Demon's Trial

Chapter Four: Meetings

Sequel to "What Makes a Killer" and part of the AU "Demon Blood" universe. You should read everything else first.

Warnings: This chapter contains some swearing and sexual references. Read at your own discretion.

Scott Carey stared morosely at the inside of his closet at the building collage of yellow eyes. He knew he was probably obsessing over this too much, but the idea of using his strange ability to kill people was beyond bothersome. In fact, he was pretty certain he would sooner slit his wrists than touch another being ever again.

That poor cat…

He continued to stare at the back wall of his closet, wondering if he might really be going insane. People just didn't have dreams like that, not in real life. Then again, people weren't able to do what he could, either, so the boundaries between fact and fiction were getting more than a little blurred. Honestly, he wished that someone could just come along and take it all away. He didn't like this depression, this fear of touching others. His father was worried about him, it was easy to tell, but the struggle to get out of his room and face the world was getting harder to win. It was easier to hide away, to sever contact.

Of course, the world couldn't just leave him alone, could it?

His father seemed so convinced that the two men standing in the foyer were friends from high school, but Scott knew they weren't. He was more than prepared to point it out, but then he caught the expression on the taller one's face, and he paused. There was something in those eyes that he saw in his own whenever he could bring himself to look in the mirror. "We need to talk in private," he told his father before leading the two men up to his room. He really didn't understand why he was doing this, but there was just something about that man's eyes that told him that he already knew and understood everything.

Did he dream about the man with the yellow eyes, too?

"I'm Sam," the taller man said, "and this is my brother Dean."

"Hey," Scott said with the best smile he could muster, dropping onto his bed. After a moment, Sam joined him and Dean took the desk chair across from them.

"So uh," Sam said after another moment, "I'm just gonna come right out and say it." He met Scott's eyes. "You can do things," he said, "things you thought were impossible, and it stared almost a year ago after you turned 22."

Yeah, that pretty much summed it up. Scott nodded, keeping his hands close to his body. "I electrocute things," he said hesitantly. "Just one touch and they get fried." He glanced at Dean. "I shocked a few people before I killed the neighbor's cat on accident."

Dean winced sympathetically and Scott turned back to Sam. "What about you?" he asked, curious. "Do you do the same thing?"

"No," Sam said, "well, I haven't so far, anyway." Scott shot him a curious look. "I have visions," he answered after a pause, "visions about other kids like us, only they've been killing people."

And wasn't that just comforting to hear. "Did they have dreams from the yellow-eyed man, too?" he asked, somehow just knowing that Sam and Dean knew what he was talking about.

"It's a demon," Dean said, and Scott frowned incredulously. "I know," the older man continued after a moment, "it sounds impossible, but so does electrocution by touch and visions of people dying, let alone the other things."

He had a fair point, Scott had to admit that. "So, demons are real," he said slowly.

"Yeah," Sam said. "This one's name is Azazel. We've only met one other kid apart from you who was visited by him in their dreams, and he killed a few people before getting shot."

"Wait, so you don't have dreams from him?"

There was a shadow that passed over Sam's face. "I dream about him," he said softly, "but we've met in real life." He swallowed and met Scott's eyes. "He killed your mom when you were exactly six-months-old," he said. "Same thing happened to our mom, too."

"What?" As if Scott wasn't already overwhelmed by what he was hearing. "Why?"

"He's trying to build an army," Dean answered shortly. "Fed you demon blood the night your mom died so he could turn you into a soldier, make you fight on his side."

There was a long moment of silence. It was a lot to take in, but Scott couldn't keep himself from believing these two.

"This is sick," he finally murmured with a shake of his head. "I mean, demon blood?" He looked up at Sam. "Weird abilities? I can't bring myself to touch another living creature because I'm terrified of killing them on accident! And this demon, this Azazel guy, he wants me to kill?"

"Pretty much," Dean said.

"So what are you two, then?" Scott asked, looking between the brothers. "The heroes of this story or something?"

"Makes us sound pretty damn awesome," Dean said to Sam, who snorted softly.

"I guess you could put it that way," he said to Scott. "Me and my brother, we're trying to find other psychics like you and me, trying to get to them before they give in and do what Azazel wants."

"Fighting for the worst bad guys ever," Scott muttered. "God, this all sounds so fuckin' crazy, you know?"

"Yeah," Sam said, "we know."

"Okay," Scott said after another moment, clasping his hands together, "so how do we avoid becoming soldiers?"

"I guess you've been doin' pretty good, so far," Dean said, "avoiding touching people until you get better control of it. Your dad said you're really reclusive now, though, and that ain't so healthy."

"Does wearing gloves make a difference?" Sam asked, and Scott snorted.

