Legion

a/n: finally! The speed of my progress is only evidence of my nonexistent computer savvy-ness. Thanks for the reviews! I've never done this before and they made me quite happy.

disclaimer:

I know how to rhyme

I can do it on a dime

So let me just tell you,

That Supernatural is not mine.


Chapter Two

Sam was jolted back to his reality before he was really sure it had happened. A remnant of the demonic emotions still clung to his mind's eye like an overexposed photograph. The only thing that made him certain of his whereabouts was the presence of Dean leaning over him. A protective hand gripped his shoulder- the anchor to keep him from slipping back to that nigh unreachable chasm of near consciousness.

He must have still been wearing an uneasy expression because Dean asked, "Hey man, you okay?"

Sam snapped his head at the direction of his brother's concerned voice as if only just realizing he was in control of his body.

"I'm fine," he quickly stammered, but even he could hear the unsubtle traces of dread that still lingered within the words.

Dean merely raised an eyebrow and sat down at the table, his disbelief clearly visible. He still could not comprehend why his little brother liked to go on pretending he was just peachy when Dean always knew better, and Sam knew he knew better.

He waited in silence for Sam to recount his vision as he always did so he could drag Dean out at the speed of light quantified to go tramping across the country no matter the time or weather to save someone a grisly fate.

Heroic? Yes.

Their job? Yes.

Suitable for three A.M. on a blizzarding winter night? No.

Tonight, dean would opt for staying in their dilapidated little motel room and possibly saving their own lives. Nature doesn't care who it kills, not even supernatural crime fighters.

However, the silence persisted. Sam seemed content to scrutinize the tabletop as if he were expecting the Mona Lisa to start forming itself right in front of his eyes.

Dean cleared his throat rather obnoxiously. "Well?"

Sam acted like he was yet again surprised by his existence and asked, "Well what?"

The elder Winchester sighed, What was wrong with him?

"Well, what did you see, Sam?"

"It…it was weird," came the distant reply.

Dean almost laughed. "Well I don't know if you've noticed yet, little brother," he said, "but everything we do- heck, everything about us is weird."

"Not everything." The reply was made a bit more defensive than possibly intended, and Sam resumed his table examination.

Dean put his hands behind his head and leaned back in the chair. You didn't have to be a genius to know that something was wrong. Sometimes Sam was as moody as a teenage girl with PMS, but this was just ridiculous.

His brotherly instincts were kicking into full gear, and they didn't like it. The visions, the headaches, Sam's general discomfort, he hated it all. Mostly because he could barely do anything to help. Unless Sam let him of course, but the names Winchester and Stubborn as a Pregnant Donkey, were practically synonyms. So, basically all Dean could do was get angry and kill stuff like it was their fault his brother was the effin' martyr. Who's ever fault it is shall die, Dean would see to it personally. Catharsis is good for the soul.

But the present problem was more pressing. Something had seriously freaked Sam out, and mind you, that was hard to do considering their nightlives. He was subjected to Dean's penetrating stare, the latter whom could only wonder what these visions were doing to the former's head. It was unsettling how out of character he was, how distracted. He really didn't seem to want to talk about it, Sam, who so firmly believed that conversation was the common cure. Like that would happen.

"Well, all right then." Dean's strong voice once again splintered through the silence. "We could sit here counting wood grains all night, but that's not exactly what I'd call a good time. Not that there's much more to offer in this fine establishment."

He stopped long enough so Sam would look at him again before continuing.

"So, on the Winchester Weirdness Scale of negative five to ten?"

"Eleven."

"Ooh, that was cliché, it must be terrible." His attempts to lighten the mood and have Sam spill his guts were proving futile.

"Sam," Dean spoke more urgently this time, "If something's gonna happen, I have to know, be it the Apocalypse or otherwise."

"I know, Dean," said Sam in a subdued tone, "and it wasn't that."

"It wasn't me dying again was it?"

"No."

"Then what did you see?"

"Well, nothing really."

Sam furrowed his brow in thought as Dean took on a look of perplexion.

"What are you trying to say, was it an invisible demon?"

Sam's lips twitched into a quick grin. "I don't think so. Listen, could I just explain it all in the morning? I need some time, and I'm really, really tired." He massaged the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.

Dean let slide the fact that it already was morning and sighed again. The kid did look exhausted.

"Yeah, all right."

Sam's headache was gone, if only by some godly intervention, but he took the aspirin just incase.

"I think it was at a school or something," said Sam as Dean battled with the motel issue coffee maker. "All I could make out was a sign for the library."

"Uh-huh," his brother replied. He was paying as much attention as he could while trying to defeat the coffee making menace. "Dammit! This frickin' coffee better be worth it!"

The two had slept a grand total of five hours and a little pick-me-up wouldn't hurt. They'd woken up that fine morning to find themselves snowed it. There was practically four feet of the white stuff for every square inch. The weatherman said it was the biggest storm since eighteen- whatever. A few crazies were out and about, but everything else for miles around was closed.

"Ah-ha!" shouted Dean jubilantly sticking the coffee pot in its place.

Still grinning he sat down at the table with Sam who looked at him quizzically.

"What?"

"Nothing," said Sam shaking his head.

Dean turned on the laptop. "I hope we don't get too hungry today." He said this as though the thought of starving in a snowed in motel room amused him. The brothers hadn't bothered stocking up on supplies, Dean being an avid non-believer of all those in suits standing in front of green screens with goofy looking faces, and they sure would have the time of their lives trying to find an open store that did.

"Did you hear a word I said?" asked Sam skeptically.

"Oh, I heard every one them Sam, but that doesn't mean I get it. So, now you're some kind of demon psychologist?"

"No, not exactly. I think I felt what it was feeling so I would know that its here. It probably hasn't done anything yet that would normally warrant our attention. I'm guessing I just got a more advanced warning. And whatever it is, its real bad, Dean."

"Must be to have freaked you out like that."

"Yeah…"

Sam had gotten over the trauma enough to tell Dean about the vision, but still. Mental wounds always take longer to heal.

"It was probably just a one time thing." Sam tried to console himself.

"Yeah, like moving half a ton of wood and china," said Dean staring at the screen of the laptop.

Sam did not understand him sometimes. Was he trying to make him feel better, or worse?

The computer beeped as Dean's search came up. "Okay, the schools in this area: two elementary, one junior, and one high. Man, this a small place."

He shut the laptop and saw his brother looking at him expectantly. "Well, get your snowsuit on Sammy, school's out."

The coffee maker dinged, right on cue.