A/N Looks, it's a new chapter! And it's not even been a whole month since the last one! Seriously, thanks to everyone who is sticking with this, I appreciate the support. We're picking up pretty much exactly where we left off in Chapter, with Dean following Bobby to the psychic's and Sammy asleep in the shotgun seat.
Again, not showing anything that isn't a major change. And, again, my AU, my rules, my fixes.
Comments are serious brain fuel - please let me know what you think!
-Aethena
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Unnamed two-lane highway
Sunday, September 20, 2008
6:18 am
"Castiel? No, sorry, Castiel, I don't scare that easy."
"I conjure and command you, show me your face!
Show me your face now!"
Bright light, fire in her eyes and a scream…
"No!" Sam jerked awake in the front seat of the Impala, panting.
"Sammy?"
Dean's concerned voice broke through the edge of the panic, and it came flooding back to him — the fucking miracle of Dean's resurrection, which none of them could explain; Bobby's call to his friend; getting into the Impala, finally in the right seat; telling Dean about the last four months of his life.
"Sammy?" Dean repeated and a warm hand came to rest on the back of his neck, a touch he'd always know, no matter how long it had been. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Sam straightened himself up, and took a deep breath to calm his panting and his racing heart.
Another.
"Yeah, Dean, I'm okay."
Dean nodded and pulled his hand reluctantly back to rest it on the steering wheel. "Right," he said doubtfully.
Sam turned his attention to the window, still trying to slow his heart rate. He closed his eyes, and opened them immediately, confronted with the…memory? vision? of bloody, empty eye sockets in a beautiful face. That woman's eyes…
"Sam!" Dean's voice sounded like he'd said that more than once, and Sam turned his attention back to his brother. "Nightmare?" Dean asked, gently.
Sam shrugged.
Dean nodded. "Hellhound?" he wondered and his voice was soft and low and full of so much pain and guilt.
"No, no," Sam assured him. "Not to do with you. Well, not exactly."
"Not exactly?" Dean repeated. "Well, that's descriptive. What else are you having nightmares about, Sammy?"
He shook his head, but his brother wasn't going to let it go, and they both knew it.
"Come on, Sam," Dean wheedled, "you can tell me. The smarter brother's back in town, you don't gotta keep it all inside, anymore. Tell me. New nightmare? Old? It's not your clown thing again, is it?"
Sam huffed a weak laugh. "Asshole," he half smiled.
"Midgets?"
Sam shook his head. "No, I…I don't think it was a nightmare, actually. More of a, a —- vision," he admitted reluctantly.
"Oh," Dean frowned. "Okay. So, you're still having those, huh? Well, stupid question, if you just had one now. Gonna tell me about it?"
Sam shook his head, slowly. "Still trying to parse my way through it, really. Just…I think it had to do with Bobby's psychic friend. Maybe. Probably. And…and Castiel."
"Cassie who now?"
"Castiel," Sam repeated with a smile he couldn't quite stop at what he knew was Dean's deliberate messing with the name. "I think…I think that's who pulled you out of Hell. According to the vision, at least."
"Shit," Dean muttered and let out a long, low exhale. "So somehow this whole thing is tied back to Yellow-eyes?" He frowned at Sam's confusion. "Your visions, they were tied to the demon, right? So maybe he had something to do with getting me out of Hell."
"How?" Sam challenged. "You killed him, remember?"
Dean shrugged. "Well, we know he had at least one daughter. Your first demon girlfriend, Meg? We know she's still around somewhere. Who knows how many other kids that bastard had."
"Okay, even saying it is true, and Castiel is a demon tied to Yellow-eyes. Why let you out of Hell? Seems to me, they'd want to keep you there, not set you free."
Dean idly scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, that's a point."
"And anyway, my dreams weren't always tied to the Demon. Like those dreams I had about my friends at school, they had nothing to do with anything."
"True," Dean conceded with a nod. He hesitated a moment, casting a series of short side glances at his little brother.
Three minutes of that, and Sam lost all patience. "Just ask me, Dean," he sighed.
"Ask you what?" Dean hedged.
"I don't know," Sam groused. "But you wanna ask something. Just get it over with, will you? The suspense is killing me."
