Disclaimer – Not my characters, I just use them improperly.

You like? You don't like? Review and tell me why! (Constructive criticism only please, if you don't like the subject, don't read the story.) If you haven't read Full Moon, Fast Cars and Cracks in the Glass yet, you'll probably want to read those first or this probably won't make sense… Betaed by the wonderful Phx :)

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I love hearing what you guys think! The next chapter will be up same time next week…

Chapter 8

The first thing Dean was aware of when he came round; ow. The thought was quickly followed up with; huh, I'm not dead.

Air whistled painfully through his throat and his back felt like he'd been twisted into a human pretzel. He raised a heavy hand to his neck, dropping it when the effort of moving made his muscles ache. "Sam?"

An amused voice, definitely not Sam's, answered. "So, you're awake. Finally. Thought I was gonna have to dunk your head in a bucket of water or somethin'."

Dean opened his eyes with a struggle. He was still in Tony's shop, the stacks of books looming over him like stone guardians. But thankfully someone had moved him to a battered sofa that, while not the most comfortable bed he'd ever had, was far from the worst place he'd slept on. He blinked, watching distractedly as the room reoriented itself around him.

Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention. The shadows coalesced into a solid shape, coming toward him. Instinctively he tried to raise his fists in defence. The shadow halted in its tracks. "Easy, boy, you've taken a battering there."

"Who the hell are you?" Dean said, his voice coming out breathy and high through his abused throat.

"M'name's Gareth. And who might you be?"

Dean ignored the question. "Gareth who? What are you doing here? And where's…Tony?" He lifted his head from the flat sofa cushion, glancing around cautiously.

"Tony being the guy who was tryin' ta throttle you, I take it? He's…taken care of. You know him?"

"I was after some…information. Heard that Tony might know something about it." Dean said, unsure how much this guy knew, how much he should give away.

"Yeah? You usually deal with demons then?" Gareth spoke bluntly.

Dean closed his eyes, suddenly wishing for nothing more than a comfortable bed. Preferably one with Sam in it. "Didn't realise he was a demon until he started with the choking."

Gareth chuckled lowly. "Thought as much. Well, like I said, he's taken care of."

"Dead?" Dean asked, watching the shadowy form of the other man through slitted eyes.

"Dead." Gareth confirmed. "Or at least, the guy is. Demon's probably tryin' ta crawl its way back outta hell as we speak. Now, how's about you answer my first question? What's your name, son?"

Dean paused, biting his lip. He was completely at this guy's mercy; he doubted he could even throw a punch right now. But the guy had saved his life. To hell with it, he thought. I'm already in a fucked-up situation; it can't get much worse. "My name's Dean. Dean Winchester."

The guy stilled suddenly. "Winchester, you say?"

"Yep." Dean mentally rolled his eyes. Before he'd started hunting again, he'd never realised his dad was such a big name in the hunting world. He'd heard guys twice his dad's age say the name John Winchester with something approaching reverence.

But again this guy surprised him. "Not, by any chance, the Winchester who hunts with Sammy Miller?"

Dean's eyes widened before he could school his features into a bland expression. "Uh, yeah. That'd be me. You, uh, know Sam?"

Gareth laughed this time, a full-out belly laugh. "Well, goddamn. Been worried about that kid. Ever since he ran out on Jim, no one's had any idea whereabouts he's got to, other than he's travellin' with John Winchester's boy. Coupla hunting prodigies, you two are."

"So you know Jim Miller." Dean said flatly. His jaw clenched tight on the sudden surge of anger that always accompanied mentions of Sam's father.

"Well, not so much anymore." Gareth said, the outline of his body slumping like he'd let out a huge breath of air. "Jim and I, we had a bit of a falling-out, oh, 'bout ten years back now. But that boy of his… I've always tried to keep an eye out for him. Make sure he was okay. Been tough though; Jim wouldn't let me near him. Probably thought I was gonna steal him away while his back was turned."

