Foreseen

Chapter One

Sam didn't like the holidays. He never really had. There were too many unhappy memories around that time of year, too many disappointments and tears to really enjoy the season. On the off chance that their Dad was actually home on Christmas, there were never any real presents, not the type of presents young kids should get. John had usually been too broke, too tired, or too drunk to get them anything normal. So instead, he'd given them pendants, charms, supplies of salt, and, when the boys were older, he upgraded to knives and daggers. It used to disappoint Sam. Every year, he'd get his hopes up that perhaps this would be the year they'd have a normal Christmas. Perhaps this would be the year when they could be human. But as he got older, he came to expect no Christmas miracles, ho holiday events. And pretty soon, the holidays were just forgotten altogether. When Dean said he didn't care about Christmas, Sam had pretended not to either. By the time Sam left for college, he'd given up on the holidays altogether.

But it had never really hurt like this. It couldn't have hurt. There were never any memories to miss when it came to Christmas. This year was a different story. College had changed him, in more ways that he cared to acknowledge. His friends had begun giving him presents. There were decorations around and holiday dinners, concerts, even parties. When he met Jess, she'd finally given him the Christmas he always wished he could have. A Christmas tree, presents, music, and love. Those were the things that were supposed to be related to the holiday. Not family fights, whiskey and ghost hunting. It had been a taste of normal and Sam had liked it.

And now he was back to this. Sitting on the bed of a motel room, wondering where his father was, or even if he cared. It would take some time to get used to it again. It hurt to think that he had to. It wasn't even the fact that he missed his friends or the holiday festivities, though those hurt in their own ways. It was the fact that his brother Dean had grown cold towards the holidays. He'd never really had a good one that he could remember, so in Dean's mind, he knew not to expect it and even tried to prevent it, knowing that it would be the same thing next year. It was self preservation and it hurt Sam to know his brother thought he had to do it. Dean had always taught himself not to get his hopes up. Sam blamed that on their father.

So Sam sat alone, six days away from Christmas, on some dirty motel bed thinking about Jess. She'd been on his mind a lot lately and he attributed it to the holidays, some of his fondest memories with her. Dean had gone out to collect their dinner and Sam hoped it was something other than cheeseburgers. But Dean would be gone for a bit and Sam didn't know what to do. There was nothing worth watching on television. The brothers didn't have any place to go or ghost to hunt. They'd been sacked up in the motel for nearly four days. Dean said it was because he was waiting for instructions from their father, but Sam guessed that Dean was just getting tired, in more ways than one. Sam couldn't blame him. Though they had done their fair share of saving people in the past few months, the brothers were reluctant to acknowledge that their father hadn't been at any of the coordinates he'd sent them to.

Bored and not wanting to think about his Dad, Sam pulled the laptop out of his bag. He waited for it to turn on and then opened a few files, leaning back against the headboard and trying to get comfortable. The first picture came up and Sam couldn't help but smile. Jess's face was smiling brightly back at him. She had a Santa cap on and it looked strangely beautiful on her. Sam had made her wear it, though she had felt stupid at first, but eventually she had started modeling it off and Sam couldn't help but snap a picture of her.

The next picture was of Sam and Jess together. He had been carrying her piggyback through the snow. She looked beautiful in the snow. Her pink hat and matching mittens had been collecting the flakes for a while and it gave her an almost luminescent shade. They'd been fooling around with friends outside, having a snowball fight. The next picture was of them again, with a few other friends in the picture. Sam was getting caught in the face with a snowball which Jess had thrown.

Sam let out a sad chuckle as he remembered how happy they had been that day. God, he missed her. He looked through more of the pictures, trying to think just about the happy memories and not the horrible nightmare that seemed to overtake him whenever he thought about her. It was hard to do, but he relaxed himself into a mellow mood and looked through the rest of the pictures.

He was almost done when the door to the motel room opened. Sam clicked off his computer and closed it on his lap as Dean stomped the snow off his shoes and let out a disgusted shiver. "It's colder than a grandma's tit out there," he said and Sam couldn't hide his amusement. Though the comment was crude, it was undeniably Dean. Just the fact that his brother was there began to lift Sam's melancholy mood.

"You have such a way with words," Sam commented, placing the computer next to him on the bed before getting to his feet.

Dean grinned and put the carry out boxes he had in his hands down on the table. "And I didn't even go to college," he quipped, opening one of the boxes and handing it to Sam, who took it readily, his stomach growling slightly. Sam was surprised to find that his brother had actually brought home something other than burgers.

"Hot wings?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrow.

Dean nodded and Sam watched as he pulled his own meal out. Surprise, surprise it was a cheeseburger. Dean took a big bite and held it up to Sam in a mock toast. "Yeah," he said with a full mouth. "Half off burgers when you get wings. Couldn't pass up a deal like that."

"I bet you couldn't," Sam said before sitting back down.

Dean looked at him, chewing his food. "You all right?" he asked suddenly.

Sam looked up, wondering how the heck his brother always seemed to know when something was bothering him. He nodded at him and said, "Yeah. Just tired." Dean seemed to accept the answer and went on eating his burger.

