He didn't know why he bothered, but she had asked nicely and Sam didn't know all the details. So he told them everything he remembered, fully believing that Annie knew it all already, but wasn't admitting it for whatever reason. What he couldn't figure out was whether Annie's talent was to brainwash others or if one of the others had done it. Annie was clearly the one with the greatest power, though.

Once he had finished his little tale, Annie remained silent for a bit, obviously contemplating what he had told her. Then she leaned forward a little on her chair and eyed him closely. "First and foremost," she said, then made a face. "I don't know what happened, Dean, because ... I don't remember this," she added after a moment.

"I don't remember how I got down to breakfast this morning," Dean insisted. "Everything between the moment you stepped into the room and ... well, breakfast is a blank. I have no clue what happened in-between. Even if all that was a dream, how do you explain that? How do you explain that I can't remember getting up, getting dressed, going down to breakfast?"

"I don't think it was a dream, Dean. Dreams are not that vivid. They're confusing and unreal. What you told us here sounds very cohesive, very ... real. If you'd had a vision, it would explain a lot. But I know it wasn't a vision either. I'm certain of that, because Lisa has been with us for a little over two years and we all know her pretty well. She can be a bit of a handful sometimes, but she's definitely not evil," Annie said. "And ... believe it or not ... I do not have the ability to brainwash people. My abilities are, generally, of a more ... passive nature. I can produce a psychic push to close doors and keep them closed, but that's only when I'm stressed."

Dean blinked. "So ... what you're saying is ... someone's messing with my head?" he asked.

"Yes, that's one way of putting it," Annie agreed. "I just wouldn't know who," she added while a slight frown furrowed her brow. Then she focused on Sam. "I do think that there is a message here, though," she added. "I think ... and that's just my opinion right now ... that you're not the conduit, Sam. Someone else is. Someone hiding among us. We'll have to figure out who that is."

"Maybe Lisa? I mean, she can read minds. Who's to say she can't influence thoughts as well?" Dean asked.

But Annie shook her head lightly. "No, it's not Lisa. I can promise you that." She rubbed her brow pensively for a moment, then leaned back on the high-backed armchair and took a moment to think it over. "I can't think of anyone right now," she finally said. "I'll have a talk to George about this. Maybe he has an idea who it could be. He's very good at reading others."

"So, I should just ... what? Forget this happened? I've lost a couple of hours here. I'm not really happy about that," Dean said and got up.

"I don't blame you," Annie agreed and rose too. "But for now I would prefer it if you kept a lid on it, Dean. Don't talk to others about it. Lisa will probably know, but don't tell anyone else. It's the only way we might be able to figure out who it is. If someone starts talking about it ..."

Dean nodded. "Sounds like a plan," he agreed and eyed her for a moment. "If we can trust Lisa, that is," he added.

"I can vouch for her," Annie said. "If you'll excuse me. I have to find George," she added and left the room.

For a moment all Dean could think of doing was to stare ahead of himself. Then he glanced at Sam, who was still sitting on the couch, a frown furrowing his brow. "What do you think?" he asked.

Sam glanced up at him and shrugged lightly. "I don't know, Dean. To be honest, I have no idea how to handle this," he admitted.

"No, me neither. I don't like this one bit," Dean growled. "I want to know who the hell is messing with me and put a stop to it. This is ... putting a cramp in my style."

Sam rose. "Yeah, I can see that," he said and made a face.

Dean gave him a glare for his trouble. "Funny, dude. Very funny," he muttered, but then frowned lightly. "Has your funny-bone mended or something?"

"What do you mean?" Sam countered innocently.

"You seem to be getting a little too much fun out of seeing me squirm here, little brother." Dean had intended for his words to be good-natured but the whole thing was really creeping him out and his anxiety came out in his voice.

"I'm not enjoying this at all, Dean. I just ... I don't know. I'm kinda happy that it's not me letting these demons in," he said, sounding a bit embarrassed.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, me too," he agreed. "Doesn't change the fact that someone is, though. And if that crossroad demon is going to collect ahead of time, I'm pretty much screwed if we don't figure out who is doing this." He shrugged lightly. "I mean, I know the clock's ticking and all, but I would really like to have the whole year."

