Fic: That's What Big Brothers Are For 6/9

[mizpah1931]

Title: That’s What Big Brothers are For
Season: 2
Category: General, Action, Horror/Demon
Warnings: Not really...
Tagline: Sam is plagued by multiple visions of Dean burning alive, leading the brothers into a dangerous hunt that could have dire repercussions for the young psychic.
Set just before the Season 2 episode Roadkill
Total Word Count: 52,676
Chapter 5 Word Count: 6040
Total Chapters: 9
Beta: ziggyuk
Story Banner: Chasidern
Awards Banner (SN.TV Best Horror/Demon 2008): Saiyuki

Chapter 6

“GAHHHHH!”

Ellen jerked awake as the pain-filled cry cut across the silence of the room. She flung herself from the bed and jumped to her feet as the cry came again. Her startled gaze took in the young psychic sitting up in the next bed, and she hurried to his side as she saw his hands clutch at his temples. Dean lunged from the chair on the other side of the room, reaching his brother’s side two steps ahead of Ellen.

Sam ground the heels of his palms against his eyes as he rocked back and forth. His breath caught in his throat, and he stiffened, his hands falling away as his brother sat on the edge of the bed.

Dean grasped Sam’s shoulders and held him as the vision started, casting a quick glance at Ellen’s shocked face as the woman halted by his side.

“Dean – what the hell’s wrong with him?”

“It’s a vision.”

Ellen studied the younger hunter, her concern growing as she saw the effects the vision was having on him. She knew about Sam’s abilities, but this was the first time she had seen it for herself. Sam’s eyes were wide, blank and unblinking; his face a frozen mask, his breathing almost undetectable. “Can he hear us?”

Dean shook his head, as he answered softly, “No, he can’t see or hear anything except for what’s in the vision.”

“And it always happens like this?” The roadhouse owner gestured to the young psychic.

“Yeah.”

“How long does it…” Ellen broke off as Sam flinched, his breath rasping in his throat. She watched as the youngest Winchester collapsed in his brother’s arms, his face scrunched in pain, and his eyes tightly closed.

“Easy, Sammy, I gotcha.” Dean hooked the nearby wastepaper basket with his foot, bringing it closer to the bed. He glanced up at Ellen. “You might want to move,” he murmured.

Sam’s body hitched, and he lunged for the side of the bed as Ellen hastily stepped back. Dean held his shoulders as he threw up in the wastepaper bin, and then Sam fell back against the pillows, gasping and shivering. “Dean…”

“I’m here, Sammy. I gotcha.” Dean sat on the edge of the bed, leaning slightly forward to hear his sibling’s breathless whisper.

“He’s killed...someone else…” Sam pressed his fists to his temples. “Showed…me…”

“He showed you? Who showed you?” Dean grasped his brother’s wrists, pulling Sam’s hands away from his face. “Sam – who showed you? Who did you see?”

Sam’s glassy eyes met Dean’s concerned gaze. “Geoffrey…he’s already possessed…trying to…lure me out…” Exhausted by the vision, the psychic let his eyes drift closed as he settled back against the pillows.

The elder hunter rubbed a hand over his face as he glanced at the hovering woman. “Holy crap…”

Ellen hurried into the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth. She sat on the bed opposite Dean, and gently bathed the sweat from Sam’s face and neck. “Dean, who’s possessed?”

Dean stared at the floor, a scowl creasing his face. “The guy in Sam’s visions. One of the special children – like Sammy. One of the psychics.”

“One of the kids born in nineteen eighty-three? The ones Sam was trying to trace?” Ellen held a hand to Sam’s forehead. “His fever’s climbed again.”

“Damn it!” Dean glanced at his watch as he began to pace the room. “It’s been three hours – how long do we have to wait before that crap Missouri sent starts to work?”

“She didn’t say.” Picking up the bowl of water from the nightstand between the beds, Ellen strode to the bathroom, tipping the room temperature water down the sink. She half filled the bowl with fresh cold water, and returned to the main room. Dipping the washcloth into the bowl as she sat down on the side of the bed, she began to sponge down the sick hunter in an effort to cool his body down.

