NOTES: Dead Zone and characters and wacky situations property of Lions Gate Films, Stephen King I'm sure and not me. No profit never. Happy birthday, lise!! Thanks to Circusgirl and the Distraction!



I HAVE SEEN



Johnny's still surprised by the visions he sees from the people he touches all the time. Anything not covered in conversation and knowing them still sometimes pops up with a tiny touch.

Like when he clutches at Bruce's hand as he trips and finds himself watching, experiencing Bruce licking another man's neck. Johnny's used to the discombobulating sensation of having sex with men through someone else's eyes and hands. And other parts. But this time there's no breasts or wetness between his legs. This time it's Bruce and the physical reaction he feels is the reaction Johnny knows.

It's not something he knew about Bruce and Johnny's smiling when the vision stops. So the answer to how well-adjusted Johnny Smith is to his friend's possible bisexuality is pretty well-adjusted. Because he likes surprises.

Bruce shifts his hand and holds Johnny's elbow.

As they're walking into his office, Walt is shaking his head and muttering. Never a good sign. Walt says, "And here's Johnny and Bruce. This is Agent Butler from the FBI. They think a serial killer has struck here in Penobscot County."

"The Chad Murphy killing?" Bruce says, as he urges Johnny to sit down.

"You already shared it with these civilians?" Agent Butler is a pretty Asian woman with her hair pulled back tight.

Walt sighs. "No, I did not."

Johnny says, "Bruce and I both read about it in the paper. That's all we know."

"I called Johnny in because he's been helpful in past cases, as I was telling you, Agent Butler. I trust Johnny and therefore as this murder happened here in my town --"

"It's under FBI jurisdiction now. And we won't be using a psychic." She marches out with her ponytail swinging.

Walt leans against his desk and says, "Everybody loves the FBI." He turns and grabs a file from his desk. "I'll try to get you something, Johnny, I want this guy caught."

Johnny looks at the file. All he sees is that this serial killer strikes at random and targets males all over the Northeast, two killings in every town before he moves on.

Bruce says, "You're not getting anything just from the photos, right?"

"Nothing about the murders." Johnny pushes himself up. "We should head out. You'll call?"

"I'll call. Thanks for stopping by." Walt walks out before them, following in Agent Butler's footsteps.

Bruce drives Johnny home and brushes against him as Bruce reaches for the radio while Johnny puts on his seatbelt. It's not like every touch leads to a vision, but today Bruce is like a TV set. A TV set showing gay porn, Johnny thinks. Really hot gay porn, he thinks smiling, watching as Bruce pushes the other man onto a twin bed, white sheets. College. Or when Bruce was studying physical therapy, maybe.

Then it's over and Bruce is saying, "Johnny? You okay?"

Johnny smiles as he replays the pictures, "I'm fine." Bruce is pretty hot.

They watch TV at Johnny's house, waiting for Walt to call and reading through some letters Faith Heritage Foundation sent over. Johnny considers bringing up what he's seen, but it feels rude. Bruce hasn't told him, so it doesn't count. Maybe, Johnny thinks, he could bring it up obliquely.

It's one thing he won't be bringing up with Reverend Purdy, the weird affect the visions are having on his sexuality. Find yourself making love to men often enough and enjoying it and you start to think it's not so foreign or wrong. He never looks at men and thinks, "whoa baby," not the way he still looks at women. But he finds himself looking at Bruce.

He chalks it up to the vision and goes back to the letters, not letting himself touch any of them.

Walt calls up in the morning; the serial killer struck again. If the pattern holds, he won't kill again in town. But Walt wants Johnny to try.

Bruce picks him up and drives again. He stops at the crime tape. "You want me to come up with you?"

"Maybe I can pretend I just stumbled here by accident." Johnny braces himself for seeing the body and more.

"Yeah, because you do so much long distance stumbling." Bruce gets out of the car as Johnny does. He thinks about Bruce in the dorm room that was and it's distracting enough he does stumble into Agent Butler. Better sex than death, he almost says.

He sees Agent Butler with a gun in her hand, shaking. Her hair is longer and he breathes out, it's the past. He says, "Sorry. Sorry."

She swears under her breath and glares at Walt, standing next to her. She stomps away.

"Are we gonna get kicked out?" Bruce is behind Johnny, nudging his arm.

Walt shakes his head. He says, "The body is gone and any trace evidence they could find." He gestures at the disturbed dirt and the taped off blood. "Still possible, right?"

Johnny squats down as well as he can leaning on his cane and reaches for the grass. He thinks of Gladiator but puts his hand out anyway, brushing it forward and back. Nothing. He moves closer to the dried blood but tries everything else around it. Finally he touches the remaining blood and it's all there. The finding, the stalking, the cornering, and the bludgeoning. He can see the victim through the killer's eyes. It's dirty and gross, putrid. The things he hates, the weaknesses he sees watching his victim. Johnny shakes his head and braces himself against the ground when the vision is finally over.

He has nothing to tell Walt. He says, "Nothing. Nothing you can't get from a profile. It's a man. Is that helpful?"

Walt sighs. "No. But thanks for trying, Johnny."

The FBI doesn't linger. They know their killer has moved on because of his profile and by dinner, Walt is calling saying he doesn't have anything anymore. He tried, he says on the phone, his voice tired. Johnny says, "I have a lot of faith in good old fashioned police work, Walt."

Walt laughs and says goodbye. It wasn't a 'you're so funny, Johnny' laugh or even a 'thanks for trying' laugh so Johnny puts down the phone slowly. He feels like a failure.

Bruce, of course, sees right through him. He brings over X-files tapes and pizza. Johnny says Gillian Anderson is very attractive and Bruce agrees. It's the most conversation they have all night.

Johnny wakes up to stalking and marking for death again. He's staring at his next victim and cataloguing the weaknesses that offend him. He feels the hate like a film on his tongue. He turns to his partner and sees Bruce, biting his lip, pulling down his pants. Wrong place, not a vision, he thinks, it can't be.

Then he wakes up, on his couch, the TV still on. Bruce steps back and smiles. "You fell asleep, man."

Johnny says, "Give me the phone. I saw something more." He tells Walt, "He has a partner. The killer, Walt, he's working with someone. There's two of them. One of them picks the victims and together they do the killing."

Thanks to good old fashioned police work, Walt makes it helpful information. Agent Butler comes back to town just to get Walt when it's time for the arrest. But neither Johnny nor Walt makes the papers when the arrests are announced.

"Totally unfair," Bruce says. They're having pizza again. Johnny's growing to love the pizza Bruce always brings. "You made that case, it was all you."

"It wasn't all me. It was an expansion, a bigger longer version of the vision in my dream and Walt figured out everything else. Let's be angry for Walt, okay?"

"He doesn't care. And you don't care. I'll be over here, caring enough for both of you." Bruce laughs, his teeth white. Johnny wonders for a moment how much more of that vision he had in his head, what he would have seen. "You get enough publicity, though. I think I'll just be angry for Walt."

"I thought I was your favorite." Johnny gets up for a drink and to blank down his head. No more thinking about Bruce this way.

"You are, I swear." Bruce is right behind him again, reaching around him for ginger ale.

Johnny shifts so Bruce's fingers brush by him and he sees again the kissing in the dorm room, the touching and the way it feels. It's definitely hot.

He shifts away. Let Bruce have his privacy.

THE END


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