Disclaimer: The voices in my head reckon Supernatural is mine. The voices in my head are delusional.

Warning: Getting into the gore a bit here. Not too bad. But then T.V. has desensitized me. No worse than the man's hand in the sink during 'Home'. Now that was gross. Oh, and when the perspective switches in this chapter, it goes back in time like five seconds too. Just wanted you to know.

Author's Note: Do you know there are some lovely people out there? I'm talking to you, my beautiful reviewers. Hope you enjoy this next happy chappie and have fun.


Chapter 4: Reliving the Past

The small house was deserted, but the road out front was surprisingly busy for such a small town. Dean parked the Impala a few houses down and the brothers walked the rest of the distance. While Dean looked out, Sam picked the lock.

The cottage belonged, or had belonged, to Lucy Taylor, the grandmother Archer had been accused of killing. The inside was tidy, well cleaned after the mess left by the attack, but hopefully with plenty of supernatural 'evidence' ready for Sam and Dean to study.

"So what do you make of Archer?" Dean asked, speaking loudly so Sam would hear from the room over. They were searching and scanning different rooms with their oh so cool toys.

"I think he's the real deal," Sam half-yelled back.

"And what about all these psychics? Think they're the real deal?" The lounge was empty.

"I think they're the reason Dad has this place circled in his journal," was the reply.

Dean moved into the kitchen, frowning. He thought the same thing. About Archer as well, sadly. The man's warning to Sam had sounded ominous.

"Think we should talk to those other two Archer mentioned?" he moved back down the hallway, giving a quick glance up the hallway where Sam had gone.

"They don't remember. But maybe we-."

There was no thump, no bang. Sam just cut off.

"Sam?" Dean started heading the way his little brother had gone. There was no answer. "Sammy!"

He broke into a run, skidding around the corner into the bedroom. He could see into the bathroom from here. Only, he wasn't really sure what he was seeing. Just that his little brother was on the ground, shrinking away from something invisible.

Suddenly there was a scream. It was terrified, and frail, but soft, almost like a memory. And it came from,

"Sam?" Dean whispered it. His heart was pounding. He moved closer to the bathroom door, but didn't go through it.

His brother looked petrified, but there was a dullness to his eyes as well, as if he wasn't all there. Maybe he wasn't.

"Sammy?"


"I think he's the real deal," Sam half-yelled back. He could hear the worry in Dean's voice. Worry for him. It annoyed him.

"And what about all these psychics? Think they're the real deal?"

"I think they're the reason Dad has this place circled in his journal." He was twenty-two after all, he could look after himself. He moved into Lucy Taylor's bedroom, scanning for anything supernatural.

"Think we should talk to those other two Archer mentioned?" Sam almost didn't hear Dean's words. A flash of... something caught his eye, a pull from the bathroom. He took a few involuntary steps toward it, not realizing what he was doing.

He felt his fingers drop... something. What had he been holding again? He heard someone - was it him? - someone answer Dean.

"They don't remember." His head felt all foggy and for some reason he was in the bathroom. He felt like... uh, he... his lack of sleep must have been catching up on him. "But maybe we -."

A blinding pain erupted in his head, cutting him off mid-sentence. Closing his eyes he leaned against the sink, but the pain only became worse and worse. He grunted and, as if the noise was a switch, slid into the dark recesses of his mind.

He looked into the mirror. His reflection was blurry but that didn't bother him in the slightest. He reached into his mouth and pulled out the false teeth. The glass of water waited eagerly.

A noise caught his ears. He looked quickly into the mirror, not expecting to see anything. He looked back a second later.

Something was watching him. Gasping, he spun, but too fast. His unsteady feet slipped with the mat, and he landed on the replacement hip doctors had given him seven years ago. He cried out in pain as he felt something frail snap.

A foot came into his view. It was a sneaker, but the seams of the shoe bulged, as if the foot was too big.

His eyes travelled up the bulging leg to the naked torso. The ribs stuck out unnaturally. There were teeth protruding over the lower lip; long yellow teeth that curved fiercely. The eyes looked familiar, and almost human, but they glinted under the shadows of jutting, ape-like brows. He whimpered.

"What are you?"

The beast didn't answer him. At least not verbally. Instead it lashed out and down with a clawed hand, slashing his chest. He screamed, more in fright than anything, though the flesh wound hurt. Standing back up straight the beast stepped closer until it stood over him. It stared down mercilessly, and he finally realized it wanted to... it would kill him.

"Please don't hurt me?" It was a croaking beg, his throat like dust from the fear. The plea seemed to bring a reaction, just not the one he wanted. It made a throaty sound: laughter.

He suddenly realized he was crying and whimpering. The sound of the laughter was terrible. Terrifying. But his cries only seemed to make it laugh harder. It leaned down, teeth flashing in the light.

He was screaming instantly.

Sam jumped as shaking brought him crashing back to reality. His face and t-shirt were soaked, and his throat hurt.

He pushed hands off him and stumbled into a run from his inert position lying on the floor. He just made it to the kitchen sink before he threw up.

Having discarded everything he had eaten in the past day Sam turned and slid down the cupboards. His legs couldn't hold him up. He was trembling weakly and breathing heavily.

