And as soon as the thought flickered through his mind, he knew he had read that somewhere. Probably from a novel he had read recently. And fuck it, just fuck it all to hell if even that, had not been his original thought. He was losing a little bit more every second now, he knew this, losing another piece of himself as he gave in, no, submitted, to this blinding, white, because that was what it was, white, piercing that rammed through his head and brought him down to his knees.

Asphalt met knees, and damn it if he hadn’t decided to wear his cut off camo pants today. But then that too, became secondary, because nothing else mattered, not even the blinding pain throbbing in his head, as the distorted images whizzed in and out of vision like some twisted, clearly damaged, old films, forcing him, because that’s what it was, a force, he hadn’t asked for it to happen, he didn’t ask to see these…to see, witness, this bizarre strings of events that was happening but not really happening in front of him.

Hands, firm and big, he had missed this, this assuring hands, always like a comfort blanket in uncertain pasts, now grabbing his shoulders, pulling him back up to his feet. If his mind hadn’t been somewhere else, seeing things that he shouldn’t be seeing, this distorted, damaged movie, he bet he could hear his voice too. Concerned and worried, most likely asking him if he was okay.

He was not okay, not by a long shot. You don’t just randomly drop to your knees with head splitting migraine, on your friend’s backyard while you were supposed to be shooting some hoops, and then on top of all that, you saw things others around you couldn’t see. Visions. He was almost afraid to say the word but that’s what it was, a vision and he knew, deep down somewhere in him, knew that if he ever told a soul about it, he’d be wearing the strip jacket and dumped in some asylum because that’s what they’d think of him - crazy, full of shit; and even though he’d been called that a gabillion times before, you’re so crazy full of shit man, this time, he knew would be different. The context, the meaning behind those words, rid of lightly banters and jest and instead full of diagnose, of incrimination and the glare, that look in their eyes telling him that he’d finally lost it, and they’d believe, not of his visions, but of him, being crazy (and full of shit). And that would definitely kill him, the look.

Then it was gone, just like that. Migraine gave way to dizziness and nausea and smell - spring, of the freshly mowed lawn, of sweat and rubber, all invading him at once. The voice, asking him again, if he’s okay.

“Move.” And he was going for the newly trimmed bushes, felt for that split second how sorry he was that it had come down to this, and emptied his stomach. He tried to not make a sound, perhaps for some kind of consolation for most likely damaging his friend’s well trimmed bushes and then knew if he wasn’t so busy puking, he’d laugh at well trimmed bushes because it had sounded…naughty.

When he was done redecorating the bushes with his impromptu projectile vomiting and his eyes regained a decent level of focus, he turned towards his friend, who was still frowning, and the orange basketball tucked under his right arm and this was wrong, but he laughed anyway.

Only Kevin could hold an orange ball in one arm and still looked worried and oh, how he had missed this, the presence of this constantly over bearing, over protective man, the closest he had to an older brother. How for almost a year, a year that was filled with touring together again, after that painfully long hiatus, a year that was supposedly filled with good memories, he had pretended that his friend’s desire to leave the group, to leave him, was a joke. A long time coming joke, a prank Kevin had intended to pull on them, especially him, as a payback for all the pranks he had ever pulled for the last fourteen years.

When he finally left, when it was made official, when the ink was marked above those dotted lines, when he felt as if the weight of the world dropped on his shoulders, he knew he was slowly losing his friend, a man he had come to regard as his brother. Things will never be the same again.

It was also because of this that Kevin had called him the day before, inviting him to his house to hang out. But the invitation wasn’t lost on him, he knew, the reason for the sudden call was because he was worried. It didn’t surprise him, in fact he had the suspicions and just knew, that the other guys had phone conversations with Kevin before this friendly invitation to his house came about. He couldn’t blame any of them though, for this intervention, because part of him was glad, overjoyed, that these guys showed concern over his well being, that it kept on reaffirming his believes that the guys are more than just his work buddies but long time friends, brothers, a relationship forged for the last fourteen years and can never be broken.

But another part of him was scared, because calling Kevin was the last straw, the final option, Plan Z, last trick in the fucking bag. They were scared now, and hopeless, because they suddenly realised they didn’t know what to do with him, and his spastic migraines, and the sudden change in his demeanour, and even though Kevin left, he was still a part of them, forever the final piece in this five part puzzle, and so to him they returned, in hope for an answer, as if Kevin was some God, and yeah, sure, back when he was young and naïve, he’d thought Kevin must have been some kind of God, because for fuck’s sake, he always, always, seem to have an answer for everything but still, this was uncalled for.

He felt the rush of blood and then the heat on his cheeks, knew he was blushing, either from embarrassment for his little stunt or simply from the exertion of having to throw up when he only had friggin orange juice for lunch.

“Sorry about the bush man,” he offered, waving his hand over his shoulder, to the unfortunate bushes.

“Been wanting to name them, now I know what I’m gonna call it,” Kevin replied lightly as his left shoulder rose for a little shrug, as if having his plants thrown up on was a norm in this household.

“I don’t know what’s troubling me more Kev,” he ventured, knowing his friend, brother, was trying to keep the conversation light, to not go head first into the topic he knew Kevin was desperate to get into. The old Kevin would do that, dive head first without a care when it comes to pressing issues, perhaps this new found leisure, of not having to keep up with the never ending schedules, had made Kevin calmer, to take his time with pressing matters, to still keep that smile on his face at all times. “You naming all your trees and bushes or what you’re going to name the one I just puked on.”

“Puky, a mash of puke and Nicky.” And Kevin ended that with a huge grin on his face, he almost thought he was joking.

He cringed instead, because two can play this game. “It’s not even original dude, and you, are not right in the head.”

“Hey, I’m not the one on my knees clutching my head as if it was going to explode just minutes ago.”

And there it was. He was sure Kevin hadn’t intended for the topic to come out that soon, but there it was, in all its glory, naked and staring back at them both. A fleet of ‘oh fuck’ crossed his face, he was sure of that, before he regained from the shock and tried, even though he knew it was useless, to mask back that nonchalant look.

“I think you managed to skinned your knees there when you decide to re-enact that Incomplete dramatic drop,” Kevin said, finger pointing at the mess of blood and asphalt grains on both kneecaps. “Come on, lets get you inside and maybe I’ll let you have my Disney handy plus.”

He didn’t feel the burning pain until after Kevin had pointed to his knees. He felt four again, running around at the park and falling face first to the course ground. He had gotten up, not feeling a thing, was even thinking of joining his friends again in the chasing game when his mom had stopped him, yanked him by the hand to pull him away from the crowd so she could check him up for any signs of injuries. There were lacerations on both his arms and legs and a nice bruise on his chin. It was while she was nagging, voice rising an octave with every word yelled that he started feeling the pain, his head suddenly achy, the burn behind his eyes before the tears started to leak and then he had whimpered; because it was all he dared to do before mom raised an arm and slapped him on the cheek to stop crying, and that it was his fault in the first place.

“Disney Kev?”

“You got a problem with that?”

He shook his head as they made their way back into the kitchen, which was as huge as his room back home. His four-room apartment, which was a quarter of this huge fucking house. He used to have a huge house back then, and then woke up one day and realised it was a waste of space, all of it, because in all honestly, all he ever needed was a bedroom, a living room for his television and playstation and a kitchen where he could plug in a fridge and a microwave (the latter every bachelor's best friend) and stock up on his frozen pizzas and cans of ginger ale, and yeah, beers, of course. So, he had rented out the huge houses, sold the rest, and bought himself a decent apartment and slept easy at night, not having to worry about intruders coming in from the kitchen where it would take him ten fucking minutes to reach from his master bedroom or that annoying drip drip drip sound one of the lose taps leaking drops of water made, and yeah, it was scary as all hell.

“Nope, but there better be Pooh, he’s a Disney right?”

Kevin didn’t say anything, just shook his head as if to say, this kid is unbelievable, and no, he wasn’t using it in the positive form either.

Behind Kevin, slowing down his pace a second, he involuntarily shivered, unsure just how much he was going to spill to this man, his estranged brother, while his mind still reeling at the vision, fucking vision, unsure what that was all about and surely, having a vision, couldn’t be normal and the fact that it had even happened, surreal, even for someone like him, who sometimes still looked under his bed before going to bed at night (and he had no immediate plans to tell anyone this).

One thing he was certain though: this conversation, the one they were surely going to have once the scraps had been cleaned and covered with Pooh and hopefully after swallowing a glass of drink, because visions, apparently, made him thirsty afterward, was going to fuck him right up.

True, this wasn’t his first vision. The first time it happened, he had passed out right after and woken up to the worried face of Brian. His friend was convinced that it was a case of dehydration, easily so because it had been warm, hell, hot, for the past few weeks, and dehydration cases had been on the rise and besides, they had been holed up in the recording studio for almost the entire day and surely finding him sprawled in the middle of the studio with a mic stand on top of him and a bruised forehead was valid enough for him to worry. Five cases so far, Brian had told him, and one of them died and Brian wasn’t about to see that statistic rise because of him. All he had to say on the ride to a nearby ER was that he had the weirdest dream ever and it involved this kid being stabbed to death in some dark roadside or something by another man. Brian said not only was his dream weird, it was morbid.

There would be three more such visions (and he realised it was a vision and not a dream like he first thought when he got the second one while driving and he could only thank his luck that he was at a red stop), three more such fucking migraine attacks, before Howie came forward, because Kevin was no longer there with them, holed up in hotels and studios, writing and recording their next album, and said Nicky, I think it’s time for some intervention buddy.

And because he didn’t tell them about the visions but sudden attacks of migraines, an appointment was made with what he called the head doctor, because honestly, it was just easier to remember than say, neurosurgeon, and okay, head doctor tends to make him smirk while neurosurgeon just scare the crap out of him. Only it didn’t help at all because screw his dumb luck, he had the attack of the sudden migraine that led to another friggin vision minutes after he entered that tunnel, that vacuum of a tunnel with that annoying voice telling him every five seconds, try to stay very still Mr. Carter, hands on your side Mr. Carter, try not to blink Mr. Carter. He decided, after he had left the hospital a few hours later, that he’d blame the sudden attack on that stupid voice, because surely it was his agitation that had triggered that latest episode, surely if he had just kept his mouth shut and leave him alone, nothing would have happened. Yeah, surely.

They couldn’t do any brain scan on him after that because he had felt so weak, so weak that he was throwing up everywhere while the table, which really shouldn’t be called a table because it’s just a flat cold steel he was lying on, slid out of the tunnel and back into the room.

He had gone into shock, right after hyperventilating and then something bit him in the arm and the next time he woke up, he was in a hospital bed. AJ had mocked him like crazy, dude you’re such a pussy, and they knew something was up when he smirked and said yeah, instead of going all defensive on AJ’s assless ass. He figured it’d be better than saying no man, the whole tunnel thing was okay, it’s getting a vision of someone’s throat getting slit was what got me. No, he didn’t think that would go well with them.

= =

So Kevin sure knew how to build up the moment. His bruises were attended to, and Kevin had been so gentle, so careful with the wounds that he only hissed once, and that was when Kevin had dabbed friggin iodine on his chin (apparently he hurt that too), and that, that had hurt, like a bitch, because okay, getting to choose if he wanted yellow or purple iodine was fun (and what the fuck was Kevin thinking asking him which colour he wanted, what was he, five?), and he had picked purple to go with his purple shirt, but damn thing hurt and it was his face, and lets face it, he tends to care a bit more about the face than the knees since you can’t hide this under a paper bag, it’s like, out there, for everyone to see, and he would hate it, loath it, if this one was going to leave a mark.

Then Kevin offered him spaghetti and he had to do a double take, a whiplash on the neck, because Kevin did not just said he was going to make spaghetti for him! And then he had taken out leftovers and put them in the oven and he allowed himself to breathe a little. He didn’t think he needed food poisoning on top of everything else.

The spaghetti went down really nice with a tall glass of chilled lemon tea and then Kevin muttered something about not believing what he was doing and dropped four tablets of Tylenol in his palm. Dude four Tylenol, if this had taken place in some corridors of a hotel, everyone would start assuming he was on some kind of drugs. Probably Prozac, which wasn’t that unbelievable considering his current state of mental health might just warrant him that prescription.

They lazed around in the kitchen, it was so huge, he didn’t feel like moving an inch and making his way to the living room might just wake up that burning heat he had felt on his bruised knees anyway.

Then it happened.

“What happened just now?”

He shrugged and took another sip of his drink, wondering if there was a way to cop out of this situation, this confrontation and then realised he was too tired to go around the subject, to keep denying them what they deserved to know, because at the end of the day, this wasn’t just about him, it’s about them too, the group, and the fucking management and oh God, surely it didn’t have to come to that! Those money hungry business people wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t get it. They’d probably nod their heads and make some quick bucks while the media ran their stories, how Nick Carter had gone crazy, and then cut him off the contract because he was no longer at the right frame of mind to continue, drop his ass like cow dung and dump him in that white, big hospital for the crazies and Backstreet Boys will be no more, and it will go down in history, twenty years from now they’d still be talking about how he had single-handedly ended the careers of the four of them, because Nick fucking Carter went out of control, went even further than leaving the group or entering rehab, got himself sick in the head with talks of fucking visions man. Fucking lunatic!

“I had a headache.”

“Really?”

He wondered if Kevin had actually expected something more, like maybe say out loud that he had a vision, maybe that might satisfy him, or freaked him out, or both.

“Well, migraine.”

“And now it’s gone?”

“Just dizzy.”

“This isn’t the first time you had it.”

And he knew it wasn’t even a question. A hidden challenge perhaps, pushing him, daring him to just spill. Say it, tell me what it really is, you’ve gone so far to keeping it quiet and look where you ended up now, here in my house, back to me, because they can’t help you now Nick, they’ve tried and nothing worked, and you told me you’re going to be fine once I left, you promised me you’re going to prove to me that you can take care of yourself, that you’re a man now, not just my fucking little brother, you’re not a disappointment, so don’t just sit there and not say a thing, look at me, look at me, I fucking dare you, I triple fucking dare you.

He caved. Anything to get that voice to shut the hell up.

Nodded his head, because yeah, he was going to spill, but he was going to take this slowly, carefully, there was no need to jump on the man and scarred him for life.

“This is going to sound crazy man.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t want you to chuck me in some hospital.”

“I’m not going to.”

“How would you know that, I haven’t even tell you.”

“We’re just talking Nicky, nothing more.”

Ran his fingers through his hair, because shit, where should he start? He had waited for someone to force it out of him, to just lay it on the table and offered him his only chance, and now that it was here, he didn’t know where to begin.

“How about the first time you had this migraine?” And who needs psychics or visions, if you have Kevin Richardson asking you things as if he’d been in your fucking head?

“The first time was when Brian found me passed out in the studio.”

“The dehydration episode?”

Yeah, episode, because that’s what it was, his life was a collection of friggin episodes, they were up to season 27 now and faithful audience knew the end was coming, this was it, the Nick Carter show was pulling down its curtains.

“Yeah, that one.”

Kevin just nodded, because that’s just Kevin, when he gave you your space, your speaker box to stand on, he backs away, he joins the audience, not talking, just watching and listening, listens to what you have to say, not prodding, not judging, not expecting anything but the truth.

“Kevin, it’s more than just migraines,” he started, assessed the situation, Kevin still listening. “Came out of nowhere, no warning whatsoever and felt like my head’s going to explode.”

“Stronger meds just makes me tired easily and I don’t want to be dependent on some drugs, so I didn’t take them, just your normal Tylenol will do.”

Still sitting there, just looking at him, strong features looking soft and calm, lulling him to comfort, showing him this is the face to be trusted, just say it.

“But this is where it gets crazy and for a while there, I really was beginning to believe that I should be in stripped jacket and forcing down pills to get myself catatonic or something, tucked in some fucking asylum so it’ll all just stop…”

Still there, still unmoving, no signs of breaking under pressure or freaking out from talks of asylums.

“These…migraines…they trigger…something…it let me see…stuff…things that happen to somebody else you know? But it’s not happening in front of me, like in…real time…it’s like I’m watching it happening in front of me but it’s not there and I don’t know who these people are but it felt real, I can see them and smell them and…and…ugh fuck this!”

A warm hand rested on top of his, gentle tap to let him know he was still there, that he was listening, but perhaps he’d make it easier for the both of them and acknowledged this.

“Nick, are you saying you’re having visions?”

Huh. He almost laugh, almost. The way Kevin said it, it was like asking Nick, are you saying you want a puppy? Are you saying you want a double cheeseburger? Are you saying you want a packet of Howie’s gummy bear? Kevin sounded so normal, so in control that he wasn’t sure if he had really said the word, if he had heard him said vision.

“Well…that sounds crazy isn’t it?”

“I don’t know Nick, what did you see in these visions?”

Was he mocking him now? Was he just playing along so he would spill everything, so Kevin could then plan the next course of actions? More private phone calls behind his back, lets figure this one out, what’s wrong with our little brother, is he crazy? Is he just stressed? How about therapy? Medications? What about the migraines? But he’s seeing things, awful things, is he going to react to it? What if the voices are telling him to do those things? Go kill people, kill himself.

His gaze dropped to his hands, to his trembling fingers, surprised to see them shaking, to be reduced to this sorry state in front of this man. This is it, he decided, it’s now or never. Forced back the smile at his own pun, because that might just drive the nail to the coffin where Kevin decided that he was indeed crazy was concerned. He couldn’t let him decide that rashly now, not when he wasn’t done yet, before he had the time to show him, to prove that this just wasn’t his overactive imagination playing with his head.

“I need my bag.” Surely not the answer Kevin was waiting for, but Kevin just had to give him some more faith in this one. “Where did I put it?”

“It’s right here buddy,” Kevin said with ease, and he wasn’t sure how to react to that. Was Kevin genuinely sincere about the whole not being judgmental thing or was that Kevin tiptoeing around eggshells, making sure he didn’t crack? Buddy, it used to be an endearing term coming out of Kevin, coming out of any of the guys, but lately he just couldn’t help wondering if it was something else.

The black bagpack rested on the empty chair next to him and he worked his way quickly, plunging his arm inside and groping around, fishing for the sketch pad, felt the hard edges of the worn book and pulled it out, lay it on the table, his ticket. The only thing he had to prove to his friends that he isn’t crazy, that this wasn’t some kind of a joke. Oh he wished this had all been some kind of a joke.

He took a deep breath and let it out anxiously, fingered the edge of the paper and then flipped it to the second page. Soft gasp, first unguarded reaction coming out from Kevin and he felt pity for the man, because this, this was uncalled for.

A girl in a van, holding a cup in her hand, one finger stirring at the red liquid inside and the liquid was red and her eyes, her eyes were black, entirely black, no whites surrounding the pupils, there were no pupils to begin with, just black. He was just glad he was born with this natural talent to draw, because this right here, was his release, his outlet to those pent up energies, to letting go those images swirling in his head hours and days after the vision had occurred, like the smell of stale bread lingering in the air hours after he had thrown the offending food into the dustbin.

He flipped to the next page, still believing that this was uncalled for. That it was bad enough he had to relive those images in his mind, now Kevin had to see it, probably wouldn’t shake those images off his head for days to come, if it ever will.

A guy in a parking lot of some sort, it was dark, his shading of the background had taken some brutal strokes of his 6B pencil. A knife stuck out just under his sternum, a sketch of a hand still grasping firmly on the knife, driving it deeper into the guy. Blood soaked his shirt, it was everywhere. He looked so young, probably a few years younger than him, black shadows under his eyes, he looked tired for someone that young, and his face, that look, it almost killed him.

He couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t go any further and pushed the pad towards Kevin, letting him handle it all, look at it, slam it shut, it was Kevin’s decision now. He made a grab for the tall glass of lemon tea and swallowed the remaining drink down his parched throat, didn’t think he was this thirsty. He was so tired, weak, and he couldn’t close his eyes, because he knew what was waiting for him on the other side, the latest motion picture, the latest visual he received while shooting hoops, the one he hadn’t had the chance to sketch away, the image of the yellow eyed demon staring back at him, grinning like some fucking Cheshire cat, and wouldn’t Kevin love to see a sketch of that one.

It wasn’t planned. Like everything else in his life lately, nothing was planned. He thought he had a plan, a solid one, one that he could willingly put a hundred and fifteen percent effort into and knew it would bring him the kind of satisfaction he needed, to feel important and valid, to fall back into routine, the whole writing things and making music, singing their creation…all that felt kind of anti-climatic lately.

So it wasn’t planned, but he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop that small voice in his head challenging him to go on, do it, and no, it was not that voice, which he was thankful for, he didn’t think he could handle the headaches right now. This one was his own, the same voice that had been in his head since he was young. (The same one that had challenged him to go punch the lights out of Todd Wilkinson in third grade, because those name callings? They needed to stop). And he did, grinning like a crazy fool (which was still up in the air, because he sometimes really do think he’s crazy instead of like a crazy…) as he stepped into the pub, dingy, smoky and reeking of spilled beer and to the off tune voice of a guy singing I Will Survive. It was Karaoke night and the stage was everyone’s.

He didn’t take on the mic though, didn’t think he was prepared for the lies that would have to come out of his mouth should the attack of the visionary migraines came to him while in the middle of belting out Moody Blues’ Nights in White Satin – the song he was going to sing if he had wanted to – going: cause I love you, yeah I love you, oh I love you, oh fuck shit ow, which would be followed with yet another slamming of the knees to the ground, hands grabbing head and that terrible, terrible pain, while everyone just assumed it was him being him, emoting all over the place.

Sat at the bar, whiskey, with ice please, because he loved to crunch on the ice once he’d swallowed the drink. Pub was nice, pub was a guarantee that none of the guys would come running to get his ass back to the motel. Howie was still busy researching; God that sounded so out of place, research, when had they ever done any kind of research before, looking for better porn sites not withstanding? AJ might have to think twice or a thousand times before he steps into a pub, especially this kind of pubs, especially when he had woken up on the wrong side of his ass this morning and then admitted, after snapping at him for whistling, that he had woken up with those urges, and it’s hard, and he was really trying but God! And Nick had understood that, understood what it meant to have that voice in your head challenging you to do it, mocking you to a point where you want to shout out loud Go fuck your yellow contact lenses self off!

Well, he didn’t think AJ had the voice of that man with yellow eyes in his head, but since he had associated this yellow eyed thing to a demon, because come on, yellow eyed guys with a Cheshire cat’s grin can’t be an angel, and the fact that it hadn’t been a red eyed guy because that’s just so cliché, so lame, therefore it being yellow and not lame, made it serious and serious meant it wasn't not funny, nothing was funny, so, yeah, come to think of it, AJ had a demon’s voice in his head, but not the kind of demon he was seeing in his fucked up visions, AJ’s demon was a dude from the flower power era of the 70s where booze, drugs, protestors and braided hairs were cool.

The girl behind the bar looked about Angel’s age, and what the fuck was she thinking working in a place like this? She gave him his drink, her stare lingered a few seconds longer than necessary and he took a swallow; here’s to another thread dedicated to Nick fucking Carter, found drinking his life away in some tacky pub on Karaoke night, brought to you by bar girl who happened to be a fucking fan!

“Hi, can I have a beer please?”

He must have been so out of it that he didn’t realised the empty seat next to him was now no longer empty. A guy, about his age or younger, had occupied it and was asking for friggin beer and he almost, almost felt sorry for him. And then he did feel sorry for the guy because while at least this beer drinking guy had like three layers of tops that consisted of a t-shirt under a shirt under a jacket when he only had a friggin shirt on, he could see small cuts and bruises on his hands and some healing ones on his face. What did this guy ran into?

“Just a beer? You sure?” Whatever possessed him to talk to this guy, he’ll never know, but he was feeling chatty, maybe from the whiskey, because normally, he doesn’t just chat up to some random guy, now a girl, maybe, but a guy, not likely. And oh God, he hoped this guy doesn’t think he was trying to chat him up because shit, all the gay insinuations thrown his way just because he was a in boyband was annoying enough.

“Yeah,” the guy shrugged good naturedly and he hoped this guy wasn’t gay because dude, that’d be all kinds of awkward. “Almost running on empty, can’t be picky you know?”

“Yeah well, it’s karaoke night, if you’re not one of them on the stage, you’ll need a stronger drink just to cope with sitting here.” Hey you bar girl who’s going to tell about Nick Carter the drunk chatting up a guy in a cheap bar! “Can you get him a glass of whiskey please?”

Ah shit. Chat up a dude, buys him a drink, what’s next Carter? Bring him back to your room? What was he thinking? It’s called being nice, of course if it’s Nick, nothing he ever did is considered nice.

“Thanks man, you don’t have to do that.”

Shrugged, emptied his own drink. “The beers here taste like crap dude, trust me, I made the mistake of drinking one the first night I was here.”

The girl came back with the drink, lingered a second longer again and he refrained from subjecting her to his infamous eye roll and took an ice chip in his mouth. The guy said thank you to the bar girl and he felt better because at least he’s paying the drink of someone who has manners.

“I’m Sam by the way.” Ah formalities. Checked for a hint, that tiny clue to see if this guy knew who he was but couldn’t find anything there except…honesty?

“I’m Nick.” And it was nice to just be that random guy in a pub, to be ‘I’m Nick’, drop the last name and everything else that clings to it.

“So what brings you here tonight? Not the karaoke I hope, cause then I think I might have just insulted you earlier on.”

Laughs. “Nah. My brother’s outside filling up the gas and I got a little thirsty.”

“You guys passing through or what?”

The guy opened his mouth to reply but paused and glanced at the clock on the wall, which in itself was kind of weird, because he didn’t know they have clocks on a friggin wall in a pub; a little frown now on his face and then he was looking back at him, worried. “I know this is going to sound crazy but if we don’t get out of here in exactly two minutes, you’re going to have another vision, right here, and it’s gonna be a huge one.”

Actually it wasn’t crazy at all, just down right fucking low.

“Great. To think that I was being nice and buy you a fucking drink. Who put you up to this? Brian? Because he and his self righteous, bible humping ass can go fuck himself all right!”

“Look, I don’t know who Brian is and I know this sounds…just…My name is Sam Winchester and I have visions, just like you and I know you have visions because I had a vision of you having a vision, right here, in about a minute, and it’s the worst one yet and your nose is going to bleed and you’re going to pass out and no one will care because they’ll think you’re just drunk on your ass and then it’d be too late.”

He bit his lips. This was seriously fucked up. What are the odds of finding someone else who could see things like he did, especially when you’re in a cheap pub in the middle of fucking nowhere?

“Winchester, like the gun?” Kevin always said he had the gift of actually listening to something important but paying attention to the thing that wasn’t even the whole point of the discussion.

“Yes, like the gun.”

“I don’t even know you man.”

“I know, I’m sorry it had to be this way but we don’t have much time and…look, how about…you take a picture of me on your cellphone, right now, and send it to someone you trust, so if anything bad ever happen to you tonight, I can’t run away.”

That had got to be one of the most original ideas he had ever heard of. And boy was he pissed he didn’t think of that first!

“You have to be quick though, we’re running out of time, unless you want to-”

No, fuck no. And fuck this, he was going to take his chances and besides, after what he had been seeing in his visions, getting tricked and most likely killed by this Sam Winchester dude seemed like an upgrade, and he was aware of how fucked up that thought was too-getting yourself killed equals an upgrade to having visions of seeing some other people getting killed? He needed to get his priorities straight.

“No, just…lets go.”

And there was no turning back, they were out the door in matter of seconds and the night was peaceful and the air was oh so refreshing and did he just ran out of there without paying for the drinks? Great, another thing to add to the thread for the annoying fans to read about!

“Hey, that’s my brother over there, lets go.”

It wasn’t difficult to spot, it was the only car parked, amongst all the motorcycles and trucks.

“Dude that’s a friggin-”

“Oh great, don’t tell me you’re a car guy too.”

“What is it? 65? 67? Man that’s a classic! I wish AJ's here.”

“Oh Dean’s gonna love this.”

“Who’s Dean? Oh, your-” And the blinding, white pain strikes home and he barely registered the pain as his knees met asphalt again, knew he should start investing on kneepads and cartons of painkillers, for the aftermath and oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…

Hands on his waist, dragging his long limbs into the back of the car and wow, he was going to die in the backseat of a friggin Chevy and – images: yellow eyes, abandoned house, a gun, a familiar face and oh, oh fuck no.

He didn’t remember much, and for the first time in a long time, he could say that it wasn’t because of the whiskey, it wasn’t because he had been drunk on his ass to remember where he had been standing five seconds ago or what day it was; and this, had to be some kind of an improvement right?

Kevin would have been proud. He wasn’t quite sure why he always needed to look for Kevin’s approval; the old man wasn’t even around anymore. At least he hadn’t freaked out, well, not freaked out, freaked out, just a little alarmed at the sketches he had shown him three weeks ago. They had a long talk after that, one that he actually didn’t dread having, at all. We’ll do this together okay? All five of us, he had said, and even as Kevin was saying it, he knew they were just words, that they couldn’t possibly do this together (and Kevin left didn’t he? He wasn’t going to come with them to Nashville in two days and start recording again, so how can they do this together, right?), because come on, this is CRAZY right here, it’s not the same when they said okay AJ, lets do the rehab, we’ll be behind you all the way, don’t worry, we just want you to get better.

But there was no getting better for his case. How do you get better from sudden attacks of visions? It’s not even normal. It’s not like a flu virus that will go away with a lot of rest! He won’t be better if they dump him in a crazy house because he doubt that would stop the visions, that voice. And he wasn’t stupid, he knew, he knew what it looks like, what it sounds like, for someone to hear him say he has this yellow eyed dude talking to him, telling him things, that he shouldn’t be afraid (too late for that!) of those disturbing images he was seeing, that he was a friend.

