center Chapter Three /center
As Sam aimed the gun at his brother's chest and pulled the trigger, watched the bullet enter Dean's body, shatter his heart, and explode out the other side, he knew he was dreaming. These are how his dreams went. It had been a while since he'd had one like this. After Roosevelt Asylum, they used to be a nightly ritual. But they had been dreams. Nightmares of what had already happened. This dream, though, was different. It was different in a way that Sam could hear the gunshot, could feel the backlash, could smell and taste the gunpowder. It was different in the way that when Dean's body hit the ground, his eyes staring lifelessly up at Sam in a sort of shocked, horrified, deadly manner, Sam could feel the emotions instead of standing by idly and watching. It was different in the way that Sam knew this wasn't an ordinary dream. This was a vision. And he was going to shoot his brother.
The scary thing was, once Dean's body hit the ground, dead, the vision wasn't over. Sam didn't jerk awake or suddenly come back to awareness like he normally did. He just stood there, staring at his brother. His dead, lifeless brother. The one he had killed. The one he had shot point blank in the chest, maliciously, violently, purposefully, without hesitation. And what scared Sam more than that, more than anything, was that, though he was sad his brother was gone, he could tell that those emotions didn't belong with the vision. They were his emotions crossing over into the vision. Because the Sam that held the gun, the Sam that felt so foreign to him, wasn't crying. He wasn't weeping and running to Dean and begging for him to wake up. He wasn't scooping the lifeless body into his arms and screaming for help, for God, for John. He wasn't doing anything but standing there, looking like it was a shame he had to kill Dean. It was a shame Dean was dead, but it wasn't the heartbreaking, gut paralyzing fear and horror that the real Sam was feeling. And Sam hated this vision.
Then Dean faded away and Sam was alone in the darkness. It was laughing at him. Laughing with a cruel, deep, throaty laugh. A laugh that made one Sam cringe and the other smile. And there was horror and there was pain and Sam wept and cried and laughed and smiled. And he as torn in two. Two Sams and one dead Dean.
center /center
Sam jolted awake, his head hitting the glass of the passenger side window. He blinked away the lingering darkness of the vision and then reached a hand up to rub at his temples. God, that had been awful. His heart was still pounding, but the accompanying headache was fading as he rubbed at his head. He wished he could push away the images. He could still see Dean's blood spreading out around his lifeless body. He'd looked so afraid. And those eyes, dear god those eyes.
"You alright there?" Dean's voice broke through the haze and the images faded altogether. Sam put his hand down and turned to face his brother, who was watching the road, but throwing glances in his direction. Great, Dean was going to love this one.
"Yeah," Sam said quietly, sitting up and clearing his throat. "Just a dream," he whispered, taking one last deep breath to calm himself. He wished it was just a dream.
Dean gave him a look that said he didn't really believe him. Sam just ignored him and leaned into the backseat, plucking his laptop up, intent on busying himself with research about the murders. He had a feeling that they needed to be as prepared as possible for this one, because there was no way he was going to let that vision come true. No fucking way.
"A dream, huh?" Dean asked, his eyes moving to the rearview mirror, where they stayed for longer than they should have. Sam winced. And then there was that whole thing. He knew it was connected somehow. Though he still felt that whatever was making Dean do these things wasn't something they should fear, he still couldn't help but shake the thought that maybe they were connected to his vision somehow. Maybe they'd been too quick to push aside the thought that Dean was in danger. "Dream as in Paris Hilton and a hot tub or dream as in screaming chicks and fires?"
Sam sighed and resisted the urge to tell his brother that he could be an insensitive bastard sometimes. He knew Dean wasn't trying to be insensitive. Heck, he didn't even really know if it was insensitivity. It just still hurt to hear it said like that. That screaming chick had been Jess, or their Mom. But Dean knew that. That's probably why he said stuff like that. Would it have sounded any better if he'd said, 'your dead girlfriend and fires?' or 'our dead mother and fires?' Sam supposed that what he thought was slight insensitivity was actually Dean's way of making things seem not so real, no so horrible. His brother had seen enough horrible things in his life. There had to come a point where he either had to joke about it or cry. Sam wasn't to that point yet. He was getting there, especially now that he was back in the hunt with his brother, but he still had a ways to go.
