Lessons 5/10
I'm pretty happy with this chapter - it's the first time in a long time that a chapter has just flowed with barely any resistance. And I assure you there will be much angst and hurt still to come in this story ;) Now I must skedattle off to a SPN marathon! We're seeing how many nights it takes to get through the whole season, lol.
Title: Lessons 5/10
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Cateory: Gen
Timeline: After 'Provenance' but before 'Dead Man's Blood'
Disclaimer: I lay claim to nothing.
Summary: Murders at a college campus lead the brothers on a ghost hunt where Dean seems likely to become the next victim.
A/N: For those of you directed here for the rewrite, a quick refresher on chapters past: Dean and Sam encounter mysterious suicides at a college campus and Sam has a vision of Dean in danger (among other things); chapter 2: Sam has a dream about killing Dean and keeps it all hush hush, they move into the college as 'students' and Dean is attacked by ghost-like lady who 'knows what he did and won't let him'; chap 3: Dean finds he was branded with a spearhead tattoo by the ghost-like girl and a mysterious no. sequence is revealed - 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0 0 0 0 0 0; chap 4: Dean and Sam meet Joey and Chris at a lecture and learn that the students participate in an annual seance, during the lecture they also discover that the 'ghost' is a human named Susie who can astral project hence her 'ghost-like' appearances and that her boyfriend, Damien, is in on whatever is happening. Our boys raid her room, Susie comes back, Dean tries to distract her while Sam gets out of her dorm but is too late and as both barge into the room, Dean realises Sam has dissapeared.
Phew, now here you go, the rest:
Chapter Five
Susie slid backwards onto her bed. She unzipped her boots and pulled them off. They hit the floor with a couple of thumps, followed by a sound like a slithering snake as she curled her stockinged legs beneath her.
“Sam,” she called out. The room remained still and quiet. “Sam,” she called again, smiling. “If you’re waiting for me to fall asleep, I should probably let you know, I rarely do.” She lifted her eyes to the window as the sound of shuffling destroyed the guise of solitude. A large hand curled around the window frame and then a mop of hair followed. “Gosh, the pigeons are big round here, aren’t they?”
With a bit of effort, Sam managed to squeeze his tall frame through the window and jump inside. He straightened and watched Susie with caution.
“It was a risk hiding out there. Hasn’t all these tragic deaths by window fallage taught you anything, Sammy?” She was grinning with the calm and confidence of someone who knew they had the upper hand.
“Yeah, to avoid the ones causing all those deaths.”
“Didn’t want me to find out you and that brother of yours were snooping, huh? A little tip about women - we always know when our things have been touched. Throwing our stuff around, on the other hand, is a dead giveaway.” She nodded to the closet where her books still sat at odd angles from where Sam had tossed them. “But hey, men are the dumber sex.”
“Why are you doing this, Susie?” Sam asked, gauging his distance from the door.
Susie leaned forward and followed his gaze. “Am I keeping you, Sammy?”
“It’s Sam.”
She slid off the bed and walked closer to him, the smile never leaving her lips. “Sam,” she corrected, the word rolling off her tongue as if testing it, playing with it. “What was the plan, Pigeon Boy? Wait out there in the dark until I left the room again and hope not to catch a chill in the meantime?”
Sam resisted rolling his eyes, more annoyed at himself than anything. Hiding on the ledge had been a reckless move, but he’d panicked. She was coming and Sam knew his brother’s powers of persuasion wouldn’t have the same pulling power on someone who was obviously aware of their agenda. So he’d panicked. “Why are you doing this?” he repeated, the edge falling from his voice as he looked at her and remembered Max. They were both just human, not demons or spirits whose anger had consumed every other facet of their consciousness. Human. Just like him, just like Dean. There had to be a reason why she’d turn into a killer; why anyone would turn into a killer. There had to be.
“Doing what, honey?” Susie brushed passed him and propped herself up on the desk. She grabbed the skull-shaped paperweight and started spinning it.
“Those people! Your classmates!” Sam wanted to understand, wanted her to make him understand. Were they all capable of this? Was he?
“Oh, that,” she said in a bored tone. “I can honestly tell you that I didn’t kill them. I just…chose them.”
Sam frowned, thinking. “The tattoos,” he said quietly. “You brand them and…and someone else kills them? Your boyfriend?”
Susie did a palms up gesture and shrugged. “Am I bleeding to my death? Do I have you and Deany Boy tied to a pole, ready to bleed you to your death? Uh, no and no. So why would I just reveal everything? Where would the fun in that be?”
“How do you choose them?” Sam persisted. “The victims, the people you brand, why them? Do you want to get rid of the competition? Is that it?”
Susie scoffed. “Please.”
Sam sighed in frustration and turned to leave; it wasn’t exactly the smartest move staying in here, weaponless, to begin with.
“They were already dead.”
Sam stopped, slowly turning back.
“They just didn’t know it yet. I did, though. Cam was going to get hit by a car on Graduation Night. Claire was going to overdose on Crystal Meth three years later in an attempt to stay thin. Sherrie was going to die old, in her bed, surrounded by fat grandkids.” Susie shrugged. “I didn’t like Sherrie.”
Sam ran a hand over his face, trying to find some strand of explanation in these revelations. “I don’t….how do you even…If you wanted to confuse me then congratulations, you’ve done it.”
Susie smiled. “When I was still in elementary school, I had this…dream…about this girl from my class - I can’t even remember her fucking name. In this dream, she was accidentally run over by a teacher in the parking lot, and she died. Low and behold, a week later my little dream comes true. I freaked, naturally, thinking I’d somehow caused it. But I quickly learned that I’m not the Grim Reaper, I just have front row seats to his show.” She watched Sam closely, sliding off the desk and into the chair.
Realization began to creep up Sam’s spine like icy fingers. “You have visions,” he whispered. “Of people who…who need to be saved.”
She stopped swiveling her chair. “No…” she said. “I have visions of how people die. Of what ending Fate’s tossed their way. There’s no bargaining with Fate, honey.”
Sam backed up, shaking his head.
…Drops of blood hitting a wood floor, tilting blue symbols, a wall of spears, another body falling from a window, a fire, a body hitting the ground, and then the sound of his own voice screaming Dean’s name.
… ten fingers that were slowly counting down. Then Sam stood where the girl had been, watching himself as he walked up to Dean, watching himself grab Dean’s head and twist.
“I’m like a walking crystal ball,” Susie continued, ignoring Sam’s distress.
Sam rubbed his eyes, trying to see pass the panic that was filling his head like a giant balloon. “No…” he said. “No, those students didn’t die the way they were meant to; you killed them first, which means your visions aren’t set in stone. They can be changed. Stopped.”
“We just got to them before Mr. Reaper did; if we hadn’t, they’d have died the way I saw it. Haven’t you seen Final Destination?” Susie cocked her head. “You’re special too, aren’t ya?” She stood up and stepped closer to him. “Back on the lawn, I hadn’t meant to share my vision with you.” She reached up and brushed her fingers across his cheek. “You looked at me and they just sort of… popped out.” She pouted in mock sympathy. “Better ask your brother what kind of casket he wants.”
Sam shoved away her arm. “Dean is not going to die.”
Susie laughed and propped herself back up on the desk. “Yes he is, hon.” She made a motion with her hands to imitate a neck twisting. “Crack. And we both know how. Gee, and I thought it was only on Thanksgiving that family killed each other.”
Sam took a step towards her, hands curling into fists.
“Watch it,” she said. “Don’t make me hurt you. You’re not a part of this.”
“But Dean is? Why him?”
“He deserves it!” The sudden anger that sprang from her voice almost made Sam jump. “I know what he did and I’m not going to let him!” Her eyes shone with angry tears as they bore into Sam’s. “He’s going to burn and if you get in our way, so will you.”
Sam turned away in disgust and strode to the door, pulling it open with such force that it slipped from his grip and collided into the wall with a loud crack, reminding Sam again of his dream. He paused and turned back to Susie, whose expression had switched back to amused mode. “Me and Dean? A lot of things have tried to kill us, but we’re still here. Somehow, I doubt you’re the one to end it. And I know I’m not going to be.” He slammed the door shut on her widening grin.
When Sam finally stepped into their room, Dean whipped around from where he’d been pacing and strode up to Sam with wide eyes. “Where the hell have you been?” he barked.
Sam sighed and shut the door. “I was hiding. She found me.”
“Where were you hiding?”
Sam braced himself for Dean’s reaction. “Outside her window.”
Dean sputtered for a second. “Are you crazy?”
Sam shrugged. “Possibly. I panicked. I thought I’d just crawl across the ledge to Joey and Chris’ dorm. It seemed safer than in there with her.”
Dean shook his head and staring at Sam in disbelief. “Are you okay?” he finally asked.
“Yeah,” Sam said, distracted.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, Dean, I’m fine.”
“Good.” Dean slapped Sam across the head.
“Hey!”
“That’s for being an idiot.” Dean shook his head and plopped onto the bed. “Just thought you’d hide on the ledge…”
Sam picked up a pillow and flung it at Dean, who halfheartedly blocked the blow. “Hey, it was worth it, I got some information out of her. Useful information.”
“While pretending to be a talking pigeon?”
Sam rolled his eyes and flopped onto his bed. “Unlike my genius brother, she guessed where I was hiding.”
“What’d she say? ‘Coz my conversation with her basically went: snark snark, muaha muaha.”
“Didn’t let her get a word in, huh?”
“You’re hilarious,” Dean grumbled.
