Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for being an awesome beta and Ncsupnatfan and VegasGranny for pre-reading.
Chapter Fifteen
Sam zipped his coat and walked to the door. "I'll see you later," he said.
Mary looked up from the laptop and smiled. "Good luck."
"Yeah," Dean said distractedly. "And make sure you tell us if your buddy is spying on us again."
"I already told you he can't," Mary pointed out. "Missouri gave us that hex bag."
Dean glowered down at his lap. "He can't hear us, but he can still watch. I don't want that asshole peeping in on me on the can."
Sam laughed. "I don't think he's going to be tempted to do that, Dean."
"I wouldn't put anything past him," Dean said darkly.
Sam shrugged, muttered a goodbye, and went outside into the cold air.
Dean's obvious dislike of Clark was difficult for him to deal with. He didn't want to go into that room resenting the man that would teach him, but it was hard not to when Sam thought of how upset his brother was.
Sam didn't like Clark, but he respected him. He was helping Sam.
He didn't have control of his telekinesis, he'd only managed to make the pillow twitch in the hours they'd spent working the afternoon before, but he was doing something now which was progress. It was exhausting and he'd gone to bed with a headache, but he was gratified that he was doing something.
He reached Clark's door and knocked. He heard muffled movements inside before the door opened and Clark was revealed on the threshold. He had obviously just showered as his hair was dripping onto the towel around his shoulders, and he was bare-chested, but he still managed to look grimy in his dirty jeans. He had shaved, too, which made him looked younger—making Sam guess he age closer to mid-forties than fifties—but the most striking change were the scars that were revealed on his chest. There were a lot of them, and some of them looked bad. There was one that crossed from his right lower ribs to his left hip that Sam thought could have easily been a fatal wound.
"Quite something, aren't they," Clark said, a flicker of amusement on his face. "Come in. You're letting the heat out."
"What happened to you?" he asked, coming in and closing the door behind him before taking off his coat and dropping it onto the still neatly-made bed.
Clark hesitated a moment and then said, "I'll give you that one for free. Demons happened. You don't spend twenty years hunting them without getting a little knocked around. Luckily, I'm a quickdraw with exorcisms."
"You must be," Sam said with respect.
Dean and Mary had scars from hunting, but they were all from minor injuries. These were signs of serious damage.
"Make yourself comfortable, and I'll be right with you," Clark said, a mocking edge to his voice.
Sam sat down and watched as Clark toweled his hair dry and then pulled on a clean looking shirt. He tossed the towel into the bathroom and then set the pillow down on the middle of the bed and said, "Ready?"
The honest answer was no; Sam didn't feel ready at all. He didn't feel the anger he apparently needed to do this. He didn't want to tell Clark that, though, as he didn't want him to start with his method of motivation by pushing Sam's buttons.
He focused on the pillow and tried to move it, but it didn't even twitch.
Clark sighed and lit a cigarette. "So… it's going to be a long day," he said, blowing smoke at Sam.
Sam's chest still felt tight from the day before that he'd spent inhaling Clark's secondhand smoke, and he started to cough.
"Are you always that much of a snowflake?" Clark asked.
Sam felt a surge of irritation. "I had pneumonia recently," he said. "I'm still struggling a little."
Clark groaned and got to his feet to open a window. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, taking a draw on the cigarette and blowing the smoke out of the window. "I'm not too much of an asshole to open a window, Sam, despite the fact it's freezing out there." He smirked. "Though I'm guessing you have a different opinion on that."
"I don't think you're an asshole," Sam said.
Clark raised an eyebrow. "You don't?"
"No," Sam said honestly. "I don't particularly like you, and you're annoying, but that doesn't make you bad."
"I don't particularly like you either," Clark said, blowing another stream of smoke out of the window. "But you have something I want, or more specifically you can get me something I want from Mosely, so you're not bad either. You're just a little… pure for me."
Sam laughed. "I'm pure?"