"Actually it was a dream about you," Sam gave honestly, choosing to ignore the remark. Dean's eyebrows rose at that and a slow grin spread across his face.
"I don't know whether I'd prefer the hot tub or the fires with that one," Dean joked. Sam couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. He didn't answer his brother, though, instead he opened up his laptop and hacked into the wireless internet, hoping Dean would just move on. But really, he didn't expect that to happen. He knew his brother better than that. "So, what'd you see?" Dean asked.
Sam shrugged. "It's nothing," he said, trying to sound like he really meant it. After a few seconds when Dean didn't say anything, he glanced over at him and saw he was giving Sam the look. The "stop bullshitting me" look. Sam sighed. "It's nothing because it's not going to happen."
"Sam…" Dean warned. They'd had this conversation before and Sam knew his brother wasn't going to put up with it much longer. There were few times when Dean got irritated enough to bypass all humor and wit and go straight for the jugular. This was one of those times. When it came to visions, no skirting the issue.
With another sigh, Sam ran a hand over his face. Finally, he just blurted out, "I shot you."
The car was quiet for a moment. Sam glanced at his brother, but Dean was just staring at the road, a pensive look on his face. He could practically see the gears turning in Dean's head, processing the information. After a while, Dean chewed the side of his cheek and asked, "And I'm assuming this time your boyfriend Ellicott wasn't involved."
"No," Sam said with a reluctant shake of the head. "This was different." He saw Dean's brow furrow and was quick to add, "But I'm not going to let it happen. There's no way I'd shoot you, under any circumstances."
Dean chuckled and Sam frowned, wanting to know what was so funny. "Would you have said that six months ago?" Dean asked cockily. Sam bit his lip. Yes, he would have. But six months ago, they hadn't even heard of Roosevelt Asylum. And he'd shot his brother then. Granted it was with rock salt, but he'd still shot him. And Dean had still handed him a gun and if it hadn't been empty, he would have killed his brother. Killed him. It was still one of Sam's worse memories. Yeah, Ellicott was messing with his head, but it wasn't Ellicott's finger that had pulled the trigger. It wasn't Ellicott's voice that had told Dean he was pathetic and a good little soldier. It wasn't Ellicott's decisions to pull the trigger on that empty gun four different times, hoping there'd be at least one bullet. Just one. That's all he would have needed.
"Dean…"
"Did you see anything else?" Dean cut him off before Sam could say anything. He watched the side of Dean's face for a second, saw him glance in the rearview mirror again, linger there, then look back at the road. What was happening to them?
"No," he said at last. "It was dark." He didn't tell him about the emotions he'd felt, about the guiltless shame there had been. He didn't think Dean would understand that. He didn't even understand that. He was about to go on, tell him about where he shot him and how the darkness took over after that, but Dean suddenly frowned and smacked his lips, licking his teeth and the inside of his mouth. Dean looked confused. "What's wrong?" Sam asked, worried now.
Dean glanced at him and then back at the road. He looked hesitant to say anything. But he continued smacking his lips and said, "My mouth tastes funny." Sam watched him closely for a minute, quickly looking him over for any sign that something was wrong. He didn't see anything.
"What?" he finally got out, watching Dean's face. He didn't look too disturbed, so it couldn't be anything too horrible.
Sam didn't expect the answer he got. "It's kinda like…" Dean paused for a minute, his nose turning up. "Grape bubblegum."
"Grape bubblegum?" Sam repeated, surprised.
"Yeah," Dean answered with a disgusted look.
Sam stared at him. Just stared. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he realized he didn't know what to say. His lips were twitching, cheeks begging to break into a grin. He bit his tongue for a minute, not a time to laugh. But the serious look on his brother's face was just too much. Okay, perfect time to laugh. Sam had to turn away as he started to chuckle. It got so bad that he had to put a hand to his face to keep from busting out laughing. He knew half of the humor was due to the lack of humorous situations lately, but also, he was just way too relieved to hear his brother say that. He'd expected blood or sulfur or ozone. But bubblegum? The thought nearly pushed him over the edge and he bit his lip though his shoulders were shaking with laughter.
