Disclaimer: I really don't own them.
Warning: Teensy bit of language. Nothing too serious, I don't think.
Author's Note: Ok, so, I lied. I am posting today. I found a spare ten minutes. Yippee! More good news: family decided not to move for another week due to the fact that the plasterer can't plaster the walls with stuff in the house, and my parent's room only just got the concrete poured this morning. So, this story will be finished by the time we move. Hurray says everyone! He he. Enjoy.
Chapter 6: Unexpected
"Someone doesn't like us," Dean muttered under his breath, hanging up his cell phone. With a sigh he put the phone on the table next to the bed, and sat up, scrubbing his eyes.
It was five in the morning, maybe an hour since they had arrived back at the motel. Sam was actually sleeping. And now he had to wake his kid brother up.
"Sammy, get up."
"Uh huh." Sam went straight back to sleep.
"Sam!" No answer this time.
Giving an exasperated groan Dean threw his pillow at the younger Winchester.
Finally Sam sat up, quickly and angrily. "Quit it, Dean." He threw the pillow back, which Dean caught, and then lay down again.
"Archer's dead."
Sam sat back up, all anger gone. "What?"
Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed. "He killed himself. The cops got back and found him swinging."
Sam groaned, and stood up. "Someone doesn't like us," he muttered under his breath. Dean couldn't help but chuckle at the repetition of his own words, for which Sam gave him a glare.
"This isn't funny Dean. In case you've forgotten, we needed to talk to him."
Dean rolled his eyes where Sammy couldn't see, though he did regret the man's death too. "We should still be able to find out what we need. We just search his house."
Five minutes later the Impala was headed for the police station.
"We didn't think he was a danger, not to himself," Brian was explaining. The three of them stood over Archer's corpse, uncomfortably ignoring the thin bruise around the man's neck.
There was silence for a moment. "So what do you think it is?" Brian asked quietly. Sam heard Dean sigh.
"It's a demon," his older brother began. "We don't know much. And we're not really sure how we're gonna get it. But Archer, O'Conner and Claire are all innocent. The demon possesses people. It made the..." He wasn't really sure what to call the vessels; that word sounded so harsh. "... possessees kill those people."
"So what do you need to do to kill this bastard?"
Dean shrugged. "We have to find out exactly what it is. We were hoping Archer could help us. Maybe he still will. Can I look through his stuff?"
Brian nodded. "Anything. We need this sorted out quick. Else the whole town'll..." He trailed off, shaking his head. All three left the room.
"Brian?" Sam asked. "Can I speak to Claire again?" He felt he had to do it. She didn't deserve death. He had to speak to her.
He let himself into Claire's new cell. It was bare of anything, with no protruding objects. Sam knew the video camera was always on her, and someone was always watching her or the screen. Claire's uncle wouldn't allow her to suffer Archer's fate.
"Detective," she said when he walked in. She sat up on the bed, her face red and blotchy. She had been crying again. Sobbing more like it. Sam could understand. It was the equivalent of his little punching episode the night before.
"Call me Sam, Claire." He leaned against the wall. How would he go about this?
"Did you hear about Archer?" he asked her softly. Even with that, the woman started trembling.
"I know about it," she confirmed in a weak voice. "I heard him, kicking and -." She swallowed. Sam frowned. There was no way she could have heard Archer. He certainly hadn't kicked anything, not hanging in the middle of the room.
"Are you sure?" he asked. She nodded and he sighed.
"You didn't hear him Claire. You felt it, because of your connection."
Her eyes widened slightly, and then she smiled sadly. "So you do know."
"Know what?" Sam asked, though he actually knew very well.
"I was wondering if you felt it. I didn't know you knew of your gift when I spoke to you before. But since you know of mine, you must."
"Archer told me you were his student," he began. Claire interrupted him.
"But he wouldn't have told you about that unless you knew about him. Denying your ability will only making it painful."
Sam hid a scowl. He didn't deny his visions. He just didn't want them.
"What did you come here for?" she asked, her face a little clearer, a little happier after talking to him. Just a little, but it was a start. Hopefully he could help some more.
"You needed to know, you didn't kill Kylie Walker."
Her face fell. "Yes I did. I dreamed it. It was so real." She ended in a whisper and pulled her knees up to hug them. Sam nodded.
"I know what you mean," he agreed, walking forward to sit on the bed beside her. "But..." How to tell her.
"Claire, being psychic, what do you believe in?"
She seemed a little shocked. "I don't know. Ghosts, spirits, that sort of thing."
He smiled warmly. "That's a start. But there's far worse, and far better out there. Can I tell you a secret? You can't tell anyone." She nodded, a little unsure. But she wouldn't believe him any other way.
