June 3, 2006
Great. I get to waste an afternoon and a couple hundred bucks as a stranger asks me a bunch of personal questions to try and "fix me". I damn well know what's going on… I have demon blood in my system. Which is totally NOT okay. But Bobby says that there's nothing I can do to change that now. And Dean-my overprotective ass of a brother-thinks it's all in my head. Sam sighed as he placed his head on the steering wheel as he sat in the parking lot of the medical building where he had an appointment in half an hour. I'm literally hell spawn. Somehow I'm unclean beyond the normal limits for humans and have literal demon blood in my system. I mean, I could be the fucking Anti-Christ! Sam tensed at that thought. No, I'm not evil. It's just some weird thing. Bobby says there isn't a way to fix it, but I'm not giving up on that. I'm going to fight the dreams and figure out how to get over it. Hell be damned, I'm staying human and not doing any demonic shit! I've been good my entire life, and I'm not changing now.
Sam pulled his head from the wheel and cracked his neck. "Alright. Let's get this over with."
"So I guess you're wondering why I'm here. Well, for one thing my brother made the appointment and made me come." Sam stared at the ecru ceiling as he reclined in the large couch across from the bespectacled woman taking notes. "But, you know what-screw it-you can't legally tell anyone else what I say unless it's a threat to others, so I might as well be honest. Because if you think I'm crazy, I might well be. It's no worse than being part demon after all!" He glared at his own words, "The supernatural is real. My friend Bobby-who is a real person, Dean can vouch for that-is a hunter and he tracks down creatures and monsters to keep us normal people safe. He ran a few tests and found out I have demon blood in me."
The woman adjusted her glasses as she looked up a moment, "Demon blood?"
"Yeah. Apparently its different than human blood. Look, all I know is apparently I have it in me, so that's just something I have to live with right now."
"And this demon blood-does it do anything?" She had flipped to a new page.
"It lets me see into the future, but only glimpses, and only deaths." Sam shivered at the memories etched into his mind.
"Do you know the people who are dying?"
"No. They're just random people. But all the deaths are painful." He exhaled, "I wake up vomiting most of the time. There's a lot of blood usually in the visions, and I don't like that."
"How do you know these deaths are from the future?"
"They usually show up in the news early the next day. I stopped looking after the first few. It helps not to know who they were, somehow it makes the pain less."
The woman adjusted her posture, folding her legs as she repositioned her notepad, "Sam does your family have a history of mental disorders?"
"Not that I'm aware of, but my birth parents have been dead for decades." He looked downward as he mumbled.
"I'm sorry-I didn't mean any offense. But given everything you've been describing I'm concerned you may be experiencing some sort of hallucinations. Given your age and relative health prior to this I am concerned it could be genetic." She placed the pad down. "In any case, I want you to keep a dream journal. Detail everything you see and experience in your dreams. I want you to discuss it with someone you trust. A sounding board can help process what you are experiencing and lessen the trauma it might cause." She ripped off a sheet of paper, "And with your permission I would like to have you start a dosage of risperidone. It's an anti-hallucinogen."
Sam sat in silence thinking a moment before he responded. Drugs. An anti-hallucinogen. I'm not crazy-but only crazy people don't realize they aren't crazy… Maybe Dean is right and I am just having some mental issues. Bobby could be right too, though. Honestly, they both might be. I could have demon blood and still have mental issues! "Okay. I'll try it."
"Good. I'd like to make a follow up appointment in two weeks to discuss your progress with the journal and prescription. If for any reason you start having more vivid hallucinations or start to feel overly tired or depressed, please call my office."
Fourty-eight minutes later Sam looked at the small bottle of pills he had picked up at the pharmacy. The little yellow pills rattled around in the orange bottle as he picked it up. 4 milligrams once a day with food. Great. I'm fucking 23 and I already have two long-term prescriptions. Even if I'm not crazy this still sucks. Sam folded his hands as he sat at the table, gazing out the window into the sun-lit yard. God, please help me to get through this. I need some serious help.
