Chapter Five

Hello

November 2nd – November 3rd, 2007

Jefferson City, Missouri

Dean

Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping

I shivered. The veil of unconsciousness was slowly lifting. I reached down, but didn't touch the roll of covers I thought should've been there. Instead I touched a cold, slightly creased bedspread. What the heck? I was lying on top of the covers. In my clothes and shoes.

"Shit," I mumbled. What the hell was going on? It felt like someone had shoved everything from pebbles to bedrock into my arms and legs. My head throbbed. I rolled over, which proved to be rather difficult – more difficult than it realistically should have – and opened my eyes. I shut them again to shield the sunlight streaming in through the breaks in the partially drawn curtains. What the heck was I doing lying on top of the covers? And why I was still fully dressed?

I struggled to force myself into a sitting position. I looked around the empty motel room, slightly disoriented. The bed closest to the window was empty and neatly made. I didn't hear the water running. Nor did I hear any movement in the bathroom. Sam must've gone out to a diner down the street for breakfast while I was asleep. Maybe… But, wait… Why wouldn't he wake me up to see if I wanted anything? Why would he leave while I was still sleeping?

Speaking of sleep… Crap, how long had I been out? My head felt thick; I felt like I'd been asleep for a week at least. When had I laid down? I rested my forehead in my hand, furrowing my brow, trying to remember. Funny… I couldn't remember anything. Not a damn thing. I rubbed my eyes and took another look around the room. I looked over to the empty bed, my eyes drifting to the floor. A duffle bag – Sam's I presumed – sat at the foot of the bed. I looked to the floor at the bottom of my bed. What the fuck? Why was there only one duffle bag? Where mine should've been, was the worn brown carpet of the motel room. I rubbed my eyes again and blinked hard. Maybe I was still in the process of waking up…

My eyes were drawn to the door. A key was being put into the lock. The door opened and Sam stepped through. With one take-out bag in his hand.

I managed to pull a smirk and I raised my hands in question. "Where's mine?"

He didn't look up – didn't even give the slightest movement of acknowledging me. I stood up and walked over to him. Well, more like stumbled over to him. He still didn't look up.

"Uh, Sam?" Was this some kind of joke? If it was, it was pretty lame.

He moved past me and sat on the bed. I followed and sat next to him. His head snapped to where the bed sank under my weight. Confusion caused lines of question to crease his forehead.

"What the hell?" His voice was tired and slightly hoarse. He looked away from me after a moment, shaking his head, his eyes losing focus. He dropped his face into his hands, a tired sigh escaping him. He raised his head and opened his eyes, staring into the bathroom. That's was when I noticed the dark, heavy bags under his eyes – he looked like he hadn't slept in months. He looked like he hadn't had a proper meal in weeks. I studied him for a moment, my eyes narrowed in slight confusion. When did his hair get so long? His bangs were now below his eyes and the rest might as well have been resting on his shoulders. When was the last time he saw a barber? Something was taking its toll on him. What was wrong? Was he caught in the middle of a grueling hunt? Dad wasn't asking too much of him, was he? Where was Dad? Did Dad send Sam back to the motel while he finished up? Was Dad even in the same state? I figured he wasn't; he rarely ever was. Was Sam on his own for this hunt? Was Sam okay?

"Sam?" I asked. He didn't flinch. "Sam?" I waved my hand in front of his face. "Earth to Sammy." Still nothing. My brows furrowed. He couldn't see me? Why? What was wrong? This was unbelievable. This felt like some evil practical joke… Or maybe I was hoping it was?

Sam and I were notorious for pulling horrible pranks on each other – the Nair I put in his shampoo, the itching powder I put in his underwear and then there was the crazy glue Sam put on my beer bottle and the shaving cream he put in my boots – but this took the cake. But would Sam even think of something his bad? Could he think of anything remotely close to this? Something told me no, but I was hoping…

Sam groaned, running his hands over the length of his face. "I'm going to bed right after supper."