He was a psychic that had failed his girlfriend, getting her killed, and his father, too, but he was pure? That was the ultimate joke.
"Maybe pure is the wrong word," Clark said, flicking his cigarette out of the window and closing it before coming to sit down. "You're good. You want to be and do good, your whole family does. And there's that thing between you all. It's…"
"Love?" Sam suggested.
"I was going to say annoying, but love probably covers it. I see the connections between you all, the way your auras fit. And there's the fact you would die for each other. It's just a little too much for me to stomach."
"How do you know we'd die for each other?" Sam asked. "Have you been listening to them?"
He knew he couldn't hear them now, but he wondered how much had been said before. He'd not been present for a deep conversation, but he guessed Mary and Dean could have discussed it.
"I've not been listening since you cut me off—I'm guessing that was Mosely—but I can see it in you all. I can see the way you're connected. It's unusually strong. Your mom I get, she's got the whole momma bear thing going on, maternal instinct and all that, but then there's you and your brother. You're like… I don't know."
Sam thought he did know, but he was glad Clark had stopped himself saying it. He didn't want the bond he had with Dean to be discussed with this practical stranger. It was about family, not Clark.
Clark leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms over his head. "Mosely didn't warn me what you'd be like. I probably wouldn't have taken the deal if I'd known. Being around that kind of saintly sacrificing nature is grating."
"She didn't warn me about you either," Sam said testily.
Clark lowered his arms and grinned. "What did she say about me?"
Sam smiled slightly. "Is that a question?"
Clark considered a moment before nodding. "Yeah, it is. I can give you an answer for this. I really want to know what she says about me."
Sam smirked. "That's a bad deal. She just told us you were different but an expert."
"That's it?" Clark asked. "Nothing about my winning personality and charm?"
"No, she didn't lie."
"I guess she wouldn't. She's got more than a little saint in her, too. She's not wrong either. I am different. But so are you, Sam. Me and you, we're both Superman. I live and love that life. You should, too. Be proud of what you can do. I'm not saying send out an all hunters broadcast, most of them are ignorant idiots scared of anything they can't do themselves, but your family at least…. Why didn't you tell them what you did yesterday?"
Sam frowned. "You were watching?"
"Nope, but I guessed you wouldn't and you just confirmed it. What are you scared of?"
Sam shook his head. "That's a question, and you already owe me one." He thought for a moment, deciding which of the many he had he wanted answered, and then said, "What's blocking me if it's not grief?"
Clark shook his head. "Bad deal. I'm not sure of the answer. It's probably a little about your grief, you are pretty messed up, but that's not all of it. I can't see what it is, I don't see it when I touch you, but it's there. It's inside you." He frowned. "Something in your blood."
Sam felt a chill of fear settle over him. "It's something in my blood? You mean there's something wrong with me?"
"Probably. Like I said, I can't see it. But wrong is a strong word. I guess it depends on what your definition of wrong is."
"What's your definition?" Sam asked.
Clark pushed his wet hair back from his face and looked away without answering.
Sam wanted to know, but he wasn't going to waste a question asking.
"Story time is over, Sam," Clark said pointing at the bed. "It's time to get angry. Move the pillow."
Sam concentrated, trying to build on the annoyance he felt about Clark's avoidance and his own fear for himself. He wanted to do this, but he couldn't wrangle his thoughts. He didn't want Clark triggering him, but he needed to do it.
He narrowed his eyes and willed the pillow to move.
"Stop!" Clark held up a hand. "It's not going to work like that."
When Sam looked at him, he realized he was breathing hard as if he'd been running. "Why won't it work?" he asked breathlessly.
"Because you just flipped from blocking grey to a crappy-ass muddy yellow that means you're trying too hard but in the wrong way. It's not what's in you blocking this time. It's your own head. What are you scared of?"
"I don't want you pressing my buttons again," Sam said. "I can't talk about Jess again."
