Author's Note: So, back from my end of week, twelve hour shift nightmare, and back to what's important to us all! Here's the next chapter of False Beckoning, and I hope you all enjoy it!

Chapter 10: Crossing Paths

The house was big, a storey taller than any of its neighbours, and cold. The night was warm, but Dean shivered as he circled around to the back. The house loomed above, uninviting. Maybe it was just because he knew the bastard who lived here was one of the most evil men in all creation. A double-crossing psychic soldier of the demon who was selling out his own species with every breath.

He paused and squatted, studying the back of the house. It would be his job to sneak in this way, taking out – silently – any… thing that he came across before the three of them confronted the psychic. His parents were taking the front.

Finally satisfied no one was watching him, he stood up straight, took a better hold on his gun, and sprinted across the perfectly manicured back lawn. The garden was impressive, like the house, but it still resonated the feeling that the owner didn't particularly care, besides about looking important.

He reached the back wall, flattening himself against it to minimise exposure. The back door was made of glass, with only a simple lock and no alarm. Either the psychic had no need or he hadn't expected someone to get this close to him. Dean decided it was a bit of both as he picked the lock and slipped into the house.

The lower storey was quiet and dark, the lights off. Using only the moonlight to guide him, Dean manoeuvred through the stainless steel kitchen and then, sudden insight telling him the psychic had to be upstairs, he climbed the winding case, gun up, steady, nerves hiding somewhere deep enough to be unnoticeable.

The idea of waiting for his parents didn't even cross Dean's mind as he came out onto the second storey. Still no one challenged him, the whole house seemingly devoid of anybody or anything.

There was only one light in the whole house, and Dean was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. The floor didn't even creak as he crept across the thick carpet.

In a short time he had come to the door, and behind it was silence. He knew though. Knew the psychic was in there. Knew tonight was the beginning of the end. For him or for the demon, he wasn't sure, but one of them was going to win the battle, tonight, that would see them win the war.

Again, his parents didn't even enter the equation.

Easily summoning his courage, Dean put a hand on the handle, the cold of the metal reminding him of the reality. Those nerves, so foreign but a moment ago, filled him, and he let them, knowing they would only help. They would only help.

He opened the door into the beginning of the end…

And stopped barely a foot past the threshold, stunned and suddenly feeling all of a sudden helpless.

His parents faced him, their faces sagging in defeat, pinned two feet above the floor against the wall, bright blood seeping from a gash in Mary's head, staining her golden hair. Dean's jaw dropped, but the gun didn't, coming to rest instead on the figure with his back turned to the hunter. The source of his parent's captivity. His aim refused to move, even when the psychic turned, and Dean's stomach did a flip as recognition hit him all too hard.

"You," he breathed, voice catching as the man from his flashes, the man who had been haunting him in the hospital, turned to face him with an evil grin on his cold face, a grin that never touched his eyes.

"About time you got here, big brother."

Sam was awake again when Laura and Morgan snuck into Dean's room, and looked up as they came to stand opposite him. Laura was looking about as worried as Sam was nervous. Even Morgan was twitching anxiously. Each of them was stressed.

The hunter didn't waste time on small talk, motioning at the chair left in the corner when it became clear no one else was allowed in. Laura dragged it over to sit beside him and he gazed into her eyes.

"Ready?" she asked, and he nodded, mouth suddenly too dry to talk. She picked up on it.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Sam?" she asked cautiously and he nodded once more, finding his voice.

"Of course I am. Let's just get to it."

She was still too tired after her earlier efforts to pick up on his misgivings. He just hoped he could convince Dean before his brother confronted the demon that was killing him slowly. Determined he wasn't about to lose his one last family member, he grabbed onto Dean's hand with both of his own.

Laura sighed. "Well, if you're sure. Remember what I told you. Just concentrate on my humming. It shouldn't be too hard, it got you today. And keep that picture of Dean firmly in your mind."

He nodded and bolstered his courage, unaware his brother was doing exactly the same thing in another reality. He could do this.

"I'm ready," he informed his companions. Morgan shifted where he stood but made no sound. "If a doctor comes in, stop him. Don't let anything interrupt me. I'll come back when I've got Dean and not before."

Laura's jaw dropped. "No, no way. You'll have a set time limit or you won't be going at all."

Sam almost argued, gritting his teeth stubbornly. But seeing the exact same look on the older psychic's face made him realize it was useless. She wouldn't let him go if he didn't agree. The short nod was almost painful.

"Fine, let's do this."

He turned back to Dean and closed his eyes, picturing his older brother in his head instead. After a moment of indecision, Laura began humming.

He fell quickly, spinning into unconsciousness, wildly descending to another place, another world, the picture in his head the only solid thing he could hold on to. That, and the melody ringing in his ears.