I blinked. Supper? What the hell? What time was it anyway? My eyes searched the room for a clock. I found a digital one on the table between the two beds. 4:30. Okay… I know I was a heavy sleeper, but I was always up long before now…

I felt the bed rise slightly. The take-out bag had replaced Sam. I heard the bathroom door close, closely followed by the sound of running water. I looked at the stapled-shut bag on the bed beside me. Whatever was in it, it sure smelt good. My stomach grumbled angrily as though it had been empty for weeks. Now that I thought about it, it felt like it had been empty for weeks. I looked to the closed bathroom door then to the closed bag. Should I? Or wait until Sam was finished his shower and ask? Yeah, maybe I should wait… But, hold on… From the moment he entered the motel room, he didn't even acknowledge my presence. Not only that, my brother was gaunt, tired and just plain sad. But why? What had him like this? And why couldn't he see me? Or hear me? This didn't make any sense.

In my trance, I hadn't realized I had opened the bag and had started chowing down on the fries. Oh shit, this was Sam's supper. I heard the water shut off, and I hastily put the half of the fries I hadn't eaten back into the bag. I stood up, licking the salt and grease off of my fingers. I wiped my hands on my jeans and went to sit at the kitchen table. I stared at the bag, then looked down to my still greasy fingers. I just ate half of those fries. I actually ate the fries. My confusion level went up another five notches, and a small seed of fear planted itself in the pit of my stomach. I was capable of touching inanimate objects and of eating, yet my own brother couldn't see or hear me? What the hell? What was going on?

Sam came out of the bathroom, clad in a t-shirt and his boxers – his sleeping garb -, his hair wet and not combed back. This was very unlike him – he always had his hair combed back after a shower.

I watched him head over to his bed and stop short when he noticed the open bag. Dammit. In my haste, I'd forgotten to at least roll the top closed. Great. Now, I'd left Sam even more confused than he was when I'd sat down beside him.

I drummed my fingers on the kitchen table. Why had Sam been confused earlier? It wasn't like I'd never sat down on the same bed with him before. I mean, shit, I used to sleep in the same bed with him in the years after Mom died. What was going on?

"Maybe I opened it before I had my shower," Sam mused. Confusion and fatigue marred his voice. He sat down and I watched him pull out the closed Styrofoam box of now half-eaten fries. He opened it and his confusion turned to annoyance. "They chipped me again." He sighed. "Whatever."

I found myself sighing in relief. Huh… so the diner's chipped him before? And he didn't care? Something was definitely wrong. He was never really one to continuously complain about anything, but he never just shrugged things off with a "whatever" either. What the hell had him so exhausted and gaunt?

He unwrapped a cheeseburger and almost immediately bit into hit. Relief washed itself over his face. I blinked, looking from my brother to the bedside clock. That burger was gone in less than five minutes. I'd never seen him eat that fast since we were kids. But even then, he was never nearly as hungry as he appeared to be right now…

"What's going on, Sam? What's wrong?" I asked. I was worried. Well, worried wasn't the right word. I was downright scared with what was going on. I mean, here I was, sitting at the kitchen table watching him and he wasn't even making any notions he knew I was here. It looked like he couldn't even feel my gaze on him.

Sam crumpled the burger wrapper, setting it inside the empty Styrofoam box as he always did, and shoved the box in the bag. He threw the bag into the wastebasket and drew the covers back on the bed. He sat down, rubbing his eyes. What seemed like the hundredth time that evening, a sigh escaped him. He yawned immediately after. He looked at the down pillow for a short moment, before laying down.

I furrowed my brow. Bed? At five o'clock in the afternoon? Sure, Sam was known to go to bed early sometimes, but never this early… Although… I yawned. Now that I thought about it, going to bed sounded like a wonderful idea, despite the amount of sleep I was sure I'd gotten.

I started to stand up. Bad idea. The ancient, worn, yet somehow warm, brown carpet ended just a few feet after my bed, revealing an equally worn hardwood floor. Moving metal chair legs did not move over old hardwood floors silently…

The chair scraped across the floor loudly, causing Sam to abruptly sit up. He stared at the now-pushed-out chair, wide-eyed. Fear had now joined the fatigue in his bloodshot eyes. He swallowed and slowly looked from the chair to his duffle bag several times, which made me hope he would retrieve what I thought he was thinking about retrieving. Maybe, just maybe, it would confirm what I was really beginning to believe and fear.

"Get it, Sam," I pleaded. "Get the EMF."

But Sam was just sitting there, staring at the chair again. The fear in his eyes a moment ago was now disbelief and confusion. He ran a hand through his mop, then with a loud sigh, collapsed back onto the bed.

"God, this job," he spoke, "it fucks you up."