“Did she say if he needed another dose or somethin’?” Dean gestured toward the table, and the scattered remnants of the hoodoo medicine spread out on its scratched surface.

“No, she didn’t. One dose should have been enough.” Ellen pressed her lips together in a tight line, keeping her focus on Sam as she wrung out the washcloth and wiped it gently down his arms. “We need to get some water into him – the fever will dehydrate him.”

Dean muttered under his breath as he scooped the bottle of Tylenol from the table. Picking up a glass from the tiny counter, he filled it with water and settled onto the edge of the bed opposite the blonde roadhouse owner.

Ellen paused, the washcloth in her hands, as the elder sibling slipped an arm around his little brother’s shoulders. “Dean, I didn’t mean right this minute.”

“Sammy, wake up for me, kiddo, come on.” Dean pulled Sam’s limp frame back against his chest. The psychic’s sweat-dampened head lolled against his shoulder. “Sammy!”

“Dean, don’t...” Ellen fell silent as Sam slowly opened his eyes.

“What?” Sam whispered shakily.

“You gotta take these for me, dude.” Dean slipped two of the pills out of the bottle and placed them in his brother’s palm. Waiting until Sam had popped the painkillers in his mouth, Dean pressed the rim of the glass against the young psychic’s lips. “Drink it all, kiddo.” He kept hold of the glass, gently tilting it as the level lowered, until it was empty. Handing the glass to Ellen, Dean motioned for her to refill it.

Sam groaned softly as the refilled glass was once again pressed to his mouth. He tried to move his head away, but the glass followed him. “Not thirsty.”

“Yes, you are. Come on, chug that sucker down,” Dean ordered. When the second glass of water had been consumed, he eased his brother back down onto the pillows. Cupping Sam’s face between his hands, he gazed solemnly into the glassy doe eyes. “Now you listen to me, Sammy. You gotta fight this, you understand me? That Geoffrey kid – he’s doin’ some kinda freaky psychic spamming – messing with your head. Now, that crap Missouri sent is gonna help with that, but you gotta help too. You with me?”

Sam nodded, gazing owlishly up at his big brother.

“You can do this, kiddo, you can. You’re stronger than he is. You’re tough, and you’re smart – way smarter than him.” Dean tightened his grip as Sam started to shake his head in denial. “You listen to me, kiddo. Hell I’m the one who raised you, remember? I’m the one who taught you how to fight. So I know you better than anyone, and I know you can do this. I’ve got faith in you, Sammy, and I’m backin’ you all the way. I believe in you, dude.”

“You do?”

“I so do. And that’s God’s honest truth. When have I ever lied to you, huh?”

Sam blinked slowly. “Rupert,” he murmured, a frown creasing his brow.

Dean’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “Rupert? Ah, Jeez, don’t you ever forget anything?” He shook his head slightly as he rolled his eyes. “Okay, when have I ever lied to you about the important stuff?”

“Never,” Sam whispered softly.

“Got that right. So you know it’s the truth when I say you can kick this son of a bitch’s ass, right?” Dean nodded determinedly. “Right. So, you get some rest, and you fight him, Sammy. You fight him with all you have, and you kick that freaky ass bastard out of your head. And when you wake up, we’ll go hunt down that demonic son of a bitch and send it back to hell where it belongs, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Dean straightened the pillows under his brother’s head, and watched as the hazel eyes closed in sleep. He blew out a soft sigh, becoming aware of an intense scrutiny from the other side of the bed. Raising his gaze from his sibling, he encountered Ellen’s astonished brown eyes. “What?”

Ellen shook her head in amazement as she reached out to press the back of her hand against Sam’s forehead. Wordlessly, she reached for the thermometer, gently brushing a handful of Sam’s sweat-dampened hair aside to hold the device against his ear until it peeped softly. Her eyebrows arched as she read the tiny digital screen. “His fever’s dropping.”

