Part 4: Caught in the Act

Sam's mouth hung open as he stared after the retreating waitress. "Holy crap, where'd she come from?" he gawked.

"The kitchen, dipstick," said Dean. He ignored any retaliation from Sam and nodded towards Sasha, "This is a good thing, right?"

Smiling, Sasha patted the spot where the scanner was hidden inside his coat. "She's our gal. I'd call it a good thing. She's still here, for one. Which means our incubus, or whatever it is, should show up about the time she gets off."

"She's bringing our check," Sam pointed out, "We can't exactly stick around another four or more hours waiting for her shift to end."

Sasha and Dean turned to Sam simultaneously, eerily enough that their like-minds had to be working on the same wavelength. A scary thought, since Dean having a willing accomplice in anything could only lead to trouble. Except in his own mind.

And, of course, it was Dean who finally worded what he and Sasha were thinking aloud. "Dessert and a couple more rounds, boys? The night's still young." Dean's grin was positively devious. The waitress was going to hate them by the end of the night, but if all went well, she'd still be breathing in the morning.

Mentally, Dean reminded himself to have Sam leave her a generous tip.

Close to ten PM, it was official that if the boys ordered anymore food from the kitchen, it would not reach their table unsullied. Sam didn't seem to trust the drinks brought to them anymore either, so he nursed a beer while trying desperately to burrow inside himself and disappear.

Dean didn't get what the problem was. It wasn't as if he and Sasha were being rowdy or attracting attention from other patrons. Although, Dean did have to admit that by the looks of things all of the waiters and waitresses had clearly been told about the table that just wouldn't leave. He could feel annoyed eyes on them every time someone walked by.

Nevertheless, Dean would not be deterred, and Sasha was in it with him. Carrying on like old friends—and with how well they got along and after being on the hunt for a week, they were getting pretty close to feeling that way for real—he and Sasha continued their merriment.

Their waitress—Carol, they had discovered—was friendly by nature, but had all but lost her patience. She wasn't polite to Dean or Sasha at all anymore, and Sam she only tolerated because he kept whispering apologies to distance himself from the others. Dean figured the only reason she hadn't kicked them out yet was because they were three good-looking guys who weren't causing any real trouble.

While Sam opted out of the 'get information from Carol' game, Dean and Sasha were immersed. Dean had already tried several times to find out when she got off, but she would always shy away from the question. After the third time, she finally said, "Look, I don't think that's any of your business," and stormed off.

Sasha chuckled, giving Dean a good-natured smack on the back. "Subtlety, Dean," he said, as if talking to an adolescent about the art of wooing, "I managed to get her age, how long she's worked here, and the cryptic answer of 'maybe' to whether or not she's seeing someone right now. Better than nothing. What have you got?"

"Three cases of being denied and a dirty look?" Sam offered.

"Ha. Ha." Dean said, swirling the remains of beer at the bottom of his bottle. He thought he had done fairly well. He had been the one to get her name, after all, since the wait staff here didn't wear nametags and she hadn't offered it automatically.

"I'm getting anxious," Sam said. Carol hadn't come out of the kitchen in several minutes. "We haven't really seen her talking to anyone. Other than us. If the incubus is already here, he's well hidden. And if he's waiting for her somewhere, we can't afford to lose track of her."

"Then there's the thought it's not an incubus," Dean supplied, just to be the bearer of bad news. He caught Sasha and his brother's stares and laughed. "Come on, you really think it's something else? Still?" the question was clearly meant more for Sasha. "Every sign says 'sex vampire' and you doubt. What else has an MO like this?"

Sasha's face fell, his expression becoming as serious as Sam's. "I don't know," he admitted, "That why I called you here, remember? Five days of this hunting and finally we have our victim. The most we can hope for is that we don't lose her and that whatever weapons we bring for an incubus also work on something else if we're wrong."

The table turned quiet. They had been at this for hours, days really, and they were tired. They itched for action, but no matter what direction they looked, they found nothing. The fact that they had sights on the potential victim was the only grace they had been granted.

Their waitress returned from the kitchen and they began to feel a bit better about things. For about three seconds. The waitress—and not their waitress they realized with sudden dread—slammed a check down onto the table.

"Carol may be a pushover, but I am not. Your check, gentlemen. Please pay and leave. There are other customers in existence and you have worn out your welcome." Her smile was ice cold; she clearly handled situations like this often.