Brian said they wouldn’t dump him in a crazy house, he’d just take him to the church every Sunday, get closer to God, he said, it would help. And to be fair, he did just that, played along for Brian’s sake, because while it did help him feel better, he knew it would not keep those visions away. He even told AJ to sprinkle some holy water on him (when Brian’s not looking), see if he started to combust on the spot, but there wasn’t even a speckle of pain, which he guessed was a good thing cause he didn’t really want to die from holy water burns, he didn’t want to die period. Yet nothing he did, nothing that Brian had suggested, made him do, could ever rid that look from Brian’s eyes. The one that screamed so loud that it was deafening, the one that yelled my friend is crazy and I need him to see that before it’s too late.

He remembered all these, yet he didn’t remember much of what happened after the vision assaulted him again in the middle of a fucking conversation. He was too overwhelmed with what he saw, the images playing in front of him, of the pain that kept stabbing at every nerves of his brain cells, at the sudden urge of wanting to throw up, at that burning sensation somewhere in his nose…

What he did remember was the warm, soft cuddles of leather, the lulling purrs of the Impala, the hint of fresh, cold night air brushing past his nose from that little opening of the window, of guitar riffs plucked and strummed by skilful fingers and that deep, almost whispering voice going come on come on come on come on come now, as if calling him to wake the fuck up.

His hand made a quick brush to the pocket of his jeans, felt the missing bump of his wallet and knew that he was going to die tonight, knew he had willingly been led by a Sam Winchester into his brother’s sweet ride to be killed and disposed off somewhere after robbing him of his fucking wallet (and money); and what was he thinking, trusting someone whose last name is Winchester?

But after it all dawned on him, he found comfort in two things: 1. he was glad he didn’t pay for Sam I have visions of you having visions so you must trust me and follow me back to my brother’s car where I can steal your wallet and fucking kill you Winchester’s glass of Whiskey and 2. that the last thing he’d hear before he dies was Ted fucking Nugent rocking out to Stranglehold. Thank God for small favours, right?

So he didn’t understand, couldn’t grasp the logic, when he was woken up by this Sam dude and led out of the car gently, and found himself parked right in front of the motel he was staying in, room 101 staring back at him a few feet away.

“Why am I here?”

Sam, still holding him up by the arm, looked at him worriedly. “This is where you’re staying right?”

“Yeah…but I don’t understand.” The car creaked noisily and he looked back, saw the trunk opened wide, body hunched over, face hidden from view, making a grab at something, and he remembered Sam Winchester had an accomplice.

“That’s Dean, he’s just getting some stuff.”

“Oh yeah, don’t want to make a mess out of it right?”

“Out of what?”

“You guys gonna cut me up in my own room, that’s even sicker than I imagined man…I mean, I thought you’d prefer the woods-”

“Cut you up? Dude you really took a number on the head just now didn’t you?”

“Stop fucking with me all right? If you’re gonna kill me, at least have the decency to be honest about some things.” That was stupid. You don’t expect any kinds of honesty from a would be killer, let alone asked for it.

“I’m not here to kill you Nick, you had a vision remember and I-”

“You took my wallet.”

“We need to find out where you’re staying man, Dean figured I would get some kind of clue if I look in your wallet and he’s right, found your key card.”

“You know, normal people would drive my ass straight to the hospital.”

“Well Nicky.” He wondered if a neck could snap in two just from turning back too quickly; that was going to hurt in the morning. “We’re not normal, and so are you.”

He was going to have a hell lot of problems with Dean; he knew it. That smirk, that streak of confidence masked by arrogance, that James Dean cool leather jacket, that motherfucking sawed off shotgun leaning against his shoulder. Who the fuck are these people?

“It’s Nick.” And that would have been more convincing of a threat, if his body hadn’t just decided that that was the perfect time to pass the fuck out.

He woke up with no trace to show that last night had happened. He didn’t wake up to the face of one Sam Winchester or his gun-loving brother Dean. He felt just fine, no lingering headaches clueing in that he had a vision the night before just outside a local pub having a karaoke night. In fact now, he was certain it had all been a dream, because his nose was not bleeding and his plain white shirt left no dried bloodstain yet he knew he had bled his nose last night and it had stained his shirt, so it had to be a dream. And what was he thinking, his luck couldn’t have been that good to run into a random guy claiming he could have visions just like he does, because that’s just crazy. There, his wallet was at the dressing table next to his bed, no one had stolen it from him, he was still in one piece and breathing, not cut up and thrown into some lake.

Yet he found no relief, none at all.

He had wished last night had happened, even if Dean Winchester was telling him that he wasn’t normal while easing the shotgun on his shoulder, because at least then he’d know he wasn’t going crazy, he figured being not normal was better than being crazy, that he wasn’t alone, that there was a Sam Winchester out there who has visions, just like him.

Now he felt alone. Back to square one. Back to trying to make sense out of these visions.

Got up and grabbed for his sketchpad, which was lying on the study table, exactly where he had left them the night before. There was a sudden need to start sketching, to unload all these disturbing images from his mind, to get that release. He’d prefer a drink to go along with it but he didn’t think he could put this off any longer. Didn’t think his roommate would appreciate seeing him slouched at a corner, sketching away at useless dreams that has no meaning whatsoever and it felt like the most sensible thing to do, to sketch this, while his roommate was away.

By the time he heard the sliding of the key card followed by the creaking of the opened door, it felt like he had been sketching for hours. He took one last look at what he had drawn and slammed the pad shut and shoved it to a corner and got up from his seat, unsure what he should pretend to be doing, for a brief second thought about doing star jumps but knew the sight of him exercising would alarm anyone who knew him well. So he stood there, in the middle of the room, arms folded against his chests because now, now he realised he was cold and the air con was blasting cold air like it was friggin winter and he was still in his cut off camo pants, which had loose asphalts sticking at the edges and then noticed the scraped knees and the still bleeding wounds and gasped and wondered how, how that had came about if last night hadn’t been real.

Maybe it’s real.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Maybe go fuck yourself.

“Good morning sunshine! I see you’ve decided to come back to the land of the living.”

It was lame and kind of odd, considering how pissed off Brian was at him the night before. In fact it had been the very reason why he had left their room and went off to the pub on his own. Did he go to the pub? Maybe. It could still be a dream. Maybe he had been in this room all the time and just shut everyone out until he fell asleep? Fuck this.

“Yeah…rough night.” His shirt had no bloodstains, his wallet still on the table, this wasn’t making any sense. He made his way to the dressing table and grabbed his wallet, checking to see if the cash was still in there.

“Yeah, about last night, I’m sorry I yelled at you, I guess you can say I was a little stressed.” A little stressed? How about me, he thought. He was a lot of stress, did anyone understand? Was Brian even thinking about him when he decided to yell at him to stop talking crazy? Nick you’re talking crazy again, can’t you see it? See it? Yeah he could see just fine all right, in fact he could see too much, things he shouldn’t be seeing but it was there, and there was no stopping it and Lord, he could hear just fine too. In fact his hearing was too damn fine, that he could hear what the yellow eyed guy sounded like in his fucking head! “You shouldn’t have gone to the pub alone Nick, I mean what if you-”

“I went to the pub?”

Brian looked at him as if to say ‘well duh’. “You smelled like whiskey when I got back last night. Passed out on the bed with blood all over your shirt, I thought you’d been in a fight but Howie said it’s from a nosebleed since there’s no swelling.”

“My shirt’s clean.”

“Well yeah, can’t let you sleep with that shirt on, can we?”

Everything fell into place yet one huge piece of the puzzle remained lost. Where do Sam and Dean fit into this picture? Had he made them up? That wouldn’t be all that surprising considering.

“You hurt your knees, I didn’t notice that last night.”

Did two strangers just get into his room and put him to bed and left and no one, not even stealth Howie, noticed? Did this mean the Winchesters exist and not just a fragment of his fucked up imagination?

“…Nicky?”

What? “What?”

“I asked if you wanna go take a shower and then we can go have breakfast at the diner?”

It didn’t make sense. If last night had happened, if someone really did come to save his ass from dying in a sorry excuse for a pub, if this someone had came all the way to let him know that he wasn’t alone in this stupid, crazy, out of this world visions he had been having, why would they just up and leave and not explain, to give some kind of answer to this whole…puzzle?

“Nicky, I’m trying to apologise here but you’re not making it any easier on me man.”

Blinked once, twice, and third time just to be sure. Nodded his head and decided for shower, because everything else was just too complicated and it was only eight in the morning, his brain usually work after noon.

“Yeah shower…then coffee, lots of coffee.”

= =

The fact that he had said coffee wasn’t lost on him. He wasn’t a coffee person, especially for one that is strong and black, that was AJ’s choice of beverage, to get caffeine in his system. Coffee and cigarette and you could shut him up, most of the time. Now him, he prefers a tall, super sized cup of strawberry milkshake. AJ loves to tease him about that, every opportunity given, he’d say dude, at least get the chocolate one. But this morning he needed something bitter, something that would wake him up and disgust him tremendously, burn his tongue until he’s pulled back to the present, to the problem at hand, instead of something sweet and which would lull him to this happy stupor, high on sugar. He needed to think, to figure it out.

“You sure about coffee? Cause I have cash and this is apology breakfast.”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“I really think you should start investing in some good kneepads Nick, and I’m not trying to make fun of you at all okay? What if one of these days you’re going to fall wrongly and dislocate your ankle or something and no one’s around? Oh like last night?”

“I’m good man. I just need to learn to control my body when it happened, maybe learn a new trick to stop me from falling in the first place, I don’t know…”

“Will you consider going for another CAT scan?”

“Can we at least have breakfast first before we go into this?”

“I’m just worried Nick. What if it’s a tumour and we’re doing nothing to get it treated as soon as possible?”

“If there’s a tumour in my brain then it must be the size of a football considering I’m seeing and hearing things that shouldn’t be there and if that turns out to be right, then I’m as good as dead aren’t I?”

“Nick come on man, don’t say that.”

“I’m not crazy Brian, I’m aware of what’s going on and this,” waved sketchpad in the air. “This, is not crying out for attention.”

“I know, I’m sorry I said that.”

“You’re sorry about a lot of things this morning.” But you meant every word last night.

There wasn’t much to say after that, he figured even if Brian decided to continue with this ‘talk’ and tried to explain himself fully, he’d stop listening and just not care. It was nine in the morning, he needed coffee badly, his knees are hurting, those images he had drawn earlier was still haunting him, and who, pray tell, the fuck are Sam and Dean!

Disclaimer: 'maybe. maybe not. maybe go fuck yourself' is a line from the movie The Departed. I loved it so much, i felt compelled to add that in somehow.

First of all, lumping Howie, laptop and research, together, earned him the right to laugh. So he did, for quite awhile, tucked in a booth at a corner of the diner, his three friends now smirking at his reaction, he laughed to the point where tears started to spill and then it hit him like a swarm of killing fucking bees.

This wasn’t right, not right at all. What had he succumbed his friends to? A road trip to nowhere, because Howie, good ole Howie who was trying so hard to fill Kevin’s shoes, and Kevin’s shoes are big to fill in, and Howie’s the size of a hobbit, so it was hard, but he tried, faced the laptop like it was the battle of his life, learnt what google is, because how many times had he teased the old man before? Google is your bestfriend Howard! But Howie never looked it up, never had a reason to, until a few weeks ago, all because he had shown them a sketch of a young woman drenched in her own blood, in the middle of a fucking carpark, with a motel as the backdrop and the words ‘Super 8’ blinking on a dashboard.

Howie was the only one who bothered enough to check it out, to see if there was any meaning to his sketches, because no one else bothered, or maybe they did, they just never consulted google. He didn’t do much himself, wasn’t sure if he wanted to know in the first place, what would it mean if these weren’t just random images his headaches tend to bring with them.

But Howie found Super 8 Motel, and following the design on this particular sketch, pointed him to White Creeks, Nashville.

Brian said he’d give them a week, AJ said he was game for a road trip. With Howie’s trusted facial moisturiser packed in the bag, they made the flight down to Nashville, rented an Escalade, down by Exit 40 and checked in at Super 8 early Monday morning.

Five days later and there was nothing. Brian was getting restless over more talks of dude with yellow eyes, Howie wanted to know what the visions felt exactly, what that would accomplish remained a mystery to him, and AJ claimed he heard scratching on the walls in the middle of the night and believed, knew, the motel was haunted.

It was going nowhere, there was nothing to find, not even a shadow of the girl in the sketch. Everything was normal, and for five days, no visions or voices came to him and Brian had blown off his top, told him, accused him, in the middle of their argument, that he had lured them to this place, this isolated, no fan land, because he wanted their attention.

But last night wasn’t normal. Last night the vision came, just like Sam had said it would. And this, was going somewhere. He had found his break, maybe answers to questions he was looking for, just to wake up and realise it might have all been his imagination. There was no Sam and Dean, maybe they lived in his head, telling him things that he wanted to hear.

“Whatever’s in that coffee, I want some of it,” AJ smirked.

He laughed even harder, now desperately trying to hide the tears as one of amusement rather than despair. There was nothing in the coffee, just dark and strongly bitter, right to the last drop, just like his visions…dark and bitter and fucking annoying.

“One giggling, hyperventilating kid is enough,” Howie said, still playing around with the laptop.

Brian pushed the box of tissue his way and he pulled a piece, voice still choked to even mouth a thanks. Took a deep breath, because having a full blown breakdown in the middle of a friggin diner was just unfair; hadn’t he been subjected to enough stupidity already?

“Pancake’s nice.” Eat something Nick. I’m worried about you.

And because he really wanted to work this out, wanted to not freak them out, wanted to show his gratitude to his friends who had dropped everything and went on this trip with him, he accepted Brian’s silent offer of the pancakes and even licked his lips to show his appreciation.

“Hey, hey, I think I got something.” All eyes were on Howie now. He didn’t think his heart could ever beat this fast to a point where it was hurting, nauseating. Funny that, how something so vital in life was hurting him.

“Great, maybe now you’ll let me hog the laptop, it’s been 5 days Howie.”

“I’m sorry you can’t find any other way to get porn AJ,” deadpanned Howie. AJ grinned despite the sarcasm and he was thankful for that. Thankful the light banters that AJ tried to pull, to make light of heavy situations, to calm the nerves before it grew into a storm.

“That girl in your sketch, the one you said who was stabbed right at the parking lot of this motel? Susan Ray, she was murdered about two months ago Nicky, killer never found.”

Oh.

Dread. Disappointment. Let down. Fucked.

What good was a vision if he was already too late? Was he going to keep seeing dead people now? And girls that talked into a cup of blood? And yellow eyed freak telling him these was all okay? What’s the whole fucking point?

“How old was she?”

“24.” So young. She was so pretty too. Looked kind of lost, the last few moments before she was stabbed, but pretty, you can’t hide natural beauty and he knew beauty when he looked at one, appreciated them even more after all the exposures he got from the business. Separate the rough diamonds among the stones.

Now Brian was reading through the article, because Howie had suddenly lost interest in the laptop and AJ looked almost as pale as he was, he didn’t think porn was on his mind right then.

Suffered from depression.

Isolated herself for months.

On medication.

Therapy.

“Killer might be someone she knew, someone who had been threatening her for a while and she didn’t dare to tell anyone. Said that would explain the depression in the first place.”

He couldn’t think anymore, nothing made sense. The pancakes felt foul in his mouth and he pushed the plate away, wished he had a cup of milkshake to rid the taste of bile in his throat. Wished he was somewhere else, not in a friggin diner, in a crowd of truckers coming in for breakfast before heading out to work, wished he wasn’t anywhere in public, so opened, exposed, vulnerable, because the tears were coming and if he didn’t do something right now, think of something else, rid himself of this nausea, he was going to break down, and no one, not even joke abundance AJ, could stop him.

What if all these time, from the first vision to now, what if all he had been doing was seeing dead people; then he almost laugh, because wasn’t that about a movie? Seeing dead people? These strange faces, all dead, somewhere out there, and this yellow eyed guy, this demon, because now, now he knew for certain it’s a fucking demon, had the audacity to come into his head and whispered where no one else could hear, that it was okay Nick, it’s all right, son.

Fingers now pinching the bridge of his nose, because that was all he had, all he could muster, to stop the tears from flowing. Not now. He didn’t know what to do next, unsure if he should just get up and leave because he couldn’t trust his voice to speak, didn’t want to be there, surrounded by strangers having breakfast, didn’t want to look into the eyes of his brothers, didn’t want to hear himself telling them it’s time to let go. Give up on me, there’s nothing left here.

Kevin told him once, when he was lying on the hospital bed with intravenous drip feeding saline solution into his system because he was dehydrated, overworked and burning a fever in the middle of a major tour with blizzards reported all over the state they were currently stuck in, that feeling something is always better than nothing, that numbness is a man’s downfall, wrapped with sweet promises, designed to led men astray.

How do you think men lost compassion in the first place Nicky? How come we’re reading of sons killing their own mother on the papers, or men kicking stray puppies or dropping them down the 13th floor? They stopped feeling. They welcomed the numb, forget about the pain, you know? But pain is good, it means you’re alive, breathing.

Kevin said that after he had whispered a ‘hurt’ in response to his ‘how are you feeling kiddo?’ question. Kevin was also seated in the comfort of the hospital chair, with his hand resting on top of his own, his voice soft and gentle and his face sympathetic while he said it.

In his delirious state, he had wanted to tell Kevin that perhaps he might want to take that piece of advice down to the 2nd floor through the labour ward and say that to a woman who was seconds away from pushing, lets see who came out of this hospital alive, breathing.

What does Kevin know really? He wanted, needed, numb right now, wrapped in sweet promises and delivered to him on the doorstep, because this pain, this burden of having to witness all those deaths…it was killing him, and being dead sounded like a bliss to him right now.

And this room, this place that he had called home for the last five days, it was suffocating, constantly mocking his arrival there, knew he didn’t belong. Whatever happened to five star hotels and VIP lounges Nick? Go home kid, nothing here for you to see.

“Dude did you have another vision?”

The grip he had on his 2B pencil tightened immediately. The strokes interrupted mid sketch and darkened in some angles where it shouldn’t. He nodded. “Last night.”

“I thought you said you drew that already.”

“It’s something else.”

“Yeah?”

Nodded. He didn’t feel like talking too much, didn’t feel like he needed to explain or describe what he was sketching because he was done looking for approval, for an acknowledgment, for someone to look at it and said Nick, I believe you. He wasn’t even sure if Kevin had believed him when he first saw those pictures.

“Do I get to see them?”

“Only if you behave.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I know.”

Frustrated sigh. He didn’t even look up, didn’t feel like telling his friend he was sorry for saying that, for making things even more difficult than they already were. Even though he knew how much AJ needed that, to hear it from him, to let him know that he was doing all right, that this, being here with him, was helpful enough.

Brian had been hovering near Howie ever since they made it back to their room. Why Howie and AJ had followed them back instead of going to their own room next door was beyond him. Maybe Howie didn’t want AJ to hover around him and keep suggesting porn sites every five minutes and maybe AJ wanted some company while Howie hogged the laptop.

He wasn’t sure what Howie and Brian were looking for, it seemed pointless to find out more about a dead person, because there was no way for you to turn it around, to change something that had already happened.

“I’ll go take that.”

The bed creaked noisily as AJ got up and made a beeline for the door. He must have been really bored to volunteer, and when had someone knocked on the door anyway?

“You better had not called for pizza AJ, we’re running out of cash man and the nearest ATM machine is nowhere near at all,” Brian sighed. He stole a glance at his two friends, seated next to each other on the side table, eyes never once leaving the screen.

“Man, now I really wish I had called for pizza.”

He was back to the sketching by the time the door creaked open. He didn’t think there was anything in this motel, in this room, that didn’t creak. The air con sometimes reminded him of an old man wheezing, the pipes in the shower would groan when the pressure got too high, the beds creak, the floorboards squeak…

“Oh, you’re not Nick.” He knew that voice sounded familiar somehow but for the life of him, couldn’t place where he had heard it.

“Well thank the Lord for small miracles,” AJ chipped, almost too brightly. He looked up from the pad but AJ had the door opened big enough to accommodate himself, standing in the opening and hiding the view of whoever it was that was on the other side.

“Sorry man, must’ve got the wrong room.” He knew that voice too. “Come on Sam, maybe he’d checked himself out.”

Sam? Sam Winchester? Fuck!

“Wait, I didn’t say there isn’t a Nick in this room, I just said I’m not Nick.” AJ and his stupid logic.

He dropped the sketch carelessly on the bed and practically flew across the room (which wasn’t saying much because the room wasn’t all that spacious in the first place), pushed AJ aside and stood face to face with a very startled Sam Winchester and the back of Dean’s leather jacket as he was about to leave.

“It’s really you.” It sounded stupid, like someone who had missed someone so much and didn’t think that someone was coming back but then he did and he was glad and nothing could stop the sissy things that came out of his mouth. It’s really you?

“Hey, sorry for leaving the way we did last night.”

Dean, sans shotgun, had turned around again and gave him a nod as greeting and he wasn’t sure what he should do, wondered if he would get a black eye if he’d say the same thing to the gun wielding guy. He jerked his chin a little as greeting and hoped it was tough enough to warrant some kind of warning, hopefully it came off as guns have nothing on me so don’t even bother. Of course he also remembered passing out in front of these strangers twice, in a night, and decided he was pushing his luck.

“I thought it wasn’t real at all,” he smiled, or at least he thought he did, it might come off as a grimace or a smirk or something really goofy. “So last night-”

“It wasn’t a dream, everything that you think happened, really did,” Sam offered. “I’m sorry we left you the way we did but it wasn’t safe for us and we had to go.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of that. Why wasn’t it safe for them? Did that mean it was safe for him? Was that why it was okay to leave a passed out him alone? What if it wasn’t safe for him in the first place, did this mean they had left him to save their own asses?

“Hey look Nick, I know this is kind of sudden and all but you think you can let us in? It’d be better to you know, talk-”

“What? Yeah…yeah…of course, please, come on in,” he opened the door all the way and turned back into the room and realised this would be awkward for everyone. In his moment of total surprise, he had forgotten all about his friends; how could he explain this without sounding even crazier than he already

Sixteen was a weird age, he recalled. He remembered having so much confidence when performing, he always felt belonged up there, on stage, on a platform, on a soapbox, whatever, just give him a step to climb on, that little height, that levity to separate him from the crowd and get people’s attention to him, because hey, there’s a kid with a mic standing on a shoebox, what’s he up to, that little fella? And he’ll sing his heart out, sing it the only way he knew how, from the very core of his soul, because those words that stretched into sentences and intricately spawned into lyrics? Those aren’t just words, they tell endless stories, of one’s sufferings and loneliness, of joy and freedom, of adventures and surprises, and he, this little boy who was often bullied in school and deemed an outcast by many, was the storyteller. A good storyteller invokes emotions from his listeners, and that was exactly what he did, every single damn time.

Yet he remembered being unsure of himself, the lack of confidence that often drowned his own beliefs of what he could do. He remembered days spent in front of a live studio audience, sitting on the couch and facing strangers that kept throwing questions their way and he hated it, hate it with a passion when he heard his name being called, singled out from his pack, that one syllable Nick. Ooh he hated it.

Despite that, he also remembered the four guys around him, constantly surrounding him, physically letting him know that he was never alone, that they have trust in him to say the right things, to just go for it. He remembered Brian, always whispering in his ears and making light of the situation when he couldn’t find the right words, assisting him without being so obvious about it. He remembered AJ always jumping in to the mic, always saying something stupid and random when his nerves failed him (and AJ will remind him of these ‘favours’ for hours after it happened). He remembered Howie and his winks, his sideway glances, the ghost of a smile that swept by his lips, those looks, always telling him without saying a word, that everything’s all right, that the world will not end if he slipped, to just take it by the horns and talk (of course they never let him lived it down and still pull out the ‘resign’ card on his ass every chance they got).

And then there was Kevin. He would always look at him, even when his own gaze was fixed to his shoes, he could feel it, that Kevin look, the one that seemed to burn through all obstacles and straight to his eyes, like a proud father who couldn’t have been happier than to see his son being asked a question and then had a microphone shoved in his face. And when that didn’t help, when his nerves was too fried to even feel those eyes looking at him, pushing him gently to go on, he’d feel that strong grip of his hand on his shoulder, and sometimes the palm of his hands on his back, away from the screen, but it was there, rubbing small circles, calming him down, while his strong voice stole away the uncomfortable silence, engaging whomever to his attention, giving him that little spot to hide for a while, to get himself together, before he’d feel two pats on his shoulder and Kevin looking back at him, smiling, his eyes telling him I’ve got you kid, go on, don’t be afraid, and he’d smirk and he’d answer the damn question.

When he got older, when he was bolder at answering questions that kept firing at him like speeding bullets, he could still feel their presence around him, even when they were not physically there with him, he could feel them, could hear them telling him you go Nicky, we’ve got your back.

Nick decided, as he let Sam Winchester explained his way calmly to his friends about the whole vision thing, about the hunt, about kids like him, about his mom, about fucking demons, that Dean Winchester was Sam’s Brian, AJ, Howie and Kevin, rolled into one. His support, that pillar of strength that never wavered, tested and challenged through time, probably the only reason why he was still even doing what he was doing, it all came down to big brother Dean.

His posture was relaxed, body leaned all the way in the chair so a part of him was slightly behind Sam’s shoulder, he’d steal glances at his friends, probably reading their facial expressions and figuring out if they were buying into what his little (but not so little) brother was talking about. Then there were the looks he gave Sam, the one that was searching for any signs of distress when talks turned about how their mother had died (four year old big brother rescuing baby brother out of a burning house? Big time hero in little brother’s book for sure) and how his girlfriend had became a victim too. And he thought he saw a glimpse of what an unguarded Dean would look like when Brian had asked about their demon hunter Dad.

“Oh, he passed away too,” Sam said, almost too calmly. “Died on a hunt.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“No, it’s okay. You wouldn’t have known.”

Silence ensued again, for what felt like forever to him, and it was deafening.

“Look, no offence to you both, but this is really hard to swallow right now,” Howie said, breaking the silence. “But what are you saying exactly? That Nick’s like you? One of the kids?”

“All of the kids that we’ve come into contact with from either my visions or by chance, they have similar backgrounds to me and each have their own…abilities,” Sam explained.

He decided he liked Sam. For one thing, he’s the only guy in this room he could talk to without having to look down just to see eye to eye. Ever since Kevin left, he felt like a giant amongst hobbits. Plus he has visions too, perhaps they could one day sit down and swap visions and drink whiskey together and Sam could show him some moves to avoid hitting the ground every time he has attacks of the visions and maybe he could teach Sam the dance moves to – well, maybe not. Maybe he’d keep the band’s identity a secret for now. He imagined Dean would freak out twice as bad as how the guys reacted to the whole hunting demons stuff if he knew he was willingly helping a Backstreet Boy.

“But Nick’s mother didn’t die from a fire when he was six months old,” Brian pointed out.

“And if he’s really like you, he’d be stuck trying to explain the deaths of a lot of girls,” AJ deadpanned.

He frowned and Sam just looked sympathetic, but the rest of them, those traitors he had regarded as his friends, and Dean, stoic, I don’t laugh ever Dean, were smirking, grinning even, and really, it wasn’t even a little funny.

“I think the Demon only kills women who could love kids like us unconditionally. I think they see them as a threat or something. I don’t think they’d care about random women I slept with.”

And what was that? What had he just said? Now he’s talking demons? Was he even supposed to be surprised by this? Wasn’t it him who used to bore Kevin with talks about aliens and wanting to go hunting for them? Hunting. Huh.

“There’s still a question about your mom still alive and kicking Nick.”

His gaze went to Brian and he smiled, because come on, after more than ten years, Brian should have known better, but it wasn’t like it’s his fault, Brian’s family wasn’t fucked up like his.

“Like I said, women who love us unconditionally. We have no immediate worry about my mom burning up on a ceiling, trust me.”

And then the awkwardness came back but he wasn’t about to let it go on for too long. He needed answers, like where he should fucking go from there on out? Should he start worrying about some demon going all out to find his ass?

“Anyway, they’re telling the truth.” He directed this to his brothers, looking back at them the way they had always look at him when they meant business, the one that said I’m not fucking around right now.

Then he turned to Sam and Dean Winchester, the two strangers that were fast becoming his allies, people he believed he could trust. His gaze fell on Dean and he acknowledged the sincerity there, the one hidden behind the well guarded mask of indifference, and then moved on to Sam, and this time his gaze lingered. “My vision last night, it was about you both.”

It had been in his mind the moment he had woken up that morning, when his head was no longer blurry with the remnants of sleep, it came back to him in flashes, reminding him that it wasn't a dream, that he had seen it and it would stay with him, just like all the other visions before it. For some reason he felt the need to forget, to refuse to acknowledge it's presence, concentrating instead on other aspects of the visions, of the dilapidated, abandoned house, of how the windows and doors were lined with salt, how the lights had flickered, how it reeked of stale water, of mould and rust. By the time they had returned from breakfast, he realised he couldn't ignore it anymore, not after they found out the fate of Susan Ray.

What if he had paid attention to the visions more? What if he had taken some action about it, figured out where she might be and track her down, what if he had found her while she was still alive, what if he could help her? What if he could have prevented her death from happening?

