Chapter Eleven: Clairvoyant Disease
There's nowhere to run and hide
When you're living to die
Stuck alone inside your head,
Better off dead
The phone would ring in the empty house,
No one's around
Don't acknowledge right, just dwell on wrong
This spot in hell's where I belong
I've come so far- it's been so long
Don't know why it started or where it came from
But in my life, I wanted more;
I needed more, I taste more.
-'Clairvoyant Disease' by Avenged Sevenfold
Pamela smiled, "I hear you're a cop."
I grinned back, momentarily forgetting that we were not here on a social call.
"You want to see my gun?" I asked, flirting. Before Pamela could answer, Bobby nudged my shoulder and I cleared my throat, "Uh, so Bobby said you might be able to help us?"
Pam nodded and ushered us inside. The house wasn't really what I'd expect of a psychic. It looked… normal. There were no bead curtains in the doorways or crystals or incense burners. No new age music was playing from the stereo system in the living room.
Pam stepped into the kitchen doorway, "Sit down. Would you like anything to drink? I have beer."
A cold brew would have been nice and I almost asked for one but then I thought of Sam and shook my head, "Water would be great."
"Suit yourself," She flicked her long black hair over her shoulder and turned away.
Bobby led us into the living room and I sat down on the couch; Sam settling beside me. He was holding the notebook he had brought tightly in one hand, the other fiddling with the pencil.
I reached out and put my hand over Sam's holding the pencil to still him. He glanced at me, his expression guilty as though he was a little kid caught in the act of doing something naughty.
Sam stopped fidgeting and sat with his head down. I looked up and met Bobby's eyes. Pam entered the living room, a glass of water in one hand.
I took the offered water and thanked the psychic. She took a seat in the chair across from Bobby's.
"So, how can I help?" Pam asked, "Bobby told me about Sam's ability-"
I narrowed my eyes, suddenly suspicious. What exactly had Bobby told this Pamela? Sure, she was a friend of Bobby's but that didn't mean I immediately trusted her, especially with my brother.
"All we came here for is advice on how to control this thing," I interrupted, speaking more forcefully than necessary.
Pam looked slightly startled.
"Dean," Bobby said, "I told Pam that."
"I can help your brother better if I know more about his powers," she said, "What they are, when they began-"
"No," I said, "Just fix this."
"Winchester!" Bobby growled, "She's not going to hurt your brother!"
"She doesn't need to know everything!" I snapped. I didn't want to tell Pamela about Sam. I didn't want her to know about Sam's illness. I was all too familiar with the way people reacted whenever they found out that Sam was sick. I'd be labeled as the poor, brave police officer with the crazy brother and see pity in the eyes of everyone I came into contact with. People would retreat from Sam, afraid that he would go Dahmer on them or that his illness was somehow contagious.
Sam, who had opened his notebook and was quietly sketching, looked up and spoke, stopping all argument.
"You should know that I'm crazy."
"Sammy," I said, "You're not crazy. Don't say that… you're just sick."
Pam, ignoring everyone else, addressed my brother, "I knew something was different about you the moment I saw you."
Sam shrugged as though it wasn't a big deal and continued drawing.
I turned to the psychic and sighed. I guess I had no choice in the matter. Sam had opened the can of worms for me.
Together, Bobby and I told Pam about Sam's rescue from the demons at Alexander's. I didn't go into all the details of the circumstances leading to Sam's diagnosis; I just told her that he was in college when he discovered to have paranoid schizophrenia. As quickly and painlessly as possible, Bobby and I spoke of Sam's kidnapping and what happened to him at the hands of the demons and- most importantly- the strange occurrences that started happening after my brother's rescue.
"Jim Murphy doesn't think this is… natural," I said tightly. I was hoping that Sam's psychic ability had just been hidden or something. I didn't want to think that it had anything to do with what Meg and Barclay had done to Sam.
Pam nodded, "Many psychics discover their powers at a young age. It is very rare that it should be concealed."
My shoulders slumped.
"Could the demons have done something to the boy to create this ability rather than just activate it?" Bobby asked and Pamela raised her hands in a bemusement, "I don't know. I'm not an expert on demons, Bobby. I leave that to you."