Sam pushed himself up into a sitting position and grew serious. He glanced at Dean and silently debated how much he wanted to reveal. “The boyfriend, Damien, is definitely in on this…whatever this is. She said she just brands the victims, doesn’t do the killing herself. I’m guessing that’s his job. ”
Dean nodded. “Dude, we already knew this. Well, I did, anyway, you’ve always been a bit slow on the uptake. But did she tell you why they’re killing people?”
Sam shrugged. “I guess that’s up to us to work out.” Sam picked at some loose thread on his jeans. “She has visions, too. That’s what I saw back on the lawn. Borrowed them, somehow. She, um, she thinks she sees how people are meant to die. And I don’t think they’re killing classmates for academic advantage.”
“So, to recap - this ‘ghost’ that branded and attacked me is actually a human who can astral project and draw on all these funky powers in her astral projected self, included the ability to tattoo potential victims so that her boy-toy knows who to push or coerce or freakin’ trip out of windows, for god knows what reason, and she obviously wants me dead too and wants to date you.” Dean paused for a second, frowning. “Are we being punk’d?”
A smile broke onto Sam’s face. “I don’t think so. Just…confused the hell out of.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.
“She told me some interesting things, too,” Dean said. He let the statement hang in the air and flopped against the pillows, linking his hands beneath his head.
Sam watched Dean cluck his tongue in that annoying way he did only if deep in concentration or if he wanted to get under Sam’s skin. “Oh yeah?” Sam said, feigning a casual tone as he turned his back to Dean and started to pack. Now that they knew for certain that the ‘ghost’ was in fact a student living in this dorm, Sam wanted to be ready to leave at the drop of a hat. Dean only had a few weapons tucked away in the desk drawer; he never unpacked anything else. Sam had to repack all his clothes.
They spent a few minutes in a silence broken only by the rustling of Sam’s packing. He was deliberately drawing out the process, not yet ready to face what Dean knew.
“What are you going to do for my funeral? I’m thinking a Brazilian theme: streamers, bright hues, girls in belly-bearing outfits and fruit hats. Does it scream ‘Dean’?”
Sam froze. He put down the canister of salt he was holding and looked up. Dean was watching him with an expression that was too neutral, too casual. “Dean…I was going to tell you-”
“Before or after the Samba girls danced on my grave?”
Sam rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Look, whatever she told you -”
“Oh, you mean that vision of my death that you had way back at the start of this hunt? Or whatever dream you had about my death that you neglected to tell me about? ‘My death’ being the key words here.”
“Dean-”
“So, for conversation sake, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would you let me finish a sentence!”
“Are you looking forward to planning my funeral, or something?”
Sam felt the colour drain from his face. “Right, yeah, that’s it; I’m ecstatic about choosing between mahogany and amber.”
Dean just nodded and settled further into the pillows. “Don’t forget the Samba girls.”
“God, Dean. This isn’t funny!”
“You’re telling me,” Dean snapped, glancing at Sam. But the anger and hurt that flashed across his face disappeared just as quickly and he returned his gaze to the ceiling. “No one wants to end up a walking cliché: I’ve turned into laughs-in-the-face-death boy. If anything, I wanted to be death-by-chocolate guy. Now that would’ve been an interesting way to go.”
Sam took a deep breath to calm his frustration and walked around the bed to sit opposite Dean. “You’re not going to die.”
Dean looked over at him. His face was a perfectly sculpted blank. “Gee, Sam, you’re still in the denial stage? You’ve have plenty of time to work through those issues. Longer than I have.” He grinned without humour and returned his gaze to a random spot on the ceiling, his hands still linked behind his head.
Sam just sighed and absently scuffed the carpet with his sneaker. “I was going to tell you.”
“When?” Dean pulled himself up and flung his legs over the edge of the bed, watching Sam closely. “Don’t you think I deserve to know if Death himself is chasing my ass?”
“Dean, I don’t even know if that’s what I saw! It wasn’t my vision, it was hers. It could have meant anything. Or nothing.”
Dean pretended to mull this over. “Okay, so it could’ve actually meant that I’m going to trip over a garden rack and get whacked in the face, again and again. Like sideshow Bob.” He frowned. “Was that the sort of other thing you were talking about?”
Sam sprung up and started tossing his last bit of clothing into the bag. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m unbelievable?” Dean stood up and grabbed the shirt from Sam’s hands, chucking it away.
Sam clenched his jaw and strode past Dean, picking it up.
“I’ve been branded by a psycho that happens to see the way people die, Sam. How hard is that to figure out?”
Sam refused to answer Dean’s sarcasm. He roughly folded the shirt and shoved it into his bag, zipping it closed with such force he heard a slight tear.
“What’s that other thing Susie was talking about?” Dean pressed. “The dream? Since we’re in such a sharing mood, and all.”
Sam’s mind flashed to the dream. He looked at Dean and noted the way Dean’s body remained relaxed and casual. But his eyes betrayed him. They kept flitting back to Sam, waiting. But Sam couldn’t do it. The world began spinning just at the thought of telling Dean about the dream. So he shook his head and averted his gaze. “It’s not important. It was just a dream.”
“Uh huh,” Dean said. “Like Gary Glitter is just friendly, right?”
Sam was a quiet.
“Forget it,” Dean said. He pulled his own bag from under the bed and unzipped it. He turned to the desk and yanked open the drawer. “I’m going to cark it at the ripe ol’ age of twenty-seven, that’s just great,” he said, scooping up the extra bullet packets he’d stashed in the drawer. “Think you can make it to my funeral, or will you be too busy scouting colleges and singing in the rain?” He started hauling the packets into his bag.
Sam was horrified by the accusation. “You’re not going to die, Dean,” he repeated, anger eclipsing his guilt. “And I’m sure as hell not singing about any of this!”
“Could have fooled me.”
“What the hell is that s’posed to mean?”
“It means you had days to let me in on whatever was going on in that head of yours. Instead, you were going to just let me walk right into death’s hands.”
“Right, like anything could have stopped you, anyway. You wouldn’t have let this hunt go, Dean. You never let the hunt go. And stop talking like this is a sure thing, we don’t know that!”
Dean threw the last few weapons into his bag. They clanked against the pile already in there. “Jesus, Sam! She sees the way people die.”
“But who’s to say that vision isn’t something that happens when you’re fifty. Or hell, seventy!”
“Because we both know you’re fooling yourself if you think I’m going to live that long!”
The silence that followed was so complete that Sam swore he could hear The Dixie Chicks playing a few rooms over. He laughed hollowly. “I guess I’m a fool then.”
Dean returned to packing his bag. “Guess so.”
Sam shook his head, so angry that it hurt. Or maybe it was the other way round. Maybe he was so hurt that he was angry. “You actually believe that, don’t you? That you’re not going to die old. That the hunt is going to kill you, but you keep doing it. How dare you keep doing this if you really believe you’re not going to survive it. You weren’t upset that I saw that vision, you were upset I didn’t tell you. Fuck you, Dean.”
Dean’s eyes hardened. “Dr Phil has a potty mouth, now?” He turned his back on Sam and flopped onto the bed, grabbing the remote off the desk.
Sam frowned, temporarily thrown from the argument: Dean seemed to have scored them a small television set while Sam had been scouting Susie’s room. How did he manage these things? “Dean…” Sam ventured, but Dean cut him off.
“Do you mind?” He switched on the TV. “I’m trying to watch…” he frowned as a leather-clad woman popped onscreen. “Xena.” He tossed the remote aside and settled back against the pillows.
They stayed like that for a while: Dean staring at the screen and Sam staring at a spot on the carpet. The spot was frayed and coloured grey. Just a small spot of discolored carpet. He wondered what had happened.
Sam finally glanced up at Dean, then looked away and chewed his lip. “I dreamt I killed you.” He said it quietly. Maybe too quietly. Maybe Dean hadn’t heard him. He half hoped he hadn’t. He glanced up and found Dean watching him with an unreadable expression. Sam took a deep breath and remembered that day in the asylum, hoping that Dean wasn’t doing the same. “I dreamt I walked up to you and…and snapped your neck. Just…snapped it. But it was just a dream.” Sam waited for Dean’s reaction, eyes again trained on that small spot of carpet.
“Is that all?” Dean said. “Jesus, Sammy, I thought you were hiding something important.”
Sam looked up in surprise. Dean was staring at Sam with a raised eyebrow, looking annoyed. Not angry or shocked or betrayed. Annoyed.
“Is that all?” Sam said, feeling slightly indignant. “Gee, Dean, sorry it didn’t live up to your expectations. Next time I’ll throw in a dream about totaling the Impala.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Dean said, pointing a finger.
Sam raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, yeah, where’s my head at.” He shook his head and laughed in disbelief. He was further thrown by the smirk forming on Dean’s face. “What?”
“That’s what’s had your panties in a twist this whole time?” Dean scoffed. “You’re not going to kill me.”
“No, I know that! But…” Sam shook his head, confused. “What if I get possessed? What if Susie and Damien find a way to control me?”
“Please, I tricked your possessed ass once, I can do it again. The only way you’re killing me is if I point the frickin’ gun at my own heart and show you where the trigger is. And even then you might miss.”
Sam found it completely surreal that he felt the urge to defend his ability to competently off his own brother. “You’re not worried? At all? You don’t think the dream had any meaning?”
Dean laughed. “Dude! No, I don’t think it means anything. Do you, paranoia boy?”
Sam scratched his head. He didn’t really know how to answer. “No,” he finally said. “But…” he glanced at Dean.
“What?” Dean said, turning down the TV to drown out Xena’s warrior cry. “You think I’m meant to be all hung up on this joke?”