“That’s my boy. Told him he could do it.” Dean got to his feet and filled the electric kettle, grinning faintly as Ellen continued to look at him in astonishment. “No demon spawn son of a bitch’s gonna take down my kid brother.”

“Rupert?” Ellen queried, watching the tall hunter make two cups of coffee.

“Ahh…” Dean ran a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck, casting a swift glance at his sleeping brother. “Some kid at school gave Sammy a hamster. God only knows how he came up with the name Rupert. Anyway, you can imagine how thrilled Dad was when he brought it home.”

Ellen snorted softly in amusement. “Overjoyed.”

“Ecstatic. We were about to move on again in a week, so…” A wry grin graced Dean’s lips. “Guess who got the job of setting the damn thing free, and telling Sammy that Rupert had run away.”

“That wasn’t fair of John to do that to you, Dean.”

“Yeah, well…” The young hunter shrugged. “Anyway, the kid was pretty upset. Dragged me around the streets that night, looking for the thing. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it had probably been grabbed by a dog or somethin’.”

Ellen nodded, dropping her gaze to the sleeping man. “So, how did he find out?” A deep chuckle dragged her gaze back to the elder Winchester.

“I didn’t let the hamster go – I couldn’t do that to Sammy’s pet. I gave Rupert to a kid down the block – paid him two dollars to keep his mouth shut about it. Told him that Dad was allergic to the thing, and I had to get rid of it, but I didn’t want my little brother finding out. Kid must have felt sorry for Sammy, ‘cause he told him the day before we pulled out. Sam told me a few weeks later that he’d found out.”

“I guess he was pretty mad at you.”

“Me? Nah. But he was pretty pissed at Dad. But then, it was just one more thing in a long list of things he was pissed at Dad for.” Dean shrugged again, pursing his lips as he dragged himself back to the present. Pouring out the water into the cups, he added sugar to one, and handed it to Ellen as she walked over to him. “There’s no milk or cream – sorry.”

“Black’s fine, sweetie.” Ellen blew on the brew to cool it before taking a sip. She inclined her head in the direction of the slumbering hunter. “So, what now?”

“Guess we wait again.” Settling on a chair, Dean pushed the herbs aside so he could put his cup down on the table’s surface.

Ellen slowly sat down, cradling her cup between her hands. She stared into the inky depths of her coffee. “Dean – Sam’s visions – you said they’re connected to that yellow-eyed demon, and the other psychic kids.”

“Yeah.” Dean shifted on the seat, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation.

“You think this is part of the demon’s plan for the special children, don’t you?”

“Ellen, look…”

“No, Dean – I told you boys once before – their side holds all the cards. We gotta be straight with each other. We gotta trust each other – it’s the only way we’ll get through this.”

Dean’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I don’t think…”

“Dean, you gotta start trusting someone. You can’t do this alone.”

“I do trust someone.” The hunter gestured to the lanky form on the bed. “I trust him.” He sighed at the pitying look he received in return. “Look – I – it’s…”

“You’re trying to protect your brother, I know. I understand. But you don’t have to protect him from us – from me. We’re on your side, Dean.”

Dean shook his head as he pulled at his bottom lip. “I don’t know if this is part of the plan, or if the demon just happened to pick one of the psychic kids to possess. Hell, I don’t even know exactly what the master plan is – all I know for sure is that the demon wants them for something. That bastard Gordon told me that they were gonna be soldiers in a war between humans and demons – that they all had to be hunted down and killed before they could turn against their own kind.”

Ellen nodded slowly. “Do you believe that?”

“Come on, Ellen! You know Sam. Tell me you can look into that kid’s eyes and believe he could be evil.”

“No – no, I don’t believe that Sam’s evil. But what about the others? Sam said some of them were very dangerous. This Geoffrey guy – is he one of the dangerous ones?”

“All we know is Geoffrey’s possessed – we still don’t know how it happened or why. And we don’t know why he’s comin’ after Sammy. It could even be that Meg demon for all we know.”

