Chapter 5: Hunters and the Hunted

If Sam had known he'd be chased by Dead Eyes that day through the backstreets of Lawrence, he wouldn't have bothered with his morning run.

Gabe's aura overlapped him as their feet pounded the pavement, constantly by his side in an adrenaline filled rush of gold. Sam was impressed that he was managing to keep up, especially as he began to lead them through a series of increasingly narrow and unusual paths that he was choosing to take so quickly he barely thought about it. First through someone's backyard, then taking a hard hairpin turn that led down a back alley too dark for midday, and then a shortcut through a tiny park…

Left. Right. Down this alley; it has a sudden turn we can use to throw them off, and then another left.

The area was one Sam was intimately familiar with due to the years of exploration he always got up to with John and Dean. It was the grey zone between everyday Lawrence and the Kingsford Parallel, and as a result, lots of crime filtered through this way. John had used these streets for the beginning of their training for that very reason; it gave them a taste of what laid beyond the Kingsford Parallel.

Therefore, it wasn't a surprise that they'd run into Dead Eyes here, but in the same café that Reynold had been killed in?

He could hear them trailing after them, steadily losing ground with every sneaky twist and turn Sam implemented. Their auras weren't anything special in terms of color and size, but they were distinct in their various levels of anger and determination to catch them. He was also pretty sure at least one of them was high on something by the way it was off balanced.

"Sam, where are we going?" Gabe asked in a rush of breath as one of the guys behind them hollered incoherently.

Definitely drugs.

Sam glanced about, quickly determining their relative location as they burst out onto a bigger street.

Fighting them was the quickest way to end this chase. The possibility of them being armed was likely, but that meant little to Sam. Just because someone had a gun didn't make them omnipotent, especially if they barely knew how to use it properly like many low-ranking gang members. The finer details of his training were rusty, but Sam knew that his skills would be better than anything the Dead Eyes could bring to the table.

Take them down, and double back to the car to make a speedy getaway.

A perfectly solid, Winchester style plan. John and Dean would be very proud to see him now.

"Just keep following me. I have an idea," he said, grasping Gabe's arm momentarily to lead him down the street and into another alley.

This alley had plenty of debris, from garbage cans and wooden crates to broken furniture and metal barrels. After determining that the alley wasn't a dead end (just as he'd remembered), Sam pushed Gabe in front of him and used the rubbish to his advantage.

"Go all the way to the end and take the left," he said forcefully as he began to knock the nearest things over to block their path to buy them some time, "And wait there."

Sam knew Gabe wouldn't like the idea, but he didn't anticipate the sheer amount of resistance that filled his aura, turning the gold towards a vermilion as he realized what he was trying to do.

"Hell no," the P.I said, eyes burning fiercely as he resisted the shove Sam gave him, "I'm staying with you."

"Gabe, no," Sam hissed, pushing him again, "I've got to take care of them-"

"You're coming with me! No hero antics today, Winchester!" Gabe exclaimed, grabbing his hand and attempting to drag him down the alley. His face was flushed from exertion and he was panting heavily, but his aura showed his clear intent to keep on running with him.

Dammit.

Sam didn't have time to convince Gabe, and they both knew it. If they weren't in such a dangerous situation, he would've been impressed by the P. I's stubbornness.

He gave in reluctantly so the Dead Eyes wouldn't gain any more ground on them, kicking and knocking anything he could reach as he let Gabe lead them down the alley.

"Gabe, I can handle them!" he attempted to explain, but the P.I was unswayable.

"No, Sam. You don't always have to-"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a high-pitched yelp behind them. Sam could sense one of the auras meet the ground with the thud of a body and felt a sense of satisfaction at having taken at least one of them down temporarily.

He glanced back in time to see the other two stumble over their downed friend and fall as well before Gabe dragged them around the corner.

But they're not out for the count yet. They'll get back up.

"This way," he said, and the chase went on.