He was telling me. After twenty-three years, it did a lot more than that.

He adjusted himself on the pillow and rolled over. He didn't make another sound.

I waited about thirty minutes – just to be sure – before laying down on the other bed as quietly as I could. I didn't dare get underneath the covers despite the coolness of the room – my jean jacket didn't really offer much in the way of warmth. I did not want to scare Sam even more than I already had. In the morning, I would try and figure out what the hell was going on with me.

I slid my hand under the pillow – a force of habit – a little perturbed when I didn't feel anything but the bed sheets. Where was my knife?... In my duffle bag… which was probably – hopefully – in the car. I wasn't getting it now…

I pulled my hand out from beneath the pillow, laying it on my stomach. I closed my eyes and found myself drifting off to sleep easily – easier than I thought I would.

-0o0o-

The next morning, I made sure I was awake and out of bed long before Sam. I was back at the table watching my brother rummage through his duffle bag for something to wear, that hope of this being a horrible practical joke heading down the drain. He pulled himself into a black t-shirt and his faded blue jeans. I narrowed my eyes. Those jeans had always been a lighter shade of blue, but not that light. It looked like he'd sent them through a hundred wash cycles. When did they get so washed-out?

A shrilly ring brought my attention to Sam's jacket hanging over the kitchen chair across from me. He was quick to answer it as usual.

"Hello?… Hey Dad…"

I blinked. Dad? Dad actually phoned? For what? Was he alright?

"…Yeah, things are okay. Could be better… No, no change…"

No change? What did that mean? Did he mean change as in petty cash? Or was it something else? Or someone? Was someone hurt? Were they in the hospital? Who was it?

I slid out of the chair, careful not to move it, and moved over to my brother. "Sam, what's going on? Is someone hurt? Tell me–"

"…Yeah, I am… Soon… In a few minutes… Where are you?…"

I'd been wondering that too. Where was Dad?

"…Really?… Why don't you come by tonight or tomorrow morning and see Dean?… So? He'd still like it… Dad, he needs us right now – now more than ever…"

What the hell? Well, I wasn't going to deny that I felt like I needed my father and brother right now, but I was horribly confused. It didn't surprise me that Dad had taken off – that man had been married to the hunt since the night of Sam's six month birthday –, but I wanted… no, needed to know where he was. But why did I need them so badly? What was wrong? Why did I need them now more than ever?

"…Whatever, I'm too tired to argue right now… Yeah, well, I'm heading out to see Dean, so I'll talk to you later."

"Sam, I'm right here." I pointed to myself. Sam walked right by me into the bathroom. "What's going on?" No answer. "Answer me man! Fuck!" I was yelling by this point. I followed him, coming to a stop behind him as he watched himself brush his hair in the mirror. "Sam–"

I froze, my eyes drifting to the reflection in the glass. My stomach twisted itself into a tight, painful knot. An over-whelming fear seeped into me and I blinked hard several times. Outside the mirror, there were two Winchesters. Inside the mirror, there was only one. Sam.

"Holy shit." I tore my eyes away from the mirror, turning to my brother. The back of my eyes began to sting. I leaned against the corner of the sink with one hand. I blinked back the threatening tears. "What the hell is wrong with me?" I whispered. I looked back to my brother. "Sam?" My voice cracked. "What's wrong with me? What's going on?" I raised my hand and brought it down again, intending to clap Sam's shoulder. Indenting to being the key words there. But, my hand didn't stop on Sam's shoulder… My hand with through Sam's shoulder. What the fuck? I tried to touch Sam a second time, third, fourth… This was crazy!

I saw a facecloth hanging over the edge of the sink. I picked it up.

Sam's head snapped to the facecloth in my hand. His face went pale and his eyes widened. It was like I was in a movie. Like that one, Ghost with Patrick Swayze.

I promptly dropped the facecloth in the sink and made a beeline for the kitchen chair.

"What the heck?" The colour was slowly returning to Sam's face, but the shock and fear was no less visible. He left the bathroom, zeroing in on his duffle bag. He tore through it, t-shirts, jeans, socks and underwear spewing out of it. "Where are you?" Another pair of underwear jumped to escape Sam's fury. He sighed. "Gotcha," he announced. The black, metal form of the EMF detector was clutched in his left hand and a rock salt gun was in his right. He marched back into the bathroom and momentarily disappeared from my sight.