Dean couldn't possibly accept being dismissed like this. He flashed his best flirty smile. "Don't tell me we scared her away," he said, thinking quickly for something to get their real waitress back out here, "She's not hiding in the kitchen, is she? Coz we'll gladly apologize for taking so much time and be on our way."

The new waitress did not look pacified. She was attractive, but had that ash blonde hair that every Minnesotan seemed to have.

It must be the Viking in them, Dean thought with a mental grin.

"No, she's not in the back, so you can keep your apologies to yourself," the waitress said, "Carol's off and rid of you. Lucky her. Now move it." And with that she left, assuming they would pay and be gone just as she instructed.

They did not immediately do anything, actually. They just sat there staring at each other stupidly. They couldn't have heard right. "She's…off?" Sam repeated.

"She's gone," said Sasha, stressing the important part of this discovery.

But in the end, it was Dean who summed up the situation perfectly. "Shit."

The next minute they had paid their bill and were outside the restaurant looking down Nicollet Avenue for signs of Carol.

After ten unsuccessful minutes, they gave up. She could have left another ten minutes or more before they even started looking. Wherever she was, she was no longer where they could pick up her trail.

"Great. Now what?" Dean growled. He had lost all patience for tonight. They hadn't even been able to have fun for real during their four hours at the restaurant because they had to keep their minds and eyes on Carol. Now, after all of that, they had lost her. "We'll never find her now. We don't know where she lives. It could be Minneapolis, or one of the million and one suburbs. We don't even have a starting point."

"I wouldn't say that," Sasha said, and by the looks of his growing smirk, he had a plan, "Give me five minutes," he said, and dashed back into the restaurant.

Sam and Dean stared after him, then at each other.

They had grown used to Sasha's sense of spontaneity, but while Dean enjoyed it and took this as a sign to relax, Sam still looked worried.

"We don't have time. We have to find her," he said. He looked about ready to punch something. He was pacing up and down the sidewalk while they waited for Sasha to come back. It was a complete turn around from the serious and annoyed look he had maintained throughout their hours at the restaurant.

It wasn't hard for Dean to guess why Sam was suddenly so on edge. He knew the words Sam would speak even before he heard them.

"This is just what I was saying before, Dean," Sam said, and Dean knew to think of that night when Ellen first called about Sasha's letter, "We keep screwing up, and it keeps costing someone their lives. Even three of us couldn't get things right tonight. Damn it!" Sam kicked the side of the bus stop shelter, hard enough that Dean felt it in his toes and grimaced.

"Sammy…"

"No! Don't 'Sammy' me, Dean! Don't treat me like a kid!"

Sam was livid, his face hot and eyes wild with the anger that had built up within him since they realized they had lost the victim. Dean would never say it, but seeing Sam like this was just plain scary.

Pacing with clenched fists now, Sam's eyes shimmered unnaturally, never once holding focus as he spoke, "Just don't, Dean, okay," he said, "Don't act all concerned and say 'We can't save everyone, Sammy, we just do what we can, it'll be okay'."

Dean felt the explosion coming, felt electricity in the air that wasn't normal, couldn't be normal.

"God damn it, Dean, you know that isn't true!" Sam cried, "It's never true! It'll never be okay!" And like a whirlwind of power the shockwave struck. Sam hadn't meant to unleash anything, Dean knew that, and certainly not anything like this. But Sam's body was the source and it shook the air around them.

Dean felt as though he had been punched in the gut. He looked up and saw Sam standing very still. He had been facing away from Dean with that final shout, and he still was, staring down the street at what his powers had done. Every street sign and lamp post as far as they could see down Nicollet Avenue was bent over at a 90 degree angle. Even the little trees planted in front of the hotel next door were bent. It was lucky no one was on the sidewalk on their block, so even though several people looked perplexed a few blocks down, they couldn't know to blame the phenomenon on Sam.

Only once before had Sam shown the ability to move things with his mind, and even then it had been nothing like this. That was just moving something a few inches to let him out of a closet. This was…frightening.