Maybe there was a reason why he had met with Sam and Dean. Maybe there was a reason why Sam had had vision of him dying in a pub. Perhaps they were meant to meet, to save each other. Sam had done his part, he was still alive, wasn't he? Now, now he had this vision of Sam and Dean, knew what was going to go down, he had to do something, anything, before it was too late. So he started sketching again, ignoring AJ and his bored self, letting Brian and Howie did their own research, letting them feel that they were helping him out, that not all was lost, yet. And him, he was going to sketch, every grain of memory, every pixel that he could remember, he was going to draw them out and then he was going to track Sam and Dean Winchester down and hopefully, hopefully he was in time to save them, or warn them, because Nick Carter didn't think he could save himself, let alone anyone else. He knew one thing was for sure, he wasn't going to let anyone else die because he fucking hesitated.

So he knew, when Sam and Dean had literally been delivered right at his doorstep that mid afternoon that it wasn't down to pure luck. This was his second chance, his penance, to make things right, and this time, this time, he wasn't going to let it slip through his fingers.

“About us?” Dean was all business like; at least he thought this was what business like looked like for a hunter. There was an invisible guard surrounding them both, like they were some kind of fort holding back against all enemies from entering, and they were armed and fucking loaded. He wondered if he’d turn into that one day, to always be wary of strangers, wondering if the enemies are amongst him, and then realized he already had this invisible fort put up a long time ago, keeping backstabbers, money grabbing relatives and people with ulterior motives at bay, the only change now was, he had added another name to the long list. Demons. Who’s to say they always come yellow eyed, to be fair, he’d seen a lot of demons in his life and they’re often in human skins – those, he decided, was the worst kind.

“This guy…with yellow eyes…he talks to me sometimes…in my dreams…he tells me stuff…said it’s okay, that everything will be all right.”

Hi, I’m Nick Carter and I’m crazy and should be locked up in the house of loonies, could you please point me to the right direction? Thanks!

Dean looked thoughtful, the guys looked like they haven’t gone pass ‘talks to me sometimes’, the air-con sounded like it had coughed out a loose screw and Sam opened his mouth.

“You can talk to him?”

Wait, what? Definitely not the reaction he was expecting. A ‘oh don’t worry I get those dreams too and they’re nothing but residual thoughts seeping into your sleep and messing up with your brains a little’ would be more comforting. Then he thought it was discomforting, disturbing even, to think that that was comforting.

“No, I don’t think so, I mean, I’ve never tried talking to him…it.” Whatever. “But he’s always in my dreams, telling me it’s okay and I’m doing well.”

“What did you see in your…vision? The one about us?” Dean stepped in. Dean didn’t seem too fond about talks of demons and he couldn’t agree more.

“This demon I saw in my vision, he was stuck in some abandoned house and he was listening in to a conversation from inside a room and it turns out he was listening to both of you talking. I can’t really hear what you both were discussing about but he was grinning. Then my vision kind of fast forward I guess, and I saw you both pinned to the walls and he was talking to you.”

Dean looked alarmed and again, he couldn’t blame the guy. If some wiseass demon had him pinned to the wall and decided it was the best time to hold a conversation with him, he’d be pissed too, and afraid, of course.

There was a second where Dean looked away, breaking the eye contact they had and he wasn’t sure what to make out of it, he’d figured Dean wasn’t the type to look away first in battles of the…eyes.

Dean cleared his throat and he decided this was the best time to shift his eyes to something else as well because the room was quiet, still even, no one made a move and the invisible screw that the air-con had coughed up rolled noisily on the carpeted floor, which didn’t make sense at all because a) it was an imaginary loose screw and b) screws don’t roll noisily on a floor that was carpeted because really, what’s the point of the floor being carpeted in the first place if it didn’t absorb that kind of noise?

“Tell me more about this house we were in.”

Now this, this he could answer. So he smirked, because he figured he deserved to give one out, especially when you found out the world you’re living in was about to be overrun by defuckingmons and yeah, aliens? Way overrated.

“Better, I can show you what it looks like.”

Puzzled and confused and he didn’t blame them. He went back to the bed and grabbed for the sketchpad and hurriedly turned the pages to the last sketch he had done and passed it to Dean, with Sam now hovering curiously over his shoulder.

They didn’t gasp but the look on their faces, they might have as well yelled it out because it was that deafening. Something in that picture had ruffled their nerves, if he dared go a step further, he’d say they had seen something familiar in that picture and now he wasn’t sure if that recognition on their faces was a good or a bad sign. He was hoping for good, because good means lesser complications, but seeing how the track to good luck hadn’t been that good where he was concerned lately, it felt like he was asking a tad bit too much.

“Where did you…I mean…when did you…” Great, the kid with the visions had been rendered speechless, this was definitely not good.

“Just last night, when you dragged me out of that pub.”

Sam was frowning and Dean looked confused and the guys were still stuck at ‘surprise’ for quite a while now.

“Look, I’m sorry, but this is what I saw and I’m not going to sit around and let this happen because shit, just this morning we found out one of the girls in my vision was already dead before I even got the fucking vision and I’m not going to let that happen again, if…if there’s a way to prevent this, I’m going to help out any way I can.”

Sam was shaking his head and now he was utterly confused. Was he going to decline his help? Were they always looking for trouble and wishing for death?

“No, no, it’s not like that Nick,” Sam said and then pointed to the sketch. “This guy that you draw, eavesdropping on our conversation and then you said he had us pinned to the walls? Those already happened.”

Seriously? “But…that can’t be it.” No, seriously. He looked at Dean and continued, “You were bleeding from the chest or something man, you looked kind of dead actually and Sam was pleading with this motherfucker.” He could still hear Dean’s heartbeat fading too quickly into the night before his vision ended.

“I was, kind of dead, but that’s because our car got ploughed by a friggin semi driven by a guy possessed by a demon,” Dean explained easily while he, he was still trying to make sure that he had heard ‘kind of dead’ coming out of Dean’s mouth. “After I got shredded from the inside by that other demon you saw in your vision.”

“I don’t understand, are you trying to say that I had a vision of something that already happened?”

Sam nodded. “I met this girl about a couple of months ago, Ava. She found me actually, and told me she had a vision of me dying and before that, she had a vision of a guy being stabbed in some dark parking lot and we found out that he was a kid like us too, you know…we looked into his psych file and he was talking about a yellow eyed guy and how he could electrocute anything by just touching them. I figured Ava’s…gift…or curse, depending on how you look at it…I think she has visions of when one of our kind are in trouble. And for me, my visions are always connected to the demons in one way or another.”

Well that’s a mouthful and boy did his head hurt after listening to that. Was that supposed to be reassuring in some ways? He could use with some assurance right about now, his body was trembling slightly, out of cold or fear, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both.

“Dude, did you just say you looked into the dead guy’s psych file?”

He turned to AJ, surprised that he had spoken but relieved for the little distraction. He needed to sit down and let this sink in. What did this mean?

Sam flinched. “Yeah, we kind of-”

“He stole it,” Dean cut in. “Got the chick to distract the doc and he climbed over the window ledge on the fifth floor to steal it.”

Brian looked disturbed. Howie was amazed. AJ would have bowed down to them if he could and hello, he thought they were sidetracked too far from the important subject here. Like, what does this mean for his visions?

“Wait hold on a sec here…are you saying I have visions of the past?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know…maybe…did you sketch anything else?”

“I sketched something from all the visions I had so far, normally the ones that stood out the most.”

“Can I…”

“Of course, sure, go ahead,” he nodded and watched, nervously, as the two brothers flipped through the pages, pausing at some sketches longer than the others. Brian was biting his fingernails.

“These are…amazing…every detail of it too…damn I wish I can sketch like this,” Sam muttered while flipping through the pages.

“This is so weird,” Dean muttered moments later. “Some of these people, we’ve met them.”

“Are they all dead?” Howie asked.

Dean shrugged. He didn’t feel like asking if that was a good shrug or a bad shrug. “This right here, she’s Meg.” It was the picture of that girl with black eyes and stirring a cup of red liquid that he suspected was blood.

“She’s a demon?”

“A girl possessed by a demon. Demons don’t have a body so they possess humans for their vessel,” Sam explained. “But I think I know what your visions are about Nick.”

Oh here it comes. His stomach felt queasy, he was drenched in cold sweat and his breathing was becoming faster now. Maybe he shouldn’t let Sam tell him. Maybe it’s better not to know. Maybe if he ignored it, kept it quiet, it would go away. Of course soon after that thought came to him, he was reminded of Jessica Moore, and how she had died because Sam had ignored his visions when he first dreamt of it. And even though his visions were of dead people, there has got to be a reason why he was getting them, surely he holds some kind of answer to the bigger puzzle.

“You do?” Nodded. “You see the missing parts Nick. The holes that we can fill and understand the full picture.”

Still confused.

“See this picture of Meg? She’s in a van correct? The bigger picture you saw in your vision, she was in a van when she was holding this cup, am I right?”

“Yeah.”

“A white van,” Sam added. “I met Meg when I was trying to hitch a ride and we talked but then this white van stopped and she got in. You saw what happened to the driver and what she was doing in there, those are things I didn’t witness first hand, obviously, but they’re tied together.”

“Just like you saw da…this demon…eavesdropping on our conversation,” Dean added. “We didn’t see that part.”

“You know, for a while there, I was hoping I’d see a sketch of Ava,” Sam continued. “She went missing soon after we parted. Her fiancé was killed on their bed and no signs of her anywhere.”

“Well I’m not sure you want me having visions of her then, considering how I tend to see dead people.”

“Well, you saw us and we’re still here, aren’t we?”

This, is true.

“What happened to the demon who pinned you to the walls?” AJ asked. “I mean, you both definitely came out of that one alive, so you must have killed him.”

Dean smiled but it looked misplaced to him. If there were anyone who knew about masking pain very well, it’d be him. It was a useful trade, especially being in the entertainment business.

“You didn’t kill him,” he said, hoping that whatever it was that Dean was trying to hide, would stay hidden for now. Obviously it was causing him some amount of pain just hearing about that day, and who were they to go probing into their lives when they hadn’t even told them who they are. “If you had killed him, he wouldn’t be in my dreams all the time.”

Apparently that didn’t help matter. In fact, he was sure it only made it worst. Sam looked like he had just been run over by a truck, again. “You…he’s the guy with the yellow eyes in your dreams?”

“Yeah.”

There was pain there, and lost, but neither Dean nor Sam said anything further. And his head was hurting, he felt like his brains was going to melt with all the information he was getting so far. So he decided to let it go, at least for now. He had a feeling they’d be seeing more of Sam and Dean after today anyway, there’d be time to ask them about that, and yeah, to tell them that they had been hanging out and talking about fucking demons and visions with the Backstreet Boys. How’s that for shock value?

He didn’t think there was anything lamer than having a religious, I read the Bible before going to bed every night without fail (actually not really, but Nick tends to get very overly dramatic when he's angsty) man rooming with a guy who dreams of a Demon calling him son and have visions of dead people (or almost dead according to Dean Winchester and in a way he was right because Sam and Dean are still alive and he had visions of them, didn't he?) and who most likely would turn evil because apparently, that was his destiny. Fuck destiny, what was being a Backstreet Boy all about then? But there he was, wide a wake in the middle of the night, unsure of what to do now that he had answers. It still seemed too bizarre for him.

"Nick, you need to sleep." And even though Brian had whispered, he had almost jumped out of bed out of fright. And what was Brian thinking, whispering like that in the middle of the night? Was that supposed to make him not jump? Because he almost did just that, and come on, whispering in the middle of the fucking night is creepy.

"You're not asleep either."

"That's because you keep on tossing and maybe you don't know this but these beds creak man."

"Sorry." I'll try to not toss and not think about all those creepy things that are out there. Hookman, poltergeists, fucking vampires man! Oh, and friggin dude that might be under his bed at this very moment. Oh the windows and doors were fucking lined with salt all right, and that was kind of weird and funny, because something that could give him high blood pressure could also help ward off those things that went bumping in the night. It'll help you sleep better at night, Dean had told them, and right now, he felt like going up to their room, knock on their door and tell them that's bullshit, because yeah, his watch just beeped, which means it was already three in the friggin morning and he was nowhere near asleep!

"Actually I've been thinking."

"Don't think that'll help in the trying to fall asleep department Bri."

"I know, I just can't help it, after what we've learnt today, kinda hard to just call it a night and close my eyes you know?"

You know? You know? Of course he knew! He was the one with the crippling migraines and fucking visions! And wasn't it already so messed up that now, now that he thought about it, that his mother was still alive and safe because of her inability to love him unconditionally? So was finding fame and fortune, which led to her turning greedy and self absorbed a blessing in disguise? Was all that suffering he and his family had to endure a twisted sacrifice for her life? He could never win, could he? Have a living, healthy, crazy, estranged mom or burnt, dead and buried mom.

"Yeah."

"I mean, we're talking demons here Nick, and they're looking for kids with abilities like yours and it's just...crazy...to even think there's this dark force trying to take over the world."

His 3am brain translated that to: I'm a man of faith, Nicky, and I believe in the power of good and no way, just no way, will God let this happen to our world we live in. And by the way, I'm kind of scared because does this mean you're an evil person because you have powers and the demon wants you on his side?

And dark forces? Star Wars anyone?

"They've been ruling this world for quite a while now Bri, we're just now seeing it in it's pure form." And he thought wasn't it odd that he used the word pure in association with the dark force, so he said, as an afterthought, "well, not pure, pure, but you know, the devil himself, instead of devils in human form, even though the one in my dream is technically a man only he has yellow eyes but he's not really like Saddam Hussein the devil although that would totally rock, cause then we know a noose to the neck will do him in but-"

"Nick, I get what you mean."

"So, you're going to give this a chance right?"

The bedlight went on and he heard Brian shifting in his bed, probably kicking at the blanket. The bed creaked noisily (he didn't think there was ever a time when a bed creaks silently because that's just stupid) and Brian's footsteps followed. He assumed Brian was going to take a leak so he closed his eyes, wondering if he had wanted sleep to come in the first place seeing how he would only dream of that YED (that's yellow eyed demon, keep up with Nick's logic man) anyway and that was just a waste of time sleeping, but his bed creaked and the mattress dented a little to his left and then a hand on his arm and he almost, almost screamed out loud but realised it was only Brian.

"Now this is why people think Backstreet Boys are gays Bri, we need to talk about personal space."

"Please, since when do you, of all people, care about personal space? May I remind you that it was you who licked Howie's forehead."

Heehee, yeah, that was fun. Pissed off, annoyed, I'm going to go totally Spanish on your ass Howie was fun to watch.

"That was fun."

"Yeah Nicky, because licking Howie's sweat is totally normal."

"Brian?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why are you on my bed?"

There was a long pause and he was almost lulled into sleep (the guys had that effect on him ever since he was twelve; close contact made him feel safe and with all guards down, he'd fell asleep easily) when Brian cleared his throat and said, "You know I'll be here all the way right? I might have some issues with stuff but that's something I'll have to work out on my own but you don't think a demon will make me go away do you?"

“I don’t know what to think of anymore, but I’m glad you said it, now I know.”

Brian shifted again and the mattress creaked and a friggin spring was now poking at his lower back. He shifted to the left and patted the empty space next to him. “I think there’s enough space for tiny you. Come join me in the staring at the ceiling until sleep comes game.”

Brian yawned. “What about personal space and all that crap?”

“The door’s locked and you’re getting up early, like before the sun goes up early.”

“You used to beg me to come sleep with you in the same bed,” Brian sighed. “Where is that cute little kid I once knew?”

“He grew up and take up all the space on his bed.”

He smirked as Brian chuckled and settled down on the bed. It was big enough for the both of them and it felt nice not to feel awkward having Brian sleeping so close next to him. He didn’t really have any problems with physical contact, he liked them in fact, he had always needed it as far as he could remember. What he didn’t particular feel comfortable about was the emotional contact, when it’s time to talk, when it was time for them to decide they wanted to know and he was expected to tell, to spill it all out as if it was the normal thing to do. He didn’t like it at all, besides the things that he thought about, it might sound perfectly reasonable in his head but they always come out sounding so stupid, so embarrassing, that he hated to be subjected to such ridicules.

“I need you to be sure.” So what the hell was he doing now? The silence had been so much easier to handle and he just had to open his mouth. “You know things are gonna be so screwed after this right? If you get involved, you’re getting Leighanne and Baylee involved too and if it gets dangerous Bri, and I have a feeling it will, it’s going to kill me if something happen to them.”

There was a long pause, too long in fact, that he was beginning to wonder if he had successfully just convinced Brian to back away.

“Nick, you can’t start worrying over everyone now or you’re going to go crazy.”

“Too late for that.”

“I’m serious man. You have more important things to worry about, like really understand what’s going on and what you have to do with those dreams and visions you’re getting. I think we really need to sit down with Sam and Dean and get as much info from them as possible.”

He had thought about that, in fact it had been on his mind for quite a while now. He wasn’t like Sam and Dean, he wasn’t a hunter, he wasn’t raised to kill those things that until today, he thought only existed in urban folklores and mythologies. How was he going to protect himself? How was he going to try and not be bad?

“If a demon can possess anyone, being in public is gonna screw us over so bad man.”

“Hey, we’ll get through this all right? I’m sure there’re ways to protect ourselves from them, we’ll figure it out.”

He would give Brian credit for trying. He knew there weren’t much to hold behind those words, knew it was Brian’s way of calming them both down, because hyperventilating at 3:15 in the morning wasn’t a good idea, at all. And because he really appreciated how understanding his friend was trying to be about the whole mess, he didn’t say anything but nodded his head. Lets believe it would be that simple for just one night. Lets give a little more faith to the good side and call it a day. So he allowed sleep to come and take him away by 3:34 and for the first time in a long time, the YED didn’t come into his dream, in fact, Nick didn’t dream at all and that rocks, big time.

= =

So this is what it looks like if a person had a vision. Now he understood why his friends had that look on their faces after he had one. It was scary as heck. One minute they were talking and having breakfast, swapping visions and places they’d been to (Sam could name all the cemeteries in different cities while Nick pointed out the pubs that Dean could hustle at pool without ending up in some back alley half dead) and the next, Sam was holding his head and swaying on his feet on their way back to Nick’s room.

That tiny part of his brain, the one that Nick referred to as shallow and inconsiderate, was telling him to pay close attention and watch how Sam did it. How even in that kind of pain, Sam was still in control of his own extremities and didn’t go kissing the asphalt seconds after the attack. How Sam had slowly swayed on his feet until he couldn’t stand upright anymore and the other part of Nick’s brain, the thankfully, bigger part, the one that was full of logic and compassion, smacked him right behind his eyes and got him moving. He managed to catch Sam mid way and broke his fall.

Still, it was scary to see Sam’s face scrunched up in pain, how he was trying not to make a sound but groaned anyway, because dude, visions are a bitch and a half, and while they were both healthy young adults, they were allowed to groan in pain without losing any of those manly hood thing. At least that was what Nick thought.

He wasn’t sure what to do now. Well, he figured he should know, and he decided he knew, because he had been in this situation before hadn’t he? So he had a role reversal but it couldn’t be that hard to handle. All he had to do is stay by his side and let him ride it out, because if there was one thing he learnt about this whole stupid vision and having them around his friends, it’d be NEVER to interrupt a guy who was still having attacks of the vision, because then you were just asking for a good kicking in the ass and subject the visioneer (and yeah, that should be a word damn it) to more pain than necessary. He was still upset that he had no recollection of kicking AJ right on the family jewel but he remembered the smacker inflicted on his head when AJ tried to pry his eyes open in the middle of a vision attack.

So he waited, and had a quick scan of the area around them and was glad that everyone seemed to either be back there in the diner or still asleep in their room because well, it was only nine in the morning after all.

He wondered what went on in his friends’ heads when they watched him in the middle of the attack. He wondered if they were as scared as he was feeling now or if they were contemplating if he had faked it and it was part of his plan to get their attention. He still wasn’t sure how Brian had even thought of that. Especially after the whole Paris thing, wanting to be in the middle of any kind of action had never occurred to him.

“Sammy!”

There was urgency in Dean’s voice as he called for his brother and ran towards them and he had to admit, he was slightly surprised by the reaction. He figured Dean would be used to this by now, to the visions his brother had been having for almost a year now. Dean must have seen them through the window of their room and had bolted a second after, because he had only his jeans on, he smelled of cheap soap which means he just had a shower, the guy didn’t even bother to put on a friggin shirt and yeah, there was this tiny detail of him being barefoot.

Then he felt some kind of warmth, a good kind of warmth, the one that went straight to his heart and fill it up with something good, a kind of high. Dean had dropped everything just to get to his brother, just like the guys had left the comfortable life in L.A; dropped everything and came for him, to be with him, because he surely never invited them, didn’t want to trouble anyone, he was on a goose chase for all he knew, but they still follow him, and surely that showed something.

The fear and worry on Dean’s face was probably the closest thing he could ever witness to what it was probably like for the guys when he had his visions. It hurt him to know that he had caused this and wondered if Sam ever thought of it that way. Then he resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his own stupidity, because well duh, of course Sam had thought that.

Sam was looking at Dean but not really seeing Dean and he marveled at the amount of pain Sam had managed to control in order to do just that. To resist from closing his eyes, from scrunching his face up so bad that the pain doubled, to not passed out. He also noticed his hands reaching out for Dean, to let him know that he heard him, and Dean had responded by holding on tight to his brother’s arms, to give that connection, a lifeline of sort, while Sam sort out the images playing in front of him, swallowing every detail so he could remember them clearly once it was over. Nick understood this very well, the need to remember everything (and then wishing he hadn’t remembered anything because it kept playing in his mind and that was just messed up, because there was only so much time he could stand watching someone getting killed), he wasn’t sure why he wanted to, but he always felt that way, the importance, the urgency to just remember.

And just like it had started, it was suddenly over. He could see now that Sam was seeing Dean, and that look, that expression he wished he could have given his friends after every vision and had them understood what it meant; the ‘fuck, that was intense as all hell and you’re not gonna like it one bit but we can’t ignore it’ look.

“Hey you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah…that was unexpected.”

“Dude when have you ever expected it? You got no control over this man.”

Sam nodded and then as if for the first time, noticed where they were. “Uh Dean, you do realise you have no shirt on.”

“I just got out of the shower man.”

“And that you’re barefoot?”

“Dude I hauled ass because Nicky here looked like he was going to cry seeing you with your shinning, you should be kissing my feet.”

“Hey I wasn’t going to cry,” he jumped in self-defence, and for whatever was left of his manliness. “And it’s Nick.” In times like these, it was easy to remember why he didn’t really like this guy in the beginning.

“Ignore my brother,” Sam advised as he pushed himself up from the ground and then looked at Dean. “And dude, I’m not into feet fetish, at all.”

Dean scowled, “Dude that’s so not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Nick couldn’t help saying.

“Well you forty-four hundreds sure have a lame sense of humour,” Dean retorted, although Nick couldn’t trace any malice in his voice. “We need to talk about that vision Sam.”

“I’ll be in Nick’s room and you can come join us once you’re not so naked okay? I think I want to see those sketches again, just to be sure we get everything.”

Dean practically hopped his way back because the asphalt ground was beginning to burn under the morning sun while they made their way down another five more doors before coming to a stop at door 1816, where currently housed the remaining Backstreet Boys.

“I don’t have much time left Nick,” Sam said before he had the chance to open the door. He also thought Sam was telling him that he was dying, because isn’t that what dying people always start with when they wanted to break the news? I don’t have much time left guys, I’m going to die in the next few days so I need to warn you about it. “The vision I just had, I have to go check it out.”

“Cause they’re always tied to the yellow eyed demon.”

Sam nodded, and he understood the lack of words used, because what do you say to that, exactly?

“Hey, you think my visions are tied to the yellow thing too?”

“I’m not sure yet, but we’re going to figure it out before we leave.” And Nick wondered if Sam had meant in a few hours, or in a day, or in a week, and it scares him, because he didn’t think all these could be explained and solved in weeks, let a lone a few hours.

The sketches helped, Sam had told him. Howie had made a study area in the middle of the room, they had moved the two single beds to the corner and one of them had probably pulled a foldable table right out of their ass because he had no idea how such a furniture had came to their possession (and Nick immediately strikes out AJ because the guy had no ass to pull anything out of) and placed it next to the study table that came with the room and everyone had sat around them while Sam tried his very best to explain this whole supernatural concept.

Yes, he did feel, for a second there, as if he was on the set of X-Files. In fact, he had to fight the temptation to start pinning up the articles Howie had printed out of his savvy lap top on the walls around the room (and yes, he didn’t even want to know where they got a friggin portable printer because Nick was still at the ‘wow I can’t believe Howie is attached to the laptop and not his cellphone and oh, he’s doing research about phenomenal activities’ phase).

They had learnt all there was to know about how possession works and how they can recognize one in a crowd. Sam also explained, in intricate details, how they could perform an exorcism (AJ volunteered to learn Latin and Nick pointed out he was only doing it because it might attract the girls to which AJ said 'did not' and Nick said if AJ had an ass, he'd call that a lame ass excuse). He also explained about the existence of hunters, like them.

He had to admit, it didn’t feel any better as Sam went on, in fact, it only got him coming up with more questions than he thought possible.

Dean had come mid way into the little discussion and he could sense his intense energy immediately. It was weird at first, to be able to pick up on such things like that, but it also made him more aware of the people around him. He wasn’t sure if this was just another ability he didn’t know he had, or that the visions somehow opened this…window…somewhere in him, and made itself known.

Dean threw a smile around the room, watched his brother as he pulled a chair and sat next to Brian, across from Sam. He didn’t say a lot and when he did, he was right to the point. Sam didn’t seem bothered by the pair of eyes trained on him but Nick had caught him several times throwing casual glances Dean’s way, they were communicating, he knew, and whatever it was that needed to be conveyed, didn’t need any words at all.

And then Sam had launched into the topic he had been waiting to hear. About children like him, the ones who were visited by demons when they were six months old and had their mothers burnt on the ceiling of their nursery. How he had met some who still had their mothers but still possessed some kind of ability like they did.

Then Sam explained how his sketches helped him to see the bigger picture, fill in the missing pieces. It helped to close the chapter behind and move on, he said. Nick was only too happy that his sketches meant something; that even if it was too late for those people he had seen in his visions, that it was helping someone else, and hopefully Sam learnt something from it, hopefully helped him out in future hunts.

Nick, on the other hand, told them about the dreams, about the yellow eyed man telling him that it was okay and that he shouldn’t be scared, that he was part of a bigger plan and when the time’s ready, he would come for him and he’d understand.

This was the part where Sam looked alarmed. Where Brian looked horrified. Where Howie had frown and AJ had almost fell off his chair. Because he hadn’t really told anyone that before – the whole I’ll come for you soon son, and then you’ll understand.

“Look,” Dean broke the tensed silence, his eyes now boring into him, the first time he had seen Dean looked this serious, this determined. “I don’t believe in this destiny crap. This is your life, your choice. No one can make you mad or make you go kill things if you don’t want to. It’s all up to you. Unless you get yourself possessed by a fucking demon, it’s all you man.”

“Dean,” Sam interrupted, sounding so small and finally like the little brother he was supposed to be, because it was hard to remember sometimes that Sam was the younger one, especially when Dean had been quiet and kept himself in the shadow, allowing Sam to take control of the situation.

“No Sam, you listen!” Dean stressed, and his eyes glanced back to his brother for a second and then came to rest on him again. “When that thing comes for you one of these days, you’ll be ready, and when he give you that shit eating grin and said come with me son, you can tell him to go fuck himself off because you’re not going anywhere, you understand me?”

Nick wasn’t sure if he was supposed to give some kind of affirmative, because he knew this wasn’t just directed at him, he knew that this was a message for his brother too, something Nick bet he had told him many times before.

When no one said anything, it was Brian who cleared his throat. “Dean, you don’t have to worry, we won’t let Nick go with whatever that thing is, we’ll do anything we can to stop that from happening. I trust you’ll do the same for your brother.”

Nick decided Brian was getting hot waffles with vanilla ice cream topped with generous serving of hot fudge for lunch.

Dean seemed to relax a little and his eyes shifted to his brother. “I’m just one person, but it’s better than none.”

Brian grinned and patted Dean on his shoulder. He wondered if Brian would be doing that if he knew the guy had rested a sawed off shotgun on that very shoulder just the day before. “Well, you just don’t know what a man is willing to do for someone he loves.”

There was pain, Nick felt it strongly coming off from both brothers and he had to admit, it was kind of confusing. Dean paused a second too long, as if stuck in a dark memory, before he nodded and returned Brian’s friendly gesture with a smile.

“Oh, I think I do.” And no one dared asked him what he meant by that.

= =

At lunch, he bought waffles with vanilla ice cream and hot fudge for everyone. Dean said normally, when they met a kid like Sam and told them about the whole Supernatural stuff, they’d call them crazy and shooed them away.

The atmosphere was filled with lightly banters for a while and things got even better when AJ out of nowhere asked everyone if they had seen the 67 Chevy parked outside the motel and started rambling on about how he wanted one and Howie pointed out how AJ might like vintage cars, but he definitely doesn’t know how to ride one and was about to remind him about the car he got stuck driving while shooting for the video Incomplete when Nick had cut in (because really, this wasn’t the time to randomly throw in a ‘and oh by the way, we’re the Backstreet Boys’) and told them the Chevy belonged to the Winchesters. This created an even animated conversation between AJ and Dean, much to everyone’s amusement. Sam warned Dean his ‘I don’t mingle’ status might be compromised if he kept it up.

After lunch, everyone returned to their separate rooms, Sam and Dean excusing themselves with promises that they’d stay another day before leaving for their next hunt. He’d ask what the next hunt was about but he didn’t think it was wise to push his luck. Beside, Sam wasn’t looking too good ever since his latest vision, which was worrying because from what he was told, Sam would normally recover soon after.

