Disclaimer: I own nothing involved with Supernatural, this story is done purely for my own enjoyment and that of the readers.
Summary: Sam is having visions of an eighteen-year-old psychic, who was murdered by a demon and Sam is the creature's next target.
A/N: Here's my next idea, hope you all enjoy it!
It hurt to breathe. With every gasp, he felt his heart stagger in his chest, unsure if it wanted to continue or not. He couldn't move. He was paralyzed and helpless. Slowly, painfully, his life was abandoning him and leaving him to fend for himself, something that he couldn't do. For him, fighting was not an option. The man holding him smiled through near-white eyes, pricked with a distant, green pupil. Chalk coloured skin covered his face and the smile pulled it tight against sharp cheekbones.
The boy screamed. With his able mind, he reached for help. He searched the darkness for one that would listen. He brushed against another like him, not the same, but similar. Similar was all that he needed. He grabbed the misty fabric of the other's mind and pulled, alerting the person of what was happening. He showed pictures of the thing that had him pinned, and warned of the danger that it presented. His life was nearly gone and he was standing, broken, only with the aid of the thing that had him. He held the other's mind tightly, but his grasp was slowly failing. The man holding him sensed the other and smiled maliciously. He let the boy go and smirked as he fell with a lifeless thud to the hardwood floor.
The thing's eyes shifted to pale grey and the pupils darkened to black. Fair colouring seeped back into his face and he looked human again. The fabric of the other's mind was ghosting away. He snatched it back and memorized the pattern before releasing it. This one knew all about him, he'd been told by the dead one on the floor, he couldn't let him get out alive. Identity was a secret, and he wanted it kept as such.
Sam snapped from sleep with a shout and his head pounded in tune with the music Dean had in the Impala's player. What had he just experienced? It had been like a vision, but there was definitely something different about it. He'd seen little more than quick flashes of a demon and a murder. The demon had changed; the victim had fallen dead at its feet. Still, there was something else, kind of like the victim had been reaching to him for help, but Sam knew that it was already too late. He could feel it.
The car was idling in the parking lot of a motel and Dean was nowhere to be seen. Sam's eyes scanned the dimly lit grounds and rested on the front window to the motel office. Behind it, Dean was leaning over the front counter, flirting with a pretty redhead who was dangling a room key teasingly in front of Dean's face.
The youngest brother distractedly turned the radio off and leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. He carefully massaged his temples to banish the pain that rested there and hoped Dean would cease flirting and get the key so he could take some pain-killers and wait out the headache in bed. His hopes were answered when Dean playfully snatched the key from the woman's fingers and left the office with a satisfied smile lying against his lips.
The older brother crossed the parking lot and as he walked around to the driver's side, he wrapped on the passenger side window. That smile was still pasted to his face. Sam groaned. He wasn't ready for the positive aspect of Dean's mood at the moment. He just wanted to go to bed and sleep off the pain that hadn't yet subsided.
"Sammy! It's about time you woke up. You've been asleep for the better part of five hours. The silence was driving me nuts!" Dean shouted through the window. Sam grimaced at the level of his voice, but Dean had already started around to the driver's side door.
He ducked inside and held the key up. "Room thirteen. How weird is that?" Dean questioned with a tone of amusement in his voice.
Sam didn't answer; he seemed to be staring into the dim parking lot and not paying much attention. Dean reached over and punched his brother lightly on the arm.
"Sam? You okay?" Dean questioned.
"Headache." Sam answered.
"Vision headache, or regular headache?"
"Vision, but more like a dream."
"You wanna talk about it?" Dean asked curiously, his smile had fallen from his lips and now nothing, but concern rested there.
"It was more or less just flashes. There was something about a demon and a killing. I think."
"Sammy, if I've learned anything about your flashes, it's to not take them lightly. Do you feel like it's something we should check out?"
"Even if it is, it's already too late."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I just know, alright?" Sam asked, slightly snapping, and then regretting it.
Dean didn't seem to notice. His face remained concerned, not even flickering to portray hurt or anger. He was just worried. He turned around and grabbed a shopping bag from the back.
"Here, I got this for you at the last stop." Dean handed Sam a bottle of water.
"Thanks." Sam replied. His voice was softer and gentler than previously. He snapped the top and raised the bottle to his lips.
"You wanna turn in for the night?" Dean asked, noting the paleness of Sam's face. The younger nodded and replaced the cover back on the bottle.
Dean started the Impala, drove around to the back of the motel, and pulled into the parking space in front of the window of room thirteen. He handed the key to Sam.
"Go on in, I'll get the bags." The eldest Winchester said simply. Sam didn't argue. He slowly got out of the car and made his way to the door.
After a few seconds of fumbling with the lock, the knob turned with a click and the smell of motel room hit him in the face. He searched the side of the wall for the light switch and illuminated the room in yellow light that came from two spots overhead. Sam tossed the key down on the small table next to the window and draped his jacket over one of the chairs before making his way to the back of the room where the bathroom was.
A sink was in a small alcove and against a wall outside the bathroom itself and a closet was on the other side. He turned the water on and splashed some of the cold liquid onto his face. It beaded down his cheeks and he brought his head up to look at his pale reflection in the mirror. He pulled a towel off of the counter top beside him and pressed it against his skin. When he lowered it, the mirror reflection had changed.
Now, aside from himself, the mirror reflected two others, a young man pinned against the wall by another man. Sam looked behind him, but saw nothing of the sort. He blinked, but the image didn't go away. The younger man in the reflection was struggling against the other, trying to free himself from his captor. Neither man seemed to notice Sam. The youngest brother watched as the man holding the other slowly transformed into something not quite human, but close enough to be confused.
The man's skin paled to match the white tone of a dead man, and from what Sam could see, his eyes were nearly absent of all colour except for a single prick of green in the centre of each. It felt as though he was standing right in front of the man, yet he was at least five feet away. He saw the man's face, a malicious mask of satisfaction, and he saw the glistening tone the skin took on, as though the face was covered in a thin sheen of glitter. It might have been pretty, if the man wasn't trying to kill him. Wait, no. Not him, the other one, the one he was watching die from a distance.
The pinned man slumped into the hands that held him upright and Sam felt the life draining away from him, as though he were the one dying. He staggered into the countertop in front of him and braced himself against it, while still staring at the scene in the mirror. Blinding pain erupted inside Sam's skull and his face flushed with pain. His vision fuzzed as though he were going to pass out and he saw flashes of the pale man staring at him with those green-pricked eyes. He brought a shaking hand up to brush across his eyes and heard a single, whispered word buzz in his ear as though it was directly beside him.
"Help." The voice was unfamiliar, but Sam knew it was that of the young man being killed.
That man dropped to the floor and Sam's knees nearly gave out beneath him. The only thing holding him upright was the countertop in front of him. He raised his head to the mirror and saw the pale faced man staring at him. The man's appearance changed and his eyes darkened to pale grey, with normal, black pupils. The skin tone darkened to a fleshy pink and he walked towards Sam. The man passed the mirror and cast a look into it, smiling maliciously. Then he was gone, and Sam was left looking at the young man on the floor.
There was a shattering crack and the dead man's face appeared in the mirror, not a foot away. The only thing reflecting on the man's face was pain, and another crack followed sending sharp pain blooming behind Sam's temples. The younger brother staggered back with a shout, but felt hands catch him. He looked back to the mirror and saw that it had returned to normal and the only reflection there was that of Sam being supported from behind by an alarmed Dean, who's expression showed fear over the younger's safety.