#samw

Knees hit the floor first. Always the knees.

Then palms. Digging into the stained carpet of many other passerbyers before.

Then elbows. Making your bones rattle up to your shoulders.

Eyes shutting and hoping that whatever is coming will cease its existence right where it is now, before it can stem into something greater.

Nails striving to pull out each individual strand of hair in a way to subdue the pain.

“Y/N?”.

The question swims through all of the chaos erupting from your cranial cavity. You try to open your eyes but something so bright and burning blocks your motion.

“Y/N!”.

The statement seems to get lost in the image playing out before you.

Tears wet your cheeks as you grip your hair, pulling, pulling until something physically removes your hands from the strands, holding them just as tight back.

The image comes into view. A young boy, kissing a girl before they both jump off of the bridge, holding hands and screaming. You scream with them, your vocal cords tearing away from your throat to emit the sound.

“Y/N! Open your eyes, you’re okay!” You can recognize the call now as the stream of liquid hits your chin, dripping off the edge of your face just as the two had jumped straight off the bridge.

Another voice drifts through the lighter air, “What the hell is going on?”.

You squeeze the rims of your lids together one more time before allowing the dim bulbs to illuminate your surroundings.

Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, almost breaking the skin and landing in your widened palms.

“I saw something,” you breathe, feeling your lips curl into the sour face of a sob, “It hurt so much.”

A sigh with a tongue peeking out of your shaggy haired sibling’s mouth previewed the next questions to come.

“Are you getting headaches, visions? Like I did?”

A few hours later an angel is circling you as your cheeks, pink and raw from the earlier waterfalls that cascaded them like rocks in a shallow stream, vibrate from nerves.

“She isn’t part of yellow-eyes charade, he’s dead, she can’t be!” Dean stumbled over each fragment.

“Shhh-,” Sam warned.

“She’s not experiencing what you did, Sam,” the angel spoke up.

“Then what is it?” Dean asked, rubbing a circle into your shoulder.

“She’s gaining her psychic abilities.”

Your eyes widened, opening as much as they possibly could.

“My what?”

“You are destined to aid this world by seeing future pathways some have the chance to take,” Castiel intently listened to angel radio as they talked over each other.

“The angels have granted you with this gift because they believe you are the only one left to redeem this world. Your brothers failing on multiple attempts made it seem urgent that you were granted this gift.”

“But I don’t want it,” you replied. Sam let a low whistle signaling the awkward tension to follow.

“Well it is not really a take back sort of gift.”

“But it isn’t ay sort of special occasion and I already have plenty of other special powers,” you air quoted the last two words.

“Like eating an entire pizza by yourself?” Dean countered.

You shot him a glare, “Like being able to keep these two in check. Mind you every time they’ve screwed up I’ve been out of the picture.”

“Well if it’s any consolation, the pain will cease in time as you grow stronger in your ability,” and with that the sound of sprouting wings filled all sound waves near and far.

You sighed, letting out a small groan with it; however remembering your last premonition shot you out of your chair.

“We need to go! Now!” You grabbed your coat off the bed and slammed the door. Both boys looked at each other.

“What was that?” Sam muttered.

For the angels were right, the only one able to save those in the upcoming world was you. You had seen the couple meant to cure a breakout disease from sewer rats in the next upcoming years.