Chapter Two
A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for all your support on the first chapter! Reviews are the lifeblood of fanfiction writers tbh.
TotallyChic: Thanks, I'm glad you're liking it :)
Minion79: Hey, thanks for the welcome :) And yeah I'm loving the show and this fandom is honestly the (craziest) friendliest, most talented fandom I think I've ever seen. Like honestly good lord the fan songs, the art, the parodies, everything is fantastic. And thanks for the review, I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far.
CBloom2: Same lol and thanks!
Kirsten: Thank you :D
Guest: Thanks for the welcome, I'm glad to be part of such a wonderful fam lol! And same tbh, protective big brother Dean is the lifeblood that runs through my veins right not. I'm glad you're liking the story so far and thanks for the review!
Pineapplefan: Thanks so much for the lovely comment! And yeah Jared & Jensen are honestly two of the best actors I've ever seen. They work so well off each other so it makes my job very easy lol (Can't wait for Misha to get here too honestly...I have heard tales of Castiel and I am excited for my winged baby in a trench coat)
Sam manages to catch a few hours of rest in the car after downing a pair of sleeping pills. The drugged induced sleep is so dark and deep that he, thankfully, doesn't even dream at first. Unfortunately the peace doesn't last long. But then again, when does it ever?
"Kill me, Sammy," Yellow eyed Dean whispers, grinning ear to ear. "I can't protect you anymore. You're a monster."
"Shut up," Sam yells. The nursery is burning this time and he can hear a woman screaming. He clamps his hands over his ears. "Just shut up and leave me the hell alone!"
"You're a freak, Sam. You know you're different. Why are you pretending to be someone you're not?" Yellow eyed Dean steps closer, shoving the gun into his hand. "You know you can't save those people! You can't even save yourself for Christ's sake!"
"Shut up, Dean!" Part of him wants to drop the gun. He knows he should.
So why doesn't he?
"The demon killed Mom to get to you. It's your fault she's dead. Jessica, too. It's your fault our lives are like this. You knew it was going to happen, you saw it days before Jessica died and you didn't do anything to stop it."
"Dean, I swear to God...shut up!" The gun feels heavy against his palm. The flames in the room lick higher and higher, swallowing the house.
"You don't think Dad knew that? You don't think he hated you because you killed Mom?" Dean edges closer. He's not smiling anymore. "I hate you too, Sammy... Deep down, you know I do. You ruined everything. You ruined any chance of me having a normal, safe life."
There are hot tears streaming down his cheeks and he grunts in pain. His head is pounding. The fire roars around him but he doesn't burn.
"I'm gonna have to kill you one day, Sammy. Dad warned me." Dean backs up a step and opens his arms, smiling again. "Unless you kill me first."
Grimacing at the pain, eyes bleary, Sam chokes back a sob as he lifts the gun. He doesn't try to. His arm just moves. The barrel levels with Dean's heart.
"Go ahead, Sam. Pull the trigger. Do it."
"Dean..."
He jerks awake at the bang of the gun.
"So...we're really not gonna talk about this?" Dean glances fleetingly at his brother, then back to the road. Sam is pressed against the door, as far from his brother as physically possible, staring out at the passing woods. He hasn't said a word since he woke up, jumping out of his skin so hard Dean almost crashed the Impala. That was an hour ago. "Seriously, you want me to put on some sad music or something?"
"Shut up, Dean," Sam mutters. He is really not in the mood for his brother's shit.
"He speaks! I was startin' to wonder if there was a mute button somewhere I didn't know about." Sam doesn't reply and Dean sighs dramatically. "Well if you're gonna be bitchy, the least you can do is navigate. Where are we going? 'Cause if you haven't noticed, Arizona's kind of a big place."
"The town's called Hermosa. It's just south of Phoenix."
"And that's where your mysterious mass suicide is gonna happen?"
"Not if we can stop it."
It takes them seven hours to reach the border of Arizona. By then, the sky has burned from bright cerulean to fiery orange. The clouds that streak the sky are black and magenta and long, creeping shadows stretch out across the rocky terrain.
Hermosa is still several hours away but somehow, no matter how far they drive, it doesn't feel like they're getting any closer. Sam drums his fingers on the steering wheel and glances sideways at Dean, napping in the passenger seat. As always, his pistol is tucked into his waistband. Sam can see the edge of it poking through the gap between Dean's shirt and pants.
Jesus. He looks away.
He knows he should talk to Dean about his dreams. They're not normal nightmares. He's sure of that now. Dean has a right to know about this, but for some reason everytime he opens his mouth, the words evade him.
Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, gripping the wheel harder.