“What leads have you got?”

“Not much. The kid disappeared about a week ago – about the same time these freaky visions started hittin’ Sam. He keeps seeing a shadowy figure telling him to – come out and play. And he keeps seein’ – me – burning.” Dean shrugged at Ellen’s shocked expression. That’s all we have. We got his name from a Missing Persons report filed by the girlfriend, but we don’t have much else, aside from the fact that he’s now killed two people, and he’s told Sam in the last vision that he’ll keep on killing until Sam faces him.”

“Come out and play.” Ellen turned the cup in her hands, her gaze flicking from Dean’s tense frame to Sam’s sleeping form. “What are you gonna do?”

“Try and stop him before he kills anyone else. Before he comes after Sammy.”

“But Dean – if Sam keeps seeing you burning in his visions – that means you’re in danger too.”

Dean swallowed. “Yeah, I know. But I think the freak, and the demon, is using that to draw Sammy out. I don’t know what they want with him, but they’re not getting him.” His jaw clenched in determination and his eyes narrowed as he gazed at his helpless brother. “If they want him, they’ll have to get past me first. And they won’t get past me, I can promise you that.”

Ellen finished her coffee, and placed the empty cup gently on the table. She stood, stretched, and checked on her patient before returning to the table. “His fever’s still dropping. He’s sleeping a little easier,” she murmured in response to Dean’s raised eyebrow.

Dean nodded thoughtfully, and checked his watch, his mind racing. He got to his feet and began to pace the confines of the small room as he reviewed every single piece of information they had gathered on Geoffrey Simmonds. Letting his hunter’s instincts have free rein, he tried to get inside the man’s head, tried to anticipate the next move. Suddenly, he slammed to a halt halfway between the bed and the table, his jaw dropping as the thought took solid shape in his brain. “Holy crap – I know what he’s gonna do next!”

Ellen shot to her feet. “Who? This Simmonds kid?”

Blazing green eyes bored into soft brown ones. “He’s gonna up the ante. He’ll go after his fiancée, I’ll bet on it. He’s trying to drive Sam out of hiding, to come and fight. He’s already killed someone he used to work with. My guess is that he’ll go after Elizabeth next. Crap!” Striding swiftly to the sleeping psychic, Dean reached out a hand, resting it gently on Sam’s forehead. The skin under his hand was still slightly feverish, but noticeably cooler than it was before. “Sam’s in no condition for this.”

“How long do you think we’ve got?” Ellen joined the tall hunter by the bed, gazing down at the slumbering young man. “Can you wait until he wakes up?”

Dean could feel his pulse speed up as an imaginary stopwatch inside his head began its countdown. “No, I don’t think so. Not if Geoffrey holds to pattern. He’s been hittin’ Sam pretty regular with these visions, and the next one’s due in the next few hours. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.” Slamming a fist into his palm, Dean resumed his pacing. “The first vision Sam had was of this exorcism, and the guy got loose and threw fire at me. I think that was just a normal vision – if anything about these freaky psychic things can be called normal. But then this freakin’ spamming started. He hit Sammy with two visions about me burning, then he killed someone, then it was back to me for two, then he killed someone else. So if Geoff follows pattern, the next two visions will be me again, followed by another murder.”

Ellen followed the pacing hunter. “Dean, if that’s true, then you can’t…”

“No – I gotta play this hunch. I’ll go over to Geoff’s apartment – keep watch on his fiancée. You stay here with Sammy – I’ll leave you a weapon. If anyone other than me comes through that door, you blast them to hell first and ask questions later.” Dean strode to the table, pulling Sam’s laptop toward him. His fingers danced over the keyboard and touch pad as he called up the missing persons report on Geoffrey Simmonds. Enlarging the picture on the file, he turned the screen toward the blonde woman hovering at his shoulder. “That’s him. If you see him anywhere near here, you call me, then you shoot the son of a bitch, you got that?”

