“I’m a freak now?”
Sam knew Dean was freaking out and trying to hide it.
Hell, Sam was freaking out too.
But they couldn’t talk about it, Dean wouldn’t even admit to being freaked out if they could.
Sam had a list of names that Ash gave him, all the people he could find whose mom’s died when they were six months old. Sam had Ash cross-reference his list with the name of the gun store he saw in his vision.
One of the names, Andrew Gallagher, lived in Evansville, Colorado and there was a gun store that matched the one Sam saw in his vision. Dean argued that they had no proof that was where the vision happened, no proof that Andrew had anything to do with it, but it was a good guess.
Sam’s other visions had always either been about people like him, people with powers they couldn’t explain, or about the yellow-eyed demon. If they were wrong, they were wrong. Sam just didn’t think they were.
“You have to drive faster,” Sam muttered to Dean, looking at the speedometer with a sick feeling in his stomach. In Sam’s vision, the man shot up the gun store at one thirty before he put the barrel in his own mouth, spraying his brain all over the shop.
They only had twelve hours to get there.
“The primer is ruined,” Dean complained in a growl before he pressed harder on the accelerator. When Dean glanced up in the rearview mirror, Sam did too.
Harry didn’t ask any questions when Sam told him they had to leave. He just watched quietly when Sam got the names and locations from Ash and he stood silently when Sam and Dean wasted time arguing about if Harry should go or not.
It wasn’t a hunt, that was what Sam told Dean. They weren’t going to kill anyone if they didn’t have to.
Max Miller, the only other person like Sam that they met, had been the same way, Dean reminded Sam. Sam had a vision about people dying in Max’s hometown. When they went to investigate, Max had been in the center of the deaths.
It was Max’s dad that died, then his uncle. When Sam had another vision, seeing Max’s stepmom dying, they discovered Max had been doing the killing. Max could move things with his mind, something he discovered a year ago, the same time Sam started having his visions.
Max’s mom had also died when Max was six months old, another similarity.
That was where it ended though. Sam wanted to help him, hell, he felt bad for him. Max had killed his dad and uncle after a life of getting beaten by them regularly, he still had bruises when Sam met him.
Then Max tried to kill Dean when Dean protected his stepmom and when Sam tried to talk Max down, Max shot himself.
Sam couldn’t let it end like that again though, he couldn’t. Sam needed answers about why he was having visions, if all the others had powers too. If not for Sam… then definitely for his brother in the backseat.
The brother that had nightmares, that got headaches, that didn’t question that Sam was having visions… the brother that walked away from a plane crash…
“How old were you when your mom died?” Sam asked Harry, getting a shitty look from Dean.
Dean couldn’t act like there weren’t any parallels to be seen. Their mom died in a fire when Sam was a baby, so did Max Miller’s mom and Andrew Gallagher’s mom. And Harry said his parents died when he was a baby.
“It was the Halloween after my first birthday,” Harry answered. Sam saw him shift over, leaning closer toward the front. “Why?”
So Harry didn’t fit the pattern exactly.
“How’d she die?” Dean asked, glancing up in the mirror to watch Harry.
“She was murdered,” Harry said. “My dad too.”
Sam spun around and he didn’t want to freak the kid out, but he needed answers. If Harry was like him… if the headaches and dead moms were connected…
It was selfish, Sam was just sick of being the freak in the family. Dean was scared of the visions, Dad had been freaked out when Dean told him about them.
Dad said they would figure it out, then he died.
“Can you tell me exactly what you know about how they died?” Sam asked. “It’s important.”
Harry stared hard at Sam’s eyes, like he was looking for something in them, and then nodded shortly.
“Er… a bloke broke in, my dad told my mum to take me and run, he was going to hold him off. My mum took me to my room and- and when my dad- when he died… Mum… she tried to—” Harry stopped talking and looked up at the roof of the car, blinking hard.
Dean smacked Sam’s arm, like Sam was supposed to know that Harry’s parents were murdered and that he remembered the entire thing.