Sam started to back-peddle, too fast to keep on his feet. But Dean was ready for him, and when Sam stumbled Dean was there to catch his brother before he could fall. "It's okay, Sammy," Dean wanted to say, but he couldn't, not when Sam no longer believed those words. So instead, Dean helped Sam steady his footing and let his hold linger. It was an awkward backwards hug but Sam needed it. Sam needed to know Dean wasn't afraid. It was a good thing the hug was backwards because otherwise Sam would be able to see just how scared Dean really was.

"If we can't save everyone…how can we save each other?" Sam's words were so soft, Dean was certain he hadn't meant for them to be heard. Dean wouldn't have needed to hear them anyway; he always knew Sam's fretting over innocent victims came from more than just his Boy Scout nature. There were selfish reasons too.

Dean started to let Sam go, but kept contact with his hands on Sam's shoulders as he turned his brother around to face him. Dean had bolstered himself now. He was bold and he knew he looked it. He couldn't show Sam fear. "We can try, Sammy," he said, "All we can do is try. If that's not enough then we shouldn't be doing this at all."

A shadow crossed Sam's face, but his eyes were pained in their usual way, not shimmering like they had been moments before. "I know. Of course I know. I just…I don't want to be wrong again, Dean. I don't want to be…the reason again."

The stress of those words made Dean feel like he had been punched in the gut a second time. It was all because of him that Sam felt this way. The deaths of other people played their part—Mom, Jess, Dad, even Max and Andy—but the pain now was all for Dean.

What's dead should stay dead. But as much as Dean believed that he couldn't let his brother leave him. He was too afraid to be alone. At least in Hell he knew there would be plenty of company. A morbid part of him almost wished Dad would still be there.

"Umm…I got her address."

Sam and Dean turned their heads towards the entrance of the restaurant where Sasha now stood. He had a piece of paper in his hand and looked as guilty as if he had just walked in on a lover's quarrel. His eyes drifted over the brothers' heads to stare down the street at the bent over signs.

"Did I miss something?" he said.

There was no way to be sure how long Sasha had been standing there. Dean decided the best solution to the night's awkwardness and missteps would not be to tell the truth. Therefore, he said, "Not really. Must have been the wind."

Sam snorted but didn't contradict Dean's assessment.

They waited for Sasha's reaction. He had said before that he wouldn't pressure Sam into telling him about the abilities traveling the hunter rumor mill. Seeing them in action though would make it difficult not to be curious.

Naturally, both brothers were beyond pleased when Sasha finally replied with, "Oh. Figures. The protection from these buildings is nothing compared to trees. Happens all the time." And with that he smiled at Sam and Dean in turn and held up the piece of paper. "We better get a move on, huh?"

It didn't need to be said again, and no explanation was required. A minute later all three hunters were in the Impala on their way to Brooklyn Park.

When the Impala pulled up to the building on the address, the boys could not believe their luck. The victim, Carol, was standing outside the building talking to a man. Dean thought for sure they had found their incubus and said as much to the others. But Sasha looked wary, and in fact the man eventually left and Carol went inside the building. Nothing romantic seemed to exist between the two and now the man was gone, leaving Carol safe and alone. It didn't make sense.

Was the incubus already in her apartment waiting? Did he live in the building? It wasn't impossible for an incubus to shun a marked victim after a time if they found someone better, but the watching hunters couldn't afford to second guess the situation. They resolved to stake the apartment out, waiting out front in the Impala while one of them watched the back of the building on foot. They couldn't see much of her apartment from outside, but with what they could see through the window there didn't seem to be anyone in the apartment when Carol entered.

Dean took his turn at the back of the building first, sure that the incubus would show himself any minute. After an hour, he returned to the car empty-handed and found that his partners also had nothing. Sam switched out and Dean took his usual spot in the driver's seat. Sasha sat beside him. All of them had cell phones in case something happened, but the night was so quiet they were afraid to admit the incubus might have changed victims earlier in the week and they had followed the wrong girl.

"I just don't think so," Sasha said, a few minutes after Sam had left, "The mark on her was too strong, like he must have seen her today. He'd be changing his pattern if he didn't hunt this week. It's not that it isn't possible…"

"Just that it isn't very helpful for us," Dean finished.

Sasha didn't need to respond.

They sat. Waited. Nothing. Sam's time around back was half over before Dean realized he and Sasha were sitting there alone, not talking, and he was feeling very awkward about it. Dean didn't like silence on principle. It's why he prided himself so much on his collection of classic rock. Sam was the one who spent quiet afternoons reading. Dean needed noise.