Everything blurred around them until it was just their short breaths misting in front of them and the pounding of feet. Gabe's aura was like light compared to the cluster of murky auras behind them, a constant reminder that Sam had an extra person to account for now.

Dean may have been the better one when it came to the physical aspects of their old training and was more than capable of coming up with creative plans on his toes, but Sam had always been the crafty, unconventional thinker. Gabe was too stubborn to let him take care of the Dead Eyes, and more pressingly, he was running out of steam. He couldn't keep up this crazy pace for much longer, which meant they needed a hiding spot.

Sam knew of many throughout the city. He also knew that hiding out from someone during a chase was tough, but he'd always been good at it. If he could manage to slip away from I-have-super-senses Dean in their youth, then it would be simple to hide from a trio of strung out gangsters.

Location and timing were key in this situation. Maneuvering with Gabe would be a little trickier than what he was used to, but Sam was in full training mode now. Thoughts were moving a mile a minute through his head as they ran, remembering hiding spots and tossing them aside just as fast for whatever reason; too far away or too small or too obvious.

Only one option remained after sorting through all the rest; an old abandoned building with deep alcoves along the sides. Sam vaguely remembered hiding successfully from Dean in one of them and knew it'd be big enough to hide both him and Gabe now.

The building still stood, and without any hesitation, he led them down the alley that ran along its side. There was scaffolding all along the side of it (so not so abandoned any longer), but no one was in sight, and even better, one of the alcoves was partially covered by sheets of plastic thick enough to obscure them.

Jackpot.

Gabe yelped in surprise as Sam dragged him through the scaffolding and past the plastic, nearly tripping in the process.

"Sam-"

The Winchester quickly clapped his hand over Gabe's mouth as he pressed him up against the doorway set into the alcove. He raised his free arm to box the P.I in even further, essentially hiding any sign of him from the alley.

"Quiet, and don't move," he whispered, all of his senses on high alert as he waited for the Dead Eyes to enter the alley and realize that they'd seemingly vanished.

Gabe's harsh breaths from running instantly quieted a bit, trying to match Sam's now measured breaths. His gold eyes were wide and bright in the shadowy alcove, but surprisingly steady and free from panic. It was as if Gabe trusted him, and Sam blinked before realizing that he did.

Sam took away his hand carefully, and Gabe's lips quirked in a brief smile. He stayed quiet though, hands reaching to grip his jacket and tug him even closer until they were lined up completely, chest to chest.

Every chill the sharp air brought was chased back by Gabe's aura, and Sam thought he'd die from how good it felt. He was glad the alcove was shadowy enough to hide his burning face because he wasn't sure what he'd do if Gabe noticed.

I should've fought the Dead Eyes when I had the chance.

"Where did they go?"

The pullback to the present was jarring, and Sam hurriedly looked away from Gabe's eyes as he strained his ears to listen.

"Dammit, I told you they ran down the other alley!"

"No, I know I saw them run into this one."

Three auras were approaching. At this distance, he could sense that he was right about one of them being off their rocker on drugs; their aura was wobbly and contorted in the grip of it. Whatever they'd taken, it was much stronger than weed or even prescription pills.

"Damnit, Kyle isn't going to like this," one of them whined, their feet shuffling closer. It sounded like the youngest one; he had to be fresh out of high school if he had even graduated to begin with.

"Kyle doesn't need to find out about this," a deeper voice replied. It was the meaner one; Sam was sure of it, "Think about it for a second Finn! All we had to do was get the weekly money from Rosco. The coppers or detectives or whoever the fuck they were don't factor into it that at all. We can just get the money from Rosco and pretend this never happened."

"But-"

"Shut up, both of you!" the third one ordered. The voice matched up to the contorted aura, and Sam focused more on him as a result. He was getting too close to their hiding spot for his comfort.

Gabe shifted slightly beneath him as footsteps approached the plastic sheeting, and Sam moved a hand down to grip the juncture where his neck and shoulder met in a signal to keep still.

"I don't know how I know, but I know those guys were important somehow," the voice said, "Reynold was killed weeks ago, so why were they there, huh? Maybe they were, what do you call 'em, private investigators or something."