“Yes!” Sam knew he’d never hurt Dean, but he’d been afraid to find out if Dean knew that too. He guess he had his answer. And trust Dean to make the answer almost insulting.
Dean rolled his eyes. “When did you mistake me for Mr. Supersensitive? That’s your thing.”
Sam found himself torn between relief, annoyance and disbelief. It was an interesting combination and he was certain his expression reflected the confusion. “You’re an ass.” He shook his head and flopped down on the bed.
“A popular one, apparently,” Dean said. He hopped off the bed and grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on. “Susie wants it, Death wants it, and even your subconscious wants a piece. Should sell it on eBay.”
Sam scoffed. “Where are you going?”
Dean nodded at the clock. “The Séance; it starts in twenty minutes.”
Sam stood up, startled. “You’re not actually going to that, are you?”
“You do realize we’re, like, ghost hunters, right?”
Sam chewed his lip and wondered how to approach this next request. “Dean, Sherrie died after going to this séance thing. Something could be happening there to make the victims…not themselves. Maybe…maybe we should save it ‘till the morning.”
Dean froze in the process of checking to see if his student ID was still in his wallet. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
Sam sighed loudly and ran his hand over his face. “You have to stop being so blasé about this, Dean. That tattoo is a fucking target sign. You’re a target. It’s too dangerous now.” Sam instantly knew he’d said the wrong thing. Telling Dean to stay away from danger was like telling a pyromaniac to stay away from fire.
Dean just looked at Sam for a second. He then shook his head and headed for the door. “I’m going to the séance.”
“I won’t come after you to save your ass when this backfires!” Sam called after him.
“Okay.” The door shut behind him.
Sam waited for a second, tapping his foot impatiently, then sprung up and followed.
“This has to be the place.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “What tipped you off?” They’d walked well across campus until they’d found themselves in a block of unused, neglected buildings. At the back of this block stood a decaying, black mess of wood and granite. Apart from its charred appearance and collapsed rump, it looked more or less steady - like its collapsed planks and fire-bitten wood had, over time, molded into a new structural form, and now stood proud of its warped shape. But it was the loud music thumping the ground that drew the boys’ attention.
“They séance in style,” Dean said in approval.
He and Sam walked into the building after struggling with the door for a few seconds. The room inside was crowded with well over fifty students - some, who’d started the party a bit early, jumping around and bopping their heads crazily in tune with the music, while most stood in small circles with beer cans in their hands. The chatter almost overpowered the music.
“Dean,” Sam said, nudging him and pointing to the floor. Under people’s feet there was painted a large pentagram. “Pentagrams mean protection from evil.”
Dean shrugged. “To you dorks, I guess failing an exam is evil.”
“Dean!” a few loud, slurring voices called out. Dean looked over to see Joey and Chris maneuvering their way through the crowd, supporting each other as their feet tangled with every other step.
Dean grinned. “We’re ten minutes late and you’re both already wasted? I’m impressed.”
“Got here early to set up,” Chris said. “And you know what that means?” He swayed closer to Joey and poked him in the chest. “Tell him what that means, Joe.”
Joey rolled his neck and stood up higher, mimicking a serious expression. “It means…The party STARTS EARLY!” He raised his beer can in the air and screamed in Chris’ face, who screamed back happily.
Dean laughed and exchanged an amused look with Sam.
“Here, man,” Joey said, grabbing a can from a stack near the door and tossing it to Dean.
“Dean…” Sam warned.
“Hey, man, we didn’t forget you,” Chris said. “Joe, pass this tall guy here a beer.” Joey did as instructed and Sam caught it. Dean couldn’t help smirking as Chris wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders and leaned in close. “How’s it going with the Susie chick? Got some yet, or do you need a few more beers?”
“Give the boy some more beers,” Dean said, his smirk widening as Sam looked from the unopened beer in his hand, to the arm around his shoulder, to Dean’s own smirking face, then as Sam’s eyes widened when Joey returned with literally an armful of beers. “Jesus, Joey, you trying to kill my brother?”
“I understand unrequited love,” Joey said, slurring and swaying a little, but looking so sad it almost killed Dean’s amused buzz. Almost. “I understand you, man,” Joey said, patting Sam’s shoulder, a move that caused half the cans to tumble onto the floor and miss Sam’s feet an inch. “BUT!” Joey said, loudly. “I learnt something today that’s going to change my life.” He swayed up to Dean and grabbed him around the shoulders, shaking him in a manly display of affection. “This guy here taught me something today, something priceless, something I’m going to frame: Confidence, man.” Joey scooped up one of the cans from the floor and opened it. “To friendship,” he toasted.
Chris let go of Sam’s shoulders and toasted his own can. “To friendship,” he whispered, choked up. “I love you guys.” He practically fell into Dean and Joey, wrapping them in a tight hug.
“Save me,” Dean said, peeking over Joey’s and Chris’ arms.
Sam smirked at him in return and shrugged, feigning innocence.
“Hey, look, it’s Brenda,” Dean lied. Joey whipped around with such speed that he almost bowled over the other two. His face had paled to an inch of its life. “Dude, my bad,” Dean said. “Wasn’t her after all.” He pried Chris off him and edged towards Sam. “I should stay with my cousin; he sucks at these party things. If I’m not around, he might get confused and start writing an essay.”
“Wow, poor guy,” Joey said sadly.
“Yeah, poor little Sammy.” Dean handed the beer back to Joey and pushed Sam in the opposite direction.
“Poor little me?” Sam said once they’d retreated to the other side of the room. “You know, you don’t have to use me as an excuse, I can set up a playdate with those two if you want.”
Dean whacked him on the arm. “Dude, focus.”
“Okay, okay,” Sam said. “Party pooper,” he added, unable to resist an opportunity to tease Dean with insults usually reserved for him.
“You know how I can kick you ass?”
“Fine, I’ll stop.” Sam glanced back over at Joey and Chris. “Actually, we can probably get some information out of them. We need to know when this séance is starting and what it involves. They seem to like you: see if they’re not too drunk to answer some questions. I’ll see what everyone else here knows.”
“Wait,” Dean said, stopping Sam with his hand. “You’re leaving me alone with dumb and dumber? Dude, I can deal with sober frat boys, the drunken kind, nuh-uh.”
Sam smirked. “I don’t think they’re in a frat.”
“Not the point, smartass.”
“Well, if you can’t handle them-”
“Hey, who said anything about not handling it? I can handle anyone. It’s just…” he looked longingly at one of the girls that walked passed. “I’d rather handle her. Why do you get to talk to the chicks?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “People are falling out of windows, you’ve been branded, I’ve had dreams about your death and yet this is what you’re worried about?”
“So you can be an orc or a troll and beat the crap out of, theoretically, six million other players from all round the world?” Dean asked, impressed despite himself.
“Yep,” Joey beamed. “I can lend you my expansion packs if you want.”
“And you get to hack them other players to pieces?”
“You two have been going on about World of Warcraft for almost twenty minutes,” Chris moaned. “I’m so bored I think I’m sobering up.” He stood up to get another beer but came crashing down. “Woah.” He slid into a sitting position on the floor. “Maybe not.”
Dean and Joey simultaneously grabbed one of Chris’ arms each and hauled him back into his seat.
“Hey.” Sam swatted Dean’s arm, pulling up a chair. “The séance is about to start. They just chant a bit of Latin, no one knows where the chant came from, and then anyone in the crowd volunteers to cut their hand and offer a blood sacrifice to the pentagram.”
“Big blood sacrifice?”
Sam shook his head. “Think Keira Knightley’s sacrifice in Pirates. You find out anything?”
“Lover Boy!” Chris crawled over to Sam. “Thank god you’re here.” He clutched the arms of Sam’s chair and looked at him pleadingly. “They won’t stop talking about that warcraft game.”
Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean.
“Yeah…it’s been a bit difficult.”
“I’ll tell you guys a secret,” Joey interrupted, bleary eyed. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “The séance is fake. My brother started the idea five years ago for a bit of fun. We’re mostly just here for the booze.”
Dean and Sam just nodded; no real surprise there.
“It is time!” a voice boomed. Everyone instantly quieted, backing away from the painted pentagram. Someone turned off the music. Dean and Sam peered around the bodies obstructing their view to find a student with glaring white sneakers, a tracksuit that drooped off his skinny frame, and wildly untamed hair, standing in the middle of the symbol, arms raised. “What time is it?”
“Clobbering time!” Chris shouted in a deep voice.
The guy sighed and dropped his arms. “No, Chris. Joey, keep him away from the beer before he throws up all over me like last time.”
Dean smirked, looking over at Sam, ready to make a joke at Sam’s Stanford-days expense, but was surprised to see Sam’s face lined with concern. His eyes were trained on the pentagram.
“Time for the chant!” the guy boomed, raising his arms back into the air.
Chris and Joey jumped up, having planned this next bit, and started singing loudly: “Banana banana bo bana be bi bo banana Ghost Girl banana bo bana…”
“Oh good Lord,” Dean muttered.
The guy standing in the pentagram sighed again. “Fine, we’re skipping the chant and going straight to the sacrifice. Volunteer?”
“Dean!” Joey shouted, slapping Dean’s back.
“Huh?”
Sam’s head whipped in his direction, looking just as startled.
“Dean! Dean! Dean!” Joey and Chris started chanting, grabbing an arm each and pulling him into the middle of the circle.
“Uh, no, really, choose someone else,” Dean said, turning to leave the circle, but Joey pulled him back.
“You deserve this, dude. Your fifteen minutes of glory.”
Dean was well aware that everyone’s eyes were on him and he shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah…see, the blood sacrifice thing? Not as funny when it actually works. We’ve all seen the movies.”