Swallowing nervously, Ellen stared at the screen, memorising the face of the young bank clerk. She turned her gaze toward the elder Winchester as he shrugged into his jacket. “How long will you be gone?”

Dean shrugged, chewing on his lower lip as he dug into the weapons bag. “I don’t know. I’ll call you when I know something.” Pulling out a shotgun, he checked that it was loaded, and laid it on the table beside the laptop. He walked over to the nightstand between the two beds, picked up Sam’s .45, and checked the clip before handing it to the silent woman. “Here. That should give you enough firepower. Put a line of salt across the door when I leave. The windows have already been done.”

Ellen nodded, took the pistol, checked that the safety was on, and shoved it into her waistband as Dean picked up his car keys.

Dean swung the keys around one finger, his eyes on his brother. Bending over the recumbent form, he brushed a stray lock of hair away from Sam’s eyelids before resting his hand on the younger man’s forehead. He grimaced a little, and turned toward the door, pausing with a hand on the doorknob as he glanced back at the waiting roadhouse owner. “One more thing – if he starts to sweat like crazy, or if he bitches about it being too hot – it means the vision’s due to start. Get a bucket ready, ‘cause he’ll hurl when it’s over.” Dean nodded once, and was gone, closing the door firmly behind him.

*     *     *     *     *

The Impala’s throaty rumble died, and the driver rested his hands on the steering wheel, listening to the sharp ticking sound of the hot engine as it cooled. Finally, the sounds died down, leaving the pre-dawn silence undisturbed. Dean settled further into his seat, wincing as the leather of his jacket squeaked against the leather seat. He scanned the quiet street, his trained eyes probing the darker shadows between the soft pools of light cast by the streetlamps.

A faint clatter drew his eyes to a patch of darkness a few houses down from where the black Chevy waited, and he narrowed his gaze as something moved in the shadows. Dean smirked as a stray cat slunk into the edge of the circle of light from the streetlamp, a morsel of leftover food in its mouth, scavenged from the garbage bin on the sidewalk. “Damned cat,” the hunter chuckled to himself.

Both the cat and the hunter froze as a bird called sleepily. The cat’s wide green eyes scanned a nearby tree, and it dropped the piece of three-day-old chicken as a branch trembled. The bird called again, and the cat dropped slowly to the ground, its gaze on its new quarry. Dean watched as the cat made its way to the base of the tree, its tail tip quivering in anticipation. Grinning faintly, he slid a little lower in his seat, his gaze flicking from the stalking animal to the faint hint of colour in the eastern sky. “Man, I really don’t get the appeal of watching a freakin’ sunrise,” he whispered, stifling a yawn.

Suddenly, the cat stiffened, its tiny head whipping around to stare into the shadows. It hissed, its hackles rising, and the little animal darted swiftly away, the bird and the morsel of chicken forgotten as a tall figure emerged from the darkness.

The man prowled along the sidewalk, his gaze fixed on the apartment building across the street, his hands shoved into the pockets of his rumpled, stained suit. He crossed the street, oblivious to the waiting hunter hunched behind the wheel of the black Impala. Turning his head as he got to the opposite sidewalk, he glanced up the street before walking up the stairs of the apartment building where Elizabeth Logan tossed and turned in an uneasy sleep. The security light over the entrance illuminated his face for a brief instant before he passed through the front door.

Dean’s tall frame tensed as he recognised the face of Geoffrey Simmonds. “Showtime,” he muttered.

*     *     *     *     *

“You want to see him burn? Let’s have a little Winchester barbecue.” Laughing insanely, the young man swung his arm, sending a ball of flame winging across the confines of the room to explode against the chest of the screaming hunter.

“Saaaaaaammmmyyyyy…” Dean writhed in torment, his brother’s name torn from his smoking lips as the flames licked up the side of his neck and ignited his hair.

“Nooo!” Sam lunged forward, only to be thrown back by a demonic shove. The breath rushed from his lungs as he landed on his back on the cold stone floor.

Geoffrey sneered at the tall psychic. “Pathetic. You’ve always been pathetic, Sam. But there’s nowhere to hide now. You’ve got nothing left – nothing!”