The honesty in the guy's voice soothed away Dean's anger, and he relaxed back into the sofa cushions. He could recognise a fellow Sam-protector when he saw one. The kid seemed to have that effect on most people; one doe-eyed look from Sam and strangers were ready to put their lives on the line for him. It just made it all the worse that Sam's own father was never one of them.

Gareth kept talking, his voice low like he was lost in a memory. "Sammy prob'ly don't remember me now. Last time I saw him, the boy must've been, what, five, six years old? He was a good kid though, always ready to do what he was told."

Dean snorted without thinking. "Yeah, that's something that hasn't changed."

"So, is he with you then?"

"Uh, no." Dean shook his head, wincing at the twinge of his neck muscles. "He's…staying with a friend, in Lawrence. I'm doing some research down here while he works on…some other stuff."

"Aw, that's a damn shame. Would've been good to see the boy again." Gareth shook his head, the movement caught like a stutter in the shadows that still clung to him. "Well, maybe I can help you find whatever it is you're after here."

Dean shrugged, pushing himself into a sitting position with a stifled grunt. "To be honest, man, I have no clue where to start. I'm pretty much useless at the research side of things. I was told that this Tony guy would be able to help me out, but obviously that ain't gonna happen." He put on a self-deprecating smile, what can you do, but inside he was cursing himself. He'd come all this way, leaving Sam alone, and now he was just going to go back empty-handed. He couldn't believe it was only just occurring to him now what a waste of time this trip had been.

More worrying; if Tony had been possessed, it meant the yellow-eyed demon knew he was going to be coming to Wichita. There was no way it was a coincidence that the very guy he'd been looking for just happened to have a demon living inside him, especially if demon-Tony's comments during the whole throttling thing were anything to go by. But then, why wasn't yellow-eyes here himself? It would have been easy to take Dean out – he was alone and out of range of anyone who might have helped him.

Except for Gareth.

Dean frowned, glancing over at the dark form. "Hey, how come you were in the neighbourhood, anyway? Just passing by?"

Gareth snorted on a laugh. "Nope. I was called here, told there was a demonic possession. My sources are usually spot-on, seems like this was no exception."

"Who are your sources? 'Cause mine knew nothing about it, and they're pretty reliable too."

Gareth cocked his head to one side. "You accusin' me of something, boy?" He didn't sound pissed; on the contrary, his voice was laden with something like humour. "My sources are my sources. They pick things like this up, pass it on to people who can do somethin' about it. Like me. Would've figured you'd've been grateful for it, considerin'."

"Just wondering if I can trust you." Dean said sharply, tired of the verbal dance already. His throat ached, his head was sore, and his back hurt like a bitch; all he wanted was to get back to Sam.

"You can trust me. You can trust me about as much as I can trust you, at least." Gareth said slowly. He was still standing with his back to the meagre light, and it occurred to Dean that he hadn't even seen the guy's face yet.

"Okay, if I can trust you, why don't you come sit down? Chat like civilised people and all that."

"Fine." Gareth took a step forward, then stopped. "But I warn you, you ain't gonna like it."

"Huh?" Dean frowned in confusion.

Gareth's answer was another step forward, a beam of dim light catching one side of his face. Dean's sharp intake of breath made his mouth turn up, no humour in the expression. "Told you."

The entire left side of his face was a knarl of scar tissue, twisted lines drawn in the flesh of his left cheek, crisscrossing over one another like some little kid had gone crazy with the red crayon. His left eye was almost sealed shut, the outer corner pulled down in a straight line toward the corner of his lips. Surprisingly Gareth had his dark hair shorn close to his scalp in a defiant display of the mangled flesh, rather than growing it long and using it to hide the scarring.

"What happened?" Dean asked in a whisper, and immediately wanted to kick himself for his rudeness.

But Gareth only smiled wider, something poisonous in the expression. Dean had a feeling he wouldn't like what was about to be said.

"Jim Miller happened. This is the result of me, tryin' ta look after that boy of his."

Sam shuffled the cards, feeling the shiny backs slipping through his fingers, one after another. Missouri sat to one side at the kitchen table, watching him expectantly.

