***Supernatural, nor any of it's characters belong to me*** SAM'S NOT ANSWERING HIS PHONE AND MORGAN OFFERS TO SCRY FOR DEAN'S PEACE OF MIND, BUT THE HUNT DIDN'T GO AS PLANNED...
Morgan woke in Dean's bed, still fully dressed but the blanket had been pulled over her. They had settled into watching a movie and she must have fallen asleep. Glancing quickly around the room she didn't see Dean and felt a quick pang of grief right before a sleepy grunt came from the floor below her.
He sat up yawning, seeing her awake he gave her a tight-lipped smile, "sleep well?"
"Yea," she nodded, truly feeling better rested than she could remember, "I'm sorry, you coulda kicked me out, I must've passed out."
"Oh yea," he laughed, "you were out cold halfway through. Don't worry, you looked comfy."
"You didn't," she smirked at him, feeling terrible he'd spent the night on the hard tile floor with only a pillow.
"Nah," he stood, still fully dressed, and stretched his long arms above him, "I can sleep anywhere. Floor's good for my back sometimes anyway, I'm getting old," he winked at her, "how's coffee and bacon sound?"
"Fantastic!" Morgan threw the blanket off and hopped out of his bed.
Dean made breakfast and told Morgan more about his and Sam's lives, not about monsters, stories about their Dad. Morgan listened intently, eager to learn about the father she never met. She was glad he stuck to happy memories, having gathered enough from their stories the day before to know John Winchester had not been father of the year. Dean talked about Sam and his growing up together. Watching out for Sam had always been his job and while he outwardly admitted Sam was fully capable of taking care of himself now, Morgan could tell the over protective big brother role was ingrained in his personality.
After devouring an entire packet of bacon together he washed the few dishes in the sink and Morgan dried. When Dean bent over to put a pan under the counter, the pearly white handle of his gun stuck out over his thick, leather belt and the question spilled out before Morgan had a chance to reconsider.
"Dean, will you show me how to shoot?"
He stood abruptly, adjusting his shirt tail back over the pistol and turned to her with refusal written on his face, but stopped before he spoke and considered for a moment.
"Why not," he shrugged, "Come on."
Morgan couldn't believe her ears and followed him out of the kitchen nearly bouncing with each step. They made their way back towards the garage through the maze of identical hallways, but Dean turned another way when they hit a dead end and went through a heavy, gray metal door Morgan hadn't seen yet. A huge, empty room started to brighten after Dean flicked the light switch and the old bulbs circling the walls slowly warmed, humming softly. There was a low counter separating the room, divided every few feet by concrete pillars and at the far end hung targets of human silhouettes. A tall metal cabinet and matching table and chairs sat in the corner across from the door.
"Of course, this place has a gun range," Morgan snorted.
"Yep," he smirked and walked to a cabinet, the door clunked open and he chose the smallest pistol on the rack. Checking the magazine, he must have found it sufficiently loaded and clicked it back into place, "So, have you ever handled a gun before?" She shook her head at him, "Didn't think so, so before you get all trigger happy we're gonna go over the basics and safety."
Morgan listened carefully as Dean described the different parts of the gun and showed her how to take it apart and put it back together. He emphasized the correct way to hold and carry it, despite his being lodged in the back of his jeans, to avoid unintentional discharge. He emptied the clip and had her reload it, silently impressed how quickly and flawlessly she did on the first try. Finally, deciding he'd lectured enough on the importance of gun safety, Dean popped the clip back in place firmly and set the gun, pointing towards the targets, on the low counter.
"Ok, now," he shifted her so they were facing each other, "your stance is important, if you're not balanced the kick back's gonna knock ya on your ass."
He went on to explain and demonstrate where her feet should be, just over shoulder width apart and knees slightly bent. She smiled happily when he complimented her steadiness after gently trying to shove her off balance unexpectedly. After a few minutes, he apparently decided her form was sufficient.
"Ok, come up here," he moved to let Morgan stand in front of the counter where the gun lay and positioned himself immediately behind her, his chest pressing lightly on her back, "Pick it up how I showed you, good, ok now, hold it, that's right good job, stance is solid, hold your arms tight, just like that yeah, find your target," he moved his hands onto hers, holding firmly, "Ok, kid, pull the trigger back nice and slow."
