Thanks to all who've been reading along. This chapter is a bit long, I apologize, but I didn't want to split it up.
Today was the day. Bobby knew it in his gut. The appearance of the demon, that particular type of demon, the night before convinced him. He'd been waiting for the right time, today was it. Preferably the four of them would've had more time together, strengthen bonds just beginning to cement and grow. Didn't look like he was going to have the luxury of more time, however. The demon getting into this house where the four of them had been for several days now scared him. If a demon was bold enough to do that, Bobby shuddered to think what else it might try. Concha hadn't given herself away yet, but it was only a matter of time before it happened accidentally. Sam's vision the evening before, just a short time before the demon's appearance Dean explained away as a migraine. Again, it was only a matter of time before there was a vision they couldn't cover up. Everything had to be brought out into the open.
Bobby was painfully aware of how many spectacular ways this could back-fire on him. The most spectacular included loss of his life. He'd been casting around for days, weeks even, trying to come up with a different way to do this. But damn if he couldn't find one. He'd thought of having Concha just quietly demonstrate, but he realized Dean and Sam would forever question just how far she could go, and what she could do. It was imperative they all be caught off guard. Without trusting her, the Winchester boys would be gone. Knowing full well Dean would have Sam as far away as possible, in as short a time as possible. It was one reason Bobby had for getting them to ride on horseback up the mountain. It would limit their movements somewhat if things got out of hand. Show them and convince them at the same time she wasn't a threat, but an ally.
Good thing she couldn't read minds. Or this would never work.
Hunting Concha down wasn't so much of a chore, she was in her library, working on something. She'd been there late into the last night and most of today, promising to share what she was working as soon as she made some sense of it, and put it together. Concha did like to have her research organized before presenting it.
"Come on," Bobby coaxed cheerfully from the door way. "You need to get outside and get some air."
"In a bit."
"No, now. Go take a ride, get some exercise, 'cause we've got some training to do. And you need a decent meal girl, you can't live off cookies and nuts for much longer."
Concha leaned back, tipping her head back, looking at him upside down. "Watch me." Her feet had been propped on her desk, she dropped them one at a time to the floor. "Ok, don't give me that look."
"I'll expect you on the horse in ten minutes."
"Yeah, yeah." She smiled and waved him off. "I'll be there."
True to her word Concha showed up an hour or so later at the workout area. Still on the horse she watched the three men spar with each other, smiling at the moves they tried pulling on one another. She and the horse had a fine sheen of sweat from her solitary workout, which Bobby presumed involved splitting melons mounted to large poles with that saber of hers.
"You gonna join in?" Bobby was examining a crossbow as he spoke, holding it up, turning it for views from different angles.
"Nawww….Dante's the only one who'd fight with me anyway. Besides it's more fun watching three young, in shape, half-naked sweaty men, even if one is my brother, than it would be beating on them."
Bobby couldn't help laughing at her. "In all seriousness, they, Sam and Dean, have to know you can take care of yourself, or they might be too distracted feeling the need to watch you on a hunt. Even if they see Dante doesn't, I think they need some proof."
Concha slid from her horse, patting his neck fondly. "I suppose you're right. Besides, it's fun, and I'm getting out of practice." She stretched for a minute, glancing at them every few seconds, inched closer to the mats laid out on the ground. Edging up until she was just at their rim, she'd barely been noticed by the three men. One more roll of her shoulders, dipping her head side to side, she sidled close enough to take Dante's feet right out from under him. Dean was well out of reach, but Sam wasn't and he was her next victim, landing solidly with a surprised 'harruummppp.' Dean outright laughed, backing out of the ring and settling himself on the ground to watch, holding up one hand briefly, he was out of this. Sam rolled agilely around, then crab-walked back to sit beside his brother. Both obviously amused, but not quite willing to take punches at a woman if they really didn't have to.
It took a few minutes warm up before it was all out war between Dante and Concha. She didn't throw punches, hit with her fists as most men did, but she sure could block her brother's. Concha used her legs, and weight more and even Bobby was impressed by how she could still dump him on the ground. Dante had done a good job, teaching his sister these skills. And Bobby sure gave him credit, the man didn't hold back because she was smaller, and female. Sam leaned over, said something in Dean's ear, jabbing him under the arm. Whatever it was amused Dean, he laughed a bit, shoving Sam back, shoulders still shaking and he tried to stop himself from laughing. Dean pushed Sam a second time, hard enough that Sam had to use one arm to stop himself from being rolled on his side. Which earned Dean a smack to the back of the head. Dante and Concha finally decided it was a draw, both laying on the ground. Well, almost a draw, Concha rolled on her stomach, hit Dante square in the solar plexus, bounced to her feet and took off. Dante was up a second later, in pursuit, grabbing her about the waist just as she vaulted at Orion.
"Oh no you don't princess, you don't get off that easy." This time Dante had her firmly around the middle with one arm, and tickled with the other.
"Ok, ok..give, give." Concha panted between fits of laughter.
God, Bobby loved these kids, all four of them. He'd watched them grow up, marveling all over again each time he'd see one of the sets at how well they'd really done, what fine people they'd become. And the bonds, the sibling glue holding Dean and Sam, Dante and Concha together through thick and thin, even if they weren't with one another, they were always with each other in some sense. It was that glue he found most fascinating, and comforting. He watched them, all four of them for a few minutes, waiting for his chance. He wanted to memorize them as they were now, relaxed, happy, enjoying the moment. How much he hoped what he was about to do wouldn't forever banish him from their lives.
Or get him killed.
He loaded the crossbow.
Dante had wandered away, closer to the Winchester boys, where towels were. Sam tossed him one, then snapped Dean with another. Whatever retaliation Dean offered, Bobby didn't see, but he heard Sam swear good-naturedly.
Concha was clear, away from the men, away from her horse. Now was the best he would have.
Bobby raised the crossbow and fired at Concha.
He'd made enough noise doing so, and the whoosh when the bolt let fly was plain enough, but most people just wouldn't be fast enough.
"Whoa!" Concha arched her back, going forward, the bolt sailed by clattering harmlessly to the ground. "Bobby, watch it, those things have safeties for a reason."