The pained look Sam gave him made him uncomfortable and he turned and strode out of the den in pursuit of something that might distract his thoughts.

***

Somewhere in South Dakota

Casey Hill was the type of person who seemed able to give endlessly without ever asking for anything in return. At thirty-four, she had still to discover that not everybody was good at heart, even though she had received her share of blows. Where other people might have given up on the human race all together and withdrawn into a shell of bitterness, Casey continued being open and accepting, never willing to believe anything but the best of people until they proved her wrong.

So naturally, Casey worked at a bar. Billy's Tavern was a small place, out of the way at the outskirts of town, generally frequented only by the people in the neighborhood. It wasn't a place a stranger would find inviting at first glance. The lighting was gloomy, the furniture dark wood, and the few booths were definitely inviting those seeking solitude.

On this particular night, Casey had just served Pete from one block over his usual helping of booze when the first stranger in months wandered in. She eyed the man for a moment, noting his posture, the way he scanned the bar, and then headed over to the booth furthest from the door. He sat down with his back to the wall, the worn dark-brown trench coat seeming too big for his somewhat emaciated frame.

Casey gave Billy a brief smile, grabbed her pad and headed over to the table. "What'll it be?" she asked.

The stranger glanced up at her, the expression in his eyes odd for someone who moved like he had something to hide. There was a good deal of confusion in those eyes and a brooding darkness that made her ache to find out more about him. "Whiskey," he countered. His voice was a bit gravelly, as if he didn't use it much.

"On the rocks?" she asked.

"Straight," he countered.

She nodded and withdrew back to the bar. "Whiskey. Straight," she said to Billy and glanced over at the guy again.

"Don't get involved, Case," Billy warned. He was a bighearted sort of guy, but he was weary after too many people had taken advantage of him and the people he loved.

"What?" Casey countered and raised her shoulders in a half-shrug. "It's not like I'm asking the guy out on a date, okay? I'm merely doing my job here."

"Yeah, right," Billy snorted, filled a glass halfway with the bad stuff and shoved it over the bar into her waiting hand. "I know that look. He's another stray you think you can straighten out."

"Bull," Casey countered with a good-natured smile, put the glass on a tray and carried it over to the stranger. "Here you go. You wanna pay straight away?"

He eyed the glass for a moment when she set it down in front of him, then reached into one pocket and produced a considerable wad of bills. He peeled one off and put it on the table top next to the glass, keeping it pinned under his fingers. "Keep the change. And for my next drink, bring me a bottle of Jacks. I don't like the cheap stuff."

She eyed the fifty dollar bill until he released it. Then she picked it up, grabbed the glass and returned it to the bar. "He's got plenty of cash. Wants a bottle of Jacks," she told Billy and glanced back at that guy. He was an enigma to her. A man wearing clothes like that did not normally carry a wad of bills that big around in his pocket.

Billy made a face, but withheld judgement. Instead he pulled out a bottle of Jacks and handed her a clean glass.

When she set it down in front of the stranger, he didn't even notice her presence. He just sat there, elbows resting on the table top, a haunted look in his eyes. "You new in town?" she asked.

For a moment he seemed like he wasn't going to reply. Then he glanced up at her and frowned lightly. "Yeah ... I guess," he countered, then gave her a look she knew only too well. It said 'go away' in capital letters.

"Just ... holler if you need anything else," she said with a tentative smile on her lips and withdrew back to the bar.

"Forget it, Case. He ain't worth it. A man with that much money and that lousy style ain't good for nothing," Billy warned. "If he's got that much cash, he's got enough to buy himself a ticket out of here. He doesn't need you to pick him up out of the gutter."

"Give it a rest, Billy," Casey said and smiled sweetly at him. "I'm not doing anything. Can't help wondering what's gotten under his collar, though. He looks kinda lost."

