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nightspear) wrote2008-03-17 12:59 pm
Finding Home (13/21)
Title: Finding Home (Main Post and Chapter List)
Rating: PG-13/R for language, mostly
Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine. I gain nothing of materialistic value from this.
Pairings: Gen.
XXXXXXXXXX
“If you’d just quit your hand-wringing and open yourself up, you have no idea what you can do. The learning curve is so fast. It’s crazy, the switches that just flip in your brain. I can’t believe I just started out having dreams.”
(“All Hell Breaks Loose [Part 1”)
XXXXXXXXXX
“So this kid was telekinetic,” Dean said.
“Looks that way.”
“Like, uh, Jean Grey in X-Men. Except not as hot.”
Sam raised his head. “Dean, Max is dead. Show a little respect.”
Dean glanced at him from the driver’s seat. “Max was a monster, Sam. You said it yourself, he slaughtered his whole family, even if the police don’t know that.”
He tightened his jaw. “He was desperate.”
“Come on, that’s not an excuse to start killing people.”
“No, it’s not an excuse, but it’s the reason. And he committed suicide.”
“Yeah, after he committed murder. You’re not really saying that makes it okay?”
He could still see Max’s face in his mind’s eye, wet with tears as he begged his father to stop. “He was abused his whole life, Dean, and scared out of his mind. Whatever he was, they made him into that.”
Dean was silent for along while. “You know, if this is what normal people are like, man, I’ll take our effed up family any day.”
“I miss Dad.”
Sam wasn’t sure why he blurted it out, or which of them was more surprised.
The muscle in Dean’s jaw twitched. “We’ll find him.”
“God. I have to...have to apologize to him. After Mom...if he hadn’t started hunting...”
We could’ve had Max’s childhood. He shuddered.
“We’ll find him.”
“Dean, you think, when we find him, he’ll even want...” He didn’t cut off the question so much as the words dried up. Taking a breath, he tried again. “After I left for Stanford, there was so much we never... And then, when you two showed up there, we didn’t even...we never...and then I never even called him after...”
“We’ll find him, Sammy. Everything’ll work out.”
The words were comforting, but he could tell Dean was just saying them. He remembered Joshua’s prompting him to dig deeper, to try to identify the faces in his dreams. ‘Matt or Max or Mac something,’ he’d said off-handedly. They’d only been a few hours too late for Max. If he’d tried harder back then... Jesus.
“Dean, I was thinking—”
“Well, cut it out.”
Sam sighed and forged ahead. “Joshua said I might be able to bring on a vision. You know, instead of just waiting for one to hit.”
Dean sounded genuinely confused when he asked, “The hell would you do that for?”
“There were other dreams I’ve had. Like that guy who shocked a cat to death... Maybe if I try to get more details, we can get there and stop it in time.”
“Dude, it’s a cat. I mean, I’m sorry for the little critter, but...”
“You think he’s gonna stop there? You don’t think we should get there before he loses it and moves on to humans? Or himself? We need to save him before that happens.”
“How do you know we can save him? If this guy’s gonna go cuckoo for cocoa puffs, I don’t see that there’s a lot we can do to prevent it.”
Sam wasn’t going to believe that. They had to be able to save this guy. And if they couldn’t...
“Either way,” he said aloud, “even if we can’t save him, we have to stop him before he goes too far.”
Dean didn’t answer. He didn’t speak at all until he’d pulled into a parking space at the first motel he saw. “I’ll go get a room. Grab our stuff.”
Sam dumped Dean’s duffel bag onto the first bed and took the his one with him to the other bed. His brother followed a moment later, tossing his jacket onto a small table in the corner of the room.
Dean claimed the shower first, but before he closed the bathroom door behind him, he said, “We got here as fast as we could, Sam.”
“I know,” he answered, and waited for Dean to turn away before sinking down onto the bed and dropping his head into his hands.
They hadn’t gotten there fast enough. Next time would be different.
As soon as he heard the sound of the shower running, he leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes. He had to make this work, to know the visions weren’t just fucking with him—that he could change things. This had been easier at Smithley Arms with Sam’s mind relaxed by herbs and Joshua’s voice grounding him. Finding Joshua’s presence slipping into his thoughts had gotten easy after the first few tries. Now, Sam tugged on the memory of the vision he’d had of a hesitant young man reaching out to pet a kitten, focusing on the details and trying to find that feeling of not-quite-right that told him it was a vision and not a dream.
He was startled into opening his eyes when Dean walked into the room and slammed the bathroom door shut, saying in warning, “You’d better not be doing what I think you are.”
Sam didn’t try to deny it. “We can save him.”
“We can’t save everyone, Sam, you know that.”
“No, this is different. We have to save him, Dean, before he starts hurting people. We have to. Because...” He swallowed. “Just because.”
Because it’ll mean there’s still hope for me.
“We’re not having this conversation again,” Dean said as he pulled on a shirt, his tone definitive. “I’m getting sick of this.” He pulled out his gun and began to disassemble it.
“Look at what Max did, Dean.”
