Fake Fan Fiction ❯ The Devil's Sweet Ride ❯ Root Word: Psycho ( Chapter 7 )

Slightly Confused?: Well, that settles it, then, doesn't it? The movement of this story is hereby cancelled and no harm done! I didn't know anyone actually cared all that much. Sorry! But anyways, I'm keeping the story where it is, unless someone complains about there being so few FAKE scenes in the story. Even then I don't know if I'd move it, now that I know you actually like it. So there, it's done, no harm, no foul!

 

Garita: Glad you're still liking the story! I'm sorry in advance for the slowness of this chapter, though—it ended up being more of a filler than I'd planned—but things will speed up soon because the next chapter should be the last. Or maybe the last before the epilogue…shrug Whatever. The point is, this chapter: slow. The next chapter: less slow. Promise.

 

Toaster-chan: Sorry, hon, but it was necessary, and you knew I was leading up to it! It shouldn't come as much of a surprise...anyways, thanks for reviewing! (And I kept my eye out! And read the story! And reviewed! I win!)

 

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Chapter 7

 

Dean stared down at the large map of New York City that lay flat on the table in front of him, his eyes scanning it and taking in every detail even as his mind flitted from thought to thought in a seemingly aimless fashion.

 

The map had been procured courtesy of Ryo, who was now sitting on the floor next to Dee, his back against the couch, knees drawn to chest, Dee's arm tossed over his shoulders. In the back of his mind, it occurred to Dean that obviously Ryo was more upset by all this than he was letting on, if he was allowing—even welcoming—that kind of contact in front of others.

 

Diana, Derek, and Nikki were lined up on the couch behind them, all in various stages of freak-out. Nikki, naturally, was the calmest, having no personal history with either of the missing men. She sat with her hand clasped in Derek's, offering wordless support and proving that she could, in fact, put a hold on her cynicism if the situation required it.

 

Diana, too, appeared fairly cool, leaning against the arm of the couch, her chin propped in her first in a causal pose. But her eyes snapped angry fire, and her mouth was set in a grim line. She was not nearly as settled as she looked.

 

Derek, though, outstripped both of them. His eyes were wide as saucers, and Dean had his doubts about them ever returning to normal size. He just couldn't seem to believe that his best friend had been snatched by some faceless, otherworldly creature that he himself had no experience with whatsoever. But apparently, it hadn't occurred to Derek, bless him, that Sam could very well be hurt or—worse—right now, and Dean planned to keep it that way.

 

Dean forced his wandering attention back to the map without once looking at Drake, standing across the table from him. He didn't' look because he couldn't—because right now he had a handle on himself, but he could very well lose that grip if he looked at the one person in the room who did know the full horror of the situation, and may actually be feeling something relatively close to what he himself felt.

 

As his eyes turned back to the paper, Dean noted clinically that the older part of the city was a veritable maze of warehouses and storage space. Since the thought had come, he circled the area with the bold black marker he held, and went back to scanning.

 

As he did, his mind began to dart back through the events of the last couple of hours. He felt an odd sort of detachment, and had felt the same way for hours, as if he was something separate, inhuman, unable to feel as he should—as if he were watching some sort of horror movie, or maybe having one of Sam's visions.

 

But really, even though he knew he should be thinking something besides This could be a hideout and Maybe they could be here, right now Dean welcomed the numbness. It helped his mind remain clear and sharp, helped him remain a hunter, gave him a shot at finding his brother.

 

It also kept him from falling apart as he recalled the last few hours.

 

Once he'd realized that something was wrong, Dean hadn't stuck around the motel room for a moment longer than it took to call Drake's apartment and get no answer. He'd gone straight to the car that had never failed him before, and he'd made the eight-and-a-half-minute drive to the apartment in just under four. He barely remembered flying up two flights to the apartment and bursting in with Sam's name rising in his throat.

 

The panic had left him abruptly when he saw everyone stretched out all over the room—minus JJ and his brother. Somehow, having the worst actually happen seemed to balance things, and Dean was able to revive the others with all the professionalism of the trained soldier he was. His heart still beat like the wings of a hummingbird, his muscles were still tight and coiled like individual little springs, and his body told him he was still as frightened as he had been in the car, but somehow his mind had become a transcendent thing, able to rise above the situation and treat this almost like any other case.

 

He'd never accomplished this before—not when it came to Sam.

 

Maybe he'd never been this scared before.

 

Then again, Sam had never been kidnapped by an evil demonic creature before, either.

 

Dean's mind was brought sharply back to the present when Drake suddenly asked, “Dean, what are we looking for?”

 

Not a single smart-aleck remark sprang to mind—no If you don't know then how come you're looking? Or You're the big shot cop, can't you figure it out? Instead Dean just answered absently, “Nothing in particular.”

