Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the awesome beta job, and Ncsupnatfan and VegasGranny for pre-reading xxx
Chapter Thirteen
Sam left his and Dean's motel room a minute before ten and walked around to the back of the motel to Clark's room, the bottle of whiskey in his hand.
He was nervous but also determined. He wasn't going to quail under Clark's attitude. He could take what he threw and him and concentrate on learning. That was what mattered, not how much Clark would be trying to bother him.
He knocked on the door and after a moment and a muffled shout, the door opened and Clark stood on the threshold, letting out a wave of smoky air. He'd shed his leather jacket, but he was wearing the same t-shirt and jeans as he had the day before, and they looked as though they'd been slept in. The bed was untouched, but there was a pillow on the couch, and Sam guessed he'd slept there. He wondered why he hadn't used the bed instead of the couch which, if it was the same as the one in Mary's room, was hard and lumpy according to Bobby.
"Come on in then," Clark said. "We can't do anything with you loitering outside."
Sam hadn't moved deeper into the room as Clark had been blocking him, but he didn't point that out, wanting to get things started on an amicable footing.
He stepped inside and paused as Clark closed the door behind him and gestured to a chair at the table. "Sit," he instructed.
Sam obeyed and set the bottle down in the middle of the table. Clark snatched it up and broke the seal and took a swig then gasped.
"You're a promising student already, Sam," he said. "Keep listening to instructions like that, you'll go far."
He set the bottle down and took a packet of cigarettes from beside the bed and lit one before pulling the chair around so he was sitting closer to Sam. He blew out a cloud of smoke into Sam's face and grinned. "You mind?"
Sam coughed slightly and said, "No"
He did mind, a lot, but there was no point saying it. The second-hand smoke was probably going to screw with his chest which still felt a little restricted, but he wasn't going to give Clark what he wanted. He thought if he complained, he was going to get another face full of smoke, a theory confirmed when Clark blew the next cloud away from him.
"So you're here and looking pretty eager," Clark said, "So let's throw ourselves right into it." He pulled an overflowing ashtray over to him and said, "First things first, let's go over the ground rules. Do what I say when I say it. I'm giving up my time here for a shaky deal to help you, and I don't want to waste it."
"What is the deal?" Sam asked curiously, realizing that Missouri hadn't said anything about how this man, clearly not a philanthropist, had been persuaded to come help him?"
Clark's brow creased. "I don't like questions, but I'll answer that one. Mosely is doing an exchange with me. I am helping you, and she's going to help me with what I need."
Sam opened his mouth to ask another question, and then snapped it closed again, remembering that Clark didn't like questions.
Clark seemed to know what he was going to ask though, as he answered the unspoken question. "I'm looking for something, and Mosely is going to help me find it."
Sam wanted to know what he was looking for, but he didn't ask.
Looking pleased, Clark pushed up the sleeve of his shirt and rubbed his arm. Sam saw a tattoo there. It was a symbol he recognized as an anti-possession sigil. He'd seen it in one of the books of demonology.
"Nice tattoo," he said, wanting to lead Clark into an explanation.
Clark grinned. "Keeps me from getting possessed. You might want to think about getting one, too. If your family really are going after a demon, you'd be better off not being possessed by one."
Sam realized it was actually a very good idea, and he thanked him.
Clark shrugged away his words and pushed up his other sleeve to reveal another tattoo. It was a spider's web with an italicized five at the center.
"Five year stretch in San Quentin," Clark said proudly. "That's my memento."
"What did you do?" Sam asked before he could stop himself. He wanted to know what his 'teacher' had done to earn time in California's most violent jail.
Clark's lips pressed into a thin line and then he grinned. "Questions… I'll make you a deal. If it's not about what we're doing here, I'll answer one of yours if you answer one of mine."
"But I can ask about what we're doing?" Sam checked.
Clark shrugged. "Sure. That's the deal I've got with Mosely."
Sam nodded. "Okay, ask."
"Are your mom and big brother chasing a demon?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"My question," Sam said. "What did you do?"
Clark looked annoyed but answered. "First degree aggravated battery with a deadly weapon. I was exorcising a demon and I got carried away. The meatsuit tagged me and I got captured when pulled over for speeding a few days later. Why are they going after a demon?"
Sam shook his head. "We had a deal. I don't have any more questions."
Clark glowered at him and then shrugged. "You will though. I can wait for something really pressing to come along."
Sam was sure he would, but he would keep his secret as long as he could. He didn't like the idea of this man knowing about the demon coming for him.
Clark drew on his cigarette again and looked thoughtful. "Okay. Let's get down to why we're here. You. You already know you have potential, probably more than you even realize, so I want to know what's presented already."
"Visions," Sam said. "They were dreams at first, but I've had a couple when I've been awake. They were bad things, people getting hurt, but the two I've had when I was awake were just regular things happening to people I know."
"And how do they feel when you have them?"
"In the vision it's like I'm there. I can see, hear and feel everything. It's so clear. After the visions… it's like a migraine from hell. It almost cripples me completely."