"And I won't ask you to. I told you I was sorry. I crossed a line. It worked, but I still shouldn't have done it. You do need to be angry though, so you have to trigger yourself."
"It's hard," Sam said, rubbing a hand over his face.
"Well, duh. If it was easy, I wouldn't be here and you'd be flying that pillow around the room like Hermione."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "You've read Harry Potter?"
Clark scowled. "Do I look like I read children's books? No. I happened to catch the movie with a date that did read them. It was crap. But I picked up a few things. Like the fact CGI is crap when you can do it for real. You can do it for real, so start. Find the anger."
"I can't," Sam said.
"You're not trying!" Clark growled. "I told you the terms I was here with. You've got to put everything you have into this. Okay, stop a moment and breathe. You're turning blue."
Sam took a slow breath and relaxed his fisted hands.
"Maybe anger isn't right for you," Clark said thoughtfully. "You need something different. It's got to be powerful though…" He slapped his knee. "Got it. This demon your mom and brother are hunting, why are you doing it? Who is it coming for? You or one of your saintly family."
Sam looked away. "You don't need to know that."
Clark chuckled. "You then. You'd be a lot more scared if it was one of the family. So, it's about you. That actually makes sense. But your mom and brother are the ones hunting it because you're 'not a hunter'. You're relying on them to save you."
Sam's hands fisted again and then began to shake.
"Look at the pillow, Sam," Clark commanded, and Sam obeyed.
"You're defenseless, and if this demon is a smart or powerful one, so are they. So you need to learn this stuff. Unless you want them to be gutted of course. Is that what you want?"
"No!" Sam snarled, his eyes still fixed on the pillow. He knew what Clark was doing, but he knew why and that made him concentrate as the flood of heat filled him.
"Are you sure?" Clark asked. "Because unless you nail this stuff down, it's what's going to happen. You will lose everything."
"No," Sam growled. "Stop!"
Clark laughed. "Sure, I'll stop, but before you start shouting, look at what you're doing." He pointed at the bed.
Sam blinked and the pillow he had been staring at so hard it had blurred came into focus. It was shaking.
"Move it, Sam," Clark whispered.
Sam narrowed his eyes and concentrated, the focus breaking as the pillow flew from the bed and hit the wall.
He drew in a gasping breath and huffed a laugh. "I did it!"
"You did," Clark said smugly. "And you showed me a whole lot I'd been missing. You're not an angry man. You're too deeply rooted in blue. I didn't see it before. Your trigger isn't just anger; it's who you're angry about. It's the whole saintly love thing you've got going on. It was your family today, and yesterday it was Jess. That's easier to create as those feelings are so close to the surface for someone like you. You love strongly. You just need to tap into the anger at the same time and you'll be flying crap around in no time."
Sam rubbed his aching temples. "Will I always have to feel like that to make it work?"
"No. The more you practice, the better control you get, the less you will need emotion. One day it will become as natural as breathing for you. It is for me. You've got a long time before that happens though. Years of training. I have been doing this most of my life. You're only on day two."
Sam sighed. He wasn't sure he could handle years of this. He didn't even want to really. He hoped once he had the basic gist of them, he could stop safely, without it hurting him as Missouri had warned against.
"Take a break," Clark said, getting up and throwing the window open. He lit a cigarette, drew on it and said, "That's was actually pretty good, Sam."
"When you say your whole life…" Sam said. "What does that mean?"
Clark's lips pressed into a thin line. "That's part of a much bigger story. Worth more than the one question I owe you. Answer one of mine, and I'll tell you a little about it."
"What do you want to know?" Sam asked.
"Tell me more about this demon."
"That's a big one, too."
"Then tell me where it started," Clark suggested. "When did this demon come into your life?"
Sam looked away from him and said, "When I was six months old. It came into my nursery one night when my dad was there. It killed my dad." He chanced a glance at Clark and saw his brow was furrowed. "What?" he asked.
