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Fall Into Sleep

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Pyrokinesis – paranormal/psychic ability that enables it’s user to control fire to the extent that some pyrokinetics can not only command the movements of fire but create flames from nothing but thin air and extinguish them in the blink of an eye. As long as the temperature of the fire does not exceed the maximum of which they can create themselves, pyrokinetics are believed to be immune to flames and burning.

Sam looked over at his brother over the top of the laptop and frowned. There was no way Dean could have pyrokinesis, there had been no evidence to suggest that he could control or create fire and definitely not to the magnitude of what the Demon had used on him. And yet it was the closest match he could find.

But more importantly than what it was, Sam needed to know why Dean had it. It irked him no end that the Demon had said something about Dean not being his therefore implying that whatever was happening to Dean was due to someone or something else.

“What you looking at?” Dean asked, dipping his spoon into his soup before tipping it over and allowing the liquid to fall back into the bowl.

“Pyrokinesis.” Sam stated flatly, clicking another link on the page.

“Why?” Dean cocked his head to the side and put his half eaten soup on the table beside his bed.

“I was thinking it might have something to do with why you didn’t burn.”

“But I’m not a firestarter… I think I would have noticed – don’t you?”

“You don’t burn. There has to be some reason for it. You were up on that ceiling and you were on fire…”

“You don’t have to remind me. I remember pretty damn well what happened. It was a fluke.”

“No it wasn’t. That Amii girl… she pulled a lighter out on you. You’ve got no burns from that either.”

“Sam! I am not in the mood for this. I’m ill, remember? I just wanna move onto the next town and put this all behind us.”

“Put this behind us? Dean, for God’s sake! This isn’t going to go away - just like my visions aren’t going to go away. We’ve got to find out what this is; we need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“You do that then…” Dean grumbled, pushing his body down onto the bed and twisting away from Sam. He didn’t want to deal with this; it scared the hell out of him. Surely Sam could understand that? Sam the psychic freaking wonder… surely he should know how it felt?

“I will. Just let me know when you stop being all pissy so we can come up with our next move, besides this PMS of yours is bugging the hell out of me.”

“Whatever.” Dean murmured, rolling himself further away onto his side. He hated being ill. Being ill meant stuck in a stuffy motel room with a mother henning brother and it also meant no beer… and no bars… and no chicks. Yeah, he hated being ill. And so he closed his eyes and tried to think about something else – anything else.

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He knew he was dreaming this time at least, couldn’t remember when he’d fallen asleep but he knew he was. Everything felt so real and so right that he didn’t know how he knew, he just did. The air felt thick, smothering him like a blanket. He knew what was coming and anxiety weighed down on him heavily, crushing him.

And he watched, watched as the flickering flame appeared in front of him and danced and grew and became the fiery woman that reminded him so much of his Mom. She reached out like she had done in the dreams before but he was hesitant this time, he knew what would happen if he took the impostor’s hand. Still, he was tempted.

His arms hung loosely by his sides as he resisted and turned his face away.

“Dean.” She whispered, enticingly, watching him.

“You’re not her…” He replied, for the first time since the dreams had started.

“Where have the angels gone? What did you do?”

There was an accusation in this things voice that forced Dean to look it in the eyes, angry at its words, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Liar!” She screeched and Dean had no time to brace himself before she lunged at him, fire engulfing him immediately as he screamed in agony.

And then a voice broke through his screams, “I can make it go away. I can help you to control it… to use it.”

The pain subsided as the voice went on, leaving Dean panting hard on the floor. He recognised the voice and as soon as he heard it he wished he could blank it out. It didn’t belong there… shouldn’t have been in this place.

Another wave of searing pain scorched through him like lava and he screamed out once more. Before the pain took full control of his senses, turning him deaf and dumb and blind, he caught a malicious smile and a glint of yellow eyes from the shadows.

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Dean awoke with warm sweat drenching his entire body, soaking his sheets and clothes and choking him. His head was pounding, probably due to restless sleep or maybe just the stress of everything. On top of that, he was shivering, shaking so hard and his mind was racing.

“What the hell?” That had been the yellow eyed demon in his dream, he was sure of it. But why the hell would it visit his dreams? He wasn’t one of its special kids.

“Damn it.” Dean growled and rolled over onto his front, shoving his face into his pillow, “Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it.”

What was going on with him – the yellow eyed demon visiting his dreams… trying to tempt him. It was messing with him. It had found a new way to screw the Winchesters over and this was it. He had to know… had to know whether the demon was faking it.

His gaze fell on the bed beside his and he saw his younger brother finally resting. He felt jealous at how peaceful he looked, half curled up like a ball and half sprawled out on the bed, the sight of it made Dean smile. Running a rough hand through his hair, Dean watched Sam for a moment longer before pulling himself up and moving over to his duffle, his hand digging in deep until it grasped something small and cold.

His fingers ran over it as he moved back to the bed and settled on in, shifting until he was comfortable, and then he just stared and the little silver lighter in his hand. He had to know… had to know that it wasn’t just the demon messing with them. He clicked it open and watched the flame for a moment before blowing it out gently. He felt restless and curious. He clicked it open again and held the mini fireball steady, eyes fixed on the yellowy orange dancer.

It was entrancing, the way the fire moved. He lifted his left hand and held it over the flame, letting it hover so he could feel the heat. Slowly, he lowered his hand until it was actually touching the fire and he could still feel the heat, felt it pulsating through his palm and fingers, stinging and numbing, like extremely sharp needles.

But his skin did not blister or burn.

He held his hand like that for a further five minutes and only moved it away when he heard his brother stirring from his peaceful slumber.

“Dean?” Sam asked groggily, trying to wake himself up properly. His eyes lingered on a bright orange spot that he couldn’t make out properly, “What you doing?”

“Nothing Sammy. Go back to sleep.” He replied and snapped the lighter shut, placing it gently on the cabinet beside his bed.

He felt Sam’s unfocused eyes on his and laid down, pulling the covers half way up over his bare chest and he repeated his request, “Go back to sleep Sammy.”

“You still pissed with me?” Sam asked, finding it difficult to stifle the yawn that followed.

“No, I’m not pissed at you.”

“I’m sorry Dean… I didn’t mean to push. I just… I’m worried.”

“I know Sam. Me too.” Dean rolled onto his side, facing away from Sam, “Now get some sleep.”

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