"I just…well…" Dean sputtered. "I was just wondering…well…your powers, man. You said they came back."
"Yeah."
"And that's…and you're…I mean, everything's okay with you?"
Sam frowned, and shrugged. "Yeaah," he drawled. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"Well, I mean, before I…before." Dean tsk'd in disgust at his own inability to just say got torn apart and went to Hell, but Sam just nodded his understanding. "During that, that wind demon case in Indiana, you said…with the Force…And I just…are you okay?"
Sam sighed, and now it was his turn to shoot side eyes at his brother. How much to tell? How much should he worry his brother, less than a day after Dean's resurrection (because Dean would worry, no matter what Sam said about it, worry about Sam was basically encoded into Dean's DNA)? "I'm fine," he promised, his voice breaking slightly at the end.
"Well, that was convincing," Dean rolled his eyes. "Seriously, dude, you should give up hunting and go on the stage, with that acting ability. It's uncanny."
"All right, fine," Sam glared. "You've made your point. Smartass."
"Good," Dean grinned. "So, the truth this time?"
"It's…I'm okay. Really," he hastened to add. "It is stronger. Everything's stronger," he admitted, "and it took a little time to get used to it, but…I'm okay. I know how to deal."
"How to deal," Dean repeated. "And how do you deal, Sammy, huh? Because you said if it got worse, you'd…" He couldn't even make himself say the words. "How bad is it," he demanded. "And how do you DEAL."
"Everything is stronger," he repeated, "but they're not all stronger to the same degree."
"Clear as mud, Sammy, keep going."
"Okay. Well, the telekinesis, that's the strongest thing I have — other than the magick," he admitted reluctantly. "I can open doors, even locked doors, without even touching them now. I can pick up bigger things, heavier things, hold them up longer."
"How much bigger and heavier?" Dean wondered, and raised an eyebrow at Sam's smirk.
"I once moved an 18 foot tall solid marble statue from the top of a mausoleum."
"Shit."
"I've also gotten more precise moving big stuff around."
"Yeah? Like what?
"Well, if nobody's around, parallel parking's a lot easier," he chuckled and then full-out laughed when Dean shot him an appalled stare.
"You've been using your telekinesis on my baby?" Dean demanded, his voice halfway between amazed and threatening.
"Not a scratch on her," Sam assured him, and crossed his heart, raising two fingers. "Scout's honor."
"Like you were ever a scout," Dean snorted.
"Like Dad would've let me be a scout."
"Well, he wasn't wrong," Dean shrugged. "There's all kinds of monsters out there, Sammy."
"Mmm. Anyway, I never hurt your baby."
Dean looked pointedly at the iPod jack lying on the back seat. "Matter of opinion."
Sam just smirked. "I don't know," he suggested with a shrug. "Maybe she liked the new variety. You know, not listening to the same albums over and over and over again…."
"You could walk to Bobby's psychic's, you know."
Sam's smile grew to full-wattage, complete dimple intensity and some part of Dean unfurled in response. Not that he'd let the little brat know that.
"Anyway," Dean pressed, "your powers, Carnac?"
"My healing's better than it's ever been," he admitted, "and I can control it better, now."
Dean nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. "Okay, cool, cool. And the Force?" he pressed.
"It's not the Force, Dean," he sighed, sounding every bit as put out about the phrase as he ever had.
So he could still annoy his little brother without really trying. It warmed Dean's heart, it really did.
"Whatever you want to call it, young Skywalker. How much stronger is it, and is it a problem or not?" Dean demanded. "Because, I gotta tell you, Sammy, this hemming and hawing and dodging the question is not giving me the warm and fuzzies over here."
Sam sighed, resigning himself to the fact that there was no way out of this. "It's…it's strong," he admitted. "Really strong. I don't have to touch the ground, or a tree or whatever, with my hand to get answers. I can just stand still and ask, and I get answers, even from concrete or drywall or whatever. No skin-to-surface contact needed."
Dean winced. "And how is that for you?"
"Not as bad as you'd expect," Sam assured him. "I mean, at first, it was…it was hard," he admitted, licking his lips nervously. "It was…it was bad," he confessed, "but after a while, I—I got used to it. I can just…sort of…tune it out, now."