He went back to his sketches because he wasn’t sure what to do now that he was alone with Brian again. He wasn’t sure how any of the guys were really doing with all these information being thrown on their laps.

It didn’t take long for Brian to finally made his way to his bed (which really didn’t take that much of moving around seeing how both beds were pushed to a corner and Brian really needed two steps to achieve that feat) and plopped himself down in front of him.

“I’m not even going to try and understand the logic of what just happened,” Brian said and he wasn’t sure what to do with that statement and just watched Brian from the top of his sketch book. “I just know it exist and you’re somehow a part of it.”

He noticed a few things about Brian that he hadn’t seen before. Brian was becoming his age. He noticed now the lines on his forehead, the crow feet at the end of his eyes, the barely there bags under his eyes, how now that he was looking straight into them, he could see the years of experience stored in there. It was a little strange to see this side of Brian, he had always regarded him as the same young, crazy, funny guy he knew when he was 12. Even when Brian had acted like an asshole before, when he had hit a period where he came off as holier than thou to almost everyone, even then Nick still regarded him as that grinning, friendly guy who would stay up late and battle him on the playstation because he couldn’t sleep.

They had all grown up, hadn’t they? There were more than just being the Backstreet Boys now. No longer sheltered in a nice, safe cocoon where the things they worry about were backstabbers and where they were heading to the next day. There are wars going around in this world, mother earth is pretty much angry with everyone and everyone felt her presence with the natural disasters she decided to retaliate with. And now the whole ‘evil versus good’ had taken a level up.

“It must be really hard to be doing what they’re doing.”

He nodded and continued with his sketch.

“You’re not going to start hunting things now are you?”

“Only if I have a death wish.”

Brian smiled and he felt compelled to return the gesture. “Good, good…because the only way I’m going to let that happen is if I follow you along and that might create a bit of a problem seeing how I have to tell my wife I’m going to be slaying ghosts, although I think my cool meter will hit the roof with my son.”

He stopped sketching because he really felt he should look as serious as he wanted to be when he told Brian this (plus he had been drawing dark circles for the last ten minutes and had no idea why he was doing it and frankly, it was creeping him out), “Thanks Bri, for even thinking about it, but no, you don’t have to worry about me changing careers anytime soon. I think I have a lot on my plate as it is already.”

Brian shrugged and then grinned. “Just covering my bases here you know?”

“I know,” he nodded short. “Hey, you think Howie’s already busy updating Kevin about what’s going on?”

Brian laughed because Brian probably had expected that he would find out about them updating Kevin because it's just so them to do that. “Yeah, I think he’s doing that right now.”

“You think Kev’s gonna freaked out?”

“Nah, you know Kev, when had anything ever freaked him out?”

This, was true (although he decided not to mention that one incident when he had stuck kevin’s finger inside a bottle and Howie said they might have to cut it off, Kevin had freaked out like a girl over that one).

“So, tell me about this yellow eyed Demon, you showed me a sketch of that before right?” I want to know everything that’s going on with you Nicky so please don’t shut me out.

“Yeah.”

It was a relief. It was as if all the burdens in this world had been lifted off of him for a while. Brian seemed to take it well (and by well, he meant going ‘Oh good Lord Jesus’ every time he saw a disturbing image, which was each and everyone he had sketched so far) now that he was seeing those sketches and really paid attention to them, while listening to him explained every vision he had so far.

It was when he was in the middle of telling Brian about his vision of the Winchester brothers being held against their will by the demon that had killed their mother that someone had knocked on their door.

“I’ll get that,” Brian offered.

He went back to his sketch pad and realised he had been sketching a pair of black eyes. He wondered if it should be of any significance.

It was Dean at the door, sans Sam. He had to admit it was kind of surprising to see him alone. For all his effort to stick around, he always had the feeling that elder brother wasn’t really a people’s person. But the same could be said about Kevin (the bushy eyebrow tends to yell ‘piss off!’ at everyone within arms length) but he ended up being one of the nicest guys he had ever had the opportunity to know.

“Hey Brian, sorry to trouble you again man.”

“No, no, not a problem at all. What’s up?”

“Uh, I’m leaving for a bit, just following up to the next hunt and all…I normally don’t do this and Sam’s a big boy but he’s not feeling too good and I’m wondering if, you could…you know, if…”

“I’ll keep an eye on the big guy, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, I appreciate that…room’s salted and all and he knows to call me if anything happens it’s just…nice…to know he’s not really alone.”

“I totally understand that, don’t worry, we’ll keep our guards up.”

He wasn’t even sure how he had ended up by the door next to Brian, he wasn’t even sure when he had gotten out of bed in the first place, but he was there, and he knew why, just wasn’t sure about the how.

“Hey, this is just a research right?”

Dean nodded, “Yeah.”

“I’m guessing you’re going to the library.”

“You’ve been hanging out with Sam too much Nick,” Dean pointed out. “And I don’t do libraries but Sam’s out of commission.”

“So it won’t be anything dangerous.”

Brian smacked him on the shoulder and that surprised Nick a little. “What?”

“What are you getting at Nicky? I’m not liking where this conversation is going.”

He grinned because he liked how worried Brian looked right then. Well, not that he liked seeing Brian worried because of him but he felt good that his friend was even worried about him at all.

“I'll come with.”

“What?” Said Dean.

“What!” Said Brian.

What was it about short, big brothers that really get on the nerves of taller, little brothers?

“I can help, it’ll make your job easier and faster, might even come back before Sam’s awake.” Besides, Brian here is itching to hang out with the other guys and find out what Kevin had to say about all these.

“I don’t know about that man.”

“Okay fine, I just need someone to drive me to the 7/11 for a bag of M&Ms, I’d go myself but I might kill someone if I get a vision in the middle of driving.”

Brian sighed because Brian had known him for more than ten years and this was a classic display of Nick getting his way regardless of what everyone else said.

Dean looked thoughtful and he thanked his goodself for paying attention to the tiny details when they had gone for lunch together earlier on and used it to his advantage (Dean had asked for M&M’s to be sprinkled on top of his vanilla ice cream).

Raising an eyebrow, tilting his head to the left and probably rounding him up for a final decision, he said, “M&M huh?”

He didn’t think the phone managed to even ring once before it was answered, followed by a really annoyed sounding AJ going, “Fuck you Nickolas, fuck you.”

Did he laugh? What a stupid question. This is Nick, he’d laugh at every opportunity given if it means annoying AJ McLean. He leaned back against the soft, weathered leather of the seat; his arm perched lazily on the opened window on his side of the Impala. The cool early afternoon breeze rushed past his face (because Dean Winchester drives the only way an Impala should be driven, fast), ruffling his hair in the process and it took everything in him to not close his eyes.

“Dude, we’re pushing 90 now.”

“Go fuck yourself and don’t call me again!”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry I interrupt your porn surfing.”

That felt good. That would finally pay back the hell he got when AJ kept ‘reminding’ him of the fact that he was the one behind the wheels of that Pontiac in their video. That was a fun time, doing that video. AJ fucking himself up with the car when it jammed (it’s a muscle car Alex and you have no muscles whatsoever on you, he had mocked, to which AJ had yelled ‘shut up you fatass!’ and that had shut him right up, and pout about it but no one had to know that), Kevin eating snow (or choking as he recalled fondly of the old man spitting tiny specks of Styrofoam while going ‘I prayyyyyy…’), Brian freezing his ass off and almost drowning his tiny self in that big, big wave (which was awesome for surfing and he had wished he had brought along his surfboard) and wet, wet Howie on his knees (and when he had seen the video for the first time, went ‘oh my God! Howie dude, that is totally my move!’ when the Puerto Rican had went down on his knees and friggin slap those innocent sands) with that cute hat of his.

The sound of plastic being ruffled made him turned to his left, where he found Dean expertly driving this muscled car (black and slick like a panther and purrs like one too and he had taken his time to run his hand over her body, to appreciate this monster of a beauty and wow, couldn’t believe he had actually slept, fine, passed out, whatever, on the backseat of this very…beast) with his left hand while the right arm was now wrist deep inside a huge yellow plastic bag and coming out with a couple of assorted coloured M&Ms, which quickly disappeared inside his mouth.

He took a couple of yellow ones himself and started munching and then resisted the urge to moan at his personal choice of aphrodisiac and then holding back his laughter as he imagined the little balls of chocolate waving their arms and legs begging him not to crush them and then blinked his eyes a couple of times to shake that image out of his head because that was just morbid.

“Shamywuvporwaintoo,” Dean said (or whatever you call that, he thought) with his mouth full.

“Yeah?”

Dean nodded, grinned, swallowed and both arms now back on the wheels. “Caught him doing it once. He’s a fast guy you know, put him in front of a Wendigo and he’d probably outrun the mother, but leave him alone in a motel with porn channels and his fingers couldn’t work fast enough to switch off the damn TV when I walked in.”

“That motel sounds good.”

Dean shrugged. “As far as motels goes, I guess.”

“And that must be awkward.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Do I want to know what a Wendigo is?”

“Probably not.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said and popped another M&M in. This time it was blue, in honour of all the porn videos he’d ever had the opportunity of watching, and those, had been quite a lot.

Dean reached out for the radio button and he immediately recognised the familiar tune of Rascal Flatts’ Moving On. That was okay though, listening to Rascal Flatts, he had done it only a gabillion times, he liked the band, one of the few country bands that he actually liked listening to; but listening to Moving On when the volume was put on at the max, was something else. That had hurt.

It was immediately turned off and he caught the flinch on Dean’s face. “Ugh, of course it’s country music, we’re in Nashfreakinville!”

“I take it you’re not a country music fan.”

“Bingo.”

Somehow he couldn’t see a gun loving, leather jacket wearing Dean saying Bingo, but he did, and Nick decided maybe he liked this guy just a tad bit more.

“Hey, help me out would you.”

“What?”

“Get that box under your seat.”

“What the hell is a box doing under this seat?” But Dean didn’t have to explain because the box was now sitting on his lap and he was marvelling at what he was seeing.

“Dude, these are like, cassette tapes.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“With these? Hell no. These are awesome man.”

Dean took a chance and turned a little to look at him. He looked kind of surprised.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! I mean…Metallica? Black Sabbath? AC/DC? In cassette tapes! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get your hands on them these days?”

“Why would you be going around looking for those?”

Shrugged. “I like to collect them. I have them in CDs for my car back home but these are something else.”

There was a short silence where Dean concentrated on the road and he went through the collection and found one by Motley Crew.

“Fuck, you have Dr. Feelgood in cassette tape. Wait till I tell Tommy this.”

Oh fuck shit, what had he done now? Kevin always said he needed to learn to keep some things to himself, to think first because saying out loud. He used to say you know Nicky, one of these days, your fast mouth is going to be your own downfall and I sure hope when that happens, it’s not in front of your mother.

He wished he had said that in front of his mother because what’s the worst he would get for saying fuck out loud? A smack on the head if that had happened way back then, and that was something he could live with, he had received far worst from that same hand anyway.

Now this was something else. He hoped Dean was too busy concentrating on the road to hear that tiny slip.

“Did you say Tommy?”

Maybe he should have prayed instead of hoped. “Did I?”

“Yeah, you said wait till I tell Tommy this.”

“Hmm…yeah…maybe I did.”

Silence.

This would be the best time to –

“As in Lee?”

“Dude, you have Metallica’s black album! Haven’t heard this one in a while now.” Forget what I said just now and just play this okay?

Dean shrugged and he allowed himself to breathe, didn’t even realised he had not been breathing and that had scared him, to not know he hadn’t been breathing and wondered what was he trying to achieve? Death by self inflicted suffocation?

“Usually I’d pull out the house rule on everyone but since you asked for Metallica, I’ll give it to ya.”

“House rule?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole. House rule. It’s the only way to not get myself killed by Sammy’s emo crap.”

He tried picturing Dean listening to Backstreet Boys and got himself a horrible picture, a deadly one, and decided his little secret shall remain a secret.

Another silence before the beginning of Enter Sandman took over. And then his muscles relaxed, head felt light as he welcomed the rushing breeze on his face again, fingers tapping to the beat and head lightly bopping to the music, lost in the song. Next to him, Dean was mouthing the words to the lyrics and he wished it had been Kevin sitting next to him, because even though Kevin doesn’t really like heavy metal and would most often than not yell at him to keep it low, Kevin was also the only one who would be crazy enough to jam to Metallica with him while they were stuck in traffic on their way to another radio interview or whatever just to kill time (AJ would tell him to shut the fuck up because he’d rather listen to James Hetfield than him), and he missed that.

= =

He wasn’t sure what it was exactly. Perhaps because he was getting used to the idea of staying in motel rooms (although he could do without the creaking pipes and wheezing air con and oh, spring mattress poking him every time he moved), or maybe because he liked waking up to birds chirping right outside his window, how he could hear the soft rumble of semis passing by the motel from the main road and then mingling with the early folks at the diner, all geared up for work. He liked how normal everything felt like and maybe because of that, maybe because he felt one with the folks at Nashville, he forgot that tiny detail of being recognized in public.

Although to be fair, he didn’t think the public library was public, public. That surely, no one in a library would recognize him. He was also expecting the librarian at the counter to be in her forties, with silver hair pulled to a tight, neat bun, a pair of black rimmed glasses perched on her nose, long grey skirt with buttoned up white shirt under a grey cardigan to match. What he wasn’t expecting was the librarian to be blonde and about in her early twenties, and right now, as he opted to stay back and wait (I’ll just wait over here while you work your, um, charm, he had said to Dean), he realised an intervention of some sort had to take place, because Dean was having a hard time convincing this one.

“…you need a membership card for that and I can get the process done in thirty minutes, if you could just-”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, paused and glanced over at her nametag. “Linda, right?” The librarian nodded and smiled. “Thing is, my paper is due in an hour and I really, really need this last piece of information and then drive back to College and climb all those stairs…I’m not going to make it in time and then they’ll flunk my ass and my dad’s gonna be so pissed…”

He slapped Dean’s shoulder as a greeting and smiled at her, gave her a few seconds and then noticed that slight recognition as her pupils went wide and he knew he got this one in the bag.

“Hi there.”

“Hi, Nick right?”

Bingo. “Yeah I’m Nick.”

“I heard you’re around.” Okay, so they weren’t as stealth as they thought. Maybe bargirl really did post her encounter online.

“You heard right.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Actually, I’m with my buddy here,” he said, patting Dean’s shoulder lightly again. “I understand we have to wait about half an hour to register.”

“That’s right.”

“Well okay, he’s really rushing to get this done and we’re desperate for time and he cannot fail because we promised his dad if he flunk, we’re kicking him out of the band and we don’t want to do that cause you should listen to this guy sing.”

“Oh, are you guys replacing-”

“Oh no, not replacing anyone. This is my other project.”

“Oh, that’s good, for a second there I thought-”

“Yeah no, not gonna happen,” he cut in again. Although by now, he was certain there was no hiding this anymore. “Look, how about this. I register for a membership with your library and while you’re processing it, you let us use the newsroom. I mean, what’s the harm in that right? I’ll still get my membership in thirty minutes so technically, I’m already a member.”

Sometimes, he really liked having quite the charm to work with.

“Yeah well…okay fine, I think I can give you both the exception here. Why don’t you fill up this form and then I’ll show you to the newsroom.”

Five minutes later, they were standing in front of the newsroom, with Linda now no longer in sight.

“I take it charming librarians are usually Sam’s card?”

“I’ve charmed librarians before,” Dean defended.

“If you say so man.”

“Dude I have, okay.”

“Fine Dean, if it makes you feel any better, this is the first time I ever charmed a librarian.”

“She knows you man. And what is this about being in a band? Are you a musician or something?”

“Or something,” he shrugged as they made their way into the newsroom. Thankfully, they were the only two people in there. “And I think she mistook me for someone else.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Shrugged. “She asked if I’m Nick, which I am, so I said yeah, but the rest I’m not too sure. I think she confused me with some other Nick.”

Okay so where did that come from?

“You’re one lucky son of a bitch, you know that?”

“I agree with the bitch part,” he snickered. “So what do we do here exactly?”

Dean shrugged and looked around the spacious room. “Nothing actually, this is just a diversion.”

Huh.

Forget about thinking Dean's a cool guy afterall just because he had a cool car, owned cassette tapes of his favorite rock bands or the fact that he said Bingo, because right now, right now he hated Dean Winchester and wished he had not volunteered to help his ass. If by sitting duck in an empty newsroom with absolutely nothing to do meant helping in the first place. That was what he had been doing for the last fifteen minutes, sitting duck, and praying (not really pray, pray) that Linda the librarian didn't decide to give a surprise and popped in earlier than promised because what the heck was he going to say when she noticed his missing buddy? The one who was supposed to be nose deep in some newspaper articles because of a soon to be dued project?

Dean said he needed to use the wireless internet connection to get some pretty tough information and in case they were being traced, they'd have an alibi in the form of a newsroom. I'm supposedly dead and I'm also in the FBI's wanted list so can't be too careful, Dean had said.

I don't even know where to begin asking you what the heck that's supposed to mean.

You might want to not begin anywhere at all.

What should I do while you're gone?

Uh...read?

She's coming back in 25 minutes man.

Then lets hope I only need 20 to find what I'm looking for huh?

And if you don't?

Well, then we're screwed.

It was weird how his perspectives had changed in a space of fifteen minutes. That was how long Dean had been gone and he couldn’t help the voice in his head saying only five minutes more Carter, five minutes…

But he continued reading the papers, currently randomly reading about events that occurred on July 25th, 1984, because why not?

Bus fire toll 16; laid to faulty breaks. Or maybe the dude was possessed and totally totalled the bus and killed the passengers on board?

Artist kills fiancé, aunt, and then himself. That might not even be him in the first place.

If there was anything scarier than woman in white, it had to be a woman in red. He decided not to read further on this mysterious woman who helped authorities nabbed and slain killer bandit, Dillinger.

Then there was the headache that came out of nowhere; the familiar yet unwelcome blinding white sparks that felt like it was pushing his eyes balls out of his head. Damn it, where the fuck was Dean?

A man in his late thirties sitting in a park with his teenage son, watching people passes by in the late afternoon. They were not talking. The man was smiling, as if watching people walking by and totally ignoring them there was the best way to spend the day. The son, about sixteen, was studying the area as if his very life depended on it.

A couple walked by and he stood up suddenly.

The father followed, rested his arm across the young man’s shoulder and smiled. “What is it son?”

“It’s them.”

“Are you sure?”

The young boy nodded his head.

“Okay, let’s go shall we?”

More sparks. More pain. More visions.

He sat on their couch, head hangs low, staring into nothingness. His arms clasped together by the fingers, not caring for the little crowd that had gathered in their house; police officers, paramedics, CSIs. Somewhere in the kitchen, lying in her own pool of blood, was his wife, killed from a deep slash wound to her abdomen.

It wasn’t all that pleasant to open his eyes only to be greeted with a frown by Dean Winchester. And then to realise he was lying on the parquet floor of the newsroom, knew he was going to get a nice bump somewhere on the back of his head and as if that wasn’t bad enough, his nose was bleeding again.

“Dude you really need to get a hang of this shinning man,” Dean said as he pulled him up and re-deposited him back to the chair.

He flipped him a bird, much to Dean’s amusement, and wiped the blood from his nose with the sleeve of his shirt, which thankfully, was red. “Are we done here?”

“We are so done,” Dean replied. “We’re getting out of here now, unless you really want that library car-”

“You got everything you came here for?”

“Sure did.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

Linda was walking towards the newsroom when they bailed out and because he was still too dizzy to come up with an excuse, he stood there and wondered if they looked like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Oh, are you guys leaving already?”

“Hey, yeah, thank you so much for your help. I can’t believe I pulled this off but I’m so done with this project and I have,” Dean paused and he decided this was for dramatic effect and watched as Dean took a glance at his watch. “Exactly fifteen minutes to hand this baby in. Is that the card?”

Linda looked like it was the first time she noticed the card in her hands and that almost made him giggle. Man, and Linda’s hot. He didn’t think he’d ever gone out on a date with a hot librarian before, he didn’t think he’d ever step into a public library ever since the band took off. He didn’t think –

“Oh yes, you’re now officially a member of our library.” She handed him the card but his hands felt too sluggish to do even just that. Dean seemed to be expecting this because he had intercepted what would be his reaching hand (if he had it up and reaching in the first place, so Dean was, technically, intercepting a ghost hand, which was funny considering Dean’s career choice of ghost hunting and also, he really need to remind himself to ask Dean to show him their ghost hunting gadgets because he really enjoyed watching Ghostbusters the movie) and took the card.

“I’ll take that,” Dean smiled widely and he noticed Linda was taken and that made him hate Dean even more. “Nicky here likes to misplace stuff all the time.”

“Of course,” Linda replied and this was his signal to get out of there, before she mentioned anything about the Backstreet Boys, which would definitely result in Dean leaving his ass behind and that was unacceptable because his head was spinning and you know what would be nice? To pass out in the passenger’s seat of the Impala.

= =

Of course with his luck, he didn’t pass out. In fact he was so alert that it scared him a little. He needed his sketchpad, needed to get those images out of his head before it spontaneously combust. He could hear the rushing of his blood, so close to his ears he thought for a second there that he was bleeding from his ears, but he should have known better because this wasn’t exactly the first time he had a vision, he should be prepared for such things by now.

“Hey, you with me?”

He was probably scaring Dean now and a tiny part of him was doing the happy dance because getting Dean scared, of him, was something he aimed to achieve before the Winchesters made their leave soon.

He’s bad news.

“What?”

“I said, are you with me?”

“No-”

“You’re not with me? Are you o-”

“Yes I’m okay, I meant what did you say after?”

“What did I say after what? You’re confusing me there dude.”

Well this was frustrating, and he shouldn’t have left the sketchpad behind. He’d draw on a piece of gum wrapper if he had a pencil right then! Maybe telling Dean what he saw would help? Maybe it would make him feel better about things, to let it out? Dump it on Dean, yes, that’d be a good payback for making him wait in the newsroom alone.

Dean’s bad news. He’s not telling you everything.

“And you’re no demon,” he scoffed.

“Of course I’m no demon, dude are you sure you’re okay?”

I’m your destiny Nicky, just like Sammy. Dean’s not going to help you son.

“I’m not your fucking son!”

He felt a hand gripping his wrist and he shouldn’t have jumped because he knew it was only Dean, there couldn’t be anyone else in the car, but he did, jump, because his nerve system was fried, he was there but not really there. He figured being too alert wasn’t a good idea either, maybe it was a hole, some kind of portal, to allow the supernatural to get to him (or maybe he needed to stop watching the sci-fi channels), because really, shouldn’t this voice, this assdemonhole be in his dreams, as opposed to talking to him now, in broad daylight, in this car, and obviously Dean couldn’t hear what he was hearing and it’s all too confusing.

“Hey, what did I tell you about the yellow eyed demon and when he comes to get you?”

What did he tell him? Yeah, Dean said something, something he thought he had said a million times to Sam as well. Something about not giving in to this thing.

“Uh…to fuck off?”

“Damn straight. You tell that son of a bitch to go fuck himself off because if he thinks he can talk to you in my car while I’m driving, he’s got something else coming!”

He laughed. He actually laughed because it was funny and he couldn’t help but visualise Dean, with his sawed off gun, shooting rock salt at this demon and it disintegrate into dust followed by a soft ting, because all that was left of the demon was his yellow contact lenses.

Didn’t think it helped calm Dean down though. If any, it only helped the Winchester stepped on the gas pedal and drove through every red light in sight.

Ask him about daddy.

“Hey Dean, I gotta tell you something man.”

“I don’t do chick flick moments Nick.”

“It’s not chick flick, I swear.”

“Fine.”

“I gotta tell ya about the vision I had in the newsroom, when you left me there all by myself, that was messed up, whatever was it that you had to go looking on the wireless that you couldn’t do on your laptop? I know Sam’s got one, he told me about it.”

“You want to tell me about that vision.”

“Oh yeah, sorry, sidetracked there for a sec. Not my fault though, kinda hard to concentrate when this other voice is in your he-”

“Dude the vision already!”

Ask him how he died.

“Yeah, yeah…this man, and his son, sitting in a park, well, it looked like a park as far as I can tell…and there were a lot of people walking by, and suddenly his kid got up right after this young couple passed them and he told his daddy it’s them.”

“It’s them?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what that means.”

“Then what?”

He didn’t die from a hunt son.

“Uh…next thing I saw, we were in the couple’s house and his wife was dead man. She was on the kitchen floor with her stomach slashed opened! I mean, I don’t think they had a kid you know? The husband was alone in the living room when the police came. And there was no fire at all.”

You shouldn’t have done that Nick.

“You said the woman died from a slash wound to the stomach?”

“Yup.”

Ask him!

“And there’s no fire?”

“That’s what I said.”

“The freakiness never stops, do they?”

“What do you mean?”

Dean never said anything after that and Nick pushed the play button, welcoming Metallica with open arms. If Dean was annoyed at him (because he did broke the whole shotgun and cakehole rule), he did nothing, not even a frown thrown his way and Nick soon found out why when the Impala parked right in front of room 101.

= =

Time was lost on him but he figured it was forgivable since he was preoccupied trying to hold on to the present while the voice in his head kept insisting that he listened to it. He was also glad to find out that while the voice could influence him to do things, it couldn’t control him, he decided perhaps that one would come under the possession category, so he should be glad that he wasn’t possessed, but that just screwed logic because there was nothing remotely okay about hearing the voice of evil in your head either.

The room was empty so he figured either Brian was having too much fun at the other guys’ room or they had went off to the diner for food. Either way, he was glad to have the room to himself because he didn’t need for any of the guys to see the dried blood on his nose or the stain on his shirt (even though that would be harder to notice since his shirt was red but while you can take AJ for granted, the same cannot be said for both Brian’s and Howie’s eye for details) and he could get use to the privacy and hopefully sketch this latest vision in peace (because Brian tend to ask if he needed a drink or a biscuit or if the room was too dark for him to be sketching away).

He managed to take off his shirt and gave his face a few splashes of cold tap water before someone came knocking on the door. He made a grab for the clean towel hung by the door, most likely Brian’s and boy would he be mad if he knew he had used his clean towel (again) and crossed the few steps to the door and there stood Dean Winchester.

“Dude you were so eager to drop my ass back like seconds ago.”

“Sam’s not in his room.”

He waited because surely that wasn’t it. Dean didn’t look the type who’d come knocking at someone’s door just to say his brother wasn’t in his room.

“Is Brian in there?”

“Nope. Maybe Sam woke up and joined the gang?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah maybe that’s it. I’ll go knock.”

“I’ll come with.”

Dean wasn’t one to wait on people so he wasn't surprise to see no signs of Dean by the time he had grabbed the first shirt he could reach in his bag, put it on and headed back to the door. He found Dean three doors down, standing in front of Howie’s and AJ’s room.

He could hear Sam’s voice even before he saw him.

Where have you been?

Library; feeling better?

I"m fine Dean. You've been at the library for five hours?

Yeah, didn’t Brian tell you that?

For five hours?

Dude what's so odd about that? It was a long research.

“We stopped to get M&Ms though, Dean promised.”

He always found it funny how a person’s eyebrows could disappear under a mop of hair. Whenever Kevin did that (when Kevin was on his I’m going to grow out my hair and cover my high forehead phase) he’d always felt compelled to sing pop goes the caterpillars in his head; and Sam, Sam came close to making him do just that.

“All those research makes a guy hungry you know?” Dean said lamely.

Brian emerged from the room and he wasn’t any welcoming either. He was looking at him now, accusingly like some girl he had stood up on their date. “I called you, why didn’t you pick up the phone?”

“God I feel like pulling a dumb blonde joke right now,” Dean muttered, which earned him a stare because hello?

“Hey I take offence to that and I’m on your side,” he reminded Dean and then turned to look at Brian. “We were in the library Bri, no cell phones allowed? We had to turn it off.”

“What about after?” Sam asked. Good question, he thought. Neither of them remembered to turn their cell phones back on again.

“After is when Nicky here decided to drop on the floor and had a friggin vision and I had to drag his ass out of there.”

“He didn’t drag my ass.”

“Yeah whatever,” Dean shrugged. “We have to talk about the vision.”

“Which one?” Brian asked. “And are you okay?”

“Both,” Dean replied. “And Nicky’s okay except maybe a bump in the head, hey are we gonna have to play twenty questions before you two move away and let us in?”

As they made their way inside, he noticed AJ and Howie weren’t around, which was funny cause this was their room in the first place. Sam’s laptop was there, sitting next to Howie’s and both screens showed a chess game currently on pause.

“Since when do Deano there calls you Nicky?”

Brian whispering was funny too, because he was trying to be discreet and oh boy he sounded jealous?

“So you were worried and you decided to play chess with Sammy?”

“There was nothing else to do.”

“You’ve never played chess with me.”

“Nick you hate that game.”

“I didn’t hate the game, I can play.”

“Are you jealous?”

He rolled his eyes because yeah, he had managed to turn the table and made it look like he was the one who was jealous when he hadn’t even managed to point that same accusation at Brian.

Dean cleared his throat and was about to say something when the door clicked open again and came in Howie and AJ, with three boxes of Pizza.

“Nothing says it better than pizzas and talks of creepy visions,” Dean grinned. “I hope they come with extra cheese.”

a/n: it was pointed out to me that Jared is an excellent chess player and i didnt know that when i wrote this chapter so that made me go a bit fangirl ish.