"Who am I now, Rogue?" he asked before shrugging. "I haven't tried that, to be honest. I just…" He met Sam's eyes. "I don't wanna hurt my dad."

He could tell Sam understood without saying a word, and the three of them lapsed into silence. Eventually, another question rose to the forefront of Scott's mind.

"So, there are a bunch of psychic kids running around without any mothers?" he asked. "Did Azazel kill them all?"

"No," Sam said softly. "He only killed the ones who walked into their child's nurseries and interrupted the whole 'feed us demon blood' thing." He blinked a few times. "There are four of us, total who lost our moms like that."

"Who are the other two?" Scott asked.

"Andy Gallagher and Max Miller," Dean answered. "Max committed suicide a few months back, and Andy ended up shooting his evil twin, the other kid who Azazel visited in his dreams."

"Evil twin?"

"Trust me," Dean said, "that's exactly what he was. Andy and Anson, his twin? They're Jedi masters, total mind control thing."

"Why couldn't I have that?" Scott said, disgruntled. "That'd be a hell of a lot easier to deal with than 'I touch people and they fry from the inside out'."

"There's a girl in San Diego who stops hearts with a touch," Sam offered.

"Wait, how d'you know that one?" asked Dean with a frown.

"Oh," Sam said, blinking. "Vision in my sleep just over a week ago. It had already happened by the time I looked the girl up."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" Dean asked. In that moment, it became very clear to Scott that Dean really was the classic older and protective brother. He kinda wished he'd had someone like that growing up. "Is that why you've been doing research at all hours of the night?"

"Dean —" And you know what? Sam did look beyond exhausted.

"No, we're not putting this off," Dean cut in, and Sam clamped his mouth shut, looking both annoyed and chagrined. "You're really using all that research of Dad's to try and find the others, aren't you?"

"There's a pattern, I can tell there is," Sam said earnestly, "it's just hard to work through."

"So instead of knocking yourself out to avoid the nightmares, or even talking about 'em so they go away, you're overworking yourself during all those hours where you don't sleep," said Dean, and Scott felt real fear for the man. Maybe protective big brothers weren't all that great, after all.

"Dean, I —"

"What, Sam? What excuses could you possibly offer to make me believe you're not trying to push yourself to the point that you shatter?"

Sam glared at Dean for a long moment, and Scott got the feeling that there was a lot of back-story to their conversation. "I'm just trying to help the other psychics," he said quietly.

"Which you can't do if you're dead." Dean's green eyes were hard as he stared at his younger brother. "You felt like you were losing me, Sammy, but I feel like I'm right on the verge of losing you, and I can't do that. Not again."

No one said anything for a very long time.

"So," Scott said very hesitantly, "what now?"

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You keep resisting Azazel," he said, "and you find a way to live your life with your ability."

"Feels more like a curse," Scott muttered.

"None of it feels like a blessing to me," Sam replied, "and I'm capable of a lot more than just visions."

"Really?" Scott stared at Sam. "But I thought —"

"I said I met Azazel in real life," Sam said. "I don't know why, but I'm his favorite, and he…" Scott watched as Sam swallowed looked away, bouncing one leg and pulling his left arm close to his body with his fist clenched. "We're all capable of a lot more than the one ability we got last year," he finally said, "and I ended up forcing the other abilities out to save my life. I've got inhuman strength, telekinesis, and the mind control thing, but I also think I might be empathic, too."

"Wait, what?"

"You make a habit of not telling Dean things like this?" Scott asked dryly and Sam sighed.

"I wasn't sure at first about that one," he said to Dean, "it's been pretty sporadic, but I think it's another one to add to the list."

"Great," Dean said sarcastically. "Feeling other's emotions, that's just... terrific."

"Anyway," Sam said, "the whole 'unlocking' thing, it's really only supposed to happen when you accept it." He paused before adding, "But that means you accept being a soldier in Azazel's army."

"Which you don't, I'm guessing," Scott said.

"No, I don't," said Sam with a shake of his head. "That's why the empathy thing's so sporadic right now. I have to learn how to control each new ability that I get until I master it, and then I can take on the next one. Well, not the visions," he added after a moment, "I'm not sure it's even possible to control those, but everything else I've been working on."

Scott nodded silently. "I don't wanna accept it if that's where the road leads," he said.

"Good," said Dean firmly. "Now, how about you try the glove thing and go touch another cat?"

"Dean!" Sam said sharply, but Scott couldn't help but laugh, and really, that felt more therapeutic than anything else that day.

Scott decided after his dad called it an early night to go and get the groceries the next evening. The glove idea actually worked, and yeah, it looked a little weird, but if it meant he could go back to living his life the way he wanted to, then it was worth it, right?