The guy with the white sneakers walked over to a small cabinet covered in chip packets and empty beer cans. He grabbed a key from his pocket and unlocked the cabinet, removing a small pocketknife. He held it carefully in his hands and walked back to Dean, holding the knife out to him. “Take your sacred utensil and prick thy finger, letting thy blood drop to the ground, thus feeding the scared symbol of the…uh…sacred symbol, yeah.”
Dean picked up the knife and peered at it closely. A picture of Betty Boop stared back at him. “Oh, Geez.” Holding onto the blade end, he offered it back. “Not happening, Jeeves.”
“Dude!” Chris said, “don’t be a party pooper.” He slapped Dean on the back, intending nothing more than a manly display of support, but in his drunken state he hit harder than expected and Dean stumbled, the blade slipping in his hand and cutting his finger.
Dean stared at the cut incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Shit like this actually happens?” Annoyed, he shook the blood from his finger.
Sam watched from the side of the circle. Dean’s lips were moving, he was muttering something, but Sam wasn’t listening. Sam didn’t even think he was breathing. All he could do was stare at the drops of blood as they hit the wood floor. He shook his head slowly, trying to dissuade his mind from replaying for him, over and over, this image in front of him. Of the blood hitting the floor just as it had in his vision. He was vaguely aware of Dean and the others looking around, waiting for an entity to emerge or the floor to shake or something, but only vaguely. The shock had numbed him to everything but the realization that his vision was creeping into reality.
“Told you frat boys were bad news,” Dean said, walking back to Sam as the séance thingamajig was declared a bust. “Klutziness is more dangerous than evil.” Dean frowned. “Sam? You okay?”
“Do I look okay?” Sam snapped, not having intended to but finding that anger was the only emotion strong enough to withhold against the realization that Death’s clock was ticking and Sam had no clue how to stop it.
“No, you don’t, that’s why I asked,” Dean snapped in return. “You look like shit. Menopausal shit.”
Sam glanced at Dean, instantly regretting yelling. “Sorry.” He paused for a second. “And ew, Dean.”
The music halted for a second as the track changed. Sam frowned as the room’s sounds were suddenly amplified. What had Joey said? About catching the tail end of some chanting when the music stopped? He turned to look at the wall opposite in realization. “There’s a hidden room.”
“What?” Dean yelled, cupping his hand around his ear as loud music again filled the room.
Sam just grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him in the right direction. “There’s a room behind that wall.”
“Huh,” Dean said, but he seemed far more interested in batting away Sam’s hands and smoothing down his shirt.
“There has to be,” Sam continued. “Susie, or Damien, or whoever, they’d need someplace away from the dorms to perform their spells. Joey said this place is never empty - that people are always hanging out here. They wouldn’t want to risk someone hearing the chanting and striking suspicion so they use these séances, these parties, to shield the chanting. There’s a hidden room somewhere.”
“It’s Damien doing the chanting,” Dean said.
Sam looked at him, startled. “How do you know?”
Dean shrugged, grabbing a handful of chips from the table next to them. “Genius insight, hunter instinct, big-assed brains, take your pick,” he said, voice muffled by the chips. “And he’s sitting over there.”
Sam whipped around to find Damien sitting by the stereo, one hand propped across it lazily, fingers drumming, while the other fiddled with the volume.
“Not really a Goth’s crowd, so I figure he’s here to keep an eye on his bat cave.” Dean turned back to the table of food. “Ooh, animal crackers.”
Sam instinctively stepped closer to the wall, not wanting to alert Damien of their presence. “We need to find that room.”
Dean nodded, watching Damien closely. He brushed the crumbs from his hands and stepped forward. “I’m going to go talk to him.”
Before Sam could stop him, Dean had weaved through the crowd and was standing in front of Damien. Sam quickly followed, wondering how the hell Dean had survived 27 years.
“If you want me to change tunes - no,” Damien said on their approach, yelling to be heard over the music but not looking up at them.
“We don’t,” Dean said.
Damien sighed and glanced up. “Yeah?” He squinted, eyes roaming them up and down. “I’ve met you two, haven’t I?”
“Yeah, your girl knows us,” Dean said.
Sam felt strangely excluded, watching Dean and Damien stare each other down. He didn’t like the small smile forming on Damien’s face.
Damien laughed suddenly. He leaned back and grabbed a new bottle of beer from a stack near the stereo. “Want to see a party trick?”
Sam instinctively backed up, placing himself in front of Dean, who frowned and lightly shoved Sam out of his way.
Damien placed the bottle against one of his heavily tattooed arms and used his forearm to pop open the beer. He smiled at them lazily, taking a sip. “Pretty cool, huh? See you boys round.” Neither missed the way his gaze lingered on Dean. He then slinked into the crowd, bumping into the shoulders of anyone who didn’t move for him.
“What the hell, Dean?” Sam asked once Damien was out of earshot.
Dean was still watching Damien’s back, an odd expression on his face. “I wanted to see if this whole tattoo and death thing was personal for him as well as Susie. Oh, it’s personal.” He seemed to shake himself and turned to look at Sam. “The guy hates my own, personal guts.”
Sam just nodded. He could see the wheels turning in Dean’s head, but he knew not to push him. Dean would let him know when he was ready. You couldn’t push Dean or he clamped up. He liked things on his terms: they so rarely were. “We have to find that room.”
They pushed through the crowd and hurried outside to the back of the building. They started banging their fists along the wall, listening, content in the knowledge that the music within would drown out the sound. After what seemed like an eternity of knocking, Sam’s fist finally echoed against the wall. He then turned to Dean, wanting to make sure Dean had heard.
Dean started feeling along the wall with his hands. “Door…door…C’mon, open sesame already.”
Sam was fast losing patience with this whole hunt, and now they were meant to waste more time finding a freaking door? More time he needed to spend on working out how to prevent his vision from coming true? Screw it, Sam thought, and backed up, bracing himself. He kicked the wall as hard as he could. The impact shot up his leg, jarring his hip. The old wood gave way under his foot.
“Way to go, Sammy.” Dean slapped him on the back. “Unexpected, but in a good way. I’m rubbing off on you.”
“Is there anything you don’t take credit for?”
“Your fashion sense.”
They started kicking through the rest of the wood, yanking away rotting planks to reveal a smaller, windowless room beyond. Sam stepped through first, eyes instantly drawn to the walls. More specifically, to the blue symbols that sat at slanted angles across the walls. He turned in circles, watching as symbols flashed endlessly: They were painted in every inch of space. Just like in his vision. Just like that blood splattering the ground.
He didn’t know if he should feel panic or fear or anger or the fucking urge to laugh. All he really knew was that he wasn’t meant to feel this - nothing, numb. But it was all he could manage at the moment.
That is, until Dean angrily threw something to the ground and ran his hands through his short hair.
Sam quickly knelt by the medium sized box that Dean had tossed away. The word ‘Subjects’ was scrawled on the box’s side in black felt tip. Spilling out from it were photographs. Hundreds of them. Of students, young and old, of…Sherrie! With a giant cross marked over her face. Sam was startled to find that most of the photos -the people in the photos - had giant crosses drawn over them. Sam quickly sifted through the images. His hand froze, finding itself hovering over a photograph of two very familiar faces. It was him and Dean walking down the street on the day they’d first arrived in this town. Sam swallowed hard and forced his hand to pick through the remaining photographs. They were all of him and Dean, some with them together, some with them alone. All shot at a distance, all focused on their faces.
“You’re in those photos. We’re both in those photos,” Dean said quietly. Sam looked up at him and saw the anger glinting in his eyes. It almost scared him. “This tattoo doesn’t mean a fucking thing. They’re after both of us.”
Sam looked down at the photos again, feeling a chill. “We knew that, though.”
“It was just meant to be me. It was just meant to be me,” Dean repeated, striding out.
Sam hastily scooped the photos back into the box, slamming down the lid and tucking it under his arm as he ran after Dean. He almost stumbled through the makeshift entrance, too preoccupied with searching for Dean to pay attention to his steps.
“Dean!” Sam shouted, seeing his brother striding across the lawn. “Wait!” He sprinted to catch up, relieved that Dean stopped for him, even if reluctantly. “Where are you going?” he asked once he caught up, breathless. He already knew the answer.
“I’m ending this.”
“How?” Sam asked, trying to be the voice of reason.
“How do you think?” Dean lifted his shirt to reveal a gun tucked into his waistband.
“Dean! Are you insane? You can’t bring a loaded weapon around drunk students!”
“And you’re insane not to!” Dean grabbed the box out of Sam’s arms and knocked open the lid, grabbing a fistful of the photos. “Did you see these? The faces aren’t crossed out for decoration, Sam, they were killed. And we’re both in these photos! You’re in these photos, Sam!”
“Dean,” Sam tried to soothe, taking the box from him. “I know, okay? I know this seems bad, but you can’t just shoot someone in a crowded dorm building. You’ll be hauled to prison. And Susie’s human, Dean. She’s human. So maybe Damien is too.”
“I don’t give a damn!” Dean hit the box from Sam’s hands so that it crashed to the ground. He turned and stormed away.
“Wait, just wait!” Sam racked his brain for something to stop Dean making the biggest mistake of his life. God, he wanted this to end as bad as Dean did, but this wasn’t the way. There was so much they still needed to work out, to understand in time to stop Sam’s vision seeping into reality. And Sam refused to let Dean commit a murder in his name, something Dean would hold with him for the rest of his life despite what he’d say in the contrary. Because, really, Sam knew Dean was doing this because he’d seen Sam’s photos in that box. Dean was always playing the protective brother, even if it meant walking into the line of fire and flipping off the enemy.
