Demon Virus

Chapter One: The Empath

This is the sequel to "From the Shadows" and is part of the AU "Demon Blood" 'verse.

IMPORTANT: This story is, well... It's gonna be a little longer, and I think it's a little more character driven in some respects. Its main location is in Utah, and I find you can't really write about Utah without mentioning its culture, which is heavily influenced by religion. You probably know most of these people as Mormons. Now, Utah is my home, and yes, I am Mormon (I'm not all that active, which probably accounts for my colorful language), and yes, the special child introduced in this story has been brought up in the LDS religion just as I was. I'm not trying to advocate one religion above another, and I will not tolerate any negative comments regarding religion in any way whatsoever. This is a story about people and how experiences can shape who we are. Having said that, enjoy!

"Right. So, I was thinking River Grove in Oregon… Why there? Well, it's a small town, it's secluded, it's surrounded by forests, and there's only one road you can use to access it… Yeah, once infected, the humans will be directed to keep both of them within the city limits until one of the them can get close to our test subject and dose him."

Papers shuffled on a desktop. "It's passed through the blood, open wounds… Yeah, one of them would need to get him alone first. Anything else and the older brother would easily find a way to stop them… Yes, I know it sounds complex, that's why I'm going to have two of my guys out there. One to infiltrate, the other to direct from afar. I'm told his range is about 100 yards or so when a demon is actively possessing someone, so allowing one to actively control the humans from afar should work best for this particular test."

There was a pause, and then a harsh bark of laughter. "Tests over in Australia showed that the basic protocol, once infected, is to cause chaos and infect as many other people as possible. Stupid Aborigines… Anyway, if we want any sort of organization, then we need an active demon commanding things outside of his range. Trust me, that part will work. As for the test subject's reaction, well, we won't know until we try. Are you sure you want to use him and not another one?"

There was another pause, followed by a sigh. "I understand. I want to do this the second weekend in November. How do the visions work, exactly? Will he just have one, or do you…? Ah, I see. Well, I'll get things set up on my end, then. You'll let me know the results once it's done? Great, thank you."

Brady Miller flipped his phone shut, grabbed his backpack, and headed out of his dorm room at Harvard. He had much to do to prepare for the end of days.

Danielle Young sighed as she listened to her mother's friend ramble on and on about the troublesome teens down the street and wondered, not for the first time, why she had stopped when the woman had called out to her. The short-ish brunette scratched the back of her head irritably before giving out a loud sigh and interrupting Gina.

"Look," she said, "I get that they've got issues, but it's not their fault. They can't help it their mom works graveyards and their dad's a perpetual smoker who drinks beer in front of the TV all night. That's why they need friends like Heather or Elise in their lives."

Gina frowned at Danielle before saying, "I don't like Heather spending time with them."

"You really think their 'bad influence' is gonna rub off on your daughter or my little sister?" Danielle snorted. "And here I thought you were all about good examples teaching those who don't know better."

"Well, yes, I am," Gina sputtered after a moment, "but those two — "

"You're more concerned about the fact that they're Jehovah's Witnesses instead of LDS like us," Danielle interrupted the woman. "Look, you worry about them, and that's great, but you can't go convincing them that they need to convert in order to be good when you act like a stuck-up prick all the time."

The words came tumbling out before the 23-year-old could stop them. The fact of the matter was that Danielle had been struggling for a long time now with her dislike of the mousy-haired woman before her. "Why, I never — " Gina started to say, but Danielle had had enough. After everything else that had happened over the last year, this was suddenly the chance she'd been looking for to blow up at someone, at anyone.

"You know what your problem is?" she asked loudly, cutting the older woman off again. "You act like you're such a great person with morals and whatever, but the way you judge others without all the facts or even caring about the facts is tiring and I refuse to put up with it any longer."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Gina asked, expression one of absolute shock and anger.

"It means that you're my mother's friend, and I respect that," Danielle stated, "but I can't keep pretending like I'm fine listening to you judge either of my sisters, let alone anyone else who isn't deserving of bullcrap like that." It was only at this point that Danielle willingly lowered her mental shielding, allowing Gina's emotions to flow over her and reading every detail almost as though it were a detailed thought.

Gina was pissed. Not surprising, considering the things Danielle had said, but what was interesting was the flow of guilt and shame mixed with something that gave Danielle the impression that Gina thought this was merely a by-product of the things Danielle had gone through over the last few months. And that meant pity.

Danielle didn't want anyone's pity. "I think we're done here," she told the older woman before turning to walk away, long ponytail swinging over her shoulder. Gina gaped after her, at a loss of what she could possibly say after that.

