Chapter Two: The Grand Illusion

Sam glanced up from his computer when he heard Dean groan and sit up, blinking against the sunlight coming through the crack in the curtains covering the smeary motel window.

"What time is it?" Dean grumbled, glancing at the clock radio on the nightstand even as Sam answered him.

"Six," the younger man said and Dean groaned again, flopping back against the pillows.

"How long have you been up?" he asked, one arm draped across his eyes, trying to block out the sun.

"All night," Lucifer answered but of course Dean couldn't hear him.

"A while," Sam muttered, lying. He grabbed the paper cup of coffee beside his computer and took a deep swallow of the lukewarm liquid, grimacing at the bitter taste.

"Did you have any luck finding us a case?" Dean asked and sat up again, setting his feet on the spotty motel carpet.

"I did," Sam answered and pulled up the tab on the computer's search engine he'd looked over.

"Great, enlighten me," Dean smirked but Sam didn't return the gesture. He had spent all night staring at autopsy and crime-scene photos of the victims while trying to ignore Lucifer whispering in his ear.

Turning the computer towards his brother, Sam tried to recall the information he had read without having to actually look at the pictures again.

"The first victim appeared, uh… two weeks ago," Sam said, "Her name was…"

"Crystal," Lucifer provided.

"Crystal…" Sam repeated, "Uh…"

"Philips," Dean muttered, "Yeah, thanks Sam, I can read."

Sam sighed and drank another mouthful of coffee.

"She was found outside a local bar," Sam explained, "Missing her liver and… skin."

Dean nodded and apparently scrolled down to the autopsy pictures, grimacing in disgust.

"Oh, that's not right," he grumbled, "What else?"

"The second victim was Richard Allen," Sam said, avoiding making eye-contact with Lucifer, "He was found outside of his office building two days after Crystal was discovered. He was also skinned and had his kidneys removed."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment. He wished he could distance himself from this case as he usually would but with each picture revealing the flayed corpse of a victim, Lucifer was there, reminding him of his similar fate he'd experienced while he'd been trapped in the Cage with the fallen angel and Michael.

"Sam?" Dean's voice startled him, "You alright?"

He nodded, "Uh… Alison Bower was found last week. And Patti McDuffy was found on Monday."

Dean frowned, "Hm… do you have any idea about what this is?"

Sam shook his head, "Oh, there was something else… It's not in the police or medical reports or anything but a couple of months ago a farmer found most of his sheep mutilated."

"Sheep?" Dean scowled, "What the Hell?"

Sam shrugged; he was just as stumped as his brother on this one.

"Well," Dean said, standing and stretching, "I don't know about you but I can't work a case on an empty stomach."

Sam closed his laptop- gratefully- and stood as well.

"Why don't I get us something and you pack?" Sam offered. Dean glanced down at the empty coffee cup beside the computer- evidence that Sam had already been to the diner across the street- and shrugged.

"Sure, whatever you want."

Sam grabbed his jacket and left the motel room, closing the door quietly after himself. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Sam walked with his head down, his feet guiding him back to the diner.

Although it was warm outside- and certain to become even more so as the day progressed- Sam shivered, pulling the collar of his jacket up. He received some odd looks from the few people he passed, locals on their way to work, wearing sandals and dresses or business suits but he ignored them.

Lucifer walked beside Sam, keeping stride with him, humming cheerfully.

Sam stared at the pavement in front of him, trying to ignore his unwanted company. Instead, he tried to focus on the case. He didn't know of any supernatural creature that killed its victims in the way he had seen in the coroner's reports. No monster he could think of skinned its victims. And the sheep, well, that was just strange.

Sam knew that Chupacabra's often killed livestock and fed on their blood, but certainly never removed the animals' skins.

Maybe this wasn't their sort of case after all; maybe some human psycho had murdered those people. Sam couldn't help but be reminded of the fictional serial killer, Buffalo Bill from the movie The Silence of the Lambs.