"Because it's being fought," Clark said knowingly and then leered. "Got another question, Sam? Want to know what's really fighting?"
Sam did, but he wasn't going to ask. He didn't want to know enough to tell Clark about The Demon.
He shook his head.
"You will," Clark said confidently. "I can wait." He drew on his cigarette again and then stubbed it out, spilling ash over the sides of the ashtray onto the table. "Visions don't interest me. You're already having them, so they're old and boring. I want something new to play with. How do you feel about a little eavesdropping?"
Sam frowned. "What?"
Clark grinned and grabbed Sam's hand. He gripped it so tight it was painful and said, "Take a breath. We're going on a trip."
Sam obeyed, feeling nervous, and before he could exhale, his head swam and he choked.
It was the strangest thing to ever happen to him. He was rising above himself, looking down at his body where it sat in the chair, blank-eyed and still with Clark gripping his hand, and then he was moving. He felt himself being tugged along. They moved higher and then rushed forward, passing through other rooms, some empty, some occupied. He saw a woman changing bedsheets in one, and a middle-aged man having sex with a far younger woman that hadn't taken off her red spike heels in another. They kept moving until they came to a stop in a familiar room.
Mary and Dean were sitting at the table with the laptop running and books open in front of them. Neither were reading though. Dean was glowering out of the window, and Mary was frowning at him. When Mary spoke, her voice came as clear as if Sam was in the room with them.
"He'll be fine, Dean. I understand why you're worried, I am, too, but Sam can take care of himself."
"Can he?" Dean asked. "He's not a hunter."
"This isn't about physical danger. This is emotional and mental, and Sam is strong in that."
Dean glowered still looking out of the window. "I know, and I get it, but that Clark… I don't trust him."
"Missouri does," Mary pointed out. "And Sam trusts her."
"Maybe she's wrong."
Mary sighed. "Maybe she is. We won't know until Sam tells us what's happening there. Just try to relax now. We can talk to him when he gets back."
Sam wanted to hear Dean's answer, but he was being dragged backwards though the rooms, over the middle-aged man's pumping hips and the woman's bored expression but passionate cries, the maid's swift movements as she smoothed the clean bedding, and then Sam was gasping in Clark's room again. He flexed his arms and found they were stiff but his own to control.
Clark laughed. "Astral projection. What do you think?"
Sam shuddered. "That was…"
"Pretty cool, right?"
Sam was thinking more that it was wrong, an invasion of privacy, not to mention disconcerting, but he didn't think it was worth telling Clark that. He would probably be amused.
"It was different," he said.
Clark nodded happily and said, "Your brother doesn't trust me. What do you think? Do you trust me?"
"I don't know yet," Sam said honestly. "I think you're really going to help me though, even if it's just because you want Missouri to help you."
"You're right." Clark stretched his shoulders. "Want to talk about what else we heard? Big brother doesn't think you're up to the task. He thinks you're a delicate snowflake that needs protecting."
Sam's hands fisted unconsciously. "That's not what he said."
"It's what he meant, though, and you know it. How does it feel?"
"Is that a question?" Sam asked.
Clark laughed. "Not one worth dealing over, no. Coolness aside, that's something you should be able to do soon, but we're not starting with it. For you to do it alone, you need to find a calm place in your mind, and you're not there right now. We're going to start with something a little more passionate. You might not acknowledge it, but I imagine you're at least a little angry right now, so we're going to put that power to use."
He leaned back in his seat and pointed at the pillow on the couch. With a smug smile, he raised his hand and the pillow lifted from the couch and drifted towards the bed where it set down neatly.
Sam gaped between the bed and Clark, at a loss for words. Missouri had spoken about telekinesis, she'd even said it was an ability Clark had, but hearing it and seeing it were two different experiences. It was so controlled. Despite what Dean had said, Sam thought it would be more about moving things with force than passing Bobby books. Clark had perfect control though.
"I can do that?" he asked.
"Not yet, but you will if you work hard enough. That's something you've got to commit to, Sam. As much as I want Mosely helping me, I'm not wasting precious months of time in which I could be on the hunt for my own target while you angst and whine over what you can and can't do. You have to give it your all. If I don't think you're trying hard enough, I'm taking off."
"I'm committed," Sam said seriously.
He didn't particularly want to be. He was more at peace with his visions and potential now than he ever had been before, but it was still difficult to think that he was a psychic, a freak. He would give almost anything to be back at Stanford with Jess, working hard in his senior year and planning for the future. In fact, the only thing he wouldn't sacrifice for it was his family.
He got it though. He was psychic, he apparently had the ability to do things like move objects with his mind and astral projection, so he was going to do what he had to do to learn to control it.
Clark eyed him for a moment and then said, "I think you are. Okay then. Move the pillow."
Sam's eyebrows shot up. Was he seriously supposed to do it just like that?
"How?" he asked.
Clark shrugged. "Just try. Concentrate and imagine it moving."
Feeling stupid and frustrated, Sam fixed his eyes on the pillow and tried to imagine it lifting. He felt nothing give and it didn't move. It wasn't like when the visions came. He had no 'tells' to show the power was alive and the vision was waiting. He just felt stupid. He focused and willed it to move, wishing for even a twitch, but nothing happened.