"About time you got here, big brother," the psychic claimed in a high voice, sending more shivers down Dean's spine. He barely felt them under the sudden shock.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean demanded, and the psychic chuckled. He felt the shivers this time.

"Come on, what did you all think the demon did with me? What did you think he wanted?"

Dean shook his head, finding himself unable to think of an answer. The psychic, his little brother – no, it couldn't be Sammy, Sammy's safe, he is, I took him from that fire – his little brother, his Sam, their Sam…

Mary had tears running down her face. "God, no, you can't be Sam," she whispered hoarsely. At the sound of his mother's helplessness, Dean felt a savagery tear at his heart and blacken his soul.

"You're not Sam," he spat, silently growling. "Sam died twenty-two years ago. You're a monster, using his shell, using his face. The demon took Sam, and twisted him, killed him slowly until he became you," the hunter promised, cocking the gun, anger making him lose control. "And for even daring to use his face, I am going to make you suffer!"

The psychic – he refused to acknowledge him as Sam, refused to acknowledge a failure he had no memory of – chuckled, a deep slow chuckle that bubbled into outright amusement, hacking laughs that echoed around the room. His – their – parents flinched but never moved from their invisible chains against the wall.

Slowly the laugh died down, the evil mirth in the psychic's eyes the only reminder as it stared deep into Dean's crashing soul. "I dare you to even try, big brother."

Unthinking, Dean pulled the trigger, the sound of the rock salt cartridge exploding from the end of the barrel a loud shot that echoed just as the psychic's laugh had.

But the rock salt never touched the demon's soldier. Faster than could be possible, the psychic twisted, the repellent flying past him harmlessly. Before Dean could even register that he had missed – and that he had absolutely no chance at all at beating the psychic wearing his brother's face – he was flying through the air.

Back in the real world, Dean's body jerked slightly, the movement not even registering on the machines plugged into the hunter. Still humming, Laura shared an anxious look with Morgan, who was leaning against the door. Unnoticed by either, Dean's hand almost jerked out of Sam's grip, but the younger brother pulled back, a slight mewling sound escaping him, unheard above the humming. His hands never let go of his brothers as his mind struggled to find the source of that contact.

Dean never lost consciousness, but it was as if he had, that was how fast the psychic could move. One moment he was still standing by the Winchester parents, the next he was standing above Dean, pulling at his long-lost brother with a telekinetic power so strong the older man felt fear clench his heart even as he thudded into the wall, head nearly brushing the roof.

Standing below him, the psychic laughed, before sending Dean crashing to the middle of the room with only a flick of his eyes.

The hunter rolled to a stop, holding on to fractured ribs and breathing heavily. He had landed on his shotgun, but had somehow managed to retain enough wit about him to grab onto it. Lying so still that the psychic thought he was unconscious, Dean waited for the opportune time. It came not a moment later.

The psychic neared him and Dean waited still, hand clutching the shotgun as tightly as he could. And then, as the large hand touched him, grabbed him, prepared to roll him over, Dean lashed out.

The butt of the shotgun hit the psychic in the nose, and Dean was filled with a malicious pleasure as they all found out the psychic wasn't invincible. Dean rolled to his feet, kicking out and loving the sight of the blood pouring from the psychic's nose.

His foot never connected. Suddenly that sense of everything being wrong, the idea of hitting this evil bastard being absolutely abhorrent hit him, and he faltered, savage grin slipping. When that feeling left him a moment later, he had already lost his chance. And the psychic was on his feet.

Dean lashed out again, knowing all too well that he had no chance. The psychic, the blood on his face making him seem all the more demonic, grinned and blocked the gun almost lazily.

"Come on big brother, you can do better than that," he told the hunter, cocking his head. And once more Dean flew back, hitting the wall and falling to the floor in a daze.

The psychic was chuckling over him, a horrible sound Dean wished he could silence. But he suddenly didn't have the strength. He wished, wished with every bone and thought in him that he could fight back, could kick this bitch's ass. But…

The psychic leaned down and pulled him up by the throat, slamming him into the wall and holding them in a display of supernatural physical strength.

"So pathetic, Dean," it whispered, using his name for the first time, in a voice that he didn't recognise. "I don't know why I didn't go after you in the first place." And then it grinned, triumph suddenly resonating from every inch of its being. "It doesn't matter I guess. Everything will be in its place in but a moment." Dean struggled under its grip, somehow able to breathe, but caring more about what it meant.

And as if on cue, a shaky voice called out from the corner of the room.

"Dad?"

And then, as Dean turned his head to look down upon an exact replica of the psychic holding him, the ghost-like apparition went white as his form nearly solidified, giving an obvious swallow.

And, in a shakier voice choked with unshed tears, he uttered one word, barely getting it higher than a breathy whisper.

"Mum."

The psychic holding him looked Dean in the eye, grinning deeply. "And so the party begins."

Now Sam wasn't expecting this at all! Next post tomorrow night!