Frankly, though, Danielle didn't want her to say a damn word. Gina didn't know the half of Danielle's problems; she only knew about the family struggles and Jared's —

Stopping the thought before it could fully form and rip her heart to shreds again, Danielle stalked down the street to her family's house. It had a pretty standard shape compared to every other house in this part of western Provo, but what made it unique were the hedges that lined the front of the yard like a chain link fence along with the tall California blue spruce, the rose bushes and the golden rain tree that reached a good ten or so feet past the top of the split-entry house, its tiny golden leaves fluttering to the ground every time the late October wind so much as sighed.

This place, this house, was home, and home meant a level of safety that couldn't be attained anywhere else. Danielle closed her eyes briefly as she paused at the base of the sloped driveway, taking in a deep breath before letting it out slowly and checking her watch.

It was just after four o'clock. Danielle's shift at the movie theater started in an hour, and she needed to get ready, eat something and try to put her game face back on. She barely talked to anyone at work these days and yet her managers still insisted on making her work in the box office, selling tickets. Making conversation wasn't what it once was, and answering the phone was hell. Letting out another sigh, Danielle made her way up the driveway and over to the front door. She could do this, she could pretend to be normal like she used to, even if it felt like it wasn't possible anymore.

Dean wasn't overly fond of Utah. Sure, there were plenty of locals in the bars of Salt Lake City that he managed to get along with just fine, but most of the religious people in the state were a little extreme in his eyes. Not that he was saying any one religion was better than another, though of course, given that he didn't believe in God or angels, it probably wasn't his place to judge one religion over another.

"Go over this crazy-weird case of yours again," he said to Sam, hoping for some kind of distraction from his weird thoughts.

"Huh?" Sam had been staring absently out the passenger-side window again, and Dean fought to keep himself from rolling his eyes.

"The case, dude. The mostly-reason we're here?"

"Oh, right." Sam sat up straighter and picked up the folder that had been on his lap. "So a student at Provo High School, Gary Matheson, committed suicide by hanging himself from the spotlight booth in the school's auditorium last March. Since then, there have been seven different accidents, three of which resulted in death. One witness claimed she saw Gary, but the authorities just said she was traumatized."

"Of course," Dean sighed. "Are you sure it's this kid, though? I mean, most spirits tend to take years before they manifest on such a violent level."

"I researched the school's history," Sam said, "and no one else has died in the area the auditorium is located in for as far back as I could go. I don't know what else it could be, I mean, the deaths have all looked like suicides and the accidents came pretty close to lookin' the same."

"All right," Dean said. "You know Provo only has two bars?"

"You know that Provo is the location of Brigham Young University?" Sam shot back with a mild grin. "Almost everyone there is Mormon, Dean. Drinking alcohol is strictly prohibited by their religion."

"Right," Dean said, turning into the parking lot of a cheap-looking hotel that had once been a Super 8 Motel; now the "Super 8" was painted over in red and only the word "motel" remained on the sign. "New management, I'm guessing," he said as he parked by the office. "Nice-looking place."

"Yeah," Sam said with a roll of his eyes. "Just get us a room, already."

Dean shot a grin at Sam before heading inside to check into a room. The man behind the desk was old, but straightforward and Dean was back out a few minutes later with the key to their room. He slid back into the Impala's driver seat and moved them across the parking lot. "Room 135," he said to Sam as he parked and turned off the engine, opening the door and heading to the trunk.

Minutes later, they were settled into yet another plain motel room with scratchy sheets, boring paintings of what Dean thought might be flowers, hot water that never lasted long enough, and flimsy towels. Sam instantly set up his laptop and was back to doing research, as always. It made Dean feel a little guilty, but Sam never complained, so he never brought it up. Sam was geek boy and Dean was action man. Or something like that. Anyway…

"Want food?" he asked after half an hour of channel surfing. He wanted to see if there were any nice diners around, but Sam still couldn't block out the emotions of everyone around him, and it was only getting worse as the weeks passed by. This meant that Dean had to replace supplies and get food on his own rather than subject Sam to more misery. So, he tried to recall what places he had spotted when he had driven into the city. "I could hit up the Maverick just across the parking lot or there's an Arby's, or a McDonald's, or a Wendy's, or I could check out the mall just up the hill from here…" He trailed off and felt his face flush as Sam chuckled.

"Done listing options?" he asked and Dean nodded sheepishly. "Get me the salad bowl from Wendy's, the Ceaser salad with ranch dressing and a lemonade."