"Tune it out?" Dean repeated, incredulously. "You said it would drive you to eat your own gun, but a couple months and you can just tune it out?"
"I guess when the power got strong, so did my tolerance?" Sam shrugged. "And I mean, it's not like I don't have a lifetime of tuning out annoying things," he added with a smug smile.
Dean frowned for a second, then glared at his grinning little brother. "You must be talking about Ruby," he said, archly. "Because I'm a fucking delight to have around."
Sam's smile turned soft and fond. "You're not so bad," he admitted softly and then cleared his throat before Dean could pull out a no chick-flick rule. "Anyway," he continued, "I have learned to tune it out, to a large degree, and I've also taken some…preventative measures."
Dean's frown returned. "What kind of prevention are we talking about here, Sammy? Whiskey? Drugs? Some kind of, of, I don't know, brain condom?"
"Brain—-?" And there it was, Sammy's first full on Bitchface since Dean got back from Hell, and it was all Dean could do to not laugh out loud with the joy of it. "No, Dean," Sam said dryly. "No brain condoms. I just…I've…"
Sam looked out the window and Dean thought he saw his lips move slightly before he turned back and raised a hand between them.
A suddenly fully gloved hand.
"What the fuck?" Dean spat. "You weren't wearing those!"
"I was, actually," Sam shrugged and casually pulled the thin leather driving gloves, so dark a red as to be nearly black, off first one hand, then the other.
"I'm newly resurrected, Sam," Dean snapped, "but I ain't blind, dude, and you did NOT have those on. "
"I did," Sam confirmed again. "You just couldn't see them. And no," he added before Dean could say anything, "you're not blind. It's a glamour."
"A glamour," Dean repeated, flatly.
"A small spell that changes…."
"The look of a person or object, or hides it completely," Dean finished. "Yeah, I know what a glamour is, Sammy. I may not be a manwitch," he added, hiding his smirk at scoring himself another precious Bitch Face, "but I do know about magic, you know."
"Yeah," Sam nodded, "sorry."
"So, why the fuck."
"The glamour?" Sam completed. "Or the gloves?"
"Either. Both."
"The gloves are…they're special. I had them custom made by a leather worker I saved from a poltergeist about a week after I left Rick's place."
"Rick's Place," Dean chuckled. "Sounds like you were in Casablanca. 'Of all the gin joints in all the world,' " he misquoted in his best Bogie impression, " 'the Sasquatch had to walk into mine'. Heh heh."
Sam shook his head, smiling indulgently. "God, you're an idiot."
"Your idiot," Dean grinned back.
"Thank god for that," Sam laughed, "cause it's damn sure no one else will put up with you!" And Dean's affronted glare garnered another full on Sammy Smile. "Anyway, the gloves. He soaked the leather in holy water, used silver thread twined with gold for all the stitching, and between the leather and the lining — goatskin, by the way, soaked in lamb's blood,"
"Oh, gross! Sammy, that's disgusting. You have that on your hands? You eat with those!"
"It's magick, Dean," Sam assured him. "Goatskin, soaked in the blood of an unsheered lamb, is a powerful protector against psychic forces, I'll have you know. And it's all dried and cured in the first place. None of it gets on my hands. Anyway, between the leather and lining is a layer of silk soaked in saltwater. All taken together, these gloves let me touch just about anything and not pick up anything I don't want to know."
"And the glamour?"
Sam just looked at him. "It was July, Dean. Wearing gloves — especially an FBI agent wearing gloves — in the middle of summer might be a little unusual to most people."
Dean bobbed his head to the side, curling a lip in consideration. "Point. Why red?"
"Maintaining the glamour doesn't take a lot of effort, but it takes some, so I get knocked out, they'll be visible. And I can always see them." He shrugged. "I'm a hunter. Red hides the blood."
Dean nodded. "Fair. And that…those work?"
"Yeah, pretty well," Sam nodded. "Something's got to want my attention real bad to make it through these. And I had him lay out the stitching in such a way that it actually works with my magick, creates a, a kind of…targeted pathway. It lets my magick, and only my magick, flow through them, when I need it to. So, I can wear them and still cast spells, or wield a magical weapon, and if I want to, I can get something from an object. But only if I want to," he added. "Unless, like I said, something really strong wants to talk to me really bad."