Reaching the diner, Sam slipped inside and stood in line while he waited to be served.

The girl at the counter gave him a curious look when she saw him for the second time that morning but only asked what he wanted.

Sam ordered Dean's breakfast and a coffee for himself.

"Another coffee, Sam?" Lucifer chimed in, leaning against the counter beside him, "That'll be, what, your third this morning?"

The youngest Winchester ignored the observation and took the paper cup when the girl handed it to him and moved to the side to wait for the rest of his order.

"You know, all that caffeine is not good for you," the Devil continued as Sam took a sip of the hot liquid.

Sam didn't care if it was bad for him, he needed it. If he didn't drink it, he'd fall asleep and if that happened he'd have nightmares or Lucifer would wake him, irritated at being ignored for longer than five minutes.

"Here's your order, sir," the girl held out the large paper bag and Sam grabbed it, muttering his thanks.

Sam dashed across the street, ignoring the blaring of a car horn as a driver swerved to avoid hitting him and opened the motel room door.

"Where's my coffee?" Dean asked, taking the bag from Sam and frowning after looking inside.

Damn, Sam had forgotten to get his brother coffee as well.

"Why not give Dean yours?" Lucifer suggested.

"What've you got? Not one of those frou-frou drinks?" Dean asked, as if he had heard the Devil's comment.

"It's black," Sam muttered and held it out to Dean.

"Thanks Sammy," he took the offered beverage, smiling, "I owe you one."

Sam shrugged, "You ready to go?"

"Car's all packed and everything," Dean grinned and Sam tried to smile back but the expression fell flat.

Dean, though, didn't seem to notice, too interested in his food. Sam followed him out to the car and waited for Dean to get himself settled in the driver's seat of their most recently stolen car, which was consisted of him arranging his bacon and eggs on his toast to make a sandwich he could hold and eat while he drove.

Once Dean had pulled out of the parking lot and turned the radio on to eardrum-shattering level- which Sam was actually grateful for; Lucifer's voice wasn't as loud as the Metallica or Iron Maiden or Motorhead blasting from the speakers- Sam leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes, not really believing he'd fall asleep but simply resting his eyes.

SPN

Rossi grimaced at the gory crime scene photos on the wall as Penelope explained the case.

"This is twenty-two year old Crystal Philips," Garcia said, the victim's body juxtaposed with a copy of a picture of her on the beach in a flattering pink bikini.

"She was found two weeks ago in front of the local bar where she worked," the technical analyst continued, "by another employee."

"The coroner's report indicates that her throat was cut and she had her skin and liver removed."

A new picture appeared on screen, this one of a man in his late fifties.

"Richard Allen, fifty-seven was also found without his skin and his kidneys were also gone."

"Liver… Kidneys," Emily Prentiss spoke up, "Are we thinking the unsub is cannibalizing his victims?"

"It's a little early to tell-" Aaron Hotchner began but was interrupted by Spencer Reid.

"Jack the Ripper took Catherine Eddowes' left kidney and reportedly fried and ate it. He sent a letter to George Lusk, leader of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee describing it. Albert Fish also ate his victims; he-"

"Thank you, Spencer," Aaron held up his hand to stop the doctor before he got too carried away. Reid cleared his throat and Morgan chuckled slightly before turning serious again after Hotch glared at him.

"Continue," Aaron indicated to Garcia and the techie started again.

"The latest victims are Alison Bower and Patricia McDuffy," she said, showing them pictures of skinned bodies.

Rossi frowned, "If Phillips was found two weeks ago, Allen two days later, Bower was last week and McDuffy only on Monday, than we have a big problem. Our unsub is accelerating with no particular pattern."

"Right," Hotch said, "I want everyone on the jet in thirty minutes."

Rossi stood and stretched. This case was shaping up to be a bad one- not that there were any good cases- and he only hoped they could get their unsub before anyone else died. Sighing, the veteran Fed glanced at his teammates, their faces saddened though determined.

