Disclaimer: Sigh. I don't own them.
Warning: Teensy bit of gore. A few F-bombs. Sorry.
Author's Note: Okay, so I have a problem. This weekend is huge. Several parties, so there won't be any posting tomorrow, most likely. That's not really the problem. Problem is that this weekend, my family is also moving. Okay, so it's only next door, but we're renovating. We have electricity (I think) and hot water (or we better). However, there is no phone line, which means no internet, which means no updating or posting. Just so you know, after Saturday (Aus Time anyway) there might not be an update for a time, unless I find some way to get past the security on the school's computers. I am soooooo sorry, I didn't know that we wouldn't have a phone line when I started posting. So, if there's no update for ages, that's the reason why. Just wanted to let you know. Sorry!
Chapter 5: Telling All
Sam let himself into Archer's cell. He had already been told to knock when he was finished.
Archer sat up when he came in, instantly picking up vibes. "What happened?" the psychic asked caringly. Surprising himself, Sam told Archer everything.
The older man whistled. "I've heard of this happening. It's because of the connection between psychics. It must be. You must be very strong to have picked it up though." He swallowed. "It's because... a psychic killed Mrs Taylor." He was still trying to deny having had any part in killing her, Sam realized. "A psychic kinds of lets his or her vibes out there, as well as picking them out. That's the reason why you can always tell who is a psychic. We pick up on each other's gift. I suppose when a psychic does something like kill someone, it's theoretically, and obviously realistically, possible for another psychic to enter the memory."
Sam stood. He hadn't wanted to hear that. "So why'd I get Claire's dream as well." Archer shrugged.
"Same kind of reason I guess. You picked up her vibes. They're always stronger in the unconscious state." He shrugged again. "I don't really know. I've never come across this before."
"Yeah, well, it's new for the both of us." He felt his legs wobble and had to sit down again.
"You haven't been sleeping have you?" Archer seemed very concerned. Sam shook his head before placing it in his hands. "You shouldn't be scared of the visions. They'll come easier if you accept your ability."
"Accept it?" Sam laughed into his hands. He didn't know how to accept it. Why should he accept something like that? All he wanted was to be normal, lead a normal life. He stood to leave, knocking on the door.
"Sam?" Archer's voice made him turn back. "There's always a reason for everything." The door opened. "And we always find those reasons."
Dean parked the Impala out the front of the house, in the exact same spot as the night before. This time though, he opened the door and went into the house.
He had found out, from reading the reports, that Kylie Walker's house had been empty since her murder. That was how Dean liked it. He didn't have to come up with stories.
The empty house creaked under his feet, and increased his paranoia. After Sammy had collapsed this morning his feeling of threats all around had increased tenfold.
He was still shaky from that. He had never been more scared in his life. He had been sure he had actually lost Sam, to a bloody vision of all things. He shook his head.
The squeaky floorboard was all the warning he got. He turned slowly, not really expecting anything. He flew into the wall, thankfully not hitting anything on the way down.
The demon picked him up by the jacket before he could do the same himself. Dean looked down into its face, with the horrid teeth and strangely feminine glinting eyes. It snarled triumphantly in his face.
However Dean Winchester was no easy prey. And he never went without a weapon. Even if it was just a knife.
Dean grabbed that knife now and plunged it into the demon's side. He dropped, a startling distance, to fall on his side. He kicked out at its knee, and his foot connected. It growled again, before backing away, knife sticking out of its side. Dean struggled to his feet in a position of defensive readiness.
The demon turned and ran, disappearing quickly. Dean stood up straight, flabbergasted.
"This has officially been the strangest, stupidest day ever," he muttered to himself, collecting his dropped tools and limping back to the Impala.
Sam lifted the glass and finished off his beer. He was waiting for Dean in the town bar, and had been doing so for half an hour. It was early in the evening. Sam had been using the time to research the town, to no avail.
"Decided trespassing wasn't the best option, huh?" a familiar voice asked. Sam turned on the stool, closing the laptop slightly.
"Sasha, right?" She nodded. "No, my partner's gone out to check some of the other sites." He frowned. She looked terrible. All white, and tired. He supposed he had the same look though.
"Uh huh." Sasha ignored his frown. "Want another?" She took his glass.