“NO!” Flinging up his hand, Sam channelled his adrenaline, pushing outward with all his strength. A gale tore through the stifling room, blowing out the flames consuming the shrieking figure pinned to the wall, leaving behind a quivering, burned husk.

“You’re too late!” Geoffrey loomed over the horrified hunter. “Too late – too late – too late,” he chanted, stalking around Sam’s shuddering frame. “Too late – too late – too late….”

“NOOOO!” Sam lunged half out of bed, the light sheet tangling in his legs as he struggled to his feet.

Ellen leaped to her feet as the guttural scream shattered the quiet of the darkened room. She staggered to the side of the bed, flinging her arms around the young psychic’s shoulders as he toppled to his knees. “Sam!”

“Dean…” Sam panted, struggling blindly against the arms holding him. “No – Dean – no…” His stomach lurched, and he scrambled free of the restraining grip, choking on the acid bubbling up the back of his throat. Supporting himself on trembling arms, he heaved again and again, until there was nothing left but saliva to bring up.

“Oh, my God,” Ellen murmured, dropping to her knees beside the sick man. She reached out, and gently grasped Sam’s shoulders, drawing him back to lean against the bed. “Oh, Sam, it’s all right. It’s over, now.” I hope, she thought to herself.

Sam closed his eyes, his breath rasping in his burning throat. Something cool and soft dabbed at his sweaty face, and he leaned into the touch, the pounding in his head easing under the expert ministrations. With an effort, he opened his eyes, and peered at the slightly blurred figure kneeling beside him. “Ellen?”

Ellen smiled wanly as she dipped the washcloth into the bowl of water she had retrieved from the nightstand. She pressed it against the young hunter’s skin, mopping up the rivulets of sweat that poured down his face and neck. “It’s me.”

Sam shuddered, his fever-bright eyes searching the face of the woman next to him. “I’m not a monster, Ellen,” he whispered softly, his eyelids fluttering as he tried to stay awake. “Not a monster,” he repeated, pleading in his gaze.

“Oh, sweetie, I know – I know.” Ellen bit her lip as she reached out with her free hand to sweep the damp bangs from his face. She rested her hand against his cheek. “You just rest there, sweetie – catch your breath.”

Nodding, Sam let his head fall back against the bed, enjoying the cool touch of the washcloth against his fever-hot face. Slowly, his senses stabilised, and he blinked the sweat from his eyes as he lifted his head to scan the room. “Where – where’s Dean?”

“He…” The roadhouse owner hesitated, worry in her soft brown eyes as she tossed the sheet over the small puddle of watery vomit. “He went…”

Sam’s glassy eyes narrowed. “Went where?” he croaked. Tremors shook his tall frame as he sat up straighter, pinning the older woman with his intent gaze. “Went where, Ellen,” he demanded.

“He – went to check on that girl – the fiancée.”

“Elizabeth? Why?” Sam raked a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “Why would he…Geoff – he thinks Geoff will try for her next. Doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, he does. He wanted to stop Geoff before he killed again.” Ellen shrugged, spreading her hands out from her sides. “Dean picked up a pattern to your visions. He said that Geoff sent you two visions of him burning Dean, and then he killed someone.”

The young psychic scrubbed his shaking hands over his face, forcing back the exhaustion that threatened to pull him down. “Pattern – yeah, I can see it now.”

“So, was that vision – about Dean burning?”

Sam nodded, his tremors becoming more pronounced as the vivid details of the vision replayed themselves in his mind.

“Then he’s right.” Getting to her feet, Ellen stretched out a hand, and helped Sam to get back on the bed. She sank down beside him, clasping her hands tightly together. “So, the next vision will be him killing someone else, then. That’s what Dean went to stop. That’s why he’s gone to keep watch on Elizabeth’s apartment.”

“On his own – with no backup. Against a demon-possessed psychic.” Sam shook his head. “That stupid, stubborn jerk…” He huffed in annoyance. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Sam turned to the waiting woman. “You gotta take me there, Ellen.”