The battle is never over, Rossi thought to himself, there always monsters to slay.

SPN

Dean frowned at his brother sitting in the seat across from him. Sam was hunched over the Formica table, hands wrapped around what had to be his tenth coffee of the day. They had stopped for lunch ten minutes ago and while Dean had eagerly ordered a cheeseburger and a Coke, Sam had only wanted coffee. He hadn't even asked for one of his stupid salads!

Dean reached out and slid the mug out from his between his brother's fingers, moving it over to his side of the table.

"Hey!" Sam exclaimed irritably, "Give that back."

Dean didn't even blink as Sam reached out for the mug, "Why don't you try eating something first?"

Sam hesitated for a moment, hand still outstretched, before muttering, "I'm fine. I'm not hungry."

Dean wanted to call bullshit but was interrupted by the waitress who set his burger in front of him. She turned to Sam, notepad ready.

"Sure I can't get you anything?"

Dean stared at his brother from around the waitress' arm, his food momentarily forgotten.

Sam, avoiding Dean's glare, shook his head, "No thank you."

Once they were alone, Dean leaned over the table and hissed at his sibling, "Damn it, Sam! I don't care if you order the fucking Soup of the Day but you have got to eat something."

Dean didn't like this, not at all. He worried when Sam refused to eat. A guy Sam's size couldn't afford to skip meals.

Sighing at his brother's expression- it looked as though Sam couldn't gather up enough energy to even scowl at him- he toned it down a notch.

"Is it… you-know-what?" Dean asked quietly.

He knew what it was like; he had been there. The first few weeks after being rescued from Hell, certain foods, especially meat, curdled Dean's stomach. Even now, he sometimes hated the smell of frying bacon.

Ever since Cas had destroyed Death's wall- the only thing keeping Sam from his memories of the Cage- Dean had noticed a marked change in Sam's behaviour. Dean tried to help Sam, he really did, but it was difficult when his brother refused to talk about it and keep everything bottled up. Sure, Dean knew he hadn't been in a chatty mood about his time in Hell but he also didn't have the Devil as an imaginary friend.

Sam looked away, out the window beside the booth and his silence told Dean the truth.

"Sammy, man, you need to eat," he told his brother quietly, "You'll get sick if you don't."

"I know, Dean," Sam whispered, his voice soft and watery.

Dean shoved his plate closer to the middle of the table, hoping to entice Sam to eat a few of his French fries, maybe. The eldest Winchester started in on his cheeseburger, keeping an eye on his brother as he ate.

Sam raised one hand to his brow and massaged his forehead as if it pained him. He closed his eyes for a moment before they snapped open and he glanced at something unseen off to his right from the corner of his eye.

By the time Dean had finished his cheeseburger and half of his fries, he pushed the plate over so that it was directly in front of Sam.

"I'm full," he claimed, "You have the rest."

Sam stared down at the fries for a long moment and Dean found himself holding his breath; if Sam still didn't eat…

He almost smiled when Sam speared a fry with his fork and ate it, avoiding the ketchup Dean had squirted onto the plate.

Their waitress came by; eyeing Sam slowly eating the remaining fries, before turning to Dean.

"Anything else?" she asked, one hand on her hip.

"Can I get a slice of apple pie?" Dean asked, his mouth watering at the very thought of the sweet dessert.

"Coming right up," the waitress and looked over at Sam, "You want something else, Sugar?"

Sam glanced up quickly and shook his head silently. The waitress nodded and left.

Dean's brother pushed the plate into the centre of the table once all the fries were eaten and Dean couldn't help but smile.

"Feel better?"

Sam shrugged, "Yeah."

Dean rewarded Sam with his coffee, the beverage lukewarm now but Sam took it, almost guzzling it down.

Sam fidgeted the entire time Dean was eating his pie. Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat and peeked nervously to his right, as though he didn't think Dean would notice.

That's it, Dean thought, next time Sam has coffee I'm making sure its decaf.