"Hmm," Dean grunted. "Not too shabby, little brother. Kinda slick, really. Don't they get hot?"
Sam shook his head. "Not at all. It's all so infused with magick and magickal ingredients and parts, they practically exist in another plane of reality. I can see them, they do what they were designed for, but it feels like I have nothing on. Not to me, or anyone else. I mean, I've had them on the whole time we've been together, you never felt anything, did you?"
"Huh," Dean huffed. "Don't suppose we could get those in a condom?"
"Dean! Now who's being gross?" Sam laughed. "You're not back even 48 hours, and you're already thinking of sex?"
"What can I tell you?" Dean grinned. "My time in Hell, that's the longest dry spell I've had since 6th grade."
"13," Sam scoffed. "You were having sex at least every four months when you were 13? Yeah, right."
"Some of us are just early developers, Sammy, what can I say?" Dean flashed his biggest, widest, toothiest smile, and reached over to pat his little brother's (surprisingly solid) chest. "Some of us don't develop at all. Hate the game, little brother, not the playah!"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Such a Jerk."
"Bitch."
They were silent for a moment, each just basking in the glow of the themness that filled the car.
Sam wasn't sure, but he thought that the Impala's familiar growl was a little deeper, a little smoother, now that Dean was driving her again. He knew he was breathing better, and his heart was beating stronger, a steady beat that seemed to repeat his head Dean is back. Dean is back. Dean is back. Dean. Back. Dean. Back. Dean. Dean. Dean.
"So," Dean said a minute or an hour later, "you're stronger now, huh?"
Sam just shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."
"What does that mean? I mean, yeah you can lift shit, but can you…I don't know, what can you do on a hunt? Decapitate a vamp with your mind?" he suggested, wiggling the fingers of one hand in Sam's direction. "Throw a ghost before it throws you?"
Sam chuckled. "Haven't tried to decapitate with my mind, no," he admitted, because who would think of that? Besides Dean, obviously. "And no, can't do shit to ghosts — unless there's some salt or iron lying around, then I can throw that at them. Although," he admitted, tipping his head a little to the side for a moment, "it is slightly harder for things to throw me around."
"Well, that's cool," Dean nodded.
"And, um, there is…one thing that's…new," Sam said hesitantly.
Dean shot him a look, taking in the nervous look on his baby brother's face, the way the kid seemed to brace himself as if for a blow.
Dean looked at the taillights in front of him beneath the lightening sky, and wished again he could pull over and have all his attention on his little brother, instead of split between Sammy, the road and Bobby's back end.
Dean rolled his eyes and took one hand off the wheel long enough to pull Sam's thumb nail out of the kid's mouth. "Hit me."
"If I'm at full power, like rested and everything, I can…I can, uh, kill Demons."
"Yeah. We got Ruby's knife. That's not new, Sammy."
"With…my…mind."
Dean pulled expertly out of the small skid his reflexive braking sent them into, and force his foot back to the accelerator.
"Okay," he said evenly, when the car was solidly back in their lane again. He flashed his lights twice in response to Bobby's double-braking (Okay back there? Yeah, all good.) "That is new."
Sam nodded, hesitantly. "Yeah."
"How does that work?"
"I'm not sure," Sam shrugged again. "I think it's some combination of my TK and the magick, but…Ruby tried to convince me to drink the demon blood, saying it would give me that ability," he admitted, disgustedly. "Imagine her surprise when I could already do it."
Dean laughed. "Would've liked to have seen that."
"It was pretty great," Sam admitted, chuckling. His momentary mirth ended with him biting his lip and sending his brother a cautious, sidelong look. "And you're…okay with that?" he asked quietly, again bracing himself as if for a blow.
Dean reached over towards his brother and stopped when Sam winced away. "Hey, hey," he said quietly, and put his hand back on the steering wheel. "I'm not that big a bully, am I?"
Sam shook his head and looked at the floorboard between his feet. "No, 'course not," he said quietly. "It's just…If Ruby thought…if drinking Demon blood would have…then maybe…"
"Maybe what?"
"Maybe…maybe I'm…" Sam shook his head and looked out the window.