After a few more bites, Dean seemed to notice the computer. "Planning our next road trip?" he asked.

Sam looked over at the computer and struggled for an answer. "Um…no. I was just getting bored and decided to surf around for a little bit." Sam knew it was a lame excuse and could tell Dean thought it was a lame excuse. His brother was eyeing him suspiciously, chewing slowly. Sam begged Dean not to pry. He wasn't ashamed to have been looking at pictures of Jess, he just didn't want his brother to think there was something to worry about, because there wasn't.

"Uh huh," Dean said, obviously not believing it. But to Sam's relief, he didn't press it further. Instead, he put down his burger and pushed it away, patting his stomach. "Well, I guess it was time we got going anyway."

Sam perked up at that. "Did you get new coordinates?"

Wiping his mouth clean of any remains, Dean rose and gave his head a small shake. Sam tried to not let the disappointment show in his body, but he could tell Dean had picked up on it anyway. "No," he said honestly and began taking off his coat. "But I'm sure we'll find something along the way." He threw his coat onto the chair. "Gonna grab a shower then we should hit the road."

Sam was a little taken aback by the abruptness of it all. He set down his dinner and leaned forward. "Dean, we don't have to go," he said. Dean eyed him, taking off his shoes and he did so. "I mean, if you wanted to stay here for a couple more days. You know, take it easy during Christmas?"

"Thought you wanted to find Dad," Dean said, not looking up from his shoes.

"I do," Sam's voice was curt, getting defensive. "It's just…we've been going nonstop for a while and, well, you look pretty tired."

Dean snorted at that. "I look fine," he said, bobbing his head to accentuate the statement. "You, on the other hand, could do for a little makeover yourself. Change up the wardrobe, try out some pastels, I think it would look good on your delicate form."

"Shut up," Sam spat, though he was glad to see Dean joking. "I'm sorry I never got into the whole leather fetish."

"Good thing," Dean said, rising from his seat, taking one more bite of his cheeseburger and heading to the bathroom. "Pack on a few pounds and then we'll talk. For now, try accessorizing."

Sam let out an exasperated laugh, smiling as he said, "All right, Martha Stewart."

"And for God sake's man!" Dean yelled before closing the door. "Get a hair cut!"

Shaking his head, Sam chuckled and leaned back on the bed, picking his food up again and starting to pick at it. He wasn't really hungry anymore. His humor faded a bit as he thought about getting back on the road. It meant getting back to looking for Dad. They didn't even know where they were going. What were they suppose to do? Drive around until their Dad sent them more coordinates to more places he'd never been? Sam wasn't even sure it was Dad sending the coordinates. He could be dead for all they knew. They could be following a ghost, literally. Though Sam didn't think that was the case.

Hearing the shower start to run, Sam sighed. His brother was getting anxious and it was starting to show. Sam could see it in the way Dean kept the cell phone close at all times, every once in a while glancing at it to see if he'd somehow missed a call or a message. He could see it when Dean read through the papers or watched the news, almost as if he expected to be given a sign as to where they were supposed to go next. But most of all, Sam could see it at nighttime, when he watched his brother toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position but never able. It used to be a rare occurrence when Sam got more sleep than Dean, but lately it had been happening more and more. Sam would pretend to be asleep, listening to Dean sigh and turn, sigh and turn, for hours at a time before finally giving up and going into the bathroom or out to his car or, more frequently, he'd sit up and read through Dad's journal, over and over. Dean must have known most of that stuff by heart now, but he was always looking for something. Something that he'd missed. Sam didn't know how to tell him, or even how to approach him about it, but he was certain that there was nothing in that journal that could help them find John Winchester. Sam thought that his brother just needed to be reminded their father ever existed.

The worse part was, Sam didn't know how to make it better. He couldn't rightly go out and find their Dad. And he knew making Dean give up and try his luck at a normal life was out of the question. But that left Sam with nothing. Nothing but to stay with his brother, make sure he didn't run himself down. Though, it seemed like an impossibly huge task considering Sam himself was frustrated beyond belief that they still hadn't found hide nor hair of their father.

The sound of Dean singing in the shower made Sam let out a content laugh. Only Dean would sing a Poison song in the shower. Sam flipped on the television. Though it was nice to know his brother was in such a good mood where he could sing and not care who heard him, Dean's singing voice was not something Sam wanted to listen to readily. He flipped through the channels, knowing there must be something on that he could tolerate watching. At last, he came upon "It's a Wonderful Life." It was one of the few Christmas movies he could actually enjoy.

About ten minutes later, the shower stopped and Sam knew that they would be on their way as soon as Dean was done grooming himself. Turning off the television, Sam started cleaning up and collecting their things. After a few minutes passed, Sam was growing restless and knocked on the bathroom door. "How long you gonna be?" he asked.

The shout was muffled through the door. "This is an art."

Sam frowned. "What is?"

"Looking this good," came the solid reply and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Well hurry up, pretty boy," Sam snickered at the scoff he heard from his brother. "I'm packing the car."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean answered.

