Hey, everyone! I'm super excited to start this project, though a little nervous.
With finals coming up (literally next week), I'm trying to distract myself by throwing my attention into a new story.
I would also like to point out that I have started this story twice already, but it just didn't seem right. I think I finally have it now, though.
Fair warning: I guess there's more cursing in this story than the last, but it's nothing you wouldn't hear on Supernatural anyway, so I believe it should be okay. Sorry in advance if it bothers you.
Without further adieu, please enjoy!
Psychic Strife
Chapter 1 - All Over Again
"You don't have to do this," Sam pleaded, hands held out before him. "Just think for a second."
"I have thought!" The crazed boy shouted from his perch. "I tried other ways. I tried…" His voice died for a moment, and Sam could see the distraught and regret in his eyes. Then they hardened with anger, and he looked back up with new determination.
"It won't help," Sam tried to reason. His heart pounded loudly, and he tried to ignore the crowd of people behind him, holding up phones, externalizing the moment. "You know it won't."
A sob came from from near the boy's feet, where he stood atop the hood of a recently crashed car. A woman sat cowering in the passenger seat, clutching the arm of the driver, a large male staring about dazedly from an oozing gash above his eye. The woman cried out again, jostling her husband's arm.
"Richard!"She shrieked. "Please, God, no!"
Her yelling seemed to enrage the boy, as he turned away from Sam and pointed a hand accusingly at her.
"Shut up!" He shouted. "Just SHUT UP!"
"Look at me!" Sam called out to the boy, pulling his attention away from the couple. "Just focus on me."
"They treated me like… They never…" The boy was crazed in his rage, unable to form a coherent sentence.
"I know," Sam said loudly. He paused, waiting until the boy met his eyes. "Believe me, I know."
The boy turned his hateful gaze back to the couple, a snarl curling his lip. "They deserve to DIE for what they did!"
"What did they do?!" Sam shouted desperately. He could see the boy was nearing the tipping point, veering close to the edge. "They believed lies! That's all! They believed what they heard about people like us. Kids like us. You and I know the lies aren't true, but they don't." He gestured to the injured man and his distraught wife. "They just believed what they were told."
The boy spun back to face Sam, and through the anger and rage, Sam could see tears shining in his eyes. "I can't do it anymore. I can't live like this!"
"I know," Sam said empathetically. "But it isn't their fault. Hurting them won't change what's been done to you. It won't make anything right."
The boy shuddered, and looked down at where the cowering couple sat terrified below him.
"Maybe not," He said, his voice hollow. He looked up at Sam, with eyes that were too old for his age, and had seen one too many horrors. His hands cackled with red energy, snapping at his fingertips. Slowly, he raised a hand to point at the couple in the car, dead eyes staring straight into Sam.
"But it will sure as hell make me feel better."
(7 hours previous)
They were like nightmares, except they weren't.
The darkness followed him everywhere, pressing against him tightly, slipping into his lungs with every breath.
He knew they weren't real; he knew he should wake up.
He slipped and fell to the ground, and felt the hands grabbing at his arms and legs. Demented whispers drifted around him, hissing silkily.
But he couldn't.
He felt heat at his back, he looked behind him to see a bright light eating away at the darkness, slowly revealing his surroundings. But when he looked closer he could see the light was fire, fed by fear and shining even brighter in the dark.
He was there, and yet, he wasn't. That world was fake; he knew that. But it didn't seem to matter.
The fire wasn't eating away the darkness. It was consuming the inky black, using it to grow stronger and more fierce. The fire reached for him, it's flaming tendrils licking at his ankles.
He told himself to wake up, that it wasn't real, but it felt real. He knew it wasn't, but it still felt real.
And then there was that ever present shadow, appearing when the fire flared brightly. It clung to his heels, mimicking his every step. He knew he shouldn't be afraid of his own shadow. But this shadow was different.
He felt the panic of being stuck in this hell-hole half reality, but he couldn't escape. It wasn't real. But it felt pretty frickin' close.
This shadow was menacing, threatening, and never left him alone. It seemed to stalk along behind him, waiting for the chance to strike. And there was something else very disturbing about his shadow. He was fairly sure that normal shadows didn't have eyes.
Especially not eyes that glowed bright yellow.
"Up an' at'm, Sammy!" Dean called from the bottom of the stairs.
Sam jolted upright, heart pounding erratically. He took a moment to steady himself, gripping the thick bedspread tightly.
This is real. He told himself. This is real.
"Sammy! Don't make me come up there and drag your-" Sam heard a loud gasp from Mary. "-out of bed!"
Sam let a small smile cross his lips as he swung his legs off the bed. Dean's gonna get it now.
Mary didn't approve of crude language in her home; John was the only one who could occasionally get away with it.