 

“Well, then what in hell are you doing?” Diana asked, everything in her form emanating tightly-leashed fury. “Wait…you're not psychic, too?!”

 

That question actually gave Dean pause, his mind jumping automatically to his brother.

 

He hadn't really thought about it before—hadn't ever really tried to define that heightened intuition he had when it came to his brother and, to a much more limited extent, his dad, back when John was still alive. He'd had the intuition since he was a child, back when John still had a sense of humor and came up with a name for it.

 

But Dean had never tried to describe his Sam-sense to anyone. After all, how do you explain something that close to your heart? How do you put into words a feeling so intrinsic to your existence that being without it would be like being denied air and breath and life? How does a person put something like that into words?

 

But all the same, he knew what the Sam-sense was not, and how to answer Diana's question.

 

“No,” he replied simply, and turned back to the task at hand.

 

XXX

 

Whatever the verb was for “nightmare” JJ was pretty sure he was doing it. He still couldn't remember who he was, only now he had the added bonus of being utterly alone.

 

He didn't try to take in his surroundings. He didn't want to know where he was, for fear of finding out it was…worse.

 

Worse than what?

 

“Oh, don't worry about things like that, Jemmy!”

 

The voice was cheerful, almost friendly, even, but it chilled JJ to the bone as soon as he heard it. His mind still wasn't quite clear enough to sort out the intricacies of tone and language, but all the same, he could tell that this voice was…off-center. Too flat, too unemotional. Cold.

 

JJ couldn't bring himself to look, but he couldn't very well make himself deaf, and even if he had, it probably wouldn't have done any good. The voice seemed to act as a bolt of lightening, striking at his mind and beating the soft words in with a sledgehammer.

 

“After all, does it really matter where you are? It isn't like you can get away, or anything.”

 

“Who are you?” JJ asked flatly, without any sort of emotion coloring his tone.

 

“Don't you know?”

 

“…Yes.” And he did. Just like that. “You took my memory.”

 

“A-plus.” There was a note of mockery in the voice now. “You really are much more intelligent than your—ahem—friends give you credit for.”

 

“No,” JJ replied in the same flat voice. “You put the thought in my head.”

 

He had no idea where these sudden bursts of insight were coming from, but he guessed there must be a reason for them, so he didn't try to hold back whatever slipped past his lips.

 

This time, his words elicited a quiet chuckle. “Very good, Jemmy. Yes, you're right. I took your memory. Would you like to hear why before or after I tell you why I snatched you out from under your lover's nose? I assume you want to hear both of those stories before I tell you what's going to happen here today.”

 

JJ didn't know why, but his fear chose that moment to finally spike, unfurling in an ugly bloom in his stomach. “Did you…did you hurt them?” he managed to choke out around the sudden tightness in his chest and throat.

 

“All right, fine, I'll pick,” the voice said in a reply that wasn't a reply. “Let's see…I think it's better to start at the beginning, so I'll explain to you exactly what happened to your memory. If you want to know, that is.”

 

The words were ripped from JJ before he could stop them. “Yes. I do.”

 

The speaker sounded thoroughly pleased, warming instantly to his subject.

 

“Well, Jemmy, as you know, you're a psychic. I don't think you want or need me to explain your ability to you, though. Now, normally, I'd be delighted to have another of your kind in the family—”

 

“My kind? The family?”

 

“—But you see, here's the problem. I didn't know about you.”

 

There was a moment of dead silence, and then JJ asked slowly, “What are you talking about?”

 

“Oh, nothing much. I'm just a little confused by the fact that you managed to sneak up on me, when I was certain I knew the location of every psychic on this plane.”

 

“Plane? What's a plane?”

 

“Something that's far too complicated to explain to you. But I guess that will teach me never to assume, since there are anomalies in every group. I'm actually a bit ashamed of that—it was such a human mistake. Ah, well, it's done with now.”

 

JJ was already getting tired of this speech, but his fear was growing each second, and he couldn't say a word.

 

“But it really doesn't matter anyway, because I could never have made anything out of your power, anyway. Unlike the abilities of my children, you are unpredictable. They came on many years late, and they will be entirely too powerful when fully developed. Of course, they won't be more powerful than my protégé, but I'll actually have control over him. You, on the other hand, are another story.”

 

Please, please, please get to the point or hurry up and kill me…

 

“So, I took you away. I intended to find out if I could make something of you. When I failed, though, I decided on another tack. I let you go. I wanted to see how you did around others, hoping it would give me a clue of how to turn you into something I could actually use. I removed your memories so you couldn't tell anyone where you'd been, but it's difficult to remove a few select memories without removing them all, so I took the simpler path.”