"Sam," Dean called his brother's name to try and distract him from whatever it was that was bothering him so. The younger sibling turned his tired green eyes on Dean who frowned.

It's okay, Sammy; Dean said silently, trying to convey the message with his own eyes. He hoped Sam would be able to read it.

Dean sat back in his seat and pulled some bills from his wallet, setting them on the table beneath his empty glass.

Sam followed Dean out the door of the diner and sank into the passenger seat, closing his eyes even though they both knew he'd get no sleep.

Dean put the key in their stolen car's ignition and turned on the radio loudly- maybe the sound would drown out Lucifer for a little while- and smiled when Metallica's 'Hero of the Day' began to play.

SPN

Miller's Falls, Pennsylvania was an up and coming community. It had begun as a small group of farms in the early 20th century but had grown since then to include a small suburban circle. Although farming was the city's major form of employment, it also had a large industrial sector. Despite its smaller size, the city was no stranger to the woes that plagued major metropolises.

The team was met by the local police chief, Leon Gabraldo, and shown to the station.

"This is a nice place," the chief explained as he showed the team to a conference room they could use to set up, "Sure we're getting bigger but nothing like this has ever happened. We're mostly farmers and factory workers here. Almost half of the people living here are Amish!"

Hotchner nodded sympathetically, "We understand your concern; that is why we were called in, to put a stop to this."

Chief Gabraldo stopped in the conference room doorway, "Look, we just don't want to be given a bad name by whomever is killing those people."

JJ smiled, she could help with that part of the process, keep the media away.

"You always think that this sort of thing happens in the big cities, New York, Chicago, not in places like Miller's Falls," Gabraldo concluded and opened the door for the team.

"Actually, statistically speaking its just as likely for violent crimes to occur in-" Reid began but Hotch shot him a look that said 'not now' and the doctor stopped.

Once Chief Gabraldo had left the room, Hotch turned to his team, his expression serious.

"We do not have long before this unsub finds another victim," he told them, somewhat unnecessarily, "Which only makes our jobs a lot more difficult."

The agents nodded, quite familiar with this scenario.

"Dave," the Unit Chief began, "I want you to interview the witness who found the first victim."

Rossi nodded, glancing at the younger man for only a moment. Normally Aaron liked to partner them off but it seemed with the number of witnesses who needed to be interviewed, the team was going to be stretched thin this time

Morgan and Prentiss were assigned the task of interviewing the witnesses to the discovery of Richard Allen and Alison Bower's bodies. Reid and JJ would remain in the station and attempt to figure out a pattern to the murders. Hotch himself would look into Patricia McDuffy's death.

Sighing, Aaron climbed into the large black department issued SUV and drove to the address where the latest victim's body had been found.

SPN

Dean sprawled out on the motel bed as though it belonged in a five-star resort and sighed.

"Let's get some rest and start asking questions tomorrow," he muttered to his brother, "I'm exhausted."

Sam sat down on his bed, glancing at Dean. He wished he could just lie back, close his eyes and fall asleep.

He couldn't though; Lucifer wouldn't let him.

Instead, Sam dug his laptop out of his duffel bag and settled in for a long night of Solitaire.

W

"Sam," Lucifer said, peering over the young man's shoulder, "You're going to lose."

"What?" Sam asked, peering up at the Devil tiredly.

"The game," the fallen angel elaborated, "Three more moves and it's all over for you."

Sam sighed and closed the game, staring at the background instead.

Lucifer walked across the room, sat on the end of Dean's bed and turned on the television, blaring the volume.

Sam groaned and grabbed his head with both hands, gritting his teeth together. The Devil just looked over at Sam and grinned.

"No TV, Sam?" he asked, "We could do something else, if you want."

The young man looked up to find the fallen angel standing right in front of him and he couldn't help but cringe away.

The Devil chuckled and Sam let out a whimper before he could stop himself.

SPN

Dean thought someone was being murdered.