The pressure on her index finger was hard as she pulled back, the moment she felt it release a satisfyingly loud BANG echoed in the concrete room. Morgan giggled like she had when Dean tore down the road in the Impala and bounced a little on her toes, careful to continue holding the gun exactly as he'd instructed. She felt a deep chuckle in Dean's chest, still standing right behind her.
"Go again," he encouraged, taking a step back and moving his hands to her shoulders this time.
Morgan's smile didn't fade as she took shot after shot, eventually without any stability assistance from Dean, who leaned against the wall behind her with crossed arms and a proud look on his face. She reloaded once more and emptied a second clip into the target, full of well grouped head and chest shots.
"You're a natural, kid," Dean smiled, stepping next to her again, "Ok, remove the clip, good, now come over here," and she followed him to the small table next to the cabinet where he pulled out a few brushes, oil stained rags and a bottle of cleaning solution setting them all on the table.
He pulled one chair out, gesturing Morgan to sit, and settled himself in the other after removing his own gun from his jeans and placing it on the table. He showed her again, step by step, how to properly strip the weapon, taking his apart in demonstration as she followed along with the other. Dean showed her exactly how each piece should be cleaned, she shadowed him down to the straight lines of cleaned pieces, methodically placed an inch apart on the metal table. Morgan listened patiently to his longwinded explanations and warnings of what can happen to an improperly cared for firearm. His own gun had clearly seen a decent amount of battles, but the pieces gleamed in the soft light, shining like new despite the dings and gouges. Dean didn't have much in the world, but he took obsessive care of what he did.
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Their afternoon was spent mostly in the library. Dean had offered their Dad's journal to Morgan and she sat in the arm chair Crowley had the day before, silently reading each word thoroughly. Dean was hunched over a table with Sam's laptop in front of him, repeatedly checking his watch and occasionally making a call, but not bothering to leave a message, reaching voicemail each time. After his third attempt in an hour, he threw his phone hard on the table and roughly ran his hands over his hair. Morgan, startled by the sudden slamming in the noiseless room, jumped a little in her chair and looked at Dean with concern.
"Sam's not answering," he spoke with his head still in his hands, staring at the table, "I didn't expect him back yet, but it's not like him not to answer," Morgan wasn't sure if he was speaking to her or not as he continued to address the table, "Damn it Sammy, what're ya doin'?"
An idea suddenly hit Morgan, one that would hopefully prove to Dean he could trust her with magic.
"Dean?" She said quietly, he lifted his head to show he was listening, but didn't look at her, "I could, if you want, I mean if its ok, I could find him, ya know with magic," she let the last word trail off, sure it had been a bad idea.
"You can scry, can't you?" He'd turned to her, eyebrows raised as if he'd forgotten he was sitting next to a witch.
"Well," she shrugged, "I mean I'm not great, I wouldn't try spying on someone with magic, I haven't mastered stealth, but I can see and hear pretty good, plus he said he wasn't far so it'll be easier."
"Is that a yes?" he stared blankly at her.
"Yes," she gave him one definitive nod.
"Ok, well, what'dya need?" He pushed back from the table, but Morgan just set the journal on the side table and stared at him.
"My crystals," she said simply, "you took them."
"Oh," his eyebrows raised just remembering and descended the stairs in a hurry.
Morgan was shocked. She had prepared for an argument, but then she supposed his concern for Sam would overcome any aversion he had to magic. Her hand caressed the smooth leather of John's journal. It was nearly entirely work related, research for hunts and detailed accounts of each one with militant structure. She was only a small way in, having inspected not only the content, but the handwriting and occasional sketching on each page before turning to the next. Every once in a while, though, she caught a glimpse of John the father, usually at the end of a thorough paragraph from John the hunter. These passages she had read multiple times.
…Got back to the room at 13:00, found Dean asleep and Sam had decided he's an artist, covered a good portion of wallpaper and himself with a marker I must have left out. Most of it came off so far.
…Returned at 00:00 after tracking the Shtriga to our own room, the thing was about to feed on Sam, asleep on the bed, Dean was frozen with a shotgun pointed right at it! I missed the shot and goddamn thing got away. Sam is fine. Dean had been at the motel bar playing arcade games and got back to the room seconds before I did, not even sure what to do with him right now. Taking the boys to Jim's, hoping the Shtriga doesn't skip town before I get back, doubt it.
…Got back at 21:15, barely slept in two days, beat to hell from the hunt and this kid starts immediately on me about some fieldtrip he wants to go on next week, but we're leaving Friday. I swear I prefer fighting ghosts to this constant battle with Sam. Dean's getting his driver's permit tomorrow, God help me.
