DISCLAIMER: I don't own Supernatural or Celine Dion

A/N: Sorry for the longer than usual wait for this chapter; I was at camp for a while and then I just couldn't seem to write this damn thing. I've finally managed to cobble together something almost worthwhile (I hope), so here it is. Not much action like I planned in here, sorry... It took me ages to write this, and then I looked back on it and thought that there wasn't really much to show for my labour. Tell me what you think in a review, could you please?

Normally he hated having to do chores (even though it wasn't like he ever had anything particularly important to do instead), but hopefully the walk would prove to be a good distraction from the worry nagging at his stomach. His aunt had given him a short shopping list and sent him to the small grocers down the road with forty bucks in his pocket and a calico shopping bag in his hand. He frequently wondered how using a calico shopping bag would help the environment when his aunt brought the bag to the shops in her gas guzzling four by four. Sometimes he just didn't get people.

Swinging the bag back and forth, Sam made his way down their driveway and turned right, unzipped hoodie flapping slightly in the light breeze. The suburban street was empty of people despite it being the middle of a very nice day; the only sounds besides those of his scuffing footsteps the incessant chirping of cicadas. He faintly remembered being eight and playing on the streets with his neighbours any chance he could get, glorying in the sunny weather. Did kids even do that anymore, or did they just stay inside and play on their various game consoles and watch television all day?

The walk to store took little more than ten minutes, and Sam spent the time enjoying the fresh sea breeze and the warm sun on his skin after taking his hoodie off. Days as perfect as this were rare – maybe he'd go for a walk in the park later. It'd be better if he had some company, though. Maybe he'd call Jess...

Yeah, call Jess. Well, duh, it wasn't like he was afraid of using phones... Right? On second thoughts, maybe I shouldn't answer that question...

Shaking his head to himself, a sheepish smile on his face, he walked up to the door of the grocers, waiting outside for a girl exiting the store to walk past him. He gave her a friendly smile and a polite nod, and she blushed slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear and ducking her head whilst she strode past. He knew exactly who she was – Lily Campbell, teenage daughter of one of the local librarians. He still hadn't gotten used to living in this tiny place, knowing the names of all the residents of his town still somewhat of a novelty to him, something unreal that was only seen on cheesy daytime television and in horror movies about small towns that had dark secrets hidden under that happy, G-rated veneer...

He was just being paranoid. But after spending his whole life living in the suburbs of a big city and hardly even knowing his neighbours, let alone everyone living in the same suburb as him, everyone knowing who he was felt downright creepy. Hell, it seemed that every single person here, stranger or not, knew his entire family history. Gossip travelled remarkably fast, and it was almost impossible to have secrets in such a tight-knit community. At least no-one but Jess had figured out that he was gay yet, and unlike seemingly everyone in this town, she actually had some respect for his privacy.

It wasn't like this place was full of homophobes, but there weren't any openly gay people around here either, so he couldn't tell what the towns' reaction would be. People fear what they can't understand, and Sam greatly doubted that they'd understand that he found other men attractive. Okay, so they aren't homophobic, but it's the most probable outcome. Always prepare for the worst.

Realising that he was just standing around outside, looking lost, he shook himself from his thoughts and entered the store, enjoying the cool, refrigerated air on his skin and most definitely not enjoying the Celine Dion track drifting through the speakers. Fishing the list out of his pocket, he proceeded to wander the store, mind not really on the task. It wasn't like he had to concentrate whilst shopping, unlike Jess. When she shopped it was with one mined determination, and she seemed to have no care for anything but finding exactly what she 'needed' (it seemed to Sam that she only wanted things – who needs high heeled shoes anyway?) The first and last time he had gone shopping with her he had spent most of his time either bored, bewildered, or downright afraid. The fact that there was a huge sale on at the time hadn't helped.

Sifting through a large pile of apples to find the few that weren't chalky or bruised, Sam gave a silent cheer of relief when Celine Dion abruptly shut up right in the middle of My Heart Will Go On. If only he hadn't left his mp3 player at home – he felt like listening to some real music, not this tearjerker crap. Then again, he supposed the owners of the store wanted to please their most regular clientele of women, especially mothers dragging around bored, cranky children and chatting to all the other mothers (and there always seemed to be heaps) as they strolled past whilst studiously ignoring their kids' complaints. Maybe they actually planned their meetings at the shop – he wouldn't be surprised if there was a huge amount of social networking going on in places like this all around the country, no, world. Thankfully, right now the store was empty except for him.

Gathering up the best apples he could find and dumping them into the calico bag, Sam gloried in the silence as he made his way over to the bananas. Glancing at the counter as he walked past, he saw the check out girl frowning as she stared up at the speakers built into the corners of the roof, simultaneously mumbling into the phone pressed to her right ear. He thought idly that she must be talking to an electrician or someone similar; obviously the sudden silencing of Celine Dion (he really shouldn't think of it as culling) hadn't been planned.