The parking lot was devoid of people when he exited the grocery store, but that wasn't anything new this late in the evening, so he continued over to his car and started loading in the groceries. Suddenly, an arm wrapped around his throat and he felt the cold tip of a gun against his skull.

"You the Scott Carey who Sam Winchester visited?" asked a deep voice in his ear.

"What? Who are you?"

"Answer the question!" the voice said, and Scott heard the gun cock.

"Oh, God!" he gasped, trying to jerk away unsuccessfully. "Please man, I haven't done anything wrong ever! Just lemme go!"

"Were you visited by Sam Winchester?" the voice demanded, rising in volume.

"Yeah, yes, okay? Please, just let me go!"

The arm released him and he stumbled against the side of his car.

"Why was he visiting you?" Scott turned to see a tall, black man staring at him, the cocked gun still in one hand, still pointed right at him.

"Wha…" Scott shook his head in confusion.

"You're one of those psychic kids, aren't you?" the man asked, voice way too calm for the situation.

"Psychic…" Scott gasped for breath, feeling terrified beyond words. "What're you talkin' about, man?"

The man raised his eyebrows. "It's not cold enough to be wearing gloves just yet," he pointed out. "What is it you can do, kid?"

"I don't…" Scott shook his head in denial. This couldn't be happening. This man wasn't going to kill him, was he?

"Just tell me what it is that you can do," the man said quietly, "and I'll put the gun down."

After a moment, Scott nodded and said, "I can electrocute things, fry 'em from the inside out."

The man stared at him for a long moment. "Good to hear," he finally said, resetting the safety on the gun and putting it down on the ground.

Scott breathed a sigh of relief.

And then the man rushed forward and stabbed him with a knife that came out of nowhere.

One hundred and eighty-odd miles away, Ava Wilson woke in a cold sweat.

"It's a good thing those gloves worked," Dean commented to Sam as they returned to their hotel. "Otherwise, poor Mr. Tinkles…"

Sam snorted. "I'm sure he'll eventually gain enough control that he can refrain from killing people if he doesn't want to." They went inside their room and Dean dropped the bag of take-out on the table.

"You're eating before you go diving into any more research," he said firmly, and really, Sam was too tired to argue with him. They ate in relative silence and then Dean watched TV while Sam returned to working on his laptop.

"I'm surprised he was so willing to listen," Dean said idly after some time.

"It's 'cause he could sense a kindred spirit," Sam muttered distractedly as he looked over some articles that might contribute to his search.

"Kindred spirit?" Dean said with a snort.

"Look," Sam sighed, looking up at his brother, "the mind control thing doesn't work on other psychics, right? The only thing I had goin' for me was that I understood what he was goin' through and he could sense that, just by looking at me." Dean shot him a look. "I know that sounds weird, but that's just what I read off him when he looked me in the eyes."

"Read off him?" Dean echoed.

"That empathy thing," said Sam, "remember that one?"

"Oh," said Dean. "I guess that's one way of putting it."

He didn't say anything else so Sam returned to his research a few more hours before Dean convinced him to turn in for the night.

One night of vocal dreams could be considered understandable. Two in a row, however, made Heidi Fulmer worry. A lot.

The moment Ryan's moaning started up, Heidi was awake and out of her bed. She didn't know what was going on, but she was stopping it before it could go any further. Donning her bathrobe, she quickly moved from her room and into Ryan's. His t-shirt was already damp with sweat, but his covers hadn't been kicked off entirely, so Heidi was able to avoid thinking about the night before, about the idea that Ryan was having intense wet dreams, because that just wasn't her son. He never talked in his sleep.

"Oh God," Ryan gasped out between moans as Heidi moved closer. "Please, please, don't stop, fuck, so good —"

This wasn't happening, Heidi told herself as she reached forward and started shaking Ryan's shoulders. She felt that shudder pass through her again, but she couldn't bring herself to look over at the mirror. Not this time. "Ryan, honey, wake up!"

Ryan's eyes shot open and he bolted upright, almost ramming into Heidi.

"Mom?" His brown eyes searched hers. "Again?"

Heidi nodded silently. "Honey," she said softly, taking a seat on the edge of Ryan's bed, "I hate saying this, but you look awful, really exhausted."

"I was asleep, wasn't I?" Ryan asked with a frown.

"Yes, but…" Heidi carded a hand through her blonde curls. "Do you remember your dreams at all? I mean…" And here she started fumbling, trying to figure out what to say. God, she missed Gregory so much right now. "You sound like you're having intensely vocal wet dreams," she blurted, and Ryan's pale face heated up in the darkness of his room.

"Mom!" he said, looking completely mortified.

"I'm sorry," Heidi said at once, "but there's no other way to say it. The things you were saying in your sleep, Ryan, I just…" She trailed off again and dropped her head into her hands. "Are you sure you're okay?" she finally asked. "You really look like you're right in the middle of a cold."

