Sam has a headache.

Usually, this is no big deal. Usually, Sam can deal with it, ignore it until it goes away or takes whatever painkillers he has available at the time. He can wait it out.

Now, though, going on four days of constant pain that only seems to be increasing over time, getting bad enough that it's interfering in his day to day life…now, he's starting to get concerned. Now, he can't ignore it any more.

Decision made, Sam levers himself slowly up to sit upright at the library table. The book he'd tried and failed to read is still there, open to the introduction. He puts his head in his hands and winces, trying to find a moment bearable enough so he can make it to his feet.

"You okay?" He hears, and the voice pounds into his brain, sending waves of pain through what feels like is his whole body.

He grits his teeth. "Headache."

"Still?" He hears a chair move, feels Dean sit next to him. "Didn't you have one earlier this morning?"

Sam's filters have left him about three hours of constant pain ago. "Four days," He corrects.

"Four?" He feels a finger touch the top of his forehead, above his covered eyes. "Huh. No fever or anything. Hang on, lemme—"

Dean's voice fades away, and Sam drifts for a while, coherent thought slowly leaking out of his ears as his head pounds further.

He comes to again to a different set of hands to his forehead, and a cooling feeling creeping into his brain. "I don't know what this is," and that's Cas' voice, deep and reassuring. "But I think I can help with—"

"Is he okay?" He hears Jack say, before a bright light suddenly invades his vision and everything goes black.


Sam comes to with a start.

He's on the bunker floor, collapsed next to his upturned chair, books haphazardly tossed next to him.

He levers himself up, waiting for the headache to come back. It doesn't. Actually, it's gone completely, and Sam could've cried with the relief of it.

The relief vanishes completely, though, when he gets fully upright and sees the state of the library: chairs and tables upturned, books scattered everywhere, rugs bunched up on the floor, and Dean, Cas, and Jack strewn across the room in different places, picking themselves up dazedly from the floor.

Sam gets to his feet immediately. "What happened?" He asks, reaching back for a gun that isn't there.

Silence. He sees Dean straighten up slowly. "You don't remember?"

"No," Sam says, pulse speeding. "What did I miss?"

Cas, now on his feet too, takes a step towards him. "Sam," he says. "Dean told me about your headache. I attempted to heal you, and then…you tossed me across the room."

Sam blinks. "I threw you? But I was on the ground, how could I lift you up? Also, how did everything else get so—?"

"You misunderstand me," Cas says. Jack is looking at Sam with wide eyes and an even wider smile. "You threw me, and everyone else, with your mind. Psychically. Which, presumably, was also the source of your headache. Are you still feeling pain?"

Sam opens his mouth. No sound comes out.

"Sam?" Dean prompts, starting to move towards him.

He backs up a step. "No," he chokes out, thoughts swirling. "Pain's gone."

"I assumed so," Cas says, tone thoughtful. "It seems you had some psychic blockage in your mind. My interference managed to release it, causing your outburst."

"What do you think?" Dean turns to Cas. Sam feels something pool at his nose. "Did he get hit with a spell or something?"

"No," Cas says as Sam reaches a hand to his face. "This isn't outwardly influenced. I felt the essence. That's all Sam. It seems that he's able to access his abilities again."

Sam pulls his hand away. There's blood on it.

He stumbles back further. "I gotta clean up," He chokes, and runs from the room.


"Do you think it's God?"

Sam starts, water dripping down his face. "Huh?"

"Your powers," Cas says, standing at the entrance to the kitchen. Sam turns off the tap. "I'm assuming his continued interference has…brought something back. Maybe the gun drew your soul out, knocked something back into place."

Sam's hand shake as he dries them on the towel. "Maybe," He says, barely able to choke the words out.

Cas notices. "Are you all right, Sam?"

Sam tries to speak, closes his mouth, tries again. "I'm…" he begins. "I don't know. This is just…I can't really take it in, you know? And I tossed everyone around back there…this might be something really dangerou—"

"Sam," Cas interrupts him, approaching slowly. "Stop. It's all right, this was simply the result of its lack of use for so long. It was just a slip up, it's likely not going to happen again. Just a fluke."