They thought he had ran away to some remote area of L.A. to avoid being noticed but all he had done was went back to his hotel room and locked himself in. He always ended up by the window, mind wandering free from the view it offered. Sometimes he’d roll his eyes because it was too fairy-tale ish when he thought about it. Once upon a time, there lived a handsome young Prince who had everything he wanted in this whole wide world, but the Prince was unhappy and always found himself trapped in the tallest tower in the castle.

Might as well grow a ponytail and wear high heels.

Kevin would find him, he always did. Kevin said he’d learn to read him over the years. When you want to run away, you’d always go back to the one place people wouldn’t think you’d go to, he’d said. And where would that be Kev, he’d asked. In your room, he’d replied. Intrigued by this new discovery of himself, he had asked what else had he learnt from reading him.

There are only two reasons why you wouldn’t touch Pizzas. One, you’re too nervous to eat. Two, you’re really, really upset.

I wouldn’t eat a pizza that I dropped too.

Nah, you’d still pick it up and scrap the first layer off.

Hmm, that’s true.

Now he felt like calling Kevin and updating him about his pizza eating ways. He felt like it was his responsibility to at least inform the guy. Hey Kev, I read myself today and I learnt that I couldn’t touch my pizza if I’m having demon talks.

The boxes were left unopened, drinks left untouched as everyone looked expectantly at Sam, who was studying the latest sketch Dean had insisted Nick to draw. He had a feeling Dean already knew the answer to this puzzle but he’d rather Sam see the pieces and made the conclusion himself. Perhaps that’d be easier than explaining his way?

After what felt like hours, Sam finally looked up, eyes darting towards his brother for a fleeting second, communicating again, before he found him and motioned for the pad in his hand. “You had this vision at the library just now?”

He nodded.

“I have a feeling it’s too late for this couple.” He nodded because what do you say to something like that anyway? “I’m sorry you had to see that. It stays with you for a while huh?”

“It was better when I thought they were just dreams, I’ll give you that.”

Sam had nodded and he waited, knew there was something more to this than just the need to show the sketch to Sam, knew there was a reason why Dean had caused him to lose his appetite when there were melting cheese pizzas within reach and chilled beer waiting to be guzzled down his parched throat.

“The uh, vision I had earlier,” Sam started. “Same thing, wife was killed in the kitchen room, slash wound to the stomach, no fire. Husband was taking a shower upstairs.”

His eyes widen, so was everybody else, except for Dean maybe, because he already knew this, already connected the dots.

“But the woman in your vision, she’s not dead yet is she? Your visions, they’re of the future, aren’t they?” Howie said.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, the plan is to get there before it happened.”

“And Nick’s vision, it helped,” AJ said. It felt like light bulbs were blinging everywhere around the room. “Now you know who’s doing it and how it’s done.”

“Which means we have to go ASAP,” Dean pointed out.

“Wait, what?” Now it was his turn to speak up. Sure they had to go off and save the day, but what would this mean for him? Was he supposed to go back living his life and just wait for the yellow eyed freak to come get him? What was he supposed to do then? Definitely not tell it to go fuck itself off, that might sound good in his head but saying it out loud might as well have him sign his death certificate served on a silver platter (he wasn’t sure why it had to be silver, he decided gold was too cliché anyway).

Sam was lightly massaging at his temple and shaking his head. “Dean we still have time trust me. We can leave tomorrow-”

“No Sam, we have to be on the road now, it’s going to take us some time to get there and I’ve never seen you so drained after your visions before, frankly, it’s scaring me man.”

Sam shook his head. “No, I’m fine, just a headache. I promise Nick I’ll-”

“Okay look, no offence to you dude, I like you okay? You love my car, you love my cassette tapes, in Dean’s book, you’re my favourite guy right after Sammy here, but I really think spending more time here is not good for Sam. I don’t-”

“Are you saying that your brother’s sick because he’s been around Nick too much?” Brian stepped in.

Kevin said there was a way to find out when Brian is really, really mad. The kind of mad where you don’t want to get caught in the middle of. Kevin said there was this specific tone in Brian’s voice that came with this specific glare in his eyes, they were menacing, even more intimidating than Kevin’s eyebrows but not necessarily scarier than Howie mouthing off in Spanish, but those were the signs to look out for. Right now, that voice and that glare was clear for everyone to see.

Just apparently not to Dean.

“I’m saying that he gets too much vision, which makes him sick, every time he’s around kids like him,” Dean said, rather calmly, but if one were to look into those eyes, that glare now reserved only for Brian, one would know that it was Dean’s sign to watch your steps.

“Well before you two came along, we were doing just fine without lining our windows and doors with salt. A prayer before going to bed and we could still sleep easy at night but the past few days we hardly get a wink of sleep because we were busy waiting for some creature to come knock on our door!” Brian raised his voice.

Things could get ugly and it would too, he decided.

“If Sam hadn’t had a vision of your brother having a vision, you’d be seeing him in a casket today. So I think we’ve done enough for you and your brother,” Dean dropped the bomb.

“Nick hadn’t had a vision for five days until he met you guys,” Brian spat. “So it’s not exactly a walk through a garden for us too you know.”

“Well, you can go back to praying every night before you go to bed then if you think that alone is enough,” Dean exclaimed.

“Dean stop it,” Sam interjected.

“No Sam! I’m tired of always going all the way to help people and we keep getting shooed away just because they can’t grasp the concept that there are things that go bump in the night!” Dean cried.

“Hey guys, look.” Howie had stepped in. He sounded calm. He liked calm, English speaking Howie, it meant that he had the situation under control and things would get back to normal in no time. He needed things to get back to normal because right now things were confusing and giving him a headache. He wiped away at the new drop of blood that had managed to drip from his nose again.

“We’re all tired, it had been a long day for all of us. I know you’re just looking out for your brother Dean and I know Brian only get this volatile when he’s trying to protect Nicky. You both are just doing your job, there’s no need to argue over this.”

Kevin would have been so proud of Howie right now, he thought.

“Why don’t we call it a day huh guys?”

And just like that, everything calmed. Dean said not a word and for a split second, he thought he saw the same kind of lines he had seen on Brian and he decided that sometimes, it wasn’t even about age, that the lines on your face hold the stories of a person’s journey so far in life and that regardless of one’s youth, you’re only as old as you feel, and Dean Winchester had a way that sometimes made him looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He almost didn’t hear the muttered ‘Sammy’ that came out of Dean, as if in sigh, as he walked out of the room. Sam followed his brother out, only to stop for a second by the door to mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to everyone in the room and he thought that was nice of him, because to be fair, Dean wasn’t the only one to blame here; Brian had said some not nice things to them too. AJ, who had been silent throughout the entire incident, made a move on the pizza and took a slice. Eating was good, he figured, it kept you from talking and thinking too much and ultimately acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation. Sometimes he wished he could do that too.

He wasn’t sure when he had made his way back to their room but Brian found him staring out the window and asked him to get to bed because it was almost midnight. He had spent the rest of the day looking through that window, caught himself staring at the black Impala, found himself relieved to see it was still there. He almost called Kevin but decided against it. He had to learn to stop depending on Kevin now. It was okay to remember how it was back then when he was around, to hopefully learn something from the memories he had managed to dredge to the surface, but to keep relying on the man would be asking for too much. He was twenty-seven for crying out loud!

He couldn’t fall asleep, knew he would have difficulties that night, especially after everything that had happened earlier.

He didn’t think his sketches would mean anything unless someone like Sam could see it, because it had helped Sam, didn’t it? Him alone could do nothing to change what had passed; he was the line that connected A to B, the missing page needed to complete a story. Perhaps he really was the cause for Sam’s sudden attacks of visions and headaches. Perhaps Dean had the right to be wary.

“I’m sorry about what happened.”

He turned to face Brian in the dark. He didn’t even remember the lights being turned off. “You were just looking out for me.”

“I was out of line.”

“You were trying to defend me dawg, I appreciate it.”

“Still, that was rude of me.”

“Well Dean’s not exactly all sunshine and butterflies either.”

“I think I’m going to go make peace with them tomorrow morning.”

“That’s nice of you bro,” he said. “And I really appreciate you sticking up for me…have I mentioned that?”

“Twice now.”

“Just making sure.”

“Cover all the bases huh?”

“Yeah.”

It was back to silence and he let his mind wandered around, trying not to think of the scenes he’d seen in his visions so far, of death and sufferings and blood, so much blood…

“Hey Brian?”

“Hmmm?”

“Are we really not going to start lining the windows and doors with salt now?”

It took Brian quite a while to answer and he thought that his friend had fallen asleep in the middle of trying to figure out what to tell him. But then he heard Brian rather than see him, noisily climbing out of bed and then suddenly the room was bathed in light again.

“Friggin salt! I swear they’re making me paranoid over this!”

It was quite a sight to watch Brian lining salt on the windows and he wondered if it’d make the front page news when the band starts touring again and hotel staff started getting suspicious over their demand of boxes of salt to be sent up to their suite every night.

a/n: that, my friends, is my attempt at a brian/dean showdown. Hope you liked it :D

“My head is going to freakin’ explode.”

It worked, just like Sam thought it would. Dean broke mid stride from his madness pacing and turned to look at him. He wasn’t sure how to react to the look on Dean’s face then. It was one of worry and fear and Sam thought it was funny because Dean doesn’t do fear ever; well Dean fears for a lot of things and worries over everything but he doesn’t normally let it show on his face, so when he did, it was kind of funny. But then another part of him thought it was not funny because Dean openly showing his fears (even though they were behind closed doors and there was only Sam for Dean to openly shows but then again Sam is the last person Dean would want to show his fears to...) means that Dean was really afraid, as opposed to just being afraid, and Dean being really afraid and worried was heartbreaking and because Sam knew Dean’s fears and worries were because of him, the little brother with the head that was about to explode, it kind of made Sam feel guilty.

“Oh no, no, you don’t,” Dean waved a finger in warning and Sam thought it was ridiculous because finger waving Dean had no power to stop a head from exploding just because he said so. “You’ve reached the maximum number of let’s give big brother a heart attack for the day Sammy, no more!”

Sam sometimes wondered if he and Dean were really related. He spent his entire life growing up with this man, hell, to quote Dean, ‘I’ve wiped that little ass of yours many times Sammy so if I said I’m going to shove this gun up your ass if you insist on us going to that organic restaurant rather than having cheese fries, I will!’ But despite all these, they were two very different individuals. Both stubborn at times, sure, but Sam was going to point that trait to their father, because God, John Winchester was the stubbornness man he’d known ever.

“Sam, I’m serious.”

Sam smirked and held himself back from rolling his eyes. “My head’s going to explode if you don’t stop pacing but I see that won’t be a problem anymore since you've stopped.”

Dean literally let out a huge sigh, his shoulders sagged, guards down (not all the way though, because Dean never let his guards down, even in sleep, unless he was drugged, badly beaten after a hunt, dying and of course, in a coma; except for that one time when he was in a coma but was still running around the hospital trying to catch the reaper, he didn’t get any rest on that one, which is so unfair for a comatose person because at least Sam got to walk around and drink coffee) and eyes never leaving Sam.

“I meant what I said back there Sam, we should move,” Dean said as he nodded his head, as if agreeing to himself and made his way to the duffle bag on his bed. “Bust this Popsicle stand and find that couple in your vision from this morning.”

“We still have time Dean,” Sam replied, shifting on his bed to look at his brother, who had begun to pack his stuff, which means he was dumping everything that belonged to him into the bag carelessly. “Besides, I think you managed to scare the crap out of Nick with your outburst just now. At least stay for the night and let me talk to him tomorrow morning before we leave okay?”

Dean grimaced and started pacing again, a sorry excuse for a t-shirt still balled in his fist. Sam decided they needed to shop for new clothes on their next stop but figured this wasn’t the right time to voice that out. Dean hates shopping as much as he hates Snuggles. Sam often wondered what had that poor fabric softener teddy bear ever did to him other than being it’s normal, creepy self. Dean had seen a lot of creepy stuff growing up, so why he had singled out Snuggles was beyond him.

“I know you’ve bonded well with this Nick guy okay, I understand that,” Dean said, cautiously. Sam figured Dean had learnt from previous experiences that Sam tend to be a little more defensive when it came to talks about children like him. “But I don’t think I can handle another day with those guys.”

This had Sam puzzled. He thought Nick had a group of really understanding friends. It made him wonder if his own set of friends back at Stanford would still be sticking around if he had told them about his visions, his other life, about being different, about the things that go bumping in the night. Nick had been truly blessed with these guys, even though he got the feeling that things weren’t so great with his own family, and that, that Sam had took pity in. Sure he had tons of verbal fights with Dad before and God knows what those long rides with Dean in the car stuck with Metallica on repeat could make them do to each other, but he had never doubt that his family had loved him (still love him) unconditionally.

“What do you mean? Other than the showdown just now, I don't see a problem here,” Sam asked, frowning. “And would you stop pacing? You’re really giving me a headache Dean.”

Dean stopped his pacing because Dean would do anything within his power to annoy little brother, but giving him headaches wasn’t one of them. Well, that’s not entirely true, Dean glee at the sight of Sam with a headache after being subjected to hours of listening to his cassette tapes collection; but this kind of headache, the one that often resulted in a very depressed, sickly Sam, kills Dean every single time.

“You don’t find them creepy at all?” Dean asked and Sam was mildly horrified when he realised Dean wasn’t joking around.

“What’s so creepy about them?” Sam asked. “If you mean finally hanging around with normal guys means creepy to you, then yeah, I guess they are.”

Dean looked shocked and Sam was shocked that Dean was shocked. Sure Dean couldn’t tell normal even if it hit him on the ass (because Dean will never let anything hit him on his face unless it’s that space between a woman’s pair of breasts) but Nick’s friends had been nothing but nice (come to think of it, Dean has issues with anyone who is nice, he always thought they have hidden agendas and that saddens Sam, a lot, because this family business, these hunting gigs, it left hardly any space for trust) so whatever it was that had Dean creep out was lost on Sam.

“Dude, the guy had friggin eyeliner! And it was eight in the morning!”

“So?”

“So? So, he’d woken up this morning, took a shower and friggin’ looked in the mirror and put on eyeliner!”

Oh Sam was loving this. Only Dean would creep out over a guy who wears eyeliner but didn’t even blink an eye while watching KISS in their clown make up and hanging out their red coloured tongue like some panting dog.

“And that black nail polish!” Dean continued in disgust and then shuddered for effect. “Sam, I bet he listens to those emo crap you called music!”

“Hey!” Sam protested, but Dean didn’t look like he cared much for Sam’s protests. He was still standing there, in the middle of the room, freaking out even worst than that one time when they had to investigate a poltergeist in a college dorm and the entire floor was having a party and the place was booming with techno music.

“Oh my God Sammy, I’m so glad Dad hauled ass before DCF caught up with us and give you away to some couple,” Dean ranted on. “Can you imagine twenty years down the road and a reunion with eyeliner and nail polished you? I might have to go Christo on your ass.”

“Dean.” Really, at this point, there wasn’t much Sam could say but Dean.

“Hmmm?” Dean replied mid-rant, eyebrows raised in question.

“What the fuck are you freaking out about?”

Dean sighed and Sam hoped his brother would let it go and just go to sleep already. Ranting Dean didn’t actually help with his headache, amused him sure, but headache was still there.

“I should have known this won’t creep you out,” Dean sighed, again. “This is you we’re talking about anyway.”

“Hey!” Dean still didn’t care what Sam had to say, or his protests.

“Okay, what about the other two then? The uh…Howie! Howie and Brian!”

“Dean, Howie’s a really nice guy and Brian’s like a mother hen to Nick, it actually reminds me of you.”

“Hey!” Now it was Dean’s turn to take offence and Sam, unlike Dean, actually gave room to entertain this protest. Okay, so Dean would still protest even if Sam had ignored him and continue to talk but it’s the thoughts that count and in this case, it does, because Sam chose not to continue but listened to his brother’s continued protest. “I’m not a mother hen!”

Sam snorted because deep down, he really was a geek (a hot geek) and geeks snort so he figured everything was okay, with snorting (as long as no coke is involved). “Whatever man.”

“Sam, I’m not a mother hen.”

“I said whatever.”

This was just too weird. Dean was freaking out over a group of nice guys and Sam was actually calm and collected. Shouldn’t it have been the other way around? Sam always feels the need to have a talk when he wasn’t feeling a gig and Dean has always been the one who shrugs and wing it.

“Dude, the guy’s name is Howie, it even rhymes with creepy.”

Oh this takes the cake, Sam decided, so he laughed. “Dean that’s the worst excuse, ever.”

“Dude, he looks like Mr. Frodo and the blonde one is Samwise Gamgee, and, they come in real life size! I mean dude, I never thought it’d say this but I’m SO glad you’re taller than me, my neck is still cracking from having to look down every time I talk to them.”

Ok, Sam took it back. This, takes the cake.

“What the hell are you talking about Dean? Mr. Frodo? Samwise what now?”

Dean gave him that look again, the one that said ‘Sammy, am I talking Chinese?’ And this time Sam returned the look, the one that said ‘No, but you’re talking crazy’. This would result in Dean sighing in exasperation, again, and started waving his hands around to make the point.

“Lord of the Rings? Ring any bells?”

“Okay I know you didn’t read the books, which means you’ve watched the movie, but the question now is, when did you find the time to sit through a three hour long movie with the kind of life we’re leading?”

Dean looked offended but Sam just rolled his eyes. Sam never doubted that Dean had sat through three hours of Lord of the Rings (even with Dean’s short attention span) because this is the same man who claimed to be all action and less talk (wise ass comments and women related issue not withstanding) but still finds a talk show like Oprah and Dr. Phil intriguing (though he didn’t say that in many words, more like a slip of the tongue) but if they ever had three hours to themselves, it would be spent either researching for their gig or sleep and Sam would have remembered seeing Dean watching Lord of the Rings because they only share motel rooms like, every friggin’ time.

“It was on one of the channels in some motel room we were in,” Dean shrugged, eyes now looking anywhere but at Sam. “And I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh.” Not much to say to that. When Dean couldn’t sleep, it means Dean was worried or restless. Sam doesn’t like this side of Dean much because this Dean tend to close up and, dare he thought it, brood. Sure it might work on girls, brooding Dean for some reason, equates to oozing with sexiness, but on Sam, it was a nightmare. Brooding Dean means complete silence that stretches for days and wasn’t that just dandy when they were on the road with nothing to take the tension away?

“Dean?”

“Yeah.”

Smirked. “It’s nice that you respect Frodo and called him Mister.”

“Dude shut up.”

Small laugh. “Look, for whatever reason you’re creep out by these guys, we’re staying for tonight okay? He’s confused and probably scared man, and we’re not helping him much with talks of friggin demons. And I really want to let him know that he shouldn’t hate or fear the face he’s been seeing in his dreams. He needs to know that the real enemy doesn’t have a face, that he appeared as Dad is just wrong.”

Dean looked angry now and Sam wasn’t sure what the hell he had just said that had caused such anger. He didn’t think he had said anything wrong at all.

“Sam, this is not about me being creep out by those guys or about the fucking demon appearing in dreams with Dad’s face on.”

Sam was actually worried, because Dean wasn’t yelling at all. In fact he looked so down, so open, that it broke Sam’s heart. He wondered if he’d live to see the next day if Dean kept this up.

“You’ve had three visions ever since you met this guy Sammy. And this morning you had it in public and you almost passed out and look at you,” Dean pointed. “You look like death warmed over.”

Sam cringed. “Gee thanks.”

Dean sighed and slumped on the edge of his bed, looking at Sam and Sam noticed, for the first time really noticed, those worry lines carved on Dean’s forehead, the hint of crow feet and those eyes, right now so bare and telling, eyes of a young man who had seen too many and bear too much. The Dean now looking at Sam looked so much older than his age and it killed Sam again, because he knew if he looked at himself in the mirror he'd see the same thing too.

“I’m worried for you Sammy.”

Sam appreciated this. Whenever Dean surprised him with his sudden show of affection, of times when Dean allowed him in, to see this other side of big brother, Sam found himself thankful. Sometimes Dean needed to know that little brother can be responsible for older brother, that little brother can take care of big brother just like big brother does it.

Sam also realised, despite everything that were so different between them, that they were so much alike. If they were to peel at the layers found in each of them, everyone else would see that Dean and Sam are the product of each others’ influence. And the traits that they didn’t quite like, they’d point the blame to Dad, because hey, after all, Dad raised them both. Okay, so maybe Sam would credit Dad for his good looks, but he’d remind Dean every chance he gets that Dean’s Scully (even if Sam has Scully’s hair), because everyone said Dean has their mother’s eyes so he’s pretty rather than handsome.

Also now, Sam wasn’t sure if he should assure Dean that there was nothing to worry about or if he should come out with something funny to break this sudden tension in the room.

“Dean, I’m-” and then realised he would only panic Dean more if he said ‘fine’ and said instead, “It’s nice to know you’re worried for me, I really do. But we don’t even know where this vision of mine took place, man. I saw the interior of a house and the date on the calendar I saw isn’t for another three days so we have the time, and we can work with that, do our homework before we get out of here okay? These visions, you know I can’t control them, if it’s coming, it’s coming, and besides, I think you’d feel better if I have them while we’re still here rather than in the car because dude, the last one I had? Almost made me puke all over the place.”

Dean grimaced and Sam knew he had gotten through his brother, convinced him to stay. But just as an added insurance, he gave him the ‘I’m your little brother who has never known a mother’s love so take pity on me and grand me my one wish please?’ look.

Dean ran his fingers through his hair and looked torn, but Sam knew if they stayed another day, things would work out for them. Finally, Dean looked up and said, “Just one more day okay? And then we’re out of here.”

Sam smiled because he really didn’t want to say something wrong and made Dean changed his mind.

“Go to bed, man, and take your pills.”

When the lights went off, when Sam had swallowed two Tylenols and warmly tucked under the blanket and knew that Dean had settled down on his own bed, Sam called Dean’s name.

“What now?” Dean mumbled.

“You’re kinda like a hobbit too you know, I mean I have to look down every time I talk to you and that’s a hell lot of time.”

Silence. Sam thought his lip was going to bleed from biting on it for too long, because laughing might set Dean off and Sam knew without a doubt that Dean might just haul both their asses into the Impala and leave right there and then.

“Sam?”

Sam grimaced. “Yeah?”

“Go paint your nails and cry.”

And that was it. Sam cracked up like he had never cracked up before and it shook the entire bed and Dean had to mutter ‘Christo’ under his breath just to be sure and then Dean smiled and it was still dark but Sam knew Dean smiled because Sam knew Dean and so when Dean said ‘Goodnight bitch’ Sam choked out a ‘Goodnight jerk’ in between his laughter and then smiled at Dean’s silhouette and closed his eyes, knowing it was safe to do so, and welcomed sleep with open arms (not literally).

A/n: I cant even begin to imagine what it'd be like when Dean finds out they're the Backstreet Boys, which i guess is a bad thing because I'm the one who's supposed to write it.

Sam and Dean left early next morning. They were packed and ready to go when Sam had knocked at their door and woke him up. Dean was loading their bags into the trunk of the Impala and Brian found his opportunity, excused himself to have a word with the older Winchester. It didn't surprise him at all, he knew it was coming, had the entire night to think about it and decided it was going to be okay. Sam and Dean had lives to save and who was he to stop them from doing just that just because he needed more answers? He also decided that it was time to leave Super 8 and Nashville behind. It was time to go home, to start living again, make that album, do promotions, meet the fans, sing. And he'd do anything he could to control that voice from having the luxury of coming in and out of his head whenever it felt like it because that was how it started wasn't it? First the mind, and if that began to feel like a walk along the beach, with time, it'd be easier to control the rest of him and hell would freeze over before he allowed that to happen.

"So where is this next gig of yours?"

"I think it's best that you not know that."

"No grids trailing you guys right?"

"Something like that."

"Well, I'd say good luck but I don't think luck has anything to do with it."

"Take care of yourself man, if you need help, you know where to find me."

"You too."

By the time he came out of the shower, Brian had already packed his stuff and by 2, they checked out and left for the airport.

They checked in at the Four Seasons by 3am and if he wasn't already falling asleep on his feet, he'd noticed how awkward it was that Brian didn't opt for a straight flight to Atlanta, or that the three of them could get different cabs to drive them straight to their own houses instead of staying at the hotel or that it was suspicious why the front desk had referred to their late night check in as a 'reunion' when it wasn't a secret that they had been having meetings about recording the next album.

It was a suite, large enough for ten people and he interpreted this as Howie wanting them all to room together without feeling like they had stepped into each others' space. He didn't really mind to be honest (of the lack of space if they had checked into a smaller room), a week spent in a motel room wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be but he didn't say this to Howie because the man was doing his best to make everyone comfortable and for once, he didn't feel like teasing his friend. The last thing he heard before entering his room was AJ ordering four plates of steak and fifty packets of salts (I love my steaks really salty).

= =

Brian and Howie had left for a meeting by the time he woke up. AJ couldn't elaborate more than that and he was still suffering from jet lag to bother about it too much. There were two plates of steak left untouched and there were traces of salt by the doors and windows.

"Hey, lets go out and get breakfast," AJ suggested while poking the hard cold steak with a fork.

"You don't want to be around when housekeeping comes in and find the salt mess,” he smirked.

AJ shrugged. "It'd be easier for everyone that way."

"Of course it is."

They left the suite and went straight to the front desk to leave a set of their keycards behind because apparently Brian and Howie failed to take one with them. Jamie, the lady who was attending to them, kept looking at him as if he had a red dot on his forehead and it was beginning to annoy him. Everything seemed to tick him off lately and he wondered if this had anything to do with the visions and/or demon in his head. Maybe making him easily frustrated was the first step to making him evil?

Breakfast was good, although he really wanted Mc Donald's but it was one of those days where the paparazzi couldn't find any other hollywood celebs to hunt down and decided to tag along with them. They ended up going to a posh restaurant, which name he failed to remember because he decided it'd be one of those days where he didn't feel like thinking a lot or plan a lot and just follow the crowd, and crowd right then came in the form of one AJ McLean.

"I think we should go shopping after this," AJ said as he shifted gear and drove out of the parking space. He could see a couple of cars trailing behind them and he wondered what could be interesting for them to actually be bothered enough to follow two Backstreet Boys around.

"Yeah?" he replied short, eyes straight on the road ahead of them. "Maybe you should go rent porn vids and I'll grab a few bottles of JD, that'd make those fuckers happy right?"

AJ smirked. "Actually, I have something better in mind."

"What could possibly top 'Sex maniac and alcoholic asshole'?"

But this was AJ, he sometimes forgot what the guy was capable of doing just to grab headlines. Leopard print hats, painted nails, muticolored hairs...

They came out of K-Mart pushing a cart filled with boxes of salt.

"I can't believe we did this," he grinned as they strolled out and made a beeline for the car. Already annoying paparazzi were throwing insulting remarks and snapping pictures as if they were carrying a cart full of heroin. "No wait, I actually can."

"See Nicky, this will solve the whole scaring housekeepers off."

"Yeah well, how do we exactly carry 200 boxes of salt to our room without looking suspicious wonder boy."

"We'll just say you need a salt bath or something."

"Right, throw it on me."

"Better you than me."

He liked Jerry, very much. Jerry was the bellhop who greeted them at the door and immediately volunteered to help carry twenty huge plastic bags filled with boxes of salt. Jerry brought a pushcart and dumped everything in there and followed them back to their suite.

They tipped him generously because they could and because they wanted to and because Jerry was a fine example of a good person. He couldn’t wait to see the looks on Brian’s and Howie’s faces. He decided they should take a group picture together with the cart of salts, call it their fifth member or something. Rock salt, don’t leave home without it!

And then Kevin appeared out of nowhere (not really, he was sitting by the lounge area of the suite but both of them were too busy with boxes of salt to notice) and totally swipe that grin off his face. Kevin was also staring at the pile of boxes and then back and forth at him and AJ.

“Do I even want to know?”

= =

It was so nice to see him there. Kevin always had this charisma in him, he oozed confidence and importance whenever he walked in to a room; whether he’d be in an expensive suit or last night’s shirt, you don’t turn away from Kevin Richardson. It was this confidence, this air that used to make him cling to Kevin whenever they were in a crowd, it made him safe.

People thought he was afraid of Kevin when he first met him at the age of twelve. People thought wrong. He was used to hanging out with old folks, he liked to chat with them and they wouldn’t shoo him away. Not to say that Kevin was an old man, but even back then, Kevin had the patience to sit through one of his blabbering. Kevin liked to be amused by him and he found it to be addictive, to have all that attention to yourself, to see those eyes just looking at you, smiling, while you go on and on about this cat you used to take care of because she always followed you back home from school. AJ would totally tell him to shut the hell up. Brian didn’t run away but Brian didn’t listen either, Brian always entertained him, made up jokes about stuff that he was talking about, always had something to chip in to his stories. He didn’t even bother with Howie and not because he didn’t like Howie, but back then, Howie was at the stage in his life where he wanted to be the big boy doing big boy stuff, that was why he clicked so well with AJ, that was why he didn’t think Howie would have bothered to hear about his cat stories.

Kevin just sits and listens and he asks you questions relating to the story you’re telling him and it made him feel important, like as if the things he had to say meant something to someone even when it didn’t.

So it was nice to see him again.

And he really wanted to tell the man just that, but words failed him once again as the familiar flashing white attacked and things that weren’t there were now there and he pushed the pain aside, forced his eyes to stay wide open, there should be Kevin standing in front of him but he couldn’t see him now, something else had taken his place…

The father and son were back. The father was talking to him, although he knew it wasn’t really him he was talking to. There was a woman next to him but he couldn’t see her, couldn’t seem to turn his head to see her face. He saw his fingers, clasped together in front of him, rested on his lap but he knew it wasn’t his; this body wasn’t his.

