Disclaimer: Don't own them. Wish I do. Wishes don't come true. Mostly.
Warning: No naughty words. Little bit of gross stuff, but if you blink, you'll miss it. Sorry if it gets a bit confusing. You'll understand when you reach it.
Author's Note: Sorry there was no update yesterday. I had three hours sleep the night before, the AFL grannie was on and I had work to do at the new house. I can tell you, I was wrecked. Oh, and sorry this chapter's a little short.
Chapter 7: Realizations
Dean was on the laptop when Sammy came in, shaking and pale. He watched in amazement as his responsible brother crossed the room to where a table held a bottle of vodka that Dean had been surprised to find came with the room. His jaw dropped when his sensible little brother chose to forgo a glass and scull a quarter of the bottle.
"Who the hell are you and what have you done with my brother?" Dean asked, once he could speak. Sammy, giving a cough, dropped into the armchair, still holding the bottle.
"Sasha reckons she knew Mum." It was said tightly and painfully. Dean's jaw dropped again.
"That's impossible," he spluttered. "Mum died before she was even born."
"I know." He put his head in his empty hand, rubbing his eyes. He was so tired. He thought he was coming down with something. He had had plenty of sleepless nights before - in his first exams at college he had had to thrive off it. But he was feeling drained.
"What did she say?" Dean asked, coming over and taking the bottle. He ignored the afternoon sun, his empty stomach and his usual disgust for vodka, and took a mouthful.
"I was in the library, just getting off the phone to you." He had still been reeling from the dream. "She came over, we talked a bit. Then she said I looked like someone she knew. Later I asked who, and she said a woman named Mary Winchester."
Sam took the bottle back and swallowed another mouthful.
"It... it could have been someone else. Another Mary..." His throat seized up before he could complete her name. Sam just shook his head. There was silence for a few minutes.
She couldn't have known their mum. It was impossible. Wasn't it? Was it? After all they had seen in their lives, was anything impossible? The thoughts ran through the heads of both brothers.
Finally Dean broke the silence. They couldn't dwell on it - there were more pressing matters. A demon possessing people for instance. And he hated thinking about the death of his mother. It was a constant enough hurt as it was.
"Did you find anything at the library?" the older Winchester asked.
"Uh, no," Sam answered sheepishly. "I kinda fell asleep, and dreamed about Dad, of all people."
"Was it a premonition?" Dean asked cautiously.
Sam frowned. "I don't think so. I mean, it wasn't normal. But I have no idea why I had it. As far as I can tell, it has nothing to do with this town, but even Sasha told me I don't have dreams for no reason." He shook his head ruefully.
Dean took a swig of vodka. "What was the dream?" he asked Sammy, who shrugged.
"A little boy in a cave with a demon. Dad came in - he must've been injured because the gun shook. And he killed it. With a fire ball, or something. I'd never seen anything like it."
"You wouldn't've," Dean muttered, feeling his stomach roll. "He only used it that once."
Sam frowned. "How do you know that?"
"Cause that little boy was me. That was twenty years ago but. One of Dad's first hunts. His first demon. It was a nasty bastard. You're having dreams of the past again." He shuddered, remembering the cold and the fear. It hadn't actually done anything to him. At least physically. "It was... psychic, I 'spose. It could move things, like Max could. And it could read minds. It read mine." He shrugged.
"It was psychic?" Sammy had gone still. Dean nodded, wondering what brainwave his little brother had had.
Sam didn't chose to tell however, just stood (a little unsteadily) and moved to the bed. He picked up John's journal and started turning pages. Quickly.
"Sammy? Sam! What is it?" He placed the bottle on the carpet and followed his little brother. Who sat suddenly, having decided on a page.
"I think it's the same demon," Sam said, passing the journal.
"But Dad killed it. It burned to death. I watched."
"I know. But it was psychic, very psychic. Very powerful." He indicated the page. "And like you said, Dad was a rookie then. The body wasn't completely destroyed. And it was - is psychic. Psychics have been its targets, its possessions. It explains my dream in the library, cause Archer said strong psychics can share things, like dreams I suppose. And it partly explains why I've been having the other dreams, for the same kinda reason."
"I don't know," Dean began.
"I do. It even looks similar to when I was Lucy Taylor. It must be able to transform the people it possesses."
Dean still wasn't sure. Sam saw the look on his face.
"Look, Dean. Psychics, according to Missouri, can jump from their bodies. Most only do it in their sleep. It's part of the reason for dreams, or visions, because they jump to another plain. You know like astral projection."
"You've been speaking to Missouri?"
