Demon's Trial

Chapter Three: New Targets

Sequel to "What Makes a Killer" and part of the AU "Demon Blood" universe. You should read everything else first.

Warnings: This chapter contains some swearing and sexual references. Read at your own discretion.

Sam's eyes snapped open and he shot up, nearly colliding his head into Dean's. His brother barely managed to jerk back, hands still clutching at Sam's shoulders.

"Whoa, easy," Dean said, staring down at him as he gasped for breath, "just relax, Sammy, you were dreamin' again."

Again. Sam was starting to wonder if it was even remotely possible to get a full night's rest without suffering another nightmare or five. "What time is it?" he asked once he managed to catch his breath.

"Three A.M.," Dean answered, "I just got back from Shinae's place."

"What, no staying over?" Sam asked, running a shaky hand through his hair and trying desperately to turn Dean away from the inevitable question he asked every time.

"Not really my thing right now," Dean said with a shrug, finally dropping his hands from Sam's shoulders and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said, nodding quickly and staring down at the sheets tangled around his legs. "Just a dream, that's all."

"You… wanna talk about it?"

Dean had never asked that question growing up, nor when Jessica had died. His entire life, Dean had never wanted to talk about things, apart from making sure he was okay. After their run-in with zombie Angela Mason, however, things had changed. Dean still didn't like talking much, but he started giving Sam the chance to talk, if he wanted to.

The problem now was that Sam didn't want to talk about his dreams. The crisp images of a girl his age touching her girlfriend and causing her heart to stop meant a vision he couldn't stop. He'd still done the research, knew that the girl was named Lily Johnson, and that she lived in San Diego. He was also pretty sure she was now a complete recluse.

Then there were the more standard nightmares. These covered Jessica's death, often with the shadowed figure of a demon he knew wasn't Azazel in the room, and then there was John selling his soul to save the lives of his sons, Sam's time in captivity, and fear-based nightmares of him going darkside and Dean having to kill him. It didn't escape his attention that the last one didn't start until after the vampire hunt in Montana, but all in all, Sam's ability to sleep was suffering again, although now it was even worse than it had been a year ago. And, obviously, Dean had noticed.

"No, I'm fine," Sam finally said, and Dean was giving off a mixture of disappointment and sheer relief at not having to talk or listen that stung more than Sam wanted it to. "Go to bed, Dean," he added, "you look wiped out."

"Yeah," Dean said quietly. "What about you?'

Sam shrugged and pulled away his bed sheets. "I'm not getting any more sleep tonight," he answered honestly.

"When'd you go to bed?" Dean asked, suspicion written all over his face.

Sam sighed. "Midnight or so," he said, standing up and walking to the bathroom.

"Sam," Dean said, rising and following him to the doorway, "you've gotta talk about this, man, you're getting worse and worse with every night that goes by."

"I'm fine, Dean, really." Sam could tell his brother didn't believe him, but the effort it would take to make Dean believe him was beyond his capacity right at that moment. He shut the door and locked it, giving himself a few minutes to try and pull himself together before leaving the safe haven and facing the older man again. Thankfully, however, Dean was already in bed and halfway asleep when he emerged, so he retreated to the table and set up his laptop.

"We're gonna talk about this sooner or later," Dean mumbled as he rolled onto his side, facing away from Sam.

"Of course, Dean," Sam whispered. He was pretty tempted to use his powers to make Dean stop asking, but part of him didn't really want him to ever stop. Fact was, he just wasn't ready to talk about anything. With an inward sigh, Sam turned back to his laptop and resumed his research. He was starting to think that there was a pattern to the psychic kids, a pattern that could tell him who they all were. It was just a matter of cracking the code buried in John's research.

"Ryan, wake up!" Heidi Fulmer begged her eighteen-year-old son as he writhed and wriggled on his bed, covers tossed about and the front of his boxers wet in a way that made Heidi very uncomfortable. Not for the first time since her husband's death nine years ago, she cursed her existence as a single mother. She just wasn't qualified to handle this. Hell, it had been her brother who had ended up giving her son the "birds and the bees" talk at the start of puberty because she just couldn't do it.

Heidi reached out to grab her son's shoulders and felt a shudder pass through her as she stretched her left arm out toward his right shoulder. Without thinking, she raised her eyes to the mirror on his chest of drawers and thought she saw a flash of scaly flesh but then her attention was back on her son and she gripped his shoulders firmly, giving him a good shake. "Ryan!"

Ryan's eyes shot open and he scrambled away, falling off the other side of his bed with a soft whump as his tangled sheets fell right with him. "Mom? What the hell are you doing in here?"

"You were having a nightmare or something," Heidi said after a moment. "Moaning and tossing about in a way I've never seen before."

"I'm fine, Mom," Ryan said, struggling to stand up and wrapping a sheet around his stocky frame, which hid his wet boxers and allowed Heidi to relax ever so slightly. "It was just a dream. You should get back to bed, you've got that meeting at eight and I've got to be in the shop by nine."

Heidi stared at her son in worry, but eventually his logic won out. "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked anyway, smiling slightly when Ryan rolled his eyes and nodded.