 

“What…you…you made me forget who I am because it was easier?”

 

“Don't mistake me for one of you humans,” the stranger said, sounding annoyed now. “I don't let the things that you worry about bother me. I have a goal. You may have been a danger to that goal. So I took care of the problem. It is what it is.”

 

Those words brought an abrupt end to the conversation. JJ still couldn't seem to control his own body, but this time it was because he was incensed. Before he registered that he was moving at all, he had turned around and launched himself across the intervening space between him and his tormenter. Suddenly, it didn't matter why he was here. All that mattered was hurting this bastard who had done this to him.

 

He took in a human face, a curled lip, a pair of yellow eyes, and then he struck something solid. His fist flew, struck, drew back, struck again, he kicked out wildly with his foot….and all the time he screamed himself hoarse.

 

And all the time, the creature laughed.

 

XXX

 

Sam watched in fearful confusion as JJ threw himself at the dummy hanging on the wall, apparently attempting to beat it into submission. The man had been talking to himself for ten minutes now, and pausing to listen, as if someone answered him.

 

“JJ! JJ, stop it! You're gonna hurt yourself!” he yelled desperately, straining at the ropes that held him fast.

 

“He can't hear you.”

 

It took a lot of concentrated effort for Sam to act casually irritated rather than terrified, but he managed it, somehow. “So were you trying to scare us, or just being dramatic?”

 

The YED stepped up beside him. “He thinks that's me, you know,” it pointed out, as if they were observing rain clouds. “I'm hoping to exhaust him so he'll stop fighting so hard.”

 

Sam was confused then. As far as he could tell, JJ had been unconscious just as long as he had, and he'd seen no visible resistance.

 

“His mind, Sammy,” the demon explained, and Sam's insides sparked at this use of the nickname only Dean was allowed to call him. “He's fighting with his mind. He has no idea he's doing it, but that only makes his defenses stronger. It's a bit irritating, actually.” Then it shrugged and asked, “So should I keep making small-talk or should we just dive in?”

 

Sam remained stonily silent—he had no choice in being here, but he wasn't going to play games.

 

“I agree, it's better to dive right in,” the demon decided. “You'll be much easier to deal with than him. You already know what's what.”

 

Sam remained utterly still, silently willing JJ to just stop beating up the dummy.

 

Well, add that to the list of sentences I never thought I'd hear from my own head…

 

“It's fairly simple, really. My little experiment failed, is all. I thought that I could learn the secret of JJ's ability if I let him be, but I didn't count on you two. For the first time in a long while, I was taken by surprise. And I knew that, college boy that you are, it wouldn't be long before you stumbled on the truth. So, I brought you here, for some damage control.”

 

“Did you hurt anyone?” Sam asked quietly.

 

“Oh, for the love of…why is that all guys like you ever care about?” the YED asked, sounding offended. “I'm giving you answers here!”

 

“Did you?” Sam asked implacably.

 

“No. I didn't. Timing issue. We're all prone to them. Now, will you pay attention?”

 

Sam leaned against the wall without answering, and as the demon went on talking, he began to formulate his escape plan.

 

XXX

 

Half an hour later, Dean pushed the map aside and reached for his phone.

 

“Who're you calling?” Drake asked sharply, and Dean shushed as the phone on the other end began to ring.

 

“Roadhouse.”

 

“Ellen. Hey, it's Dean.”

 

“Oh, hey, sweetie. How are you boys?”

 

“Not so great. That's why I'm calling, actually. Pass me to Ash, would you?”

 

XXX

 

“…So, in the end, I can see I don't really have a choice,” the YED continued, and Sam wished devoutly that his hands were free so that he could have the freedom to pull his hair out at the roots. “JJ has become a liability. He's outstripped his usefulness. So I brought him here to extract his gift. Defuse the proverbial bomb.”

 

That information took Sam aback a little, mainly because on first look, his was a gift to JJ. He himself would give an arm for someone to take his visions away from him, and it must be a thousand times worse for JJ, who didn't even know who he was.

 

But gift-giving just wasn't the demon way. There must be more to it…

 

“That's all?” he asked cautiously.

 

“Yes. That's all.” A pause. Then, “Of course, the extraction of such an inherent part of him will either make him insane or kill him. C'est la vie, though, right?”

 

“So you're going to kill him,” Sam said, his voice cool even as his mind raced.

 

“That would be correct. And you're going to help me.”

 

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Author's Note: The next (and last or second-to-last) chapter, may take a while to come up. I need a bit to work out the logistics--I am very, very bad with logistics--and even after that I actually have to write the thing. So, it may be anywhere between one week and three. I'm sorry!!! Especially to Slightly Confused? and Toaster-chan, for keeping you in suspense.