It proved to Dean how good of hunter Sasha really was for all his charismatic openness, because he was being so serious, so focused right now. Dean didn't think he was ever like that, so he kind of envied it in Sasha. He envied a lot of things about the man actually, in a way that was starting to creep Dean out. He needed distraction.

"Who'd win in a fair fight, Optimus Prime or Captain America?" Dean asked suddenly. It was one of his favorite ice breakers.

"What?"

Dean looked over at Sasha and saw that the expression on his new friend's face was as amused as his tone implied. "Humor me," Dean said.

Sasha laughed, and after a few moments of mulling the question over said, "Trick question. Their goals and personalities are too similar. They'd be friends before someone could throw the first punch."

Dean gave a pleased smile; no one had ever given that answer before, but it was always the one he hoped to hear. He completely agreed.

Then Sasha added, "But if the cosmos was turned upside down and they did fight…"

Dean listened intently.

"…Captain America. Size is no obstacle. He's taken down Giant-Man. I think he can handle a giant mech."

Now it was Dean's turn to laugh. All their merry-making at the restaurant had been acted, pushed, but this, finally, was real. They had been tense all night. Dean was happy to have it soothed, even if the hunt was far from over.

"My turn," Sasha said then, "Better kisser, Jean Grey or Rogue from X-men?"

"Now that's a trick question," Dean replied, "What do you take me for here?"

Sasha grinned. "Still gotta answer," he said.

Oh, Dean knew the answer to this one, if his adolescent fantasies counted for anything. And he liked to think they did. "Easy," he said, "Rogue. It'd hurt like hell, but damn, it'd be worth it."

They both laughed at that. Just as Dean had been pleased with Sasha's answer, Sasha seemed very pleased with Dean's. "Couldn't agree more," he said, "But the questions get tougher. Better in the sack, DC this time."

Dean already knew the answer if they were talking DC, regardless of which femme fatales were named. No one could hold a candle to Wonder Woman. Except maybe Catwoman, Dean thought, and especially if it was the Michelle Pfeiffer version with the—

"Flash or Green Lantern?"

Dean's daydreaming came to a screeching halt. For a minute there he had forgotten who he was dealing with. He looked at Sasha in a way that clearly said, "Right. Thanks for playing but…no thanks."

"What?" Sasha asked, so faux innocently that his smile had to hurt, "Not enough personal experience for you to make a sound judgment?"

That same uncomfortable laugh Dean had discovered lately came out again, just like it had that time in the Gay 90s with the bartender, and every time Sasha pulled one of these stunts. Dean knew the other man was joking, but that didn't help the flutters in his stomach. "Do you ever let up?" he asked finally.

Sasha's blinding smile gave a slight twitch. "Only when I'm not serious," he said.

There was a knock on the window and Dean jumped so high in his seat that he almost hit his head on the ceiling of the Impala.

Sam, back from his turn on foot, had returned early. Dean decided it was a good thing. A very good thing. He rolled down the window.

"Dude, what's up? You have fifteen minutes left," Dean said, not wanting to sound as relieved as he was to no longer be alone with Sasha. He would swear he could feel those blue eyes burning little ovals into the back of his head, but he was not about to turn around and look at them.

"It's a dead end, Dean. No one's coming. I think she went to bed," Sam said, glancing back over his shoulder at Carol's window, which was now dark, "He must have switched victim's. We're wasting our time."

"No," Sasha countered, completely reverted back to his serious and focused hunter side, which Dean was grateful for, "Let's not give up yet. At least let me take my turn. I don't want to be wrong about this. Half hour. Then if we still have nothing, we can come up with a plan B."

Sam and Dean all but grumbled. There was no plan B, other than pray some other girl in some other suburb didn't die tonight so they could start all over again with their random scouting of downtown businesses and find the real victim. Needle in a haystack was an understatement.

Still, the brothers didn't want to give up anymore than Sasha did, and a few minutes later the switch had been made—Sam and Dean in the Impala, and Sasha around the back of the building.

"I hope he's right," Sam said, after a few minutes of disgruntled silence.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. He couldn't stomach the thought of another week like this one. If they missed the incubus tonight, though, that is exactly what they would have to do. The worst thought of course was that the incubus had moved on, and all of Sasha's—and now their—hunting was for nothing.