I stared wide-eyed at Sam. Was there something he wasn't telling us? As though he knew I was looking at him- he probably was well aware of my scrutiny- he spoke without even looking up, "Meg said she was waiting for something."
"I know that Sammy," I said, slightly exasperated.
"Either way," Pam interjected, "Natural or not, I should be able to help Sam get a grip on his powers."
I smiled. Sam, his hand still, looked up with red-rimmed eyes.
SPN
Barclay shoved the young man and he fell onto his hands and knees. The boy stared down at the mural on the floor of the abandoned church, choking back sobs of terror and pain.
"Open it," a male voice called from the shadows and the blond-haired young man cringed.
"I-I don't kn-know what you're t-talking about," the boy whimpered piteously.
"Open the Door," the voice commanded and the young man shook his head, "I c-can't! I d-don't know h-how!"
Meg darted forward and pushed the young man's head down towards the floor. The boy whimpered, trying to squirm out from the demon's hold.
"Enough!" the man snapped and strode forward. Meg released the boy and stepped down, folding her hands before her humbly.
"You have failed me again," the man sneered and the female demon nodded.
"I am sorry father," she said quietly, "I thought he would be able to open the Door."
Azazel's yellow eyes flashed, "You were wrong. Can you retrieve another child?"
The small demon perked up, "Yes, father!"
"Good," he said, "Dispose of this garbage before you go."
Azazel flicked his hand towards the young man and there was a wet crack, the boy's body collapsed to the floor, his neck broken.
SPN
Sam shifted uncomfortably on the hardwood floor of Pamela's living room. The psychic sat cross-legged, her hands holding Sam's.
"Clear your mind," Pamela instructed, "Try not to think of anything."
Sam stopped thinking or at least he tried to. It was difficult. His mind was almost constantly buzzing with some thought. The only time it hadn't been was when Dr. Calhoun had prescribed him a new medicine a few years ago. The medication had stopped the voices for a long while but it had also made Sam's mind feel oddly slippery, preventing thought from forming or taking hold for very long. Sam had hardly been able to concentrate on a simple conversation with Dean or his mother for more than five minutes. Dr. Calhoun had stopped giving Sam that particular medication after he'd fallen down a flight of stairs in the emergency stairwell and broken his ankle.
"Sam," Pamela called his name and the young man opened his eyes. The psychic was watching him, "You're still thinking."
"Sorry," Sam muttered and closed his eyes again, sighing out a deep breath.
Dean and Bobby weren't in the room. Sam didn't know where they were but he was sure his brother was close by.
"Okay, Sam," Pamela said, "I'm going to try and find your power. This may feel a little strange but it shouldn't hurt, okay?"
Sam nodded but his brow furrowed in concern.
"Relax," the psychic said and Sam once again forced himself to think of nothing.
The young man gasped when he suddenly felt a pressure inside his head, as though there was a balloon inside his skull.
"It's just me," Pamela murmured and squeezed Sam's hands comfortingly.
The feeling was so foreign that Sam was suddenly frightened and wanted it to go away, whether it was painful or not.
"Sam," Pam said in a warning tone, "Don't do that."
A long whine escaped from Sam's lips and he pulled his hands out of Pam's. The pressure was building- still not painful- as though his head was going to explode.
Pam swore and opened her eyes. Sam curled in on himself, hands tugging at his hair.
The psychic grabbed Sam's wrists and held on, "Sam, its alright. Calm down."
Sam pulled himself from Pam's grip and began backing up, his feet pushing against the hardwood floor.
With the physical contact broken between him and the psychic, the pressure in Sam's head was quickly fading.
Sam didn't want to do this. He wanted to go back to Pastor Jim's, no, he wanted to go to Dean's place, where he'd always felt safe and secure, where no one thought he was a freak.
Tears welled up in Sam's eyes and he hid his face by pulling up the hood of his sweater.
"Sam," Pamela said, moving towards him, "Sam, its alright. I'm not going to hurt you."
"Go away!" Sam cried, "Leave me alone!"