Morgan's attention turned from the journal to Dean as he strode back in the room, her ragged little bag in his fist.
"Now," he held the bag close, Morgan, slightly annoyed, waited to hear the conditions of his trusting her, "I think you're good people kid, but I haven't had the best experiences with witches. Don't take this the wrong way, today was fun gettin' to know each other one on one, I like ya kid, really, but I know the power those little bags can have so you can take the crystal things but the rest is stayin' with me. For now," he added at her discouraged and annoyed look, holding the sack open for her.
"Ya know," she said matter-of-factly, digging for the crystals and averting her eyes from him, "hex bags can be just as helpful as they can be harmful."
"You'll have to fill me in some time," he mumbled, cinching the bag closed and setting it on the table, "I'll get the lights."
He flipped the switch and sat across from Morgan as she spread her crystals very specifically on the table. The familiar words started muttering out of her mouth automatically as she concentrated entirely on Sam. Warmth flowing through her, she felt her magic release. Where are you Sam? Let me find you Sam. And there he was. Focusing as hard as she could, Morgan watched as he became clearer. Her stomach sank.
Sam was lying unconscious on a bare dirt floor. Shifting her gaze to what surrounded him she was horror struck to find a filthy man, dressed in an ancient and ragged suit, digging a hole on the other side of the black room. Scanning the walls, there were no windows, but in the flicker of an old gas lamp on the floor she could tell the walls were damp and made of unsmooth rock. Sam wasn't moving. Morgan had seen enough and released her focus, immediately feeling a cool rush and finding the library table in front of her again.
"Dean!" She yelled breathlessly and rapidly told him everything she had just seen, the color steadily draining from his face as she spoke.
Before she'd even finished, Dean had jumped to his feet sending his chair flying back and landing with a loud crash. His expression changed quickly from fear to anger, fire blazing in his green eyes. He tore off down the hall towards their rooms, Morgan stood rooted in the library, unsure if she was supposed to follow.
"Morgan!" His loud bark echoed through the hallway and she scurried down the stairs after him.
He already had a duffel bag on his bed and was checking through the weapons already packed, he rummaged a few drawers adding ammo rounds and a large container of salt. Opening another drawer, he pulled out a pistol and extended it, handle first, to Morgan, she just stared at it.
"Come on kid," he shook the gun at her a little, "you did great earlier and I'm really sorry I have to leave you but-"
She grabbed the gun, exactly as he'd taught her, trying to look tough and said with conviction, "Dean, I'll be fine. Go get Sam."
He nodded hard once, "Good girl," he gathered the duffel and motioned for her to follow him as he walked hurriedly towards the garage, "keep your phone on you and answer when I call. I'll be back as soon as I can, if you don't hear from me in five hours check in," at the words 'check in' he motioned to his eyes, but she'd planned on scrying regularly until they were both safe.
They made it to the garage quickly, Morgan nearly jogging to keep up with Dean's long, hurried strides. Picking up a gas container, he made his way to an old-fashioned motorcycle and strapped the duffel bag and gas can to the back. Ensuring everything was secure with a rough shake, Dean walked the bike right in front of the heavy wooden doors and pulled one side open.
"Ok, kid," he turned to Morgan, "Close and lock this door behind me, we'll be back as soon as we can," he threw his leg over and kicked the bike hard into a loud idle, shouting over the engine he warned once more, "Don't go anywhere and answer your phone when I call!"
She managed to hold back the eye roll as she nodded at him, he returned it with his own and took off through the dark cave.
Morgan watched the soft red glow of the tail light fade, returning the cave to complete darkness before she pushed the door shut. Twice she had to slam her entire body weight into it before it finally latched with the other side and she breathlessly clicked the heavy lock, immediately feeling a force shock her fingers slightly. While the sting was unexpected, Morgan was unsurprised this door was also warded with magic. She picked the gun up from a low wall she'd left it on and carried it, exactly as Dean had showed her, back to the library. Happy to put it down again, she set the pistol on the far corner of the table her crystals were still spread on and sat in front of them again.
Concentrating all her might on Dean while muttering the incantation clearly under her breath, the rumble of the motorcycle reached her ears as he slowly came into focus. His short hair beating in the wind, a cool determination set on his face half covered in dark sunglasses, brown leather jacket rippling as he tore down the country road. At the speed he was cruising, he'd undoubtedly cut Sam's arrival time in half. Slowly, Dean flying on the bike started to fuzz and fade as Morgan averted her focus to Sam again.