Billy sighed deeply in the I-give-up kind of way and returned to drying off glasses before putting them back on the shelve behind the bar.

***

Perdition
Texas

Considering the square-milage of Perdition, it was incredibly easy to keep track of people. Sam had the feeling that most of the special kids around him didn't even consider leaving the grounds and most of them with one or two exceptions stayed close to the main building.

There was plenty to do around this place. There always seemed to be a wall that needed painting or some wood that needed cleaving and stacking. There was always something in need of mending or laundry to be done or cleaning of the main building or the barracks.

There was a computer room for those who didn't have their own and, as Sam quickly discovered, Perdition had an internet hotspot set up that covered all the buildings.

Since George didn't want to let Sam out of his immediate vicinity until they had found a solution for the demonic infestation he was suffering from – something he figured he had a pretty good grip on right now – he was pretty much tied to the main building. A search for his brother had yielded no immediate result, but since his laptop was missing as well, he figured Dean was taking a time-out somewhere.

So Sam withdrew to the computer room to do some random research to pass the time. From what he could tell, he wouldn't be able to help with removing the infestation since he had no living clue how to go about it. But research always did wonders for him. He could submerge himself in any given topic and just forget time and place for a while.

The computer furthest from the door also faced away from the room in general and that was where Sam had taken up residence for the time being, researching possible cases even though he knew that there was no way he would be hunting demons for a bit. At least not until his own problem had been removed.

"Hey."

The sudden appearance of Jennifer almost made him fall off his chair. "Dammit, Jennifer," he snapped. "Stop sneaking up on me like that."

She chuckled, grabbed his shoulders and leaned in to see what he was doing. "Good thing you weren't surfing for porn, eh? That could have been embarrassing," she said with a smirk.

He frowned lightly and glanced at her. She was a little too close for comfort right now, but some part of him didn't really mind. "I'm actually trying to do something constructive," he countered.

"Yeah, like researching demons, huh? You really think it's a good idea for you guys to go after full blood demons on your own?" Jennifer asked. She pulled a chair over and dropped down on it next to him.

"Well, right now it doesn't really matter, does it? I'm just trying to pass time," he said and sighed lightly.

"Stationary living getting to you already?" she asked and arched an eyebrow suggestively at him.

"No. I was stationary for three years. At Stanford," he said.

"Standford?" she asked with surprise in her voice. "Posh. What were you studying? Law?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I was offered a full ride too," he said and sighed sadly. "And then all this happened and ... well ..." He shrugged.

Jennifer eyed him for a second, then returned her attention to the screen. "Bummer," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you would have made a great lawyer."

Sam couldn't help a joyless chuckle. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Don't take it so hard. You may still get a chance to go back and finish, huh? I mean, you're pretty sharp, aren't you? You could pick up where you left off once this is all over," Jennifer said and jabbed a fist gently against the side of his jaw.

"As much as I hate to quote my brother," Sam said, "this won't ever be over."

"You don't know that. Things have a habit of changing around when you least expect it," Jennifer countered.

"That's one way of looking at it," he agreed.

"Cheer up. Things usually aren't half as bad as they look," she tried.

Her way of thinking, of trying to cheer him up, reminded him a bit of Jess and it felt both good and very painful. He managed a somewhat pained smile. "I hope you're right," he said and glanced at her.

Jennifer smirked. "I'm always right," she claimed, leaned in and pecked him on the cheek before she disappeared into thin air.

Sam stared at the spot where she had just been, then shook his head lightly and returned to the research. All things considered, she had actually managed to cheer him up a bit.

***

Dean was pretty much doing the same thing Sam was; research. With everything going to hell in a handbasket around him, he just needed something to keep him grounded and looking for potential cases really did help him out. Now if he could only go after all these damned demons too and send them back to hell again, he would feel a little better.

"We're wasting time here," he muttered and frowned at the information a google-search yielded on a slew of murders in Chicago. It looked like one woman was doing the whole thing, but the police didn't have the proof and so she was off the hook. "We should be out there, hunting things, saving people. Instead we're locked in because of that damned demon. Won't that thing ever disappear?"