Minutes passed. They couldn't see Sasha, of course. They couldn't see much of anything. With all the quiet and inaction, Dean's thoughts began to stray, and he hated where they strayed to.

Only when I'm not serious. Just what the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Dean? Are you okay?"

Great. Dean didn't have to look at Sam to know the 'I'm here for you' look had taken over his brother once again. And there was nothing Dean hated more than when that look was directed at him. "I'm fine," he said, pointedly looking towards Carol's window with great interest. As if you could have great interest in shadows and curtains.

"Dean, come on," Sam pressed, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Dean snapped, which of course could only lead to Sam being more concerned.

"Dean…"

Oh for crying out loud. "It's nothing, okay?" Dean said, and he said it with such finality that he could only blame himself when he brought it up again a couple minutes later. "It's just…Sasha. I mean…he's only messing with me, right?"

The moment of silence on Sam's end clearly meant he not only understood what was bothering Dean now, but that he was thinking over how best to use this to his advantage. Bastard. How quickly the 'I'm here for you' look gave way to devious plotting.

Not that Dean wouldn't have done the same. Still though. Dean braced himself for the worst.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam said, "He's just messing with you." The laughter in Sam's voice made Dean twitch. "Why? Has he…done anything lately that might make you think otherwise?"

Dean wondered how he would explain the dent in his brother's nose to Sasha, though it would probably still be worth it.

Sam laughed to himself for awhile, but being the peacemaker, and seeing just how tightly Dean was gripping the steering wheel, he smartly changed his tone. "He's just messing with you, Dean," Sam said again, this time sounding genuine, "Come on, you know that. It's just…the way he is. He's a career flirt. Kind of like you…" Sam added with a smile.

Like Dean. That was true. But Dean never flirted with guys, even if it was to help on a case. And then there was Sam. "If you're right," Dean asked, and this was the question he really wanted an answer to, "Then why does he only mess like that with me…and not you?"

Really, Dean should have expected the inevitable reply. "Because you're an easier target," Sam said.

Nice.

"Come on, Dean, it's an act. Because he knows he's getting to you. You can relax."

And since this time Sam sounded completely certain, Dean started to believe it. What better way to make Dean think Sasha was serious than to say he was serious? It didn't mean it wasn't all part of the joke. Dean felt very foolish about the whole thing and promptly returned his attentions to watching the apartment building.

"Of course," Sam said after a while, "There always is that chance…"

Fratricide was starting to sound very appealing. Sam was lucky Dean considered it a waste to kill the person he had sold his soul for, or he might have had a lot more than a bent nose to explain to Sasha.

Once the snickering from Sam's side of the car died down and the two had returned to actually staking out again, they were immediately reminded of just how pointless all of this was. It didn't seem like the incubus was ever going to show.

Then, when they had all but given up, Sam suddenly said, "Dean, did you see that?" He was staring up at Carol's window.

Excited at the prospect of something happening, Dean scanned the window for signs of movement. He found nothing. "Looks like it has for the past two hours, Sam. You're just tired," he said.

"No, Dean, I saw something. I'm sure of it."

Dean sighed. "She probably just got up to go to the bathroom," he grumbled.

"Dean."

There was no reasoning with Sam when he was this adamant. "Fine, I'll call Sasha," Dean said, already pulling out his cell and dialing Sasha's number. He lifted the receiver to his ear and waited for an answer. "Ten to one it's nothing and my psychic freak of a brother is just seeing things," he mumbled to himself.

Sam heard, but didn't respond. He was too busy waiting on baited breath for Sasha to pick up and confirm that something was finally happening.

But Dean was still sitting there with the phone at his ear. After a while Dean looked at Sam and was no longer dismissive.

"Dean…?" Sam said, already knowing what his brother was going to say.

"No answer."

They were at the door to the building the next second, Dean with a shotgun filled with iron bullets, and Sam carrying an iron-bladed knife. It was always better to have longer and shorter ranged weapons in case of any number of possible scenarios. Being prepared like that, however, did not make either of them feel better about the situation.

There was no way to know how long Sasha had been out of communication. He was not behind the building where he should be, which could mean anything. Maybe he went up on his own. Maybe the incubus knew he was there and attacked before heading to the apartment himself. They didn't have an answer. And so they went, straight up to Carol's apartment, which was not easy to find when they hadn't had the chance to scope out the building before, and the inside of a building was never the same as you imagined it from the outside.