Dean shot a glare at Sam. "You laugh at my peril?" he asked incredulously, though Sam could hear in his brother's voice that he was only half heartedly scolding him. Sam knew the other half wanted to laugh just as much as he did.
"Dean," Sam said, turning to look at him only to have to look away again as he started cracking up. He took a deep breath and calmed himself before looking back. "Your peril is your mouth tastes like grape gum."
"Exactly," Dean said, exasperated. "I've never like grape." And he'd said it with such seriousness that Sam couldn't control it anymore. He laughed. Outright laughed. After the vision he'd just had, one of the most horrible he'd ever had, this seemed like the most hilarious thing in the world. They were at such opposite ends of the spectrum that Sam was almost happy to have had this happen. It alleviated some of his fears about the vision, though he knew he still had to deal with it. "Well, I'm glad you find my discomfort so hilarious," Dean grumbled, smacking his lips again. But Sam could see that smile creeping onto Dean's lips. He was relieved. It seemed that lately there weren't many moments like this, where they could laugh at themselves and push away their worries for a time. In fact, Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd heard his brother actually laugh. Not a chuckle, not a joking grin, but an outright laugh. It had been a while. A long while. Long enough for Sam to be unable to picture it or recall what it even sounded like.
"All right Bubbalicious," Sam said, garnering a playful sneer from his brother. "Back to those murders."
"Yes, please," Dean said exaggeratedly. "Give me something to take my mind off this taste."
Sam grinned and scrolled through the article. "Seven teenagers. They all died within three days of each other. It says that after the first one died, the rest of them seemed scared but wouldn't talk to anyone. They were all friends, good students, active in the community." Sam paused to read through a little bit more. They playfulness was starting to disappear. They were back to business. "Each of them were found with their throats slashed. Some had multiple stab wounds, a couple looked like they'd been beaten up beforehand. And…oh, here's where we come in. When they were found, all of their eyes were pitch black."
Dean thought for a minute. "Could be a demon," he said.
"Maybe," Sam agreed, scrolling through more of the gruesome details. "Could be a lot of things."
"No one saw or heard anything?" Dean asked, merging into the right lane, getting ready to take an exit to the town they were headed to.
Sam gave a long, "Uh," before saying, "There was one witness. A sister to one of the kids that died. It says the police weren't able to get much out of her and she had to be moved to Portage Independent Psychiatric Care Center." Sam looked up at that. "Sounds like we should talk to her."
"Key to this job," Dean nodded. "Always start with the loonies."
"Says the loony," Sam said before he could stop himself. He winced and looked up at his brother, but to his utter relief, Dean was actually grinning at the comment. Sam let out a quiet breath. Censor yourself, Sam. "It says her name is Cecily Fiesher."
"Where's the care center?" Dean asked, taking the exit off the highway and waiting for Sam to tell him where to go.
Sam pulled up the map and smiled at their luck. "Turn right, go straight for about ten miles and it's on the left."
Dean did as he was told and Sam scrolled through the article one more time, making sure he didn't miss anything important. Although they'd had that little break of hilarity, the bad feelings were starting to come back. He kept picturing his vision, Dean getting shot, himself holding the gun. They'd be able to stop it. They had to be able to stop it. He wouldn't go through that again. Not shooting his own brother and not having Dean come so close to death. It was getting ridiculous how many times his brother had almost died in the past few months. Ridiculous to a point that Sam thought their luck would be running out soon. He just hoped not this soon.
Dean pulled the car up in front of a building and turned off the engine. Sam ducked his head to look out the window at it. It looked pleasant enough. A nice stone sign out front with gold lettering. Flowers everywhere. The center itself looked like a quaint little house that had been remodeled into the building it was today. They got out of the car and Sam walked around, ready to go inside, but stopped when he realized Dean was still leaning against the car, looking at the house, confusion on his face.
