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it's the war not us that's moving

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When Dean figures it out, he looks at Sam with wide eyes, mind a complete blank until Sam begs, "Don't tell Dad."


So, Sam's dreams sometimes come true. And while he's awake. That's not such a big deal. Yeah, his head hurts after those dreams, but they're able to pass it off as migraines (which he's too young for, but Dad's got so much on his plate, he doesn't realize that) and nightmares.

The telekinesis, though… they can only hide that for so long.


"Two powers?" Dean grumps, crossing his arms and glowering at Sam. "That's not fair, dude. You're hogging 'em all for yourself."

"You want 'em?" Sam shoots back with his own glare. "Take them."

Dean rolls his eyes.


Sam's either too young or too old for his abilities to manifest; Dean's intel isn't all that clear. The more he researches, though, the happier he is Sam's powers are invisible. For a day, he considers taking Sam to New York, asking that school for help –

But no. Sam's his little brother, and he's not abandoning him anywhere. Sam's getting plenty enough training; Dean's woven it into their PT, and Dad's gone enough he doesn't notice.

For awhile.


On Sam's second hunt, when he's barely fifteen, he tosses a ghost away from where it had been hovering over Dean, digging its ghost-hands into his chest.

Dad doesn't react, then. He and Sam finish the hunt while Dean gasps for breath, hunched over and shaking, and Dad's silent all the way out of town, and for fifty miles after that.

Then he says, "What happened back there?"

Sam glances over at Dean. They're huddled together in the back seat, even though Sam's pretty sure they're too old for that now, and Dean's eyes are barely open. His body's still shuddering sporadically.

"What do you mean?" Dean asks anyway. Stubborn idiot. He'll keep trying to protect Sam while he's bleeding out or unconscious, but Sam's got power now.

"You know what I mean," Dad says, sounding – tired.

"I can… I'm a mutant, Dad," Sam blurts, ignoring Dean's fingers digging into his side, trying to make him shut up. They've been hiding and lying for almost four years, now, and Sam's practically perfected control. (Well, of the telekinesis, anyway. The visions still show up whenever they want.)

Dad sighs, low and sad. "Oh, boys," he whispers, shaking his head.

"You can't send him away!" Dean shouts, sitting up straight and gasping in pain, falling backwards.

"You idiot!" Sam snaps, gently guiding him back upright. "Stay still."

"Of course I'm not sending him away," Dad says once Dean's breathing is back under control. "We'll discuss this later."

Dean's eyes close as he slumps back against the seat. Sam rests a hand over his heart and feels it race.


Precognition, telekinesis – John wishes he could believe that's all it is.

But telekinesis doesn't bother ghosts. He's seen mutants try and end up dead. And after a little bit of questioning, it becomes obvious – to John, anyway, though considering what he hasn't told them, he can't blame the boys for not realizing – that all of Sam's 'visions' revolve around the fucker who killed Mary. Or other 'mutants' who survived a house-fire.

Dean's sacked out with Sam mostly asleep next to him, and John rests his head in his hands. Fuck.

Sammy's not a mutant. Life would be so much simpler if he was.