"I'm up!" Sam called down to head off Dean's incessant yelling.
He grabbed a pair of jeans from his dresser and an old ACDC t-shirt of Dean's. His tag snagged on the collar of the shirt as he pulled it over his head, and Sam jerked it free. Sam grabbed his jean jacket as he left his bedroom, pulling it on while he took the stairs two at a time.
"Whoa, where's the fire?" Dean joked as he raced into the kitchen.
Sam ignored the shudder that ran down his spine at Dean's words, and took the toast Mary held out with a grateful smile.
Sam glanced at the clock. 7:56.
"Sam, I need to talk to you about something-" John started.
"Can this wait 'till I get back, please?" Sam asked urgently, jamming a shoe onto his foot. He picked up the leather shoulder bag by the front door and swung it over his head.
"Wait, Sam, where are you going?" Mary asked, drying her hands on towel.
Dean sent Sam a mischievous smile. "He's got a bus to catch."
"Ah." Mary nodded with a sly smile of her own.
"I'll be back." Sam said, pulling on his other shoe as he hopped out the door. Sam closed the door behind him and jumped onto his bike, resting against the porch step, pedaling quickly toward the end of the street.
Sam could barely force himself to stop at the street's end, giving the right of way to the passing car. He wanted to speed out in front of them, but he knew, if reported, that could result in a traffic citation for his "reckless use of unsupervised freedom". Funny how something like that could apply only to psychics like himself.
Sam raced two blocks east, and pulled into the next street, Bakersfield Drive. There, on the next branch away from the road, a tall raven-haired girl with purple streaks in her hair stood next to the street sign, nervously checking her phone.
Sam rode smoothly next to her, swinging his leg over the bar and dismounting in one smooth motion. She let out a relieved sigh, stepping toward him.
Breathlessly, Sam reached into his bag, bringing out a two notebooks and a textbook. He handed them over to her, and she gratefully accepted them.
"Hey," Sam said simply. "I checked everything over. It should be right. I left a few wrong, though, so Mr. Williams won't get suspicious-"
"My hero," The girl said sarcastically, tucking the books away. She looked up, a real smile lighting her face. "Seriously, though, what would I do without you?"
Sam shrugged. "Crash and burn?"
She made a face at him, and then tucked her arms around his neck. She reached up, pecking him lightly on the lips.
"I thought you weren't going to make it," She murmured quietly.
"And leave you without your homework? I'd never do such a thing."
"You think I was worried about the homework? I don't give a crap about that." She scoffed, kissing him lightly again. "I wanted to see you."
Sam ducked down, kissing her back. "Mission accomplished."
He broke away when he heard the bus rumbling down the street. "I have to go," He said regretfully.
"Why?" She complained. "Please, just wait until it gets here."
"You know I can't." Sam said, eyeing the closely approaching bus.
He leaned in one more time, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
She nodded. "We're still on for tomorrow afternoon, right?"
"Yeah." Sam looked up. The bus was picking up a kid a few driveways down. He swung his leg over, boosting himself onto the bike.
"Bye, Sam."
Sam looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with the raven-haired girl he'd been so lucky to have in his life for years.
"Bye, Maia."
"So, did you get some lovin'? Dean asked smugly when Sam walked in. Sam threw his bag at his obnoxious older brother, which Dean easily caught with a laugh at Sam's expression.
"Shut up, Dean." Sam said.
"Dean, don't be vulgar," Mary said with a sigh as she entered the room.
"Mom, it's just good natured brotherly banter," Dean protested. "He can take it."
"I can take you."
"You think so, little bro?" Dean challenged, lifting his hands. "Bring it on."
Sam charged at Dean, lunging forward. Dean dodged his punch, sliding behind him and wrapping an arm around his neck. He took his fist and rubbed it on the top of Sam's head, while Sam struggled and protested.
"Say 'Uncle', Sammy!"
"No frickin' way!" Sam lashed out with an elbow, catching Dean in the stomach. Dean stumbled back a step. Sam glared at him in irritation, trying to brush his hair back into order with his fingers.
"What's 'a matter, Sam? Did I mess up your 'do?" Dean mocked.
"Okay, that's it!" Sam ran at Dean again, and Dean sprinted in the opposite direction, laughing good naturedly.
"Boys, take it outside!" Mary called from the living room.
Dean held up his hands, still laughing. "Okay, okay. Truce?"
Sam contemplated for a moment, his eyes narrowed. He nodded slowly, extending a hand. Dean grabbed it, giving it a firm shake.
Suddenly, Sam ducked behind Dean, twisting his arm behind his back. He shoved him against the wall, gripping his arm tightly.
"Now who's saying 'Uncle', huh?" Sam laughed triumphantly.
"Alright, boys, back off." John intervened. "Sam, let your brother go."
