Dean glanced around, ensuring that the hallway was still empty before he set to work on the lock. It was an embarrassingly simple one that he could have picked at twelve, with his eyes closed. That was fitting. Dean hadn't seen anything beyond the door that had been much worth protecting. Crouched over the lock he deftly worked the bobby pins against the tumblers until a soft click signaled his success.
He pocketed the makeshift lock pick and eased the door open. All current craziness considered he wouldn't have been surprised to discover Bobby's living room or even Taj Mahal inside. For once, however, it seemed that his memories had held up. Gi's shoebox of an apartment was just as he remembered it.
It was encouraging, a sign that he might still have the element of surprise in his favor. He retrieved the stake, shoddily fashioned from a branch poached from a local park, from where he'd left it near his knee, and stood. Ghost like he crossed the threshold and moved across the floor in the shallow light.
Gi was sprawled on the sofa, either asleep or passed out. Dean made his way over until he stood looking down at the sleeping form, regarding it with contempt. This sorry son of a bitch had made the biggest mistake of its long, troublesome life, and now it was going to pay.
With a swift, well practiced motion Dean clamped a hand over Gi's mouth, while the other pressed the stake to the boy's skinny chest. Gi startled awake. Panicked eyes looked questioningly up at Dean as one hand groped clumsily at Dean's arm.
"Uh-uh, you don't want to do that." Dean warned him, prodding his captive's chest with the point of the stake. "Feel that?" he asked menacingly, "That's oak, locally grown, might be organic. I'm not sure, really don't care." Gi let his hand fall away, fearful, questioning eyes focused on Dean.
"Now, you'd be dead already," Dean explained, "if I didn't need some answers. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to ask, and you're going to answer. You give me any trouble," he applied a bit of pressure to the stake, "and maybe I decide I don't need those answers all that much. You understand the rules?"
Gi nodded, eyes wide. A muffled response escaped from under Dean's hand.
"Good," Dean said coolly, "that's going to make this go a whole lot smoother for both of us. Now, where is Sam?" He moved his hand from Gi's mouth, lowering it to take a hold of his throat.
Gi sputtered, "Dean! What the hell?"
"Yeah, that's another thing," Dean dug his thumb into the side of Gi's neck, letting him feel the pressure against his windpipe. "You almost called me that yesterday. So what's up with you knowing my name when I never dropped it?"
"It came to me!" Gi blurted, panic in his voice, "It just came to me, psychic, remember? I didn't say anything cause I didn't want to freak you out! Sometimes people aren't really expecting the real thing! That's it, I swear!"
Dean regarded his prisoner, studying his expression and manner. The kid was making a good show of being legitimately scared to death. Tricksters were masters of deception and mimicry. "Where's Sam?" he asked again in a no nonsense tone.
"Who is Sam?" Gi wailed, confusion and fear twisting his features.
"Wrong answer," Dean snarled, pressing down, threatening to pierce the skin on the boy's scrawny chest.
"Dude, look at me!" Gi pleaded, "Don't you think if I had any idea what you're talking about, I'd spill?" Seriously, I don't know any Sam. I don't...oh god, please don't kill me."
Dean felt his resolve waver. This could be a trick, probably was, but he couldn't be sure He couldn't trust his instincts right now, and he sure couldn't end up staking some innocent kid because he hadn't been one hundred percent.
"Damn it," he muttered, pulling the stake away. Gi let out a stuttering sigh of relief. "Sit up," Dean ordered frustrated with the situation. "Here, drink this. It'll help." he scavenged a likely flat, half full beer bottle from the spool table and offered it.
Gi took the bottle with a trembling hand, wiping the back of the other across his eyes. "Seriously, Dude," he squeaked out, "what the actual hell?"
A sick feeling stabbed at Dean's gut, "You really don't know anything, do you? About what's going on with me?" It was more of an observation that a question.
Gi finished draining the bottle, "What could I know? I barely got a read on you yesterday, and you made a big boss battle out of that."
Dean had the good grace to look embarrassed, "I thought...you know what, forget it. I made a mistake."
"You think?" Gi snapped.
"OK," Dean got to his feet, "good talk, you probably want to be calling the cops now, so I'll just head out."
"Dude, sit down," Gi said, sounding resigned, "I'm not calling the cops."
"No, really, I…" Dean started to protest.
"Dude, sit down!" Gi repeated. The firm tone sounded odd coming out of him. "Something, something big, is obviously up with you." he continued. "I figure I can help you with it or wait until your next mistake and my next midnight wake up call from The Rake, so sit."
Dean considered his options. They were pretty meager. He'd been chasing his own tail for a week now, and all he'd accomplished was getting himself so tangled up that he'd broken in on and almost staked what could be just an innocent kid. He needed help, and as flaky as this maybe/maybe not psychic skater dude was, he was offering to help. "What the hell," he surrendered and took a seat on the worn sofa.