"That's not the point. The point is, a very, very powerful psychic, like a demon psychic, can theoretically jump its body while awake, and walk in, I dunno, spirit form. Actually live and breathe like that, like an extended, more powerful astral projection. I think, when Dad killed it, or tried to kill it, the demon jumped ship. Only with its body badly injured, it didn't have anywhere to go, so it stayed out."
It was starting to make surprising sense. "So you think Dad didn't kill it? That it's the spirit of that demon?"
Sam shrugged. "Maybe. Why else did I have that dream?"
"So how do we kill it?"
"Like any other spirit I guess. Salt and burn the body."
Dean sighed. It was possible. Still farfetched. He walked to the bottle and took another swig. It was possible.
By early evening they had both realized just how hard finding the demon's body was going to be. They had left numerous messages with John, pored over his journal and even searched the map for likely places. Dean was quickly heading to the theory of impossibility. Meanwhile he watched Sam grow frustrated, rubbing his eyes and suppressing yawns. Finally Dean couldn't take it anymore.
"Sam! Go to sleep before your jaw gets stuck."
Sam just glared at his older brother, a little bleary-eyed. It only furthered Dean's annoyance and worry. Annoyance that Sam wouldn't sleep and worry because he had never seen his kid brother so clearly exhausted. At least, on the outside. Funnily enough Sam still moved easily. And he didn't take Dean's advice, just continued to look through the journal.
Ten silent minutes later Dean closed the laptop with an exasperated groan.
"I'm going out for food. Pizza okay?" He barely waited for Sam's nod before shutting the door.
Sam waited until he heard the Impala drive off before leaning back against the wall and letting the facade of energy drop. Hell, he was tired. He had become even more tired in the past two hours, pretending not to be tired while trying to figure where the demon's body was. It had turned out to be useless anyway. Dean had seen through the act, and the body was still lost. It had to be nearby.
He yawned and stood. He needed to use the bathroom desperately, but had been unsure as to whether he could make it. Now Dean was gone he stumbled over.
Once finished he crossed to the table, intent on opening the computer. He never made it.
Blinding pain erupted in his head, and he fell to his knees, groaning.
"No!" he heard himself cry, but the pain only increased until he had to close his eyes, trying to squint the pain away. The childish gesture didn't work.
He opened his eyes in time to see Dean flying through the night air. "No!" he screamed, trying in vain to struggle to his feet before realizing that what he was seeing couldn't –
- The demon picked Dean up, digging claws into his brother's shoulder. Dean screamed out in pain, a scream that echoed as he flew -
- be real. It was a vision. He could feel the carpet, the enclosed space. Dean was in a forest of some kind. This -
- through the air, landing hard on the ground. Dean didn't -
- was a premonition. Of his brother being attacked by the demon. He had to see this, had to -
- have time to recover. The demon was straddling Dean, laying punch after punch into the into the older Winchester, who was -
- see how to save his brother. Sam pushed through the pain desperately -
- desperately trying, and failing, to stop the rain of fists. But he couldn't, couldn't stop them and they kept on coming until Dean was just a mess of blood and pulp -
- trying to see how to stop the demon from killing Dean. Where were they, how to get there. How to save -
- Dean looked up, his eyes grieving and hurt. He mouthed something before the demon struck one last time -
The pain suddenly disappeared and the relief made Sam fall on his side, gasping and trying to shut away the tears of pain. He felt weak, shaky and pale, ten times worse than he had before the vision. But he couldn't stop now. The demon was going to kill Dean.
He searched, trembling, for five minutes before he realized he had left his cell phone at the library. Feeling desperate, and not really thinking, he left the room. He had to find Dean.
Dean had just parked the car back in front of the motel room when he felt his phone ring. It was Sam.
"Sammy," he chuckled, getting out. "I'm just coming -." A girl's voice cut him off.
"Dean?" He recognised that voice. Sasha. "It's Sam. Something's wrong. He... he just collapsed. I think it's his head. He keeps clutching at it and screaming." Sasha sounded scared.
"It's okay Sasha," he comforted, feeling the anxiety building up inside. He tried to keep his voice calm while inside his stomach heaved. If something was wrong with Sam... "Tell me where you are."
"We're at the park. Sam just showed up and asked me to show it to him and -." Dean cut her off.
"Just stay with him Sasha. I'll be right there."
He hung up and got back in the Impala. The engine roared to life.
Thanks for reading. Review, it's the only time I'll ask (do it as a birthday pressie, cause it's my eighteenth tomorrow. Yippee! For me).