Sam released Dean's arm, and Dean turned around with a grudge in his eye. "I'm going to get you back for that. Mark my words!" Dean promised as he walked away.
"You can try!" Sam called back.
John fixed an amused smile on Sam. "Nice moves, kiddo." He complimented, ruffling Sam's hair.
"C'mon, not you, too." Sam complained, ducking away and brushing it back into place.
The smile faded from John's face, as though he'd remembered something unpleasant. "I need to talk to you, Sam."
Sam looked at John in confusion, and nodded. He followed John into the dining room, where John shut the door behind them. He pulled a slightly rumpled envelope out of his back pocket, handing it to Sam with a solemn expression.
"I got this in the mail today."
Sam pulled a piece of paper out of the opened envelope, seeing the return address marked only as the DPA: Department of Psychic Affairs.
As he scanned the letter, his heart sunk into his stomach, and disappointment ate at his insides.
Dear Mr. Winchester,
We have considered your appeal for a driver's license for Psychic Ward 87763. Your charge has expressed no intentions of violence or threat to the general public in recent years, and we agree that this would not be a legal obstacle in beginning to meet the necessary requirements for obtaining a driver's license.
However, we feel that assigning your charge with a psychic learner's permit would cause significant legal ramifications with the victims of past events. It is for this reason that we are denying your appeal for a psychic learner's permit for Psychic Ward 87763.
If you have any questions about the Agency's decision regarding this appeal, please contact our office. Communication information has been provided below.
Sincerely,
Mindy Strauss
Secretary of the Department of Psychic Affairs
Sam ran his eyes over the words again, picking out certain phrases, de-coding the confusing wording. It wasn't hard to get the gist.
"So… I'm not getting a permit." Sam didn't ask; he knew the answer already.
John shook his head slowly. "No, they decided against it."
Sam looked back over the second paragraph. "'Legal ramifications with the victims of past events.'" Sam quoted. He turned his gaze back to John in disbelief. "Are they saying this is because of Pearson and Neville?"
John nodded. "There were extensive damages after everything that happened. That, along with the Roosevelt breakout you orchestrated, would be embarrassing for the D.P.A. to be reminded of."
Sam made a face. "Are they actually making that fascist concentration camp out to be a victim? Vanector and her child soldiers?"
"No, Sam. Vanector is paying for her crimes. The D.P.A. is responsible for not sending more inspections to the camp, however, and the reveal of how poorly that camp had been run is a significant spot on their record."
Sam turned away, scoffing. "So I can't drive because they don't want to be reminded of their screw up?"
"Sam, you're going to drive."
Stunned, Sam turned back around to face John. "But they aren't going to issue me a license. Or a permit."
"I don't give a damn what they issue." John said firmly. "I'm not saying you'll be running errands for us, but when push comes to shove, I want you to be able to get around. For emergencies and such."
Sam studied John's face, considering the offer. "This is for real? You'll teach me how to drive? Even though it breaks the law?"
A smile split John's face. "Not me, son. Dean'll be your teacher."
"Okay, so first turn the car on."
"I know that."
"I didn't say you didn't know, I'm just telling you what to do."
"Yeah, and you don't have to. I know how a car works, Dean."
"Fine, then I guess you don't need my help at all, then."
"Guess not."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
Sam turned the key in the ignition, feeling the car thrum to life. He stared wistfully at the sleek Impala, sitting protected in the garage. Of course John wouldn't let him drive her. Sam would be surprised if John ever let him drive her.
Easily, Sam shifted the car into reverse. He glanced behind him and slowly began to back out.
"Any day now, Genius."
"I'm moving, Dean, back off."
Once he was straightened on the road, Sam put the car in drive and began to pull forward. It was an odd feeling, being behind the wheel. He'd seen Dean, Mary, and John drive countless times. It was a simple, everyday action. And yet, he felt so powerful. So unstoppable.
"Stop sign."
"I see it, Dean."
Maybe it was the fact that what he was doing was illegal. It was illegal for a regular underage citizen to be driving without a permit or license. For psychics, it was an off the charts infraction. Forget citations. He'd be lucky if he wasn't Relocated.
Sam shuddered at the thought. Sam had been formally Accepted into the Winchester household about four months after the debacle with Pearson and Neville, which was about as close to adoption as a psychic could get.
On formal papers, Sam took the last name Winchester, and his legal guardians were Mary and John. However, he could still be taken away in an instant. Mary and John had done all they could to make his Acception ironclad, but there was always the chance that someone would decide he wasn't doing well in his Care Home and come to remove him.
"Uh, Dean? Where are we going?" Sam asked, pausing a T-intersection.
Dean shrugged. "Wherever you feel like."