A shaking hand placed a tall glass in his view. Sam looked up to accept the water gratefully from Dean. His big brother looked half as bad as Sam felt, which was actually saying something.

The pale-faced Dean sat next to his baby brother. Sam took a long drink of the water, barely struggling to keep it down.

"That was the scariest thing I've ever seen," Dean stated softly, staring at nothing on the kitchen floor. That was a big admission for Sam's self-confessed fearless brother. "You were shaking, and whimpering, almost like you were seizing or something. What happened?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm not sure." His voice was hoarse, and it shook. "But I don't think it was a vision."

"You've never had one like that." Dean's agreement seemed solid, unaffected. But Sam knew his brother. "What did you see?"

"I saw the demon doing all this. He's possessing people. I'm sure about it." He swallowed, remembering the terror. "I was Lucy Taylor. As that bitch ripped her apart."

His voice wavered, but he still managed to catch Dean forcing his hand flat. The fist had been turning white. Sam pushed his hair back from his face.

"So you're having visions of the past now." Dean didn't mean it as a question.

"I don't think so. It was more like I was, I dunno, caught in the memory or something."

Dean made a sound in the back of his throat. "Can that happen?"

"Dunno. I think I need to speak to Archer again."

It was Dean's turn to shake his head. "No way. We're leaving. This town, this hunt, it's killing you."

"We are not leaving Dean." Sam was mortified at the thought. He wouldn't allow people to die because he was being weak. "I'm fine."

"You haven't slept since we got here, Sam. You look like shit-." Sam cut him off.

"Just leave it Dean. We are not going."

They barely became aware of the shadow until it was over them. "I think you should be going. Right now."

Dean jumped to a standing, but Sam just looked up - he wasn't sure his legs could support him just yet.

Standing over him was the last person he could ever have expected. It was the girl who had been watching him in the pub, Sasha Farrell, looking nervous but angry.

Upon seeing his face however, she bit her lower lip. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice much softer.

"Fine," Sam answered. "Just ate something that didn't agree." He decided to struggle up. Dean helped a little.

"Did you just vomit in the sink?" she asked, affronted, having lost that softness now that she could see he was okay. Dean answered likewise. Sam wasn't really listening. For a moment there, he had thought...

"What's it to you?" Dean sounded so childish. The girl, instead of being frightened, bristled.

"It's my neighbour's house," she explained, crossing her arms across her chest. "And you're trespassing. I'd appreciate it if you didn't make a nasty mess while you were at it."

Sam decided his efforts would be needed to calm Dean down. His brother was obviously not coping with defending himself against the teenage girl.

"It's okay," Sam began. "We're State Police. I'm Sam, and this is Dean."

Sasha muttered something under her breath. He could have sworn it was, 'Like hell you are.' Out loud, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

Dean answered, having gathered his wits. "We're checking out the crime scenes. Not that it's any of you business."

Sam rolled his eyes. Maybe Dean hadn't gathered his wits. "What are you doing here?"

She uncrossed her arms. "I told you, this is my neighbour's house. I saw you break in and almost called Mr Murdoch 'til I remembered seeing you talking to him yesterday. I thought I'd ask first. It's good that I did huh?"

She sounded almost half-believing of their story, which Sam took. What was it about her that... He nodded.

"It doesn't matter. We're leaving now anyway." She frowned.

"Hope you were planning on cleaning that up," she said, indicating the sink Sam had thrown up in.

Dean's face fell but Sam plastered on a reassuring smile. "Of course." His voice came through strained though. For a teenager, Sasha was forceful.

She just smiled as if she knew something no one else did, and turned to leave. As she turned the corner, she called out, "I'm Sasha by the way."


Five minutes later Dean and Sam were sitting in the Impala silently.

"Wow," was all Dean could manage to say. It was the first chance either had had to comment about all the morning's events. He watched Sam nod, though his little brother still looked pale, and he still shook.

"Yep, that pretty much sums up this morning," the younger hunter replied, taking a mouthful of bottled water.

"So what now?" Dean asked, half-hopeful. Sam dashed his hopes.

"We're not leaving, Dean."

"Okay, okay. But we need a next step. We need to figure out more about this demon."

Sam nodded in agreement. "I didn't see it very well though. I think she needed glasses."

"Don't worry about that. Don't even think about it." It would plague him enough in his nightmares, Dean knew. "There are other ways to hunt down this bastard."

Sam sighed in relief before he could stop himself. "First I need to go speak to Archer again."

"You go speak to him," Dean offered. "I'll go look at the other sites."

Sam wanted to say no. But he couldn't. He didn't want to chance going through that again. He nodded. "Let's go."

He had experienced both sides now. Murderer and murdered. Both were terrifying. He didn't want to go through either again, not if he could stop it. He hid a shuddering breath from Dean. He needed sleep desperately. He felt like the energy was being sucked from him the longer he stayed awake. It would be so easy to just lay his head down... But he knew what was waiting, and the knowledge terrified him almost as much as the dreams would.


If you're reading this, you are WONDERFUL! Thanks for reading.