"Jeeesus Bobby, be careful." Sam warned from somewhere behind him. "You could kill someone that way."
That was sort of the point.
He fired two shots one right after the other this time. She was looking right at him. Confused, scared, hurt. Covering her head with both arms, no time to get out of the way this time, gasping loudly she half knelt down.
The arrows hit an invisible wall a few feet from her, dropping to the ground.
Somewhere behind him he heard Dante shout, "what the HELL are you doing?" and Dean's "Christ, sonofabitch, Bobby what ARE you doing?"
Daring a glance away from Concha for just long enough to assess where the men were, Dean and Sam were pretty much where they had been only, Dean was on his feet, hauling Sam up with him. Both looked a bit stunned. Dante was moving at him. And Concha was keeping her reactions mild. He needed to illicit something more. Prove to the Winchesters she wasn't something evil. He swung the crossbow away from Concha and onto Dante. He ignored whatever it was Sam and Dean yelled at him. Dante skidded to a halt, arms raised.
Shifting so he could look at Concha and still keep Dante in his sights he fired the crossbow. What happened next happened so damn fast Bobby could barely keep up.
Bobby could swear he saw the air in front of Dante shimmer and ripple just the slightest before he was shoved back and to the side, snarling, "don't you goddamn push me!" Though he was obviously ready for it, because even with the invisible shove he didn't miss a step or stumble, just moved along with whatever force was moving him. He barely flinched when the arrow stopped a few feet from his forehead, splintered into a half dozen pieces and dropped to the ground. The same force was at work on Dean, moving him away. He was not so willing to go back, and surged forward, getting him nowhere. Sam, grabbed him from behind and yanked him back with far less gentleness than the rippling air in front of him. Dean didn't bother shaking off Sam's grip on his arm.
Looking back at Concha, Bobby realized he'd gone too far, made a huge mistake turning the weapon on Dante. Everything about Concha changed. Her eyes were cold and flat, predatory. Standing, turned to the side (make yourself a smaller target), feet solidly planted shoulder distance apart. Bobby realized, with frightening clarity the few demonstrations she'd given him many months back had been mere parlor tricks compared to all she was probably capable of. And he had no clue as to what all of it was. Stalking slowly around him, Bobby recognized she was drawing him away from her brother and the other two men.
"Devil got your tongue, Bobby?" Her voice was low, tense.
Dante moved away, backed himself up to a tree, one leg bent at the knee, foot casually propped against the tree, arms crossed loosely over his middle. He cocked his head to one side and waited, watched. Which was not the reaction Bobby was expecting, and probably about as far from what Dean and Sam were expecting. But then Dante was used to all this; well except for the part where Bobby shot at him. He wouldn't even bother fighting Concha's barrier, he'd know it was useless. He'd helped her learn how to use her gift, honed her skills after all, he knew all about it.
Concha was a fast learner, learned her lessons well, and one she'd learned above all else was don't let the enemy, no matter if it was human or supernatural ever see your fear. Fear was good to have, it kept you alive, but showing it to the adversary was death. Look the enemy straight in the eye, and don't flinch. Concha returned Bobby's gaze and didn't flinch.
"Crap!" Dean hissed, moving again. Sam didn't let go, tried stopping him, but Dean wasn't going to be stopped. He didn't free himself from Sam's grip, so Sam was pulled along with him. Dean didn't get more than a few steps, Concha's gaze flicked to him and Sam for the briefest instant, she mouthed the words, "really sorry."
A ring of fire several feet high erupted around the three men, effectively trapping them.
"Well?" She snapped at Bobby.
Dean backed away from the fire, pushing Sam along behind him until, shouting his name Sam shoved roughly against Dean's back. Spinning to see why Dean's expression turned horrified, grabbing his brother's shoulders he jerked Sam around, again putting himself between Sam and the fire. In backing away from the fire in front of them, he'd almost pushed them right into the one behind them. They were close enough to the tree Dante was propped against, for him to tap Dean's arm lightly, causing the younger man to jerk in his direction. Dante shook his head slightly and motioned with one hand for them to stand still.
"I have no idea, but just trust me for a few minutes." Bobby heard Dante tell them.
"Trus---" Dean sputtered.
"Dean, we don't really have a choice right now, and he's stuck here just like us." Sam said in a hurry. Dean gave him an odd look, but nodded and stood still, Sam's shirt sleeve still wadded in his fist.
"No," Bobby sighed, "I'm still me, just me."
In response Concha spread her arms wide and shook her head a bit at him, "then what the hell?"
"They had to see what you do, and what you aren't."
"That doesn't even make sense! And you couldn't just ask for a demonstration?"
"Would you have?"
That caught her off guard. For a minute her eyes met Dante's, he shrugged just the slightest bit. She relaxed just a fraction, "no."
The flames she'd created lapped up one of the nearby trees, they were still too wet to catch immediately, but some of the smaller branches sparked, shooting little embers raining down around the three men. Dean and Sam looked up, had to side step to keep the embers fall on them. Dante glanced up, sighed heavily and muttered, "this is just goddamn stupid. And over."
He snatched one of the towels left laying near the sparring ring, stormed to the fire's edge, slapped at it angrily, shouting, "Conchita! Right NOW!" Shouldering through the fire as if it were a crowd of people he didn't stop until he was beside his sister. Roughly grabbed her arm and gave her a healthy shake. "You're going to burn down the forest!"
"Huh?" She seemed surprised he was there, at first looking down at his hand on her arm, then up where he pointed. "Oh, sorry." Swirls of dirt lifted off the ground in wave-like motions, patting out the fire.
Then to Bobby, "you mind explaining to me before I rip your damn head off!" Dante literally shook, voice raising with each word.
"She never saw it coming." Bobby ignored Dante and Concha, stepping past them, closer to the Winchesters. He stared at Sam, pointing back at Concha, "she never saw it coming," his voice was calmer, "and never once has she used it other then when threatened." Taking another few steps, he stopped when Dean literally pushed Sam back another couple of steps. He twisted around to face Concha and Dante, "he sees it coming." This time he pointed at Sam. Dean swore something incredibly nasty in a hoarse whisper, all of which Bobby didn't catch, deciding that was probably a good thing.