Dean sighed and flashed his lights three times (need a minute here), then put on his turn signal and pulled over .
Ahead, Bobby's brake lights flashed four times and sped away (I'll text you where to meet me).
Dean turned the car off and twisted in his seat to face his brother fully. Slowly, he reached out to put a hand on the back of his kid's neck, giving a gentle squeeze. "Hey," he said. "Look at me."
Sam shook his head, and Dean's heart broke a little, seeing the profile of his Sammy's bottom lip quiver a tiny bit.
"Look at me," he repeated more firmly, but no less gently.
Slowly, Sam shifted to face him fully, closing his too-green hazel eyes before Dean could capture his gaze.
"Sam," he said, almost a whisper now. "Talk to me, little brother. Maybe you're what?"
Sam sighed out a long breath and forced his eyes open. "If drinking Demon blood would let me do what I can already do," he repeated so quietly that if his baby had been running, Dean doubted he could've heard it, "then, maybe…maybe I'm already…" Sam's voice broke and he looked away again, staring out the windshield at the empty road ahead.
"Already what?" Dean challenged. "A demon?"
Sam's eyes flew to meet his, wide with fear. Dean shook his head, sadly. "No," he said simply. "No way, little brother."
"But…"
"But nothing," Dean said firmly. "Listen, Sammy. I just got back from fort—four months in Hell. I was surrounded by demons. I know Demons. And I know you. And you. And Demons. Couldn't be farther apart."
"You sure?" came the broken whisper.
"Yeah, little brother. Dead sure."
Sam nodded gratefully and swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment in relief.
And then he stopped and cocked his head slightly to the side.
Oh, shit, thought Dean. I almost said forty and he caught it.
"I thought you said you didn't remember Hell," Sam frowned. "You blocked it out, you said."
Crap. Dean ruthlessly suppressed the wince at getting caught in the lie, giving a careless shrug instead. "I remember that much," he admitted. "Demons," he said and shuddered theatrically. "Can't remember what happened to me, but I remember them. And you're not like them. Not at all, Sammy. I promise," he swore, and hoped the relief he could see on the kid's face would override the innate curiosity that had been a part of Sammy — and a bane of Dean's existence — since the kid was two.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"You don't think…"
"I think you're you, Sam," Dean said firmly. "My pain-in-the-ass little brother. I think you're good, Sammy. I always have, and I haven't heard anything to change that."
Sam nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay. Thanks, Dean."
Dean squeezed the back of his neck again. "Of course," Dean shrugged and turned back around to start the car. He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and tossed it to his brother. "Where are we meeting back up with Bobby?" he wondered and pulled back onto the road.
Sam took a shuddering breath and keyed in Dean's passcode. He wiped his eyes quickly, glancing at his big brother again.
Dean thought he was okay. That he wasn't evil, a demon in all but name.
"He said, uh, there's a, a Biggersons at the next exit," he said, fighting to keep his voice even. "He's ordering pancakes, bacon and coffee all around, we'll meet him there."
"Sounds good," Dean nodded and glanced at him with a smile. "It's all good, Sammy."
Sam nodded, not believing it.
Something unknown, something called 'Castiel', apparently, had dragged Dean out of Hell, and could burn people's eyes right out of their sockets.
Sam had the ability to kill Demons without any weapons, in a way no actual human should ever be able to. Could talk to the fuckin' planet in a way that shouldn't be possible outside of a Science Fiction double trilogy.
And Sam had no confidence that there wasn't something evil in him; that there hadn't been some evil seed growing in him since he was six fucking months old.
But his big brother did. His big brother, back from Hell against not just the odds, but the rules of the Universe, so far as Sam and Dean knew; his big brother thought he was okay. Thought Sam was good.
And for now, that was enough.
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Dean and Sam watched as Pamela got all the psychic paraphernalia together for a seance. Dean glanced at his little brother and sent a thought his way: This what you saw?
Not sure, Sam admitted, shifting uncomfortably.
What do you mean, you're not sure?
My eyes were closed for most of it, Sam admitted. Probably for the seance. And she looks a lot different right now.
How? Dean waggled his eyebrows. What, did she go sky clad?