Selecting a half ripe bunch of bananas, he jumped when the silence was abruptly interrupted by static so loud that it caused him to wince in pain, clapping his hands over his ears. The girl at the counter gave a little yelp of surprise, clutching the phone tighter to her ear and starting to shout into the mouthpiece, obviously struggling to be heard. Well, this was just great. He didn't give a crap if his aunt and uncle got angry with him because of his failure to do his chore – he was not going to shop in this racket. He didn't particularly like the idea of going deaf.

Having decided what he was going to do, he dumped the bunch of bananas unceremoniously back down with their fellows and grabbed his bag of apples. He would buy the apples at least, and then hightail his way out of here. The crackle and hiss of the static was hammering into his brain, and he was already developing a headache. What a shitty radio it must be – and he wasn't surprised, considering this was but a lowly fruit store.

He had only taken a few steps away from the bananas when the static suddenly quieted down to a gentle hiss, causing him to pause, frowning. The check out girl gave a sigh of relief, saying one last thing to whoever she was talking to and then putting the phone back on the cradle. Well, this hadn't been part of the plan. To shop or not to shop – that is the question.

Deciding that he might as well get his job over and done with now that the torture had ended, he turned back towards the bananas (why was he being so indecisive today? So – jumpy?) He had only taken a few steps back when the hiss of static was suddenly interrupted by a high pitched sound that was both a whine and a buzz, the sort of sound you heard when you were turning the dial on a radio, trying to find a station. For a split second the sound screeched through the speakers, and Sam winced at the new assault on his ears, simultaneously annoyed and bewildered. What the fuck was going on here anyway? And why the hell was the check out girl just standing there, looking bored, not reacting to the horrible screech at all? Last time he checked, she had been way easy to freak out.

Abruptly, the whining was replaced by silence, and Sam stood frozen in the isle, body tense whilst his heart raced. The faint crackle of static was heard once more, and then a strange muttering sound filtered faintly through the speakers. Frowning, Sam cocked his head to the side as he stared at the speakers, trying to interpret the sound. At the counter, the check out girl was tapping out a rhythm with her nails as she twirled a lock of hair around her fingers.

As the sound grew in volume, pouring out of the speakers in a loud hum, Sam suddenly identified it. It was like many voices talking at the same time, so loud and so many that they blended together into one drone. Frowning, he cocked his head, trying to identify the words, but quickly worked out that they were all saying different things. Okay, now that you've established that, can you please focus on the important things? Like why you're hearing random voices over what are probably broken speakers?

Huh. Good point.

But before he could expand on that thought, one of the voices grew louder, shouting over the others that were all clamouring for… someone's attention. Sam didn't quite want to believe it was his own; but the fact that the check out girl didn't seem to notice what was going on and the next words the loudest voice shouted flushed that hope down the drain.

"Help me! My girlfriend…" the next few words were interrupted by a crackle of static, "in the head! She took… have to… her flat…" As Sam gaped in astonishment at the speakers, face pale as milk, the voice faded from hearing in a hiss of static before being replaced by another, yelling something about a man and a car crash and "I bet my library books are all overdue, damnit! And I never got to the climax, either!"

Sorry man, but dying can be pretty damn inconvenient… the thought was half hysteric, and Sam fought the urge to giggle maniacally, dread creeping up his spine now that what this…phenomenon was was suddenly clear in his mind. It's freaking white noise. Christ.

White noise, Electronic Voice Phenomena, EVP, whatever you wanted to call it (he had done some research about it a long while ago just out of interest, and yes, he was indeed a huge nerd.) EVP was when you heard voices through static on the radio and various other electronic devices. Voices that were said to be to be those of the dead. But that did they want with him? Were they attracted by his powers? Did they want him to put them to rest or something? Help them on their journey to the afterlife or some other new age mumbo jumbo crap?

And why on earth did he seem to be the only one who could hear them?

It sucked out loud, not having all the answers. Hell, not having any answers. It made him feel useless and stupid, the two things he always strived not to be. He prided himself on being fiercely independent, and that was not going to change anytime soon. A couple of ghosts weren't going to get the better of him.

Really? Why are you so damn scared of them then?

He suddenly realised what he was doing; standing in the middle of the empty isle, staring up at the speakers as though they were about to jump him – he was cowering. Adrenaline raced through his blood, his previously violently thumping heart slowing down a fraction now that his initial panic had passed. He had panicked, just because of some voices over the radio. What could voices do, besides annoy the hell of him? Brainwash him or something? Well, actually…

Rolling his eyes to himself, Sam let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding in one long exhale. Even if they could brainwash him or something similar, he couldn't do anything about it; he would just have to suck it up and deal with this until he found the answers to his questions. If he was able to. He wasn't quite sure where to start looking…

He gave a little jump and a wince when the voices got even louder, screaming at him all at once over the speakers. God, but it was loud. He felt like his eardrums were going to burst, and he clamped his hands over his ears in a vain attempt to block out the horrible noise. From behind the counter the check out girl stared at him with wide, startled eyes, obviously thinking he was insane. And maybe that was true. He had to be insane; insane or dreaming. So, Sam, what can voices do again?