"Well, thanks a lot, you could have warned me." Concha stared a bit at Sam, but there was no harshness to her words.
"It doesn't really work like that. I didn't know." Sam said simply. Dean shot him a look, opened his mouth, but when Sam met his gaze he shut it again.
Bobby laid the crossbow on the ground; it immediately took flight, slamming into a nearby tree with enough force to crack it in two. Each of the pieces were flung into the same tree, completely shattering it.
Dante watched, then turned to Concha, annoyed. She glared at him, "because I can!" She spat.
"Murdering a perfectly good crossbow won't help." He snapped back, "and don't you EVER shove me again….ever! And really, no fire, ever!"
"Sorry." She mumbled.
"Bullshit!" Dante shouted, "you know the rules, unless you're aiming at a barbeque, NO FIRE!!"
"Well, gee, Dante, having arrows flying at me seemed like an emergency, and I didn't have a lot of time to think about things."
"You know what," grabbing her shoulders he spun her around, moving her toward her horse. "Go, just go. Get on Orion and go somewhere for a while."
"Go where?!" Concha was shouting, glaring at him.
Stabbing one finger in the air at her, Dante barked, "don't even!" He seemed to collect himself, taking a few deep breaths. Bobby could see him visibly relax. "Just make yourself scarce for an hour or two. Please." The last word was spoken so softly none of the rest of them would have heard if they'd not been so close. "Give me an hour."
Concha took her own deep breaths, glanced around at Bobby, Sam and Dean, gaze settling back on her brother. She shrugged one shoulder, "fine." Taking Orion's reins, standing beside the horse, "give me a leg up?"
"Sure." Dante held her ankle then pulled up a bit when she vaulted onto the horse. Palm flattened briefly against the horse's side, just behind her calf.
"An hour."
He nodded, and patted her knee. "It'll be ok. Go on." He waited until she was out of sight, turning first to Dean and Sam, "You two ok?"
"Yeah. A little surprised, but yeah, ok." Sam said softly, after a brief glance at Dean.
Looking to Bobby, "do you have some kind of bizarre death wish? Cause I'm telling you that was just stupid. And I'm sure I don't even have to mention anyone gets any ideas about her being something to hunt-" He glared pointedly around at the others.
"It's not even something we'd think of." Dean said earnestly. Bobby could tell, he meant it, believed it, and was relieved Dante seemed to honestly believe it also.
"You must have really freaked her out, because she's never done that, the fire, ever. Strictly forbidden, and she's always stuck to that. The only fires she lights are the kind in a pit."
"When did it start?" Sam asked.
Dante frowned then shrugged. "I dunno, she was really young. When she was a baby, even before she could talk, she'd cry when she was hungry, and things would fly around the room." He laughed a bit, "not really exciting at the time, but funny now. What difference does it make?"
Sam shrugged, "just curious."
They started walking back to the cabin. Bobby hung back a bit; wanting to hear all that was said. For once Dante seemed in a mood to explain a few things about his sister. The barn came into view first as they approached the cabin. Dante pointed at it. "See the patch job on the barn?" He stopped, facing Dean and Sam, talking mainly to them.
Dean nodded.
"I decided, a long time ago, if she had this, ignoring it wasn't really an option, or a good idea. Our parents just wanted her to hide it, bury it away, pretend she didn't have it. And I understand why. Don't agree now, didn't then, but that's beside the point. I was afraid of what would happen if she couldn't control it, or was uncomfortable with it, if it just happened one day. Concha, even from the time she was very little, never wanted to hide away, it's part of her, and I think on some level she's always taken it as that. Scared the hell out of me more than once, but she's never been afraid of it. After our parents died, she didn't have any reason not to use it. So, we came up with a plan, a method. I'm a soldier, it's all I know, like I was born knowing only that. The only thing I could think of was do the same as I would with any weapon or skill. We practiced, and worked with it, sort of working out but without the weights. At first we used the barn. Until she put me through that wall," he grinned sheepishly, holding up two fingers, "twice. That's when we moved the practices outside."
"Ouch." Dean grimaced.
"Tell me about it." He stopped, leaning back against the paddock fence. "The point is, for her it's no different than knowing marshal arts, or being able to paint, or fix a car. It's just a talent, something she can do, no more no less."
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"Dean, come on, just a little space. We shouldn't be here. This is her home. We need to stay somewhere else, that's all I'm asking for." Sam stood in their room, in front of the glass wall. He casually peeked through the blinds, turning as he did so, most of his back to his brother.
Dean seriously considered demons had indeed taken over Sam, turned him evil and implemented their master plan. Drive Dean slowly insane, just make him a crazy, babbling, dribbling shell of his former self. Yeah, cause that would really do the world in and turn it all to the dark side. "And you know what? It's not going to work Sam, no, not this time. Not gonna work." Oh yeah, so coherent. Babbling shell. Get a grip Winchester.
Dean knew perfectly well what Sam was up to. Claiming some notion Concha would be afraid with two hunters in her house now. Dean agreed she'd looked a bit apprehensive when she'd ridden away from the sparring ring a few hours earlier, but not afraid, not by any means. She didn't seem the scare easy type of woman. Bobby acted as he had for a reason. Dean was sure there was more he was wanting to show them, something not having to do with ancient Mayan sigils branded into dead bodies. Sam wanted to go a few miles from the house and pitch a tent, be out of the house. Dean didn't see the purpose of sleeping on the ground if there was a perfectly good bed to sleep in, even if it was in a room with a creepy glass wall.
