Author Note: I'm still trying to get a handle on writing the Winchesters. I'm not sure I have it yet. I'm enjoying the series on dvd and have reached the midway point in Season 4. This fic takes place sometime near the end of Season 2; before Sam's death. I hope you enjoy.
The Chill of a Summer Day
When his vision started to blur Sam realized it was time to take break. It didn't help that Dean had been standing over his shoulder pressing him to find the answer which allow them to save his most recent damsel in distress. The urgency wasn't lost on Sam, but it was definitely weird having Dean so interested in the research process.
They were at Bobby's house, which wasn't the most relaxing environment; inside or out. As he exited the house, Sam avoided the junk yard and took a walk along the dirt road which led to the highway. It was hot. The blistering sun was beating down and it didn't long for sweat to form at this temples.
The case was a true quandary and one which his usually reliable sources were no help. It wasn't a demon, but it was clear the girl was possessed by something. At first, it appeared that the she might just suffer from multiple personality disorder, but the weirder she became and more symptoms she exhibited, he thought two spirits might be fighting for control of the single body. You would think a simple exorcism would handle it. No such luck. Nor had any of the incantations they had tried.
Sam put his hand to his face and pressed his eyes. The swirl of colors which appeared was something he always enjoyed; a simple pleasure. As he removed his hands, a chill snaked up his back and his breath was visible before him.
Crap, he thought.
He quickly spun around. Having no weapon and nothing but wide open space on all sides, his mind raced with possibilities.
Nothing. Just empty road.
He turned around, slowly, still breathing chilled air. What he saw made him stumble backward and almost lose his footing.
"Shit!" he exclaimed, regaining his balance.
The little girl stood in the middle of road staring at him curiously.
"My name is Cassie; short for Cassandra," she said matter of fact.
"That wasn't cool," Sam said, eyeing the apparition skeptically. "Cassie."
She shrugged.
"Do you make a habit of popping out of thin air and scaring unsuspecting passers by?"
"Not until now," she said, tilting her head and displaying an awkward smile. "You're the first."
Sam ran his fingers through his hair and regarded the girl closely. She was about eight years old with blonde hair and blue eyes. Her dress was white with what he thought were satin and lace. A yellow bow looped her waist. The dress was clean; dazzlingly white and her hair and face were not marred by bitterness or the passage of time. He wasn't quite sure what he was dealing with. Was she a ghost? A demon? Or something else?
"Who are you?" Sam asked.
"I already told you who I am, Silly," she replied playfully, as if he were the child and she the adult. "I'm Cassie. Remember?"
"I mean…what are you, Cassie?" he amended.
"It doesn't really matter," she answered vaguely. "What matters is that I have something to tell you."
"Me?" he replied, raising and eyebrow in interest.
"Yes, you, Sam?"
His eyes popped slightly. "How do you know my name?"
"He told me your name and said I should give you the message."
"Who is he?" Sam inquired, the investigator taking over.
"Again, doesn't matter," she said, slight irritation entering her pleasantly even pitch. "Don't you want to know what he said?"
"Sure I do," he replied, evenly. "I'm just not sure if I can trust the message if I don't know who it's from."
"Isn't it enough that I'm not a demon or an angry ghost?" she said, suddenly losing the playfulness she had previously employed.
"How did you know what I was thinking?" he said.
"He told me you'd try to label me as something; something you'd encountered before."
"Are you something new? Did the Trickster create you?"
"Not a bad guess, Sam. But this is way above some demigod's pay grade."
"You're not talking like a little girl anymore, Cassie," Sam observed, still wracking brain for a clue as to what Cassie might be.
"Sorry," she said. "Talking with him was quite an education. It's been years since I've spoken to anyone."
"Are you a spirit?" he tried. "Are you haunting Bobby's land? Why haven't you ever spoken to him?"
Cassie shook her head in disappointment. "Sam, you're getting off track. Those questions aren't important. What is important is that Dean is going to go away."
That stopped Sam cold. A pit formed in his gut and a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. He leaned toward her and drilled is eyes into hers. "W-What did you say?"
She returned his gaze with equal intensity. "Dean is leaving…for a while."
"Great. Cryptic message from a cute little girl. Again, how am I supposed to trust what you're telling me."
Cassie shrugged again. "Whether you believe it or not will not stop it from happening."
"So, this mysterious 'he'; did he tell you why I needed to know this?" Sam urged.
"He was kind of vague on that point," she replied with a slight curl of her lip.
"Imagine that," Sam said, incredulously. "This whole conversation has been vague. I'm heading back."
Sam started walking toward the girl and stepped around her and he took the path back to the house.
"Sam, wait!" she pleaded. "There's more!"
The younger Winchester kept walking; ignoring he spirit's pleas. When he had reached the front steps of Bobby's house, Cassie appeared, again, on the porch.
"What do you want?" Sam said in irritation.
Her eyes became sad and her cheerful face eroded to a frown. "It's going to hard on you, Sam; knowing what will happen. But, good news is, he'll be back. You won't lose him forever. It might seem impossible. You will even try to stop it. But you can't. He will leave. But he will come back. You have to believe me on both points."
"Listen to me, Cassie," Sam snapped. "This little tete a' tete has done nothing but make me mad. You've given me baseless accusations from a nameless source. The fact that you appeared out of thin air only compounds my distrust. So, if you have nothing to add regarding our current case, I'll say goodbye."
He tried to walk by her again. She reached out and touched his arm; freezing him in place. "You're a straight thinker, Sam. Denial doesn't look good on you. Hear what I'm saying so that you don't despair. He will come back."
She let him go and he continued into the house without so much as a look over his shoulder. As much as he tried, Sam could not shake her voice from his head. He would tell Dean nothing of it. It would only create an argument he didn't want to have.
Dean is leaving.
He will come back.
He really didn't need this hanging over his head.