He closed his eyes and heard the tinkling of breaking glass. Pamela swore and he heard her footsteps move away from him, towards the far side of the living room.
Sam cringed fearfully; now Pam was going to be angry at him for breaking something.
You can't be fixed.
Sam whimpered when the voice wheedled its way into his head and hissed at him.
You're just a freak.
Dean's going to lock you up and throw away the key.
Sam let out a choked sob and shook his head desperately.
"Sam? Sam," Pam called and her footsteps hurried towards him.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Sam jumped when he felt the psychic's hand on his cheek.
"Let me help you," she urged and took hold of Sam's hands once again. This time Sam didn't pull away.
"Copy me, Sam," Pam's voice said, "Breathe in, breathe out… in, out, in, out… that's it."
The young man opened his eyes to slits. He could barely see Pam's face but that was good.
"Y-you're nuh-not mad at me?" he asked quietly, fearfully.
"No, of course not!" Pamela exclaimed, "Just between you and me, that vase was from my ex's mother… I never liked it, ugly piece of crap."
Sam smiled slightly. He barely noticed the pressure building slowly in his head again as Pamela once again tried to come into contact with his power.
"You're doing real good, Sam," the psychic muttered encouragingly, her voice tense with concentration.
SPN
Bobby had to almost move me bodily from Pamela's living room when she said that she could begin helping Sam with his powers. I didn't want to let my brother out of my sight. I knew that Sam was a gentle giant, really, but he had managed to use his strange ability to throw Dad and Rufus across the basement as though they were paper dolls. I knew that if Sam felt like he was in danger he would react- and react without thinking- but Bobby assured me that Pam could hold her own.
Bobby led me down the sidewalk away from Pam's house, past well-maintained houses and manicured lawns. People outside cutting their grass or playing with their kids in the yard waved to us in a friendly manner even though we were strangers.
"Rufus and I've been looking at demon omens all over the country," Bobby said in a hushed tone.
Ah, so this is why he wanted us to take a little stroll. Either he knew demons was a touchy subject around Sam or he didn't want Pamela to get involved with the really bad side of the supernatural.
"And? Did you find anything?" I asked almost hesitantly. I wanted to find Meg and Barclay and make them pay for what they'd done to Sam but I didn't want to leave my brother, even if it was with Pastor Jim.
"It's been oddly quiet," the hunter answered and I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Bobby shrugged helplessly, "Since you and Sam came to Jim's place, there have been no demonic omens anywhere. It looks like all the bastards are laying low for some reason."
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. This didn't sound good to me. As a cop, I knew that when it looked like nothing was happening, something was definitely happening.
"Something tells me demons don't just take vacations," I said and Bobby nodded, "They don't. Something's up."
"What though? How do we find out?" I asked and ran a hand through my hair.
"Keep watching for anything unusual," Bobby explained, "S'all we can do."
I didn't really like that idea but I knew there wasn't really much we could do. It wasn't like there was a demon nearby who'd be willing to ask why his buddies were MIA.
Bobby, changing the subject, sighed, "Look, this thing with your brother… whether or not its natural don't make no difference. We'll still protect him, you know that."
"I know," I muttered, "Its just… why's all this happening to Sam? He's never hurt anyone before… he already has enough shit to deal with…"
Bobby nodded in sympathy, "Bad things happen to good people. I don't know why… Fate, Destiny, whatever you want to call it… Jim would probably tell you that God's testing your brother or something like that…"
I bit my lip. My family seemed to have such a string of bad luck that appeared to centre around my brother for some reason.
I wished that for once something good could happen for Sam. God knew the kid deserved a break.
I tipped my chin upwards and stared at the blue sky, wondering if there in fact was a god looking down on us, watching my brother and preparing yet another tragedy for us to deal with.
Scowling, I looked back at Bobby, "Can we go back now?"
The hunter checked his watch and nodded, "Sure. Let's see if Pam was able to get through to your brother."
I resisted the urge to pick up the pace and was forced to match Bobby's leisurely stroll.
Please let this have worked, I thought almost desperately. There was just too much crap in Sam's life already that he didn't need to be burdened down with this telekinetic-psychic-whatever it was.