“And Mum died too,” Harry finally said, looking at the roof still. “She was trying to protect me.”
“Wait, what?” Sam had been thinking it was some robbery gone wrong, but… didn’t Sam’s mom die to keep him from Azazel?
Sam and Dean shared a significant look, one that Harry missed, before Sam focused on his younger brother.
“The man who broke in your house was trying to kill you?” Sam asked. When Harry nodded, Sam just asked the question he knew Dean was thinking too. “Harry, what color were the man’s eyes?”
Harry stared hard in Sam’s eyes, that time trying to pass along some message that Sam didn’t understand.
“Red,” Harry said slowly, stressing every syllable. “And I get headaches too.”
Sam wished he knew what secret message Harry was trying to tell him. With Dean in the car and Harry only staring at Sam though, Sam just nodded.
“Gotcha,” he said.
“What was that about?” Dean muttered a few minutes later after the three of them had been quiet for too long. Dean turned the radio up to mask the conversation from Harry, an annoying thing that Dad used to do when Sam was the one who rode in the backseat.
“No idea,” Sam muttered back. Either Harry lived through an attack by a demon or he was too young to get the details right. But Sam thought it was more likely to be the first than the second. “But I woke up with a headache and Harry had one too.”
“Great,” Dean breathed. “God, don’t let the kid have some freak shit happening too.”
Sam’s chest felt tight and he couldn’t help the face he made, the one that was hurt because he could not control what was happening.
“I’m a freak now?” Sam asked.
Dean did a double take when he looked at Sam. He forced a smile, but Sam wasn’t going to forget what he said anytime soon.
“Aw, c’mon, Sammy.” Dean grabbed Sam’s arm, just for a second, and squeezed. “You’ve always been a freak.”
That didn’t actually make Sam feel any better. But… Sam settled in for the drive to Evansville and glanced up in the rearview mirror again, looking at Harry’s side-profile while he looked out the window…
Maybe Sam wasn’t the only freak in the family anymore.
They stopped twice on their overnight drive to Colorado. Once to get gas and snacks, then again when they were an hour out and the older two Winchesters needed to change and Harry needed clothes.
Sam and Dean always had suits in the Impala, as important to their hunts as their weapons were (this wasn’t a hunt…. It couldn’t turn into one… If Andrew was bad, if Andrew was like Max… Was Sam?) but they were drawing a blank on what to do with the teenager.
“We could put him in a suit, call him a mini-fed?” Dean shrugged.
They were in a clothing store and once they found the guys department, Sam and Dean just kind of stared at their brother. Harry stared right back, unblinking while they debated how to play it.
“He’s a kid,” Sam said. “Nobody’s going to believe he’s a fed. But…” Sam grinned slowly when he realized Harry could pass for a little younger, Dean could pass for a little other. “It could be bring your kid to work day.”
“You’re going to pretend to be my dad?” Harry asked, grinning just a little bit despite how tired he had to be.
“Me? No.” Sam laughed and slapped Dean on the back. “But if we say you’re thirteen, Dean’s twenty-eight, yeah, I think this could work.”
“Oh.” Harry’s grin slipped then and his eyes flicked toward Dean, not actually looking very amused by that. “Okay.”
“Go find some clothes, son,” Dean rolled his eyes. He waited until Harry walked off toward the jeans that Sam pointed at to slug Sam in the arm. “What the hell?” he asked angrily.
“What? You have a better idea?” Sam asked.
“Not that,” Dean scoffed. He nodded at where Harry stood, seeming pretty confused as he held up jeans to check their tags. “Why’s the kid like you more?” he whined.
Literally whined.
“No, I’m sure he likes us equally,” Sam lied, outright smiling.
Nobody ever liked Sam more than they did Dean. Bobby liked Dean more, Dad liked Dean more. Dean was the better hunter, the better son, the more charismatic of the two of them. But, yeah, now that he pointed it out, Harry did seem to like Sam more.