He met her eyes, knowing his need for reassurance was written clearly in his face. "Are you sure? I-I don't know if…"

She put her hand on his forearm, gripping lightly. "Sam, I wouldn't have asked you to try this if I didn't think you could handle it. I'm right here; if you need to stop, all you have to do is say."

He nodded, taking a deep breath. His head was aching dully, but the pain was far away, not the deep pulsing it had been earlier. Missouri was right; the pills did help. "Okay, I'll try."

"Good." She wore a small smile. "My next client will be here in a few minutes. Why don't you go and wait in the living room? I'll find some cookies for us."

Sam nodded, trying a smile of his own. It felt a little fuzzy around the edges.

The client was a middle-aged man; all Sam could remember about him later was an absent-minded smile and soft grey eyes, crow's-feet fanning out from the corners. Missouri introduced him as Richard, a lecturer from the local community college. Unlike Mrs Hopkins, Richard seemed happy to let Sam sit in on his reading, acknowledging him with a nod and a polite smile when Missouri introduced him as her student.

Missouri handed the plate of oatmeal cookies around before they began, making small talk with Richard, who was obviously a regular customer. While she asked about the classes he was teaching this year, his prize-winning roses, his new car, Sam chewed on his cookie. The sweet taste took the edge off Sam's nerves, and he focused on the crunch between his teeth as she laid out the cards.

She glanced over at Sam as she did it. Probably to make sure he was okay, and surprisingly, he was. At least, as okay as he figured he was going to get in this situation. Apparently his choice in taking the pill Missouri offered had been a good one, and he felt stupidly proud of himself. He'd made a decision, without Dean's input. Not that it wouldn't have been nice to know what the older man thought, but there was something liberating about being free to make his own mind up.

Dean had always encouraged Sam to talk to him, to offer his own opinions, but the conditioning beaten into him by Jim Miller didn't always make it as simple as Dean thought. Even when he'd been travelling alone, Sam had deferred to his father, following the rules he set out like they were law, and it was almost too easy to slip into the same routine with Dean sometimes.

But now, making his own decisions – even if they were about something as insignificant as a tiny white pill – it felt like he actually could be independent. Could survive on his own, should the need arise.

"The first card – the past." Missouri said, startling Sam out of his thoughts. She turned the oversized card over, meeting his eyes briefly as she did it. "The seven of…"

Sam opens his eyes…did he close them? Sam opens his eyes, sees a young man with sandy-coloured hair and soft grey eyes. He's walking down a corridor. The walls around him are painted a dull beige, broken up by bright posters advertising business studies courses, careers in design and technology, all headed with the words Stanford U. The guy Sam's watching stops outside a closed door, raising a hand to knock before pausing for a second and dropping it. He takes a step back, muttering to himself and shaking his head, obviously in the middle of some deep dilemma. Finally he takes a deep breath, straightening his shoulders and opening the door.

The scene inside makes Sam blush. It's a classroom, empty except for two people. Two very naked people, sweaty and writhing on top of the teacher's desk. One of them, a pretty young blonde girl, looks up at the sound of the door being opened. Her face pales and she reaches out a hand, but the grey-haired guy on top of her is pinning her down, thrusting away like he doesn't even care about the guy watching them from the hallway. The guy who looks like his world has just been shattered.

He backs away, a whispered name on his lips; Natalie.

"…swords. This cards signifies a deceit of some kind in your past. It usually means that in order to move on, you should take a new approach to your problems." Missouri hadn't paused in her speech. Sam blinked as the image of the classroom faded away, frowning. What was that?

Richard was nodding like he knew exactly what Missouri was talking about. She smiled and turned over the next card. "This card represents the present. The four of wands, reversed. This card means…"

Sam's in a kitchen. It's nice, in a plain, masculine sort of way. It kind of reminds him of Dean's old kitchen back at Elmstead, except there are less dirty dishes on the counter tops. The grey-eyed guy is there, and now Sam can recognise him – Richard. He's seeing Richard's…memories? Thoughts?