Before he'd even opened his eyes, all he could think was that someone was dying.

No, it had to be the television. Dean tried to remember if he'd left it on before he'd gone to bed. Maybe Sam was watching something.

Sam.

The cries continued, thin and full of pain, unending.

The voice didn't seem as though it was coming from TV speakers though; it sounded far too close for that.

Dean blinked his eyes and saw that the television screen was blank. Silent.

That meant…

"Sam!" Dean leaped out of bed and rushed to his brother's side.

"Sammy! Sammy?"

The younger Winchester was on the motel room floor, writhing in apparent agony, though there was not a mark on him.

"Shit," Dean swore as he reached out and set a hand on his sibling's shoulder, "Shit, shit, shit."

Sam didn't react to his touch, he just continued screaming. If Dean couldn't quiet him, someone was bound to call the police; if they hadn't already.

"Shh," Dean murmured urgently, "C'mon, Sammy, snap out of it."

Grabbing his brother tightly, Dean heaved Sam's twitching body up and into a hug, leaning his sibling against his chest.

"Calm down," Dean tried to soothe, arms locked around his struggling brother, "It's alright, you're safe."

Sam's cries began to quiet, turning to whimpers. He continued to thrash though, as though he were having a seizure.

"Easy Sammy, easy," Dean kept talking, reassuring his brother even though he wasn't certain his sibling could hear him.

The older brother brushed the younger's sweaty bangs from his brow and began rocking him gently, hoping the motion would soothe him.

In Dean's hold, Sam went rigid for a long moment before going completely limp, exhausted.

"Sammy? Hey, you okay?" Dean asked concernedly; he grabbed his brother's hand- the one with the scar on the palm- and squeezed lightly.

His brother's green eyes opened to slits, "D'n?"

"Hi," Dean responded and instead of trying to wiggle out of his hold, Sam leaned into him, head against his chest.

"M'tired," Sam muttered and closed his eyes.

"I know, Sammy," Dean whispered. He should probably go see the manager, explain that there wasn't an axe-murderer in their room but he didn't want to leave his brother.

Dean closed his eyes as well, wishing Sam would reach out to him like this more often. He wasn't stupid; Dean knew that Lucifer was still there, rattling around in Sam's mind like a loose marble but his sibling refused to let him in on it. Dean felt bad; he was sure Sam thought he had to be strong for him. Dean had held back his true feelings, keeping a mask of normalcy in place when he'd returned from Hell. Dean was sure Sam was doing the exact same thing. He didn't have to though, Sam's Hell had been worse than Dean's, and he had a right to break down every now and then. It hurt Dean that Sam pretended that nothing was wrong, that hurt the older brother the most. When they both knew otherwise.

A sharp rapping at the door brought Dean out of his thoughts. Sam jerked in his arms, eyes wide and fearful.

"You in there! Come out or I'll call the cops!"

"Sorry Sammy," Dean apologized and extracted himself from his brother. Sam made no move to get up. He curled up on the floor, face pressed against the dingy motel carpet.

Dean glanced worriedly at his sibling before going to the door and opening it up only as far as the chain-lock would allow.

"Yeah?" he asked irritably.

The manager, a short, paunchy man with a balding head, peered angrily up at Dean.

"The fuck is going on in there? I had people from almost a half-dozen rooms complain about someone screaming bloody murder."

Dean wiped a hand over his face, his fatigue quite real, "Sorry, it's my brother, he has... epilepsy… he's fine now."

The manager narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Dean, "If it happens again you're out. You hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered, closing the door, "Asshole."

Returning to his brother's side, Dean crouched down and once again brushed Sam's bangs away from his forehead.

"Sammy?" he said quietly and his sibling's eyes opened at once.

"Did I wake you?"

"No," Sam breathed and sat up shakily.

Dean reached out and gripped Sam under the arm, guiding him towards his unused bed. He sat Sam down on the mattress and then glanced at the small table in the room where his brother's open laptop sat, the screensaver in use.