SPN
Sam's ability was unlike anything Pam had ever encountered before. Not that she was the expert on psychic abilities but she at least liked to think she knew a thing or two. The young man's psychic aura was incredibly turbulent, wild; it was clear that he had not learned how to control his powers.
Pam had a feeling it would take a lot longer than just one afternoon for Sam to get a grip on his psychic ability. It seemed as though she could only get a small glimpse of the boy's potential abilities, that there was something much larger- and perhaps darker- lying underneath, like an iceberg.
Pam came back to herself and peered around her living room. She patted Sam's hand and the young man blinked sleepily at her.
"C-Can y-you really help me?" he asked and Pam tried to smile confidently.
"Close your eyes again," she instructed and sighed inwardly.
Sam's psychic aura throbbed like a heartbeat, a sickly yellow hue. Pamela had never seen anything like it. An aura usually took on a green or blue colour. Something was not right about this.
Still, Pamela had never backed down from a challenge and she wasn't about to start now.
"Sam, open your eyes for me," she said quietly and Sam did so, a hopefully expression on his face.
"I'm still with you," Pam explained, "I'm going to help you get a handle on your powers okay?"
Sam nodded his understanding and looked at her expectantly.
"You see that magazine on the coffee table?" Pam asked, not even turning to look behind herself at the table.
"Yes," Sam replied quietly.
"I want you to make it fall off the table without touching it."
Pamela closed her eyes again and gave Sam's powers a gentle push with her own, the emerald green of her aura nudging against the yellow of his. Although the young man's power was active, it was untamed, it flared up subconsciously. Pamela had to encourage it to work with the boy instead of against him.
Concentrating, Pamela listened intently for the sound of the magazine hitting the floor.
"Sam, you have to help me out here too," she commented, "I can't do this without you."
"I can't even feel my power!" he lamented, squeezing Pam's hand tightly.
"Relax," Pam murmured, "Try to block out everything but the sound of my voice."
"O-okay."
"Picture the magazine in your mind's eye," Pam instructed, "Imagine it falling off the coffee table."
The psychic gasped when Sam's power shrank down unexpectedly.
Frowning, Pam knew that this wasn't going to take one afternoon.
"Let's take a break, okay?"
Sam opened his eyes and lowered his head, sadly.
"You'll get it," Pam said, "It just takes practice."
SPN
Sam couldn't help but feel ashamed when Dean asked if Pamela had been able to help him gain control over his powers.
"I'm sorry, Dean," he muttered and wrapped his arms around his middle.
"Hey, there's nothing to be sorry for, Sammy," Dean replied and squeezed his shoulder quickly before dropping his hand, "Rome wasn't built in a day."
Sam didn't crack a smile like he was expected to. He didn't have anything to be happy about. He couldn't be fixed.
Pulling his legs up, Sam rested his cheek against his knees.
"Sammy?" Dean asked, coming to sit on the couch beside him, "Sammy, you alright?"
He shook his head. He felt Dean grip the back of his neck and squeeze gently.
"Pam's going to help you, okay?" Dean assured him.
"Nuh-No," Sam whispered, "It w-won't work."
"Yes, it will Sam," Dean lowered his head, trying to stare at his brother but the younger sibling closed his eyes.
"Son, maybe he needs a bit of a rest," Bobby's voice spoke up from across the room.
"I have a guest bedroom upstairs," Pamela offered, her voice wavering.
"Hear that, Sammy?" Dean asked, "Want to take a nap?"
Sam shook his head. He didn't want to sleep. He just wanted to go home.
Sighing, Sam lifted his head and peered into Dean's concerned hazel eyes.
"It's going to get better, Sammy," Dean said desperately, "I promise you that."
The younger brother nodded but he couldn't help but feel that no matter how many time Dean promised, nothing would get better.
W
The Winchesters and Bobby stayed at Pamela's house for two more days. The psychic continued to help Sam without much success. Dean tried to remain confident but Sam grew more and more depressed.
He really was a freak. Not even Pamela could help him.