"Good night, Mom," he said softly as she left the room.

"Sleep well," replied Heidi as she shut his bedroom door. She walked down the hall to her room and went inside, eyes still drawn to the side of the bed her husband used to sleep on. Nine years, and she still missed him so much it was like a gaping hole in her heart that didn't know how to heal. Heidi knew after this long that it never would.

It wasn't until she went to turn off her bedside lamp that Heidi realized she had overlooked something in Ryan's room and paused, thinking back to the moment she had looked in the mirror —

Heidi's breath caught and her hand dropped to the nightstand. She'd seen scaly flesh that had a distinct feminine curve to it. Had she imagined that? Maybe she was just overtired from too many double shifts at work, but it had seemed so real to her…

It was quite a while before Heidi was able to fall asleep again.

Dean really didn't like the dark shadows under his brother's eyes that weighed down like bruises on his paling skin. He also didn't like the effect that this lack of sleep was having on the kid. Sam was slowly becoming more withdrawn and less talkative, and while a younger Dean would have appreciated the longer amounts of time that were spent in silence, the Dean of the here and now really didn't. Sam was supposed to be talkative and emotional, asking questions and making intelligent arguments, but ever since coming back from that damn warehouse in L.A., he had slowly created a protective barrier that Dean wasn't sure he could keep breaking through. Dean was supposed to break through everything, was supposed to know what was going through his geeky brother's brain at any given moment, whether he really wanted to know or not. It was just how they worked, how they had always worked. Sam had always trusted him, told him everything, and now…

Watching Sam as he did more of his never-ending research on the computer, Dean found he couldn't discern the expression on his little brother's face, couldn't read the emotions in his hazel eyes. It had been that way since they'd left Andy Gallahger three days earlier, and Dean was only now beginning to see that they were both reaching their breaking points. Between John's deal, Gordon's suspicions, that damn zombie and Andy's evil twin, they were stretching themselves too thin. Dean would never have hit Sam before that night in Montana. He would never have shut Sam's pain of losing their dad out just because of his sudden issues with the man, issues that still had Sam's name written all over them because in the end, it was all about Sam, about doing the same job he'd been doing since 1983, but with higher risks because now he had to fucking save his brother from Azazel's big ol' plans.

And that led to the even stickier questions. Did John really think that Sam would go darkside without Dean there to protect him? Did Sam's inner goodness depend that much on Dean being beside him at all times? He looked over at Sam again as he pulled on his boots. The kid had told Andy that there was no one like him, no one with a list of psychic abilities granted by the damnable yellow-eyed demon. Sam was unique, even among the other psychic children.

Dean's fingers stilled on his laces as a large piece of the puzzle clicked into place. He and Sam were each other's strength and weakness. Sam would do anything to protect Dean, and he didn't doubt for a second that this could easily include starting up the demon blood addiction willingly if it'd save his life, somehow. But so long as Dean was around, Sam would stay away from the blood because he didn't want to be addicted or let Dean down. He would learn to control his abilities so he didn't hurt anyone, Dean in particular, even though he was clearly scared of himself, of the things he could do. All Dean had to do was keep them both alive and together. Hopefully that wouldn't prove to be easier said than done, because they had enough problems to be going on with already.

"You need coffee," Dean said, finishing the laces on his boots and striding over to the table where Sam still sat, buried in his never-ending research. "Let's go, Sammy."

Sam nodded and a few minutes later they were in the Impala, seeking out breakfast. Sam had managed to regain some of the weight he had lost while detoxing nearly two months earlier, but his poor sleeping habits were taking their toll on his health, and his clothes still hung off him more than Dean preferred. As such, Dean had taken to making sure they ate more regularly, often driving the few extra miles to find a decent sit-down diner instead of snagging something from a gas station or fast-food restaurant. He was sure Sam had noticed, but the fact that he hadn't said anything about it other than smiling a little more often than not told Dean he appreciated it, all the same.

Well, that was weird. Thomas silently watched Ryan Fulmer as the kid pulled out a busted exhaust pipe from the little '94 Dodge Shadow he was working on. Thomas prided himself on being able to notice the little changes in the people he knew, but Ryan had changed overnight.

He was quiet, unusually so. Ryan had become a little withdrawn when his father had died some years ago, but he was still enthusiastic about his job, about cars, always spouting off facts or even talking in an undertone to whatever vehicle he happened to be working on. Ryan also was pretty energetic, but today his movements were more sluggish, like he was hung-over. Thomas knew for a fact that the kid didn't drink, especially since it was a drunk driver that had killed his father.

The biggest change was Ryan's appearance. He was normally pretty tan, and healthy as a horse. Hell, he'd looked perfectly fine the day before, but today, he looked tired and slightly pale, like he was suddenly in the middle of a cold.

"You alright, man?" Thomas asked when he passed Ryan to go find that part he needed to fix the '69 Camaro he was working on.

"Huh?" Ryan said distractedly before looking up and realizing Thomas had asked a question. "Oh, uh, yeah."

Ryan was always more focused than that, and it only increased Thomas' worry. "You sure?"