Sam didn't like how sharp the one on drugs was, or how persistent he was being about hunting them down. Why didn't he just let it go like the other two were trying to do?

Gabe's aura wasn't doing any favors to help his concentration. This was probably the closest they'd ever been save for their hugs, not to mention the longest period of close contact, and it was getting to Sam. A pleasant sense of lightheadedness was beginning to fog up his senses, trying to draw his attention to all the warmth and gold that he was inches away from.

Focus, Winchester. Now is not the time to get distracted!

"It's just that junk getting to your head," the mean one snarked, but underneath his tone was a trace of wariness, "I told you that demon blood wasn't any good."

Gabe gripped his shirt, and Sam had to try very hard to keep still as his fingers seemed to burn straight through his shirt and into his skin. At this rate, his nerves would be fried before the Dead Eyes left.

Good to know the Dead Eyes are sampling the new product though.

"Shut up Jay, it helps me think!"

"It made me feel funny," the younger one, Finn, muttered, so low that the Winchester hardly heard him, "I took it when we burned that place down Saturday night to get me loosened up, and I don't remember half of what I did!"

The Roadhouse.

A sudden surge of anger made Sam want to throw himself out from the alcove and get the Dead Eyes because some of the bastards were right there. He could take them right now with the element of surprise on his side and his skills with a pocketknife. He'd been carrying it ever since the library and could feel its weight in his pocket.

Hands suddenly gripped the sides of his face and pulled, forcing him to look down at Gabe. The P.I's eyes were wide and fierce as he tugged him down close enough for their noses to bump.

"Sam, don't."

Forget what he'd said before about their proximity, this was the closest he'd ever been to Gabe.

The sudden urge to focus completely on Gabe warred with all the anger and injustice of the situation clouding his head (they were right there). There was Gabe's aura, and the Dead Eyes that helped burn down the Roadhouse, and he had to pick one to focus on.

"We'll get them another day," Gabe whispered, his breath warm against Sam's face in a way that made him want to lean in even closer, "Listen to me. Put the knife away. Now isn't the time."

Sam barely realized that he had pulled the pocketknife from his pocket. It felt right in his hand, but as Gabe's aura coasted along his tense muscles and seeped into his cheeks from his hands, that rightness was slowly being replaced with a different set of thoughts.

I can't get the Dead Eyes now; these guys are only a small part of the group that burned the Roadhouse down. Gabe's right; it'll have to wait another day.

Letting the Dead Eyes get away rubbed Sam the wrong way and went against every bit of training he'd received, but he'd chosen to trust Gabe, and that took precedence over what he'd been taught as a Winchester.

Sam tucked the knife away, leaned his forehead against Gabe's in a silent gesture of understanding and thanks, before pulling away and refocusing on the Dead Eyes.

"You better be careful Nolan," Jay said, and now the wariness had taken over all the snark, "I've heard bad things happen to the people that take that stuff."

"I know what I'm doing," Nolan growled, and Sam instinctively pressed forward against Gabe just the slightest as the drugged-up aura twisted viciously in on itself and turned a shade darker.

The other two fell silent, auras shrinking back. Gabe tried to peek around his shoulder, but Sam shook his head minutely and bent down to whisper in his ear.

"Don't. Just stay still."

"Sam…" Gabe breathed; voice even quieter than his. He didn't think he'd ever heard the P.I sound so quiet before, "He's getting closer."

The silhouette through the plastic sheeting darkened, getting so close that Sam was half tempted to abandon all pretense of hiding and pull out his pocketknife again.

Gabe's aura began to go haywire with shades of protective white as the man got close enough that they could see the outline of his body. He thought he could see the P.I presumably reach for a gun, but he hadn't had his holster on him, had he?

Sam carefully inched a hand down to his jacket pocket. The knife was there, and while he was out of practice, he knew that it'd all come back to him.

Just like riding a bike, except the bike is how to incapacitate three men with as minimal injury and maximum efficiency as possible.