Sam rolled his eyes, signalling left and turning quickly. Once the turn was completed, he kept moving straight. Driving was more nerve-wracking than he'd thought it would be. Maybe it was just the fear of getting caught that kept him on edge, but it felt like something else. Something deeper causing him unease.
"Dean, something's wrong." The words were out of his mouth before he had time to think about saying them.
"What?" Dean looked around jerkily, trying to spot the problem. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know." Sam admitted. "Something just feels...wrong."
Dean let out a breath. "Jeez, Sam, I though a tire had blown or something. Don't freak me out like that."
Sam pressed the accelerator harder as the road took on a sharp incline. The unease was growing stronger, beginning to choke him.
"Something's wrong, Dean. I don't like this." Sam said, panic setting in his voice.
Dean looked over with genuine concern in his eyes. "Okay, Sammy, it's fine. Just pull over and we'll switch. Driving can be stressful your first time-"
"It's not driving, Dean!" Sam huffed, frustrated. "It's something else… I can't explain it. I just know that-"
"SAM, STOP!"
The order came quick and sudden, and Sam's foot jammed onto the brake in shock. In the split second it took for him to look from Dean to the road, he saw a cluster of cars sitting in the middle of the road. Dean and Sam were thrown forward violently as Mary's old van fought against inertia and momentum.
The car managed to screech to a stop fifteen feet away from the chaos. Dean and Sam sat there, panting and in shock.
Sam looked over. "So, do you think her brakes are shot?"
Dean let out huff of a laugh. "Yeah, Sammy, I think her brakes are pretty much shot."
Sam turned his gaze to the road. "The hell happened here?"
"How am I supposed to know?" Dean scanned the area. "Pull off over there." He nodded to the right. "If we're going to check this out, we're not leaving Mom's van out here. I betcha we're not the only ones who'll make the same mistake we almost did."
Sam pulled over to the side, onto the grassy shoulder, and put the van in park. Carefully, Sam stepped out of the car, shielding his eyes against the sun.
Dean started walking to the throng of cars, and Sam followed close behind him. Every step he took toward the crowd of cars, the unease inside him became sharper.
Suddenly, Dean ducked to the side, grabbing Sam's arm and pulling him behind a parked car.
"What's wrong?" Sam whispered.
"Cop." Dean answered. "By the wreck."
"There's a wreck?!" Sam jumped up to get a look, but Dean jerked him back down.
"Are you stupid?" Dean hissed. "You know what'll happen if that cop sees you anywhere near here."
Of course he knew. It was the exact reason every psychic kept their head down around police, security guards, even mall cops. If psychics turned up anywhere near the scene of a crime, that officer had the completely legal right to put the psychic under indefinite arrest, during which time what few rights psychics could usually count on were terminated.
Psychics had been known to have been kept under arrest for weeks for something as harmless as graffiti. They were the scapegoats of humanity, kept under constant judgement and scrutiny.
Sam peered out slowly around the car, looking for the wreck Dean mentioned. About twenty feet from where they hid, a beige car, was turned askew on the roadway. There was no visible damage to the surface of the car, except for the smoke rising from the hood.
A cop was taking cover behind his patrol car door, gun held tightly in his hands. Sam frowned. Something about the situation was wrong. Why would the cop be pointing a gun at victims of a car crash?
He surveyed the area again, and a moving figure caught his attention. There was somebody pacing behind the crashed car, moving back and forth. Sam shifted, trying to get a better look, and he felt Dean grab his jacket.
"What are you doing, Sam?"
"There's a kid out there, Dean."
"Well, that's not exactly our problem, is-"
"I think he's like me."
The revelation came quickly, a surprise even to Sam. But as soon as he said it, he realized it was true. It had to be. It explained why the cop was so afraid, and even why the car was wrecked without having hit anything. It also explained why so many people were still here, watching the drama unfold, and yet staying hidden safely inside or behind their cars.
When Dean spoke, his voice was low and tense. "We can't do anything for him, Sam. We have to figure out how to get out of here without being spotted, too."
Sam watched the boy pacing back and forth. There was a frantic edge to his movements, a harried urgency that seemed to be gripping him tightly.
"Come out slowly with your hands up!" The cop shouted loudly to the boy.
The boy showed no indication that he had heard. He looked around Sam's age, with dark, sandy blond hair that hung just over his eyes and ears. His eyes were a bright blue, clear and piercing. At this moment, they were clouded with fear and confusion.
Crying caught Sam's attention, and he noticed two people sitting in the driver and passenger seats. An older woman with short, curly hair was gripping the arm of her companion tightly, begging loudly. The man was larger, with meaty arms and oversized potbelly. He stared about dazedly, unable to focus on his surroundings. A large gash above his eye sent blood cascading down his face. Absently, Sam noticed the twin rings encircling both their fingers.
