I Have Two Faces; Blurry is the One I'm Not

-Thirteen-

"Sam, look, she's fine, I'm here with her, relax." Absentmindedly drumming my fingers against the frame of the living room entryway, I spoke to Sam in a patronizing tone, annoyed but amused.

Sam had called me in a panic, all blah blah blah Sabby is evil blah blah blah, and I couldn't help but chuckle a little under my breath as he erratically huffed into the phone.

"Dean, this isn't funny. There is a man in the apartment-" Sam's voice rises and falls an octave quickly, and I can't help but chuckle.

"Did you know your voice cracks when you're nervous?"

Sam sighs heavily into the phone. "This isn't a joke, Dean, I saw him! He's got black hair and he-" Sam suddenly pauses, sucking in a breath, clearly realizing something, "he's got white eyes?" His voices drops to a whisper

My sense of humour is gone as my stomach begins to throw itself around my insides. "Sam-"

"There is a demon in the apartment, Dean."

A lump suddenly hardens in my throat. "Get your ass over here, Sam." I growl into the phone, snapping shut as Sam's erratic voice grew small and unimportant. I spun around, sticking my head into the doorway and frantically scanning the room for the demon.

No one was in here, except for Sabby.

I went to sigh a sigh of relief up until my eyes fell upon her face, pasty and damp with a cold sweat, her lips three shades too pale, trembling, as she stared blanky at the space next to her on the bed. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with each quick, shallow, fearful breath, her fingers gripping and twisting her topsheet in a white-knuckled grip.

"Sabby?"

Calling her name results in snapping her from the rapt attention she was paying to the empty bed beside her. She whips her head in my direction, her icy blue eyes distant and fearful. She presses her lips into a thin, pale pink line, sucking her cheeks in and gnawing on them. Her gaze flickers between the spot next to her and myself, as if she was warning me, as if something was there.

The demon, maybe?

"Are you alright? You don't look so hot."

She nods slowly, her jaw taut to the point that I fear that she might break her teeth if she keeps her mouth locked up so tightly.

"Could you," she croaks out, her voice thick and strained, "could you bring me some water?" Her eyes are saucers in her round face, giant blue orbs that glinted with deep rooted fear and anxiety. "Please?"

Cautiously taking a step back from the doorway, I bring my hand to my back pocket, fingering the vial of Holy Water that rests there. "Sure thing. I'll be back in a second." Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see something - a flash of blackness next to her, a brief glance at a pixelated black form.

I spin on my heel and bounce into the hall, speed walking towards her pristine, seemingly untouched kitchen, throwing a glance over my shoulders every few seconds, keeping an eye out for the demon that Sam had seen.

Given Sabby's behavior, I wasn't just seeing something paranoia-induced. There was definitely something lurking in there, and it wasn't letting me see it that easily.

Sabby's faucet is sleek and chrome, and the slightest tap of the faucet handle upwards leads to a violent flush of tap water, the water pressure forcing the water to splash haphazardly against the bottom of the sink, water flying up and spraying me as a result.

I lower the faucet handle a smidgen and the water pressure recedes to a reasonable and non terrifying amount. No splashback, no problem.

Poking around her silver cabinets leads to a handful of discoveries. Her bowls and plates - all black and white, sit collecting dust, as if she very rarely, if ever, eats off of them. Her glasses and mugs are all nearly the same, with the exception of a single grey and white speckled mug with a black calligraphied "S.G." boldly on the front of the mug. This particular cup had water droplets on it, as if it had been used recently, and rinsed or washed then immediately returned to its perch in the cabinet.

Assuming this to be her favourite one - seeing as she seems to be a weirdo that doesn't ever eat or drink with her own kitchen supplies - I fill it high with water. I nearly drop the damn thing as a rapid succession of quick, hard knocks rap against the door. Sam.

I set the cup down on the table and bound over to the door, yanking it open so hard that I worry I'm going to rip it off of its hinges.

Sam pushes past me and comes into the apartment, running a hand through his hair, Dad's journal gripped tightly in his free hand. "Where is she?"

"Her room," Sam attempts to walk around me, but I grab his arm, my eyebrows furrowing, "hey, listen, there is something in there. I think I saw it. But look, I only saw it for a second. Sabby's pretty shook up, though. She's scared, anxious. And I'm pretty damn sure she can see it even if I can't."

Sam glares in the direction of her bedroom. "If you can't see it, then how-"

"It glitched out or something man, it was weird. I don't-"

"Get the fuck out, Blurry!"