks and nose seemed to stand out more in the soft light of the fire. She looked fragile, almost ethereal, as though the cold and the darkness couldn't quite touch her warmth. But the question lingered, and Sam felt a pang of unease twist in his stomach.

Her lips were slightly parted, the faintest pink, and her pouty, kissable mouth seemed so inviting. But Sam couldn't help but focus on the sadness that had clouded her usual radiance.

"I mean, happy," she added, her voice drifting into the air like a tentative whisper, as if she feared he might misunderstand. "Without too much... worry."

Sam blinked, his heart clenching as he tried to process the weight of her words. He turned toward her fully, his hand instinctively reaching out to pull her closer, threading his fingers through hers. He could feel the slight tremble in her fingers, the cold still clinging to her skin.

Sam pressed his body against hers, trying to share his warmth with her, his hand resting on her shoulder, the other still entwined in hers. "I think," Sam began, his voice low and steady, "that we'll be okay, as long as you know how much I love you, and how much I care about you. Nothing—nothing—will tear me away from you." His eyes locked with hers, dark and full of unspoken promises.

Rosemarie's gaze softened, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her lips. Her eyes were filled with warmth, but there was something vulnerable in them, as though she knew the world wasn't always kind, and yet she still allowed herself to hope. Her soft smile put him at ease, and for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened—everything they'd lost—seemed to lift just a little.

Without saying a word, they leaned into each other, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss. The kind of kiss that was more than just a greeting—it was a promise, a vow without words. The warmth from the kiss seeped into Sam's soul, filling the cracks that the world had worn into him. For a few eternal seconds, the chaos of their lives seemed so far away, and all that mattered was this moment—this feeling of peace, of love.

But then, everything changed.

Sam's eyes flew open as the sound of his name sliced through the stillness. It was a whisper at first—faint, as if carried on the wind. "Sammy..."

His heart skipped a beat, confusion clouding his thoughts. It sounded like Rosemarie, but she was right there, beside him, her lips still unopened. The voice... it couldn't have been her, but it sounded so real. So close.

"Sammy," the voice called again, louder this time, the urgency rising in it like a threat.

Sam's brow furrowed, his heart beginning to race. The fire seemed to flicker unnaturally, the shadows around them growing deeper, darker. He looked around, panic creeping into his chest. The trees were suddenly looming, the night air thicker, colder. He turned his head, scanning the area. "Rosemarie?" he called, but his voice barely reached his own ears over the growing crescendo of the mysterious voice.

"Sam!" It screamed this time, louder, more frantic.

He stood up abruptly, disoriented, trying to make sense of the situation. The fire was no longer a calming presence; it was an angry inferno in front of him. He looked to his side—Rosemarie was still there, sitting on the blanket, her eyes wide with confusion, but her lips were still closed, not moving.

"Save me, Sam!" The voice screamed one last time, the words chilling Sam's very bones.

Suddenly, Sam gasped, his eyes snapping open in a frantic jolt. He was no longer sitting beside Rosemarie by the fire. His surroundings were different now—darker, colder.

His eyes scanned around in the dark interior of the Impala, disoriented and unsure. The familiar scent of leather and gasoline was sharp in his nostrils, and the hum of the engine was the only sound breaking through the silence. The cold metal of the car beneath him grounded him, but his thoughts were still racing. Was it a dream? A nightmare?

His breath came fast as he sat up, his chest tight with panic, his eyes darting from the steering wheel to the rearview mirror, searching for some sign of what was real and what wasn't. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, and he couldn't shake the feeling of Rosemarie's voice—her desperate plea—still echoing in his mind.

THE ROAD STRETCHED OUT BEFORE THEM, AN ENDLESS RIBBON OF ASPHALT cutting through the dark landscape. The rhythmic hum of the Impala's engine was the only sound that filled the air, save for the occasional sigh or shift from the passenger seat. Dean's eyes flicked over to Sam, who was practically squirming in his seat, his body restless and tense. It was clear his brother wasn't asleep—he hadn't been for days. Not since they left Palo Alto. Sam was haunted by the weight of Rosemarie's disappearance, the guilt gnawing at him like a beast he couldn't escape.

Dean had let him rest, if only because Sam had been running on fumes for too long, the darkness of grief and fear painted over his every movement. It had been weeks since they had buried Jessica. Sam had barely slept, his mind constantly consumed with the need to find Rosemarie before time ran out for her, too. Every moment spent not searching felt like another moment lost, another moment that could drive her further into the hands of whatever dark force had taken her.