"Shut up!" The boy yelled at the woman, his voice breaking dejectedly.
"Pease, Nathan," The woman called to the boy. "You don't need to do this."
"SHUT UP!" Nathan roared, holding up a hand threateningly and coming forward a step. The woman screamed and cowered in her seat.
"I'm sorry!" She shrieked. "Please, Nathan, I'm sorry!"
"Sorry doesn't get me anything!" He shouted back angrily. "It doesn't get me my mom back, or my old life. You took that from me!" Nathan's voice rose with every word, and the woman flinched away.
"I didn't!" The woman protested, her voice shrill. "That was the authorities! I had nothing to do with it!"
"Stop lying!" Nathan growled, lifting his hand higher. The woman fell back, crying against her husband.
"GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!" The cop yelled through a megaphone. "NOW, OR I WILL BE FORCED TO TAKE AFFIRMATIVE ACTION!"
Nathan turned a hateful eye to the cop, and raised his hand. Red energy swirled at his fingertips, and the cackling sound of electricity snapped across the highway. Sam's eyes widened as Nathan pushed towards the officer, and a clear bolt of red lightning shot across the road.
The cop shouted in shock, lunging away from his patrol car, but the blast from the bolt colliding with the engine sent him flying twenty feet, his gun sliding out of his grip and under a nearby car. Sam watched the officer fearfully, with bated breath, waiting to see if he would move.
The officer shifted, moaning slightly, but Sam could tell there was no way he would be able to affect the situation anymore. Sam could also see that the officer needed medical attention. Badly.
"Now's our chance." Dean hissed in his ear. "The cop's knocked out, nobody'll notice or care if we go around."
Sam stared at Dean in disbelief. "They need our help!"
"Who? The kid? The couple? The spectators looking for some good Friday night entertainment?"
Sam narrowed his eyes. "All of the above."
"You can't save everyone, Sammy." Dean said gently.
"Well, I can always try." Sam said stubbornly, looking back at the highway.
"Sam, let's just go. There's nothing you can do to help that won't get you arrested and detained as well."
Sam watched Nathan, pacing erratically around the car again, pausing only to snap at the couple in the front. He was angry, violent, frustrated beyond words.
"What if it was me out there?" He asked Dean quietly. "You'd want someone to help."
Dean hesitated, looking at Sam cautiously. "You'd never do something like this."
"Maybe not, but I thought about it." Sam admitted. "I thought about it a lot in some of my crappier Care Homes. The only thing that stopped me was that I wasn't quite sure how to control my telekinesis, and it wasn't like I could 'vision' them to death."
He looked back out at Nathan, and he could see himself reflected in the angry, desperate boy that paced around the car. He saw Ansem in Nathan's conflicted eyes, saw Max in his broken expression. He saw Jake in the raw fear and anger that radiated off of Nathan in every direction.
Sam looked back at Dean. "I have to do something." He started to stand up, but Dean grabbed his sleeve.
"You know how many people are videotaping this right now? You step out there, it'll be like two years ago all over again."
Sam flinched. Two years ago, when reporters camped by their door day and night. When Sam couldn't open the curtains in his bedroom without being blinded by the flashing cameras. When he couldn't step outside for fear of being attacked, and the house was receiving calls daily from news stations and talk shows wanting to talk to Sam.
And the investigations. The mental assessments, talks with "kind" doctors who "only wanted to chat". The mandatory house arrest for three weeks, which Sam actually appreciated because it gave him a reason to hide away from the reporters. Constant inspections from the Psychic Regulations Committee, checking that he was being monitored sufficiently in his Care Home.
It had all been a nightmare.
Could he really risk bringing that back down on his family and himself again, just when things had just started to settle back down?
Sam looked back at Nathan, shouting at the couple angrily. He seemed to be escalating in his anger, their fear only enraging him more.
"What, are you scared of me?" Nathan taunted hotly. "Huh?"
The woman wailed and gripped her husband's arm fearfully. "Nathan, please, we're sorry. We never meant-"
"You never meant to what?" Nathan interrupted sharply, waving his hand. "Lock me in the closet? Beat me with belt? Starve me for days? Were those accidents?"
"No…" The woman moaned. "We were trying to help you learn what boundaries there are for your kind-"
"MY KIND?" Nathan roared, lifting his hand. "You haven't seen half of how dangerous my kind can be!" The red energy swirled at his fingers, and Sam could see the electricity beginning to snap.
"Stop!" He heard a voice shout, and it took a moment to realize it was his own. He rose to his feet, ignoring Dean's hissed order to stop, and shook of Dean's hand. Before he left the cover of the car, he met Dean's eyes.
"Stay back, Dean." Sam ordered. "I mean it."
"Sam-!" Dean protested, reaching for his sleeve again.