There's no time to consider it though. The sound of a door slamming somewhere in the house makes both Sam and Richard turn as one.

"Tammy?" Richard calls, his face lighting up in a smile. "You're early."

A girl with long dark hair walks in – Tammy, apparently – her own face warm and smiling. Her eyes never leave Richard's as she walks toward him – through Sam – to be gathered up in his arms. "Yeah. I got out of class sooner than I expected."

Richard's smile turns dirty. "I hope you did all your homework before you came here. You won't be getting any special treatment from me, just because you're sleeping with the professor."

She grins back, wiggling her eyebrows. "Oh, you can feel free to…punish me, if you want, Mr Barnes."

If possible, Sam is blushing harder at the tame dirty talk than he did at the two naked people in the last memory.

"…a lack of stability in you current circumstances." Missouri continued speaking, seemingly oblivious to Sam's bizarre spacing. "It can be positive; for example, maybe your situation at the moment involves taking part in some kind of project at work with like-minded people. At the present it's an enjoyable situation, and everyone is getting something out of it. But I'm afraid once the project is over, each party will go their own way."

Richard nodded wistfully at Missouri's words, like he expected them. Sam coughed, trying to hide his red face behind his hands. Unfortunately this only drew the man's attention to him, his head cocked in a politely quizzical gesture. Sam quickly looked away, trying to think of anything other than Richard Barnes flirting with one of his college students.

Not that Sam had any room to talk, but then, he and Dean never engaged in kinky student-teacher games. The thought that Dean would probably enjoy it if they did only made him blush harder.

"Now, the final card represents your future circumstances." Missouri said as she turned the last card over. When Sam looked down at the card he felt his heart begin to pound again. "The death card." Missouri said calmly, sounding like the picture of the armoured skeleton on the white horse was perfectly normal. She caught Sam's eyes just as he began to panic, her own gaze even and reassuring. "Death is nothing to be afraid of. And it isn't meant to be taken literally in a reading, although I'm sure death is in everyone's future at some point." She chuckled, and Sam felt like he could take a breath again.

As he lets it out, he finds himself in the same kitchen – Richard Barnes' kitchen. Briefly he hopes he isn't about to witness any more sexual escapades. But then he notices; all the surfaces are empty. A drawer by the sink hangs open; it's empty as well.

Richard walks into the kitchen, a phone pressed to his ear. He looks older than in life, a few more wrinkles around his eyes, laughter-lines creasing his mouth. He's grinning as he talks to someone on the other end of the phone.

"I'll be there in a few days, Julia. I promise, I'm literally all packed up and ready to go now." He laughs, bending to pick up a cardboard box by the doorway. "Well, tell your mom to save some for me. Hell, tell your mom to save some for the wedding guests – I'm hoping our friends won't be going hungry after flying all the way up to Long Island." Richard leans the box against the counter, pausing to glance out of the big window over the sink. "Yeah honey, I love you too. I'll see you in two days. Just remember, two days apart, then we have the rest of our lives together."

He's grinning as he hangs up the phone, bright and so happy it makes Sam smile in response.

"It means the end of an old situation, and the beginning of a fresh one. It's a lucky sign." Missouri said, snapping Sam back to himself.

Richard smiled, nodding to himself and looking at the cards. "Thank you. It's good to know I'll get a new start at some point." He looked up, his eyes crinkling.

Missouri reached over to pat his hand. "Would you like to stay for a longer reading? I can tell you more if you'd like?"

"Oh, that's okay." Richard shook his head slowly. "I think I'd like to keep some surprises for later. But I'll have another of those delicious cookies, if you're offering?"

Sam took a deep breath, feeling lightheaded as he leaned back into the cushions piled up on the armchair he was sitting in. He managed a vague wave as Richard left, but it was only when Missouri came back into the room after seeing the older man out that he was able to focus.

"Was I…were those visions? Was that…" He stuttered, knowing he probably looked like a wide-eyed child. His mind felt muggy and slow, like he'd been sitting out too long in the sun.