Dean forced back a sigh. Sam had always been the healthy food freak of the family, but lately it seemed all he ever wanted were simple salads with occasional sandwiches that never had enough meat on them. He still wasn't putting on enough weight for his height, but Dean was just at a loss as how to handle this particular problem. Sam had improved by leaps and bounds in terms of his sleeping and how he handled problems after Ilchester, but for some reason Dean just couldn't fathom, the kid was still being incredibly stubborn about his health. Just then, Sam looked up at him, and the expression on his face reminded Dean that his brother could read his emotions and had yet to figure out how not to. He shifted uncomfortably. "Okay," he said, trying to sound normal. "Ceaser salad it is, then."

As Dean left, he couldn't help but think himself a coward.

The auditorium just didn't feel the same anymore. Stephanie Tuttle eased into the pitch-black space nervously. After Kelly's accident last week, no one had been allowed inside the auditorium while the place was checked out, but Stephanie had left her USB stick next to the soundboard. She needed it to finish that assignment for Honors English or she was gonna fail. This was probably her only chance to get it without being caught.

Mr. Wallis had handed over the keys to the auditorium to the authorities, but no one needed to know that Stephanie had made her own copies the previous school year when she was entrusted with the previous drama teacher's keys over Christmas Break, right?

"Okay, Gary, I'm only coming in for a sec," the high school senior said, turning on her small flashlight and gazing up the small flight of stairs and into the tech booth. The soundboard was located on the opposite side of the open booth, but if she was quick…

"I know you're angry," she added after a moment of tense silence, "but it's me, your friend." She took a deep breath and bolted up the five steps and over to the soundboard, strawberry blonde ponytail bouncing against her back as she made her way over, heart pounding in her chest.

Thankfully, her USB stick was right where she'd left it, so she snatched it up and spun around, the small beam of light landing on the face of a dead man. Stephanie only just managed to swallow down her scream. "You gonna tell me I wasn't a good friend?" she whispered, wondering what her fate would be.

Gary looked solid enough, but his coloring was starting to fade like an old photograph. He stared at her for a very long moment before giving her a sad smile. "You tried when no one else would," he said.

"I thought I was a good enough reason for you," Stephanie managed to say after a moment. "Was that selfish of me?"

"No," Gary said softly. "It's pretty hard to stop people once they've made up their minds, Steph."

"I wish I could've, though," Stephanie said earnestly. "School hasn't been the same without you next to me in every class. Your mom misses you," she added in a lower voice.

"I can't let go of what happened," Gary said after another moment had passed. "Steph, I'm just so angry at them for what they did, and it never stops, it can't stop…" He trailed off and moved away a little. "You should go," he said, looking into the blackness that surrounded them. "Go and live."

Stephanie swallowed and nodded, blinking rapidly. "When will you stop?" she asked.

Gary shrugged, still not looking at her. "I don't know. That's why you shouldn't come back."

After another moment had gone by, Stephanie finally nodded. "Okay," she said. "I miss you," she added as she headed for her exit.

"Me, too," Gary whispered from behind her as she allowed the door to close.

Stephanie leaned against the auditorium door and allowed her legs to slide out from under her until she was sitting. She knew it was dangerous to be around Gary now, but she couldn't help but want to be as close to him as she could, anyway.

Stephanie drew her knees to her chest and cried.

It was never easy, finding miracles, Sam knew that after weeks of searching across the country, so why did Provo have so many of them? The year 1973 had at least ten possibilities Sam could investigate further. Of course, he needed to remind Dean that this was one of the many cities in the country Azazel had visited, so the chances of finding a special child were good.

The last several weeks had been spent going to each city Azazel had visited and spending a few days to try and determine who the special child in each of those cities could be. The only problem was that those they'd been able to identify were either going to college in other states; or, like Jake Talley, who apparently had super strength like Sam did, they were overseas in the army, or perhaps studying abroad; or they were dead, just like Max. Just like Scott. But, given how many students stayed in Utah to go to BYU or other nearby universities, chances were they'd actually find the special child this time. Sam was sure of it.

Still, the search could wait until after the case. He knew Dean was desperate for a break from all of this, and a normal Hunt was just what his older brother needed. Sam sighed and shut his laptop as the door opened and Dean entered the room. "Here's your pansy salad," he said, tossing a bag to Sam once he shut the door with his foot. He set Sam's drink on the table and took his food over to his bed.