“We can start tomorrow at your house, I’ll be there at noon and everything will be solved.”

The father smiled and he felt safe, assured, delighted, but he really shouldn’t, because he knew this father and son, knew that kid was no ordinary kid, knew this father is a demon, knew that this couple was being led to their deaths if no one stop it.

And then it was over, because he could see Kevin now, only he was hovering above him and he had somehow landed on the floor, those caterpillars almost adjoin in the middle. Then everything became fuzzy for a while and Kevin sounded so far and muffled, he thought he could hear his blood rushing to his ears and he wanted so much to stay awake, to hang out with Kevin because how long had it been since they were together? He wanted to tell him about the visions, the new sketches he had drawn, about Sam and Dean and oh joy, the fact that Brian, Howie and AJ were finally convinced that he wasn’t going crazy!

Yet he couldn’t find any strength left to spare, and the last thought that came coursing through his throbbing head before unconsciousness took over was that something had happened, and it was close, and he didn’t sense it before, couldn’t have known, just saw it in visions, now already in the past and he hoped Sam and Dean got there in time because it didn’t seem like the couple had much time left.

Sam said they had three days to stop the thing from killing the woman in his vision. Sam also said he knew exactly where it was going to happen. Sam said they would have to go to L.A. because that’s where the couple live. Sam said they would pose as Interior Designers because he had seen a pile of brochures and advertisements of Interior Design companies printed off the web on the coffee table in his vision.

So Dean had gone to the library back in Nashville and made up a couple of bogus Interior Design companies and put it up online, hoping one of it would catch the couple’s attention. He had also applied for new credit cards because he knew rooms in L.A. wouldn’t be cheap at all. Dean also calculated (without really using any maths equations because Dean hates maths with a passion) that it would take him a day and half to reach L.A. if they didn’t make too many stops along the way.

But Sam had another vision while they were on the road and it messed up their plan. Dean hated planning to begin with so he figured they just had to make do and reshuffle stuff a bit, but messed up plans also made Sam nervous and when Sam’s nervous, he liked to bite on his nails (which really aggravates on Dean’s nerves) and shifted on his seat every five seconds, which wasn’t a good thing if you’re as tall as Sam was and cramped in the shotgun of the Impala.

Tell me again, about this new vision of yours.

There was a long sigh, a short pause and Sam clearing his throat before he began. The father and son team, they met up with the couple in a hotel room. He promised them something, I’m not sure what it was but they were hopeful and the demon father was convincing. They made another appointment but this time they’re meeting at the couple’s house, I think that’s when he’s going to kill the wife.

So you’re saying your shinning decided to give you a much earlier vision that’s going to happen when exactly?

Well, the father demon said he’s going to come tomorrow, which is in three days for us, so that hotel appointment is going to happen tomorrow. If we end this tomorrow, there’ll be no demon coming to their house to kill the wife.

Great, that’s just great. We have to get there latest tomorrow morning Sam.

I know.

It means we have to ride through tonight.

I know.

Any idea which hotel?

Four Seasons -

Fuck.

- I saw complimentary fruit basket on the table. And we’re in luck, I have their room number as well.

Any names?

Well, not that lucky.

This is going to cost Mr. Freddy May’s platinum card.

Well I say the Queens are rich enough for Four Seasons.

Things had been weird the very moment they had stepped out of the Impala in front of the grand hotel and if they hadn’t been so tired (it was already five in the morning by the time they reached there), they might have given it more thought.

For one, the man who had greeted them was being too eager. Sam had told him that they’re always eager to entertain rich people and they were expected to tip them generously. Dean was too sore to argue the fact that they drove a beat up Impala and they were wearing nothing a rich guy would consider putting on his body.

And then Dean had to watch as another guy took his keys from him and drove his Impala to a parking spot somewhere so he couldn’t keep an eye on his baby. Sam said the car will be in safe hands but Dean wasn’t too sure but he had no control over it. He also ended up giving away a large amount of his poker money as tips.

The busty, attractive woman at the front desk had tried to hide her grin when he showed her the credit card and stressed Freddy as if she knew he was using an alias. She even offered ‘the suite next to suite 105 if you want to’, which he quickly but nicely rejected because sure Freddy May is a rich non-existent dude, but even Dean knew it was ridiculous to spend a few hundred thousand bucks for a night stay.

Sam had interjected then because he really couldn’t stand the obvious flirtation that was going around (although Dean was more confused than anything else by the offer and that look the woman kept giving him; Dean knew when someone was flirting with him and this one wasn’t one of those but he’d kiss a demon before he admits that to his brother) and asked if there was a way to get room 336 instead because it was only logical to get the room that was facing the couple’s.

A woman by the name of Rachel Evans called Sam at about eight that morning. Dean wasn’t around to hear the conversation because he was too busy using up all the goodies he found in the shower.

We should have taken that suite, I’d probably be shoulder deep in a Jacuzzi right about now. And bubbles Sammy, that’d be awesome huh?

Sam wasn’t as awestruck as Dean had been because Sam had had his fair share of hotel rooms while at Stanford. There was a Law & Legal convention held at the Hilton’s while he was a freshman and they had sent him and a couple of his friends with all paid expenses for a two days one night stay at the plush hotel. Sam had been a kid then, awestruck by every single damn thing.

Dude this couple must be damn rich man, I just got a call from their assistant.

Yeah?

Yup. She’s interested in the Page & Plant Interior Design Consultants and was wondering if we could meet her tomorrow.

And you know this is our couple because…

She said her boss and his wife are on a business trip and are staying at the Four Seasons and she was wondering if we could meet up with her at their hotel room today.

I’m guessing it’s room 324?

Yup. Our couple.

So what is it we’re designing exactly?

A nursery.

= =

It got even weirder the following day.

Sam and Dean decided to go out for lunch because the restaurants in this hotel was too damn expensive and Dean wasn’t going to pay eighty bucks for a steak that would satisfy an anorexic when he could get the meaty, greasy one at some diner out there for ten bucks.

They were walking through the lobby when he was suddenly attacked by a flash of what he thought was lightning and then figured lightning couldn’t strike inside a building, especially not in a hotel like Four Seasons because he was sure they had some big hot shot architecture to design the damn building. And then for a split second Dean thought for some freaky Tuesday thing, he had ended up with Sam’s shinning ability.

But after a blinding moment or two, the black spot that was dancing in front of his eyes were gone and he managed a soft what the fuck, before Sam appeared in his peripheral.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, what the fuck was that?”

“Er, someone took a picture of you man.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure what the heck that’s for but this is LA so…”

“And you didn’t grab the asshole?”

“Dude he friggin took off before I could do anything,” Sam reasoned. “I was kind of blinded by it too you know.”

“This place is messed up man.”

“Yeah well, I think he mistook you for some celebrity or something. Why, I’ll have no idea.”

Dean felt a bit better after hearing this. He could pretend he was a celebrity, that’d be kind of awesome. “What do you mean why? It’s so obvious I’m good looking.”

Another weird thing happened while they were dining at Sam’s Café (Dean said he liked the cheesiness of the name and Sam’s Café is the nearest thing to a diner here in LA). While he had the big special lunch meal which came with a side of chilly fries (how awesome is that?) and a really huge cup of black coffee and everything was fine and dandy in Dean’s world, he was also hit on by guys, twice.

Sam called him butch all the way back to the hotel (and Dean had to bear parting with his beloved baby once again) much to Dean’s annoyance but they had twenty minutes to change into something more ‘appropriate’ before meeting Rachel Evans and her boss so Sam didn’t end up with a black eye. But their plan to head straight to their room was ruined by a horde of paparazzi hot on their heels.

This time, Sam was really worried and as confused as Dean. One mistaken identity was understandable, but a horde of them? And then what frightened them more was the fact that everyone was yelling ‘Dean! Dean! Can you smile for a shot? Come on Dean, just one!’

“Dude my name’s not Dean, you got the wrong guy here man.” Dean tried to explain but everywhere around him, people started to laugh and Sam was trying to pull both of them out of the crowd and into the hotel without much success.

“Aww come on Dean, we know your real name, there’s no need to be ashamed dude,” one of the photographers called out. Dean frowned but Sam was quick to act and had made a grab for his arm and pulled him away, breaking the crowd with not much regard who he was pushing and got them inside the hotel.

“What the fuck was that all about man?” Dean huffed. Sam was too busy eyeing the lobby to reply.

A bellhop rushed towards them, looking apologetic. “We’re so sorry about that Sirs, the paparazzi can be a difficult crowd to handle when they decided to attack at once.”

“But we’re nobodies,” Sam replied.

“Well, you’re somebody if you’re associated with celebrities,” the bellhop smiled. “The coast is clear, I suggest you head straight for the elevator while there’s still time.”

“I don’t get it.” Dean said as he scratched his head.

Sam smiled uneasily. “Well-”

But Sam was cut off by a couple of girls squealing and to his horror, they were running towards them.

“Oh my God, it’s you!” Of course, this was directed at Dean.

This time, Dean was prepared. “Hey, I’m not the Dean you girls are probably looking for.”

One of the girls, who was definitely Dean’s type, smiled playfully. “Like you’d actually admit you’re Dean in the first place.”

“Hey we’re not going to make trouble for you guys. We’re just wondering if we can have a picture with you and maybe you can get Nick to come down and meet us for a bit?” The other girl who was brunette with really long legs, said.

If Dean wasn’t too shock at what he was hearing, he’d realised that Sam had put two and two together and looked about ready to haul his ass out of town, away from Dean, who would probably kill him anyway.

“Hold on, you girls know Nick?”

The blonde haired girl laughed. “Well duh, everyone knows Nick. We’re huge fans!”

“Fans huh?”

“Yup. And we know tabloids lie so we don’t believe the rumours at all. And you seem nice Dean. And your friend here too,” the brunette added. “We didn’t know Nick has gorgeous friends from Nashville.”

Now Sam was shocked. “Wait, how did you know we were-”

“You didn’t think we wouldn’t find out, did you? We always know! It’s everywhere really!” the blonde one replied. “In fact, I paid good money just to read this latest article!”

Sam’s eyes almost popped out of his head. He didn’t think it was this huge. By the look on Dean’s face, he wasn’t liking it at all.

“Hey, if I take a picture of you girls with Dean, will you let us have that?” Sam said, referring to the tabloid papers and avoiding Dean’s look at all cost.

“You can have anything you want sweetie as long as we get a picture with Dean,” the blonde one pretty much cooed.

“And if you get Nick down to the lobby to meet us!” the brunette jumped.

“Of course yeah,” Sam said quickly.

Dean was speechless. The blonde one was squeezing the life out of him and the brunette had her head rested on Dean’s shoulder and then there was Dean, looking like a deer caught in the headlights and Sam snapped the picture, rolled the papers firmly in his hands, grabbed Dean by the arms (that’s twice in a day now and Dean wasn’t liking it at all!) and bolted for the elevator before the girls could call them again.

“Sam what the hell?” Dean groaned as the elevator carried them to their floor. “I want to see that paper.”

“Dean, this has to wait, we’re already twenty minutes late and I don’t think someone like Rachel Evans has the patience to wait on us.”

“No Sam, I want to see it now!”

“Dean-”

“Sammy I’m really not in the mood to argue with you right now.”

And Sam knew this, knew this tone that Dean was using on him, knew it wasn’t up to discussion or negotiation, that Dean was going to get what Dean wanted and Sam sighed, because this definitely wasn’t the way he wanted his brother to know but decided it was out of his hands, that it was already out of control, and wondered if Nick was aware of how messed up things had gone.

a/n: So...in the previous chapter, Nick had a vision of the father demon & son visiting the couple and Nick said they were close...i hope you put two and two together what this means (and if you dont, i really need to brush up on my story telling! lol) :D

Turned out he passed out for only a few seconds, because when he opened his eyes again, Kevin was still hovering above him and a sense of deja vu hit him like a ton of bricks. Then Kevin seemed to move to make way for AJ, who had a pack of frozen meat in his hands and his lips was moving and even though he couldn't really hear what AJ was saying, he knew that his friend was telling him to take it, to put it on his nose. This made him thoroughly confused, because firstly, he didn't know he could read lips and that was all kinds of awesome. Secondly, he wasn't hit on the nose so he was sure there was no swelling going on and thirdly, AJ had another thing coming if he thought he was going to let a frozen meat be anywhere near his nose!

"Gerrofme!" he muttered/mumbled and pushed himself up, which earned a hand on his shoulder pushing him back down and Kevin going 'easy dawg, easy'. And he wasn't quite sure why he was suddenly so mad but he was, and he decided Kevin didn't have any right to say 'easy dawg easy' when he hadn't been there when he was going crazy trying to convince these guys that he wasn't going nuts! He had no rights to just drop in out of nowhere, smile that laidback smile and made him feel like everything in this world was all right, that he was going to be all right because Kevin was around and everything was safe only to leave again in a few hours after throwing some pep talk crap his way and he knew he'd swallow everything, believed every single word that came out of Kevin because dude, it's Kevin for god's sake and then only to wake up the next day realising that nothing's changed except that Kevin was still nowhere in sight and it would never be the same again. So yeah, he was mad! Although this was the irrational I just had a vision and my head feels like it's going to explode Nick talking and chances are he'd realised he wasn't even mad at Kevin, that it was misplaced anger directed at the guy because it was easy to blame him, the one who hasn't been around.

"I'm okay, help me up," he replied and took the hand that Kevin offered only to shove it away once he was sure he could stand on his own two feet. This was embarrassing. "And get that meat away from me AJ, it's nasty."

"Dude, sorry I cared," AJ muttered and walked away with the piece of meat dejectedly. He decided he wasn't going to entertain AJ and his emo self.

"I have to call someone," he said, looking around for his cell phone.

"What? No hi Kevin I miss you bro?"

He looked up and Kevin was smirking. "If I remember correctly Kevin, the first thing that came out of your mouth was 'Do I even want to know?', I hear no hi Nick I miss you little brother either."

"Do you always get this cranky after a vision?"

He groaned because Kevin was impossible. "You're impossible Kevin."

"Who you gonna call Nick?"

"I take it Brian and Howie's meeting earlier today was with you?"

"Are you mad?"

"So you know everything about Sam and Dean?"

"You're going to call them aren't you?"

"So what if I do?"

"So it's no longer lets call Kevin now?"

"You left."

"Ouch, I guess I deserve that one huh?"

He sighed and looked at the man with the kind eyes who was still looking at him, smiling without really smiling. Only Kevin. "No you don't. Ignore me please."

“You know I can’t,” Kevin smiled.

“Course you can, no one’s putting a gun to your head.”

“Okay fine, I can, but I won’t,” Kevin sighed. “Face it Nick, you’re stuck with me even if I’m not on your ass every second of the day.”

“That actually sounds disturbing,” he frowned.

Kevin laughed and was about to say something when AJ returned from the kitchen, along with Brian and Howie.

“I swear this suite is a friggin maze,” he said while shaking his head in amazement. “Were you three having a secret meeting back there too?”

Brian and Howie actually had the cheek to smile and looked like two perfect angels you kind of hang on Christmas trees. AJ was still kind of ignoring him after the whole raw frozen meat incident.

“Actually I’ve been keeping up with these guys about what’s going on with you and your visions,” Kevin said and he was wondering if Kevin was expecting a pat on the shoulder or a hug or a ‘the Best Big Brother Ever!’ badge from him.

“Why? Did you lose my number or something?” If Kevin thought he was going to get away so easily about this, he better think again.

“What do you mean? Of course I have your number.”

“I don’t know, it’s just funny that you have to go to them to find out what’s going on with me when you can just call me,” he replied, and he really felt he would have sounded more pissed off he wasn’t so busy trying to control the nosebleed. “But hey, maybe that’s just me right?”

“I told you it’s not a good idea,” AJ muttered.

“AJ shut up,” Howie snapped.

AJ made a noise to show how disgusted he was but no one seemed to really pay much attention to him.

“Look Nick, I have my reasons,” Kevin started but he decided he had heard enough. Everyone seemed to have their reasons. They all think they were right when they decided he was simply just stressed out and going crazy and needed major counseling sessions and perhaps enter into rehab and get medications for whatever it was that was going on in his head, but they had been wrong hadn’t they? So Kevin and his reasons can go the fuck off!

“Oh you have your reasons huh?” he scoffed. “Well I’m sure the next time I want to find out what’s going on with you, I’ll just call your wife instead. I have my reasons.”

“Yeah, you want to bang her,” AJ grinned and Kevin raised his eyebrows while he wanted to tell AJ to shut up but he decided there was some truth to what AJ had said, it was no big secret really, he used to have such an infatuation towards Kristin.

“AJ what did I say about shutting the hell up?” Howie snapped. This was the second time Howie had snapped and in Nick Carter’s book, it meant something was really, really wrong.

“What’s wrong D?”

“Huh?”

“You’re snapping like a crazy duck, something’s wrong.”

“We need to talk,” Brian announced when Howie suddenly seemed like he was struggling to find the right words. “It’s about Sam and Dean.”

“What about him?”

This time, it was Brian who didn’t seem to find the right words and he assumed AJ had decided to keep his mouth shut because getting snapped at by Howie for the third time in less than an hour would be damaging to his ego. So Kevin said instead, “I did a little search on them.”

“You what?”

“Hey I’m only looking out for you okay? I want to make sure they’re not screwing with your head, that’s all.”

He had nothing to say to that so he waited for Kevin to continue. “I ran what Brian and Howie told me what they know of the guys so far and everything checks out, except for one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

Kevin looked at Howie and said, “Where’s the picture?”

Howie passed him an envelope, which he swore came out of nowhere. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was really curious about what was inside it, he would have asked Howie to do the trick again.

Kevin took the picture out and handed it to him. And holy fuck! It’s the yellow eyed demon in his dreams, the one who talks to him, only in this picture his eyes weren’t yellow, they were normal.

“That’s John Winchester, Sam and Dean’s dad.”

= =

“I don’t believe this!”

Sam stood nervously in the elevator, leaning as far back from his brother as possible. He didn’t think it was wise to admit that he knew who Nick Carter was while trapped in the elevator with nowhere to run.

When Sam had found out who Nick Carter was, he knew he’d have a lot of problems convincing Dean so he had decided to omit that one tiny fact out; and when none of the Backstreet Boys had come clean about who they were (probably not wanting anyone to know they were in Nashville in the first place, trying to make sense of a vision, no less) Sam decided to play along. To his defense, it wasn’t as if he knew much about the Backstreet Boys to fill Dean in, in the first place. He was running out of time, they had to get to Nashville before Nick’s vision at the pub kills him and Sam had swallowed enough information to go by. So the Backstreet Boys consisted of four members and they were supposedly huge and famous and were on their way to record another album. That was enough to go by at the time so why bother complicating things right?

Right.

“Hey look, it says here Nick and his friends checked in at this hotel late last night, I don’t know why we keep ending up with your psychic friend here Sammy but I’m going over to their room-”

“And do what Dean? You’re going to punch out a celebrity? Are you asking for another headline or what?”

“You can’t be serious!” Dean cried. “Sam, they think I’m his boyfriend!”

“You don’t even know which room he’s in and you seem to forget that we have a job to finish.”

“I bet it’s that suite that girl was talking about this morning,” Dean rambled on, ignoring Sam. “What is it…105? Yup that’s it, suite 105.”

“Will you at least finish this job first? We’ll go meet Rachel Evans and her boss and then we’ll go find Nick.”

As if on cue, his cell phone rang and Dean went back to the papers, getting increasing disgusted as he read further.

The papers read: “Nick’s Nashville rendezvous continues in L.A.”. The article chronicled Nick’s journey the moment he arrived in L.A. and checked himself with the boys at Four Seasons ‘while his secret Nashville companion arrived later that morning with another man sources said to be one of Nick’s buddies’

There was a picture of Nick and AJ sitting in the lobby. AJ was talking but Nick was staring ahead, looking bored as hell, probably jet lagged. But the caption said ‘Nick already missing his Dean’. The article revealed that Nick’s mysterious guy is called Dean who is currently attending a college in Nashville (according to reliable sources). Their favorite hang out place? The library. Dean is also rumored to be involved in Nick’s new side project and is not, as previously reported, replacing fellow Backstreet Boy member Kevin Richardson.

“What the hell?”

“We’re so screwed,” Sam grunted.

“No, I’M screwed,” Dean cried. “What the hell is Backstreet Boys and who the heck is Kevin Richardson?”

“Dean will just forget about that for a second and focus on the job?”

“Well this is not exactly easy to forget okay?”

“Rachel just called,” Sam said ignoring Dean’s whining. “They had to cancel our meeting today because we’re late and her boss has other appointments. We’re meeting them tomorrow.”

Dean frowned. “Tomorrow would be too late.”

“We need some major planning man,” Sam sighed.

“We wouldn’t be late if those assholes hadn’t hold us up and this won’t even happen if we had known we’ve been hanging out with the Backstreet Boys, whatever that means!” Dean ranted.

The elevator finally stopped at their floor and Sam thanked his lucky stars. “Yeah…about that…”

“What?”

“I kinda know…” Sam started as he made sure to put a distance between the two of them. “About the whole Backstreet Boys thing…”

“Wait what?”

Sam flinched and tried to look as apologetic as he could.

“You knew? All this time?”

“I know you’d give me a hard time if I told you they’re in a boyband and we were running out of-”

“Dude, what the hell is a boyband? Are they gay? Is that why they’re all thinking I’m his boyfriend?”

“What? No! No, they’re not gays. Boybands…you know? A group of guys singing…like the uh…like the Beatles!”

Dean scowled. “I happen to like the Beatles.”

“Well yeah…but um…they sing pop songs Dean.” Dean scrunched up his face. “Teen pin up celebrity kinda guy? That’s Nick.”

“He likes Metallica.”

“Well yeah, apparently he sings pop songs too.”

“Okay you know what, that’s it. I’m going to hunt that psychic friend of yours down and I don’t care if you’re coming or not. And Sam, when this is all over, I’m kicking your ass.”

“Dean, I think you really need to calm down.”

“Calm down? You want me to calm down?” Dean ranted. “The entire time we were there helping them, they never even thought about telling us who they really are! Hell, I almost called him out about it at the library but he just lie his way through! And now people think I’m gay! My face is all over the papers Sam, FBI is probably on our trail right now and we have a job to finish so forgive me if I’m a little angry here!”

Dean passed the papers to Sam and walked back to the elevator.

Sam gulped. “Dean come on man, you’re not even sure where his room is!”

“Well then I just have to ask for a keycard to his room now don’t I? I’m sure the entire world already knows I’m his boyfriend, shouldn’t be too hard!”

Sam sighed. “Dean, you call me once you get that key, you’re not going there alone you hear me!”

“Yeah whatever!” Dean grumbled as he waited for the elevator.

“Dean, promise me you’ll call me first!”

Dean groaned. “I promise okay! God you’re such a bitch!”

“No, you are!” Sam couldn’t help but retort. He entered their room before Dean had the opportunity to yell some sarcastic remark his way.

Sam went straight for his bed, wanting to rest his legs up after the whole mess that managed to happen. It bothered him too how Nick and his friends had ended up in the same hotel, surely it couldn’t be pure coincidence.

He sighed and started browsing the few pages of articles they had ran on his brother and his supposed relationship with Nick Carter of the Backstreet Boys, assessing the damage and hopefully in time to figure out some damage control before they head over and confront Nick Carter, who probably had gabillion security guards in his suite.

There were two smaller pictures next to the big one of Nick and AJ at the lobby of Four Seasons taken the night before. It showed Nick and Dean exiting a 7/11 store. Dean was holding out a big bag of M&M’s and Nick was wrist deep in it while they appeared to be talking. Another picture showed them entering the Impala and driving away. The captions said ‘Nick and no longer mysterious guy day out in Nashville’ and ‘Note to Nick Carter: If you have a gorgeous boyfriend like him who comes with a gorgeous car like that, you come out and tell the whole world!’

Sam felt the headache already bubbling at the back of his eyes. “Crap, this is not good.”

“I think we should at least call him first, let him know we’re coming,” Sam reasoned, or tried to, as he attempted to catch up with his brother’s long strides, which was saying something because normally, it would be Dean who would be struggling to do so. “You know, so we won’t end up black and blue after his bodyguards kick our ass.”

Dean continued walking through the spacious corridor, there were only two suites on this floor and Suite 105 was the one to the right, according to Ms. Tyler, the front desk personnel who had given him the extra key card after asking him if he’d like the hotel to bring up a complimentary bottle of champagne, to which he said ‘why not’ because really, why the hell not?

“Funny, hey, did you know that Black and Blue is the title of one of their albums?” he chanced a glance at Sam who looked a tad bit lost and shrugged.

“I tell you, those fangirls at the lobby are a lot more useful than Google, you might want to remember that the next time you have visions of a celebrity and need a quick research without telling your big brother.”

Sam sighed exasperatedly and Dean sighed in frustration because seriously, how far is this door and just how big is this friggin suite? “Dean, I said I’m sorry!”

“I heard you the first ten times Sam!” Dean exclaimed. “But if you think I’m going to let it easy on you, you have another thing coming.”

Sam sighed again, and then straightened his shoulders, his tall frame though seemed to look non-threatening to the eyes, was poised for battle, or burly bodyguards.

Dean pressed the button and Sam knew there was no backing away now.

- -

He was confused, and rightfully so. It didn’t make any sense and that was saying a lot, because he had said a lot of things that didn’t seem to make a lot of sense to anyone else but they always sound right to him yet this, this new discovery clutched in his hands, it was almost frustrating. Almost, because right now, he was trying to control frustration and let confusion have a go.

Had he been hustled by a couple of Demon children?

Was it all a ploy to make him think that he was safe and then when he got too complacent, Daddy Demon was going to pull that rug from beneath him and watch him fall on his ass and die?

But why was Daddy Demon so pushy about him asking Dean how his father had died? Didn’t he call Dean a liar? And what was the point really? Demon children had played them right into their hands and could have killed them if they wanted to (he wondered if that sawed off shotgun was intended for his head) but they didn’t, they just left.

And fuck it, he just bought two hundred boxes of salt and it could have been a scam, a sick, icing on the cake joke from the Demon children to make him think he was sleeping safely at night.

And what the fuck, just what the fuck! Demon Children? Daddy Demon? WHAT THE HELL!

“It doesn’t make sense,” he said, shaking his head while still staring at the picture. The Demon but not really, because this one didn’t have yellow eyes, this one was smiling, and probably ten years younger, and had kind eyes and was wearing a friggin Marine uniform.

“Because something doesn’t add up,” Kevin replied carefully and he hated it when the guys did that, to spring a surprise on him and then afraid that he’d overreacted and started walking on eggshells around him. “This is big Nick, it’s their Dad.”

Of course he knew that; Kevin didn’t have to spell it out to him. What he needed was a solution, the next step, anything that could help him move forward, make something out of this new information so he didn’t have to just stand there and listen to things that he already knew.

“You should call them,” AJ said.

The door bell rang, which made him jump and in any other circumstances, they’d be laughing at his jumpy ass by now but none of them said anything, save for an eyebrow raising moment from Kevin.

“I’ll get that.” Howie offered, looking very relieved as he walked away.

“Are you nuts?” Kevin said, and for a second he was unsure if Kevin was referring to Howie offering to answer the door or to AJ.

“No,” AJ frowned. “You want some answers, you go straight to the source.”

“And risk exposing ourselves to them?” Brian asked. “What if they’re really bad news? We’re going to give away the fact that we know about this little information?”

AJ shrugged. “If Daddy Demon is visiting Nick in his dreams don’t you think he’d find out that Nick knows about this one way or another? Seriously guys, we’re complicating stuff here when the answer is just a phone call away.”

“Or a doorbell away,” Howie called out from the opened door, where stood Sam and Dean Winchester, the latter looking very much pissed off and for that split second he decided, was resolved, that no one else get to be as pissed off as he was right now, especially not Dean Winchester.

= =

“You son of a bitch!” Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who was thinking this, because Dean said the same thing, at the same time; and that made him more frustrated (he decided to let frustration take over confusion now) because what right had Dean to call him that when he was the one who lied!

“Are you trying to mess with my head?” he cried.

Dean seemed offended and he guessed, by the look on his face, angry too. “No you’re the one who’s trying to mess with mine!”

“You lied.”

“What do you mean I lied? You’re the one who lied!”

“You fuckin’ lied and you know this!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Lets do this out in the open shall we? Make it look official; they’d think we break up and stop printing stupid stuff on papers!”

This made him frown. Dean was talking nonsense as far as he was concerned. Make what official? And what were they supposed to break up? “Dude, what the hell are you talking about?”

Dean frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this!” he exclaimed, pushing the picture into his hands. “That’s your father. He is also the yellow eyed demon who’s been visiting my dreams. You saw a sketch of this in my book. You knew.” Spat it with tons of accusation he could muster.

Dean had the audacity to look sad, broken, and what the hell, he was expecting guilt, an oops caught with my hands in the cookie jar look, but no, Dean stared at the picture longingly, as if surprised to see this younger version of his dad. “Where did you get this?”

“Kevin did some research,” he replied, pointing towards Kevin, who stood at the back, watching the whole thing silently. Knowing Kevin, he was probably studying the two brothers and making his own conclusions before joining the crowd. “He’s my brother.”

“You were checking up on us?”

“They wanted to make sure I wasn’t being fooled.” Nick explained. “And after this, I think I have the right to be concerned. Were you following us again? Is that what your daddy told you to do? Are you going to kill us all and make it look like an accident? Is this demon talk even real or are you just-”

“You don’t know my dad.”

“He’s in my fucking head!”