Sam shot him a disgusted look. She was perfectly well clad, he assured his brother, who just shrugged in disappointment.
What's so different then?
Well, her face looks a lot different with her eyes burnt out.
"Her eyes!?" Dean exclaimed and froze when Pamela stood up from arranging the candles on the altar cloth she'd spread over the small table and looked at him, one brow raised.
"Ummm…." Dean stammered. "Sammy, he was, uh…he was just saying how, how pretty your eyes are. He's not wrong," he hastily added.
Pamela shifted her gaze to Sam. Behind her, Bobby shook his head slowly and mouthed idjits at the brothers.
Sam smiled in a way he desperately hoped hid his abject panic. "Dean hadn't gotten that far up, yet," he blurted and refused to flinch when Dean stepped on the top of his foot.
"Well," Pamela said, grinning. "Thank you both. Shall we have a seat? Dean, sit beside me," she added with what could only be called a leer.
The four of them settled at the table,
"Right," Pamela continued, suddenly serious. "Take each other's hands."
Sam reached for Dean's right hand, Bobby's left, and felt suddenly steadier than he had since he'd buried his brother.
"I need to touch something our mystery monster touched," Pamela told them and slipped her hand under the table.
Sam didn't need to read his brother's mind to know what she'd reached for.
"Whoa," Dean jumped. "Well, he didn't touch me there."
"My mistake," Pamela smirked and it was all Sam could do to not laugh aloud.
Since he was 13, my ass.
Dean let go of his hand and shifted again, nervously, and Sam watched as Dean pulled his left arm out of the sleeve of his flannel, and rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt, revealing…
"What the hell?" Sam stared at the perfect hand print, branded into his brother's shoulder, almost got up out of his seat — would have, except Bobby used his other hand to pull him back down.
Pamela frowned, but didn't comment further as she placed her hand lightly on the red marks. "Take hands again, please."
Dean reached for Sam again, and gave his little brother's hand a brief it's okay squeeze.
Sam tightened his grip considerably more. We're talking about this, he shot into his brother's mind.
After a moment, his attention was pulled back to the seance, and the sound of Pamela's voice intoning familiar words.
"I invoke, conjure and command you, appear unto me before this circle."
"We shouldn't be doing this," Sam said softly.
"Not my first time, Grumpy," Pamela assured him. "I invoke, conjure and command you, appear unto me before this circle."
"This is a bad idea," Sam insisted and Bobby squeezed his hand in what Sam was pretty sure was meant to be reassurance. It didn't help. He'd seen how this ends.
"I invoke, conjure and command you, appear unto me before this circle."
Static filled the air, and Sam wasn't sure if it was coming from the room, or just his head.
"I invoke, conjure and command…Castiel?" Pamela asked and Sam's heart starting to beat faster. "No. Sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy."
Beside him, Sam could hear his brother's voice. "Castiel?" Dean said slowly, tightening his grip on his brother's hand.
"Its name. It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back."
The static grew louder and the table started to shake. At least Sam was pretty sure it was the whole table and not just him.
"We should stop," Sam said firmly.
"I conjure and command you, show me your face," Pamela continued.
"Please, stop," Sam repeated, louder now, as the static and the shaking reached greater levels of violence
"You don't need to be scared, I know what I'm doing," Pamela insisted. "I conjure and command you, show me your face."
"Maybe Sam's right," Bobby agreed.
"Pamela, stop," Sam said in a voice half plea and half command.
"I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face."
"Stop!" Sam insisted.
"I conjure and command you, show me your face."
"Stop or I'll stop you!" Sam yelled over the growing noise.
"I've almost got it!" Pamela yelled back.
Sam let go of Dean's and Bobby's hands and leapt to his feet, knocking his chair over.
"I command you show me your fa—-"
"STOP!" Sam yelled and flung his right hand towards Pamela, who screamed in surprise and pain as her chair was suddenly propelled away from the table to land on its back at the edge of the room.
The static — Sam could see it was the tv and radio — suddenly stopped and the only sound was the frantic panting of the four of them.
Bobby hastened over to Pamela, and righted her chair, helping her up. She shook off his hands and stalked over to Sam, landing a resounding SLAP across his face.