"The demon came into your room, killed your dad, and left?" His brow pinched as he tapped the ash from his cigarette out of the window.
Sam nodded.
Clark drew on his cigarette again and blew smoke rings out of the window, looking supremely unconcerned, but when he spoke his voice was intense. "Tell me everything and I'll tell you everything. No more deal. Complete honesty."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Complete honesty?" he queried.
"I need to know this, so yes."
Sam nodded. "It came for me when I was a baby, but we don't know why. It came back a while ago and killed my girlfriend. That was the fire you saw."
"She was on the ceiling," Clark murmured, talking to himself.
"Yes," Sam said. "He killed Jess and my dad in the exact same way."
"And both times it was there for you?"
"We think so. I was the connection between them. Why?"
Clark frowned. "I've heard of them killing for fun and gain, but I can't see what it would want from you when you were a baby. And why come back all these years later for your girlfriend. That wasn't just about fun or symmetry. It was there for a reason."
"We think it's because I'm psychic," Sam said. "I already had powers when I was a baby."
Clark nodded slowly. "I guess it could want a psychic, but why use you when there are hundreds more, already trained, out there waiting for it?"
"I don't know," Sam said. "I wondered the same thing. We think it was in Hell for the years between, but…"
"But it still doesn't explain why it came to your nursery." He blew smoke out of his nose and said, "There's got to be something else about you, Sam."
Sam felt a twist of anxiety in his stomach. He didn't want there to be something else. Being psychic was bad enough, but he had comforted himself that there was something simple the demon wanted from his with his visions. If there was something else, he didn't know what it was, and it scared him.
Clark drew on his cigarette and said, "Break's over. Back to work."
Sam sighed.
"If you're not up for it…" Clark said pointedly, letting the words trail off into tense silence.
"I am," Sam said with a quick nod. "Just tell me what to do."
Clark threw away his cigarette, slammed the window closed and said, "The pillow. Make it move. But this time, instead of just your anger, I want you to focus on your love, too."
Sam didn't know how he was supposed to do that. He couldn't just think loving thoughts and hope the anger came with it.
Clark put the pillow back onto the bed and said, "Think about your family, Sam, and the danger they're in."
Sam frowned at him. His family were often in danger, they were hunters, and with The Demon to be killed, that danger was heightened.
"Look at the pillow," Clark said pointedly.
Knowing Clark was about to do something else that was going to hurt him but needing to try, Sam fixed his attention on the pillow and concentrated.
Clark leaned closer and said, "If this demon killed your dad to just get a look at you when you were a baby, what do you think it's going to do to your mom and brother when it comes back for you?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Which one of them is burning on the ceiling next time."
Sam shouted in anger and fear and there was the sound of something ripping as his vision blurred to red.
Clark laughed. "That's more like it!"
Sam blinked to clear his vision, searching for the pillow again to see where it had landed, but it was gone. In its place was scraps of torn cotton and a pile of foam filling spread over the bed and floor.
Sam stared in awe. "Did I do that?" he asked.
Clark chuckled. "Hell yeah you did. How's the head?"
Sam breathed in and assessed himself, feeling the pounding behind his eyes for the first time. He groaned. "It hurts."
"It would," Clark said. "But we're not stopping yet. I want you to use this feeling and keep going."
"I exploded the pillow."
"Yes," Clark said. "But it's okay. I've got another." He pointed at the second pillow on the bed and it drifted into the middle of the bed. "Again, Sam," he commanded.
Sam closed his eyes for a moment, trying to feel past the pain for the fear and anger he'd felt before, and concentrated, willing it to work. A moment later, the pillow began to shake. Sam willed it to lift, his vision reddening at the corners, and it slowly rose into the air. It took immense concentration and his head pounded, but Sam felt a thrill of excitement.
He was doing it.
So… A bit of a breakthrough for Sam. I was worried about making him a Gary-Stu in this story—having him be too powerful—but eventually I decided to just let it flow and see what happened. I think it's better that way.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx