Longhorn

Chapter 12 | Suited Up Visions

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Sam

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They had given you the option of staying in the motel while they went around asking questions, but you shot it down before the words fully left their mouths.

You chose to go with Sam and the two of you are sitting in the filing room of the office. Sam's in a suit and you're wearing your pencil skirt and a white blouse, the sleeves rolled up on your arms. You're still wearing your longhorn belt, and Sam realizes the only time you're not wearing it is when you're sleeping.

A nurse walks in, holding a box of files. You look up and smile at her as she sets the box down in front of Sam.

"Here you go, officer," she coos, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Sam doesn't even look up from his notebook. "Thank you."

She clears her throat and mutters, "You're welcome," before rushing out of the room.

You reach into the box, grabbing a file, chuckling.

He glances up at you. "What?"

You're writing in your own notebook, jotting down every birth certificate you find. "That was funny."

"What was funny?"

"You just shot the poor girl down like you were duck hunting." The idea throws you into a fit of laughter, having to put your pen down and throw your head back.

Sam's just glad you're laughing. You haven't really spoken much since you heard about Jim, and your eyes are still puffy. But you're laughing.

"I'm just doing my job!" He retorts, but he can't help the smile spreading on his face.

"She was so embarrassed!" you howl, now slapping the table as you struggle to breath. "She had her - oh my God, Sam, she tried to show her cleavage through her scrubs!"

He starts laughing, too, now. "Who the hell says cleavage, Y/N?"

You finally calm, taking in a few deep breaths and wiping tears from your eyes. "Everybody, Samuel. I'm sorry, should I have said tits? Apologies, I have more decorum than your one-celled brother."

It takes an hour for you both to finish the files. He's glad you came with and was willing to split the work, because if you hadn't it would've taken double the time.

You're both walking out of the Salvation Medical Center when a splitting pain shoots through his head. His notebook, which he was previously flipping through, drops to the ground. He crouches, groaning, grabbing his skull.

You gasp, messenger bag falling from your shoulder as you rush to him. "Sam?" you yelp. "Sam, is it another vision?"

He can barely bring himself to nod. Suddenly, his vision turns black and images start flashing behind his eyes.

The Yellow-Eyed Demon is in a nursery, somewhere in someone's home. It flips to a woman, a mother, staring out of the nursery window. The loud, screeching noise of a train horn echoes in his ears, and the image of the demon returns.

It's gone as quick as it came. He blinks himself back into reality and feels the dull ache of a migraine.

"What?" you mutter, your hands cupping his face. "What happened?"

"There's a house," he says. His words are slurred but they're slowly forming. "By train tracks. One of the babies lives there - that's who he's after."