"Why don't we just get out of here and call it a day? Those coppers have probably called friends, which isn't good for us," Finn asked with a nervous chuckle, unknowingly breaking the tense moment.

On the other side of the plastic, the man paused in his slow approach.

One step closer, and I'll do it, Sam thought with a certainty in himself he hadn't had in a long time.

"Right," Nolan said, sounding as if he was testing the idea out, "The cops are probably on the way, so we shouldn't be here."

"Exactly," the mean one, Jay, said. He sounded very eager to convince Nolan, and Sam couldn't blame him. The man's aura was disgusting to behold, and Nolan seemed like he would be even worse when he wasn't high, "Let's get out of here, hit up some of our other cash cows, and then get high! I know where we can get some demon blood from."

Nolan's aura perked up at that. It was clear he was completely addicted to demon blood if he was ditching the unwavering determination he'd had earlier to chase them for the possibility of renewing his high.

"Good plan," he said, already sounding lighter and more jovial, "Very good plan, Jay. You might just prove yourself worthy of a promotion at this rate."

One aura turned happy and another turned resigned; Jay and Finn respectively. They were further away from their hiding spot and lead the way out of the alley, with their leader close on their heels.

For a long moment, neither Sam nor Gabe moved. Sam because he was waiting for the auras to move out of range, and therefore a respectable distance from them, and Gabe because it seemed he was having trouble processing what had just happened. His aura was turning funny shades of white and vermilion, cycling rapidly as he continued to cling to Sam's shirt.

Sam frowned for a moment at the strange colors, trying to pin down what the P.I could possibly be feeling. He thought Gabe's aura would turn into those white wings he'd seen before for a moment there when they'd been close to being discovered, and while the sight of them was incredible, he had no idea how to feel about the strong urge to protect they gave off.

"You OK?"

"Relatively speaking, yes," Gabe responded before suddenly scowling and shoving at his chest.

Sam didn't budge much, but the move was still unexpected and combined with Gabe's tumultuous aura, only added to his confusion.

"What was that for?"

"For trying to get yourself killed! What were you thinking, trying to fight those guys?" Gabe asked, throwing his hands into the air.

"Because they burned down the Roadhouse, and I knew I could handle them! C'mon Gabe, I thought I already proved myself to you when it came to being able to defend us-myself," Sam said, tugging his fringe as he quickly corrected himself.

Gabe's eyes narrowed, and the Winchester knew that his slip of the tongue hadn't gotten past the ever-perceptive P.I.

He won't take too kindly to it either, Sam thought with a wince as Gabe's aura grew even more conflicted, Gabe's so independent and self-reliant that he'd probably see it as me thinking he's weak.

Sam braced himself for the worst (an angry tirade from the P.I wouldn't be pleasant) but was thrown for a loop when Gabe suddenly slumped and sighed heavily. His aura shifted more towards a pinker hue, turning rose gold as he reached out to snag one of his sleeves.

"You just…it shouldn't be your first instinct to put yourself in danger and be all self-sacrificing and stuff," Gabe said, voice low as he wrapped his fingers around his wrist, "It's hard to keep you safe if you're actively trying to get yourself into all sorts of trouble!"

Keep me safe?

Sam was flustered by the thought because he'd never really thought it was anyone's job to keep him safe besides John and Dean. It was his job, or rather, what he'd thought been his job until he'd gone to college, to keep others safe, and old habits were hard to kick.

"But I can-"

"I know you can," Gabe interrupted, gold eyes uncharacteristically stern, "That doesn't mean you have to. I'm the one with the official credentials that let me do this for a living, kiddo. If something happened to you on an escapade like this, not only would I never forgive myself, but we could also get in a shit ton of trouble."

Sam could understand the point Gabe was making; if anyone could understand how legally gray their current efforts to solve the case were, it'd be him (i.e. fighting the Dead Eyes with a pocketknife). However, it'd take him some time to really process the idea that Gabe was also a person that could keep him safe. It was one thing to rely on him throughout the course of the case and come to trust him, but to openly acknowledge that Gabe could?