But now, Sam was shifting, his breath quickening as his face contorted in discomfort. Dean could see it—Sam's eyes flickering behind his closed lids as if the dreams he was having were no better than the waking nightmare. Dean kept his eyes on the road, resisting the urge to wake him. Sam needed rest, even if it was the kind that came with restless tossing and turning. The nightmares were bad, but at least they meant Sam was getting a few hours of peace.

Then, it happened. Sam jerked awake suddenly, his body rigid as if he'd been shocked out of sleep. Dean glanced over, noticing the pinched expression on his brother's face as he rubbed his temples. Sam let out a breath, trying to shake off whatever had plagued him in his sleep.

"You okay?" Dean asked, keeping his voice casual, though the concern in his eyes was obvious. He knew Sam well enough to know that whatever had been bothering him wasn't something that could be erased easily.

Sam blinked a couple of times, still shaken, his voice distant and rough as if he hadn't fully come back to the present. "Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, though the words came out sluggish, almost as if he were still in the grip of whatever nightmare had pulled him from his rest.

Dean's gaze flicked over to him again, studying his face. "Another nightmare?" he asked, his tone more knowing than curious. It wasn't a surprise anymore that Sam's mind was haunted by twisted dreams—memories of Rosemarie, of the times they'd shared, blending with dark, horrifying distortions of reality. Sam's eyes would snap open in the middle of the night, sweat on his brow, like he'd just woken from a living hell.

Sam's silence only answered Dean's question, and his brother's eyes narrowed. He saw the way Sam refused to meet his gaze, his jaw tight. Whatever had happened in that dream was still too fresh for him to talk about, and Dean wasn't sure if he wanted to push him. Instead, he cleared his throat, the tension rising between them, the air thick with unspoken words.

"Want to drive?" Dean asked, the words slipping out before he realized what he was saying. He instantly regretted it, because in all the years they'd been hunting together, he'd never once let anyone drive the Impala but himself. But something had shifted in Sam lately, something deep and aching, and Dean couldn't help but wonder if offering this small gesture of control might give him something to hold onto.

Sam's head turned, his eyes wide with surprise. A shaky laugh escaped him as he processed the offer. "In your whole life, you've never once asked me that," he said, incredulous, the shock in his voice mingling with a nervous chuckle. The idea of Dean—his big brother, the one who always took the wheel—offering this simple act felt absurd. The weight of it hit Sam harder than he expected, a reminder that even small changes in their dynamic felt unsettling.

Dean's hands tightened on the wheel, his face suddenly flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. He didn't turn to look at Sam, but his voice was level, though there was an undercurrent of self-consciousness. "Just thought you might want to," he muttered, the words tinged with something else, something that Sam couldn't quite place. "Never mind."

The silence that followed was thicker than before, but Sam knew better than to let it linger. He had to push past it, even if his words felt hollow.

"Look, man, I know you're worried about me," Sam began, his voice quieter, more serious now. "I get it. And... thank you. But I'm fine." He forced a deep breath, his hand gripping the seat as if to ground himself. He refused to let Dean's concern make him feel like he was breaking, like he was weak. "As long as I'm still searching for Rosemarie, I'll be okay." His voice wavered for a split second, but he fought it down. The fear gnawed at him, but Sam refused to let it show.

Dean kept his gaze on the road ahead, his jaw tightening as he nodded. "Mm-hm," he murmured. But Sam knew him too well to be fooled by the simple noise. Dean wasn't buying it.

Sam might've been lying to himself, but Dean could tell when his brother was lying through his teeth. It had been too many years of being raised together, too many shared moments of understanding without needing words. Sam wasn't okay, and Dean knew it. But there was nothing he could do right now, not when Sam had his mind so fixated on finding Rosemarie.

The worry settled heavy on Dean's shoulders as they drove offt. Sam had convinced himself that if he just kept pushing forward, if he kept hunting, he could find her, save her, make things right. But Dean knew how these things went. Time wasn't on their side—not for Sam, not for anyone they loved. And with every passing day, the hope that Rosemarie was still out there, still alive, started to feel like the cruelest kind of lie.

Dean didn't say anything else. He didn't need to. There was no need for more words between them—not yet. But the truth hung in the air like smoke, thick and undeniable.

Sam wasn't fine. And Dean wasn't sure how much longer they could keep pretending he was.

THE STILLNESS OF THE DARKNESS AROUND ROSEMARIE WAS ever-present, but it no longer felt so suffocating. The voice—her constant companion in this bleak world—had become a familiar, comforting presence. It had started as a soft whisper, barely noticeable, but now it was a part of her, an unseen anchor in the void. The more time she spent with this presence, the more she felt an inexplicable bond with it. It had spoken to her from the beginning, guiding her, whispering words of comfort, and even sharing fragments of wisdom. She didn't know why it cared for her, but it did, and it had become the one thing she could trust in this lonely, silent place.