Sam dodged his grip and walked out from behind the car, hands raised.
Nathan seemed shocked by his appearance. He looked around wildly, as if noticing the other spectators for the first time. He held his hands out threateningly in front of him, red energy snapping dangerously. Nathan scrambled onto the hood of the car, eyes darting around in a panicked manner.
"Stop there!" Nathan ordered, and Sam slowed his approach. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"My name is Sam Winchester," Sam said calmly. "And I'd like you to let these people go."
"It doesn't have to be like this," Sam reasoned. "There's a different way."
"I've tried!" Nathan snapped. "Nothing works. They never listen."
"Maybe they would if you lowered your hands," Sam suggested.
Nathan stared down scathingly at the couple below him. "They don't listen no matter what I do."
"Your name is Nathan, right?" Sam asked, pulling his attention away from the couple.
Nathan nodded suspiciously.
"How long have you been in the system?"
Nathan stared down at his feet. "Two years."
"And you've been with these people? For the whole time?"
Nathan nodded wordlessly, sending a hateful glare at the people in the car.
"I know that it's hard in Care Homes, Nathan. Believe me, I understand." Sam said gently. "But you can't do stuff like this, man. It won't help anything."
"Then what do I do?" Nathan asked desperately, tears welling in his eyes. "Just take the beatings, day after day after day!?" He looked back at the man, glaring angrily.
Sam lifted his hands higher, directing Nathan's attention back to him. "It's not fair. But this will only make things worse."
"Things can't get any worse." Nathan said darkly.
Sam looked back at the officer, lying prone on the pavement. "Nathan, some of these people need medical attention."
Nathan barked a laugh. "You mean the cop? He can die for all I care." He spat hatefully.
"You don't want that, Nathan. I can see it." Sam said placatingly. "You aren't a bad person. You aren't a person who wants to hurt others."
"They all think I am!" Nathan shouted, gesturing to the people huddling in their cars.
"And are you going to prove them right by doing this?" Sam asked. "Because all you're doing right now is showing them that everything they fear about psychics is true. That all psychics are dangerous and violent and impossible to control."
Nathan looked down at the couple. His eyes looked old and sad. "Maybe we are." Nathan was reaching his breaking point, Sam could see it in his eyes. He recognized the expression, the one that said Nathan didn't care how it ended, as long as it did.
"You don't have to do this," Sam pleaded, hands held out before him. "Just think for a second."
"I have thought!" Nathan shouted from his perch. "I tried other ways. I tried…" His voice died for a moment, and Sam could see the distraught and regret in his eyes. Then they hardened with anger, and he looked back up with new determination.
"It won't help," Sam tried to reason. His heart pounded loudly, and he tried to ignore the crowd of people behind him, holding up phones, externalizing the moment. "You know it won't."
A sob came from from the woman below Nathan. Her husband's head was falling against the seat, eyes rolling in the back of his head. The woman cried out again, jostling her husband's arm.
"Richard!"She shrieked. "Please, God, no!"
Her yelling seemed to enrage Nathan again, and he turned away from Sam and pointed a hand accusingly at her.
"Shut up!" He shouted. "Just SHUT UP!"
"Look at me!" Sam called out to Nathan, pulling his attention away from the couple. "Just focus on me."
"They treated me like… They never…" Nathan was crazed in his rage, unable to form a coherent sentence.
"I know," Sam said loudly. He paused, waiting until t met his eyes. "Believe me, I know."
Nathan turned his hateful gaze back to the couple, a snarl curling his lip. "They deserve to DIE for what they did!"
"What did they do?!" Sam shouted desperately. He could see Nathan was nearing the tipping point, veering close to the edge. "They believed lies! That's all! They believed what they heard about people like us. Kids like us. You and I know the lies aren't true, but they don't." He gestured to the injured man and his distraught wife. "They just believed what they were told."
Nathan spun back to face Sam, and through the anger and rage, Sam could see tears shining in his eyes. "I can't do it anymore. I can't live like this!"
"I know," Sam said empathetically. "But it isn't their fault. Hurting them won't change what's been done to you. It won't make anything right."
Nathan shuddered, and looked down at where the cowering couple sat terrified below him. "Maybe not," He said, his voice hollow. He looked up at Sam, with eyes that were too old for his age, and had seen one too many horrors. His hands cackled with red energy, snapping at his fingertips. Slowly, he raised a hand to point at the couple in the car, dead eyes staring straight into Sam.
"But it will sure as hell make me feel better."
Time seemed to slow as Nathan raised his hands, red energy snapping angrily. He didn't point them at the couple, however. They stayed down pointed at the hood of the car. Nathan's eyes were staring straight into the woman's.
There was no more hate or anger in his eyes. Only a sheer determination that chilled Sam to the bone.