"Yeah, thanks." He turned back to the computer but wasn't really paying attention to the screen. He had figured it out. That feeling, the one he had felt in the house, was stronger. Sasha was a psychic. Or would be one day.
"Here you go." Sasha turned to leave straight away.
"Sasha?" She stopped and turned back. "What do you know about James Archer?"
"Why?" she sounded suspicious.
Sam shrugged and swivelled on the stool. "I'm just trying to find out people's opinions on him. Did you know him?"
She appeared to struggle with something. "Yeah, he was my English teacher, before he was arrested. It was his first year, so no one really knew him. He came from Chicago."
Sam frowned. "How old are you?" he asked. He hadn't thought she was still in school. She was working in a pub, serving alcohol, which he was pretty sure was illegal for a school kid.
"What does that have to do with Mr Archer?" she asked, frowning herself.
"Nothing," Sam admitted. "I just... never mind."
She sighed. "I'm seventeen. I don't get paid for helping out here, and Mr Murdoch knows and all.
Sam nodded. "That's fine. I'm not here about that. Did you know Archer outside of school?"
She glared, misinterpreting the question. "What's that supposed to mean?" Sam turned red.
"God, no, I didn't mean anything like that. I -." He didn't know how to manoeuvre her into admitting she was psychic; that was more Dean's area of expertise. He decided to ask bluntly. "You're psychic, right? One of Archer's students?"
Her jaw dropped. "How did you...? No, Mr Archer never taught me that?" Her eyes widened. "You are too, aren't you?"
Sam looked around before nodding. "Are you really police?" was the next question.
Before Sam could answer, bells at the door chimed. They both looked to see Dean limping in. To his utmost surprise, Sasha frowned.
"I have to go," she muttered, leaving quickly. Sam stared after her, startled.
"What happened to you?" he asked, turning back to Dean, who had already taken a drink from Sam's beer.
"Had a little run in with our friendly demon, which, as it turns out, isn't so friendly." He nodded at Sasha. "What was that about?"
Sam shrugged. "Don't know. I was talking to her, and then she left in a big hurry. But I did find out, she's a psychic too."
Dean's eyebrows rose. "Okay. How many are there in this place?"
"Don't know," Sam repeated. "But Archer's right, it's probably why the demon came here. It was attracted to all that power."
Dean nodded. "Makes sense. So why have you been having dreams about it? Which you forgot to mention by the way," he pointed out.
Sam sighed. "I'm not having dreams about it. At least, I don't know that I am. I can't remember them. I didn't lie."
Dean scowled but ignored that part. "But you started having them when this demon moved here. And I know what you think about coincidences."
He stood in a corner, watching the door of the office. He could feel a smile on his face, expectant. He waited.
Finally, finally the door opened and the man walked in. He snarled quietly. The man - he recognised him as Ed Harper now - didn't hear, just crossed to the desk and picked up his keys.
He moved from the corner, keeping to shadow. Harper noticed his movements though. His would-be-victim stopped, turning white and forming a scream. With a louder snarl, he darted in, grabbing Harper by the throat and cutting off the yell.
The wind started up, moving nothing but Harper's hair. He tilted his head slightly, and the door slammed shut. Harper's eyes bulged, his face slowly turning purple from lack of air.
Gathering his strength, he threw Harper into the desk. Rolling his shoulders, he strode to the moaning body and turned it over. Harper began to scream again, or tried to. He drew his claws back and dug them into his victim's throat. The blood spurted out, and he closed his eyes in ecstasy. The warm liquid dripped down his eyelids, and his cheeks. He drew his arm back again and…
… With a thud he hit the floor, which woke Sam with a start. He took a shuddering breath and felt his body echo. He could still feel the blood sliding down his face. He stood, feeling angry, and wiped his face with his hand. He couldn't see anything in the dark.
"Sammy?" Dean muttered sleepily from his bed. "Whachoo fall outta bed for?"
Sam didn't answer, just went to the bathroom. He heard Dean fall back asleep.
He closed the door and turned the light on. In the mirror he checked his face. Nothing unusual, but that only served to further heat his anger. Despite the lack of it, he could still feel the blood. Why did he have to have these fucking premonitions? He leaned against the sink, quivering. He hated them. All he wanted was to be normal, but what chance of that did he have when he was psychic boy, dreaming of the past and seeing the future.