Go to CHAP 6
Title: Lessons 5/10
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Cateory: Gen
Timeline: After 'Provenance' but before 'Dead Man's Blood'
Disclaimer: I lay claim to nothing.
Summary: Murders at a college campus lead the brothers on a ghost hunt where Dean seems likely to become the next victim.
A/N: For those of you directed here for the rewrite, a quick refresher on chapters past: Dean and Sam encounter mysterious suicides at a college campus and Sam has a vision of Dean in danger (among other things); chapter 2: Sam has a dream about killing Dean and keeps it all hush hush, they move into the college as 'students' and Dean is attacked by ghost-like lady who 'knows what he did and won't let him'; chap 3: Dean finds he was branded with a spearhead tattoo by the ghost-like girl and a mysterious no. sequence is revealed - 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0 0 0 0 0 0; chap 4: Dean and Sam meet Joey and Chris at a lecture and learn that the students participate in an annual seance, during the lecture they also discover that the 'ghost' is a human named Susie who can astral project hence her 'ghost-like' appearances and that her boyfriend, Damien, is in on whatever is happening. Our boys raid her room, Susie comes back, Dean tries to distract her while Sam gets out of her dorm but is too late and as both barge into the room, Dean realises Sam has dissapeared.
Phew, now here you go, the rest:
Chapter Five
Susie slid backwards onto her bed. She unzipped her boots and pulled them off. They hit the floor with a couple of thumps, followed by a sound like a slithering snake as she curled her stockinged legs beneath her.
“Sam,” she called out. The room remained still and quiet. “Sam,” she called again, smiling. “If you’re waiting for me to fall asleep, I should probably let you know, I rarely do.” She lifted her eyes to the window as the sound of shuffling destroyed the guise of solitude. A large hand curled around the window frame and then a mop of hair followed. “Gosh, the pigeons are big round here, aren’t they?”
With a bit of effort, Sam managed to squeeze his tall frame through the window and jump inside. He straightened and watched Susie with caution.
“It was a risk hiding out there. Hasn’t all these tragic deaths by window fallage taught you anything, Sammy?” She was grinning with the calm and confidence of someone who knew they had the upper hand.
“Yeah, to avoid the ones causing all those deaths.”
“Didn’t want me to find out you and that brother of yours were snooping, huh? A little tip about women - we always know when our things have been touched. Throwing our stuff around, on the other hand, is a dead giveaway.” She nodded to the closet where her books still sat at odd angles from where Sam had tossed them. “But hey, men are the dumber sex.”
“Why are you doing this, Susie?” Sam asked, gauging his distance from the door.
Susie leaned forward and followed his gaze. “Am I keeping you, Sammy?”
“It’s Sam.”
She slid off the bed and walked closer to him, the smile never leaving her lips. “Sam,” she corrected, the word rolling off her tongue as if testing it, playing with it. “What was the plan, Pigeon Boy? Wait out there in the dark until I left the room again and hope not to catch a chill in the meantime?”
Sam resisted rolling his eyes, more annoyed at himself than anything. Hiding on the ledge had been a reckless move, but he’d panicked. She was coming and Sam knew his brother’s powers of persuasion wouldn’t have the same pulling power on someone who was obviously aware of their agenda. So he’d panicked. “Why are you doing this?” he repeated, the edge falling from his voice as he looked at her and remembered Max. They were both just human, not demons or spirits whose anger had consumed every other facet of their consciousness. Human. Just like him, just like Dean. There had to be a reason why she’d turn into a killer; why anyone would turn into a killer. There had to be.
“Doing what, honey?” Susie brushed passed him and propped herself up on the desk. She grabbed the skull-shaped paperweight and started spinning it.
“Those people! Your classmates!” Sam wanted to understand, wanted her to make him understand. Were they all capable of this? Was he?
“Oh, that,” she said in a bored tone. “I can honestly tell you that I didn’t kill them. I just…chose them.”
Sam frowned, thinking. “The tattoos,” he said quietly. “You brand them and…and someone else kills them? Your boyfriend?”
Susie did a palms up gesture and shrugged. “Am I bleeding to my death? Do I have you and Deany Boy tied to a pole, ready to bleed you to your death? Uh, no and no. So why would I just reveal everything? Where would the fun in that be?”
“How do you choose them?” Sam persisted. “The victims, the people you brand, why them? Do you want to get rid of the competition? Is that it?”
Susie scoffed. “Please.”
Sam sighed in frustration and turned to leave; it wasn’t exactly the smartest move staying in here, weaponless, to begin with.
“They were already dead.”
Sam stopped, slowly turning back.
“They just didn’t know it yet. I did, though. Cam was going to get hit by a car on Graduation Night. Claire was going to overdose on Crystal Meth three years later in an attempt to stay thin. Sherrie was going to die old, in her bed, surrounded by fat grandkids.” Susie shrugged. “I didn’t like Sherrie.”
Sam ran a hand over his face, trying to find some strand of explanation in these revelations. “I don’t….how do you even…If you wanted to confuse me then congratulations, you’ve done it.”
Susie smiled. “When I was still in elementary school, I had this…dream…about this girl from my class - I can’t even remember her fucking name. In this dream, she was accidentally run over by a teacher in the parking lot, and she died. Low and behold, a week later my little dream comes true. I freaked, naturally, thinking I’d somehow caused it. But I quickly learned that I’m not the Grim Reaper, I just have front row seats to his show.” She watched Sam closely, sliding off the desk and into the chair.
Realization began to creep up Sam’s spine like icy fingers. “You have visions,” he whispered. “Of people who…who need to be saved.”
She stopped swiveling her chair. “No…” she said. “I have visions of how people die. Of what ending Fate’s tossed their way. There’s no bargaining with Fate, honey.”
Sam backed up, shaking his head.
…Drops of blood hitting a wood floor, tilting blue symbols, a wall of spears, another body falling from a window, a fire, a body hitting the ground, and then the sound of his own voice screaming Dean’s name.
… ten fingers that were slowly counting down. Then Sam stood where the girl had been, watching himself as he walked up to Dean, watching himself grab Dean’s head and twist.
“I’m like a walking crystal ball,” Susie continued, ignoring Sam’s distress.
Sam rubbed his eyes, trying to see pass the panic that was filling his head like a giant balloon. “No…” he said. “No, those students didn’t die the way they were meant to; you killed them first, which means your visions aren’t set in stone. They can be changed. Stopped.”
“We just got to them before Mr. Reaper did; if we hadn’t, they’d have died the way I saw it. Haven’t you seen Final Destination?” Susie cocked her head. “You’re special too, aren’t ya?” She stood up and stepped closer to him. “Back on the lawn, I hadn’t meant to share my vision with you.” She reached up and brushed her fingers across his cheek. “You looked at me and they just sort of… popped out.” She pouted in mock sympathy. “Better ask your brother what kind of casket he wants.”
Sam shoved away her arm. “Dean is not going to die.”
Susie laughed and propped herself back up on the desk. “Yes he is, hon.” She made a motion with her hands to imitate a neck twisting. “Crack. And we both know how. Gee, and I thought it was only on Thanksgiving that family killed each other.”
Sam took a step towards her, hands curling into fists.
“Watch it,” she said. “Don’t make me hurt you. You’re not a part of this.”
“But Dean is? Why him?”
“He deserves it!” The sudden anger that sprang from her voice almost made Sam jump. “I know what he did and I’m not going to let him!” Her eyes shone with angry tears as they bore into Sam’s. “He’s going to burn and if you get in our way, so will you.”
Sam turned away in disgust and strode to the door, pulling it open with such force that it slipped from his grip and collided into the wall with a loud crack, reminding Sam again of his dream. He paused and turned back to Susie, whose expression had switched back to amused mode. “Me and Dean? A lot of things have tried to kill us, but we’re still here. Somehow, I doubt you’re the one to end it. And I know I’m not going to be.” He slammed the door shut on her widening grin.
When Sam finally stepped into their room, Dean whipped around from where he’d been pacing and strode up to Sam with wide eyes. “Where the hell have you been?” he barked.
Sam sighed and shut the door. “I was hiding. She found me.”
“Where were you hiding?”
Sam braced himself for Dean’s reaction. “Outside her window.”
Dean sputtered for a second. “Are you crazy?”
Sam shrugged. “Possibly. I panicked. I thought I’d just crawl across the ledge to Joey and Chris’ dorm. It seemed safer than in there with her.”
Dean shook his head and staring at Sam in disbelief. “Are you okay?” he finally asked.
“Yeah,” Sam said, distracted.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, Dean, I’m fine.”
“Good.” Dean slapped Sam across the head.
“Hey!”
“That’s for being an idiot.” Dean shook his head and plopped onto the bed. “Just thought you’d hide on the ledge…”
Sam picked up a pillow and flung it at Dean, who halfheartedly blocked the blow. “Hey, it was worth it, I got some information out of her. Useful information.”
“While pretending to be a talking pigeon?”
Sam rolled his eyes and flopped onto his bed. “Unlike my genius brother, she guessed where I was hiding.”
“What’d she say? ‘Coz my conversation with her basically went: snark snark, muaha muaha.”
“Didn’t let her get a word in, huh?”
“You’re hilarious,” Dean grumbled.
Sam pushed himself up into a sitting position and grew serious. He glanced at Dean and silently debated how much he wanted to reveal. “The boyfriend, Damien, is definitely in on this…whatever this is. She said she just brands the victims, doesn’t do the killing herself. I’m guessing that’s his job. ”
Dean nodded. “Dude, we already knew this. Well, I did, anyway, you’ve always been a bit slow on the uptake. But did she tell you why they’re killing people?”
