Sometimes

Written just after 'Home', AU now I guess.
Disclaimers: Not mine, which is probably just as well.
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S s S s S s

For as long as I can remember, at least, since I can remember it meant something, I have seen things. Not with my eyes, but inside, in my head. Pictures, frozen moments, that have popped into my consciousness without the slightest hint of who or what they might represent. Mostly they come singularly; sharp, colour-filled snapshots of a face or a place that I do not know and do not know if I ever will. Very occasionally images snap into focus so rapidly and in such a chaotic order that I feel as if I am trying to fathom the plot of a TV show by surfing every channel as quickly as my trigger finger will allow.

These images have always come at night, as I shift around the mattress trying to gain that quintessential comfort zone best for sleeping, and as my conscious check list of thoughts for the day slowly start to slip away and their random by-products spark and quickly die, a clear and precise image appears. The impression is usually so strong it is as if I have just been shown a newly printed photograph, always taken in ideal conditions. The light clear and bright, contrasts sharp and defined, colours deep .

Sometimes they are of places or rather buildings, but mostly they are of people, faces tilted toward me, their bodies caught in the natural pose of someone unaware of another's presence. The background is mostly indistinct, although I am usually aware of some form of context; the green of vegetation, the soft reflection of stonework.

And really, although these insights have revealed themselves to be brief previews of events in my life, they are pretty mundane excursions into the realm of the paranormal:. The apartment that we lived in just before I took off for college; a guy, who was for a brief time my best and only friend, although that's another story altogether. A woman Dad dated before hunting and Dean put an end to it.

I have never told anyone about them, not even Dean, and especially not Dad. If you asked me why, I probably couldn't give you a good solid reason. They were my secret, the one thing that was mine and mine alone, and if I'm honest I guess I knew that they were less than normal. I didn't think Dad needed anymore ammunition, that is, if he would even have listened. In all the years he dragged us back and forth across the country I never saw anything that related to hunting.

I think subconsciously I recognised the dissonance of possessing some kind of precognitive ability, yet never having it reflect my jacked-up life, surrounded by ghouls, ghosts and assorted freaky shit, but to my conscious mind the less my life had to do with the Winchester family business, the better.

Nothing ever showed itself to be allegorical, no analysis required, thank you, Dr Freud, just life's little promos of a normal, everyday event coming soon to a town near you!

Until now.

She is crouched down by the water, its surface flat, dark and calm. It reflects that dark lush green of the long grass that grows right lightly skim the surface. Her hair is short, coming just below her ears. It is shiny and sleek, but unbrushed, curling out at the end, and it is dark, almost black. She is wearing black, a sarong tied at the waist and a bra top. She has small breasts, her body is lean and sinewy and her skin is very brown, the colour of someone with olive skin who tans easily. Her bare leg and foot stretch out to balance as she leans over the water, her right leg is folded underneath her. And then she turns to look over her shoulder, her eyes are dark, flecked with gold and they are angry. Her face startles me, first ugly and then beautiful, unlike anyone I have everseen before. Her nose is broad but defined; her mouth is full, lips the colour of dark red wine and curled into a sneer. She knows I am there, watching her.

I see a figure alone in a darkened room. Light illuminates my own face and suddenly she is there, her hands reach out, slender strong fingers with long unpainted nails, white and clean. She claws at my face, ripping off the flesh in long strips. Her nails gouge at my eyes and the white of bone shows through.

My eyes fly open in the darkness of the bedroom and my body is filled with the wild pumping of my heart. I take a deep breath and another, the booming in my chest takes a little while to settle down. I close my eyes again, but the face is still there, sharp and clear, and full of fury. I can feel the anger spreading from the image in my mind, seeping down to my neck muscles, tightening them and creeping around to my chest. The tingling electricity of hot, red anger, like a virus infiltrating every cell in my body, causing them to burn as the infection takes hold. I realise I am gritting my teeth and that my arms, lying by my side are stiff and tense, my fists clenched.

Jessica stirs beside me, turning over to face me, her breath whispering across my face. My arm next to her jerks and I want to hit her. The impulse is almost overpowering, and I snap upright and out of the bed before I do something I could never imagine doing. In the kitchen I find myself leaning against the fridge, the metal cool against my burning skin, I breathe, count to four and breathe again and the feelings begin to fade.

Two days and one night of uninterrupted sleep later, Jessica finds me making notes in the back of my battered student planner.

"Something interesting," she asks.

"Nah," I lie and look up. Jessica tilts her head and wiggles her eyebrows, and I laugh, and then notice just how great she looks. "Is there some reason you're looking so damned gorgeous?"

She sighs, "Zach's party, remember, you know, music, food, fun and your favouriteā€¦beer."

I can't help but make a face, and she points a finger at me. " Up and at 'em college boy, you will have a good time, if it kills me".

Sometimes she reminds me of Dean.

I'm near the bottom of my third beer when I see her. Jessica has disappeared into the noisy crowd and I'm holed up in the corner concentrating on achieving the perfect beer buzz. I glance across the room and there standing in the doorway is a tall, slender woman with short dark hair and dark, dark eyes. She is looking directly at me and smiles, her teeth are small, white and perfect. A cold twisting feeling clutches at my stomach and for the first time in years I am afraid.

"Hey handsome." Jessica suddenly appears next to me, I turn to her and I am not surprised to look back at the doorway and find it empty.

I drift off to sleep easily, Jessica, warm and soft, pressing up against my back.

And then there is fire and blood, and Jessica.

I have these nightmares, and sometimes, they come true.