All those other special children. They all said the yellow eyed demon visited them in their dreams, just before they went homicidal... Max, Weber...they killed people just because the demon told them to.
Is that what this is?
Is it his turn to go postal now?
Dean shifts in his seat, yawning, stretching his arms. He rubs his eyes and squints at the clock on the dash. "Damn, Sammy, why'd you let me sleep so long?" He yawns again and rolls his neck.
"Looked like you needed it," Sam says.
Dean is quiet for a moment and Sam can feel his eyes on him. "You want me to drive for a while?"
"Nah, I'm good."
He sits up. "You sure? It's been like three hours. Them long legs of yours gotta be gettin' stiff by now. Besides, you should get some sleep before we go to Hermosa."
"I don't want to sleep." As soon as he says it, he knows he's spoken much too quickly.
"Ahh." Dean nods, smiling thinly out the windshield. "So that's what this is about."
Sam frowns and glances over quickly. "What?"
"You're having nightmares again."
Sam isn't sure why he flounders for a lie to cover it up. Wasn't he just thinking he should talk to Dean about the dreams?
"Is it Jessica?"
"Uh, something like that," Sam says softly, keeping his eyes locked on the road.
"What is it then!" Dean all but throws his hands into the air in exasperation. "Obviously it's something bad, otherwise you wouldn't be so afraid to tell me. But I promise you, Sam, nothing you say at this point will surprise me-"
"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure, Dean..."
"-So quit bein' such a little bitch and just lay it on me." At Sam's sidelong look, Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes. "Don't make me say please, man. You know I hate to beg."
Sam cracks a thin smirk. "I don't think the girls at that bar in Pittsburg would agree with you." Dean snorts. Turning in his seat, he waits for Sam to talk. Sam, in turn, feels a weight in his chest strangely lift and he sighs, pulling the car off the side of the road. "Fine," he says softly and the lighter atmosphere that was just beginning to blossom darkens once again. "I've...been having these nightmares," he begins, grabbing for the words before they evaporate. He swallows the urge to say 'nevermind'. "Dean, do you remember why Max Miller and Ansem Weems killed those people?"
Dean pauses. "Uh...well, for Max it was because his family abused him, right? And Weber was some kind of friggin' control freak or something. What does that have to do with you?"
"No, I mean-yeah, that's why, sure, but... They also said they'd been having dreams. Dreams where a yellow eyed man told them to do horrible things. They both resisted at first but..." He grimaces at the floor. "I've started having those dreams, Dean..." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean stiffen.
"The yellow eyed demon's been talking to you in your sleep?"
"Yeah..."
"What the hell, Sam? And you thought it was totally okay to just let that little detail slide by?" Dean yells. At his brother's expression, he groans and rubs the back of his neck. "What did it say? What did it tell you to do?"
"It...told me to come find it."
"Find it? Did it say where?"
"No..."
Dean sits back against his seat, staring straight ahead. "Did it say anything else," he asks. Sam shivers at the memory and part of him wants to lie, to tell Dean no, that's all the demon said. But before the urge gets too strong, Sam blurts it out.
"It told me to kill-" he stops, his heart thrumming in his chest. "-you." In his head, yellow eyed Dean laughs at him. Distantly, muffled as if by dozens of miles, Sam hears the sound of a gun shot, but he knows it isn't real. It's the dream bullet he put inside nightmare Dean.
Beside him, Dean's mouth is pursed and he's nodding his head slowly. His eyes are far away and Sam can see a thousand thought racing through his brother's head all at once. He doesn't look surprised, but Sam isn't entirely sure that's a good thing. "So," Dean says. "That's what's been bugging you?"
Sam tilts his head at his brother's light, mocking tone. "Uh, yeah. It was more or less disturbing."
Dean snorts. "Pansy." All of a sudden he throws open the passenger side door and hops out of the car.
"Excuse me?" Sam scrambles out after him. "Dean, I don't know if you heard me but a homicidal demon is trying to mind control me into shooting you in the face. I'm somewhat concerned and that makes me pansy?"
For some strange, twisted reason, Dean is laughing. He motions for Sam to get out of the way. "Move, man, I'm gonna drive for a while."
"Dean! Are we not gonna talk about this?"
"Why should we?" Sam throws his hands into the air, gaping at his brother. He knows Dean is a little to casual about life and death situations sometimes but this is an all new low, even for him. He opens his mouth and starts to argue some more but Dean silences him. He stops laughing but the crooked smile doesn't leave his face as he grabs Sam's shoulder, shaking him a little. "Fine. Lemme ask you something, then. Are you planning on wasting me sometime soon?"
"Wha-no, of course not!"
He leans in real close and whispers, "Then why are you driving yourself crazy over this? Max and Weber planned to kill their victims, they wanted to do it. You're not planning to ventilate me anytime soon so who the hell cares what some hell spawn says while you're sleeping?"
Sam suddenly isn't sure if the urge to grab Dean's neck and start squeezing is him or the demon. "I do, Dean. I care. You know, just a little."
"You know what'll help that?"
Sam sighs. "What."
Dean steers him out of the way and jumps into the driver's seat. He reaches for the radio and cranks the volume all the way up until Beastie Boys 'Sabotage' is blasting so loud Baby's frame rattles with every beat. Dean grins at Sam, who is still shaking his head in disbelief, and pats the passenger seat. "Hop in, Sammy-boy. We've still got a long way to go until Hermosa."
"You're ridiculous." Sam slides in beside him and slams the door shut. Dean hits the gas and they go peeling back onto the highway. As he sings loudly and off-tune to the blaring music, Sam turns toward the window, leaning his head against the cool glass.
He's been doing this ever since he found out about Sam's destiny: trying to act like it doesn't scare him shitless. Sam knows he does it for his sake, always the fearless big brother who can protect him from everything.
And maybe he can. God knows Dean has saved his ass more times than he can count, from every manner of creepy-crawly under the sun.
So just for a while, just for a little while...
Maybe Sam can go back to being that little kid who looked up at Dean and saw someone invincible.
Hermosa, Arizona is a small town of just under two hundred people sitting in the middle of desertous, rocky terrain. There's only one road in and out, and only one motel.
The boys arrive just before three a.m. and the growl of the Impala's engine is the only sound to be heard seemingly for miles around. The motel is a squat, brownish building with one floor and five rooms, none of which are occupied. The vacany sign creaks in the hot wind, illuminated by a sheer bluish spotlight. Dean parks the car out front and they step out, swinging their bags over their shoulders.
"So anything look familar yet, Oda Mae?"
"Not yet," Sam says, glancing around. "I think we're looking for a church."
"You 'think'?"
"I can't be sure but the insignia on the bowl I saw was definitely church property at the very least." They push through the front door of the motel and are greeted by the stench of mildew and the buzz of an ancient tabletop fan. The front desk is unoccupied but there's a light on in the back room. Dean glances at Sam, shrugs, and hits the bell on the counter.
There's a scuffling sound and a startled peep. The two boys wait as the sound of bare feet tap across the floor in the office and the lock clicks. The door cracks open and a woman sticks her head out, messy blonde hair falling around her pretty face. Sam's body stiffens at the sight of her.
"Oh! You're not-so sorry! Just a second, fellas." The door shuts again and Dean grins.
"Well, well, she was kinda-" Dean looks over at Sam and stops mid-setence. "Sam?"
His brother has gone kind of pale and is staring at the door with wide, startled eyes.
"What's the matter with you," Dean whispers.
Sam swallows and grabs his shoulder, turning Dean away from the office. "That woman. I saw her in my vision," he says.
"What? She's one of the crazy wackadoos that commits suicide?"
Sam nods urgently, feeling the smallest twinge of relief that-at the very least-they're not too late to stop it. If this woman is still alive, then so are the others.
"Dammit. Why are all the hot ones crazy?"
"Dean," Sam grumbles.
As the office door opens again, they turn back to face the woman with innocent smiles. Her hair has been pulled back and a teal bathrobe is tied tightly around her. "So sorry about that," she laughs lightly, coming up to the desk. "And please excuse the mildew smell. We had rain a couple days ago and it leaked through the roof. I'm still in the process of repairing it."
"It's no problem," Dean says, that grin of his somehow finding its way back to his face.
"So, were you expecting someone?" Sam asks, trying to sound casual.
"Uh, yeah. My daughter, actually. She's with her grandmother," she says. "Will that be two singles or...a double?"
"Two singles," they say at the same time. "We're brothers," Dean adds quickly.
The woman gives an-admittedly-cute little laugh. "Oh, I see. Sorry, I gotta ask..."
"No worries." Dean leans on the counter, watching her write on the sign in sheet.
"Names?"
"I'm Dean Wilcox and this is my little brother Sammy."
"Just Sam, please." He cuts a sidelong look at Dean, who ignores him completely.
Her smile is charming and it makes her bright blue eyes glitter. "Well it's very nice to meet you," she says sincerely. "We haven't had guests in almost two weeks. I suppose that's to be expected in a town of this size."
"Sorry, I didn't catch your name," Dean says with a smile of his own.
"Oh-sorry, half asleep. It's Addison."
"Well, Addison, I'm sure this place would get tons more guests if they only knew it had such a charming owner."
Sam rolls his eyes, half pushing Dean away from the poor girl. "So you've got a daughter?"
"Yep," Addison's expression warms just slightly as she pulls a framed photo from the shelves beneath the desk. "Her name's Trisha. She'll be turning five in three days." Sam accepts the picture and Dean moves in to see it as well.
"Wow, she's cute." Dean smiles genuinely at the picture of the freckled little blonde girl. She has her mother's big, blue eyes and a dimpled chin. Sam's stomach twists but he manages to maintain his composure as he hands the photo back.
"Sorry, Addison, I don't mean to be rude but, uh, I'm suddenly not feeling so well. Would you mind showing us to our room?"
Addison's face melts with concern and she nods, hurrying around the side of the desk. "Yes, of course. Follow me."
As they follow two steps behind her, Dean leans in and whispers in Sam's ear, "What's the matter? Is it the little girl?"
"Yes. She was in my vision too..."
"Jesus..."
"Dean..." Sam grips his duffel bag until his knuckles turn white. "Something is terrible is about to happen to these people. I don't know how or why but something is going to make Addison kill her own child."
"Here we are," Addison says, unlocking the door marked with a black 1. The room is small and dimly lit but the furnishings are decent and, unlike the lobby, it doesn't smell like mildew. She turns to Sam, who is still somewhat greenish, and smiles sympathetically. "I'm right next door if you need anything at all. I can get you some ginger ale and crackers if you think it'll help."
"No, no, a night's rest and I'll be good as new. Thanks, though."
She nods and steps back into the hallway. "Well, goodnight. I hope you feel better, Sam."
Sam and Dean both say "goodnight" as she shuts the door. They listen to the sound of her bare feet walking down the hall and don't start talking until they hear the office door shut. As soon as they're sure she's gone, they toss their bags and Dean flops onto the bed. Sam is too wired to sit, thinking of Addison and her young daughter Trisha.
"Hey, Sam?"
"Yeah?" Sam paces to the window, looking out across the dark town as if expecting to see some great mob of suicidals marching up the street. But no such luck.
"Addison doesn't really seem like the type to kill herself," Dean says thoughtfully. "And she definitely seems to love that little girl..."
"Yeah, well this is a demon we're talking about here, Dean. Maybe it's going to...hypnotize them. Mind control them." Sam unlocks the window and pulls it open, screeching on its hinges. He sticks his head out, searching for a cross or a steeple or anything church-like. They didn't notice anything driving into town though...
"There is another option here, you know."
Sam glances over his shoulder. "What?"
Dean stands up from the bed, his hands in his pockets. "Your visions. They're always related to the yellow eyed demon. How do we know it doesn't show you whatever it wants you to see, Sam?"
He turns away from the window. "What are you saying, Dean? You think the demon shows me premonitions of people dying because...why? It wants me to save them? I guess it does that out of the goodness of its heart?" He laughs humorlessly.
"Hey, don't get defensive. I'm just saying maybe...it wants you here. It did tell you to come find it, didn't it? Could be some kind of trap."
Sam drops his gaze to the floor, another sick feeling churning in his gut. "I hadn't thought of that," he admits.
"Course you didn't. It's 'cause you're reckless." Dean smiles.
Sam raises his eyebrows. "Me?"
"Oh hell yeah. You're so consumed with saving people and defying your destiny that you don't even consider you might be putting your own foot in the bear's trap trying to get someone else out of it."
Sam rubs the back of his neck. "It's...a possibility I guess, sure but...we don't exactly have a choice here. We can't abandon these people just because we're afraid we're playing into the demon's hands."
"I know, Sam, just...do me a favor. Don't go off by yourself on this one."
Sam smiles at the floor and nods. "Sure," he says softly.
"Alright then." Dean claps his hands, pulling the laptop of Sam's bag and tosses it over. "Do what you do best, nerd."
By sunrise, they've had no luck in identifying any local or nearby churches. The branch Sam identified from the logo on the bowl has been shut down for almost five years and, though the building is still standing, it's now abandoned. Meanwhile, Dean keeps an eye out the window to be sure nothing apocalyptic happens while Sam is on google.
All night Hermosa is completely quiet. The sun rises slowly over the rocky horizon and the people wake even slower, meandering out onto front porches for a smoke, and taking dogs out to the bathroom. Dean sits by the open window sipping his fifth cup of coffee, yawning and rubbings his eyes every handful of seconds. "Any luck?"
Sam sighs and shuts the lid of the computer, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Nope."
"Not a very religious town."
"Seems like it."
"Bunch a' heathens," Dean chuckles.
Sam snorts at the irony and peels himself off the bed, cracking his spine and stretching his stiff limbs. "I'm pretty sure my vision took place at night," he says. "And if it didn't happen last night then that means we're probably safe for a few hours to get some work done."
Dean nods and pulls the window shut. "What do you say we take a peek at that old church? It's as good a starting point as any."
Sam nods. "Sounds good." They head out, finding Addison at the front desk. Only this time she isn't alone.
Little Trisha is the spitting image of her mother. Smiling and bright eyed in a little blue romper. She sees the boys coming and edges behind the desk, peering at them shyly from the safety of her mother's side. Sam's heart hurts thinking of her crying and begging to live in a dirty basement...
"Hey there," Dean says. "Morning."
Addison smiles at them and pets her daughter's hair. "Morning guys. Trisha, what do you say?"
"Good morning," Trisha peeps.
"Say, Sam, how are you feeling?" Addison asks. "Any better?"
It's a physical effort to tear his eyes away from the little girl. "Uh, yeah, much better. Thanks."
"Good, I'm glad." Addison kneels down by her daughter. "Hey, why don't you go play with your dolls for a while before we go?" Trisha disappears into the office a moment later, leaving the door open when her mother asks her to. "So, what are you boys doing in Hermosa anyway? I mean it's not exactly a tourist trap."
"Oh we're just passing through," Sam lies easily. "We're, uh, actually on a road trip. Sightseeing the smallest towns in America."
"Oh gosh. Well Hermosa is definitely a contender." She laughs and Sam jolts a little, remembering her voice in his vision. "Don't be scared, sweety. We're going to a better place now. The prophet is going to take us to heaven. Shhh, baby. Here, swallow this. It will taste bad going down but that won't last long, I promise."
What would bring her to that?
"You know actually, Addison," Dean chimes in all of a sudden. "We do kind of have a reason to be here..."
She smiles thinly. "Which is?"
His confidence expression doesn't crack an inch when he says, "I think you know."
For a second, Addison doesn't budge either. She stares at him with such perfect nonchalance that Sam is sure Dean's bluff is about to get them busted. However, just a moment before he jumps in to cover his brother's ass, Addison chuckles and shakes her head. "It's the prophet, isn't it? I knew that would get out someday."
Sam freezes, Addison's voice echoing in his head like ghostly mantra. The prophet is going to take us to heaven. He can feel Dean glance at him out of the corner of his eye, gauging his reaction.
"Exactly," Dean says coolly. "I gotta admit. We're curious as hell."
She laughs. "That's understandable I guess. But tell me, how'd you find out about him?"
Dean shrugs. "We have our ways."
"Do you mind if we ask you a few questions about him?" Sam interjects. "I mean, let's face it there's not a lot of real info out there about this guy..." Everything they say, they're pulling straight out of their asses but thankfully, Addison doesn't seem to notice.
"Um, sure I guess. I mean I'll tell you what I know but I'll be honest, it isn't much."
The "prophet's" name is Christian Ware.
He's a twenty-three year old local, born and raised here in sunny Hermosa. In 1983, when Chris was only six months old, his house mysteriously caught fire. He lost his mother to the flames and only a year later, his father died from an overdose. It was something of a local tragedy, see everyone in Hermosa knows each other...so the whole ordeal was kept pretty hush hush out of respect. No newspapers were notified and those that found out were respectfully asked to keep it out of print.
Thomas and Marguerite Ware were put to rest quietly in the local cemetery, located behind the old church, and their son Chris was put into the care of his god parents. Only a handful of years later, it was like the tragedy never occurred. No record of it anywhere but in the memories of those old enough to remember.
That is, until a year ago when Chris's godparents died in a fire in their home. It's said the entire house was completely engulfed in flames. The inferno was so hot and intense that firefighters couldn't get close enough to put it out.
For hours, the town stood by in horror and watched their neighbor's home burn to the ground. It was assumed all three of them had perished because there was absolutely no way in hell anyone could have survived a fire like that.
Except someone did make it out.
Right in the middle of the worst of the fire, Chris Ware walked out the front door without a burn on him. It was a miracle. A bonafide miracle from God.
But the surprises didn't end there.
Only weeks after his family's death, Chris began to exhibit strange abilities. He would sit in the local hospital and would be able to tell anyone when they were going to die, right down to the minute. At first people thought he was crazy, suffering from some kind of post traumatic stress from losing his family...
But then people began to die. Right on the dot that Chris said they would.
This kept on for months until finally someone gathered the courage to ask the question that everyone was thinking: "How do you know when people are going to die, Chris?"
And according to Addison, he looked that person straight in the eye and said, "The Yellow Eyed Angel tells me."