“This is bullshit,” Dean complained quietly just before Sam shoved him playfully and went to help Harry grab some clothes in his size.
“Maybe he just already knows you’re a jerk,” Sam smirked over his shoulder.
Dean mimicked Sam in a quiet and whiney voice. “‘Maybe he just…’ Shut up, bitch.”
Sam laughed and felt lighter than he had all night.
It would be fine. Andrew Gallagher wouldn’t go evil, Sam wouldn’t go evil. They would get some answers and everything would be fine.
Sam knew it was a load of bull even in his thoughts.
Evansville, Colorado wound up being a pretty normal looking small town. Dean cruised through the streets slowly until Sam spotted the gun shop that had been in his vision.
“There,” Sam said, feeling sick. He was right, not that he ever really doubted it. In two hours, a man would walk in the store and kill three people before killing himself.
Unless they could stop him.
Sam wasn’t sure how Andrew Gallagher played in it, he just knew he did.
“Stakeout time, boys,” Dean declared too cheerfully. There was a coffee shop directly across the street from the gun shop and Dean pulled the Impala up to park there. “How we playing this?” Dean asked, popping open the console and looking at their collection of badges.
They had a badge for everything. Sheriff, state police. FBI, marshals. They even had reporter badges for two different major newspapers and a set for the National Wildlife Conservation.
“What d’you think, Harry?” Dean called, holding badges up one by one, waiting for Sam to decide. “Would you rather your old man be a fed or - oh this is a good one - veterinarian investigator for the CDC.”
“You guys lie about your jobs?” Harry asked, leaning forward and reaching out to grab the CDC badge Dean offered him. “Why?”
“Because if we went inside and started talking about possessions and demons we’d end up in the loony bin,” Dean said. “We go in with one of these babies and it buys us time to investigate. We just get the job done quick before we get caught.”
“So how do you decide which lie to tell?”
“We wing it,” Sam said truthfully. “Half the time we decide on the spot, depending on what agencies are already involved. That one,” Sam turned and nodded at the CDC badge Harry was inspecting, “works good for werewolf hunts.”
Harry dropped the badge back in the console and Sam swore his face went pale. Sam didn’t know how he took the talk Dean gave him, but it was a relief and disappointment to see Harry look freaked out by werewolves.
It was a normal reaction to have, but Sam had thought… he didn’t know what he thought. Just that maybe Harry was somehow like him and maybe that was why he had been taking everything in stride so far.
“Just grab the fed badge,” Sam said, catching a look from Dean at his suddenly defeated tone.
Sam shouldn’t be hoping his brother was like him, he should be hoping Harry was normal, like Dean.
“You’ve always been a freak.”
Small town diners were usually the best place to start when they were collecting information for a case. Waitresses were chatty, other diners were nosy. If the boys played their cards right and got lucky, they could have half their case built just on gossip.
The waitress gave them a table by the window and Sam asked for a coffee, leaving Dean to get a milkshake and Harry to hesitate before ordering a coffee the same way Sam took his.
“Do you like coffee?” Sam asked him after the waitress left some menus and went to grab their drinks.
“I’ve only had it once before,” Harry said. “Does it taste better with espresso added?”
“No, but it helps.” San said, looking pointedly at the bags under Harry’s eyes, the match to Sam’s own.
“You could always catch a nap in the car,” Dean offered as he stretched out in his chair with his hands behind his head. “This whole thing might be a bust anyway. Andrew Gallagher might be a normal dude, who knows?”
Sam knew, he just did.
“Andy?” The bus boy that had been cleaning off the table beside theirs looked up then. He was about Sam’s age, dark hair, suspicious eyes. “You guys are looking for Andy?”
“Who’s looking for Andy?” The waitress returned with two coffees and a milkshake. She smiled at them as she placed the drink in front of each of them.
“They are,” the bus boy answered her, pointing at Dean accusingly. “I heard them say his name.”
Sam hoped Harry was paying attention because it was part of winging it that he told him before. The two employees seemed like they were friends with Andrew, which meant any story from a fed was going to get them to clam up, at best, or warn Andrew away, at worst.