He sighed and said, "I can't do it."
"Because you're not trying," Clark said. "Maybe this is a waste of time already. You don't really want to learn from me."
"I do! But I don't know how. I don't feel anything there. The visions are different."
"I already told you, I don't care about visions. They're boring. Mosely can help you with them. This is what I want from you. Now make it move!" His voice rose to a shout.
Sam jolted and stared at the pillow again, feeling the heat of anger building in him. His face flushed and he yanked off his jacket and threw it onto the floor, feeling constricted.
"Again," Clark commanded.
Sam narrowed his eyes and willed the pillow to move. His attention was so focused that he didn't realize Clark was reaching for him again until his hands closed around his scarred arm. It was sensitive, and the touch jolted his attention away from the pillow to the hand gripping him. He didn't like it. No one but him had touched the burn since he'd left the hospital and started applying the ointment himself. The pitted and ridged skin was ugly and unpleasant to touch, but that wasn't what bothered him. It was that it was a reminder of what had happened that made him uncomfortable.
He tried to yank it free, but Clark's grip was strong, and he held it fast a moment longer before releasing him and leaning back with a satisfied smile.
"Move the pillow," he said.
Wrongfooted and confused, Sam turned his attention to the pillow again, trying to ignore the way his temples throbbed with anger.
"That was quite some fire," Clark said conversationally. "You were lucky to get out. You were lucky your friend was there."
Sam's attention broke and his eyes snapped to Clark, his heart pounding. "How do you know about Brady?"
"Move the pillow, Sam," he said again in lieu of an answer.
Sam cursed but turned his attention back to the bed. He squinted his eyes and focused his mind away from thoughts of the fire and onto making the pillow move.
"Who's Jess?" Clark asked quietly.
"Shut up," Sam snapped, still looking at the pillow. He thought he knew now what Clark was trying to do—make him angrier so he could tap into his power—but it was hard to concentrate. "Don't talk about her."
Clark chuckled and said in a whisper. "That's a hell of a way to go, fire. Must have hurt like hell."
"Shut up!" Sam shouted, his eyes snapping to Clark and his hands fisting.
Seeming unconcerned, Clark looked slowly from Sam to the bed and grinned. "Well done."
Sam's eyes followed his and he saw that blankets on the bed were bare and the pillow was on the floor in the corner. He gaped at it. "I did that?"
Clark nodded. "You did. Well done. I knew you could. You just needed a little motivation. A little more anger."
Sam glowered at him. "That was messed up."
Clark shrugged. "To you, maybe. To me, it was progress." He stood and walked to the corner and picked up the pillow. He tossed it back onto the bed and said, "Give yourself a minute. I'm guessing your head is feeling pretty tender right now, and I don't want you hemorrhaging out of your nose."
Sam realized as he said it that his head was hurting. It wasn't as bad as the pain that came with a vision, but it still made him squeeze his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose.
"So, who is Jess?" Clark asked.
"No deal," Sam said.
Clark sighed. "Okay, no deal."
"How did you know about her?" Sam asked. "What did you see when you touched me?"
Clark leered. "Is that a question?"
"It's about my powers, so yes, but you don't get one in return."
"Should have known that would come back to bite me on the ass. Okay, I saw the fire starting and I heard you shouting; I saw someone grabbing you and bundling you out of the place. Good friend you got there, Sam. He saved your life."
"How did you see it?" Sam asked.
"It's called psychometry. I can connect to memories and feelings attached to an object or person through touch. Your scar is particularly potent. You should be able to do it, too, eventually. It takes practice and will. You have to want to feel it. It's not like you can flip a switch and feel all things all times."
Sam was relieved. He didn't want to be blasted with thoughts and feelings every time he touched something. He wasn't sure he wanted to do it at all.
Clark opened the bottle of whiskey again and took a swig and gasped. "While we're sharing, or maybe taking in my case, I figure I should apologize. I wanted you angry, and it worked, but I shouldn't have used that memory on you. I know better."
Sam frowned at him. "You lost someone, too?"
Clark nodded. "A long time ago. Is it a question?"
Sam considered. "That depends. What do you want to know in return?"
"Who's Jess?"
Sam didn't answer straight away, deciding whether he wanted to know about Clark's loss enough to share his own. He decided he didn't. He wanted Jessica to be private.
"No," he said. "It's not a question."
"Okay," Clark said. "Storytime over. Back to work. Move that pillow again." When Sam sighed, he added. "I can help you out if you like. It doesn't have to be loss that triggers you. I know all kinds of things that you don't want to talk about. I saw so much when I met your family."
"No," Sam said, his tone confident though inwardly he felt a flicker of fear about what he might hear. "I don't need that again. I can do it."
"Show me then."
Sam clenched his fists, staring at the pillow and imagining it moving. He thought it would be easier now he knew what he was doing, how it had felt before.
He was wrong.
So… That was Sam's first instance of telekinesis. What did you think?
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx