Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
"FBI agents Green and Brown, ma'am. We'd like to ask you a few questions concerning your husband, if you don't mind." Dean flashed her his badge, and his most winning smile. Nice, he thought. He wouldn't mind trying her on for size. He stepped through the door, feeling Sam's glare on the back of his neck.
Mrs Hadley – Theresa, as she had insisted on them calling her, lead them through to the kitchen.
"I don't understand," she said, "I answered all these questions already, to the other agent. Why have they sent you instead?"
Dean winced. He'd been hoping they had got in early. He smiled again. "The department's been having a little trouble with him lately... he suffered an unfortunate mishap recently, and hasn't been quite right since. " He broke off as Sam caught his eye. It was the 'stop talking right now' look.
"I'm sorry, we just need you to answer a few more questions." Sam was all business. He lead her over to the table, and sat her down. Dean wandered around the room, unobtrusively inspecting for signs of sulphur. Yes, there it was. Thick yellow powder coating the windowsill. This was their spirit alright.
Dean was just turning to give Sammy the sign, when he heard the familiar moan of pain that signalled a vision was coming. He had to get Sam out fast. "Thank you, that's all we need for now," he told Theresa pleasantly, interrupting a long and tearful account of her last conversation with her husband. He went over to Sam, to get him out before she suspected anything, but it was too late.
The vision rushed upon Sam, hitting him like a truck. It was bright, and vivid, and his whole body was wracked with pain more intense than anything he had ever felt. He clasped his head in his hands, and bent over the table.
Dean reached him, took his arm, tried to drag him away, but Sam could not move. And then he started screaming.
Theresa was feeling a bit hysterical. One minute, the FBI agent had been asking all these questions, weird ones about her husband's dreams, and looking at her with such concern she couldn't help telling him everything, and the next he was clutching his head and screaming. The other FBI guy, who to be honest, had seemed a little sleazy, hadn't seemed worried at first, but now he was almost crying, going "Sam! Sammy! Come on man, wake up Sam..." He tried to get the screaming agent up, but Sam collapsed on the floor. Then Theresa saw that his eyes were open, despite his face contorting in pain, and he looked absolutely terrified. Theresa really started to freak out then.
"Don't just stand there you stupid bitch! Call an ambulance!" Dean shouted. Sammy was still screaming. It had been at least five minutes. His visions never lasted this long, and now Sam was rolling on the floor, curled up and holding his head. "Sammy, it's OK, help is coming. We're going to get you to the hospital. You're gonna be fine," Dean told his brother, more for his own benefit than Sam's, because it didn't seem like Sam could hear him. He stroked his brother's hair and waited.
The ambulance took ages to come, and Sammy didn't stop screaming even as the paramedics came through the door. They pushed Dean out of the way, and gave Sam some kind of shot. Sam went limp, but his eyes did not close, and the scary vision look remained. He moaned. The paramedics loaded him onto a stretcher and took him out to the ambulance.
"Who's riding with him?" One of them asked, gruffly, looking at Theresa. They seemed to think she was Sam's girlfriend. Dean pushed past her.
"Me. Just hurry up."