Sam shrugged. “I guess that’s up to us to work out.” Sam picked at some loose thread on his jeans. “She has visions, too. That’s what I saw back on the lawn. Borrowed them, somehow. She, um, she thinks she sees how people are meant to die. And I don’t think they’re killing classmates for academic advantage.”
“So, to recap - this ‘ghost’ that branded and attacked me is actually a human who can astral project and draw on all these funky powers in her astral projected self, included the ability to tattoo potential victims so that her boy-toy knows who to push or coerce or freakin’ trip out of windows, for god knows what reason, and she obviously wants me dead too and wants to date you.” Dean paused for a second, frowning. “Are we being punk’d?”
A smile broke onto Sam’s face. “I don’t think so. Just…confused the hell out of.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.
“She told me some interesting things, too,” Dean said. He let the statement hang in the air and flopped against the pillows, linking his hands beneath his head.
Sam watched Dean cluck his tongue in that annoying way he did only if deep in concentration or if he wanted to get under Sam’s skin. “Oh yeah?” Sam said, feigning a casual tone as he turned his back to Dean and started to pack. Now that they knew for certain that the ‘ghost’ was in fact a student living in this dorm, Sam wanted to be ready to leave at the drop of a hat. Dean only had a few weapons tucked away in the desk drawer; he never unpacked anything else. Sam had to repack all his clothes.
They spent a few minutes in a silence broken only by the rustling of Sam’s packing. He was deliberately drawing out the process, not yet ready to face what Dean knew.
“What are you going to do for my funeral? I’m thinking a Brazilian theme: streamers, bright hues, girls in belly-bearing outfits and fruit hats. Does it scream ‘Dean’?”
Sam froze. He put down the canister of salt he was holding and looked up. Dean was watching him with an expression that was too neutral, too casual. “Dean…I was going to tell you-”
“Before or after the Samba girls danced on my grave?”
Sam rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Look, whatever she told you -”
“Oh, you mean that vision of my death that you had way back at the start of this hunt? Or whatever dream you had about my death that you neglected to tell me about? ‘My death’ being the key words here.”
“Dean-”
“So, for conversation sake, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would you let me finish a sentence!”
“Are you looking forward to planning my funeral, or something?”
Sam felt the colour drain from his face. “Right, yeah, that’s it; I’m ecstatic about choosing between mahogany and amber.”
Dean just nodded and settled further into the pillows. “Don’t forget the Samba girls.”
“God, Dean. This isn’t funny!”
“You’re telling me,” Dean snapped, glancing at Sam. But the anger and hurt that flashed across his face disappeared just as quickly and he returned his gaze to the ceiling. “No one wants to end up a walking cliché: I’ve turned into laughs-in-the-face-death boy. If anything, I wanted to be death-by-chocolate guy. Now that would’ve been an interesting way to go.”
Sam took a deep breath to calm his frustration and walked around the bed to sit opposite Dean. “You’re not going to die.”
Dean looked over at him. His face was a perfectly sculpted blank. “Gee, Sam, you’re still in the denial stage? You’ve have plenty of time to work through those issues. Longer than I have.” He grinned without humour and returned his gaze to a random spot on the ceiling, his hands still linked behind his head.
Sam just sighed and absently scuffed the carpet with his sneaker. “I was going to tell you.”
“When?” Dean pulled himself up and flung his legs over the edge of the bed, watching Sam closely. “Don’t you think I deserve to know if Death himself is chasing my ass?”
“Dean, I don’t even know if that’s what I saw! It wasn’t my vision, it was hers. It could have meant anything. Or nothing.”
Dean pretended to mull this over. “Okay, so it could’ve actually meant that I’m going to trip over a garden rack and get whacked in the face, again and again. Like sideshow Bob.” He frowned. “Was that the sort of other thing you were talking about?”
Sam sprung up and started tossing his last bit of clothing into the bag. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m unbelievable?” Dean stood up and grabbed the shirt from Sam’s hands, chucking it away.
Sam clenched his jaw and strode past Dean, picking it up.
“I’ve been branded by a psycho that happens to see the way people die, Sam. How hard is that to figure out?”
Sam refused to answer Dean’s sarcasm. He roughly folded the shirt and shoved it into his bag, zipping it closed with such force he heard a slight tear.
“What’s that other thing Susie was talking about?” Dean pressed. “The dream? Since we’re in such a sharing mood, and all.”
Sam’s mind flashed to the dream. He looked at Dean and noted the way Dean’s body remained relaxed and casual. But his eyes betrayed him. They kept flitting back to Sam, waiting. But Sam couldn’t do it. The world began spinning just at the thought of telling Dean about the dream. So he shook his head and averted his gaze. “It’s not important. It was just a dream.”
“Uh huh,” Dean said. “Like Gary Glitter is just friendly, right?”
Sam was a quiet.
“Forget it,” Dean said. He pulled his own bag from under the bed and unzipped it. He turned to the desk and yanked open the drawer. “I’m going to cark it at the ripe ol’ age of twenty-seven, that’s just great,” he said, scooping up the extra bullet packets he’d stashed in the drawer. “Think you can make it to my funeral, or will you be too busy scouting colleges and singing in the rain?” He started hauling the packets into his bag.
Sam was horrified by the accusation. “You’re not going to die, Dean,” he repeated, anger eclipsing his guilt. “And I’m sure as hell not singing about any of this!”
“Could have fooled me.”
“What the hell is that s’posed to mean?”
“It means you had days to let me in on whatever was going on in that head of yours. Instead, you were going to just let me walk right into death’s hands.”
“Right, like anything could have stopped you, anyway. You wouldn’t have let this hunt go, Dean. You never let the hunt go. And stop talking like this is a sure thing, we don’t know that!”
Dean threw the last few weapons into his bag. They clanked against the pile already in there. “Jesus, Sam! She sees the way people die.”
“But who’s to say that vision isn’t something that happens when you’re fifty. Or hell, seventy!”
“Because we both know you’re fooling yourself if you think I’m going to live that long!”
The silence that followed was so complete that Sam swore he could hear The Dixie Chicks playing a few rooms over. He laughed hollowly. “I guess I’m a fool then.”
Dean returned to packing his bag. “Guess so.”
Sam shook his head, so angry that it hurt. Or maybe it was the other way round. Maybe he was so hurt that he was angry. “You actually believe that, don’t you? That you’re not going to die old. That the hunt is going to kill you, but you keep doing it. How dare you keep doing this if you really believe you’re not going to survive it. You weren’t upset that I saw that vision, you were upset I didn’t tell you. Fuck you, Dean.”
Dean’s eyes hardened. “Dr Phil has a potty mouth, now?” He turned his back on Sam and flopped onto the bed, grabbing the remote off the desk.
Sam frowned, temporarily thrown from the argument: Dean seemed to have scored them a small television set while Sam had been scouting Susie’s room. How did he manage these things? “Dean…” Sam ventured, but Dean cut him off.
“Do you mind?” He switched on the TV. “I’m trying to watch…” he frowned as a leather-clad woman popped onscreen. “Xena.” He tossed the remote aside and settled back against the pillows.
They stayed like that for a while: Dean staring at the screen and Sam staring at a spot on the carpet. The spot was frayed and coloured grey. Just a small spot of discolored carpet. He wondered what had happened.
Sam finally glanced up at Dean, then looked away and chewed his lip. “I dreamt I killed you.” He said it quietly. Maybe too quietly. Maybe Dean hadn’t heard him. He half hoped he hadn’t. He glanced up and found Dean watching him with an unreadable expression. Sam took a deep breath and remembered that day in the asylum, hoping that Dean wasn’t doing the same. “I dreamt I walked up to you and…and snapped your neck. Just…snapped it. But it was just a dream.” Sam waited for Dean’s reaction, eyes again trained on that small spot of carpet.
“Is that all?” Dean said. “Jesus, Sammy, I thought you were hiding something important.”
Sam looked up in surprise. Dean was staring at Sam with a raised eyebrow, looking annoyed. Not angry or shocked or betrayed. Annoyed.
“Is that all?” Sam said, feeling slightly indignant. “Gee, Dean, sorry it didn’t live up to your expectations. Next time I’ll throw in a dream about totaling the Impala.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Dean said, pointing a finger.
Sam raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, yeah, where’s my head at.” He shook his head and laughed in disbelief. He was further thrown by the smirk forming on Dean’s face. “What?”
“That’s what’s had your panties in a twist this whole time?” Dean scoffed. “You’re not going to kill me.”
“No, I know that! But…” Sam shook his head, confused. “What if I get possessed? What if Susie and Damien find a way to control me?”
“Please, I tricked your possessed ass once, I can do it again. The only way you’re killing me is if I point the frickin’ gun at my own heart and show you where the trigger is. And even then you might miss.”
Sam found it completely surreal that he felt the urge to defend his ability to competently off his own brother. “You’re not worried? At all? You don’t think the dream had any meaning?”
Dean laughed. “Dude! No, I don’t think it means anything. Do you, paranoia boy?”
Sam scratched his head. He didn’t really know how to answer. “No,” he finally said. “But…” he glanced at Dean.
“What?” Dean said, turning down the TV to drown out Xena’s warrior cry. “You think I’m meant to be all hung up on this joke?”
“Yes!” Sam knew he’d never hurt Dean, but he’d been afraid to find out if Dean knew that too. He guess he had his answer. And trust Dean to make the answer almost insulting.
