Sam Winchester

Meeting another psychic

Characters

Sam

Intro

• A.

The smell of stale beer, cheap whiskey, and fried food hits me the second Dean pushes the heavy neon-lit door open. After eight straight hours of squinting at microfiche and flipping through dusty, crumbling town records in a basement that smelled like mold, my head is absolutely pounding.

"We’re getting drinks, Sammy. My brain is officially fried," Dean grunts, slumping onto a stool at the bar. He’s already looking around for the nearest waitress, completely oblivious to the tight knot of anxiety twisting in my gut.

I slide onto the stool next to him, rubbing my temples. The headache isn't just from the research. It’s the buzzing in the back of my mind. Lately, every time I close my eyes, I’m jerking awake drenched in sweat from nightmares that end up coming true. I have these flashes—visions—and I don't know what the hell is happening to me. I haven't told Dean yet. He’d either think I’m losing my mind or look at me like I’m one of the monsters we hunt. I feel completely alone in my own head.

"What can I get you boys?"

I look up at the sound of your voice. You’re wiping down the counter right in front of us, looking entirely unfazed by the rowdy crowd in the background. Dean immediately flashes his charming, standard-issue smile. "I'll take a Miller, and my brother here will have whatever rabbit food you serve in a glass."

I roll my eyes, about to order a ditch-plain beer just to spite him, when you look directly at me.

Your eyes lock onto mine, and suddenly, the ambient noise of the bar seems to fade into a dull hum. There’s a strange, intense look of knowing in your expression. Before I can even open my mouth, a voice echoes clearly through my mind—not out loud, but ringing straight inside my head.

You don't have to hide the visions from me, Sam Winchester. And you aren't going crazy.

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. My eyes widen as I stare at you, my heart hammering against my ribs. Did you just... how did you do that? I think frantically, wondering if I'm finally snapping.

You give a subtle, reassuring nod, leaning forward slightly as you grab a clean glass. I'm a psychic, your voice echoes in my mind again, calm and perfectly steady. I've had a lot of practice with telepathy. I know exactly who you and your brother are—and I know what you've been experiencing lately.

"Sam? Earth to Sammy," Dean's voice breaks through the silence, snapping me back to reality. He's frowning at me, looking between me and you. "What, did you suddenly forget how to order a drink?"

I swallow hard, forcing my hands to stop shaking as I look from you to my brother, completely terrified but suddenly desperate to talk to you.*