Make him feel as though his skull was about to explode, it seemed. They were pretty damn good at driving him away, too; with a small cry of pain Sam ran from the store, leaving behind the anguished cries of the restless dead and the sudden loud trilling of the phone. The phone that, when answered by the check out girl, only static came from.

It took Sam a long while to get to sleep. He lay on his bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling as he tried to get his mind around the events of the day. It took him until midnight to give up on his musings and switch off the lamp on his bedside table, settling curled up on his side under the covers.

As soon as he was calm enough to fall to sleep, he fell into a dream.

The sky was pitch black and littered with the small white dots of stars. The metallic tang of blood was heavy in the air, stirred only slightly by the light breeze, and the long grass of the field rustled slightly. The moon was bright and full overhead, a pallid yellow eye glaring down at the quiet landscape, the silence broken only by calm breathing and the crunch of boots on gravel.

There was a dark figure standing at the side of the road, leaning against a car that was but a black shadow in the equally dark night except for the silver pistol, glowing in the moonlight, that lay in place of pride on the dashboard, strange symbols carved into its shining barrel. The loud trilling of a phone interrupted the quiet night, and the rustle of clothing was heard as the figure frantically fished in his pockets, trying to find the cell, before flipping it open with a snap and shoving it to his ear without bothering to glance at the display.

"Sir?"

"Son." Gruff. "Have you done the job?"

There was a long pause, followed by the rustle of fabric as the dark figure looked over his shoulder and into the interior of the car. "Yes Sir. It's done."

God, he felt like such a stalker.

Well, he was a stalker. After he had gotten over his initial shock at his dads' order (and that hadn't been at all an easy task) he had driven slowly, hesitantly, over to Sam's house and parked the Impala across the road. There he had sat for a few minutes, just staring over at the large two story house with a pretty white picket fence and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now. Then he had sighed, cranked up Black Sabbath, and got settled back in his chair for a long wait.

He didn't know what he was waiting for. Even when he saw the kid leave his house with calico shopping bag in hand he hadn't done anything. Hadn't bothered to follow him or jump him, or take him out with the goddamn sniper rifle. Hadn't bothered to do anything that he should be doing, seems as he was going to kill the kid.

Kill the kid. Such a casual phrase, and yet it sent a shiver down his spine and caused bile to rise in his throat. His dad wanted him to kill a kid, a sixteen year old. A human being. Of course, in John's view he was just another supernatural threat, another monster to put down; but he wasn't the one that had to do the dirty work. He didn't know Sam. But did Dean know Sam; know him well enough to make a judgement? In truth, he couldn't really tell whether Sam was a psychic killing machine or just a kid whose powers were going haywire. His heart was telling him that it couldn't be anything but the latter; his head was telling him that he had to kill him either way, because it was anorder.

Dean always followed orders. He was the perfect soldier, the perfect son, and it was all that he had wanted for his whole life. Could he throw that away for some (incredibly cute) guy that he had only known for two weeks? He didn't know if Sam was innocent or guilty, and there wasn't any way to tell, really. Maybe the kid had been using psychic mojo this whole time; knew that hunters were out to get him and decided to intervene, decided to get Dean on his side.

The horrible thing about that idea was that it was entirely plausible. The thought that Sam had been having him on this whole time made him unspeakably angry, made him feel betrayed and almost sad – but it was just that, a thought. It wasn't the truth (he really fucking hoped it wasn't the truth.) What Dean reckoned (hoped) was the truth was that Sam was just an innocent kid who didn't know how to control his powers, was clueless as to the trouble they were causing.

As long as Dean was unsure, he knew he couldn't kill Sam. And would he ever be sure enough to take his life in cold blood?

His internal arguments were suddenly interrupted by the ringing of his cell. Grabbing it off the dash, he answered the call thinking that it was his dad; but when he opened his mouth to give his customary greeting, he realised that all he could hear through the earpiece was static. Frowning, he took the phone from his ear and stared at the screen. His reception was fine, but the screen was blank when usually it would display the number of the caller. What the fuck?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement through the car window; glancing up, he stared in astonishment as Sam barrelled down the street, shopping bag nowhere to be seen. Sitting up straighter in his seat, he put his face so close to the open window he was pretty much hanging out of it, trying to figure out what had the kid spooked. The expression on his face was something close to panic or fear, and Dean wanted to rush over the road, sweep the kid up in his arms and – whoa, what? What was this, some sort of freaking romantic drama?

Scowling to himself, Dean shook his head to clear it of idiotic thoughts and refocused on Sam, who was now throwing himself through his unlocked front door. From inside the house, Dean heard the very faint ringing of the phone before the door slammed shut.

Ringing...

An idea springing into his mind he glanced at his phone, listened to the static still cracking out of the earpiece and felt both parts joy and concern. If his sudden suspicions were right – and god, he hoped they were – this was EVP, and it was happening because of Sam. And Sam seemed totally bewildered about it…