"Are you sure you can't tell me your name, angel?" Rosemarie asked, her voice low, almost hesitant. It had been days—maybe longer—since she had been trapped in this mindless limbo, and the loneliness was beginning to gnaw at her. It was ridiculous, really, but calling the voice "angel" every time felt increasingly impersonal, like she was talking to a stranger. She wanted something more. She needed to know more.

The voice responded, gentle as always, though this time, there was an edge to it, something that hinted at the tension of some greater force pulling at the edges of their conversation. "Rosemarie, believe me, I'm not even supposed to be speaking to you, much less helping you," it said softly, almost with regret. "But I am."

She felt a strange flicker of understanding, a connection that bound them together in a way words couldn't explain. "But why are you helping me?" Rosemarie pressed, her voice tinged with curiosity. She had been trying to understand this, trying to piece together why this being, who claimed to be an angel, was taking the time to speak with her. She was just a mortal, after all, someone lost in a nightmare that felt too real.

The voice paused for a beat, the silence in her mind stretching for a moment before it answered with quiet certainty. "Because you are a creation of God," it replied simply, as though that was enough, as though it explained everything.

"Creation of God," Rosemarie murmured to herself, the words swirling in her mind. She wasn't sure what to make of it, but it gave her a strange sense of validation. She wasn't just a random soul caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was something purposeful about her existence—something larger than she had ever imagined. But why me? she wanted to ask, but she already knew the answer wouldn't come. Not now.

There was a soft sigh, and she felt an almost tangible sense of sadness from the voice. "I wish real angels were as kind as you," she muttered, her heart aching in a way she hadn't expected. She longed for the warmth of the voice, the hope it gave her, but even more than that, she longed for the warmth of someone else. Sam.

The thought of him hit her like a punch to the chest. She missed him so much it hurt. The way his presence had filled every space, every conversation, every moment they had shared. The last time she had seen him—before everything had spiraled out of control—he had looked at her with so much love, so much care, that it was hard to believe it had ever been real. She could still hear his voice, his soft laugh, the way his eyes lit up when he smiled. Sam—she missed him with an intensity she couldn't put into words.

The voice in her mind seemed to sense her thoughts, as if it had always been attuned to her heart. "You miss him, don't you? Sam."

Her breath caught, her fingers twitching as if trying to reach out to the memory of him. She didn't answer aloud, but her silence spoke volumes. Sam had been everything to her—her partner, her protector, her love. And now, she didn't know where he was or if she would ever see him again. The thought of him out there, searching for her, kept her going, but it also tore her apart.

"I don't know what's going to happen to me," she whispered to the voice. "But I wish I could be with him again. I don't want him to think I'm gone forever."

The voice was silent for a moment, as though considering her words carefully. Then it spoke again, its tone softer than before. "You will see him again, Rosemarie. But not yet. There is much you must do before then. You must survive this."

She closed her eyes, the aching void in her chest swelling with each passing moment. She had to survive this. Not just for herself, but for Sam. He needed to know that she hadn't just disappeared. He needed to know that she was still fighting, still breathing, still alive inside this nightmare.

"How do I survive?" she whispered, her voice barely audible even to herself.

The voice's tone shifted again, becoming more resolute. "You are strong, Rosemarie. Stronger than you know. When the time comes, I will break your chains. You'll run. Far. As far as you can. And you must take the blood bag with you. It's the only way."

The mention of the blood bag was a sharp reminder of the darker forces that had dragged her into this mess in the first place. The wrong hands. Her blood in the wrong hands. She shuddered at the thought of what could happen if they ever got ahold of her. The thought of Sam—and how they could hurt him too—kept her from giving up. She couldn't let that happen.

"Don't worry, I won't forget," she whispered, a small spark of determination flickering within her. "I'll find a way. I promise."

The pressure against her forehead returned, like a gentle touch, and for a moment, she felt a comforting warmth spread through her chest. It wasn't just the voice anymore—it was something more, something that felt like hope.

"Good luck, Rosemarie," the voice said, its tone like a soft prayer. "When you're free, don't look back. Run. Don't stop until you're safe. I'll be there to guide you."

With those final words, the voice seemed to fade away, leaving Rosemarie with the faintest whisper of hope. The chains weren't broken yet, and she wasn't free, but the promise that she would be, that she could be, filled her with a new kind of strength. She would do this—for herself, for Sam, and for the love they had shared. She would escape, and when she did, she would find him again.

No matter what.

[amazing news here is another update, not so amazing at the pace I am going and the character development I want for Rosemarie, means that she wont reunite with Sam till the end of season 1]