“That’s not him.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He also found it hard to believe that so far, none of the guys, including Sam, took a step forward to intervene this little confrontation, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud for now.

“Demons don’t have bodies Nick, I thought we told you that,” Dean said firmly. “My dad was once possessed by the demon that killed our mother and Sam’s girlfriend. You saw him in your vision, in that abandoned house when he pinned us both to the walls. You drew him eavesdropping on our conversation before he came out asking for the gun, so excuse us if we were hesitant to tell you about our dad and the whole demonised episode.”

“He told me to ask you about how he died,” he said. “Said that you lied to me, but I figured he was lying to me, just playing with my head, demons do that.” Right?

“My dad died saving me and I don’t like to talk about that, so that’s all you have to know,” Dean said. “The next time he pays you a visit, tell him I said to get his own identity.”

AJ broke the tension with a choke and he turned briefly to see Howie rubbing his back and he understood why. If the situation wasn’t this serious, he’d be choking too, because wasn’t that what Kevin once said to Nsync? Get your own identity!

“Your friend all right there?” Dean asked, peering over his shoulder, where AJ was.

“He’ll live.”

Dean nodded. “Good, because we don’t have much time and I want you to clear some stuff up before we leave, Backstreet Boy.”

Whoops. Okay, so he kind of lied too.

“Yeah about that…” but the rest of what he was about to say was lost somewhere as his eyes dropped to the papers. He frowned; felt that he had been doing that a lot lately, frowning. The Inquirer on his hands and the headlines made him dizzy. Oh great.

“Fuck.”

“Damn right fuck.” Dean said and he could hear it, that thin line of frustration laced in his voice. “We’re on a friggin’ job and we wasted a chance because we were mobbed by your fangirls and paparazzi.”

He looked back at his friends, saw confusion and couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe that they had been back in L.A. for a good day and didn’t realise what was going on. Or maybe they were just getting good at acting, at pretending they didn’t know but they did, just like they went behind his back and met up with Kevin, just like they had AJ as a course of distraction, bring him to breakfast, they probably said, take him out so he won’t ask too much, take him shopping, anything, just don’t let him know we’re meeting Kevin.

And he thought buying 200 boxes of salt was random and fun.

Damn it, why must everything be so complicated?

“You guys didn’t know about this?” When it actually said, you kept this from me?

“I know nothing about that.” Brian offered.

“I haven’t heard anything about that.” Howie added.

“You’d hear it from me if I know anything about that,” AJ said. “You know I’d take every opportunity I get to rub it in your face.”

That is true.

“I’ve heard about it,” Kevin admitted, now moving slowly towards him. His eyes shifted past him, over to Dean, and the look was apologetic, soft, kind, and he missed this, missed that look, even though it wasn’t directed to him right now but to the stranger who had been helping his brother out for the past few days, helped him. “I was going to tell them today but we didn’t quite get to that point yet. I’m sorry we messed up your job. I’d offer you my help but I’m not sure if there’s anything useful that I know that might help.”

Sam cleared his throat, and for the first time that day, made his presence known. He moved next to Dean, eyes fixed on Kevin, who was now standing right behind him, like he used to when he was still part of the Backstreet Boys, the one who was always hovering over his shoulder even when he wasn’t physically there, his mind always going ‘Kevin’s not going to like this’ when he was about to do something random and stupid (and sometimes funny and harmless but still stupid and would make the headlines and frustrates the management) and even though Sam’s a head taller than Kevin, he looked small and young and polite and for a brief second, it made him wonder about Kevin, how the hell did he do that?

“Actually,” Sam said, eyes glancing towards his brother for a flit second and that was enough for him, enough to know that Dean had no idea what Sam was up to, was as clueless as he was, as the rest of them. “You uh, you can help us, a lot.”

And he looked at Dean, sharing the same question in their eyes, wondering what his brother was up to and what his brother could do to help and wouldn’t this blink and you’ll miss it moment between them be a hot seller if a paparazzi had been around and snapped a shot?

a/n: i really would like to see sam's expression when he saw Howie answering the door after expecting some burly bodyguard to show up.

Dad used to say, drilled it into him in fact, since the age of seven and deemed ready to start combat training because soon enough Sammy, soon enough you’re going to join me and your brother on hunting trips, and you need to be ready because you know what’s out there (Yes daddy, the things that took mommy); that a thorough and complete research is the first step to a well prepared hunt. You don’t go out there blindly, you have a responsibility not only to yourself but also to the people hunting with you, we’re a team(Yes Sir).

It was no one’s fault but his. It would have made sense if he had done more, instead of doing a half ass job on it and decided it was enough. Dad used to joke back then, when they had came out of a hunt with barely a scratch on them, that soon enough, before you know it, you wouldn’t need me on this job, you two are my very own Hardy Boys. Sammy can do the research and Dean can plan, and I know I’ve taught you well enough in combat to kick some demon ass.

Sam would laugh because deep down, he knew his dad would never stop until he kill the thing that killed mom and as much as he liked being part of this team, to know he contributed something to ensure both dad and Dean came out of it alive, he knew he wanted more, knew he didn’t want hunting and revenge to consume and define him as a person (and looking back, Sam didn’t know that person anymore because these days, he embraced this, the family business) and Dean, Dean would look at dad, expression unreadable (now Sam thinks that Dean might have been scared by that idea back then, to go on a hunt without Dad because that means Dean’s in charge and at eighteen, Dean wasn’t ready and Dad’s joke wasn’t funny), as he dismantled the various weapons they had used for the hunt and started to clean them. So this, this was a disappointment, and he knew Dad would say as much if he were here, if he were still alive.

It would have made a lot of sense if he had found out that the Backstreet Boys was originally made up of five members instead of four. It would have made sense then, why they ended up at the same hotel in another state altogether, not even 24 hours after saying goodbye back at Nashville. It would have made so much sense now that the man who’s wife was going to be killed in their own kitchen if they didn’t hurry was standing right here, in front of them, like God’s gift for a second chance and a note saying try not to screw up this time Sammy.

“You think I can help you?” the man questioned with his eyes, slightly amused. “I don’t know much about the supernatural stuff but if I can help, I will.”

“I had uh…another vision on the road and it led us here, to this hotel,” Sam explained, unsure how to break the news without sounding like a raving lunatic and get himself kicked out of the suite.

Nick nodded his head, there was a light in his eyes that said he knew what he meant. “That was the vision I had earlier! The demon was here with your couple! So since my visions are always of the past, that means it had already happened.”

“And we missed it,” Dean sighed. “Held up by the crazies.” There was no malice this time around, just disappointment.

“Are you saying the couple died because some paparazzi held you guys up?” Howie asked.

“Oh dear Lord,” Brian muttered.

“That is so paparazzi,” AJ said.

“No, the couple is still very much alive,” Sam assured. “But…Kevin right?”

“Yes,” Kevin smiled.

Sam was sure he winced a little, because how do you break the news such as this knowing it would sound just as awful no matter how hard you tried to sugar coat things?

“Well uh…my brother and I, we’re from Page & Plant Interior Design Consultants and I believe we missed our appointment at 2.30 with you today.”

The smile faded the moment understanding set it. From his peripheral, he saw Dean did a double take and Nick had a little frown on his face, confused.

“Is this supposed to make any sense?” AJ asked.

“You’re the guy in Sam’s visions.” Dean exclaimed, realisation setting in.

Nick shook his head. “There has got to be a mistake, you said they’re going to kill the wife because she’s carrying a child that is going to be like us but Kristin’s not pregnant!”

Silence overcame the room, suddenly the suite became too small for everyone and Sam felt the chill wrapping them up in a tight bundle. He was sorry they had to find this out the way it did, sorry that they weren’t given the luxury of time to swallow everything in.

“Kristin’s not pregnant is she Kev?”

Kevin turned towards Nick and Sam thought the older man didn’t have to say a word, because that look (a torn between grief of what was to become of his wife and unborn child if they screwed this up and the elations of knowing he was going to be a daddy) would have confirmed as much and he knew Nick knew this, saw the acknowledgment in his eyes (although Sam could see that tiny plea, the one that seemed to cry out please tell me I’m wrong) but Kevin found his voice nonetheless.

“That was supposed to be the big news,” Kevin smiled, and Sam wondered how in the world did this man does that? “But we didn’t get that far into our conversation, seems like the on going pattern we have for today huh buddy?”

Sam watched as Nick reached over and hugged the older man, was reminded by the countless times he had wanted to envelope his own brother the same way (especially when Dean managed to get himself half killed trying to save him; that’s what big brothers do Sammy so chill), but screw Dean and his personal space, never mind if big brother didn’t even think twice to hug Dad after he went missing for months, hugging little brother (who had been gone for four years, excuse me) for some reason equates to a chick flick moment.

“I’m so sorry Kev.”

“I think what you should say is congratulations Kevin.”

“But Kristin-”

“Is safe, for now,” Kevin assured Nick. “Sam and Dean are going to make sure it’ll stay that way.”

“I’m going to help too,” Nick declared. “You’ve got to let me help Kev, you can’t make me wait by the sidelines for this.”

“I won’t.” Kevin replied. “We’ll all work together and we’re going to kick this son of a bitch ass back to hell.”

Dean caught Nick’s eyes and offered a smile. “I like him.”

Sam smirked. “Well that’s good bro, you’re going to be part of the family soon after all.”

Someone cleared his throat and whatever smart ass retort Dean was going to throw his way was lost from his lips. Everyone turned back to the still wide opened door. A man stood by the door with a cart. A bottle of champagne half deep in a bucket filled with ice and two champagne glasses decorated the top.

“Mr. Freddy May requested the complimentary champagne from front desk?” The man said as way of greeting. Dean groaned.

“Thanks man,” Nick said casually and gave him a tip and closed the door. “If there isn’t a bigger issue at stake here, I’d be going completely crazy over this whole me and you stuff.”

“I’m already there,” Dean sighed and then shook his head as he tried to focus only to find himself distracted again. “Dude, did KMart has special on salts or something?”

"What? Um...not exactly."

"Hey, we take this salting the window and doors very seriously," AJ defended. Dean raised and eyebrow and nodded. "I can see that..."

Sam shook his head. “Okay so focus." Dean nodded his head and tried not to take another glance at the cart of salts. "Yeah, first up, we need to do some research, know exactly what we’re dealing with. No mistakes, we only have one shot at this.”

And there was no way Sam was going to let this demon win, he was going to make sure Nick’s brother was going to come out of this ordeal with his wife and unborn baby alive, and untouched by evil.

= =

It was awkward. Okay, so it was all he ever asked for (and more) but still, when it all came down to this, he felt well, awkward. Sam and Dean didn’t look awkward though, in fact, it was the first time where he had seen both brothers really putting their energy into a single thing – planning. They worked swiftly, when one talks, the other listens and totally gets it, sometimes without even saying a word, they just seemed to know; and it had baffled him, given him an out of the body experience in fact, outside looking in, thinking fuck, but this is another level of weirdness and he was doing it.

Only a few weeks ago he couldn’t make out what the fuck was going on with his life. Wondered if karma had finally paid a visit and handed him his freakin’ brain tumour along with his death certificate. He didn’t think he’d ever felt that alone before (definitely not lonely, he had the guys constantly at him), heck, he thought he was going crazy.

But meeting Sam (and Dean of course, but it was knowing that Sam was like him, had that extra ability, that had changed things for him, hadn’t it?) and learning what it was he had and the fact that he wasn’t the only one (the only freak) that had given him a new lease on hope.

So looking back, yeah, he was grateful things had turned out for the better now, his friends, brothers, the people who mattered most to him, understood what was going on with him and had embraced everything as if this was a minor hiccup they could battle head on together. But now, now that Kevin’s wife and unborn child’s lives were at stake, he felt the immediate danger that this new found ability brought along with it. That this wasn’t just a game, wasn’t just a gift as much as it was a curse, and Kevin’s child was going to grow up (because no one’s dying anytime soon damn it!) having to always look over his shoulders, knowing that there are things that go bump in the night, would grow up with the knowledge that salt isn’t just for seasoning on your food and that headaches would be as close to him as his bestfriend.

“I think it’s cute Howie’s playing understudy,” Kevin whispered, all secretively, as if they were sharing some major top-secret demonic banishing information.

He had been sketching pieces of memories from his latest vision. Brian said it would be helpful if everyone knew how this demon and the child looked like, as fair warning, (it would have helped Sam if we all know it was Kevin he had been having visions about before) everyone agreed and so while things were being researched and planned, he was busy sketching.

The kid couldn’t be any older than fourteen. Big brown eyes like Howie’s, curvy lashes like AJ’s and slightly long, dark hair like Sam’s. Thin lips like Brian’s and sharp nose like Kevin’s. He wondered if his mother was killed in a fire when he was only six months old. Wondered what happened to his family that had ended him being this demon’s helper.

Howie was learning the latin verses to exorcising a demon (or whatever else, he guessed), just in case something happened to Sam and Dean (what do you mean if something happened to you both! Howie had panicked) that would hinder them from finishing the exorcism. AJ was studying the protective symbols they were going to start decorating Kevin’s house with while Brian learned a few things from Sam about hacking sites for information, which was funny to them because isn’t that a sin? Brian said they’re doing this for the greater good so it’s okay, which only made them laugh even louder.

“Yeah? I think it’s hot.”

“Careful now, Dean might not like to hear that.”

He knew this would be an ongoing joke for them for quite a while. Dean was half listening to Howie’s pronunciation while his eyes fixed on pieces of papers laid before him – information that both Sam and Brian had managed to get and printed.

“Nah. I think he’d like a threesome.” Kevin raised an eyebrow and smirked. “AJ said the fans actually like Dean, go figure that one. I think they really want me to be gay Kev.”

“I think your hormone raging female fans just find Dean hot, that’s why they approve. And is AJ still harassing LD?”

He smirked and decided not to answer that question. He promised AJ he wouldn’t rat on him, because harassing LD is a two Backstreet Boys job, and he was the other half of the team. “Did I tell you, your house is the shit?”

“The shit huh?”

“Yeah, dude, how huge is it?”

“I can’t remember. Kristin’s in charge of the numbers. It’s just huge to me.”

“This has to work Kev, it’s the only option.”

“It will.”

“I wish I’m as confident.”

“Have a little faith little man.”

“Are you going to tell Kristin about this?”

“I’m not sure about that yet. Maybe when this is over, I’ll tell her.”

“Maybe it’s not a good idea, she can’t be stressed or it might risk the pregnancy.”

“I think I’ll break it to her slowly with time. We’re gonna have to be ready when the kid’s six months old, probably might get a little demon visit who knows?”

“Definitely something you don’t find in those first time parents self help books huh?”

“I should write one.”

“Well, if life’s gonna be a little bit shitty for the kid, at least he has awesome parents to protect him.”

“You turned out all right,” Kevin smiled genuinely. “I have a feeling he’s gonna be very close to you.”

He smiled. He’d like that, very much.

“Hey, think Brian’s gonna shit his pants if I say Baylee and my son can grow up and be demon hunters just like those two?”

“You say that as if you know your child’s a boy.”

“You’re right, maybe it’s a girl. Maybe I’d call her Buffy.”

It was awkward because tomorrow, things were going to change, in a big way, for all of them and because right now, exactly twelve hours, four minutes and thirteen seconds, the Richardson’s living room was the den to seven men, preparing for a battle that wouldn’t make sense to most people, yet if they take out the supernatural out of the equation, this right here, seemed normal to the naked eye. Almost relaxed. Peaceful.

The deep breath before the plunge.

Disclaimer: that last sentence is taken from LOTR, so credit to JRR Tolkien.

There’s a reason why the family name Winchester is both admired and feared in the hunters community. Every hunter who had the opportunity to meet or go on a hunt with John Winchester would usually end up pointing their own shotgun to the Winchester’s head, accompanied by a slew of choice words as they chase him out, swearing they’d never want to see his face again. But get them talking about a past hunt they’d ever been in, and they’d tell you of the one that involved John; because a hunt with a Winchester was never dull.

And if there was one thing John had instilled in his sons during his lifetime – lets call it imparting the Winchester trade down to the next generation – it was to always stay vigilant. It was a trade that was planted so deep in the very core of his being that sometimes Dean felt like it was something he was born with, sharpened and hardened under his dad’s training.

Always listen to your surrounding, Dean. Always see what’s around you, Dean. Can you smell that, Dean? Feel it before you see it or it’d be too late for you, Dean. Take care of Sammy for me, Dean.

It wasn’t a surprise that the name Dean Winchester was well known among the hunters by the time he turned eighteen (and that young one looks like he’s going to follow in big brother’s footsteps soon enough). Most teens his age would be looking forward to college, already planning for the career path they’d like to lead in life. By the time Dean finished high school (and it was quite amazing that he actually finished it), he had gone on a solo hunt twice, and both times came back with barely a scratch on his body and memories of the things he had hunted and killed served as a constant reminder where the rest of his life was leading.

So Dean wasn’t surprised that it had all came down to this moment.

= =

He had to admit, he had pictured quite a few scenarios how the chain of events might turn out that day. Some of them, the gory ones, included his head being blown off because Howie didn’t say the word ‘demon’ in Latin correctly.

He also pictured a scene where everything failed and the demon flew off (and it was riding a broom, until he realised he had mistaken it for a wizard) to find Kristin and killed her and the unborn baby.

He saw an end where none of them walked out of the house alive (and they’d all haunt the Richardson’s house until some hunters came in and kick their asses) and it was all his fault because he froze, and it was only for a second, but it was enough for the demon to disappear, after leaving behind a demon-like explosive.

What he had never thought would happen, the one that never crossed his mind, was this.

= =

“You know Dean,” Kevin smiled as he rested his arm across Nick’s shoulder, pulling the young man closer to him. “You might as well speak what’s on your mind because it’s so damn loud.”

It was like a flutter of butterfly wings just beneath the water surface, a tiny ripple that would go unnoticed if one was blinking, but it was there, that ‘fuck, I’m caught!’ look on Dean’s face and it pleased him. Dean stole a quick glance over to his brother before looking back at Kevin. He was studying Nick now, even though his eyes never once drifted over to the blonde. It was unfortunate to have Nick be caught in the middle of it but he knew Dean knew it was too late to get Nick out of there. And that, that pleased him even more.

“You could have waited till six, like you planned,” Dean replied.

Kevin laughed. “I would, but it’s no fun waiting when I can read everything you’re planning in that head of yours. Kinda anti-climatic,” Kevin shrugged. “Besides, if I let you have too much time to think, you’d get too many grand ideas.”

Dean smirked. “Come on now, don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little challenge?”

Kevin snorted. “You’re not even worth the challenge, boy.”

“Yet you go through all these length to get to him and Sammy.”

“It was fun.”

“I wouldn’t put it pass you, you sick little bastard,” Dean smirked.

= = =

“Okay, what’s going on?” Nick asked, breaking what felt like a coded conversation between Kevin and Dean.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…” Kevin mused. “Upper brain is kind of slow this one.”

He frowned because while he liked being very close to Kevin, it somehow lost the sense of safety that often came along with it. Besides, Kevin wouldn’t be that cold and insult him openly like that.

“Nick I’m sorry,” Sam said. “But he’s not your brother.”

He thought everyone was going crazy. Of course this is Kevin, who else could it be? He had been sitting beside him for the last hour and everything was fine.

“What do you mean-”

“Nicky, stay calm okay? Everything will be fine,” Brian cut in. There was urgency in his voice, he could tell Brian was struggling to keep that smile on his face but it didn’t matter because his eyes gave him away. Brian was afraid, for him.

“Kevin’s possessed,” Dean claimed. “Probably had been possessed ever since he had that meeting with demon father back at the hotel.”

He shook his head. When were they planning to tell him this! He turned back to Brian, all the time aware that the grip on his shoulder was tightening. Kevin would never hurt him and this person wasn’t Kevin. “And you knew?”

= = =

Four Hours Ago

Brian was content with being research sidekick to Sam Winchester, it was something that he felt he knew, something he could do. It wasn’t that difficult, definitely wasn’t as complicated as attempting to speak old school Latin like Howie was appointed to do. Definitely easier than attempting to make a carbon copy of some ancient protection symbol, free hand, like AJ was doing. So using a laptop and surfing around looking for answers didn’t sound that alien to him. Well, aside from hacking into FEDS website and the likes – those felt kind of alien, but also kind of…exciting. Oh, he was going to hell for sure.

That was, until Sam passed him a handful of printed papers and casually said, “Hey, this is interesting huh? Think we can use that?”

At a glance, it didn’t look interesting, the printed paper didn’t even come with a picture, it was a page filled with words and he silently prayed that it wasn’t a handbook to ‘How To Kill A Demon’ because he wasn’t sure he could grasp all that information in a few hours.

But he started reading.

Try not to react to what you’re reading. Stay calm; everything is under control.

I found the identity to the woman who was killed in Nick’s vision.

Her name’s Angelica Rayden and she’s not dead.

In fact, she’s nowhere near injured.

This is a trap.

Breathe, please.

How do you not react to that?

“Here, you might want to jot down the important stuff,” Sam said, cutting through his shock and pushing a pen to his hand. He caught the young man’s eyes and it said ‘trust me’ and Brian nodded and muttered a soft ‘yeah’ and tried to think. Obviously Sam had offered him a way to communicate without having to reveal what they found out.

Nick lied? It can’t be.

What about the other guys?

“Take a look at this,” Sam said, shifting the laptop slightly in such a way that he was the only one, besides Dean, who could see what was on display. “Hey that’s a good point you highlighted there, can I see?”

Brian nodded and passed the paper to Sam and started reading the article on the screen.

It was breaking news. Reports released about an hour ago. A man was found unconscious inside Kevin’s room. Reports said Kevin wasn’t around and the man was found by Kevin’s assistant and identified as Mr. Dennis Hayman, an interior designer consultant whom Kevin had an appointment with earlier that day.

Mr. Dennis Hayman also looked exactly like the father demon Nick had sketched.

He didn’t read further, already connecting the dots. His head shot right up to find Kevin across the room, looking at him. He thought his heart stopped beating for a second, it wasn’t impossible given the circumstance. Then he returned the smile and prayed that it was convincing enough for now.

“Okay great, I think we can use what you found, plus the ones that I just add,” Sam said as he returned the paper back to him and Brian decided this was an Oscar performance, right here.

Not Nick. Kevin’s possessed.

They know. Howie’s not really learning Latin and AJ’s not really drawing symbols.

This is a trap for me and Nick.

I’m sorry.

Brian didn’t waste any time to jot down his replies. Kevin was walking across the room and had sat himself next to Nick and he never thought he’d ever feel this way but right then, it made him sick.

Don’t be.

Thank you.

What now?

Sam let out a huge sigh and stretched his limbs and even went as far as yawned. “We should start painting the devil’s trap now.”

“Where are you going to do that?” Kevin asked. “I guess my wife won’t be too happy with it but once she finds out it’ll protect her and the baby, she’d be okay with it.”

“I’m thinking the nursery room,” Dean said. “He’ll definitely ask to see the room if he’s going to pretend to decorate it.”

“Can I do it?” AJ volunteered.

Dean nodded. “Dude, be my guest. It’s gonna be a pain on the neck to get that on the ceiling.”

“I don’t mind,” AJ shrugged. “I’m thinking I’m gonna get one done on my shoulder.”

“You mean there’s still space on your body?” Nick joked.

“Shut up Kaos,” AJ rolled his eyes and then turned to Howie. “Dude, accompany me? You can go through your Latin while I make this art piece.”

“You’re just scared,” Howie smiled and then turned to look at Brian. “You know where to get us.”

The moment both AJ and Howie left, Brian felt a little weight on his shoulder lifted. At least he knew both of them would be safe for now.

Dean grabbed a pile of what looked like notes and approached Kevin.

“By the way Kevin, I need to go through some stuff wi-oomph!”

And Dean was on the floor, pieces of paper scattered everywhere. “Hey you okay man?” Nick asked as he got up from his seat.

“I’m all right, I think I tripped on the carpet,” Dean said, already on his knees and picking up scattered papers everywhere, joined by Sam. “Never been in a huge ass house like this, no fancy carpets to trip on.”

“I’ve told Kristin many times how I hate this carpet,” Kevin said, picking a piece of paper on the floor and handing it back to Dean. “I’ve tripped on it a couple of times myself.”

Dean smiled. “Women and carpets, don’t understand them.”

That made Nick giggled and Brian tried for a smirk.

“So uh, I’ve been studying the floor plan to your house and I just need to confirm with you if this one…” Dean fished out a piece of paper from the pile he had in his hands and showed a down-scaled floor plan of the house. “…is the back door?”

Kevin studied the plan while Sam and Brian helped to pick up stray papers and Nick went back to sketching on his pad.

“That’s right,” Kevin confirmed after a few seconds. “Do you think we’d be using that exit?”

Dean thought about this for a while and then shook his head. “Nah. Just want to make sure all exits are secured. We don’t want any surprises.”

= = =

“Cousin, your Hardy Boys stories are very interesting I must say,” the possessed Kevin interrupted. “But I’m afraid I have to stop this interesting story telling right now because I’m really getting very bored!”

“I’m not your cousin!” Brian gritted. He would have yelled but he didn’t think alarming both AJ and Howie when they were far and safe was a good idea.

“Well, it is unfortunate that I’m not gonna use this body for long. This body and good looks could get me very far,” possessed Kevin smirked.

“Oh I don’t think you’re going anywhere buddy boy,” Dean insisted and caught the wide-eyed ‘are you trying to get yourself killed?’ look from Nick, who was visibly shaken being in the position he was in right then.

“Oh I’m going somewhere,” possessed Kevin stressed. “And Nicky and Sammy are coming right along with me.”

Dean laughed and Sam rolled his eyes because really, only Dean would go ahead and mock a friggin’ demon. Nick and Brian had a look on their faces that equalled ‘this dude’s crazy and we’re all going to die!’

“I fail to see the humour in all these Dean.”

“You fail on a lot of things but hey, you’re just stupid like that.”

Possessed Kevin rolled his eyes (and it looked weird on Kevin) and stood up, pulling Nick with him by grabbing the front of his shirt. “I need nothing from you so I’ll just kill you off and call it a day.”

“You’re one cocky son of a bitch you know that?” Dean sighed, as if the whole getting killed declaration didn’t happen. “Fine, go ahead, come get me, kill me, I’m right here.”

“Dean shut up.” Sam said exasperatedly.

Dean frowned, as if not understanding what the heck he had done wrong. Sam rolled his eyes. Nick and Brian were still stuck on ‘dude you’re SO dead’.

“Oh that’s okay Sammy, we’ll let big brother have his last talk,” possessed Kevin mocked.

“Don’t call me Sammy.”

Possessed Kevin nodded his head in understanding. “Okay then, Samuel.” He made a step forward but retraced his step and frowned.

Possessed Kevin looked seriously pissed. “You didn’t.”

Dean grinned. “I didn’t, but Sammy did.”

“How?”

“When I tripped on the carpet and fell,” Dean replied almost too cheerfully. “Sammy over there slipped a devil’s trap under your seat; smart huh?”

“I should’ve read that.” Possessed Kevin gritted.

“Yeah well, next time, try not to reveal too much,” Dean suggested off handed. “It makes your would be victims shut their mind off so you can’t friggin’ read them anymore.”

“You planted those fake visions in our heads, why?” Sam asked, cutting the Possessed Kevin and Dean standoff. Sam really thought that his brother sometimes had a death wish.

“I was going after Nicky either way,” possessed Kevin shrugged. “And then you showed up and hey, why not get 2 for the price of 1, better for me. I was going to go after you soon enough.”

“Why are you going after them?” Brian asked.

“That’s for me to know and for you to keep guessing,” Possessed Kevin snarled.

“Right okay, I don’t really give a damn what your master plans are, you’re here and trapped and frankly your talking is beginning to bore me. Sam, send his ass back to hell!”

And then possessed Kevin began to laugh. It sounded evil and dark and sinister and unKevin.

Then, swiftly, with the grace of a cat, he pulled a blade from his ankle and in seconds, had grabbed a handful of hair and pulled Nick’s head back, the tip of the blade poking dangerously on his neck.

“You’re one cocky son of a bitch, you know that Dean? Didn’t think about this, did you?”

= = =

What he had never thought would happen, the one that never crossed his mind, was being killed by a possessed Kevin. He didn’t want the last thing he saw before he drew his last breath to be the dark evil stare of the one person he had always looked up to.

Yet there he was, shocked by the amount of strength that was locking him in place. This demon might be powerless to kill him with a flick of a finger, but he had a blade on his neck now, and that would work just fine to kill someone off.

“Let him go!” he heard Brian yelled. “Kevin, fight it! Don’t let it kill Nicky! Kevin please!”

Sam and Dean were talking now, they were threatening the demon, but all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, the thumping of his heartbeat, of that pain in his stomach. He kept his stare at Brian because he didn’t want to look into Kevin’s eyes and not see him there. Didn’t want to hear Kevin’s voice and not hear him. He wished he could see Howie and AJ for the last time.

And then it happened. A prick of pressure on the neck and nothing else. Huh, he thought it’d hurt more than just a little prick.

He found himself falling but somehow couldn’t gather the strength to reach out and hold on to something. His head made contact with the edge of the coffee table and he knew it should have hurt but he felt nothing.

He was lying on the carpeted floor now and he heard voices yelling, ferocious wind slapped his face and he thought that was odd. Papers were flying everywhere and he tried to find Brian, tried to find a familiar face but he couldn’t see anything, everything was blurry.

Then he heard it. The roar of pain coming from Kevin. He panicked for a little, wondering if Kevin was all right; if Dean had no choice but to kill Kevin. No, he cried, but he wasn’t sure if his lips moved, if he could even talk.