“What? Sam, that’s – I mean, look at you! You can hardly stand! How much help do you think you’ll be to your brother in your condition?”

Sam’s hazel eyes widened as he gazed at his friend. “I guess we just better pray that what little help I’ll be will be enough.”

Ellen felt a cold chill run up her spine as she looked back at the intense young hunter.

*     *     *     *    *

Elizabeth jerked awake, and lay for a moment, wondering what had pulled her from her disturbing dreams. The sound came again – a soft, insistent knocking, and she groaned softly as she threw back the covers. Sliding her feet into her slippers, she pulled a silk wrap from the chair next to the bed and threw it around her shoulders. A sense of dread filled the young redhead as she cast a glance out the window, seeing the faint glow of dawn in the eastern sky. The knocking began again, and Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat, wondering if it was the police with word of another murder.

So far she had had two such early morning visits, both from the young officer who had taken her statement on the morning after Geoff had disappeared. The last visit had been barely an hour ago. Each time the young man had brought the horrifying news to her of a former colleague of Geoff’s who had been found brutally slain, their throats cut from ear to ear. The first had been Bree Carlyle, the second a young man who was on Geoff’s bowling team, and who worked in the loans section at the bank. The authorities were investigating any links to the victims and her fiancé, voicing their concern that perhaps Geoff’s disappearance had something to do with the bank.

Pulling the wrap more tightly around her shoulders, Elizabeth unlocked the heavy wooden door. She hesitated, a sudden chill ghosting up her spine, and she drew back a little, jumping as the knocking started again. She waited in the darkened living room, her hands clenched into fists by her side, until the noise stopped, and then she cautiously peered through the peephole. Letting out a gasp of shock, Elizabeth flung the door wide, her eyes filling with tears as she surveyed the tattered human shape in the foyer. “Geoff!”

“Liz!” Geoff Simmonds stumbled into the apartment, throwing his arms around his fiancée. “Oh, God…”

“Geoff – where have you been? Are you hurt? What happened?” Elizabeth hugged her husband-to-be, biting her lip in concern as she felt the tremors wrack his body. “Geoff, come sit down.”

The young clerk let himself be guided to the couch. He sank down onto the soft, overstuffed cushions, burying his face in his grimy hands as the red haired girl sat beside him.

“Honey, what happened? I thought you were….and the murders…” Elizabeth shivered, reaching out to stroke Geoff’s hair. “Geoff?”

“Liz – oh, God – we have to – we have to get out of here.” Geoff’s eyes were wild, panicked, as he searched the apartment. “He’ll find us – we’re a target – we have to run…”

“Who’ll find us? Geoff, who will find us?”

“The guy – the guy from the bar – oh, God…” Geoff sprang to his feet and began to pace, tension knotting his limbs. “Liz – hurry – get dressed. We have to leave – we have to run – before he…” He shuddered, wiping a shaking hand across his lips as he stared into his fiancée’s horrified eyes. “He knocked me out – dragged me God knows where – held me captive – told me – told me I was bait – for this Sam Winchester guy – God – his eyes…”

Elizabeth rose to her feet, her hand pressed to her mouth in shock. “Geoff, we have to call the police…”

“No! No police! We have to run!” Geoff lunged across the tiny living room, his hands locking onto the girl’s upper arms. “You don’t understand – this guy – he’s some kinda – monster – he’s not – not human – he’ll find us – police can’t protect us – we have to get away from here, please! Liz, listen to me!”

“All right – all right!” Elizabeth stumbled to the bedroom and began to dress, cursing her shaking hands.

Geoff waited impatiently, his body quivering in agitation. “Leave everything behind. Let’s just go! We’ll pick up new stuff on the road.”

Elizabeth snatched up her purse and the car keys, her heart hammering in her chest as her fiancé’s panic overwhelmed her. Together they made their way down the stairs and around the back of the building to the garages, and the waiting car.