“Telekinesis, Sam; he had a weapon. What do you think you’re gonna do, huh? Get headaches until people die of sympathy?”
“We don’t know if it has to do with our abilities. Maybe that’s why the demon chose us, but who knows if it did something else to us that night.”
“Uh huh. The devil came and planted the seed of evil in you as a baby.”
“Maybe it did! Maybe that’s why we—why the other psychics are coming unhinged. Besides,” he added, fingering his blade, “if I wanted to kill someone, you think I would need telekinesis to do it?”
Dean slammed his gun back down on the table with a bitten off curse and stood. “You feel like going out a killing someone, Sam?”
“No.” Indignant but not backing down.
“Well, be sure to let me know if you do. Now shut. The fuck. Up.”
They glared at each other until Dean took a few steps away to kick his bag to the foot of his bed. Sam’s own was still sitting on top of the blanket next to him, but he made no move to push it aside, watching Dean prowl around the room instead.
Finally, Dean ran a hand over his still-damp hair and sighed. “Alright. If you want to try this, you do it with me watching. When I say to stop, you damn well stop. And if you black out, I will dump your ass into a bathtub of cold water and take blackmail pictures, you hear me?”
Feeling less triumphant than he’d expected to, Sam nodded. He waited until Dean had settled at the table before saying, “What, are you just gonna stare at me? You’re making me nervous.”
“Tough,” Dean answered, leaning back in the chair.
Sam closed his eyes, pretending Dean’s weren’t drilling holes into his head.
Thinking back on that other vision, of the young man with black hair and lightning at his fingertips, he called up every detail he could remember. A house with a cat scampering out...a mailbox...what did it say on the mailbox?...
But the dreams of Max Miller were still too fresh—an odd thrill ran through Sam’s body as images of Max flashed through his mind. The car, doors locked and refusing to open...the knife, suspended in air and rotating slowly before launching itself at a terrified woman...
...And then an odd scene, one he hadn’t seen before. Dean, standing protectively in front of the woman while Max advanced toward him, holding a cocked pistol without actually holding it...ready to pull the trigger...
There was a twinge of pain in his temple. The thrill he’d felt before suddenly spiked, and then something hard hit him sharply on the shoulder.
“Ow!” he said, snapping his eyes open and sitting up straighter. He rubbed his stinging arm and looked around in confusion, feeling almost buzzed. Dean’s gun fell to the carpet beside him with a clatter.
“What the hell, Dean? You threw a gun at me?”
Dean was on his feet, but his eyes were wide, all traces of his usual smirk gone. “Um...”
Confused, Sam asked, “What?”
Dean’s eyes flicked between him and the pistol. “I didn’t touch the gun.”
“Yeah, it flew over here on its own,” he scoffed. Dean’s eyes snapped to his face and opened wider at that. Sam’s jaw dropped. “Whoa. You think I...?”
“Well it sure as fuck wasn’t me! What the hell were you thinking about, Sam?”
Oh, God. I’m just like Max.
“Uh...” He licked his lips, consciously fighting hyperventilation. “I was...back in Max’s house, except we were in there with him. He was about to put a bullet in your head.”
Dean frowned and crossed his arms and kept staring.
“I just wanted to get the gun away from him,” Sam said.
“But that never happened.”
Thanks. I hadn’t noticed.
“Maybe that’s what would’ve happened if we’d gotten there in time.”
“You’ve never done this before?”
“Don’t you think I would’ve mentioned...” he trailed off. Dean had a right to be suspicious—Sam had hidden the visions until everything had blown up in their faces. “No," he amended. "Never.”
Dean was still considering something. “Back at Stanford...with the demon. A dresser fell in front of Jessica and me for no reason just before we were about to be barbecued.”
Sam didn’t remember that part, actually, though there was a hazy memory of Dean and Jess’s faces as the fire rushed toward them... “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I don’t!” he protested. “Things were being tossed around—it could’ve just fallen over or gotten knocked over. I wasn’t thinking about moving it. There was just a lot of fire, and you—and Jess—were going to die, and...I don’t fucking know.”
Dean’s arms came uncrossed and he brought one hand up to rub at his eyes. “Shit, Sam,” he said finally. “You had to use my friggin’ gun? You’re lucky the safety’s still on.”
As if that were the main issue. Sam eyed the pistol and slid a few inches away.
Stupid. The gun’s not the one that did anything.
“I’m calling a stop now, by the way,” Dean added.
Sam didn’t argue.
Dean stepped out of their room a few hours later. Through the window, Sam heard indistinct talking. He rolled over when he caught a muffled “...you, Dad. Call us...” He clamped a pillow over his ears to block out yet another voicemail message that would go unanswered.
He recognized the picture in the news report when Scott Carey was found dead a week later. An online article said he’d been killed by a mugger, and Sam was guiltily relieved when he couldn’t find news of any other unusual deaths in the area, other than the cat. He lingered on the article, frowning. Scott Carey’s eyes watched him from the screen, and Sam looked away.