Long ago and far away, by the time Sam was maybe two, Dean learned all his brother's tricks. All the things Sam could (and would) do to cajole Dean into doing whatever it was he wanted. These days, now that they were beyond puberty mostly it was something along the lines of stopping to eat when Dean wanted to drive a bit further, or getting silly costumes to interview people in. The majority of the time Dean gave in, knowing full well he was being manipulated, and knowing Sam knew it too. It was, in general, not something Sam abused, unless he felt threatened somehow, more precisely felt Dean was threatened. Most times all Sam had to really do was ask, knowing Dean was apt to comply. And Dean did so for one simple reason, he loved his brother and one way he said it was to provide. The fact Sam was now pulling out some pretty big emotional manipulation stunts set off somewhere around a dozen warning bells in Dean's head. Sam didn't do this just because he could, or without reason, he did it because he felt driven to change their situation for some reason, and felt asking wouldn't do the trick. Dean had a pretty good idea what the reason was. Steeling himself, he knew what was coming, he'd get hit square between the eyes with it as soon as Sam decided to face him. He didn't want all his resolve flying out the obscenely large window Sam had planted himself in front of to rattle Dean.
May as well just get it over with. "Sammy, look at me."
Obediently Sam let the blinds slide off his fingers, turned to face his brother, which in and of itself was another of his tricks. Sam was only this compliant and obedient when he was trying to placate or influence Dean somehow. Dean just needed to confirm why. If Sam wanted out of the house because of something for himself he'd have simply argued his point, told Dean his reasons, no subversive methods. And, in all honesty, Dean probably would have given in just to make Sam feel better. But this wasn't about Sam, it was about Dean. Sam's greatest fear, possibly his only true fear was the same as Dean's. Not close, not similar, the exact same. Each feared loss of the other, everything else was petty annoyance on the fear scale compared to that one. He considered letting Sam win this one, just giving in to the kid out of kindness and a real want to scale his brother's anxiety back a bit. But not before he got to the root of the problem. Besides, sleeping on the hard ground was unnecessary and plain silly.
Sam watched him quietly, looking all of ten years old and like someone had just blown away his puppy with an AK-47, then splashed him in the blood and pinned said puppy's ears to his shirt. Dean couldn't help thinking they should just leave now, give up this hunting business, and he should drive the boy straight to Hollywood, or Vegas. Either way with that damn look he'd make them a lot of money. Stepping closer to Sam, he settled his palms firmly on either of Sam's shoulders, as much get him away from the damn window as to make sure Sam focused completely on him.
"If it'll make you feel better, then I'll help you get some stuff together and go camp out. I'd consider it a favor however, if you not go too far. I'm staying here." He said it as gently as he could, adding, "if she'd wanted to hurt either one of us, for any reason, she had far better opportunities up to now. She could have tossed us both off a cliff on the way up here, and no one would know the difference." Then just for sheer effect he let his hands drop from his brother's shoulders, and took a step back. Sam's expression told him he'd hit the right nerve.
Others they'd met, all the same age as Sam, who'd had similar abilities (Dean refused to think of them as powers), had been, in a nutshell, crazy flippin' loonatics. A few were pleasantly crazy, but the majority were violent and dangerous, seriously out of control individuals. Very scary individuals. While Sam seemed mostly immune physically to what those seriously disturbed and scary individuals could dish out, Dean had not been. In each and every case he'd been wounded somehow. In reality they'd all been small things, some not even leaving real scars. Though he tried very hard not to think of what his rifle tasted like when it got shoved into his mouth by one of them; that still made him shiver a year later. But in the end the damage to Dean had been little more than cuts and scrapes, some not even needing so much as a band aide, and left almost no lingering effects on him. The scars left on Sam were totally different. Nasty, festering emotional wounds caused when Sam had been witness to what happened to his brother, powerless to prevent Dean's physical wounds. Those scars were rearing their ugly heads and plain messing with the kid. Nothing and nobody messed with Dean Winchester's little brother, not even the little brother himself, so time to get all this out and resolved.
Yes, Sam had been a bit nervous (Dean too) being with these hunters at first, and who could blame him? Some hunters thought Sam was something to hunt. Both worried Sam might have a vision they couldn't cover up. But they'd been in this house a full week now, and before that three days riding up the mountain with Concha, and Sam hadn't appeared overly anxious, in fact until today Sam seemed to have put it out of his mind all together. Dean didn't even have to guess why. Sam's trust and faith in Dean's ability to watch out for him was absolute, unquestioning, without doubt and unconditional. Sam's trust and faith in Dean's ability to take care of Dean had great big holes in it. Some days Dean wondered if it existed at all. If Sam wanted out of the house because of himself, they wouldn't be here talking right now, but Sam wanted out of the house because of Dean. Which meant simply if he couldn't get Dean to leave, dynamite wouldn't blow him away from the house. His test proved what Dean suspected.
"Dean we don't usually live in the same house with-"
"Point taken, no we don't." He nodded at Sam's bed, "sit down." He took a couple of deep breaths, collecting his thoughts. Sam cocked his head to one side and just stood there looking at him, making Dean smile a bit. "Please. So we can talk about this and get it sorted out." Sam stood for another couple of seconds then quietly sat. "Dude, did you notice there is a big difference between Concha and others we've met? She was scared by Bobby shooting at her, but that was it. Not scared by what she could do, and she obviously has great control over it, and when she uses it. I didn't need Dante telling me, and neither did you. We both saw it. And Sammy, one thing keeps coming back to me. She's happy."
"You think she's got any connection to the demon?"
"No."
"What about my visions. Those are her horses, and the one yesterday? They've always been demon-connected. And the people have mostly been-"
"Crazy, insane, walking disasters, death on feet. Another point taken. But I'm thinking we might need to take a look at this, some things from another angle. Starting with these visions. Sam, they aren't just your visions. They're mine too. You see the images, but I'm the one who gets to sit and watch and wonder if this will be the time you don't come back. I'm the one who deals with the real world when you have them. I'm the one who gets to deal with the crazy, insane, walking disaster people. I get to want some answers too. And Sam, you don't get to think they're your visions any more, they're our visions, we're both affected. You don't get to do that anymore, Sam, you just don't."
"I'm sorry. I-I never thought, that it was like that, or how it is for you." Sam was honestly taken aback.
Dean shrugged a bit, "I probably wouldn't think of it that way either, but that's how it is." Deep sighed. "I'll make you a deal, I'll go find Dante and ask him. If he thinks it would be better we put some distance between them and us, then we will. If not, we get to keep sleeping inside. But either way, Sam, I'm going to find out all I can about this."