As the energy snapped around both of Nathan's hands, he took a deep breath and lifted his hands, pointing them at the couple in the car.
Sam lifted his hand, panic racing through him. Adrenaline raced through his body, and he took a step forward, reaching out to stop Nathan, thrusting his hand out.
Suddenly, Nathan was thrown off of the hood of the car and soared backwards. The energy bolt burst from his fingertips, rocketing past Sam and striking an abandoned car to his right, which exploded, send shrapnel in every direction. Sam covered his head as the wave of heat rushed over him, and he heard flaming bits of debris landing around him.
Nathan hit the street and rolled a few feet before coming to a stop. The woman screamed loudly, her wail falling away into a broken sob.
Sam stared in shock at the boy, barely visible from where he was standing, and fell to his knees. Nathan lay motionless on the pavement, his figure wavering in the heat rising from the car he had hit. He wasn't moving, was only lying, so still.
How could he have made the same mistake again? Two years later, after everything that he'd learned, he'd still screwed up in the exact same way. It was like seeing Mitchell all over again, lying in the grass… Not moving…
"Sammy?" Dean came out from behind the car, approaching slowly. He put an arm around Sam's shoulder. "Sammy, talk to me." Carefully, Dean looked Sam over for any burns or cuts from the explosion.
"I did it again." Sam said, his voice strangled. "Dean, what if-"
"Don't say it, Sam." Dean cut him off. "Just stay here. If you want to be useful, go check on the cop. See if he can radio for some backup or something."
Sam pushed himself to his feet and stumbled over to the officer. People began to emerge from their cars, but they stayed near the edges of the scene, a few brave souls venturing to the wrecked car to console the distraught woman.
Sam knelt next to the officer. He was unconscious, but breathing. Sam pressed a hand to his wrist, but couldn't find a pulse. His hands were shaking, and he couldn't keep them still enough to feel a beat under the officer's skin. Instead, Sam reached for the officer's radio, pressing a button and hoping.
"Hello?" He said in an unsteady.
There was a moment of silence. "Officer Highland?" The dispatcher sounded confused.
"No, this is...Sam."
"Sam, do you know that it is a crime to steal an officer's radio?"
"Please, there was an accident. This officer was hurt. He's been knocked out or something."
Instantly, the dispatcher's disposition flipped. "Can you tell me where you are?"
"Highway 214. There was some kind of accident…" Sam trailed off, swallowing nervously. "A psychic was involved somehow."
The dispatcher was silent for a moment. "Okay, Sam, I'm sending backup to your location. They should be there soon. Is anyone hurt?"
"The officer… I think he's just knocked out, though. The man in the crashed car, he has a bad cut on his head. And… The psychic was pushed… kind of... I don't know how bad he's hurt."
"Sam, what do you mean the psychic was pushed? Did someone attack him?"
Sam sucked in a breath, his voice tight. "Yeah? Um, I did?"
The dispatcher seemed to process this, and put it aside to deal with later. "Sam, backups en route to your location. You should be able to hear the sirens soon, okay?"
"Okay." Sam agreed and dropped the radio. Sure enough, two seconds later the silence was shattered by the quiet but undeniable sound of sirens wailing in the distance.
"Sam!" Dean called out, sitting next to Nathan's still form.
Sam pushed himself up, walking slowly over to Dean. Things spun around him, and the heat sucked all of the moisture out of his mouth. There was a slight ringing in his ears, and he couldn't stop hearing that woman screaming. Why wouldn't she just stop?
"Whoa, Sammy, I got you," Dean's voice came out of the chaos, a welcome beacon of light in the darkness.
Sam felt Dean's arms wrap around him, lower him to the ground. He sat there, world spinning around him, and all he could see was Nathan's still form… Mitchell lying motionless… The woman kept screaming… T.J. wouldn't stop yelling…
"C'mon, Sammy, talk to me," Dean muttered. "Sammy, Nathan's okay. You hear me? He's okay. Just out cold. You got him good, brother. But he's okay."
The sirens became sharper, wailing closer and closer.
"I'm going to go meet them," Dean muttered. "I'll be right back, Sammy."
Then his presence was gone, and Sam sat alone amidst a wreckage of screaming and fire and fear. Sam shook his head, swallowing, trying to regain his equilibrium. Unsteadily, he pushed himself to his feet. He had to get away. Be anywhere but here.
"Over here! I think we found him!" The shout came from his right, but he kept walking. They'd found Nathan. They would lock him up. Keep him in a little cell, no visitors, for the rest of his life. It didn't matter to them. They didn't care.
"Hey, stop!"