XXXXXXXXXX
The next time Sam tried to force a premonition, he had to wait until Dean had gone out to a bar, looking for locals to hustle. It was getting easier, now that he’d stopped trying to avoid the visions, and it only took a few minutes before the warmth filled his stomach and pain spiked sharply in his temples. Flashes of images began stringing themselves together before his eyes.
“We have to go to
Dean looked up from counting the cash he’d earned. “What’d you see?”
“Two guys: Webber and Andy. They’re making people kill themselves just by ordering them to do it.”
Dean’s gaze was tinged with suspicion. “You got all that this time? Not bits and pieces, like before?”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe it means we’re getting closer to finding the demon,” he said, knowing it would spur Dean forward.
“Your head okay?”
“It’s okay.”
“’Cause if it explodes in my car you’ll be cleaning out the brains on your own.”
“My head isn’t going to explode in your car, Dean.”
They were driving to
XXXXXXXXXX
“Andy got pretty good at mind control,” Sam mentioned as they left Andy (who’d been innocent of everything, except recreational drug use, probably) still looking lost as he watched them drive away.
“Yeah, so?”
“I...” Sam hesitated, then shook his head. “Nothing. Just making an observation.”
XXXXXXXXXX
He had to wait another few days before he was alone in the motel room for long enough to try again. The last vision had saved Andy’s girlfriend, and probably even Andy himself, if his twin was as psycho as he seemed. Maybe it was a gift, after all. Andy certainly saw his abilities that way.
So why shouldn’t other abilities be gifts, too? Like telekinesis, say.
He hadn’t managed to accomplish anything but a headache by the time Dean sauntered back in, and he pretended to be asleep until he really was, slipping into a dream.
xxxxx
Sam knew right away that the dream wasn’t just a dream. It only took a few seconds’ consideration for him to immerse himself deliberately in it. Just as practice, of course. He looked around until he saw someone else standing before him.
There was something familiar about the man, but Sam knew they’d never met before. There was no way he would have forgotten eyes as yellow as those.
“Keep going, Sam,” the man said. “Let it out.”
“Dean doesn’t think I should,” he replied, then frowned. He hadn’t meant to say anything. He had to remind himself that this wasn’t just any dream that he could manipulate--that this space in his mind wasn’t completely his.
The man shook his head sympathetically. “What will happen if he’s in danger? And you know he will be, the way he takes risks all the time. I promise: one day, it’ll happen. Will you use your gift to save him?”
“Of course,” Sam heard himself say. “But I can’t do it without practicing.”
The yellow-eyed man smiled proudly at him. “Sammy. That’s my boy.”
xxxxx
Dean was still deep asleep when Sam opened his eyes and sat up. He’d had a dream, he knew, but it was already fading. With a long look at his brother, Sam let his gaze drift to the pillow, not quite knowing exactly why.
It came out of him suddenly, like a punch, surprising a soft gasp from him. The knife tucked under Dean’s pillow slid out, and Sam, startled, barely caught the handle with his fingertips before it fell. He stared at it for a moment, then bent to put it back. Dean stirred just as he’d finished replacing the knife under the pillow. Sam froze, inches away from his brother’s face.
“Sam? What the hell are you doing?” he mumbled, still half-asleep.
“Nothing,” Sam said, backing away. “Sorry. I slipped.” He held his breath.
Dean was asleep again within seconds. Sam sat back down on the edge of his bed, finally exhaling in shaky relief. He could do this, after all. He just needed practice.
There had to be something else he could use.
There was a spoon on the table where Dean had been sitting.
Dean would get a kick out of this.
Or, actually, he’d probably kick Sam’s ass.
With a final nervous glance around, he picked it up and started to practice.
XXXXXXXXXX
“Did you sleep at all?” Dean asked when the sun rose the next morning. "Hey!"
“Hm?” Sam blinked and looked up when fingers snapped under his nose.
“Normal people sleep at night. It’s part of the whole not being dead routine.”
“I slept,” he answered defensively. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” He didn’t feel tired at all, actually—a little high on adrenaline, more like.
“Whatever, dude, I’m not worried. If you fall asleep while we’re staking out this monster, whatever it is, I’m not hauling your heavy ass out of there, that’s all I’m saying.”
“You know, I looked over some more reports before you woke,” Sam said. “Animal control found someone’s lost, rabid pet dog and they’re thinking that was it. False alarm.” People always assumed it was some lost animal; this time, it just happened to be true.
“So it’s just a pet dog,” Dean said flatly. “That sucks.”
“But listen, I found something last night—”
“While you shoulda been sleeping,” Dean grumbled.
“—about people suddenly changing in personality and then committing crimes that no one would have believed of them before.”
“They could just be criminals.” Devil’s advocate—it was an important role that one of them had to play, because being wrong could mean anything from their arrest to an innocent civilian’s getting staked. This time, though, Sam knew he wasn’t wrong.
“Or they could be possessed. There are other signs, too; take a look for yourself.” He turned the laptop toward his brother.
Dean skimmed the article, then stuffed a last, rolled-up shirt into his bag. “Okay, then. We’ll check it out.”