I didn't dare follow him this time. Instead, I opted to stay put. A moment later, I heard a familiar scratchy squeal…

I swallowed. I didn't know what to think. The EMF was picking me up? But that would mean… No! I couldn't be! No! Why? How? What happened to me? WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON?!

Sam appeared in the bathroom doorway. The EMF was still squealing away. It was still picking me up. Damn… Sam scanned the room, his eyes narrow, searching.

He nodded softly, decision setting into his face. He tossed the EMF and rock salt gun back into his duffle bag, and stuffed his feet into his shoes. He shoved himself into his jacket, grabbed his motel room key and left, locking the door. The comforting sound of the Impala's purr came through the walls, followed by the gunning of the engine. Then silence…

I sat there for a long moment, dumbfounded and downright terrified. On legs that suddenly felt an awful lot like jelly, I slowly stood up and semi-stumbled into the bathroom. I stood in front of the mirror again. All I could see was the wall and towel rack behind me. I picked up the facecloth from the sink and forced myself to look in the mirror again. I felt the colour drain from my face as I watched the cloth "float". No wonder Sam had been so freaked when I moved the chair last night and when I picked up the facecloth the first time… I'd be pretty freaked too if a facecloth in a motel room started levitating.

I set the facecloth back on the edge of the sink and turned, mechanically. The bed was directly in front of me and suddenly looked so welcoming. I shuffled to it, sliding in under the covers. I welcomed the warmth. I snuggled in, the blankets becoming a temporary shield. I felt vulnerable and suddenly alone in the silent, empty motel room. I closed my eyes. I wished I had followed Sam out that door. I had to find out what the hell was wrong with me and it wasn't like I could just ask. Dammit. I sighed, and within moments, everything faded to black and I felt unconsciousness pull me under.

-0o0o-

I was antsy. My legs jumped underneath the blankets. I was staring at a corner of the ceiling where two egg-shell walls met behind the door. A rather large black spider moved about, spinning a web. I watched it move from one wall to the other to the ceiling and back again. I found it amazing how a creature hated by so many could be so graceful and so interesting to watch… Or maybe I was just horribly bored out of my cotton-pickin' skull…

I threw the covers back and pulled myself out of bed. I maneuvered my way around the beds going to look out the window for the first time in two days. Hues of purple and pink painted the sky. The sun was setting to my left. In front of me, deciduous trees were in various stages of shedding their leaves. The parking spot directly in front of the motel room door was still empty.

I chewed my bottom lip. Sam had mentioned he was going to see me when he was talking to Dad. Where was I? Where was Dad and what was his excuse for not coming by this time?… But as I thought about what I had heard of the conversation, Sam had been happy to hear from Dad and there was no real arguing between the two Winchesters. In fact, it sounded like Sam had been trying to keep the argument from escalating. I smiled. Kudos to Sammy.

I opened the curtains a little more and sat on Sam's bed. I perched my chin in the palm of my hand and watched the cars and people pass by on the street. AC/DC's "Thunderstruck" began playing in my mind and I started humming along with it. I nearly laughed. Was I really so bored I was sitting here, humming Thunderstruck and watching the world go by? Now all I needed was an old house, a front porch and a walker. But, nonetheless, here I was, watching a world that, at the moment, couldn't see me, and thus had no clue I was watching it.

I had hoped sitting here would help me feel better. The only thing it helped me feel was lonely. And that all of this really was real. I wracked my brain trying to remember something, anything of what happened to me. I wracked and prodded my mind for I don't know how long, but wasn't granted anything. Except a dull headache.

I scratched my left knee. My right knee bounced. I was getting antsy again. I looked back out the window. It looked like it was a nice day; many people were out in thin sweaters. Maybe a walk would help me organize my very muddled thoughts. I got up and headed for the door.

Wait, Dean, my always-present but often-ignored inner voice piped up. Someone might see you. Dammit. Why do voices of reason always have to be right? Backdoor. I quickly headed to it, and as quietly as humanly possible, opened it. I poked my head out the doorway. The coast was clear. I stepped out, closing the door softly behind me. A cool breeze whipped around the corner, forcing me to wrap my denim jacket around myself. It was cooler than I thought. Oh well; I could tolerate it.