The sound of the engine vanished, the room where Sam still laid was silent but for the sound of a shovel scraping through heavy soil. He hadn't moved, but Morgan felt a small rush of relief when his chest distinctly rose and dropped, he was still alive. Shifting her gaze again, though ready this time, she spied the heinous man by the far back wall. Based on the increase in his hunch, Morgan knew the hole he was digging had gotten significantly deeper. A slight grunt echoed in the bare room and she watched the dirty man's back stiffen as he turned to look at his victim, unconscious on the dirt floor. Morgan turned back to her brother and saw Sam's expression was pained, eyes still closed, but clearly coming to. Her heart quickened seeing him stir and whipped her attention back to the disgusting man. He had abandoned the hole and was slowly approaching on Sam, the shovel blade in the air with a menacing look on his ashen face.
Just like the day before, she felt herself losing control over her power in a hot rage. 'Get away from MY BROTHER!' The involuntary thought was punctuated with fear, dread and an anger so powerful her head felt like it would explode. The threatening, grayed face was so clear before her, in that moment she was sure, somehow, she'd gotten there, standing right in front of him, both poised for attack. The dead eyes, behind dark matted hair, locked his gaze on Morgan's, as if he could see her too. Her head was about to burst, all she wanted was to keep that awful man away from Sam, she couldn't lose him now. The shovel moved higher in the air, about to strike, Morgan yelled the only word in her mind, 'NO!'
Pressure from her head flowed fast and steadily down her arms, exploding out of her hands as she screamed at the dirty face. He had vanished. Morgan tried to look at Sam, but the room was fading fast, spinning around, exhaustion and throbbing pain overcoming her, darkness engulfing from every side.
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"MORGAN!"
'Please, Mother, I'm so tired. Please let me sleep."
"Morgan!"
Large hands on her shoulders were shaking her as she blinked her eyes open and peeled her face off the hard-wooden table, wiping a trail of drool off her chin, holding a palm to her pounding head. Sam and Dean were staring down at her, concern on both their faces.
"SAM!" Exploding with happiness, Morgan leapt to her feet and practically jumped on him, "You're ok! I saw- I don't know what happened- he was gonna kill you-"
"I know," Sam hugged her tight and smiled ecstatically down at her, "Morgan, I saw it! You were amazing! How did you do that?"
"Do what?" she pushed away and looked at him with confusion.
"When I woke up, that ghost-"
"Ghost?" she asked surprised, "he looked so real."
"They usually do," Dean interjected, "vengeful spirits are strong, it's not like Casper."
She looked at him even more confused, "Who's Casper?"
"Never mind," Sam interrupted quickly, "I woke up and he was coming at me with the shovel, he was right there! But this purple haze appeared in front of him and then I heard you yell and he got blasted! I didn't know what happened but Dean got there an hour later and told me how you found out I was in trouble and we kinda figured it out. But I didn't know witches could project magic like that!"
Her jaw was practically touching her chest as she stared at Sam. She had blasted a ghost into pieces without even being in the room. She couldn't have, it wasn't possible. Her Mother had never kept magic a secret from her, contrary to everything else, magic had always been a subject she painstakingly lectured on. Morgan perfected the basics as she was taught them, but was more than aware of the potential she should eventually expect from all aspects of her abilities. Projecting magic through a scry session in a different physical place was not something her Mother had ever mentioned.
"We can't," she said quietly, sinking into the arm chair as her legs felt like they were melting beneath her, the ache in her head returning.
They looked at each other quizzically before Sam crouched in front of her, "Morgan, you saved my life."
"But I don't know how," she breathed earnestly at him, feeling her head pounding full force again.
"Sometimes that works," the genuine smile breaking out across his face again.
"You heard me?" looking at him with honest confusion.
He nodded and chuckled, "You yelled 'no' enough the other night, trust me, I know what I heard."
"Sam," Morgan shook her head in disbelief, stopping quickly when it felt like her brain was rattling insider her skull, "I couldn't have, it's not possible, my Mother never told me it could be done-"
"Maybe she couldn't do it," Dean was picking up her crystals, scattered on the floor around the table, "Cass and Crowley told you you're more powerful than most witches."