"It might if you stopped talking to yourself."

Dean, who had spent the better part of an hour sitting crosslegged on his bed with Sam's laptop in front of him, sent a glance toward the door and frowned. Sam stood there, one shoulder propped against the doorframe, while he watched Dean with a faint smirk on his lips.

"How long have you been standing there?" he demanded, a little miffed that Sam was able to sneak up on him like that.

"Not long," Sam said, pushed away from the frame and came closer. "What are you doing?"

"Researching," Dean countered grumpily and returned his attention to the screen. Then he sighed. "What's the point?" he added. "It's not like we'll be going anywhere anytime soon. As long as you've got that little ... infection going and the crossroad demon might be swooping down on my ass any minute now ..."

Sam eased down on the edge of the bed and stared idly ahead of himself for a moment. Then he pursed his lips lightly. "What have you got?" he asked.

"Couple of murders in Chicago that sound like our deal," Dean countered and eyed the screen. "Three people so far who have taken the plunge, only the injuries they have don't correspond with the length of the dive they've taken. I'd like to see the coroners report, but ... breaking into police files is your deal, not mine," he added with a snide smirk.

Sam arched his brows. "I don't think it's such a hot idea if we go off playing heros right now," he said quietly.

Dean sighed again, couldn't help himself. "I know," he agreed and ground the heel of his right hand against his brow. "Man, I wish things were easy. Like when we were kids. Go in, blow away the bad guy, go home. When the hell did everything become so complicated?"

Sam shrugged lightly. "I don't think our childhood was particularly easy, Dean," he said. "As a matter of fact ... I don't think it was any easier back then than it is now. Except of course that it's never been in the family like ..." He trailed off, his expression tightening and he looked away.

"Like ... what?" Dean asked, eyeing him suspiciously. It suddenly struck him that Sam might be hiding something here and he had the distinct impression that it went deeper than he could immediately imagine. "Sam?" he prodded when Sam didn't answer.

Sam glanced at him in that underhanded way he had when he had done something he shouldn't have or neglected to tell Dean something he should have shared. Then he got up and trailed over to the window, where he braced himself with both hands against the sill and stared out at the ground surrounding the main mansion.

"Sam?" Dean tried again, closed the lid of the laptop and got off the bed.

Sam sighed lightly, but refused to turn around to look at him. "I ..." He paused, sounding and acting uncertain in a way that made Dean nervous.

"You what?" he prompted. "Sam, what the hell is going on with you right now?"

Again his little brother sighed, this time heavier, and Dean had the creeping sensation that he wasn't going to like what Sam had to say. "Mom knew the demon," Sam suddenly said, but still refused to turn back to face him.

Dean blinked. Everything around him seemed to slow to a crawl. He opened his mouth, but shut it again because he couldn't think of a single thing to say. Instead he briefly shut his eyes and shook his head lightly. Then he frowned and focused on Sam's back. "Come again?" was all he could think of saying.

Sam finally turned around, settled on the edge of the sill and folded his arms over his chest, his eyes on a spot on the floor. "She knew it, Dean. It showed me. Showed me what happened the night she died. She came in to the nursery and she said ... 'It's you'. She said it like she knew the demon, like she'd seen it before." He slowly raised his gaze to meet Dean's, a slight frown furrowing his brow. "There's more," he added.

Dean didn't really believe what he was hearing. A major part of him wanted to deny those words. It couldn't be real. "Sam ..." he tried, but didn't know how to go on. Then he shook his head, shook it hard. "It was lying. It has to have been lying, Sam. It can't be true."

"Why not?" Sam countered. "George is older than mom would have been. I think she was ... she may have been like me."

"No," Dean said and shook his head. "It was messing with you, Sammy. Demons lie. You know that. It was trying to rile you up, to make you angry."