Finally, the brothers came to the apartment number they knew belonged to Carol. Sam pressed his ear to the door. He shook his head. No sound. Dean reached down and tried the knob. Unlocked. Never a good sign.

Just as they had with the apartment of the last victim, Dean pushed the door open and they waited, peering inside to see if their enemy was lying in wait. It was too dark to be sure if it was safe, but they were not in the mood to be overly cautious.

Sam entered first, determined to find the victim. Dean covered him from behind, watching for the incubus or signs of Sasha. They were hunting blind, but they had to push on. Sam turned for the bedroom and Dean followed.

It was easy enough to reach the bedroom door, alert as they were to any sound of approaching danger. When Sam saw how the door lay only slightly ajar, he looked back at Dean and both of them felt their stomach's turn. Sam pushed the door open and almost fell to his knees.

"No…" he gasped, staring at the still naked body on the bed, eyes glazed over and open, "We were right here. We were right…here." He could have been crying, but sounded too angry for there to be any real tears.

Dean put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Sammy…"

There was a crash from somewhere in the apartment. Déjà vu, thought Dean, but at least this time Sam was with him. That didn't last long though, because Sam was determined to take point on this one. He had to catch the incubus now. He had to. He pushed past Dean to head back into the hallway.

"Sammy," Dean whispered more harshly, but Sam wasn't listening. All Dean could do was follow.

Their eyes hadn't had time to adjust, so they moved through the apartment constantly squinting, trying to see but not daring to turn on a light and alert the enemy to their position.

They were almost back to the living room when they heard shuffling on the other side of the wall. Sam came to a quick stop, holding Dean behind him. Dean hated that. He was the one who was supposed to be protecting, but he also understood how personal this had become for Sam. He let Sam take the lead, his heart pounding the way it always did when the unknown was right in front of them. Usually, he loved it, loved everything about the thrill of being on a hunt, but something wasn't right.

Dean knew Sam could feel it too, but Sam wanted to go on ahead, needed to, and wasn't about to listen to reason. They readied themselves, focused on the shuffling that had to be the perpetrator, and when Sam was ready, he burst around the corner and stabbed his knife into the figure he found.

At first Dean couldn't see. Sam was right in front of the figure and taller, enough that he covered him up from Dean's point of view. But when Dean came around to stand beside the pair, he realized why Sam had stabbed and then suddenly froze.

"Oh, God," Sam was saying, horrified that he had been so careless, "Sasha…"

Dean just stared. He couldn't believe how stupid they both were. Déjà vu for real, only this was far worse than pointing their guns at each other.

Watching as Sam pulled the knife free, Dean stared at the unfair blade, but then, seeing the small amount of blood amounting to barely an inch of penetration by the knife, Dean realized it was all going to be okay.

"Just a flesh wound," he said, stepping closer, "Barely even worth stitches. You'll be fine…right?" It was hard to see Sasha's face in the dark, but Dean's eyes were finally starting to adjust.

Sasha was shaking. Had something else happened to him, or was he still in shock from Sam's mistake? The wound couldn't be that bad.

As for Sam, he was just standing there, the knife still held out, as if keeping it ready to stab again. Dean didn't like it. What was wrong with the two of them?

"Hey, it's all okay," Dean tried to say, searching both of their faces, "No big deal. It's not like an iron knife does any extra damage to humans, right?"

Sasha grimaced. He was shaking even harder now and looked about ready to crumble to the ground. But why? Dean didn't understand.

It was Sam who knew, Sam who understood from the minute he found Sasha in the dark. He still could only stare, but finally, pained as he was to say it, he spoke, "No, iron wouldn't hurt a human. But then…" He reached out with his free hand, knowing Sasha would not, maybe could not try to stop him, and lifted Sasha's shirt to reveal the wound.

It was small, just a little cut above his navel, barely even bleeding. But what Dean saw and couldn't believe was the strange blue veins spreading outwards from the cut like a virus, like poison.

Dean barely heard Sam speak, but now he knew too, he knew why Sasha was shaking and why déjà vu hadn't been a coincidence. "You're not human," Sam was saying, dead-panned and serious, "Are you?"

tbc...