Sorry it took me so long to update! Here's Chapter 12...some time has passed, and someone is looking for Dean. ;)

Chapter 12

Two months later

Dean was staring at the ceiling. He couldn't remember that last time he'd slept. It had to have been a week, at least. Or longer. Maybe shorter. He didn't really know. It didn't really matter. Not anymore.

Runaway. Runaway. The logical explanation. No contact from any kidnapper at all – no ransom demand, nothing. No reason for any person to hurt Sam.

No reason for any person to hurt Sam.

How many times had it crossed Dean's mind to call up Officer Jennings and tell her the truth? How many times had he written the conversation in his mind?

And, how many times had he seen himself locked up in an insane asylum?

No. It was a battle he'd have to fight on his own. He would find Sam. Alive. Sam was alive. He had to be.

He just had to be.

Dean was at the Roadhouse. He had stayed in Palo Alto for three months, but Jo and Ellen – via a phone call – had convinced him to go back to the Roadhouse for a while. Hanging around in California and stalking Officer Jennings wasn't really helping anyone or anything since the police ended the investigation. Ash, Ellen had reminded him, was monitoring all over the country for any signs of the Demon. If he was there, with them, he'd find out sooner.

But there was nothing. Not a thing. It was completely pointless, everywhere he went. He was no closer to finding his brother than he had been three months before.

Someone knocked on the door. "Dean?" It was Jo's voice. "Some girl's here asking for you. She says it's serious. She just keeps asking for you. Like, hysterically. She's freaking out, Dean. She wants to talk to you." There was a pause. "You and Sam."

Dean didn't answer for a moment. Then he replied, "I'm coming." He heard Jo sigh, then walk away. He stood up and grabbed his gun. He didn't know who wanted to talk to him so badly, or why. it could be anybody. Or, he thought with a flutter of fear in his stomach, anything.

He entered the bar area, not knowing what to expect. He felt his eyes widen when he saw who stood inside waiting for him, chewing nervously on her thumbnail.

"Cecilia?" He took a step forward, staring in shock at the psychic girl he and Sam had met the previous year. She spun around at the sound of her name.

"Oh, God," she whispered, her eyes sweeping over him. "He's already gone, isn't he?"

Dean just stared at her. She was a psychic, but different from Sam – cryptic dreams gave her clues to the future. He, himself, had been the object of her premonitions when they met. He knew why she was here.

She'd been having dreams about Sam.

He remembered the last conversation they had ever had; she had pulled him aside and asked him to take care of Sam. Confused, he'd agreed, but asked why. Only now he remembered her reason: the first time they had touched, she had had a feeling. As stupid as it sounded, both of them knew – Dean from experience – that it could be fatal to ignore a psychic's feelings or premonitions. He had only barely escaped after not taking her seriously the first time around.

That feeling, whatever it had been – it had been for this. Whatever had happened to Sam.

"I was too late," she whispered. She sank into a chair. "Oh, God, I'm too late."

Cecilia was trembling, Dean noticed, and crying. He walked over to her and sat down. "You were having dreams about him, weren't you?"

She nodded. "I had the first one, like, three months ago. I had no idea what it meant. But I didn't have any more." She gave a shivery, hiccupping breath. "They started again last week." Tears started to pour down her face. "Oh, God. I didn't realize who they were about…until, like, three days ago. I tried to call Sam's cell, but it didn't go through…then I remembered he wrote down this address." She was breathing heavier now, her words spilling out quickly, almost hysterically. "I never got your number…I would have called. I just came here…I thought I'd get here in time…I'm so sorry…"

Dean frowned, watching her cry. "In time…what do you mean?"

"The numbers. The number s in my dreams. They're days. At least I thought so." She cried harder. "I guess not."

"How many days were left in your last nightmare?" Dean's heart was pounding.

She stared at him. "Um…eight…so it would be seven now," she said. "But if he's already gone…"

"Yeah. Gone." Dean jumped up. "He disappeared three months ago. I've been looking for him since." He allowed himself to get excited. "I think that dream you had a few months ago was about when he disappeared. Cecilia," he said, grabbing her hands, "you're not too late. You're early."

"He's gone," Cecilia said slowly. "I thought I was dreaming about whatever was going to happen to him. I'm not."

Dean felt his excitement fade. "You…you're dreaming about his…"

"His death," Cecilia finished for him. Her face drained of colour.

Dean suddenly had to sit down again. He shut his eyes, forcing himself to concentrate. "He's still alive," he said quietly.

He glanced over at Jo and Ellen, who were staring at two of them, eyes wide in confusion as to what had happened. Dean remembered that they had never met Cecilia. They weren't familiar with her creepy premonitions.

He stood up yet again. "Sorry," he apologized. "Um…Jo, Ellen – this Cecilia Black. We met last year. She's a psychic."

Ellen nodded and held out her hand, looking at if she had no idea as to what to say.

Jo narrowed her eyes. "Christo," she said coolly.

Cecilia glanced at her. "Bless you," she replied, looking slightly confused.

Dean could have kicked Jo, then realized he should have been kicking himself. He'd made the point she was trying to make clear when she turned up in Palo Alto the first time: trust no one. Anyone could be his enemy. Anyone could be possessed.

He blinked and looked at Cecilia, who was now scrutinizing him. She had stopped crying, though the tears were still on her face.

"You don't trust me," Cecilia said softly. She blinked a few times.

"Well, wouldn't you find it a little suspicious?" Jo asked, her eyes still narrowed. "You waltz in here and put on a big show and you've been having dreams about Sam – "

"Jo." Dean cut her off. "Stop." He turned back to Cecilia. "It's just difficult, that's all. In this situation…it's hard to trust anybody."

She nodded. Her face was pale.

"Are you alone?" Ellen asked. Her voice was odd, Dean noticed – weary, tired. He realized that the whole business with Sam's disappearance must have taken its toll on her. Having chosen Dean and Sam's "side" in the war, she was obligated to make the right choices in order to win. Trust no one. Every person was a potential enemy. Running the Roadhouse, he realized, had probably made it ten times harder for her.

Cecilia was nodding. "Yeah," she said quietly. "My…friend wanted to come, but…" Dean looked at her, and she shifted uncomfortably. "I hate getting them all involved."

Dean remembered the lovesick look on Sam's face when they drove away after their work in Cecilia's town was done. He remembered the tears in her eyes as she stood in front of her apartment building, watching them leave. He remembered the perfect understanding between the two of them. Two people with different abilities – to predict the future – and it was something they shared. Something the two brothers could never have together…

Dean tried to meet Cecilia's eye, but she looked away. Had she moved on? Let his little brother fade into the walls of her memory?

For a moment he could see right into her, catching her eye as she looked back for a split second before her gaze shifted again. He could see right through. He saw pain reflected in her deep, dark eyes. Pain. Raw and real. No demon could recreate such emotion for the sake of trickery, no matter how evil.


So, what do you think? Cecilia - thumbs up or thumbs down? Let me know:)