Chapter 4 – Timeframe of a vision –

The next morning…

Waking up Sam felt disorientated for a second before the events from last night returned.

Momentarily flooded with grief he got out of bed slowly and went through his morning routine on autopilot.

In the Kitchen Jess handed him a cup of coffee, which was drowned immediately, before he roughed up to apologize. Wrapping her in a bear hug – he had no idea how long he had left with her – he started speaking: "I'm sorry about last night, I've no idea what came over me."

Her response was less warm than he hoped but more so than he could ever have asked for. "It's alright, Sam. Don't worry about it, big guy." "Thanks." "I have to go, class starts in thirty minutes. Reluctantly he let her go.

As soon as the front door clicked shut behind her Sam booted up his laptop and started researching Azael and demons in general – Sam Winchester, deadly hunter, enemy of all things supernatural was back – and perhaps, this time it would be permanent.

After four hours and six mugs of coffee his research had turned up… close to nothing. So he started fresh. This time seeking information on psychic powers he was rewarded with a bunch of adds for seers – most were certainly frauds – and a Wikipedia entry, which not only listed them, but also gave a detailed explanation of 'one way' they could manifest. Sam read up on premonitions, telekinesis, pyro kinesis, etc. Even mindreading was being mentioned though the definition was crappy and didn't fit Sam's 'experience' at all.

Jess' returned at six pm sharp and was greeted by a beautifully done table complete with candles, roses and dinner. – Tonight should be the night. - Sam had decided. He would ask her to marry him, even though they might not have those 50 years he wanted to spend with her.

Of course she'd said "yes".

When Sam had the nightmare of her falling prey to Yellow-Eyes that night, waking with a start right after, it was the first time he considered it to be a vision. One night later he was sure of it.

Sam was in a fully blown panic by Friday but didn't even let himself think of calling Dean or Bobby – a friend of his father – much less John in person. He would deal with this on his own in the best way he could and that meant…

- 6 -

Practicing.

He started with the visions. Except, not knowing what to do forced him to watch his girlfriend die again. Understanding afterwards, that proceeding was only possible if he got rid of his fear first. So instead of forcing himself to stay awake in order to escape them he tried to relax and wait. Jess was, unknowingly, a great help with the getting laid back part. Her libido was constantly on overdrive. After four to five rounds each night not even the seasoned hunter in him could stay on full alert.

That first time this particular vision came, while he was still awake, Sam's body tensed bow tight and he received the mother of all headaches for his efforts. Close to two weeks later and popping ibuprofen like they were peanut M&M's there was one sole conclusion: Hunter instincts fought against lover instincts and therefore these demonic powers. Once resistance shifted to acceptance, they became painless and details sprung into focus. A TV-guide opened for October 30th, lying on the living room table. Their DVD recorder was displaying half visible digits, which could be read, as 10:30 pm if one was familiar with the device. Weariness from a long road trip had crept in, like he'd driven hundreds of miles back to her, too far away to protect, to prevent what was in store for her.

A clear timeframe and seemingly no way of saving his prospective fiancé.

'He wouldn't even be allowed to marry his beautiful Jess, let alone share a lifetime.' Fat Tears started spilling, obscuring his vision and for just a second he wanted to die with her.

Then fury and resentment took over, completely with stone cold hatred which slid easily into determined callousness. It would not happen! Not leaving was the next step. Nobody held a more important place in his heart than Jess, thus no one could persuade him to go out.

Simple truth. Easy Solution. (If only.)

Briefly considering trying to force this power he decided against it. These abilities weren't meant to be explored to deeply, lest they got out of hand.

If he hadn't been raised a hunter from his 5th birthday onward he couldn't have gone even this far and sure as hell would have decided against developing his empathic and mindreading skills. But Samuel Winchester had been forced to destroy supernatural monsters since the 2nd May 1988, when his father had him run that eternally cursed, first mile.

So here he was, sitting on their worn out, old brown couch, his arm slung around Jessica's waist, her head on his shoulder. Those wheels, of his treacherous mind, which had secured him a full ride into Stanford, turning faster than a roller coaster, rushed through a loop.

He had a lot of work to do.

Fin –