A strange bubble of pride expanded somewhere under her skepticism. Perhaps she was more powerful than her Mother, a thought that suddenly added a rush of guilt to her already mixed emotions. A soft vibration in her pocket brought a welcome distraction, however her stomach did a back flip when her hand wrapped around the phone and her eyes landed on Dean. He looked at her without a trace of amusement, arms crossed. Flipping it open, the screen informed her she had four new voicemails and twenty-seven missed calls, all from Dean. Her ears got hot, her head ached, nausea threatening behind her throat as she felt him still glaring at her, she kept her eyes locked on the phone.
Knowing she had to say something she slowly raised her head to meet his eyes, "I'm sorry, I-", but he was shaking his head at her.
"It's okay, kid," he said, "I was pissed, but seeing as we had to shake you outta that coma I'll let it slide this time."
"Yea," Sam turned towards her, still crouched in front of the chair, "What happened?"
Morgan took a deep breath, trying to shove her headache and nausea aside, and told them how she'd gone back to the library and again looked in on Sam, explaining, as best she could, what had happened when the ghost had turned on Sam with the shovel in attack position, "I just got really scared and angry, I don't know what happened, but my head felt like it was going to explode and then everything just busted out of me, I guess I did yell, I don't know, as soon as it happened I couldn't see him anymore and everything just went black."
"Well," Sam was still beaming, "You got him," with a proud pat on her knee he stood up, "whatever you did."
"You ok, Morgan?" Dean's gruff voice asked from behind Sam.
She looked up at him, completely dumbfounded and failing in her attempts to overcome the physical discomfort she was in, "Yea, no, I'm fine," she pushed herself to stand but found her knees too weak and slumped back in the chair, exhaustion shivering through her body.
"You're not," Dean stated firmly, "whatever happened took a lot out of you. No offence, sweetie, you look like crap."
An involuntary and long yawn from Morgan emphasized his point. Now that the excitement had died down, she felt sleep coaxing her and barely had the energy to move from the chair to her bedroom. Dean seemed to notice this as her lids fluttered over glassy eyes, trying with no success to focus on him. He took two quick strides and lifted her tiny frame in his arms. Morgan didn't even try to argue and was asleep on his shoulder before he'd fully descended the stairs.
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Morgan slept deeply for hours, flitting in and out of strange dreams. Her Mother was screaming that she's stupid and weak, chasing Morgan through the maze of the bunker. Morgan yelled for Sam and Dean, but she was alone, narrowly avoiding attacks from behind. She turned, ready to beg her Mother not to kill her, but it wasn't her Mother approaching with fiery blasts. A huge leathery dragon-like creature was flying at her through the library, she ran as fast as she could, but felt the creature gaining behind her, hot breath on her neck. "DEAN!" He wasn't there. Sharp claws dug into her sides, but she wrenched away, feeling hot pain as her skin tore open and turned to see the face of a giant snake hissing her name, "Mooooorrgaaaan," before it reared its ugly head back to strike. "NO! DEAN!"
"Hey! Hey, Morgan," again she found herself being shaken awake, searching for the soft, deep voice calling her. Dean was sitting on her bed, worry etched in his face, "Morgan, I'm right here."
A loud gasp escaped and Morgan realized she'd been holding her breath, but sighed with relief seeing his outline in the dark and grabbed tightly to his hand, confirming he really was there. He brushed her hair back gently with his other, making quiet shushing sounds while her breathing calmed.
"You ok? I heard you yell my name," she nodded unconvincingly at him, which did nothing to easy his look of apprehension.
"Yea," Morgan sat up, shaking her head from the echoes of the dream snake still hissing her name, "yea, I'm fine. How long've I been out?"
"Lil' while," the corners of his mouth curled into a small smile, "but if you're up for it, we were just puttin' together lunch."
Suddenly, Morgan became very aware of her stomach. Without any further enticement, she pulled the blankets off and swung her feet to the floor. Dean was wearing different clothes and they were having lunch, meaning it had to be the next day and Morgan had slept over twelve hours. Her head no longer ached and she didn't feel too weak to hold herself up, both major improvements over how she remembered feeling before passing out. What had happened exactly? She hadn't had much time to process what she remembered about the last few moments facing the ghost, nor could she remember much of what Sam had said when they'd gotten back. Thankfully, he was in the kitchen, frying bacon, when she entered right behind Dean.
"Bacon for lunch?" Morgan asked happily.