Dean rolled his eyes. “When did you mistake me for Mr. Supersensitive? That’s your thing.”
Sam found himself torn between relief, annoyance and disbelief. It was an interesting combination and he was certain his expression reflected the confusion. “You’re an ass.” He shook his head and flopped down on the bed.
“A popular one, apparently,” Dean said. He hopped off the bed and grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on. “Susie wants it, Death wants it, and even your subconscious wants a piece. Should sell it on eBay.”
Sam scoffed. “Where are you going?”
Dean nodded at the clock. “The Séance; it starts in twenty minutes.”
Sam stood up, startled. “You’re not actually going to that, are you?”
“You do realize we’re, like, ghost hunters, right?”
Sam chewed his lip and wondered how to approach this next request. “Dean, Sherrie died after going to this séance thing. Something could be happening there to make the victims…not themselves. Maybe…maybe we should save it ‘till the morning.”
Dean froze in the process of checking to see if his student ID was still in his wallet. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
Sam sighed loudly and ran his hand over his face. “You have to stop being so blasé about this, Dean. That tattoo is a fucking target sign. You’re a target. It’s too dangerous now.” Sam instantly knew he’d said the wrong thing. Telling Dean to stay away from danger was like telling a pyromaniac to stay away from fire.
Dean just looked at Sam for a second. He then shook his head and headed for the door. “I’m going to the séance.”
“I won’t come after you to save your ass when this backfires!” Sam called after him.
“Okay.” The door shut behind him.
Sam waited for a second, tapping his foot impatiently, then sprung up and followed.
“This has to be the place.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “What tipped you off?” They’d walked well across campus until they’d found themselves in a block of unused, neglected buildings. At the back of this block stood a decaying, black mess of wood and granite. Apart from its charred appearance and collapsed rump, it looked more or less steady - like its collapsed planks and fire-bitten wood had, over time, molded into a new structural form, and now stood proud of its warped shape. But it was the loud music thumping the ground that drew the boys’ attention.
“They séance in style,” Dean said in approval.
He and Sam walked into the building after struggling with the door for a few seconds. The room inside was crowded with well over fifty students - some, who’d started the party a bit early, jumping around and bopping their heads crazily in tune with the music, while most stood in small circles with beer cans in their hands. The chatter almost overpowered the music.
“Dean,” Sam said, nudging him and pointing to the floor. Under people’s feet there was painted a large pentagram. “Pentagrams mean protection from evil.”
Dean shrugged. “To you dorks, I guess failing an exam is evil.”
“Dean!” a few loud, slurring voices called out. Dean looked over to see Joey and Chris maneuvering their way through the crowd, supporting each other as their feet tangled with every other step.
Dean grinned. “We’re ten minutes late and you’re both already wasted? I’m impressed.”
“Got here early to set up,” Chris said. “And you know what that means?” He swayed closer to Joey and poked him in the chest. “Tell him what that means, Joe.”
Joey rolled his neck and stood up higher, mimicking a serious expression. “It means…The party STARTS EARLY!” He raised his beer can in the air and screamed in Chris’ face, who screamed back happily.
Dean laughed and exchanged an amused look with Sam.
“Here, man,” Joey said, grabbing a can from a stack near the door and tossing it to Dean.
“Dean…” Sam warned.
“Hey, man, we didn’t forget you,” Chris said. “Joe, pass this tall guy here a beer.” Joey did as instructed and Sam caught it. Dean couldn’t help smirking as Chris wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders and leaned in close. “How’s it going with the Susie chick? Got some yet, or do you need a few more beers?”
“Give the boy some more beers,” Dean said, his smirk widening as Sam looked from the unopened beer in his hand, to the arm around his shoulder, to Dean’s own smirking face, then as Sam’s eyes widened when Joey returned with literally an armful of beers. “Jesus, Joey, you trying to kill my brother?”
“I understand unrequited love,” Joey said, slurring and swaying a little, but looking so sad it almost killed Dean’s amused buzz. Almost. “I understand you, man,” Joey said, patting Sam’s shoulder, a move that caused half the cans to tumble onto the floor and miss Sam’s feet an inch. “BUT!” Joey said, loudly. “I learnt something today that’s going to change my life.” He swayed up to Dean and grabbed him around the shoulders, shaking him in a manly display of affection. “This guy here taught me something today, something priceless, something I’m going to frame: Confidence, man.” Joey scooped up one of the cans from the floor and opened it. “To friendship,” he toasted.
Chris let go of Sam’s shoulders and toasted his own can. “To friendship,” he whispered, choked up. “I love you guys.” He practically fell into Dean and Joey, wrapping them in a tight hug.
“Save me,” Dean said, peeking over Joey’s and Chris’ arms.
Sam smirked at him in return and shrugged, feigning innocence.
“Hey, look, it’s Brenda,” Dean lied. Joey whipped around with such speed that he almost bowled over the other two. His face had paled to an inch of its life. “Dude, my bad,” Dean said. “Wasn’t her after all.” He pried Chris off him and edged towards Sam. “I should stay with my cousin; he sucks at these party things. If I’m not around, he might get confused and start writing an essay.”
“Wow, poor guy,” Joey said sadly.
“Yeah, poor little Sammy.” Dean handed the beer back to Joey and pushed Sam in the opposite direction.
“Poor little me?” Sam said once they’d retreated to the other side of the room. “You know, you don’t have to use me as an excuse, I can set up a playdate with those two if you want.”
Dean whacked him on the arm. “Dude, focus.”
“Okay, okay,” Sam said. “Party pooper,” he added, unable to resist an opportunity to tease Dean with insults usually reserved for him.
“You know how I can kick you ass?”
“Fine, I’ll stop.” Sam glanced back over at Joey and Chris. “Actually, we can probably get some information out of them. We need to know when this séance is starting and what it involves. They seem to like you: see if they’re not too drunk to answer some questions. I’ll see what everyone else here knows.”
“Wait,” Dean said, stopping Sam with his hand. “You’re leaving me alone with dumb and dumber? Dude, I can deal with sober frat boys, the drunken kind, nuh-uh.”
Sam smirked. “I don’t think they’re in a frat.”
“Not the point, smartass.”
“Well, if you can’t handle them-”
“Hey, who said anything about not handling it? I can handle anyone. It’s just…” he looked longingly at one of the girls that walked passed. “I’d rather handle her. Why do you get to talk to the chicks?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “People are falling out of windows, you’ve been branded, I’ve had dreams about your death and yet this is what you’re worried about?”
“So you can be an orc or a troll and beat the crap out of, theoretically, six million other players from all round the world?” Dean asked, impressed despite himself.
“Yep,” Joey beamed. “I can lend you my expansion packs if you want.”
“And you get to hack them other players to pieces?”
“You two have been going on about World of Warcraft for almost twenty minutes,” Chris moaned. “I’m so bored I think I’m sobering up.” He stood up to get another beer but came crashing down. “Woah.” He slid into a sitting position on the floor. “Maybe not.”
Dean and Joey simultaneously grabbed one of Chris’ arms each and hauled him back into his seat.
“Hey.” Sam swatted Dean’s arm, pulling up a chair. “The séance is about to start. They just chant a bit of Latin, no one knows where the chant came from, and then anyone in the crowd volunteers to cut their hand and offer a blood sacrifice to the pentagram.”
“Big blood sacrifice?”
Sam shook his head. “Think Keira Knightley’s sacrifice in Pirates. You find out anything?”
“Lover Boy!” Chris crawled over to Sam. “Thank god you’re here.” He clutched the arms of Sam’s chair and looked at him pleadingly. “They won’t stop talking about that warcraft game.”
Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean.
“Yeah…it’s been a bit difficult.”
“I’ll tell you guys a secret,” Joey interrupted, bleary eyed. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “The séance is fake. My brother started the idea five years ago for a bit of fun. We’re mostly just here for the booze.”
Dean and Sam just nodded; no real surprise there.
“It is time!” a voice boomed. Everyone instantly quieted, backing away from the painted pentagram. Someone turned off the music. Dean and Sam peered around the bodies obstructing their view to find a student with glaring white sneakers, a tracksuit that drooped off his skinny frame, and wildly untamed hair, standing in the middle of the symbol, arms raised. “What time is it?”
“Clobbering time!” Chris shouted in a deep voice.
The guy sighed and dropped his arms. “No, Chris. Joey, keep him away from the beer before he throws up all over me like last time.”
Dean smirked, looking over at Sam, ready to make a joke at Sam’s Stanford-days expense, but was surprised to see Sam’s face lined with concern. His eyes were trained on the pentagram.
“Time for the chant!” the guy boomed, raising his arms back into the air.
Chris and Joey jumped up, having planned this next bit, and started singing loudly: “Banana banana bo bana be bi bo banana Ghost Girl banana bo bana…”
“Oh good Lord,” Dean muttered.
The guy standing in the pentagram sighed again. “Fine, we’re skipping the chant and going straight to the sacrifice. Volunteer?”
“Dean!” Joey shouted, slapping Dean’s back.
“Huh?”
Sam’s head whipped in his direction, looking just as startled.
“Dean! Dean! Dean!” Joey and Chris started chanting, grabbing an arm each and pulling him into the middle of the circle.
“Uh, no, really, choose someone else,” Dean said, turning to leave the circle, but Joey pulled him back.
“You deserve this, dude. Your fifteen minutes of glory.”
Dean was well aware that everyone’s eyes were on him and he shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah…see, the blood sacrifice thing? Not as funny when it actually works. We’ve all seen the movies.”