Missouri smiled triumphantly at him. "I believe that was progress."

He stared at her, blinking in disbelief. Surely it couldn't be that easy.

Could it?

Dean shuffled through piles of papers, his jaw set. Bruises ached in a ring around his neck, making him feel like he was wearing a noose that was slowly being tightened.

Apparently Tony hadn't been any less of a pain in the ass, even before he got himself possessed by a demon. His 'filing system' – and Dean was using the term loosely – consisted of every surface in the tiny back office being stacked with sheets of paper, none of which had any particular relevance to the others in the same stack as far as he could tell. Whatever information Tony might have had would be near-impossibly to find. And that was assuming he'd had any to begin with and the whole trip hadn't just been a ploy to lure Dean to Wichita.

Sam's cell was still putting him straight through to voicemail, and he'd listened to the regular beep beep beep of the busy tone for Missouri's home number so many times that the sound was still echoing in his ears.

It made sense in hindsight; his dad's cell, Caleb's, Sam's, Missouri's, all mysteriously being out of action, and Tony's word that the yellow-eyed demon apparently knew exactly where they all were. His dad said that the reappearance of the demon was always preceded by electrical failures and faults. John had been assuming it was an accident, an oversight on the demon's part. But what if the son of a bitch knew exactly what happened when it turned up? What if it was a deliberate manipulation, a taunt to any hunters that knew what to look for? And what if it was doing the same thing here, blocking the phone signals somehow so that they were all isolated from one another? Maybe it was trying to draw Dean out, keep him alone and disoriented, easy to pick off.

"Hey, I think I mighta found somethin' here." Gareth's voice echoed through the doorway. Dean pulled a face at the untouched piles of paperwork still to be checked and then stood, glad for the momentary distraction.

Gareth's story earlier was one more thing running through his mind; a distraction he didn't need, probably, but one that he couldn't help dwelling on.

"He did it with the butt of an automatic," Gareth said, waving a vague hand in the direction of his scarred face. He snorted. "Guess I should be thankful Jim didn't decide to use the other end."

"Why?" Dean said, his eyes still glued to the lumpy discoloured skin. Now that Gareth had mentioned it, he could see indents and sharp lines carved there that indicated blunt trauma with a metal object – Dean's professional analysis of the wound. He almost laughed; forget teaching, he should have gone into forensics. "Why did he do it?"

Gareth laughed, a bitter sound. "'Cause he thought he owned that boy, by rights of bein' his father. And a piss-poor father he was, at that. Sammy musta been about five at the time. Scrawny little thing, all hands and feet like the runt of the litter. Runnin' about with them big pleadin' eyes, like he thought he could earn a scrap from the table if he did whatever Jim wanted. Bruised to all hell from the times he didn't do it quick enough for Jim's likin'."

Dean's chest felt hollow listening to Gareth's words. Telling himself it was over now – that Sam was safe back at Missouri's where no one, especially not Jim Miller, could ever do that to him again – didn't help at all. Because he could all-too-clearly picture it in his head; Sam as the cutest kid ever to exist, his face hidden behind bruises that had no business being on someone that small, that innocent and vulnerable. And Sam would have taken it. A child that young, he would've taken it and asked for more if he thought it might make his daddy like him.

"You comin' or what?" Gareth's voice tore him out of the memory, but the vice around Dean's heart stayed put.

"What've you got?"

Gareth looked up as he stepped back into the main store, holding several print-outs in one hand. "Checked that ancient machine over there." He pointed at the beat-up grey computer. "There were a load of searches in the internet history. Hierarchies of hell, fallen angels, that sorta thing. These were on the floor under the table. Sounds like the kind of stuff you might be lookin' for."

Dean frowned, taking the papers and leafing through them. The front page was a Wikipedia article on the Grigori, and his eyes were drawn straight to the two passages that had been highlighted in neon yellow. The first was a bible quote from the Book of Genesis: 'the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown.'

The second was a single line. Azazel: taught the making of the weapons of war.