Sam closes his eyes, overwhelmed.

"You know," Cas says. "In a way, you're finally free. These powers are all yours again, not held back or corrupted by any outside influence. You don't have to fight them anymore."

Sam blows out a breath. "It's been a problem in the past," he reminds Cas. "Having this back is just…it can't be good. I'm just worried."

Cas, having reached him, pats his shoulder. "That's not true," He says. "You were on demon blood before, your powers were never the problem. They were never inherently evil, and neither are you. In fact, they may be an asset. Take it as the gift it is, it's about time you accepted yourself fully, don't you think?"

Sam looks at Cas' hand, tries to dig up a smile for him. "Maybe," he says.


Sam exits the kitchen, running a hand through his hair, and almost runs over Jack in the process.

"That was so cool!" Jack says, unfazed at almost being flattened. "You have powers!"

Sam's surprised into a chuckle. "I guess so," He says, starting to walk down the hallway.

Jack practically bounds after him. "We can practice together now!" He says gleefully. "I don't know if you practiced before or anything but if you haven't I can teach you! It's really easy you're gonna do great!"

Sam summons up another smile. "Thank you, Jack," He says. His throat closes up on the other words.

"Don't worry," Jack tells him. "It's really fun, I promise. And you're really smart so you'll get it fast and control it really well! Trust me, I know it."

Sam stops at the door to the library. He reaches out and gives Jack a clumsy pat on the shoulder. "We'll figure it out," He says.


Sam takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and enters the library.

Dean is there, collecting the books from the floor. He doesn't turn around. "Help me out here, will you?"

Sam practically falls to his knees right there, grabbing a book at his feet. "Of course," He stammers out. "It's my mess, I gotta…I…I gotta clean it up."

He starts collecting books, blood thundering in his ears so hard he almost misses Dean asking. "So what's with the nose? You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam says, standing up with the books in his arms. "I guess…this happened sometimes, remember? Maybe it's the pressure or something. Cas said they're all mine again, maybe this was just…I don't know. Because I'm rusty."

Dean finally turns to face him, grabbing at a fallen chair. "Makes sense, and—" He cuts off, finally seeing Sam's face. "Dude, you look…are you okay?"

Sam takes a stuttered breath. "Yeah, I'm just…are you okay? You know, with this?"

Dean shrugs. "I mean," He says. "I'm…surprised, I guess. You haven't had these for a while, so, you know. It's kind of a surprise that they're still there, I guess? But maybe that's good, finally knowing that you psychic abilities are just yours. Closure, you know?"

"You don't think," Sam says, feeling his eyes start to prickle. "That I'm…that I need to be…"

Dean's brows furrow, then shoot up as his eyes widen. "Oh," He says, dropping the chair back down. "Sam, no. God! No, that was…that was a long time ago. I've changed since then, right? We both have. Sure, the powers thing is still weird but that's because you're weird, you know? I'm not…I mean, I never was scared, but, you know. We know better now."

Sam breath stutters, vision blurring. "So, you're not upset?"

"No!" Dean says immediately, making his way over to Sam. "No, Sam, come on. Dude, don't do that, it's all good. If the powers are all you, how can they be a bad thing? I mean, you're too boring to commit any cool crimes with them. Most boring psychic of all time."

Sam huffs. It's shaky. "You're boring."

"Seriously?" Dean says. "Come on. If it were me, I'd be halfway to Vegas by now. Which reminds me, didn't you make me a promise about Vegas, like, fifteen years ago now? Don't think I forgot about that, you're busting out your third eye or sixth sense or whatever and finally winning us some money."

Sam's eyes are clearing, his pulse calming down. "I'm not doing that," He says.

"See? Boring?" And Dean wavers slightly before pulling Sam into a quick and unexpected hug. "It'll be fine," He says, releasing him and giving him a quick pat. "I know the history is bad, things were said. But we're building a new one, right? Who knows, this might be the thing to win us all this once and for all."

Sam nods. He knows Dean will hear it.