*     *     *     *     *

“No, he’s in the shower.” Ellen cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. “He’s determined to go.”

“Well, you can’t let him. Shoot him in the foot if you have to, but don’t you let him leave.”

“Dean, I…” Ellen cleared her throat as she pressed her cell phone closer to her ear, dropping her voice to an urgent whisper. “I can’t shoot Sam!”

“Yeah, well, I was kidding, Ellen. But you can’t let him come after Geoff – not in his condition. Lose your keys, or somethin’. Oh, and don’t let him out into the parking lot – he’s kinda good at stealing cars.”

“Another thing you taught him?” Ellen inquired wryly.

“Not me – that one he picked up on his own.”

Dean’s soft sigh at the other end of the phone covered the faint sound of the bathroom door opening. “Dean, are you sure you should…” Ellen broke off, jerking in surprise as a long-fingered hand reached over her shoulder and plucked the phone from her grasp.

“Where the hell are you!” Sam demanded, pressing the phone to his ear, his anger at his brother making him ignore the fact that he was clad only in a thin motel towel.

“Jeez, Sammy, do you have to freakin’ deafen me?”

“I’m…”

“No, you’re not. You’re gonna stay right there with Ellen until I come back, you understand me?”

“Dean…”

“I said no! That’s an order, Sam. You stay there until I report in again, okay? You’re in no shape for a fight with this guy.”

“Neither are you! This guy is dangerous, Dean. You can’t go up against him alone.”

“Who says I’m gonna face him alone? I’m just…”

“On a surveillance mission. Yeah, like I’d swallow that bullcrap story you fed Ellen. I know you, Dean. I know you’re gonna try to stop him.”

“Now look, Sam…”

“No, you…” Sam gasped, swaying as pain lanced through his skull. “Dean…” He crumpled to the floor, the phone falling from his limp fingers, caught in the blinding agony of another vision.

“Sammy? Sammy! Damn it, answer me! Sam!”

Ellen knelt by the stricken psychic and scooped the phone off the floor. “Dean – he’s having another vision.”

“Crap, crap, crap! Geoff and Elizabeth have just pulled out. Look, Ellen – keep him there. I’m gonna follow them.”

“Dean, are you sure…”

*     *     *    *    *

“Yes, I’m sure. Gotta go.” Dean flipped the phone closed, and dropped it into his pocket as the dark blue sedan pulled out of the driveway and headed down the street in the opposite direction to where he was parked. “Son of a bitch – where are you going?” He patted the dashboard of his beloved Chevy. “Oh, baby – you know I love you, but you’re not exactly built for stealth.” Turning the key in the ignition, he grimaced as the powerful V8 engine growled to life, shattering the stillness of the dawn.

*     *     *     *     *

The soft click of the call disconnecting corresponded with Sam’s soft moan as the vision ended. He slumped to the floor, toppling onto his side, as Ellen threw the phone onto Dean’s bed. She grasped the psychic’s damp shoulders, trying to pull his well built frame upright. “Damn it, don’t do this, Sam. You have to fight this.”

Sam groaned softly, his eyes fluttering open, as he pushed himself up on arms that trembled violently. He hung his head as nausea roiled in his gut, clenching his fingers against the carpet as he fought the demands of his body. Slowly, he raised his head, becoming aware of Ellen’s steadying arm across his bare shoulders, and a red flush stole across his cheeks as he realised he was not exactly decently attired. The embarrassment forced down the nausea, and Sam sat back on his heels, one hand resting on the floor for balance as he looked up at the worried woman by his side. “I’m – okay.”

Ellen blew out a sigh of relief as she helped the tall hunter to the edge of the bed. “Sam, you have to lie back down, sweetie. You’re sick. You need to rest. Dean’s okay – he’s just…”

“No, Ellen.” Sam’s fever-bright eyes burned with determination as he gazed at his friend. “You have to get me to Dean. I don’t care what it takes, but you have to get me there, as fast as you can. He’s walking into a trap.”

*     *     *     *     *

 

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