If anyone could, it would be him. At the very least, he wants to protect me with those wings of his. But I can protect both of us just fine.

His internal conflict must've played across his face, because Gabe smiled softly, if a bit sadly, and squeezed his wrist.

"Just think about it. I know it's a mind-blowing concept, but I promise it has merit," he said, eyes bright with the mischievous look Sam now attributed solely to Gabe.

"Fine," he sighed, both to assuage Gabe and to cover up the fact that he was still hyperaware of how close they were right now.

Gabe didn't seem to have any issue with their close proximity at all, save for the pinks in his aura. Now that Sam wasn't being a bonehead, he could see that the P.I was enjoying it, but before he could figure out how to act on that information, Gabe slipped past him and past the plastic.

"You can think about my wise words of wisdom on the way back," he called out, "I hope you know where we're going because I certainly don't!"

Sam stared dumbly at the space Gabe had just been in for a moment before shaking his head with a small laugh. He had to admit it was probably for the best that they left now. There was way too much spinning through his head for the moment to have lasted longer.

He still couldn't help but regret it a little when he stepped out because, for more than a few moments there, Sam thought he could've finally closed the distance between them.

…

The rest of Sam's day was largely uneventful. He finished his afternoon classes and in what felt like a rare moment of peace, actually managed to focus on his work with minimal distractions. By the time he got on the subway to make his way home, Sam's spirits were high, and he was ready to write the day off as a success, if a confusing one due to his earlier experience with Gabe. The P.I hadn't said a single word about how close they'd been and had acted fairly normal, so Sam had let it go.

Regardless, Sam felt that something had changed between them, and for the better. Today had been riddled with almost there moments with Gabe (he'd nearly acted on a particular impulse at Starbucks) and he knew that the P.I had to have picked up on some of them, and on some things that he shouldn't have.

Sam wasn't sure how, but he was beginning to suspect that Gabe knew there was something more to him. He didn't think the P.I knew any specifics, but for a moment back at Jumpstart Café, it seemed as if Gabe knew he had this strange supervision.

That ultimately scared Sam more than anything else, because he'd never told anyone what he could see except for Dean, and the consequences of such a secret getting out could be catastrophic for him. He'd almost told Jess after all, and Sam was eternally grateful that he didn't, because if he had…

Sam shivered. That wouldn't have ended well for him at all.

"Next stop: East Center. Please be ready to depart as the train pulls in…"

Auras shifted in tandem towards anticipation at the announcement, the subtle rippling alerting Sam that his stop was approaching. The subway may have been a headache to endure, but at least all the extra auras were good for something.

The ball was in Gabe's court now. Sam would just have to wait and see how it all played out from here, but he thought he was getting the hang of this strange relationship limbo zone.

Kevin was on his way out when Sam finally got him, but if the textbooks were any indication, he wasn't going to any parties, which was good. While he could admire Kevin's valiant attempts at keeping people from joining gangs, it was still too dangerous for him out there when the Dead Eyes could still be mad at him.

"Study session?" Sam asked, just to make sure.

"Yup, Adam is having an academic emergency of epic proportions. Don't wait up," Kevin responded, to which the Winchester snorted.

"I'm not your dad, but if you're going to stay for the night then-"

"Sam!"

The Winchester dodged the sudden slew of winter clothing items being thrown at him with a chuckle (Kevin could have good aim when he wanted to), raising his hands defensively.

"I'm just saying…"

"Sam Winchester, you're a menace!" Kevin exclaimed, but a wide grin spoiled the effect of his words. They both knew Sam was just horsing around, and after making sure Kevin got everything back so he could brave the cold, he sent his friend on his way.

The apartment felt unnaturally quiet, making Sam feel almost awkward. Usually, there was always some sort of commotion, with either Ben playing in the living room or Kevin calling someone or playing video games, but now it was just…quiet.