She looked up as Ryan shrugged. "I'm a little tired, but nothing like when I'm sick." He scrubbed his face with his hands. "I really am fine, Mom," he said. "I promise."

Heidi nodded, dropped a kiss on Ryan's sweaty forehead and left his room, the worry in her heart only increasing. If anything happened to her boy, she didn't know what she'd do. Ryan was all she had left in the world.

Peoria, Illinois

The grocery store was a pretty specifically named one, Ava thought as she pulled up a search window on her browser the next morning. She closed her eyes and tried to think if there had been any other clues that might tell her if that dream had been something totally random, or a vision of something yet to come.

"God, I must be goin' crazy," she muttered. Not that talking to herself made her feel any more sane…

There had been a street name, right? She tried to remember… Sagamore Parkway? Ava typed in the street and the name of the store, and when she got a match, it was more than a little freaky.

Could that mean that this Scott Carey was real, too?

Ava pulled up a white pages web site, typed in Scott's name. "Lafayette, Indiana," she said under her breath as she typed up the location. Funnily enough, she got a hit. Then came the sticky question. Should she try to warn him? Would he even believe her?

It occurred to Ava that calling would be the easiest option, but she had to see him for herself, make sure that he was, indeed, real. So, she called her boyfriend at work to cancel their dinner plans that evening, packed up some food and drinks, and jumped into her little bug. "Lafayette," she said as she got on I-74, "here I come."

When Gordon saw the Impala parked at the Blue Rose Motel, he immediately set out to find the next closest motel and then returned on foot to scope out what the Winchester's were doing. He knew he ought to be getting some sleep after driving all night just to get here, but if they were here, then chances were that they had already been in contact with this Scott kid.

Not that it really mattered much; Scott was still going to die one way or another. After spending a couple hours to make sure that the Winchester's weren't going anywhere just yet, Gordon set off to catch a quick nap before going to find Scott. His plan was simple. Tail the kid until he could get him alone, then kill him. And once that was over with, Sam was his next target.

Gerald had been surprised when Lorraine offered up the guest room in her home when he arrived in town the day before. After all, he had dumped a whole world of evil on her head by checking on Thomas the month before and asking for the truth. He liked the idea of amnesia, but it was pretty rare for someone who had been possessed as long as Thomas had to not remember a damn thing, especially when said person already knew about the world of the supernatural.

Breakfast was awkward this morning. Gerald wasn't the least bit surprised.

"So, what brings you?" Lorraine finally asked politely, though a bit stiffly.

"Possible case," Gerry answered. "Something's killing teenage boys here in town, and I'm lookin' to find what's doin' it so I can stop it."

"Oh," said Lorraine, blue eyes wide. "I see. That's… nice."

Terrence gave a cough that mean he was hiding a laugh and looked anywhere but at his older brother. "Any idea what's doing it?" he asked after a moment.

"Could be a few things," Gerald answered with a shrug. "I'm visiting the parents of the most recent victim, see if I can't get more outta them. I think there was something they weren't saying that the police didn't catch onto."

"How are you going to convince them to talk to you?" Lorraine asked.

"I'm goin' in as the FBI," Gerald replied with a grin, and Lorraine's eyes actually widened further than he had ever thought possible.

"You're not using a fake I.D., are you?" she asked incredulously.

Gerald gave another shrug. "Welcome to my world, Lori," he said as honestly as he could. "The pay sucks, but I'm savin' lives and I don't exactly care what it takes to accomplish that." He took a bite of his food. "Tom workin' today?"

"Yeah," Terrence said, still not looking up. "Big job on a Mustang or something."

"I see," Gerald said. "How's he been doin' since I saw you guys last?"

"All right," Terrence said. "Honestly, we wanted him to move back in with us after everything, but he insisted he was fine." He finally met Gerald's eyes. "There's salt on every windowsill in that apartment," he said, "and he's been doin' research on other forms of protection. D'you know a Bobby Singer?"

Gerald thought. "Yeah, he's in South Dakota, knows a lot about demons and shit. Lot of us go to him for resources and information."

Terrence nodded. "Tom's been in contact with him since he came home. I'm guessing Bobby's place is where the Winchester's were when they found and saved him."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Gerald said, "Bobby and John were close friends over the years. Makes sense that they were stayin' there when they found 'im."

Conversation lapsed into silence after that, and once he had had his fill, Gerald set out to go and interview the three families that had lost their sons. After that, he had every intention of meeting up with Thomas and catching up. Hell, if he could get the kid's help on this case, that'd be even better, but one way or another, the thing that was killing Lafayette's teenage boys was goin' down.

TBC...