"Bacon always," Dean retorted, pulling a pop can and a beer from the fridge and sliding the can to Morgan across the metal counter.
"Ever had a BLT?" Sam asked, leaning next to the stove, Morgan shook her head, "You're gonna love it."
She nodded and decided to change the subject while the question was still fresh in her mind, "Sam, can you tell me again what happened yesterday?" Watching his gaze shift uncomfortably to Dean, Morgan guessed that Sam had been instructed not to discuss the subject with her, Dean confirmed this with a warning look at his brother. Frustration suddenly exploded out of her, "I'm fine!" she pleaded, more to Dean than Sam and more angrily than intended, "Seriously, I've never done magic like that! Of course, it's gonna drain me! But if I don't understand what I did I'll never learn how to control it! Stop shutting me out, it's bull-"
"Watch your mouth," Dean interrupted firmly, "and stop yelling at me. You can do all the talkin' you want so long as you're up to it, you've been out cold for a while and last night you looked like hell, forgive me if I thought you needed a rest."
"Well, I got it," Morgan forced a steady tone through gritted teeth. Rationally knowing she was overreacting, stubbornly refusing to stop.
"So, you're good?" He persisted annoyingly.
"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't," she snapped, but immediately knew she'd stepped just a toe over the line.
He narrowed his eyes and raised his eyebrows just slightly, the tone and volume of his voice never changing, "Watch it."
Goosebumps grew on her arms as a shiver trickled down her back. Morgan lowered her gaze to the floor in defeat and muttered and faintly audible, "sorry."
Dean gave no sign he'd heard her, but nodded to Sam and took over frying bacon.
Sam grabbed his beer from the counter and leaned against the sink, "what do you remember?"
Morgan took a breath and chanced a docile look at Dean before calmly addressing Sam, "I went back to check on you, you were still passed out on the floor and that man- ghost- thing was digging, which still confuses me that a ghost can hold a shovel and why the basement floor was dirt- Anyway, I think we both heard you and I saw you start to wake up, but then he was coming at you with that shovel and I just knew he was gonna kill you. I still don't know how I did it, I've never felt power like that, I just lost control and he was gone, then I passed out. It felt like I exploded. But you said something about hearing me and a purple cloud. What did you see?"
"Well," Sam began after a swig of his beer, "Turned out there was a cellar built under the foundation, I had just found the entrance in the basement floor when he got the jump on me. That was the ghost of Jeff Stokes, the original owner and builder, he'd buried him and his family alive in that cellar and has been recreating it for years with every owner since. I woke up down there and saw him lunge at me, but right when he was over me this purple mist grew between us. It was really faint at first but then it got dark and glowed and kept getting bigger, it was hovering over me like a shield or something. I've never seen a ghost look scared like that, he raised the shovel like he was gonna hack through it to get to me and as soon as he did I heard you yell 'no' and the cloud shot at him and he just disintegrated. I didn't know what happened, it sounded like you but that didn't make any sense, then Dean showed up about an hour later and told me how you'd found me I was sure it was you I heard down there."
It wasn't any clearer to Morgan now than it had been the day before and she stared at Sam, lost for what to say.
"Do you remember what you were feeling right before you passed out?" Sam seemed to notice she was searching for an explanation or reason she would be capable of such impossible magic.
"I told you, I thought he was gonna kill you," she said quickly, but then considered exactly what emotions had been pulsing through her at the time, "I was- angry, scared, he had that shovel in the air, I just- I just couldn't lose you, I just met you," she let the last bit trail off in a mumble, returning her gaze to the floor, but Sam looked at her with a warm smile.
He set his beer on the counter and walked to Morgan, lifting her chin gently to meet his eyes, "Thanks to you, you didn't lose me and I'm not goin' anywhere. It was stupid of me to go alone after barely any research, I should've listened to Dean," Morgan saw a smirk cross Dean's face out of the corner of her eye, "I was really angry at myself and just needed to focus on something else, but truthfully, I felt even worse after I left. I felt guilty that you have to take on this huge burden and as I'm driving away realized I shouldn't have left, knowing you have to have a hundred questions and I'm the only person who can answer some of them. And then you blasted a ghost to pieces to save me after I ran off when you needed me," Sam's puppy dog eyes were full of regret, "I'm sorry, Morgan, I am so sorry and I don't know how to begin to thank you for saving my life."