He'd never really lingered in his own apartment before, what with the Roadhouse and school, but Sam never thought the sense of feeling like a stranger would be this bad. When was the last time he'd actually been here for an extended period of time besides passing out on his bed? Even worse, when was the last time he'd actually done something like watch a movie or play a video game? Surely the dust on his console was just a figment of his imagination.

Right now, I'd be knee-deep in dishes and coffee, not loitering around as if I've never seen the place before.

With a sigh, Sam stepped into the kitchen. He could reacquaint himself with the place later; first, he needed food, and then…

Talk to someone, maybe? He's spoken to Dean on Sunday, and while he'd settled things more or less with his brother, he knew that they'd need a one to one to really hammer things out. They had drifted a bit from each other ever since he started college, and while a lot of it had to do with the circumstances surrounding his original departure from home, he had to admit some of it stemmed from him being stubborn.

Dean may be caught in between him and John, but that didn't mean he was 100% on John's side. He'd reached out to Sam constantly after the original fight to end all fights, and while some of those times he played devil's advocate for John, most times he just wanted to make sure he was alright.

At the end of the day, Dean was still his older brother, so maybe he should focus on that more than how Dean felt about their father.

I'll talk to him after I eat, Sam thought decisively as his stomach growled, I have to talk to him about the sleepwalking anyway.

The idea of discussing the sleepwalking with Dean made Sam feel more than a little worried. Dean would try to put him on lockdown faster than he could say 'The Winchester family business', and Sam frankly didn't have the time for such measures. And when he learned Ben was having issues as well?

Sam winced as he opened the fridge. Dean was many things and believed he was horrible at many other things, but no one could say he was a bad father. He truly cared for Ben, and he knew as long as he and Ben had this strange sleepwalking/prophetic dream issue that Dean would be keeping both his eyes glued to them.

A stale scent Sam had long come to associate with bad leftovers greeted him, and he wrinkled his nose as he peered through the shelves for the culprit.

"Dammit Kevin," he sighed as he spotted the half-open container towards the back, "How many times do I-"

Pain erupted through his head, so quick and blinding that Sam barely had time to stagger backward before the vague smell of leftovers changed to something more intense. It was as if he was suddenly standing in front of an open dumpster or somewhere-

…

Dim. Damp. There was a green-gray cast to his surroundings, which were suddenly made out of cold concrete and grimy blocks. Pipes lined the walls up above in different sizes and shapes, rusting in places and dripping in others. In the distance, Sam could hear the rush of water, and the smell suddenly clicked in his mind.

Sewage.

For whatever reason, the vision (It couldn't be sleepwalking if he hadn't fallen asleep, right?) had transported him here, and judging by the faint traces of black aura he could sense stuck to the shadows, Sam was going to run across Death again.

Great, he thought as he took in his new environment as quickly as he could, All I wanted was to have some dinner, and this is how the universe decides to treat me.

To make matters even worse, he was eleven once more, a quickly forming common denominator that Sam wasn't sure he liked very much now that he'd been thrown into what felt like the lion's den.

A doorway was up ahead, forming a sharp rectangle of muted light at the end of the long hallway. Sam could see the dark aura trail seep from it in the form of low-lying fog, just like it had at Cork's crime scene.

"Only way to go," he muttered to himself. The way behind him was dark and formless, and besides, he needed to see if this vision could provide any useful information on Death.

Approaching the doorway stealthily was easy as long as Sam didn't think of all the horrible things that could possibly await him. The killer's aura was a truly awful, evil thing, and he'd seen how it could morph into whatever shape it wanted, whether it be a mass of shadowy tentacles or a hulking, humanoid monster. If Death could somehow sense he was coming, he was screwed.

Winchesters don't run. Winchesters don't run. Winchesters don't run…

Sam took a quiet but fortifying breath as he came up to the doorway before carefully peeking beyond the frame.

No monstrous aura. No hooded figure. Just a decrepit, but ultimately empty room.