He had punched the mirror before he realized it. Finally, he could feel real blood, dripping down his hand. It helped the intense rage he was feeling. He prepared to punch it again.
Dean woke for the second time in about five minutes. For a moment he wasn't sure what had woken him. He was sure it had been someone punching something very solid.
He jerked to a sitting position, and on seeing Sam's bed empty, stumbled to his feet. The light was on in the bathroom. He walked over and opened the door, his eyes not fully open.
The sight in the bathroom woke him. There was Sammy, face tight with rage and frustration, fist bloody, looking into the shattered mirror with hatred and unshed tears.
"Sam!" He lunged forward, pulling his little brother away from the sink. "What the hell are you doing?"
Sam pulled his bloodied fist back, as if to strike something or someone. Then he seemed to collapse; his body slumped, and he looked incredibly tired. His hand flopped down.
"I'm just sick of it Dean," he muttered. "Fucking sick of it."
Dean knew it was serious now. His brother hardly ever swore. He mentally sighed in anticipation of one of those 'chick-flick' moments. He steered Sam over to the toilet seat and made him sit.
"Stay," he ordered, quickly going out to the bedroom to get the first aid. When he came back Sam had his head in his hands.
"Another nightmare?" he asked, squatting next to the toilet. Sam nodded, inspecting his hand as if seeing the blood for the first time. He winced as Dean started wiping the blood away.
"Like the one last night, 'cept it was another person, another murder."
"Who?" Dean asked, getting out a gauze pad and cutting it in half. Sam had actually done some bad superficial damage.
"The third one, Harper, in his office." Sammy sounded exhausted.
"Did you see the demon this time?" He began wrapping a bandage around the hand and pad.
Sam closed his eyes, squeezing something back. It wasn't tears lighting his eyes, but memories, Dean realized. "I was the damn demon, Dean," he muttered, keeping his eyes closed.
Dean couldn't help it. His hand paused, and he heard Sam sigh. "Come again?"
"The demon," his little brother snarled, a little angry. And hurt. "I was that... bitch as it mutilated Harper. Just as I - it mutilated the woman, Walker. That's why I couldn't see it. I was it. I can still feel it."
Sammy ended in a whisper. Dean didn't want to say anything, in case he hurt Sam more with his words. This was one of those incredibly huge things that he just couldn't deal with, but had to nonetheless. "Are you -?" he began hopefully. Sam cut him off.
"We are not leaving Dean. This thing'll just keep on killing 'til we finish it."
"Then we have to find it. Quick." Before it kills you, Dean left out. He needed to say more, but lost the moment in the next second.
From far away they heard an echoing gun shot.
The light of the police car were flashing out the front of the pleasant looking house. It hadn't taken Dean and Sam long to find it: they had followed the steady stream of people.
Dean followed Sam as they got out the car, pushing through the gathered crowd. He was still reeling from the shock of Sam's confession and the frustration of not getting a chance to talk to his baby brother about it. The fact that Sam was having dreams of murdering people was disturbing. The idea was frightening.
"What happened?" Dean heard Sam ask. It pulled him back from his mind and he noticed Brian for the first time.
"Terrible. Shot himself." The cop seemed unable to speak properly.
"Who was he?" Sam asked quietly. Respectfully. Dean was amazed that there was nothing in his voice to suggest he had dreams of ripping people apart.
"Name was Daniel O'Conner. No one knows why. At least, no one will." He looked around furtively and pulled out an envelope. "I found this. It says he killed Ed Harper. I called you because I know no one in this town is responsible for this, so it's either forgery or Daniel had no idea."
Sam took it, nodding. They understood as they watched Brian walk away to the car, where a pregnant woman sat sobbing. Dean and Sam turned away.
"That must have been the Daniel that Archer mentioned. So now we know for sure that this thing, this demon is using psychics," Sam said quietly. They both leaned against the Impala, facing the house.
Dean nodded, feeling a surge of anxiety. "And he must have been the one the demon used to kill Harper. We have to find out who Louise is. If you dream again, it means she is. And we don't want another suicide."
Sam nodded in agreement. "We'll go see Archer in the morning. And we should talk to Claire, tell her about the demon."
"Archer first kiddo," Dean confirmed. "Claire can't do much at the station. Archer can help us."
Thanks for reading! casus17