Sam barely flinched, trying to match the image of burned-out eyes that still remained in his head to the flaringly angry — but very whole — eyes before him.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to break a psychic link that way?!" Pamela yelled in his face. "I could've lost consciousness!"
"Better consciousness than your sight," Sam said flatly.
For a moment, no one moved.
"What?" she said softly.
"You're not the only psychic in the room," Dean explained, a little coldly, Sam thought. "Sammy can't contact spirits and shit — can you?" he added, realizing that might have changed in his absence. Sam quickly shook his head 'no'. "Right, so he can't contact spirits, but Sammy, he…"
"I have dreams," Sam said quietly, and gently cupped Pamela's cheek, letting his thumb trail gently under one eye. "I had one about you, in the car on the way. I saw…"
She lifted one hand to cover his and placed her other hand apologetically on the red mark she'd left on his cheek. "What? What did you see?"
"You got your peek," Sam practically whispered, his throat closing up. "And it burned your eyes out."
"It…what?" Pamela went pale and started to shake.
Cautiously, gently, Sam pulled her into his chest and held her. "I would've said something before we started, but I wasn't sure that…you looked different, after, and the dream started when my eyes were closed. I didn't know for sure, it was you, and now, until you started that whole conjure and command thing. And then, I asked you to stop," he reminded, tucking his chin on top of her head. "I begged you to stop."
She nodded and pulled back, smiling, to meet his eyes. "Well, next time I'll listen," she smiled.
After a moment more, she pulled completely away from him. "I guess I owe you one, Grumpy," she laughed. "I'll have to figure out how to repay you," she added, and slapped his ass — hard — making him jump back.
Dean just laughed, then glared at Sam as Pamela and Bobby turned away.
"You're still not invited," Dean hissed and Sam had to bite his lips to not laugh outloud.
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A/N. Except for the fact that there's no Ruby, and that obviously Dean doesn't mention burning Pamela's eyes out to Castiel, the remainder of the episode is the same.
Although, I have to say it was really tempting to do that last scene with Castiel anyway, just to add a line that was deleted from the final cut of the scene on the show. Right after Castiel admits he's in a vessel ("he's a devout man, he actually prayed for this"), Dean responds: "Uh-huh. Y'know, it might've been easier to show up like this the first time instead of all the burning bush crap". Castiel responds: "Finding a human vessel durable enough to contain me…it's not easy". To which Dean says: "I have that same problem with women.". I love that man.)
Explanations:
Dean's comment about all kinds of monsters, when he and Sam mention the Scouts, references the 2007 Oregon lawsuit brought against the Boy Scouts of America, alleging continued sexual abuse by scout masters. (The case was eventually found in favor of the victims.) In my head canon, this would've been thrown at Sam as an indication that the "normal life" was just as, if not more, dangerous as hunting.
Carnac the Magnificent was a make-believe psychic created by Johnny Carson, the former host of the Tonight Show. He would hold sealed envelopes to his turban-covered head and give an answer, after which the envelope was opened and a question was read. Together with the previously given answer, there would be a joke or a sarcastic comment on current events or people in the news.
Bogie is the great actor Humphrey Bogart, and the quote, as well as Rick's Place, are from the classic movie, Casablanca. If you have never seen it, you should.
I totally made up the goatskin in lamb's blood thing, combining the fact that the goat is traditionally associated with the Devil, and the fact that lamb's blood is apparently protective, given that it can kill Djinn. Also, it may be gross, but my original thought was using Sam's own skin, but that skeeved even ME out.
In U.S. schools, a Grade is a year of school. Kids start in kindergarten at age 5. 1st grade starts at age 6, and it continues that way to 12th grade (aka Senior in High School), when a student is typically 18 (years can slide a little, depending on the school district and the student's birthday). Most districts require a specific minimum age by some specific date, usually the beginning of September. In 6th grade, most kids would be 12, but in my head canon, John bounced around so much, and he relied so much on Dean to take care of Sam, that he probably didn't send Dean to school until he had to, at the mandatory enrollment age for kindergarten, which is 6 in most states. Hence, he was a year older than typical.
Skyclad is the phrase many Wiccans and other magickal practitioners use to refer to being nude while performing rituals.