Sam nodded, agreeing.
Splitting up, Sam sought out Bobby for some answers, Dean went to find Dante.
Dean didn't know how Sam was fairing, but he wasn't having such luck with his project and it was starting to look like he might have to sleep outside after all. First he checked the airfield, Dante fussed with his plane as much as Dean did his car, but no luck. Then the barn. Zip. It was evening, the time beyond twilight, but not completely pitch black yet when he started across the yard, wondering how Sam was doing. Thinking he'd look through the house again. Voices made him look up. He was still twenty yards for so from the barbeque pit, which placed him another twenty after that from the house. He was in the shadows created by the surrounding forest and barn behind him, hadn't planned it that way, it simply happened.
Concha was stretched on a lawn chair, Dante heading toward her. Dean was about to call out when he saw Dante hesitate a few seconds, cleared his throat, then stepped forward. Dean squinted at them. He could swear he saw the air around her shimmer ever so slightly, a rip in the shimmer, then close after Dante walked forward. Hanging back in the shadows he felt a bit guilty spying on them, but he couldn't get to the house without being seen, and he was curious about what he'd just seen.
Dante sat on the ground beside his sister, turning his gaze up to the sky as was hers. "How many you count so far?"
"Just a few. Won't get too many meteors till after 2am."
"I remember that now." He was quiet for a few minutes. "You ok?"
Concha smiled at him, turning her head to face him. "Yes."
"Where's your hunter?" Dante was looking up now too.
"Not late enough for him to be up yet, not till later tonight. They didn't get burnt, did they?"
"Naaa….no harm, no foul."
"You know, I might not look so different from the things they hunt."
That had Dean's full attention. He was hearing Sam's words almost exactly repeated back out of Concha's mouth. It took a few seconds for him to realize he'd had his jaw clenched tight. He'd seen her expression of apprehension, doubt, some fear on Sam's face. Heard the hitch in her voice in his brother's more times than he wanted to admit to. Worn Dante's expression many times himself he imagined.
"Anyone, and I mean anyone gets any stupid ideas about hunting you, they'll have to go through me first. And they'll be very sorry. And very dead." Leaning over he put one hand on her head, then kissed her forehead. "Don't stay out here too late, ok? And don't fall asleep, remember the barriers come down when you sleep." Standing, he stretched a bit. As he moved away he glanced back at her, again Dean saw the air shimmer just a bit. Dante hesitated a half step then stepped through something.
Dean slunk back farther in the shadows, he'd have to take the long way around and back to the house, find Sam and tell him everything he did, and didn't find out.
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Concha's eyes snapped open. It was chilly and damp. She'd predictably fallen asleep outside on the lawn chair, just as she'd promised she wouldn't. Dante would be irked. Yawning, then stretching she hoped she could sneak in the house without him realizing she'd dozed off. She could tell by the movement of the stars above her it'd been a couple hours. Lazily turning her head to one side, her neck was stiff; she was met by a pair of glowing yellow eyes.
Gasping involuntarily Concha was immediately in motion. She rolled away from the eyes, dropping down to the ground, lawn chair between her and the eyes. Yeah, because the lawn chair is such great cover! Peering over when the eyes chattered and waddled away she laughed nervously. A raccoon. Standing, shaking her head and stretching some more, Concha decided to not push her luck. She headed into the house.
The place was dark, she had no clue where the men were, but figured they were probably all in bed, asleep. Fine bunch of hunter/protectors they turned out to be, leaving her to face the evil yellow-eyed raccoon alone. Padding silently through the house to the kitchen, she rubbed the night chill from her arms and headed for the refrigerator. A minute or two prowling around in its depths produced a can of soda. She shut the door, stepped back, nearly jumped out of her skin and juggled the can of pop for a few seconds before saving it from a disastrous meeting with the floor.
"Oh, shit, don't do that!" She slugged Sam's shoulder. "Tomorrow, I'm going to go buy you a damn bell, and you're wearing it! Quit slinking around here."
Sam smiled, then chuckled, his shoulders shaking a bit as he kept his voice low. "Sorry, but you slink a bit yourself you know."
"Whatever!"
"Any more of those in there?" He nodded to the soda.
Stepping away from the refrigerator, she opened the door wide for him, waving one hand at its insides. While he reached in, Concha stuck her head around the kitchen door leading to the living room. The other one was no where to be seen, but she knew he was probably lurking around somewhere, the brothers never seemed to be too far apart. She hadn't missed the expressions on either of their faces for the first few minutes of Bobby's little demonstration. Those expressions, while not threatening hadn't exactly been warm and fuzzy. Had it been her and Dante in their position Concha doubted very much she'd be going very far alone. The only reason he'd left her in the yard was because she'd put up her barriers, and he knew nothing could get through without her allowing it. If anything she imagined Dante might be a bit less protective of his younger sibling than was Dean. Concha had an advantage most people didn't. So she fully expected Dean to be doing some of his own slinking about.
When Sam straightened he held only one can of pop, so maybe Dean was asleep upstairs. But then again Sam was far too smart to tip her off by taking two cans. He smiled at her, almost shyly, nodded, mumbled a thanks and a good night and stepped away, heading for the doorway.
"Sam," she caught his forearm, feeling him stiffen and flinch a bit. "Wait. Gotta minute?"
He glanced at his watch, scrunched his nose, the corners of his mouth twitched up. "It's one AM. No appointments for a few hours yet."
Ok, this was good, he was uncomfortable around her, but at least not so much so he couldn't quip a smart ass answer. She sat at the table, her back to the middle of the room, purposely leaving herself open and unprotected. Sam took a chair with his back against the wall. He sipped his soda, looking at her patiently over the rim of the can.
"Boy this is a bit awkward," Concha giggled nervously. "I'm sorry, really sorry about the fire. It was sort of a knee jerk reaction, I've never actually done that before." She didn't add that if he and his brother had just stood still she wouldn't have done it at all.
"So your brother told us." He took a deep breath, ran his finger around the top of the can a few times. "When did it start?"