"'Course," Ryan said, finally pulling out a smile. "Just didn't sleep as well as usual last night or something. I'm fine, really."

Thomas nodded and headed off to grab the things he needed to continue working. People didn't just go from healthy to sleeping problems in one night. He knew Ryan wasn't the type to have nightmares, so it couldn't have been something like that. Honestly, he wondered if this kid was somehow involved in the case his uncle was heading into town to solve. He'd said three teenage boys who had died over the last month had suffered from nightmares or something for a week before kicking the bucket, and not in a remotely nice way.

Thomas decided then and there to keep an eye on Ryan for the next day or so. If he got any worse, he'd tell Gerald. Maybe he'd be able to save the kid from suffering the same fate as the others. He found the part he had ordered and turned back to the Camaro, glancing outside and catching a glimpse of a '67 Chevy Impala he thought he had seen almost two months ago in… Was it that salvage yard in South Dakota where he'd met the Winchesters and Bobby Singer? He moved to the nearest open door, but the Impala was already out of sight, so Thomas gave a shrug and went back to work. If the Winchesters really were here, then he was bound to run into them sooner or later, especially if they happened to be on the same case as Gerald.

He wondered how the Winchesters were doing in the aftermath of their father's death, Sam in particular. Thomas had suffered more than a few nightmares after his time being possessed, and he was sure he couldn't even begin to imagine what Sam was going through. He at least hoped the youngest Winchester was off the demon blood and back to some semblance of normal, or at least something that half-way passed as normal-ish in the life of a Hunter.

"Hey, Humphrey," yelled Harry Tolman, the owner of the shop Thomas worked in. "Stop day-dreamin', would ya? I told Mr. Bank the Camaro would be done today when he got off work at four."

"Right," Thomas said, pulling himself out of his thoughts with a shake of his head. "Sorry, man."

Harry just rolled his eyes and gestured for Thomas to get back to work.

As he went about putting on the new part, Thomas allowed his mind to drift again. It had been relatively easy to slide back into his life before the demon, but it really didn't feel the same as it once had. Yeah, he'd always known about the world of the supernatural, but it had never really touched his life before that demon came along. Terrence, his father, hadn't wanted him to know about the things that go 'bump' in the night, but he couldn't shut his brother out of his life, not when Gerald's wife had been killed by a werewolf before they could have any kids. And even though Gerry was in and out a lot, he had still doted on Thomas growing up, had taught him to defend himself and managed to set time aside to visit as often as possible.

It was Lorraine, Thomas' mom who was struggling to cope with everything. She had always presumed Gerald was in the CIA or something, never once suspecting that there was a whole other world she knew nothing about until it stole her only son away from her. Thomas was pretty certain things were going to be awkward between her and Gerald for some time to come, but maybe she could be convinced to take precautions against what was out there. Thomas remembered Bobby Singer telling him that the number of demonic possessions were increasing exponentially and honestly, he was terrified of something bad happening to his parents after what he'd gone through.

I'm not paranoid, he thought, I'm just prepared to protect me and mine from what's out there. Feeling a new rush of determination, Thomas refocused on the Camaro in front of him.

Memphis, Tennessee

"The Winchesters?"

Gordon nodded and Finn Carlton stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Those two aren't the socializing type," he said after a moment. "I mean, I seen 'em a time or two at the Roadhouse in Nebraska, but they don't talk to much of anyone outside of Ellen, Jo and that Ash kid." He shook his head. "Ran into the taller one in the restroom last week, kid slipped and hit his head, but he refused my help and insisted on getting back to his brother."

"Any idea what they were doin' last time you saw them?" Gordon asked, but Finn shook his head.

"They went into a back room, left maybe twenty minutes later." He shrugged. "Didn't see or hear what they were doin' before the kid slipped, either, but another guy, Boris? He said they were lookin' at some kids Ash looked up for 'em."

"He hear any names?" Gordon pressed, and Finn frowned.

"Why are you tryin' to find 'em?" he asked, instead. "I mean, their daddy was an obsessed bastard of a Hunter, but he was a damn fine one and I hear them boys is just as good, even better than."

"They are excellent Hunters," Gordon said softly, "but they know more about things than they're letting on."

"Things?" Finn echoed.

"You notice how demonic possessions are on the rise?" asked Gordon, and Finn nodded. "There's something goin' on, Finn. Demons are preparing for all-out war, and the Winchesters? They know more than anyone else about their plans, but they ain't telling nobody." Gordon leaned forward. "I just want answers, you see? We all need to be prepared, but we don't have a fuckin' clue what to expect. Sam and Dean? They do."

Finn nodded after a long moment, and Gordon knew he'd convinced the other Hunter. "Boris heard one name," he finally said. "Scott Carey."

Gordon nodded, feeling fairly certain that Sam and Dean had been looking for other psychics. He decided to assume Carey was the same age as Sam, because a name like that was a little too common otherwise. He thanked Finn for his time and set out to do some more research. One way or another, he was going to find Sam and this Scott kid, along with every other psychic child like them and take them out. The demons were not going to overrun this planet, he swore to himself. He'd do whatever it took to see to that.

TBC...