And as suddenly as it had happened, it stopped. No gush of wind, no voices yelling, nothing. But he was still on the floor and the carpet was turning red and he wondered if he had managed to split his skull open from the fall or if the blood came from the slit on his throat.

It didn’t matter though, because now, now he acknowledged the pain and it was everywhere, and it was blinding and he was slipping away.

The Trap II

"You kill him and I'm sending your sorry ass back to hell, you hear me!" Dean yelled at Possessed Kevin. There was no hiding behind a cool facade and throwing insults at the demon now, he had had enough of demons messing around with people he cared for (and he couldn't let possessed Kevin kill his own brother because he knew that would mess up Kevin even more and he knew a thing or two about having to kill your own family and maybe, maybe if he could stop this, he could save Sam too) and this, this was like going back to the time when he had confronted Meg and Dad was held captive somewhere and of that one time when she was in Sam and he had to look at his brother and not see him and that had pissed him off really bad (and saddened him too because Sam was there but it’s not Sam).

"Dean, Dean, you already threaten to kick my ass back to hell even before I attempt to hurt Nicky," possessed Kevin pointed out.

Dean clenched his teeth because yeah, possessed Kevin had a point there.

“Let’s make a deal then,” Dean proposed.

"Dean." Sam called out. Sammy didn't sound mad at all and that hurt Dean even more. He knew how this looked like to Sam and he was sorry he had to use the D word. A deal with demons was never high on Sam's list of favourite things and they lost Dad because of it. No, Sam was pleading, it was the same Dean he would hear when Sam was afraid for him and that, that had hurt even more than an angry Sam.

"What could you possibly offer me that I'd take boy?" possessed Kevin mocked.

"You let Nick go, and we'll let you bust out of here. Get out of his body and just leave."

Possessed Kevin laughed and the tip of his knife was pressed deeper against Nick's sensitive skin. It bled, but Dean knew it wasn't deep enough to warrant any panic, for now.

“And you expect me to fall for that old routine of yours?” possessed Kevin retorted. “Oh Sammy, your brother’s getting a little predictable, don’t you think?”

“You shut up!” Sam yelled. Dean thought it was a lame comeback but there was other pressing issue at hand so he stopped himself from rolling his eyes at his brother.

“You’re not killing him,” Dean stressed.

“Oh I am,” possessed Kevin sang, and without any further warning, slowly sliced the blade across Nick’s neck.

“Oh Lord!” Brian cried. “Kevin, please, listen to me, you don’t want to do this!”

“Kevin’s not listening cousin,” Kevin gritted, yellow eyes now looking straight at Brian.

“No, let him go!” Brian cried. “Kevin, fight it! Don’t let it kill Nicky! Kevin please!”

Dean had had enough of this. It was like outside looking in. He knew how this felt like and he didn’t like it one bit. He was about to step forward, devil’s trap be damned, when Kevin yelled ‘no!’ and stunned everyone.

Nick went lax in his arms and he wasn’t even sure if Kevin saw him, because he just let go and Nick’s limped body sagged down to the floor, after slamming against the edge of the coffee table.

Brian was already moving forward. “Brian no!”

“I’ve got to get to him, he’s bleeding!”

“Brian, trust me, you’ll only make things worst if you go near them now,” Sam’s calmer voice reasoned. Dean sometimes wished he had that effect on people.

“What have I done?” Kevin whispered, his eyes now on Nick. He made to kneel down but Dean stopped him.

“Don’t go near him.”

Kevin was confused and Dean didn’t have the time or the patience to explain every single damn thing. “You’ll hurt him even more if you do, trust me.”

“But I-” Kevin seemed to choke on his words and then something in him set back in place and he continued, “But I nothing! If you’re going to send me back to hell, I’m going to at least finish him first!”

Possessed Kevin was back and the blade was raised high in his arms, threatening to plunge right down to Kevin’s chest and Dean knew they wouldn’t get any warning before that happened. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice and he was sure Sam was thinking the same because he made a grab for their dad’s journal and was turning the pages with lightning speed.

“No you’re not.” Dean said, almost too casually that if he had the time to react, he’d probably surprised himself. Instead he fished out the flask in his jacket, uncapping it with just a turn, and splashed holy water at the demon.

Possessed Kevin screamed and yelled and steam and heat seemed to come out of his body, sizzling and burning the demon inside of him. Dean made his move and threw a punch to his jaw once, dropping Kevin back to his seat.

“Sammy, now would be good!” Dean yelled.

“I’m doing it now!” Sam growled and started. “Perditionis venenum propinare. Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis!”

The papers on the table, the ones they were pretending to read over and over before, began flying away in all directions. There seemed to be a tornado trapped in the house with them but for Sam and Dean, it was nothing they hadn’t encountered before.

Dean gripped Kevin’s shoulders, forcing him down while his brother continued with the exorcism.

“Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt.”

Kevin yelled something inhuman and Dean tried to ignore the gurgling noises Nick was making, or the twitching of his body so near in his grasp.

“Are you sure he’s not hurt, Dean?” The demon managed to croak out in between its screams.

“I know he’s hurt you son of a bitch! If he dies, I swear to God-”

“I meant Kevin, you idiot!” the demon cut in and Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about being called an idiot by a demon. “Are you sure…I didn’t jump fifteen stories from his hotel room to get away today?”

You said she fell from a building. That girl’s body is broken. The only thing keeping her alive is that demon inside. You exorcise it, the girl is gonna die.

“What is he talking about Dean?” Brian asked. Dean looked over to the other blonde; he was panicking and almost to the point of hyperventilating. “Is this exorcism going to kill my cousin too?”

“No one’s dying today Brian.” Dean stressed and then slapped the demon across the face just because he felt like it. “You shut the fuck up.”

“Kevin’s going to die if you exorcise me.”

Sam had stopped the incantation and Dean was torn between what he should and shouldn’t do.

“Sam, do it.”

“Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, domine. Ut ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.” Kevin yelled again but this time Sam paid no attention. “Te rogamus audi—”

“Kevin’s going to die! And Nick’s bleeding to death! I hope you’re happy Brian!”

Brian was understandably shocked. He shook his head, pleading for Sam not to go on. Dean closed his eyes for a second, hating what he had to do and hating what could have been after it was all over. They could really end up with two dead bodies tonight.

“Brian, listen to me,” Dean started. “I can’t guarantee you if this son of a bitch is lying or not, but if he’s telling the truth, then your cousin might die.”

“Please, I don’t want that,” Brian cried.

“But you have to let us continue, or he’ll be trapped in his own body forever.” Dean continued. “Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you? He’ll be lost in there.”

Nick was no longer twitching. In fact Nick wasn’t doing much at all. He couldn’t even hear as much as a whisper coming from the man.

“We need to do this now Brian, Nick’s not looking good.”

Brian seemed lost in his thoughts and Sam seemed to channel Dean’s thoughts because he didn’t wait, couldn’t, and continued.

“Dominicos sanctae ecclesiae. Terogamus audi nos…”

Dean looked back at the demon under his grip and smiled. “Rot in hell.”

The demon yelled one last time before Kevin’s head tilted up to the ceiling and an enormous cloud of black smoke erupted from his mouth. The moment he was sure the demon was truly gone; Dean let go of his grip.

It felt like the calm after the storm.

Kevin slumped back on the seat, it would take some time for him to be fully conscious and aware again. Dean looked for signs of injuries, broken ribs or bones and as far as he had allowed himself to check, Kevin seemed to not be suffering from any.

He saw Brian already rushing towards Nick and Sam wasn’t far behind. “Brian, try not to move him.”

“Oh God he’s bleeding everywhere…he’s…”

Sam was already taking off his jacket and then took off his long sleeved shirt, proceeded to scrunch it to a ball and placed it under Nick’s bleeding head. “Here, hold this for me please?”

Brian followed the instruction, only affording to nod in his state of shock. Sam checked the wound on Nick’s neck and then tried to find for a pulse, and when Dean heard his huge sigh of relief, Dean allowed himself to relax a little.

“It’s not as deep as we thought,” Sam reported. “Kevin came through for him at the right time after all.”

“He’s gonna be okay?” Dean asked.

“He’s bleeding a lot Dean,” Sam worried. “We should call 911 and we probably shouldn’t be here when they come. What about Kevin?”

“Nothing’s broken as far as I can tell.”

And as if Kevin could hear them, he began stirring and it hit him, that this would be the first time he would be facing the real Kevin Richardson himself. And it unnerved him that all those time, back at the hotel, the kind, soft-spoken person he had met was a demon. Just like Dad was.

“Hey, you okay man?” Dean asked when Kevin was finally conscious enough of his surroundings.

“Oh thank you,” Kevin croaked. “Did I…is Nick…”

“He’ll be fine, you stopped it from killing him.”

Kevin’s body went slack again, relief overshadowing the pain on his face. “Good…that’s good…you got the son too then?”

The temperature dropped. There might as well be a big ass piano dropped on his head at the moment because it felt like exploding as it was.

“Sammy?” Dean said, turning to his brother.

“I…I couldn’t find anything on the kid…I thought he made that vision up…Dean…”

“It’s okay Sam, I didn’t know any better myself.”

“But Dean, he could be anywhere right now and-”

And something crashed somewhere above them and someone cried in pain and it sounded uncannily like Howie.

Wayward Son

The last thing Kevin remembered was shaking the hands of the Interior Design Consultant, a man with the warm smile and soft brown eyes that look at you when he said, ‘I’m Dennis Hayman and this is my son, Kyle, I hope you don’t mind him tagging along?’

Everything else had been a blur and the next thing he knew, he had lost control over his own body, he could hear himself talking but knew he hadn’t uttered a word. It was really strange and for a few minutes Kevin was sure he was dreaming, that he would soon wake up and laugh it off.

But that didn’t happen. Instead he watched, helpless, as whatever it was that had taken over his body, invited himself in to the suite, fooled the guys, won Nick’s trust with his smile, his voice, his memories, and then the horror of realising that it was his hands that had held the blade that had sliced across Nick’s throat.

He remembered the desperation, the will, he remembered hearing Brian’s voice, pleading with him to fight it and he wasn’t sure what it was that he was supposed to fight against, could he fight against his own body? All he knew was, he couldn’t go through with it, wouldn’t let it, wouldn’t have Nick’s blood in his hands, and he remembered praying, remembered pushing and then yelling No!, surprised himself when it worked that he let go of Nick’s body.

He wasn’t sure how he had gained control of his body fully after that, he was just suddenly there, and the missing pieces started to patch up the entire picture and he knew Dennis Hayman and his son was bad news.

“Howie’s in trouble,” Kevin croaked as he attempted to get back on his feet. Dean pushed him back down gently and Kevin could only question him with his eyes, he was still seeing double of everything.

“Stay here, we’ll handle this.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“Well yeah he might have that puppy face going on for him,” Dean shrugged. “But he’s not just a kid.”

And with that parting shot, followed by Sam’s silent nod, they left, leaving him helpless when it came to AJ and Howie. God help them all.

“Kev you okay?”

He blinked and registered that Brian was talking to him. The dizziness had passed, which he was thankful for.

“Kev? I really need your help here.”

Then he noticed Nick, bloodied and unconscious in Brian’s arms and he knew he shouldn’t be shocked at the sight (it was his hands that had done the act after all) but it sent a wave of panic through him regardless.

“Kevin, he’s fading.”

Fading. What does that mean? Was Nick semi-transparent now? Was he going to just evaporate into thin air and ceased to exist?

He found himself on his knees, his hands reaching out to brush the blood matted hair away, inspecting the bleeding gash across the hairline. He knew whatever was in his body was gone for good, knew this was entirely his own doings, but it still felt like his brain was a few seconds short with the rest of his body, as if moving on its own accord.

“Is he still bleeding from the other wound?” from the slash across the neck that I gave him?

“No…no I don’t think,” Brian stammered. “Kev, this shirt’s soaked through.”

Kevin stared at the grey shirt in Brian’s hands, now soiled in blood. Too much blood bleeding out of a head wound, that shouldn’t be good.

“Try to wake him,” Kevin said, knew he failed at sounding calm, felt sorry he couldn’t offer any kind of comfort to his cousin. “I’ll get some clean cloth and call 911.”

“Hurry Kev, we don’t have much time.”

We don’t have much time.

Nick didn’t have much time.

He slit his throat and now Nick’s fading away.

Kevin rushed to the kitchen, flung every kitchen cabinet door opened, knew Kristin had stashed all the new kitchen towels somewhere there. They would be white and some still in their individual packaging because Kevin always liked to be prepared, something that drove Kristin to the walls.

What could have happened that warrant us the need for extra kitchen towels Kevin? She had asked.

Well now he knew, now they would know.

He found them at last; of course they’d be right next to the dishwasher, an entire drawer filled with white kitchen towels. He took five folds with him, stopped by the fridge and grabbed two bottles of Evian to clean the wound with, wished they had thought about storing first aid earlier (he also decided he needed help because he had thought about kitchen towel supplies but not first aid?) and then grabbed the cordless phone off it’s holder by the wall (successfully ignoring the fact that it was now stained with Nick’s blood on his fingers) and rushed back to the living room.

Only to find Brian and Nick were joined by AJ and Howie with the Winchesters to round up the pack, being held hostage (he really couldn’t find a better term for it) by Kyle, the Demon’s kid.

= =

It was like being in a dream at first, nothing made much sense. He saw things from the past, memories, and remembered them all, knew they had happened, knew the outcome of each and every one of them, but still he found himself anxious to see that outcome, like watching IT for the hundredth time, knew the clown was going to flash across the screen but he would still anticipate on that exact moment and still jump in shock when it did. But they were memories nonetheless, they were familiar, they were his, so he didn’t quite mind it at first.

And then it took a turn to the unfamiliar, memories that weren’t his, and he wondered, for a brief second, if getting visions while being deeply unconscious; meant that his ‘ability’ was growing?

He saw himself being cradled in Brian’s arms, Howie sitting next to him, holding his right arm protectively, as if it was broken. AJ was still standing, with a bleeding lip, staring at Kevin who had just came out of the kitchen with fear in his eyes. There was a young boy, about fourteen, standing in the middle of the room, he had never seen him before.

Sam appeared to be talking to the young boy, who looked somewhat pissed. Dean looked torn, standing right behind Sam, unsure if he should let his brother handle the situation or step in the way, pull Sammy back and make sure he was safe. He knew that stance, knew of four other guys who had been doing that when it came to him. You protect your own.

Then Sam cried out loud, hands now gripping at his own head, as if some unseen forces were trying to rip his head off.

No one moved, they seemed shocked by the turn of event, but Dean did not hesitate, he pulled Sam back and held on to his brother as Sam dropped to his knees, groaning in pain.

“What did you do!” Dean yelled at the young boy, but the kid didn’t seem to hear Dean, didn’t seem to be aware of anyone else but Sam.

“Sam! Sammy talk to me!” Dean urged. Sam was still struggling, still trying to fight whatever it was that was invincible to everyone else.

And then Kevin dropped everything in his hands and ran forward and yelled, “Kyle, stop it!”

Surprisingly, Kyle heard Kevin and even though Sam was still crying out in pain, Kyle turned his attention to him and said, “I thought this is what you want me to do? You told me to.”

“What did I tell you to do Kyle?”

“Read them,” Kyle replied. “I’ll get right to the next one once I’m done with this one.”

“What do you mean read him!” Dean yelled.

“SHUT UP!” Kyle yelled and Dean fell flat on his ass, as if being pushed by an invisible force.

“Kyle, you need to stop reading him or he’ll die,” Kevin said. He wasn’t sure how Kevin knew this and wondered if Kevin was just saying it to scare the kid.

Sam had stopped yelling and for a second, he thought Kyle had taken the bait, but then Dean cried out for his brother again and his voice was strong, protective, older, yet he couldn’t help hearing the pain, fear and anger layered into it as well.

Sam’s nose was bleeding, just like his had when he started getting the visions and he knew this wasn’t good at all, and that it was up to him to make things right, to come and hopefully save the day.

First, he needed to wake the hell up.

= =

Brian wasn’t sure what was going on exactly. At first, he was preoccupied at trying to stop the bleeding from the nasty gash on Nick’s forehead. Already he was panicking because he had tried everything, from calling out loud to slapping his face, but Nick didn’t do as much as stir. He checked for pulse and at the third try still wasn’t sure if that had been Nick’s heartbeat or his because everything was getting too confusing, closing in on them both and it was getting too hard to take a decent breath in.

Then Sam and Dean had returned with AJ and Howie and he allowed himself to relax a little, knowing at least now he didn’t have to be alone, didn’t have to be the one who witness Nick taking his last breath in his arms wondering if he could have done more, if he had allowed himself to just sit there and do nothing to save him. But the respite was short lived when he saw there was a fifth in the group that was making their way towards them.

Unbelievable, he thought, being held hostage by a fourteen year old. A fourteen year old who seemed unarmed and those eyes, so big and innocent…

And then Sam had dropped in his brother’s arms, much like the way Nick was now laying on his. Kevin had been trying to convince the kid to stop doing what he was doing (and Brian was so lost about that, because the kid was doing nothing but staring at Sam and surely one can’t die from a stare, and he refused to believe that the term ‘deadly stare’ was to be taken literally!) but nothing worked and now Sam had given in to the darkness, limp and still with a nosebleed that was freaking the hell out of big brother.

The kid said he was reading Sam and that he’d come for Nick just like Kevin told him to, and Brian had never felt this lost before, not even when he was trying to make sense of what was going on to the people stranded on that island in that tv show that AJ made him watch, and that was saying a lot!

“Brian.”

Howie sounded alarmed and Brian raised his head to look at him. Howie was still cradling his right arm against his chest protectively, he was losing the colour on his face too and Brian was beginning to think that it wasn’t just a sprain like Howie had claimed earlier; it seemed broken.

“Nicky’s nose is bleeding.”

= =

Something foreign was in his head and it scared the crap out of him that he could even tell that. He wondered if this was exactly how Kevin had felt when he was possessed. It wasn’t as if he could see anything, he was too deep in unconsciousness that he had given up willing himself to wake up. But he could feel it; the pressure at the back of his head, as if some invincible hands were squishing his brain.

Stop that.

He wasn’t sure if whatever it was that was currently playing around in his head could hear his thoughts, but at this point, he’d be willing to do anything.

The pressure was getting more intense now and he wished he still had control over his own body because he really needed to move, to do something, anything, just to stop the pain.

And then he heard it. The voice. It wasn’t the voice of the yellow-eyed demon though, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to at least feel a little relief about that.

He said you’re a bad person.

If he could roll his eyes, he would. The kid needed to be more specific because a lot of people apparently believed he was a bad person.

Well you must be a bad person too, he decided to reply.

What do you mean?

Heard of any good kids who go around in people’s head and messing them up? I don’t think so. You’re hurting me so you’re a bad boy.

He said you needed to be stopped.

And you believed him? What had he done for you that you believed him that much?

He believed me. He said he has big plans for me.

We’re talking about the yellow eyed dude right?

Yes. Father.

Father my ass. That’s not your father. He’s a demon and we exorcised him while you were busy kicking my friends’ ass. He’s back in hell, you can stop now.

That’s what Samuel told me.

You need to believe both of us. We’re like you, we know what you’re going through, but first, you need to let us go or you’ll kill us both, do you want to be a killer?

There was silence yet the pressure continued to build and it depressed him to think that if he didn’t pull through this, the last thing he ever felt was disappointment.

= =

“Is it true?” Kyle said suddenly, catching Kevin off guard.

“What is?”

“You’re not him,” Kyle said. “Father.”

“No, I’m not him Kyle,” Kevin replied, shaking his head. “He’s a bad man and they have taken him away. You have nothing to worry now.”

“Nick said he’s a demon and you’ve sent him back to hell.”

That caught everyone’s attention like a full blown neon billboard. “You talked to Nick?”

The young boy nodded, eyes now back to where Nick lay cradled in Brian’s arms. “I read him and there’s not an evil bone in his body. I don’t know why Father told me otherwise.”

“Because he’s not your Father Kyle, he’s a bad thing.”

Kyle nodded to show that he understood. “Sam said that too. That I shouldn’t trust anything that has yellow eyes. It’s not normal.”

The tension was broken by Dean’s silent snort. “Ah Sammy.”

“Look Kyle, I know it’s confusing for you right now,” Kevin began. “But you need help, and Dean and Sam there, they can help you understand. They can get you back home.”

“I don’t have a home,” Kyle whispered and Kevin found himself no longer afraid of this young man, who seemed suddenly so fragile and alone and in need of a great big hug. “Mom died when I was a baby and dad put me in the system. No one ever adopt me until Father came along.”

Kevin wished he had the perfect thing to say to the boy. Something that would make everything okay, but he knew there was nothing. And everything was not okay at all. Not for Kyle, not for Sammy and definitely not for Nick, who was still lying unconscious on the floor, with that thin red line across his neck screaming back at him.

“Sam? Hey, you all right?”

Sam was stirring back to consciousness and if things had been a little different, Kevin would find it amusing that Kyle had subconsciously moved closer to him and further away from Sam, as if afraid of the repercussion for reading (whatever that means) him.

Sam was moaning in pain and Dean was torn between telling his brother to stay down or to hurry back up and just be okay, for everybody’s sakes.

“Dean,” Sam muttered, eyes still closed. “Dean, Nick’s not gonna make it…we gotta help…”

“Okay, okay, just…just lay down for a minute and get better, we got this one.” Dean assured Sam and with AJ’s help, they placed a cushion for Sam’s head to rest on and tissues to stop the nosebleed.

Meanwhile, Howie was already on the phone, dialling 911, his right arm still held close to his chest.

Kevin went straight to Brian and Nick and passed him the kitchen towels. “This should stop the bleeding for now.”

“Do you think Sam had a vision about Nick?” Brian asked, almost in a whisper. “He had one before Kev, remember?”

How could Kevin forget? They told him that it was because of the vision of Nick dying in a bar that had led the Winchesters to them in the first place. Had they tried to play God and was trying to stop the inevitable? Were Nick supposed to die anyway?

“He’s going to make it.” Kevin replied instead, not once looking up to meet his cousin’s eyes.

“Paramedic’s coming in five minutes,” Howie announced.

“Good, good,” AJ muttered as he grabbed for a kitchen towel and pressed it on his split lip.

“Dean…” Sam muttered, fighting his brother’s arms that were stopping him from getting up. “We can’t be here when they come.”

“What do you mean?” Brian asked. “You need help too Sam.”

“Y…don’t un’stand…”

“I’m a wanted man,” Dean explained. “They’ll arrest my brother just to get to me.”

“But you can’t just leave now,” Howie said. “You can’t even stand.”

There was silence as Sam heavily leaned against Dean, who seemed to be struggling with himself. Then, without warning, Dean nodded, looking resolute. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this Sammy.”

Dean pulled his brother up to his feet, swung his arm over his shoulder and then looked at Kevin. “We’ll take Kyle with us, there are good hunters who still live the American life out there who’d be willing to take him in and protect him.”

Kevin nodded. “I’ll see that you get out of here smoothly.”

He took one last look at Nick, hoped they weren’t too late, and then went for Kyle. “Come on Kyle, Sam and Dean are going to take you home okay?”

Kyle nodded. “I’m sorry, for everything.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Howie smiled.

“Good luck kid.” AJ said. Brian just smiled and nodded at him.

Outside, the world moved on as if nothing supernatural had just happened inside the house of the Richardson’s. Everything was beautiful, calm and serene. It disturbed Kevin to the core.

The black Chevy was the one dark thing to haunt the roadside. Shiny metal and worn out leather that screamed danger; yet beautiful in its own gothic ways.

Kevin opened the door to the back seat to allow Dean to pretty much deposited his still half conscious, lanky brother in before quickly closing the door again.

“Kyle, you get shotgun.” Dean said. The young man nodded obediently and did as told. “I hope your brother gets through this. I’m sorry for all the trouble we’ve caused you.”

Kevin shook his head and smiled. “No, your brother and you have helped him in ways none of us could. Here, I feel responsible for Kyle. It’s nothing much, just something to start with.”

Kevin passed all five thousand in cash that he had in his wallet into Dean’s hands. It was supposed to be the deposit payment for the design of the nursery.

“Just make sure he ends up in good hands?”

Dean nodded. “We’ll make sure of it, thanks.”

As Dean made his way to the driver’s side of the car, Kevin called him out once again. “Hey Dean, I’m sorry Sammy can’t get the help he needs. I hope he gets better soon.”

There was a second of understanding between them, realised they weren’t that different after all, both feeling the responsibilities towards they’re younger charge and Kevin decided if these two men could survive each other while everything was going against them, he knew he’d do anything to see that Nick stays safe as long as he was around.

= =

Kevin was talking to him. He had been talking to him for what felt like forever now. Sometimes he could hear Brian. Sometimes it was Howie and other times it was AJ. It was always one of their voices that managed to pull him back to consciousness, but never far enough for him to fully open his eyes and acknowledge their presence. Today it felt different, today his head didn’t feel like it was going to explode from the slightest of movement, today he couldn’t feel the tube that was pushed down his throat to help him breathe. Today, Kevin was talking about how Brian and Howie had to explain to a nurse on duty when she walked in on them lining salt around his hospital bed.

Kevin was laughing softly as he talked. He talked about finding out a way to reach the Winchesters without really having to talk to them and sending them a thank you gift that he was sure they’d love. He talked about Kristin, and how she had been driving him crazy with shopping for the baby and of his dilemma to choose the perfect crib out of the five that they ridiculously had fallen for. He also begged him to wake up and get AJ away from him because the guy had been trying to convince all of them to have the devil’s trap tattoo on their shoulders.

It wasn’t until half way into Kevin’s ramblings that he realised he was actually alert to everything he heard around him. Yet he didn’t open up his eyes, still didn’t acknowledge his presence and he wondered for a few seconds if it was because he was afraid of Kevin, of the thing that had managed to get inside of him and had forced the older man to almost kill him. That thought quickly washed away because that was just absurd. Nothing could make him fear of Kevin, perhaps fear for him, but never of him. It just felt nice, to be where he was then, to see darkness at the back of his eyelids but to not fear it.

He heard Brian and Howie entering the room a few moments later, he heard Kevin asking them how they had managed to convince the nurse that they weren’t nuts and shouldn’t be kicked out of the building and then AJ entered last, with his ‘hi bitches’ and the lingering smell of cheese pizza invading his senses.

“AJ what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Shut up, you all know you want a piece of this.”

“Nick’s gonna be pissed dawg.”

“Well the little dick will just have to wake up now won’t he?”

“Nice, bribe the unconscious one won’t you.”

“Hey, if it works.”

“I hope you asked for hot sauce.”

“Just for you my man, how’s the arm?”

“Itchy.”

“You shouldn’t really scratch it D.”

He couldn’t do it anymore, already he could feel the corners of his lips smirking, not to mention the growl of his stomach wanting some good old hot cheese pizza. Besides, he missed these guys, and he wanted to be with them, like the good old days, even though things have shifted in the group, with him, some things are just too strong to completely collapse and deemed unsalvageable, like their brotherhood for one, because that, is for life.

= =

Somewhere in the back streets (sorry, can’t help myself) of USA.

“Everything that’s mailed from that postal code is in that box,” Dean said, waving his hand to the backseat of the impala where an opened package sat. “New battery for your laptop, there’s a book called ‘Living After Death’, which is crap by the way dude, doesn’t make sense at -”

“A friend of mine was reading it back at Stanford,” Sam explained as he turned sideways on his sit to grab the package at the back.

“And here I thought they only accept smart kids there.”

“Hilarious Dean.”

“I know I’m funny,” Dean shrugged. “You’re just weird.”

Sam didn’t bother retorting, knowing only too well that it would only feed Dean’s needs to continue teasing him.

“Um, Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you make this card for us?”

Dean turned to look for a second. It was a black credit card. He shook his head. “I didn’t. It’s just black dude, maybe it’s a key card or something?”

“It’s a credit card you idiot,” Sam said. “The black credit card, no spending limit Dean.”

That, caught Dean’s attention. “Really? We can like, use it to buy anything?”

“You can buy a friggin house with this damn thing.”

“We don’t need a house,” Dean said. “We could get you a car, so I don’t have to listen to you whine all day.”

“Dude, you’re missing the point here,” Sam said. “We didn’t register for this card. How did it end up in our p.o. box?”

“I didn’t even notice it there just now. You know, if you just stop talking for a minute and actually look inside the box, I bet you’ll find out who send it to us.”

Sam hated it when Dean made much more sense than he does. If anything, it made Dean cockier.

“Yeah, it’s from Kevin Richardson.”

“Nick’s brother?”

“Yup,” Sam nodded. “He said Nick’s stable and should make a full recover and that we should accept this little gift as their thanks for our help.”

“Sam, we can’t take that.”

“I know.”

“It’s too much.”

“I’ll send it back.”

Dean just nodded and made the first turn to the left after seeing a diner sign pointing to that direction.

“Hey, why are there copies of People magazine and the Enquirer in here?”

Dean shrugged, eyes trained on the road, because it was a sharp turn that he had to take, not because he was trying to avoid his brother, for real. “Taking tabs on your new psychic buddy.”

“You do remember we exchanged phone numbers with him before we left for LA right?” Sam asked. Dean just pouted his lips and said not a word. It was then that it came to him. “Oh dude, you just wanna see if people are still talking about Nick’s mysterious, gorgeous friend!”

Dean said nothing and turned up the volume of the cassette player only to hear Bon Jovi belting out ‘Always’ so he quickly turned it off. “Okay that’s it Sam, you’re never driving this baby again!”