It seemed almost too good to be true, but Sam was too relieved to really care. He took back every bad thing he'd thought about how the universe liked to treat him as he stepped in and began to try and figure out just what this place was to Death.

At first glance, it seemed like an unofficial headquarters. There was a long wooden table pushed up against the wall opposite the doorway, containing everything from books and papers to a very foreboding set of knives carefully laid out in an unwrapped leather case. On the wall above the table, a collection of maps, newspaper articles, pictures, and etc. covered the wall, linked together by plain twine, thumbtacks, and even a knife or two in some places. Sam would have to get closer to see specifics, but the red paint (and he hoped it was just paint) that overlapped some of it gave him more concern.

Enochian covered bits of the board here and there, the runes dripping in some places where it'd been written too thickly. Sam had seen it enough to recognize the language, but he didn't think he'd ever seen the runes…move that way before.

He didn't have a history with Enochian, or at least, he didn't think he did. He certainly didn't know it like Cas and apparently Gabe did, but the language had always given a strange vibe throughout the case. Whether it be through its ancient and shrouded history or some sense of unease at the crime scenes, Sam knew that it wasn't just a randomly picked language.

Looking at it now though, he thought he could truly understand why it was so important to Death. They seemed to pulse with a life of their own, moving just enough for Sam to see. Bits of the runes began to move, as if they were trying to rearrange themselves in a way that he could understand, but watching the process made his head hurt, and the Enochian didn't seem to be having much success.

Sam had to exert a lot more willpower than he'd expected to tear his eyes away from the runes. His head cleared, and the Enochian stopped pulsing, going back to their perfectly average, if creepy, state of being.

"That totally wasn't weird," he muttered, eyeing the wall warily before deciding that looking at the rest of the room would be better than trying to get closer to that mess, "First sleepwalking and visions, and now the Enochian."

Maybe it was just the nature of the dream/vision. After all, he'd seen far stranger things in them before. Deep down, Sam didn't think it was that coincidental, but he could always entertain the possibility.

The rest of the room was about normal in comparison to the giant board of insanity. There was a narrow cot pushed up against the far wall, just past the large table, and a few bags placed at the end of it. A large vent sat above the cot, rattling as it forced new stale air in, and a small bookshelf across the room that contained canned food and drinks. Light came in the form of flickering fluorescent lights overhead and to Sam's horror, a few heavily used black candles that scattered the room.

His horror mounted when he spotted a trapdoor in the corner of the room, nearly hidden by its similar coloring to the floor. Ominous enough on its own, it proved even more foreboding when Sam noticed that the dark fog was seeping out from the trapdoor like some perverted form of dry gas.

If the shit out here creeps me out, there's no telling what the hell is down there.

Trapdoor, or Enochian? Sam suddenly found himself eager to pay more attention to Death's giant gameboard behind him and shuffled back towards the desk. He kept a wary eye on the trapdoor though, promising himself not to let anything sneak up on him from behind.

The sheer amount of information on the board was enough to draw most of Sam's attention. Separating the crazy ramblings of a demented mind from the gold mine of clues he knew were somewhere on the board would be a challenge, but Sam was confident he could glean something. If he could just bring at least one piece of new information to the investigation…

There was a map of LU and around it more detailed maps of specific buildings. Sam could recognize the WM library, the largest dorm building, and the largest academic buildings before his eyes followed the twine strings to new information. He had to crane his neck to look at the very highest reaches of the board due to his sudden lack of height, which was annoying, but the annoyance faded away as he lost himself in the information before him.

A picture of Wilkes, Olsen, and Hoffman was connected to the library. Wilkes' face had been completely scribbled over with Sharpie, but the other two were clear. A picture of Reynold was connected both to the academic building map and, after following the string down, to a picture of Jumpstart Café from the outside.

His victims and the places they're connected to. I find more pictures; I can see who's in his line of sight.

Sam's fingers traced the string in mid-air as he moved down the board, attempting to locate more pictures. It was hard, as the pictures were small, and many papers overlapped each other on the board, not to mention all the other things that were distracting him.