Sam packed the car quickly, not wanting to be out in the cold more than he had to. Dean had been right with his earlier metaphor, it was damn freezing out. The ground was slippery and snow had started to fall again. Sam knew they would have to be stopping soon to get some heavier clothing. As nice as the Impala's heater was, it didn't help when they actually had to get out of the car. He wondered distractedly if they made leather winter coats. Dean would probably refuse anything else.

As Sam walked back into the motel room, rubbing his hands together, he heard the cell phone ring. Dean yelled his name from the bathroom and Sam rolled his eyes. "I got it," he called to his brother. He picked up the phone and looked at the number of the caller. It was unknown. Could be Dad, Sam thought to himself, but tried not to expect too much.

Flipping the phone open he put it to his ear and said, "Hello?" There was a pause on the other end. Sam could her some background noise, though he wasn't quite sure what it was. It sounded almost like static, but it was deeper and slower. "Hello?" he said again, ready to hang up.

But a voice came through then and Sam froze, recognizing it immediately. "Hello, Sam," it said. Sam felt the blood drain from his face and he had to sit down in a rush. It couldn't be. He didn't have time to answer as the voice went on. "I love you, Sam." There was another pause and Sam was trying to spit out an answer, something, anything. But his throat was stuck. The voice went on, whispering, making Sam strain to hear, not stopping between sentences. "Manheim needs his bone. Save my baby. Is that a bad man? Do you see the birds? Sammy, I'm sorry."

When the voice paused again, Sam finally was able to get something out. "I don't understand."

There wasn't an answer for a moment and Sam thought he'd lost the person on the other line. His heart was beating hard in his chest and he felt like he was either going to cry or panic his throat was so tight with emotion. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. There was no fucking way.

Sam was about to call out their name when the voice said one more thing.

"He will see."

Abruptly, the dial tone sounded and Sam sucked in a breath. But he didn't have time to react as suddenly he heard Dean's terrified voice from the bathroom yell, "Holy Fuck!" There was a crash and an odd thump and Sam was on his feet. He was still reeling over the phone call, but he very rarely heard Dean sound so terrified.

"Dean?" he yelled, running to the bathroom. He tried to open it, but the door was locked. The phone call was forgotten for a moment and Sam pounded on the door. "Dean?" he didn't even need to ask if his brother was all right. Sam just knew that something was wrong. Sam felt fear well up inside him. What was going on? "Dean!" he yelled, pounding again on the door, growing desperate.

The door suddenly unlocked and Sam was quick to open it. He stopped short when he saw Dean, sitting on the counter, a towel wrapped around his waist, wide eyed and breathing hard. He'd knocked the toiletries onto the floor and a glass cup had fallen into the sink and broken. Sam eyed his brother up and down, he didn't look hurt, at all, just scared and angry.

"Dean?" Sam asked, opening the door a little wider, looking at the bathroom. He didn't see anything. "What happened?"

"Holy shit, Sam," Dean said, putting a hand to his chest. Sam frowned and waited. Something had spooked his brother, and that wasn't very easy to do. "It was right behind me," Dean said, distracted.

"What was?" Sam asked, trying to get Dean to look at him.

"I've no idea," Dean said, shaking his head and looking at his brother. "I saw it in the mirror. Turned and it was gone." Dean took a deep breath, putting a hand to his head, brows furrowing in confusion and irritation. "Jesus," he whispered. "I know I saw it." Sam suddenly straightened, his mind going to the phone call. The very last thing said. Were they talking about Dean?

"Dean," Sam demanded, coming closer and standing in front of his brother. "What did you see?" he asked it sternly and Dean looked up at him, confusion clearly written on his face.

"I don't fucking know," Dean spat. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, a trickle of blood dripped out of his nose. Sam froze. It had confirmed his fear.

"Dean…" Sam started to reach up but stopped when Dean raised his own hand and touched his nose, drawing his hand back and staring at the blood. He looked over at Sam. They shared a look that said something wasn't right. Sam stared at his brother, unsure what to do. Dean was studying Sam, his eyes looking for any irregularities. Sam was nervous.

Dean put the back of his hand to his nose as it continued to bleed. He grinned suddenly. Sam couldn't find anything funny about the situation. "Don't worry Sammy," he said. "I won't go all psycho shit on you." Despite the situation, Sam had to smile. It was awfully similar to the asylum. But something was different about this one. Sam could feel it. It was odd, yet it screamed out for Sam to pay attention to it.

"Sammy?" Dean asked and Sam looked up, realizing he'd been staring. Dean looked worried and Sam gave him a reassuring smile before his face fell.

"I think we're being haunted," Sam said abruptly.

Dean shot him a 'no-shit' look and said, "Thank you college boy, that was really helpful." The sarcasm wasn't lost on Sam and he frowned.

"Dean," Sam said, taking in a breath, knowing that Dean wasn't going to like this one. "I got a phone call."

Trying to wipe the blood away from his nose and accidentally smearing it across his cheek, Dean gave him a sharp look. "What?" he asked. "From who?"

Sam shook his head, almost afraid to tell his brother. So much for not making Dean worry.

"Jess."