"Thanks," Sam said with a small grin as he caught the bag and pulled his food out. He knew his decreased appetite bothered Dean. Hell, it bothered Sam, as well, but he couldn't bring himself to eat like he'd used to. Even worse, he didn't go to many public places anymore, the emotions of those around him often overwhelming his senses. He'd actually thrown up in the middle of a grocery store about a month earlier, making Dean just about freak out. So, now he stayed away from large crowds as much as possible. Still, at least he was sleeping better now, right? His bullet wound from Baltimore and the cut on his arm from Guthrie were finally all healed up. Sam just had to remind himself to remember the good things that had happened.

The rest of the evening, Sam did his best to not bring up research or the case, instead focusing on the movie on TV ("Miss Congeniality", but no one really needed to know that, right?) and relaxing.

It'd been far too long since the last time he'd been able to do so, and it felt pretty good.

When Dean finally turned in for the night, however, Sam's eyes were drawn once again to his laptop. He wasn't sure why he hadn't said anything about this to Dean, but he had secretly been trying to look up people he had known growing up that he now suspected had been possessed by demons on Azazel's orders. Dean knew about Rachel Nave, of course, but Sam hadn't been very forthcoming about anyone else he suspected; honestly, he figured it was pretty low on Dean's list of things to worry about.

Sam's list wasn't very long, though it ranged from elementary school through college. However, the one name on the list that bothered him was most was Brady Miller's. How he never managed to suspect his best friend at Stanford still flummoxed him, but the facts were what they were. Brady had been a good man that first semester of college; it was over Christmas break when he had changed so abruptly.

At the time, Sam thought that someone had gotten Brady hooked on drugs or something; what else was he supposed to think when the man barely paid attention in class and partied like there was no tomorrow while looking paler and paler with each day that passed and the powder hidden in his bags? Sam had convinced himself that his friend just needed help and did his best to be there for him. When Brady introduced him to Jessica, he had thought nothing of the smirk playing around his lips, too preoccupied by Jessica's smile, the way her eyes sparkled the moment she first looked at him.

Sam had wanted normal, but never once expected a real relationship with anyone. His dad didn't have anyone besides his sons, and Dean only wanted to sample the wide variety of women in the world. Sam had been with a few girls growing up, but it was Jess who first gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, he could make this chance at normal life be more than just a chance.

And then it had all been taken from him in a flash of fire and blood and he hadn't stopped it because they were supposed to be just nightmares, not some sign that he was bigger freak than he had always thought he was because of his upbringing.

Of course, the fact of the matter was that he was a freak, no matter what Dean said. With a sigh, Sam moved across the motel room and settled down before his laptop once more. He reread Rebecca's email for the hundreth time since getting it back in August.

I emailed Brady, but I'm not so sure that getting back in contact with him is that good of an idea. Honestly, I don't even know if he was telling me the truth when he said he was taking time off from school. I know we both thought that he was struggling with a drug addiction after that Christmas Break, but I'm starting to wonder if it wasn't something more than that. You showed me a world I never thought existed, and with what happened to Jess, I can't help but wonder if this world you live in, if it doesn't follow you. Remember that time you ended up in the hospital and you said you took a tumble down a flight of stairs in the museum and that's why your arm was broken like that? That wasn't the only accident in the museum, I remember that much. Was there something more going on than you were saying?

Anyway, let me know how you and Dean are doing, and please, think seriously about things before you go contacting Brady, for my sake.

Rebecca Warren

Sam smiled slightly. The museum on campus had been haunted, and Sam couldn't help but want to make the university he was putting his entire future into as safe as possible. A few days research told him that the spirit's body had been cremated, but that one of its possessions, located conveniently on the upper floor of the museum grounds, was tying it to this plane of existence. It had been a few days before the museum realized that an artifact was missing, and they never realized that Sam had taken it and burned it, though not before getting thrown down a flight of stairs and breaking his left arm. Becky had been worried, and Jess had freaked when she saw him the next day, but it had been worth it. That was the only thing Sam had hunted while at Stanford until Dean had turned up.

In the two months since Sam had received the email from Becky, he had remained uncertain as to what he should do about Brady Miller. If he was still possessed, and it seemed more than likely that he was, then the only question remaining was whether the man was going to school somewhere else or if he had completely abandoned the act the moment Sam had left California.

Maybe he should talk to Dean about this, he thought to himself, shutting down his laptop and returning to his bed on the other side of the room. Of course, chances were Dean would want to track Brady down and take an exorcism to him along with some holy water and who knows what else and Sam just wasn't sure that was the action he wanted to take against the man. Provided he really was possessed and not still recovering from a drug addiction like Sam had once thought he was.

Finally feeling the pull of sleep, Sam allowed his body to relax under the covers and let his thoughts drift aimlessly. There were so many questions and not enough answers. Would he ever figure it all out?

TBC