He listened in on the woman speaking quietly with Bobby and Dean. They didn't know Sam was listening to them; they believed he was asleep.
"I just don't understand it," Pam whispered quietly, confusedly, "His abilities are so… different… Sam can't seem to tap into them."
"Is there anything we can do?" Dean asked.
"I'm not sure," the psychic answered, "I'll admit that I've never had to help someone find their power. This was new for me too. I thought I could do it."
"You tried your best, Pam," Bobby's voice said comfortingly and Sam heard the woman sigh.
"What are you going to do now?"
"Go back to Blue Earth," Bobby replied, "Keep searchin' for a way to help Sam take control of this."
"I'm not sure he can control it," Pam murmured.
"He can! He has to!" Dean exclaimed, his voice rising, "There has to be a way!"
"If there is," Pamela said, "I don't know it."
Sam squeezed his eyes tight when he heard footsteps enter the living room and he glanced up when he felt Dean touch his shoulder.
"Sammy? Hey, wake up, bro."
"Dean?" Sam asked, feigning grogginess.
"We're going to head back to Jim's," Dean told him and Sam sat up, "Okay."
Dean peered down at him concernedly, "How're you feeling?"
"Fine," Sam answered quickly.
Standing, Sam followed his brother out of the living room, pulling the hood of his sweater over his head. Dean bade Pamela goodbye, shaking her hand; Bobby hugged her and Sam just stared at his shoes.
"Bye Sam," Pam said and reached out but the young man shied away.
"Okay," Dean said a little too loudly and shepherded Sam towards the door, "Thank you for your help, Pamela."
Outside, Sam shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his sweater and followed Dean to Bobby's Oldsmobile.
Dean leaned against the passenger's door and Sam stood beside him, head down as if fascinated by the pavement beneath his feet.
"Sam," he didn't look up when his brother called his name.
"Sam, listen to me," Dean repeated, "I know you're frustrated but things are going to get better."
"Sure," Sam muttered, continued to stare at ground.
"They will, Sammy," Dean muttered, sounding more as if he were speaking to himself than his brother now.
SPN
The dark-haired girl trembled in terror, tears coursing silently down her face. She stared wide-eyed at the strange mural at her feet.
"Open the Door," the shadowy figure demanded.
The girl looked to her side at Meg, knowing that the blonde-haired woman would not help her.
"Pl-please," she whimpered, "L-let me go."
"Open the Door!" the man snapped and the girl cringed.
"I w-want t-to go home!" the poor girl wailed and gasped when Meg grabbed her hair and pulled her hair back.
"If you open the door you can go home, okay?" Meg hissed fiercely to the girl and she nodded frantically.
"Yes! Yes!"
Meg stepped back and watched eagerly, hoping that this time it would work.
Ava Wilson set her hands on the mural on the floor, shaking visibly. She stared down at the picture but nothing happened.
"Get another child," Azazel said coldly and stepped forwards. The girl looked up at the yellow-eyed man, "No, please… please don't h-hurt me!"
The demon raised his hand and flicked it, breaking Ava's neck with the same effort it takes to snap a toothpick.
Meg's brow furrowed; she didn't know what to do, they were running out of special children whose talents they needed.
"Daughter, why do you continue to disappoint me?"
The pixie-haired demon didn't look up.
"I am sorry, Father," she murmured, "We will find a child-"
Azazel's sibilant hiss sent a chill down Meg's spine, "See that you do not fail again."
SPN
Sam was sleeping soundly in the back of Bobby's car by the time we rolled up the driveway to Jim's rectory. I kept glancing back at him, frowning. I was worried about the kid.
"What're we going to do, Bobby?" I asked quietly.
The hunter shrugged, "Dunno, boy."
I deflated, sighing tiredly.
That was what I was concerned about. If Pamela Barnes couldn't help Sam master his powers, who could?
"Do you have any other psychic friends?" I asked, smiling wryly.
Author's Note:
1. Thanks to BranchSuper, SPN Mum, thesenseicrew3009, Jeanny, L.A.H.H, reannablue, thesenseicrew3009 and Guest for reviewing.
2. Please leave a review! I love hearing from you guys and gals!