Nathan must have woken up. Tried to run. That was a stupid idea. They'd find him eventually. And even if he did make it, it wasn't like there was somewhere he could go. No one would be stupid enough to take in a fugitive, no matter-
Sam was abruptly slammed off his feet and thrown to the ground. He felt someone pressing a knee into his back and cold metal handcuffs encircling his wrists. Panic set in, and he thrashed, trying to throw off his attacker.
He felt rain start to drizzle down, putting out the fires and cooling down the hot pavement. A rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, a sign of more to come.
"No, this is a mistake! Please, I'm not-"
"Shut up!" His attacker grabbed him by the hair and hauled him to his feet. "You have the right to remain silent. One I highly hope you take advantage of." The rain was coming down harder, making it harder for Sam to hear or see through the haze.
"Sam? Sammy!" Dean's voice came from his left. "Let him go! That's not who you want!"
Sam stumbled along, smoke clouding his vision. His attacker, whom he assumed to be an officer of some kind, shoved him along unceremoniously. Another officer came up beside them. "We got the other one into the transport. Medic looked him over. Said he'll be fine." The officer looked down his nose at Sam. "Get this one in the transport as well."
Sam's officer grunted his assent, and pushed Sam forward, toward a large metal truck. He opened the back, boosting Sam up before him. He shoved him down onto one of the metal benches lining the interior and attached his handcuffs to a metal ring in the wall behind him. The officer drew a seatbelt over Sam's hips, fastening him to the bench. His ankles were secured with chains and locked to the floor.
Nathan was chained to the bench across from him. He was lying on the bench, arms and legs tied down with temporary fixtures.
The truck roared to life under Sam's feet, and they started moving forward. Swallowing his fear, Sam leaned his head back against the wall of the transport. He shouldn't be afraid of this by now. After all, he'd been through all of it before.
He was sure that soon he would be terrified, and want answers, but at that point, all he wanted was to sleep. Closing his eyes, Sam drifted to sleep to the sound of a roaring engine, and chains rattling against metal.
Rain pounded down around them, a cacophony of chaos. It trickled across the rooftops, dripping into puddles on the ground. A cool breeze blew through the air, chasing away any notion of warmth.
Jake hugged his arms to his sides, shivering in his damp clothes. His mood sunk lower with every fresh torrent of rain. He was hungry, thirsty, and tired. And now he was cold.
Pearson stood at the door of the shack they were hiding in. He stared out into the storm, oblivious as sheets of icy rain struck angrily against him. Wind blew his hair haphazardly, and Jake knew that the man had to be freezing. But he didn't seem to care.
Thunder rolled loudly, and lightning flashed in the late afternoon sky. Pearson closed his eyes, a small smile on his lips as he turned his face to the stormy heavens.
Jake felt tremors from the chill run down his back. He shifted, trying to pull further away from the door of the shack. He tried turning his face into the corner he had planted himself in, but the cold found it's way around.
Jake gritted his teeth in resentment. It shouldn't be like this. He shouldn't have been hiding like a rat in this godforsaken place while everyone else got away scot free. He was supposed to be ruling the world. His days of hiding and being scared were supposed to be over.
They were supposed to have ended two years ago. But he'd hung on. He'd tried. He'd followed Pearson to every corner of the earth, searching for some kind of magic fix that would resolve all of their problems. He'd supported the madness, because he needed an ally and Pearson was convenient.
Jake thought of the years still ahead of him. Pearson wanted to devise a new plan, to raise Azazel and bring about Salvation. He was spinning theories of doors and lost talismans and other ways to bring his master to the mortal world. He was sure it would work. That was all he'd been telling Jake for weeks. Years.
But Jake wasn't so sure.
Of course Pearson would find a solution eventually. He'd find a way to raise the demon. That was his ultimate goal in life, the only thing ever on his mind. However, it wasn't the only thing on Jake's.
Jake wanted freedom. He wanted to live in a house with people that loved him, trusted him. Were there for him. He wanted to be well fed and have clothes on his back and friends to go to school with. He wanted to be respected for what he could do, not hated. He wanted a life.
So, yes, Pearson would eventually raise Azazel, and the demon would raise them all to Salvation. He would end the suffering of those who followed him, and all of the demon children who lived in fear day after day. Eventually, they would all be saved.
But eventually just wasn't good enough.
Jake looked at Pearson, still standing motionless in the doorway. Pearson had tried. He'd had his chance. It was Jake's turn now. Jake's chance to turn the tables on the stupid mortals that thought Psychics could be controlled. He wouldn't let them get away with anything.
The time for waiting was over.
A new age was beginning.
And Jake was prepared to die to make it happen.
So? Your opinion? I'm super excited to continue, but let me know what you think.
What parts made you confused, happy, sad, etc. And, please, if you spot any grammatical errors or something of that nature, I'd appreciate it if you let me know.
It's great to be back!
CHEERS! : )