She continued to stare at him, slightly dumbfounded for a moment, unsure how to respond to such a sincere apology, having never received one before. She nodded at him, insufficient acceptance to his heartfelt sorry, but her thoughts we're still preoccupied with the purple mist. What had she done to create it? Was it pure emotion manifesting into unharnessed power? Even if it was, she knew much more than fear and anger would have been needed to create the amount of power Sam had described, completely impossible when she wasn't physically attached to the place it was happening. It just didn't make any sense, unless the demon was right, she was a force of nature.
"Sam," she shook her head back to the present moment, Sam's guilt weighing on her, "you don't have to thank me, I don't even know what I did, but it was selfish anyway. I was scared he was gonna kill you and I would be alone again, I was afraid of losing you cuz I didn't want to be alone. So I'm sorry, ok? I saved you for me!"
Dean started chuckling and Sam joined him, Morgan staring almost angry from one brother to the other.
"Total Winchester," Dean said to Sam with a smile, pulling bacon from the sizzling pan.
"Yep," Sam nodded and looked at his sister, glowering at him, "Whatever your reasons, Morgan, I'm glad you did it and I will help you figure out what happened, the Men of Letters will have an answer here somewhere I'm sure."
"You think?" she asked in disbelief.
"Haven't failed us yet," he shrugged, returning to leaning against the counter with his beer, "let's eat and then you and I can scour the library, ok?"
"Ok," Morgan smiled enthusiastically.
"Well," Dean was slathering pieces of bread with mayonnaise, "As much fun as that sounds I'm gonna be in the garage this afternoon."
Morgan was about to ask him why, but Sam rolled his eyes and turned towards his brother who was layering tomato slices and lettuce on mayonnaise soaked bread, "Dean I'm tellin' you it's nothin'! I'm sorry I even mentioned it!"
"It's not nothin' Sam!" Dean hit the counter making the sandwich ingredients jump an inch, the mayonnaise jar knocked over on landing, "I could smell it was runnin' lean on the way back, you heard somethin' and kept drivin' her!"
Sam just looked away, Morgan could tell he was biting back words, but clearly knew further persistence of his side would end badly. Dean finished each sandwich with a top layer of bread, pushed Morgan's across the counter towards her, grabbed his own plate and roughly dropped into a chair at the table. She joined him, taking the seat to his right and jamming a large bite of the sandwich into her mouth.
"Deam! Dif if amafing!" Her muffled exclamation was accompanied by a small spray of mayonnaise, Morgan threw her hand over her mouth and glanced at Dean.
He laughed and it left a small smile lingering on his recently severe face, "glad ya like it."
Sam joined them, sitting across from Morgan instead of Dean. He set a few napkins on the table, to which Morgan offered him thankful eyes as her mouth was again full of the delicious sandwich and wiped excess mayonnaise from her lips. She watched Sam continue to avert his eyes from Dean who was chewing slowly and staring at Sam as if he was solving a puzzle.
"So, Sammy," Dean set his sandwich down and stared at Sam, Morgan noticed Sam's shoulders hunch a little, eyes still fixed on his own food, "Was it a high-pitched whine or more of a whirring sound?"
Sam dipped his head and shot Dean a dirty look on the way up, "Dean," he was frustrated, but his tone was imploring, "I swear, it started happening when I was almost there. It's a sound, no weird vibrations, the tack didn't do anything funny! I'm sure it's just a worn belt."
Dean stared at him silent for a few moments before he smirked and calmly said, "I'm sure you're right Sammy, master mechanic that you are," and returned to his sandwich without another look Sam's way.
Sam opened his mouth to respond, but apparently decided it wasn't worth it and rolled his eyes at his sandwich before taking a huge bite. Morgan glanced between them, silently pleased she wasn't involved and continued munching the last of her lunch. Sam seemed to be in a hurry and finished his in three huge bites, stood up while still chewing and dumped his plate in the sink.
"You ready?" He asked Morgan and she nodded at him, grabbing her own plate from the table as Sam grabbed a fresh beer from the fridge and made a gesture to ask if she wanted anything.
"Yea, I'll take a beer thanks," and as she expected, Sam and Dean shared a look before fixing her with identical disapproving frowns and Dean opened his mouth to rebuke her, but Morgan burst out laughing, "Just kidding, you guys are easy," and she giggled her way out of the room with a quick backwards glance at the two of them, the surprised looks they shared sent her into another bout of laughter that echoed down the hall.
A moment later she heard a loud chorus of laughter from the kitchen and smiled to herself.