Pictures of Enochian graffiti and what looked like shots of gang members taken from afar littered the board profusely. Articles on rising gang activity and drug busts. A map of the western side of Lawrence, with Kingsford street emphasized and thumbtacks marking numerous locations past it. Phrases scribbled in English that overlapped all of it.

MAKE THEM PURE. CLEANSING RITUALS. EYE FOR AN EYE. ANGELS WILL FALL. HELL IS ON THE MOVE. PURIFY THE KNIVES. PURIFY THE CENTER OF KNOWLEDGE. WING FOR A WING.

Sam hoped he could remember all of this once he snapped out of the vision because he'd hit the jackpot.

He found Cork's picture amongst the mess, but instead of following the string, Sam's eyes skipped over a few inches to find a group picture with certain people's faces circled. Cork wasn't connected to this, but there were three bits of twine that stretched from the group picture.

Sam leaned in closer, hoping he could determine at least where the photo had been taken and felt his mouth go dry when he saw the sign for 'Southview High' just behind the last row of people.

Southview, where Mitchell was killed there. This is a faculty picture.

Just as Sam's eyes began to skim up the twine strings to see who the next potential target might be, he heard the creak of metal hinges behind him.

The half-faded dark fog around his ankles suddenly darkened, and Sam whipped around to see the trapdoor slowly opening. Waves of darkness poured out like ink, spilling out into the room with a faint hiss onto the floor.

More poured out, faster and faster as a ladder creaked somewhere below. Sam was only frozen for a moment by the sudden upsurge of malice before he gathered his wits and forced himself to move towards the door.

The fog thickened and turned into lashing tentacles that tried to slither towards him, but Sam shook them off as he burst through the doorway. The tunnel that had been shadowed before suddenly ended in a brilliant burst of white light, shining like a beacon in comparison to the danger behind him.

Sam barely had time to register the irony of what was before him (light at the end of the tunnel? Really?), before he ran straight into it.

A loud buzzing filled his ears, racing across his skin and sending zinging sparks flying from his fingers. Everything burned white in his sight as his chest grew hot, and Sam thought if he listened closely, the buzz sounded almost like-

…

His phone. Sam was back in his kitchen, standing in front of the counter, with the to-do notepad usually stuck the fridge to his right and his phone vibrating to the left. Dean's face lit up on the screen for a moment longer before his phone stopped vibrating.

Sam exhaled sharply, shaking his tender head carefully as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The vision had ended, but he could still feel the phantom sensation of dirty fog caressing his ankles, and smell the stench of sewage.

It's over now. You're back in the kitchen, and you didn't even do anything weird like try to drown yourself in the bathtub.

"That's always a plus," he muttered to himself, before looking down at the notepad.

Messy, but clearly identifiable Enochian looked back, scribbled down with no regard whatsoever to the lines. The only word in English was at the very bottom, written hard enough to tear through the paper.

OLSEN.

It's no bathtub, but this definitely falls under weird.

Sam's phone began to vibrate again, and he picked it up in a bit of a daze as he continued to stare at the Enochian.

"Sammy? Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to reach you, and Lisa's been telling me-"

"I know," Sam said simply, picking up the notepad. He noted that he'd lost about half an hour of time in the vision, but his mind was more preoccupied with the fact that the Enochian seemed to be moving again on the paper.

"…Sammy? Are you OK?"

The runes were definitely trying to rearrange themselves, and Sam tilted his head to follow the motion.

"Not really," he replied honestly, "We need to talk."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This chapter... I honestly don't even have words. I rewrote the chase scene alone 4 times because it didn't feel right, but here we are.

I've graduated high school, thank the stars. Since my last update, life has been hectic, but things are in limbo right now with summer. Hopefully, I can get some more writing done.

Also, for Lost in the Wind, who asked about Sam's aura! I can give a partial answer in that yes, he doesn't see his own aura, but the reasons will be delved into later. He never says it in the story, but it's implied through the lack of its mention. If anyone has any questions, you can always review!