“What do you want with Andy?” The waitress crossed her arms and the previously friendly smile stiffened. “He didn’t do anything.”
“He’s not in any trouble,” Sam said, inventing the lie as he told it. “We’re with Mueller and Graves Insurance, we’re here on behalf of his late aunt, Marjorie Gallagher.”
“Miss Gallagher passed away last week and she named Mister Gallagher as a beneficiary,” Dean said, smoothly catching on the new story. When the waitress looked at Harry, Dean grinned with perfect sheepish charm. “That’s my son, he’s out of school for the summer and wanted to learn the ropes to the family business.”
“Oh.” The waitress dropped her arms and relaxed, clearly buying it. “Well it’s not even noon yet, so Andy’s probably still asleep. I’m real sorry to hear about his aunt though.”
“Yeah, Marjorie was a spitfire,” Dean sighed. “Any idea where we can find Andy at? I think he’ll be happy to hear what we have to say.”
“Andy lives in a van,” the bus boy laughed.
The waitress shot him a dirty look. “Don’t you have something to do, Ansem?” she asked. She waited until Ansem went back to cleaning the table to whip out a notebook and turn back to their table. “Andy does live in a van,” she said. “He parks it by the docks, it has a polar bear painted on the side. You can’t miss it. Now, can I get you boys something to eat?”
Max Miller was abused, Andrew Gallagher lived in a van. Maybe they were all tied together by more than dead moms and freak powers, maybe they all had something shitty in their lives.
They all ordered sandwiches when Dean complained about being hungry and Dean took his to go as soon as the waitress delivered it. It was getting busy enough in the diner for the lunch rush that Sam and Dean could have a quick debate on who did what.
“Harry and I will go find Andy, you stay here and watch for your mystery shooter,” Dean said.
“Or Harry stays here?” Sam said, squinting at Dean incredulously. “I vote we keep Harry as far from Andrew as we can until we know what his game is.”
“And I vote we keep the kid away from a place that we know is going to get shot up in the next hour,” Dean argued.
“Do I get a vote?” Harry asked.
Sam said yes, Dean said no.
“Dude.” Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s stubborn frown. “You have to chill.”
Sam knew that Dean was just pulling the protective big brother act, he didn’t blame him. That act saved Sam’s skin more than once. But Sam knew where the shooter would be, they didn’t know how Andrew would react when he was confronted.
“Fine, what do you want to do?” Dean bit out.
Sam wasn’t surprised when Harry said he would stay with Sam, but he couldn’t help the little grin he got about it either.
When did anyone pick Sam over Dean?
Harry shifted over to sit across from Sam after Dean left and they both drank their coffee while they watched out the window. It wasn’t uncomfortable between them, but there was a feeling like Harry was bursting to ask as many questions as Sam was.
“This is good,” Harry eventually said, raising his coffee. “It’s better than the coffee at Bobby’s.”
Sam laughed when he saw that it was nearly empty, Harry either liked the taste or was desperate for some caffeine.
“If you feel like you’re going to have a heart attack, it’s just the coffee,” Sam joked. He took a casual sip of his own drink, watching Harry carefully. “How’s the headache?”
“Mine?” Harry stared at Sam hard. “Fine. How’s yours?”
“Fine,” Sam said.
“Good.” Harry kept staring at Sam and there was something there, something neither of them were asking.
Harry didn’t fit the pattern exactly, but he wasn’t far outside of it either.
“How long have you been…” Harry glanced around quickly, Sam did the same. “Having visions?” Harry asked, dropping his voice to a near whisper.
“Eight months,” Sam said truthfully. The first time it happened, Sam thought it was a nightmare.
Jessica, pinned to the ceiling, burning to death.
Sam thought it was just some Freudian nightmare from too many late nights in the library. Then it came true.
They always came true.
“Eight months?” Harry repeated, scrunching his face up. “You’re twenty-two?”