"My partner and I... we're not really police. He's actually my brother, and we... we hunt down evil. The supernatural."
Her jaw dropped, but she nodded. "I thought something was off. So that's why you're here. There's something evil in this town."
Sam nodded. "Yep. And that's what's been killing these people. That's what killed Kylie Walker."
She shook her head. "So why'd I dream about it?"
"That's the thing," Sam said slowly. "It's a demon, and it possesses people. Using their body, it kills people."
"So I did kill Mrs Walker."
"No!" His emphatic reaction made her sit back. "No. The demon killed Mrs Walker, not you. Believe that, and you'll be right."
Archer's things made up a small pile, just what he had had on him when the demon had possessed him. The keys would be helpful, save them picking locks. He shook out the shirt, ignoring the blood stains splattered on it.
An envelope fell out. Curious, Dean dropped the shirt and picked up the envelope. It was addressed to him. Not the Detective him. 'Dean Winchester' was written on the front. Archer had written him a letter, obviously before Dean had even known he was coming himself. Or had he? Could Archer have known he was going to be possessed? The man would have done something to stop himself killing Lucy Taylor, surely. So he had written this later. How had it gotten here?
"Find anything?" He suddenly heard Sam ask. Dean spun, hiding the shock. His younger brother had an unfortunate habit of sneaking up on him.
"Keys," he grinned, sliding the envelope inconspicuously into his back pocket. "We can get into Archer's house easy."
Sam nodded. "You go to Archer's house. I'll go to the library, see if that has more accurate reports on this town."
Dean didn't go directly to Archer's house. First he knocked on the neighbour's doors, for two reasons. One, he wanted a more detailed idea of what the psychic had been like. And two, they wouldn't go calling the cops on him.
Archer's house was normal. Nothing like what Dean had expected. Then again, Dean had based his assumptions on movies and stereotypes. And of course Sammy wasn't all gloom, incense and tarot cards. Well, not all incense and tarot cards anyway.
The rooms on the first floor had nothing. In fact they were almost bare - tidy and unlived in.
The second floor was a different story. Traces of the psychic came out; there were symbols for peace and protection everywhere. Dean's jaw dropped as he walked slowly through the upper level. There were symbols of protection from every corner of the globe. Archer had been paranoid.
Of course it was the last room he checked that was the room he wanted. The room at the end of the second story corridor had a different feel about it. As soon as he entered, Dean felt peaceful, and some of his tiredness washed away.
"I gotta get Sammy into this room," Dean muttered as he started going through draws of the old, rustic set against the far wall. This had to be the room Archer did his stuff in. Traces of the incense and tarot cards could be seen around the room.
The draws proved to be exactly what he needed. Each draw held a file about one person. After finding O'Conner's and Claire's in one draw, he realized they had to be files of Archer's students. He recognised the writing and remembered the envelope still in his pocket. After writing down the names in the files he opened the envelope. Archer's writing met his eyes.
Dean Winchester.
Thank you for coming to our town. Really this town will need you more when you have read this letter. But it may cost you more than you know. I can't explain further, but be very careful. Don't trust any of my students, because any of them could be possessed by this demon.
The demon. It is no coincidence it came here, where there are so many budding psychics. But again, be careful. It has ulterior motives, and I think you and your brother are one of them. The connection between psychics is strong, more so when the psychic is strong. Sam isn't having dreams of the demon for no reason, and the fact that he didn't remember them frightens me.
Dean, Sam needs to accept his ability. More than that, he has to submit to it, allow it to grow inside of him. Only then can he survive his gift. Make him believe it is a gift. And watch him carefully. He is a psychic like the rest of us.
Again, thank you for coming. James Archer.
Dean replaced the paper in his pocket, fingers trembling. Archer had known a lot. And had alluded to more. Hoping he had finished in the room he practically ran from the house. Outside he gave into urge and dialled Sam's number. The irrational fear kept on building.
The library was hot and stuffy. The heating must have been on as high as it could be, and the frail librarians still looked like they were cold. Sam couldn't stop yawning. And his eyelids were fluttering.
He yawned, clicking to look at a different page on the computer. The library's archives agreed with his research. There was nothing. It looked like the demon had come just for the psychics.
Sam yawned again. He rubbed his eyes, trying to concentrate. It didn't help that he had had minimum sleep. Maybe three hours the night before, and absolutely none the night before that. Half an hour unconscious didn't count as sleep. He yawned, realizing he had read the same sentence four or five times. He was going back for a... yawn... sixth...
The cave was cold. Sam, feeling detached, couldn't actually feel it, but the little boy huddling in the corner shook. Surprisingly Sam didn't think it was from fear of the tall, hideous creature sharing the cave that the boy shook. Just the cold, because the boy only had shorts and a t-shirt on.