That surprised Concha, she shrugged, "I don't know, really young. Ask Dante, he might be able to pin it down for you. I don't remember. That's an odd question. Why do you ask?"
"I get these visions, mostly of people dying, or about to die, anywhere from hours to minutes beforehand. But I didn't start having them until I turned twenty-two."
"That's a little odd. And no offense, but not very useful."
Sam snorted, "tell me about it."
"Nothing else, psychically speaking?"
"No."
Concha laughed, "hey, at least I can swipe the ketchup off the next table at a restaurant without leaving my table." That got her a grin from Sam. More of the tenseness left his shoulders, but she doubted it had much to do with her joke and more to do with the footsteps she heard moving through the kitchen behind her. The door to the refrigerator opened, followed a minute later by the distinct sound of yet another can of soda being cracked open. Someone, leaned back against the counter, settling himself there, making no effort to be quiet, making an effort to be noisy. Someone she knew without even looking was not Dante or Bobby. She spent another few seconds drumming her fingers against her own soda, took a deep breath, looked up and met Sam's gaze steadily. "You know I never killed anything, not even bugs, I make Dante kill them, until I shot that tartum while we were riding up here? But that's not what I wanted to tell you. When I was in college, I met this guy, Matt. And we were involved. Then one day he up and left, tore my heart out, broke it in tiny little pieces and left."
"What did you do?" Sam's voice was soft and calm. He glanced for the briefest instant at some point behind her, and then focused completely on her once again.
"Honestly?"
He nodded, maybe a bit hesitantly, as if he really didn't want to know.
"I cried. For about a month, maybe a bit more. I shoved this little stuffed toy he'd won for me at a fair down the garbage disposal," she wiped a tear away, and laughed a short, sad laugh. "And try explaining that plumbing bill to your big brother without really explaining anything. Anyway it really didn't make me feel much better, but eventually I did. Not great, but better. And the world kept turning, and I had a master's degree to finish, and a friend who kept dragging me to really sucky parties. Then a couple, maybe three years ago now I was sitting around, watching TV, minding my own business, and the news comes on. There's this story about how this guy, who's wife is four months pregnant by the way, stops on his way home from work at an ATM machine. Takes out forty bucks, gets held up by some freak who puts a bullet in his head and kills him. For forty dollars. I'm sitting there thinking, demons I get, sickos like that, they don't make any sense to me. They put up a picture of the guy on the screen. It's Matt. That, was just not right. So, we broke up, but people do that all the time. He never deserved to die over forty freaking dollars. His wife didn't deserve that, and his kid he'd never even seen certainly didn't. No one arrested.
"I'm a hunter, a tracker. So I did what I do. I hunted the bastard down and I set him up. When the cops got there they caught him red-handed with his gun planted firmly here…" she tapped her left temple. "Left a bruise as a matter of fact. He kept babbling at them he'd been forced somehow to stand like that for nearly a half hour. And I'm sure they still tell the story about how that gun just never discharged, a miracle. Wasn't I lucky?" She stopped long enough to take another drink of her pop. "He got off on insanity in my case, but he did confess to the robberies and murders of seven other people, one of which was Matt. And he's on death row. I could have quietly taken care of the scum myself, in about twenty different ways, and no one would have known. I could have just ignored it, but that didn't seem right. So I did what just felt right, and that was it." She turned in her chair, getting up as she did so. Looking first at Sam, then twisting to meet Dean's eyes. "Cause you know, that's what monsters do." Not really intending her last statement to come out sounding so venomous, but it did.
Not getting more than a few steps toward the door before Dean stopped her, grabbing her wrist as he moved past him. "Neither of us ever said you were a monster."
She glared pointedly down at his hand, and was surprised he didn't remove it, though his grasp did soften a bit. "You didn't have to, either of you. It was written all over your faces this afternoon."
"Then you read wrong. Because neither one of us would think that, I'd even venture to say we'd be the last two people to think that. Surprised, yes, a bit startled…"
Concha smiled, "startled? How about scared?"
"Star—tled." Dean emphasized each syllable. "But not you're some kind of monster. Hell, Sam wanted to go pitch a tent and camp out so you wouldn't feel uncomfortable with us in your house."
That surprised her. She looked back at Sam, who just nodded.
"Wow, what a nice thing to think of. Not necessary, but very nice. Thank you."
"You're welcome." Sam said.
Letting go of her arm, Dean reached to the sink and grabbed a spoon. "Bend this."
Concha burst out laughing. "You're kidding right?"
"No, sometime, somewhere I want to see someone bend a spoon." He waved at Sam, "he can't, I keep asking him."
Sam rolled his eyes and groaned.
She shook her head a bit, relaxed a bit more. "You sound like Dante, bend a spoon. Ok, why not. Let go of it."
Dean did, first his expression was shock, and she wondered what he actually expected, she'd let the spoon drop? Then pure delight when it hovered in the air, just in front of his nose for a minute before folding up on itself into a bow skimmed the air and landed in the trash.
Concha threw both hands in the air, "she shoots, she scores the crowd goes wild."
"Now that was just cool." Dean plunked himself down in the chair Concha had vacated, grabbed Sam's arm and jostled it, "Sammy, you got to admit that's cool."
"Yeah, it is."
"You sound like Dante, bend a spoon, bend a spoon. It was one of the exercises he devised. Spoons, forks, knives, do you know how much cutlery we went through before he found something else for me to practice on?" Finishing her pop, and yawning, "I really am going to bed this time. Forget any silly ideas of moving to a tent. There's no need. If you want though, I'm sure Dante or I could fly you back down, if you really want to go tomorrow. We'd have to make two trips the plane only seats two. I'm sticking it out for a bit as pissed as I am at Bobby, I still want to know what he's found out."
"Ha, ah, no not flying anywhere." Sam said quickly. "We'll leave the same way we got here. It wasn't so bad, sort of fun."
"Hummmm…….you both looked pretty darn happy to be off the horses. But ok, whatever you want." Smiling at them, she added, "good night."