"What is it?" Sam asked, coming back to him.
Dean gave a surprised, "Huh," and nodded his head towards the house. "It's a blue house."
Sam waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn't, he leaned forward and looked at his brother's face. Dean didn't seem to notice. "Uh, yeah, it is," Sam agreed, wondering what was going through his brother's mind. He had a distant look to his eyes.
"With white shutters," Dean said next. Sam chewed his lip and looked at the house. Was he supposed to find that interesting?
Sam frowned. "You, uh, taking an interest in Home and Garden?"
Dean didn't even look at him. He just gave a calm, "No," and shoved off the car, walking towards the door. Sam watched him for a second, wondering if he should suggest Dean stay in the car. He didn't think they'd let them talk to the sister if they didn't think they were credible. And if Dean said weird shit like that inside, not only would they think he wasn't credible, they may give him a room.
Running to catch up with his brother, Sam followed him inside and over towards a desk at the right side of the room. A woman in a flowered dress sat there. Her smile was too fake for Sam's liking. "How can I help you?" she chirped cheerily. She looked like she was on a caffeine overdose.
"Hi," Sam said when he realized Dean was looking around the room, not answered. "We're looking for a Cecily Fiesher."
"Do you have an inpatient visitation form?" the woman asked, her voice happy but her eyes told Sam differently.
"Uh," Sam smiled, turning on the charm. "We didn't know we needed one. You see, we're friends of the family and we just wanted to stop by and see how Cecily was doing. Terrible thing what happened."
The woman eyed him for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, it is," she agreed at last. "Look, I can't personally let you in to see her without a visitation form. But her mother is upstairs with her right now and if she says it's okay, then you're free to see her."
"Upstairs?" Sam asked.
"Yes, room four."
"Thank you," Sam grinned and the woman smiled back.
Sam followed Dean, who was already heading towards the stairs, and they found room four pretty easily. Dean was quiet and he kept looking around like he was trying to remember something about the place. Sam didn't think he would, they'd never been here before, as far as he knew. Unless Dean came here when Sam was at college, but wouldn't he have remembered it?
The door to the room opened before Sam had a chance to knock and a woman stepped out. She had blonde hair and was wearing a tank top and jeans. Her face was red and there were dark circles under her eyes. It was obvious she hadn't slept in days. Sam and Dean stood still for a moment as she jumped and put a hand to her heart. She took a breath and smiled. "You scared me," she admitted.
"Sorry," Sam smiled warmly. "Are you Mrs. Fiesher?" he chanced.
She looked surprised at that. "Yes," she answered. "Carol." She didn't give Sam time to introduce them. "Look, this isn't a very good time. Do you work for a paper or something? Because I could give you a call later, but right now is just not a good time for this."
Sam felt like an ass for doing this, but there was no other way. They had to talk to the sister. "We were actually hoping we could get a chance to talk to Cecily."
Carol paused for a moment, looking between the both of them, her mouth partly open. She started to say something when the door to the room pushed open a littler further. Carol stepped back and looked down. A small girl stepped out of the room. Her blonde hair was in pigtails and she held a Raggedy Ann doll in one hand. She couldn't have been older than four. Sam felt his heart constrict. She was the witness? God, she was so young to see something like this happen.
"Cecily," Carol said, kneeling down in front of her daughter. "Why don't you go back inside, honey. You can…"
But Cecily wasn't listening. She'd turned her head to eye Sam and Dean. When she looked at Dean, a wide smile spread across her face. Then, surprising all three of them, she went to Dean and wrapped her arms around his legs, hugging them tightly. Dean glanced at Sam, who gave him a questioning look.
"Dean," Cecily said and that drew all of the attention to her. Sam started. How the hell had she known Dean's name? Cecily pulled back a little and looked back up at Dean, her face still happy and calm.
"Cecily?" Carol asked quietly, looking up at Dean with an almost accusatory look in her eyes. But the little girl ignored her and what she said next had Dean forgetting about the entire world and focusing only on the beautiful, wide blue eyes that looked up at him.
"You found me."