Before Sam could contemplate on the familiarity resonating from the huddling boy, someone stepped into his dream. Or rather, he became aware of the person. He still felt strangely detached, watching the cave as if through a window.
The creature, which Sam recognised as a demon, soon became aware of the third being. It turned and chuckled to see a shotgun pointed at it.
"You're slow, human," it snarled around curved teeth. "Any longer and I would have had to kill the boy." The shotgun shook.
"Give him back."
From his position of detachment, Sam gasped. That was his father's voice, strong and confident. Was he hurt? Why did the gun shake? John Winchester didn't move from the shadows.
The demon laughed, and with a crook of his finger and some powerful telekinetic abilities, pulled the boy to him.
Clutching the boy - who could only have been five or six - tight, the demon traced a black fingernail down the white cheek of its captive.
"This little thing, John? He's just a mite. Now, the other one... he could really be something."
"Don't you dare speak about them!" John hissed. His voice actually broke. Sam was shocked. And then John fired, hitting the demon a foot above the kid's head. But it wasn't the normal rock salt or silver bullet this time. No, this time the round burst into flames when it hit, smothering the demon with fire as the boy rolled away, a little singed. The demon began shrieking as –
A vibration woke Sam with a start. He sat up, lifting his cheek off the keyboard, and struggled to get his phone out.
"Hello?" he asked sleepily.
"Sam, you okay?" It was Dean, and he sounded relieved for some reason.
"Fine. Fell asleep at the computer, that's all." He rubbed his cheek. He could feel the imprints of keys on it. "Find anything at Archer's house?"
"I got his list of psychics. There were some pretty cool protection spells, and a freaky room, but not much else. You?" The older Winchester's voice had gone back to normal quickly.
"Nothing." Sam replied, stifling a yawn. "I'll meet you back at the motel in about twenty. I'll have a little bit more of a look."
He put his phone on the table and yawned again, turning to the computer screen. What had that been? Why was he dreaming of his dad? He shook his head, trying to clear the apparent jumble of psychic thoughts in his head.
"People usually type with their fingers, not their cheeks," a familiar voice remarked behind him. Sam felt too tired to even jump, though he hadn't heard Sasha creep up on him. He turned, meeting her half way as she walked round to face him.
"Hi Sasha. How are you?"
"Better than you, I think," she cringed. "You look like crap."
"Thanks," he replied dryly. "What are you doing here?"
She shrugged. "Just looking for a book I wanted, but it's not in. What about you?"
"Looking into your town's history, but I can't explain much to you. I have to go meet my partner."
She nodded and moved to the side. He smiled and stood, just catching the motion of chewing her bottom lip curiously.
"What is it?" he asked, turning to face her. She let go of her bottom lip.
"Nothing. It's just... you look really familiar, like someone I knew a long time ago. But it's just my imagination.
Sam was curious now, but he had to go back to the motel. "If that's all, I really have to go."
She smiled. "I'm going anyway. I'll walk with."
He smiled back, a little startled. "Okay." No need to ask, it was all right.
They were silent for a few minutes, until they got out of the library. Then Sasha spoke up.
"You are so not State Police." She sounded as if she had given it a lot of thought. Sam nodded heavily.
"True. But we are here to stop the murders."
"I know. I'm psychic remember," she joked. Sam chuckled as they turned a corner.
"How could I forget?"
"So, got any leads?" Sasha asked.
"Yep," was his answer. She scowled.
"Not gonna tell me anything?" She sounded a little disappointed.
"What do you think about it?" he asked as an answer. The scowl dropped and he shrugged. They reached the end of the street and stopped.
"I think..." She bit her lip again. "Promise not to laugh? I think it's not human." She said it in a rush and shivered suddenly, her face going a little pale. "Sometimes I can feel it in the town. Evil, like a cancer, or something. And it's hungry, like it's been... dead, and only just come back." She shivered again, and gave him a sharp look. "You're not laughing."
He was too shocked to do so. She felt all that? She had to be pretty strong then. He realized she wanted an answer.
"I think you're close. Do you really feel all that?"
She half-nodded, and then stopped. "I dream too. I can't see anything except this blackness. It swallows everything. It freaks me out." She crossed her arms. "I'm not in denial enough to think my dreams mean nothing. Psychics - you and me - don't have dreams for no reason."
He nodded, thinking back to his dream in the library. Sasha was right, but what had that meant? What did his dad have to do with it?
Sasha was turning to go. On impulse, he called out one last question. "Sasha, who did I remind you of?"
She turned, smiling sadly. "Just a woman I used to know. It's funny how the past hits you out of nowhere. Her name was Mary. Mary Winchester."
Oooooooooo! What a shock. Even I didn't see that one coming. Thanks for reading!