Concha was up early the next morning, hard at work in her library. Hearing movement in the house, she knew the others were up and about. No one was overly concerned she kept to the library, Dante simply told them she was on the trail of something. True enough, he didn't know what, and didn't ask. He rarely did unless it was their case and concerned him. What she did for others he stayed out of unless she chose to share. She was now working on a bit of detail Sam provided last night. Things hadn't quite added up, until he told her the details of his visions. Rifling through what seemed like reams of paper a few things jumped off the pages at her. It all clicked into place.
"Dante! D-aaannnn-ttteeeee!!!!!" Sprinting across the living room, she stopped by the stairs, having no idea where he was. "Da-ANTE!"
In her zeal to share her ideas with her brother she'd forgotten she was in a house literally filled with hunters. And her running through said house, yelling at the top of her lungs for said brother caused a bit of a stir. Bolting into the kitchen, she skidded to a halt, dropping her papers in a flutter of white, and threw both hands in the air.
"Whoa!" Nose to nose with Dean's pistol she back pedaled. "Don't shoot!"
"What is it, where is it?"
"Huh?" Should blades slammed into something. "Holy crap, Sam!" She spun to meet a sawed off shotgun.
"Are you ok?" Sam practically shouted at her.
"I…um….Dante, put that thing down!" Another gun had appeared. Bobby, blissfully unarmed, a mere few steps behind Sam. "Ok, everyone needs to calm down." She held out one hand to Dante, wiggling her fingers, "gun." She curled her fingers around Sam's shotgun, pushing it down. "Sorry."
He relaxed and let it drop to his side, then placed it in her hand. Dean rolled his eyes, then lowered his pistol.
"What the hell were you screaming for?" Dante snapped.
"I was looking for you." Concha offered meekly. She reached for Dean's pistol, he gave her a dirty look, she backed up a bit, and he stowed it away in his belt. Concha placed the rest of the weapons on the counter. "Sorry." She patted the air with her palms, "so sorry…" pulling out chairs, "just sit, please…sorry….You guys are all switching to decaf." Taking a minute to collect her papers, which gave her time to collect herself, staring at all those guns was a bit unnerving, "let's just lower the testosterone level in this room by a few gallons ok?" Concha smiled her sweetest smile at them, "be calm."
One by one they sat, they grumbled, but they sat.
"I figured it out. How our friend Sparky the demon is operating, what it's doing." She turned to Dante, focusing on him. "What is it you always told me terrorists did, their attacks, how they orchestrated them?" Not waiting for his answer she plunged ahead, "maximum destruction, minimal effort!" She grabbed a chair, sat down, put her feet up on the counter and grinned proudly at them. Smile sliding from her face when she was met with four blank stares. Chin dropping to her chest for a few seconds, she looked back up, rubbing the back of her head.
"Ok, I can see I'm going to need visual aids." Standing, she turned to Sam. "Don't freak out on me, alright…just stay calm….I'm just making a point, like overheads in school."
"Um….ok." He and Dean exchanged terribly confused looks. "I think I can remain freaked free for a few minutes."
"How much energy do you think it requires for a demon to maintain a possession, not just for a few minutes, but a real, honest to goodness long term possession? Probably lots, buckets o'lots. So, if you're Sparky, and you want to do some destruction, what do you do? You find a way to possess and destroy and not expend all your energy." She moved to the center of the room. "I can do this…" the cupboards opened, then slammed shut, "and I can do this…" the lights flickered, "and this.." the tap turned on, water flowed, then shut off, "and on a good day, with lots of adrenaline in a BIG emergency I can blow up a respectable breeze for a minute or two. But I don't make those things, I don't create them, I manipulate them." A positively wicked smile spread across her face, "but, I can make this!" She held out one hand, palm up. A flame shot up, dropping bits of itself onto the table.
Dante jumped up, slamming a towel onto the sparks. "Concha are we going to have this talk again?! Stop lighting the house on fire!"
"It was a room, I was five and the neighbor had just plowed over my dog with their tractor. Get over it!" Suddenly she jerked her hand up and down, "shit! Putting it out is marginally more difficult."
Dante grabbed her wrist, hauled her to the sink and ran cold water over her hand.
"I can make fire, demons can make fire. Not so much effort goes into making fire, and demons don't care about putting it out. And it's mass destruction, not easily controlled, and everything alive is afraid of it!"
"You have a real gift, the more you talk the less sense you make." Dante said.
"Why do the lights flicker when there are demons, or any other type of spirits around? Ok, some spirits I can see, they don't mind, but it's announcing they're here! How stupid is that? You're gonna sneak around causing pain and destruction, but do something that lets everyone know you're about to show up? I don't' think so. I'll tell you why the lights flicker, they don't make them flicker out of choice, it's because they're drawing off the power, using the electrical energy."
"Like feeding?" Dean sputtered.
"Yes! Exactly!" Shuffling through the papers, she extracted a few, "look at this. It's a list of all the activity related to the demon in 1983. Every bit in big cities, nothing in Podunk nowhere. Bobby told me there are more demons among people than ever before, and I used to think we're just communicating about them better, the word spreads faster. But he's really right. There are more, because they have a source of energy they never had before a hundred-fifty or so years ago. But it's not 1983 that was really the magic year, it was 1982….more exactly between mid-1982 and the beginning of 1983." Rifling through more of the papers she shoved one at Dante.
His eyes skimmed down the page, shaking his head, shrugging. "I'm sorry, Conch, just dates, random dates. I don't get it."
"Not random dates. Solar flares. The biggest collection of the largest solar flares in recorded history. Solar flares really screw with our atmosphere, and excite all sorts of atoms and molecules, and things we don't really notice just walking around day to day, but they make a lot of energy." She swung her gaze to Sam, "it wasn't because you were born in 1983, it's because you were conceived in 1982! And then what does Sparky do? It wants to allow possessions, mass possessions for whatever reason. And there's all sorts of children being conceived during this time of massive energy spikes. A percentage of them born naturally with some kind of physic, or telepathic traits." Pulling away from Dante she started to pace, talking rapidly. "So, Sparky does something to them, makes them latent. Takes away their support system in a big flaming ball of spectacular. Then bam, these abilities all of a sudden come out, it's like gang mentality!" Twisting hard on her heels she was back in front of Dante in two steps, gripping his shoulders. "What happens to a child born with one arm?"