Turning his attention to Sam, Dean fluffed the motel pillow and patted it, "Why don't you lie down for a little bit?"

"Hmmm," Sam muttered and fell back, his head missing the pillow but he didn't seem to care.

"Sam?" Dean asked, "Sammy?"

His brother didn't answer, his eyes closed.

Dean sighed and patted his brother's chest.

"Good night, Sam."

SPN

Rossi nodded in sympathy as Harris Redding spoke. The man worked as a bartender at the same bar the late Crystal Phillips had been employed at. The man was well over six feet tall and all muscle, his black curly hair cut short but the grim set of his lips and the shine in his brown eyes belied the fact that he was shaken from his discovery.

"I didn't know what it- she- was at first," he admitted, "It was dark and I just… I don't know what I thought."

"That's all right," Rossi told the distraught man, "Can you remember anything about the scene other than Miss Phillips' body?"

The witness furrowed his brow, deep in thought, and Rossi glanced at his cell phone, wishing Aaron or Reid would call and tell him some good news.

"I'm sorry, agent," he said apologetically, "I can't think of anything that might be useful."

Rossi nodded and stood, "That's alright. Here's my card in case anything comes to you."

Harris' lips thinned, "Wish I could have been more helpful. Crystal, she was going to college, gonna be a nurse."

Again, Rossi nodded.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Redding," he concluded as the man saw him to the door of his apartment.

"Catch the sumbitch who did this to her, will you?" Harris asked, his expression almost bloodthirsty.

Rossi promised that that unsub would not escape justice.

W

"I don't see anything, Spence," JJ sighed and rubbed her thumbs against the skin just above her eyebrows, "The victims were all different ages, different genders, didn't work at the same places…"

Reid looked up at the blonde-haired agent and narrowed his eyes.

"There has to be a connection," he insisted, peering down at the city map spread out before him, "There always is."

SPN

The next morning Sam acted as if nothing had happened. And that pissed Dean off.

Was his brother just going to pretend that he hadn't been freaking out? That everything was fine?

"I'm going to get some breakfast," Sam announced as he exited the bathroom, fully clothed, "Any special requests?"

"Yeah, Sam," Dean folded his arms, almost glaring at him, "How about you tell me what happened last night, hm?"

Sam glanced down quickly before looking up, "I, uh, it was a nightmare, Dean. I'm fine. Really."

Dean didn't back down, "That's bullshit."

"Dean-" Sam began but the older Winchester stepped forward, reaching out to grab his shoulders.

"You haven't been sleeping, Sam, and you expect me to believe you were having a nightmare?" Dean snarled and he felt bad when he saw Sam cringe.

"Sam, man, I know you're seeing things or whatever," Dean tried again, "But… what the fuck was that? It sounded like you were dying."

His brother looked down again and Dean heard him swallow audibly.

Glancing up, Sam's expression was hardened, closed, "You want bacon or sausage?"

Dean released Sam's shoulders as though he'd been shocked, stepping out of the way, "Great, ignore me. That's fine. Go on then, get us breakfast."

He didn't say anything else as Sam left the motel room.

Once his brother was gone, Dean wiped a hand across his mouth.

"Fuck!" he swore and kicked the dresser.

Sam had always been able to tell him anything, everything and now he was shutting Dean out. The older Winchester didn't know what to do. He couldn't force Sam to talk but he couldn't bear to watch him suffer in silence either.

Running a hand through his short-cropped hair, Dean sighed and grabbed his duffel bag, deciding he might as well shower while Sam was gone.

"What happened to stone number one, Sammy?"

Author's Note:

Chapter title comes from a Styx song of the same name.

Thanks to BranchSuper, psylocke23, Maybe2Morrow, Shuu, L.A.H.H, Elishab68, emebalia, SamDeanLover28, murphy9202, evil-step-sister, SPN Mum, FrancineMarie, and Wolf77 for reviewing.

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