"That's not it, Dean. I asked it why and it showed me. But that's not all. There's more," he said with a sad look in his eyes. "It ... my abilities ... it showed me how I got them. I'm not born with them. I don't think any of the others are either. But the demon's death doesn't change that."

"Sam," Dean tried and cleared his throat because his voice broke.

Sam held up a hand, stopping him before he could continue. "It fed me its blood, Dean. Not much. Just a few drops. But that's the connection."

Dean eyed him darkly while taking a step back, where bumped into the edge of the bed and sat down hard on it. "When did it show you all this?"

"When do you think?" Sam countered, his tone a bit tight. "I've been mulling it over and over, Dean, and I can't make myself believe that it's not true. It's what gives me my abilities. It's what has polluted me."

Dean shook his head again. "No, Sam, it can't be true. It's ... if that was ..." He licked his lips, which had gone inexplicably dry in a split second. "Sam, what the hell are you telling me here?" he finally asked, not sure he had really grasped the meaning of Sam's words properly.

Sam smiled vaguely. "I think it's like a virus, Dean, like an infection. And everybody here has it. If they find a way to get it out of me ... and I doubt that at this point ... then I might return to being ... just me. But I don't think it'll happen. This is a bit like I would imagine a mutation is happening and you can't undo that once it's started."

Dean rose again. "Sam, are you listening to yourself here?" he asked, his tone a bit jittery. He knew the part about the blood, had heard that story already, but that their mom could have had the same 'affliction', that rattled his world. It had never occurred to him before. "You're telling me mom was like you? Infected by this ... demon's blood? And that she knew it?"

"Yeah, Dean, that's what I'm telling you. I didn't tell you right after it happened because ... I didn't really believe it. But running into these people, living here among them, seeing what they can do ... I'm like them. I'm a ... mutation." He made a face when he said the word and Dean knew what the idea alone had to be doing to him. Sam had always wanted to be Joe Normal. The idea that this was for good, that he would maybe have to struggle with visions the rest of his life, maybe even become more powerful, was something his little brother didn't like one bit. Sam's lips quirked up in a small, joyless smile. "Power corrupts," he muttered and dropped his gaze to the floor. The small smile faded away into nothingness. "Absolute power corrupts absolutely."

"Cut the crap, Sam," Dean snapped, suddenly angry. "You're no different than you've ever been. Sure, you can push people around without touching them, but that could be anything. This is bullshit and you know it. It's not true. The demon wanted to make you doubt yourself and it succeeded. You've been hung up on this ever since ..."

"Dean!" Sam snapped back, his harsh tone cutting Dean off. "It's not my imagination and it's not something the demon did to rile me up. It's the truth. I know it is. Mom was like me. I'm like mom. The demon chose me for whatever reason. Maybe it tried to grab you first and mom somehow prevented it. Maybe there's something different about me, something I inherited from mom. But this is it. I'm ... polluted. And I doubt there's anything anyone can do."

"Sam is right in part."

Both of them jerked at the sound of George's voice. The older man stood in the doorway, watching them.

"May I?" he asked and made a sweeping gesture toward the room.

Dean turned around to face him and nodded. "What do you mean, in part?" he asked.

"Your mother was one of us. She just chose to bury it deep down. I don't think Mary ever acted on her abilities, ever used them. They must have been different from yours, Sam, but she definitely had them. I could sense it in her," George said and closed the door behind him. "As for the blood," he added and met Sam's now wide eyes. "We've all been fed the blood. But it's not where our abilities come from, Sam. We are born with them. All the blood did was activate them and create the link to the demon. That's all it did."

"Then why ..." Sam started, but George cut him off by raising a hand.

"There are many things we don't know, many details that have died with the demon. And yes, there is something more to you than there is to the rest of us. And how we remove that ... I'm not sure. But I think Annie is right. I think it's up to you to break the connection to the demon, to deny it reentry into our world. And only you can do it."

"So, what you're saying here is that he'll have to fight that connection for the rest of his life?" Dean asked, not at all liking the sound of that.

"Unless we find a way to rid him off it, I'm afraid so," George said.

***