May 13, 2006
Every night a new nightmare, every morning a new death. Each one seemed more horrible than the last. On Thursday Sam had awoken and physically vomited onto his comforter after watching a family of four die in a car accident. When the news reported that the incident had happened less than ten minutes after he had woken up, he threw up a second time, this time ruining an area rug.
What the fuck is going on? Am I somehow causing people to die? Am I dreaming deaths and making them happen for real?! Sam anxiously held a cup of tea as he sat in his dining room, staring out the back window into the average-looking fenced-in lawn. If I tell anyone they'll think I'm nuts, or some sort of super-creative serial killer… He took a sip, but I have to tell someone! Maybe Dean? Sam bit his cheek. He and Dean were relatively close; having grown closer as they grew up, but they weren't exactly best friends. Dean was an athlete and insanely focused on his job, which usually meant that he had no free time to hang out. Even as kids the age gap had meant that Dean had other friends. It's worth a shot…
Sam pulled out his phone and dialed Dean's number, surprisingly getting an answer, "Hey, what's up?"
Sam hesitated, how the hell do you say 'I think I'm killing people with my dreams?', "I wanted to see if you could hang out. Mark's out of town on business and Linda's busy with Tim getting ready for their baby so I don't have any of my regular weekend go-tos available."
"Always the back-up." Dean smirked, knowing well enough it wasn't meant maliciously, "Well, you're lucky, they cancelled my rugby game this afternoon so I'm free. What do you want to do?"
"Maybe lunch?"
"If you're buying. Teachers salaries don't pay for much." Dean quipped.
"I'll buy dessert." Sam offered, well aware of Dean's weakness.
"Alright. I'll text you in a bit, I've gotta go, Duncan needs a spotter."
Gert and Cal's Diner was a small greasy spoon on the edge of Lawrence. The silver 1950s building had a certain charm to it, but the real appeal was the food. Everything was soaked in butter or lard-and it was delicious. Even the normally health-conscious Sam salivated when entering the undeniable aroma that seeped out of the kitchen.
It was a bit before three when the two sat down at a booth in the back of the half-empty diner. A waitress gave them menus, and Dean gave her a wink as the brothers started paging through the options.
"I definitely won't have to take any insulin tonight with this menu…" Sam muttered, noticing that everything was loaded with sugar in addition to being saturated in fat and butter.
"How is that going?" Dean asked, looking up from the menu. Sam had recently been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes and had been struggling with maintaining everything as a result.
"Better, thankfully they finally got my dosage worked out. Being a giant doesn't make it easy on them." He joked, knowing the many struggles that came with being tall.
"Good." Dean nodded, even if they weren't super close, Dean still did care quite a bit about his younger brother's health and well being.
"So-I'm going to say something and I want you to promise not to judge me." Sam said, the anxiety visible in his eyes.
Dean raised an eyebrow, "Okay…" If he's gay I totally called it.
"I'm having visions of people dying and it's happening not long afterward. I know I sound crazy, but it's really happening." Sam whispered, checking to make sure no one else nearby would hear.
Dean's eyes widened, "How often are you having… visions?"
"Every night. Last night was a guy who got cut in half by a malfunctioning elevator."
"Aside from insulin, is there any other medications you're on?" Dean asked, okay. Maybe something's reacting with that and causing weird dreams. Dad got some messed up dreams when they switched his anti-depressants a few years ago.
"No. Dean, this isn't some messed up fever dream. It's some weird ESP type thing."
"ESP? Like Madame Cleo?" Dean was incredulous.
"No. Yes. Maybe? Look," Sam inhaled, "spend the night with me and I'll prove it. One night."
"Fine. But if weird shit happens I'm blaming you."
Sam woke up at 2:47 am and grabbed the trashcan he'd started keeping next to his bed. This one had been the worst yet. Dean was by his side holding the basket within seconds, gently rubbing his brother's back as he looked on in concern. After Sam finished retching into the wicker basket he wiped off his mouth and looked over at Dean.
"What happened?" Dean asked.
"A little girl-she was…" Sam held back another wave of nausea, "…a man killed her. I watched him do it."
Dean was silent, sitting beside the bed as he looked in his brother's watering eyes. Shit. He really thinks this is going to happen and he has something to do with it. "Sammy, get some sleep. In the morning I bet everything will be fine."
"Dean, every time I see someone die it happens. Doesn't that mean there's something wrong with me?!"
"Look, it could be a coincidence. I guarantee in the morning nothing will be in the news. It's just some freaky patterns your brain is coming up with or something… Get some sleep and it'll all be over soon."