"I don't know, most kids are resilient, probably just learn to deal."
"Exactly. What happens when you take a twenty-two year old man and CUT off his arm?"
"Trauma." Sam said very quietly. He looked up at them.
Concha nodded, raising her eyebrows, "Uh huh. I grew up like this, nothing messed with it, with me. I had a lot of time to learn and deal, and I never knew any different. 1982-83 lots of solar flares, 1978-79 not so very much. So I slipped through the demonic cracks so to speak, simply because I was born in the wrong year. Sam, not so lucky. He was born psychic, and probably if he was a year or two younger or older it wouldn't have been an issue, he would have just grown up with it. Not gotten bitch-slapped in the head with it when he woke up one morning at age twenty-two."
"That still doesn't explain why." Sam said.
"I'm getting to that part. So, said demon, ole' yellow-eyed Sparky, it's got all these kids prepared for whatever. You have natural telekinetics and natural telepaths, ripe for the taking over because they're basically alone in the world. And using them it doesn't have to expend as much energy doing what demons can also do, the manipulating and creating fire. Those kids can do it themselves, they don't know it, but they can. But Sparky needs a way to find them, cause it's likely they're not in the same geographic place they were when this started. Enter group number three, the demon uses people like Sam to find people like me." She slapped the back of one hand against the palm of the other, "its own personal psychic bloodhound network!" She looked around at the Winchesters. Sam looked a bit stunned, Dean just looked plain pissed off. "Demons don't need to book flights, get through customs, get on an airplane and find a taxi to these people, which explains why Sam's visions happen when he's close enough to one of the other ones, and why there is such a short period of time between vision and whatever happens."
"That's brilliant." Bobby said.
"No, it's really scary." Concha pointed out. "I didn't come up with the idea, just uncovered it."
"Except for one, all the others we've met, have died, and before that were nuts, dangerous nuts." Dean's voice was almost a growl.
"Yeah, because I think this is new. There's nothing like it in any of the literature going back a long time. Demon, or demons are still working out the bugs. Between making the abilities latent, or all the rest I don't know, but these kids were screwed up, royally screwed up. Or at least some of them were. So much so they're just unstable, they melted down." She moved closer to Sam, dropped one hand on his shoulder, "but not you."
"How can you know that?" Sam rasped out.
Concha smiled, "for the same reason it would never be me. How many people are like your father and fought back? A handful maybe? How many teach their children to fight back? Even less? How many have you come across who have someone that loves them, and accepts them," her voice softened, her words came more slowly, " looks out for them and isn't afraid of them, even…." Her gaze first settled on Dante, then she stared straight at Dean, "even when things get a bit….fiery? My head count so far, no pun intended..." holding up two fingers, "Sam and me, just Sam if you want to look at who was born in 1983."
"Not to be a damper or anything, but if these demons are using some people as tracking devices, maybe the two of you shouldn't really be in the same room." Dante said.
"Na, they're not looking for me. And I doubt one would really try any kind of possession on me either, I was born in 1979, what would they care?"
Dean smacked Sam's back, making the younger brother jump, then left his palm pressed against Sam's spine, "Well, there you go Sammy, problem solved, demon defeated, she was born in 1979, hell junior we're going to Disney World." He turned a rough gaze back on Concha. "That's pretty damn arrogant, and maybe just dangerous." He snapped.
"I didn't mean it that way. I don't think I'd be worth the effort, the energy expended. I've got too many ingrained defenses. Maybe for the short term one would, but there's plenty of easier targets for a long term."
"Sooo…..Sam can find demons? Track them down?" Dante asked, but didn't sound overly excited about the idea. He'd found antiseptic cream and was spreading it over his sister's singed palm.
"No!" Dean barked, starting to stand up.
Sam quickly grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. "Dean, it makes sense. It makes more sense than anything else."
"Nobody is using you for some tracking device."
"No, he's right no." Concha added quickly. "I mean Dean's absolutely right." She could tell that surprised Dean, he gave her a grateful smile which vanished when the impact of her next statement drove home in his head. "He gets those visions, and while they last he's defenseless, and I do mean in anyway you care to look at it."
"How do you know?" Sam asked, frowning, leaning forward, resting his arms on the table.
"Yeah, just how the hell do you know?" Dean's fists were bunched, his jaw tense and white.
"Concha?" Dante asked quietly.
"I saw it."
"You weren't there, no one but Sam and me were there."
Concha met Dante's gaze and held it with her own. "Dante, I saw it." She spoke slowly, pronouncing each word deliberately.
Dante straightened slightly, letting go of her hand, his own dropping to his sides. Sam sucked in a breath, this time not stopping Dean from rising to his feet so fast the chair would have tipped over had Bobby not caught it.
"Dean! Give her a chance. What do you mean you saw it? You saw my vision too? Dean said he had the feeling someone was around."
"It was trees, a tree. Right?"
Sam nodded slowly. Dean actually growled. Concha stepped a bit closer to her brother.
"You were squirreling around in my brother's head?" Dean literally shook, his voice escalating to a shout.
"No! No, no..nnooooooooo. Can't do that, not even close." She took a few deep breaths, "sometimes, very rarely when I'm really stressed, as in scared silly I've been able to get a message…"
"More like a feeling, vague feelings." Dante cut in.
"To Dante. I was curious. Sam's psychic, Dante isn't. I wanted to see if it would work. It could be a handy thing to do. So, I sat and stared at a stupid tree for three hours and was rewarded with a monster headache. I never meant to trigger anything."
Sam jerked straighter in his chair, "what is that supposed to mean?"
Looking even more uncomfortable, running her hand over the back of her neck. "Yeah, about that demon, I'm really, really sorry, in the don't hate me forever, I didn't have a clue, wouldn't have done it if I did sort of sorry way."
Now Sam was on his feet, shouting at her, "you called a demon to prove your damn theory?"
"No." She made a bit of a face "I triggered your vision by accident."
"Then who called the demon?" Dean demanded.
"Sam did."