The guy with the white sneakers walked over to a small cabinet covered in chip packets and empty beer cans. He grabbed a key from his pocket and unlocked the cabinet, removing a small pocketknife. He held it carefully in his hands and walked back to Dean, holding the knife out to him. “Take your sacred utensil and prick thy finger, letting thy blood drop to the ground, thus feeding the scared symbol of the…uh…sacred symbol, yeah.”
Dean picked up the knife and peered at it closely. A picture of Betty Boop stared back at him. “Oh, Geez.” Holding onto the blade end, he offered it back. “Not happening, Jeeves.”
“Dude!” Chris said, “don’t be a party pooper.” He slapped Dean on the back, intending nothing more than a manly display of support, but in his drunken state he hit harder than expected and Dean stumbled, the blade slipping in his hand and cutting his finger.
Dean stared at the cut incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Shit like this actually happens?” Annoyed, he shook the blood from his finger.
Sam watched from the side of the circle. Dean’s lips were moving, he was muttering something, but Sam wasn’t listening. Sam didn’t even think he was breathing. All he could do was stare at the drops of blood as they hit the wood floor. He shook his head slowly, trying to dissuade his mind from replaying for him, over and over, this image in front of him. Of the blood hitting the floor just as it had in his vision. He was vaguely aware of Dean and the others looking around, waiting for an entity to emerge or the floor to shake or something, but only vaguely. The shock had numbed him to everything but the realization that his vision was creeping into reality.
“Told you frat boys were bad news,” Dean said, walking back to Sam as the séance thingamajig was declared a bust. “Klutziness is more dangerous than evil.” Dean frowned. “Sam? You okay?”
“Do I look okay?” Sam snapped, not having intended to but finding that anger was the only emotion strong enough to withhold against the realization that Death’s clock was ticking and Sam had no clue how to stop it.
“No, you don’t, that’s why I asked,” Dean snapped in return. “You look like shit. Menopausal shit.”
Sam glanced at Dean, instantly regretting yelling. “Sorry.” He paused for a second. “And ew, Dean.”
The music halted for a second as the track changed. Sam frowned as the room’s sounds were suddenly amplified. What had Joey said? About catching the tail end of some chanting when the music stopped? He turned to look at the wall opposite in realization. “There’s a hidden room.”
“What?” Dean yelled, cupping his hand around his ear as loud music again filled the room.
Sam just grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him in the right direction. “There’s a room behind that wall.”
“Huh,” Dean said, but he seemed far more interested in batting away Sam’s hands and smoothing down his shirt.
“There has to be,” Sam continued. “Susie, or Damien, or whoever, they’d need someplace away from the dorms to perform their spells. Joey said this place is never empty - that people are always hanging out here. They wouldn’t want to risk someone hearing the chanting and striking suspicion so they use these séances, these parties, to shield the chanting. There’s a hidden room somewhere.”
“It’s Damien doing the chanting,” Dean said.
Sam looked at him, startled. “How do you know?”
Dean shrugged, grabbing a handful of chips from the table next to them. “Genius insight, hunter instinct, big-assed brains, take your pick,” he said, voice muffled by the chips. “And he’s sitting over there.”
Sam whipped around to find Damien sitting by the stereo, one hand propped across it lazily, fingers drumming, while the other fiddled with the volume.
“Not really a Goth’s crowd, so I figure he’s here to keep an eye on his bat cave.” Dean turned back to the table of food. “Ooh, animal crackers.”
Sam instinctively stepped closer to the wall, not wanting to alert Damien of their presence. “We need to find that room.”
Dean nodded, watching Damien closely. He brushed the crumbs from his hands and stepped forward. “I’m going to go talk to him.”
Before Sam could stop him, Dean had weaved through the crowd and was standing in front of Damien. Sam quickly followed, wondering how the hell Dean had survived 27 years.
“If you want me to change tunes - no,” Damien said on their approach, yelling to be heard over the music but not looking up at them.
“We don’t,” Dean said.
Damien sighed and glanced up. “Yeah?” He squinted, eyes roaming them up and down. “I’ve met you two, haven’t I?”
“Yeah, your girl knows us,” Dean said.
Sam felt strangely excluded, watching Dean and Damien stare each other down. He didn’t like the small smile forming on Damien’s face.
Damien laughed suddenly. He leaned back and grabbed a new bottle of beer from a stack near the stereo. “Want to see a party trick?”
Sam instinctively backed up, placing himself in front of Dean, who frowned and lightly shoved Sam out of his way.
Damien placed the bottle against one of his heavily tattooed arms and used his forearm to pop open the beer. He smiled at them lazily, taking a sip. “Pretty cool, huh? See you boys round.” Neither missed the way his gaze lingered on Dean. He then slinked into the crowd, bumping into the shoulders of anyone who didn’t move for him.
“What the hell, Dean?” Sam asked once Damien was out of earshot.
Dean was still watching Damien’s back, an odd expression on his face. “I wanted to see if this whole tattoo and death thing was personal for him as well as Susie. Oh, it’s personal.” He seemed to shake himself and turned to look at Sam. “The guy hates my own, personal guts.”
Sam just nodded. He could see the wheels turning in Dean’s head, but he knew not to push him. Dean would let him know when he was ready. You couldn’t push Dean or he clamped up. He liked things on his terms: they so rarely were. “We have to find that room.”
They pushed through the crowd and hurried outside to the back of the building. They started banging their fists along the wall, listening, content in the knowledge that the music within would drown out the sound. After what seemed like an eternity of knocking, Sam’s fist finally echoed against the wall. He then turned to Dean, wanting to make sure Dean had heard.
Dean started feeling along the wall with his hands. “Door…door…C’mon, open sesame already.”
Sam was fast losing patience with this whole hunt, and now they were meant to waste more time finding a freaking door? More time he needed to spend on working out how to prevent his vision from coming true? Screw it, Sam thought, and backed up, bracing himself. He kicked the wall as hard as he could. The impact shot up his leg, jarring his hip. The old wood gave way under his foot.
“Way to go, Sammy.” Dean slapped him on the back. “Unexpected, but in a good way. I’m rubbing off on you.”
“Is there anything you don’t take credit for?”
“Your fashion sense.”
They started kicking through the rest of the wood, yanking away rotting planks to reveal a smaller, windowless room beyond. Sam stepped through first, eyes instantly drawn to the walls. More specifically, to the blue symbols that sat at slanted angles across the walls. He turned in circles, watching as symbols flashed endlessly: They were painted in every inch of space. Just like in his vision. Just like that blood splattering the ground.
He didn’t know if he should feel panic or fear or anger or the fucking urge to laugh. All he really knew was that he wasn’t meant to feel this - nothing, numb. But it was all he could manage at the moment.
That is, until Dean angrily threw something to the ground and ran his hands through his short hair.
Sam quickly knelt by the medium sized box that Dean had tossed away. The word ‘Subjects’ was scrawled on the box’s side in black felt tip. Spilling out from it were photographs. Hundreds of them. Of students, young and old, of…Sherrie! With a giant cross marked over her face. Sam was startled to find that most of the photos -the people in the photos - had giant crosses drawn over them. Sam quickly sifted through the images. His hand froze, finding itself hovering over a photograph of two very familiar faces. It was him and Dean walking down the street on the day they’d first arrived in this town. Sam swallowed hard and forced his hand to pick through the remaining photographs. They were all of him and Dean, some with them together, some with them alone. All shot at a distance, all focused on their faces.
“You’re in those photos. We’re both in those photos,” Dean said quietly. Sam looked up at him and saw the anger glinting in his eyes. It almost scared him. “This tattoo doesn’t mean a fucking thing. They’re after both of us.”
Sam looked down at the photos again, feeling a chill. “We knew that, though.”
“It was just meant to be me. It was just meant to be me,” Dean repeated, striding out.
Sam hastily scooped the photos back into the box, slamming down the lid and tucking it under his arm as he ran after Dean. He almost stumbled through the makeshift entrance, too preoccupied with searching for Dean to pay attention to his steps.
“Dean!” Sam shouted, seeing his brother striding across the lawn. “Wait!” He sprinted to catch up, relieved that Dean stopped for him, even if reluctantly. “Where are you going?” he asked once he caught up, breathless. He already knew the answer.
“I’m ending this.”
“How?” Sam asked, trying to be the voice of reason.
“How do you think?” Dean lifted his shirt to reveal a gun tucked into his waistband.
“Dean! Are you insane? You can’t bring a loaded weapon around drunk students!”
“And you’re insane not to!” Dean grabbed the box out of Sam’s arms and knocked open the lid, grabbing a fistful of the photos. “Did you see these? The faces aren’t crossed out for decoration, Sam, they were killed. And we’re both in these photos! You’re in these photos, Sam!”
“Dean,” Sam tried to soothe, taking the box from him. “I know, okay? I know this seems bad, but you can’t just shoot someone in a crowded dorm building. You’ll be hauled to prison. And Susie’s human, Dean. She’s human. So maybe Damien is too.”
“I don’t give a damn!” Dean hit the box from Sam’s hands so that it crashed to the ground. He turned and stormed away.
“Wait, just wait!” Sam racked his brain for something to stop Dean making the biggest mistake of his life. God, he wanted this to end as bad as Dean did, but this wasn’t the way. There was so much they still needed to work out, to understand in time to stop Sam’s vision seeping into reality. And Sam refused to let Dean commit a murder in his name, something Dean would hold with him for the rest of his life despite what he’d say in the contrary. Because, really, Sam knew Dean was doing this because he’d seen Sam’s photos in that box. Dean was always playing the protective brother, even if it meant walking into the line of fire and flipping off the enemy.
Go to CHAP 6