“Yeah.” Sam thrummed his fingers on the table. “You don’t- I mean…”
How alike are we?
“I don’t have visions,” Harry said flatly, answering Sam’s non-question. “A yellow-eyed demon didn’t kill my mum. I don’t know when people are going to die.”
That didn’t mean anything. Max Miller didn’t have visions either.
“You don’t have any sort of weird abilities?” Sam asked, almost desperately. “Nothing?”
“Have you ever met anyone else who had visions?” Harry asked instead of answering, knocking Sam off-guard.
“Yeah, once,” Sam said. “His name was Max, he could move things with his mind.”
“Was?” Harry asked, too smart to miss any slip-up. “Is he dead now?”
“Yeah.” Sam sighed and then glanced out the window, waiting for the man to show up whose life he could save. “Max is dead.”
“Ah. Okay then.”
Sam looked back at his little brother as Harry took a deep breath and looked Sam square in the eyes.
“I don’t have any abilities,” Harry said firmly. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Sam said, forcing himself to smile weakly. “That’s good, you know? Just being normal.”
Sam would do anything to be normal.
They stayed quiet while Sam watched for the man from his vision. Sam described him to Harry and they both sipped their refilled coffee while they waited.
“There!” Harry pointed, his finger shaking from waaay too much caffeine for a kid. Sam didn’t have time to say anything about it though, he saw the man from his vision walking toward the gun shop and they had to move.
Sam jumped up and pulled some cash from his pocket to drop on the table and then tore out the door with Harry following.
“Go in that shop, pull the fire alarm,” Sam barked at Harry quickly. “Once it’s pulled, get out.”
“Oi! That’s your gimmick? Pulling fire alarms?!” Harry sounded indignant, probably thinking of the fire alarm Sam pulled in Reno to get him outside back when Sam thought he was a demon.
“Can you do it?” Sam asked, tracking the man while they jogged across the street.
“Yes, I can bloody do it,” Harry drawled sarcastically.
He was sassier than usual when he was caffeinated, Sam would have to remember that.
Harry ran in the shop and Sam caught the tail-end of the man he was tracking’s phone call.
“Will do,” the man said cheerfully. “Have a good day now.”
“Hey.” Sam shifted his body, blocking the sidewalk so the man couldn’t go any further. Sam pulled a silver flask of holy water from his suit pocket and uncapped it before he tossed it to the man.
The water splashed out and the man fumbled the catch, getting water on his wrists and a handful of silver in one go.
Nothing.
The man had seemed possessed in Sam’s vision, the calm way he killed all those people before killings himself, but he wasn’t possessed. He was just a confused looking old man who held Sam’s flask out to him uncertainly.
“Is this yours?” he asked, politely pretending to not notice Sam threw it at him.
“Yeah, sorry.” Sam didn’t flinch when the sound of a fire alarm rang behind him, but the man looked over Sam’s shoulder and puffed his cheeks out.
“Well that changes my plans,” the man chuckled. “Have a good day.”
“Yeah, you too,” Sam said, too confused to stop him when the man just turned around and left.
Harry rejoined Sam, seeming out of breath and just as confused as Sam was.
“Er… so he’s not a demon?” Harry asked.
Sam watched the man pull his phone from his pocket, answering a new call with a cheerful ‘hello’ that they could still faintly hear.
“I guess… not?” Sam said. He was distracted again then by the sight of the Impala driving by.
It was definitely the Impala. It was still primed in a dusky grey. It had the South Dakota plates that Dean changed out every time they were at Bobby’s.
It just wasn’t Dean driving it.
“What the…?”
Sam watched the car drive past and didn’t even get a chance to question if it was Andrew Gallagher driving it or not - the driver matched the photo that Ash pulled up in his search - before Harry screamed.
“NO!”
Sam saw what Harry did and they didn’t even get a chance to run, to move, to even freaking blink, before the man that Sam wanted to save walked right out in front of a bus, killing himself just as effectively as he did with a gun in Sam’s vision.