I rounded the corner and crossed the parking lot. The sky was now hued red and orange and still provided enough light. Long shadows lay over the ground. I looked down and promptly frowned. Where my shadow should've been intermingled with a small Poplar tree, was just the gravel shoulder of the highway. I couldn't even cast a shadow? This was ridiculous!

You know when you've been asleep for a while and you start to realize that you're dreaming? You want to wake up, but your body won't let you? It's incredibly annoying, especially if you're dreaming something you really don't want to dream. But, nonetheless, that's how I felt. I had to be dreaming. I probably dreamt the whole Ghost sequence and the EMF blitz…

I pinched myself. And it hurt… Shit. I wasn't sleeping. Everything – every single thing that had happened over the past twenty-four hours was real. I chewed my bottom lip. None of the motorists gave me any acknowledgement as I walked along the shoulder of the highway. I knew I couldn't go too far – I had no idea where I was. I had no idea what happened to me or why.

I've never been religious, even after meeting Layla and Reverend LaGrange, but I looked skyward anyway. "Why?" I asked softly. "What happened? What did I do?" Was this punishment for something I'd done? Was this a test? Why me? Didn't the man upstairs realize I had a job to do? I had a Demon to catch and a family to keep together. How could I accomplish either of those things if I was like this? Was this what purgatory was like? Was this what it was like to be like the things I hunted? Whatever this was, I hated it.

-0o0o-

The sun went down and the wind started to blow cold. I found myself wishing I had my leather jacket. I also found myself wishing I could get out of these clothes. Jeans, a grey t-shirt and a denim jacket did nothing against mid-autumn weather – especially after sundown. Not to mention, it had started raining.

Vehicles still passed me on the highway – eighteen wheelers mostly – and I often had to shield my eyes from their headlights. I didn't know which was worse; the headlights themselves or the glare on the wet asphalt.

I shivered. Despite the cars on the highway and the couple walking on the opposite side, I felt alone. It was worse than when I had been hunting by myself after Sam left for Stanford. At least then, I had the locals to talk to and still had the liberty of flirting with a woman. Right now, I had nobody and it was driving me insane. I wanted someone to talk to. Sam would've been ideal, or Missouri Moseley. Or hell, even an argument with Cassie would've been perfect. At least I'd have someone to communicate with and it would be a far cry better than my current situation…

The green Vacancy sign flickered in the corner of my eye. I sighed in relief. The rain was turning to sleet and I was freezing. I broke into a jog and didn't stop until I'd reached the motel parking lot. The Impala was in the parking space in front of the motel room door. Sam was back. But the room was in darkness. Crap. Sam couldn't have been in bed already? It was only… What time was it? I couldn't have been out that long…

I crossed the parking lot and cupping the sides of my eyes with my hands, I looked into the room. Sam wasn't there. It looked like he hadn't been there for a while. I reached for the doorknob. It turned but the door didn't open. I rolled my eyes. Of course it would be locked – why wouldn't it? Sam wasn't stupid.

I patted my jeans' pockets. Maybe – hopefully – I still had the lock picks on me. My necklace was still around my neck and my ring was still on my right ring-finger… why wouldn't I still have my lock picks? I felt my jacket pocket. Ah ha! I pulled them out of the right pocket.

After making sure no one was in the immediate vicinity, I knelt down. I worked at the lock until I heard the click of the deadbolt retracting. I returned the lock picks to my pocket, then turned the doorknob. The door swung open and I moved to take a step inside. My eyes caught something white on the floor. I blinked. That wasn't what I thought it was, was it? I couldn't have scared Sam that much…

I knelt down. Shit… Sam had lined the doorway with salt. He thought I was a spirit… Well, I did set the EMF detector off, and I probably would've done the same thing in this situation. Crap, now I knew how ghosts felt… But would the salt actually repel me? Was I the classic definition of a ghost? I mean, Sam had told Dad he was going to see me… But if I had been in the motel room when Sam left to see me, then there the hell did he go? How could I be in two places at once?

I backed up, closing the door. I hurried around to the backdoor. Hopefully it was still unlocked from when I'd left earlier. I tried it. It was unlocked, but in the same condition as the front. Salt lined the doorway. I sighed, taking a moment to look around the room. Cat's eye shells sat on the end table between the two beds. Shit… A salt ring and cat's eye shells? Had I really scared Sam that much?

I swallowed and uttered a curse. What was I to do now? Where would I go? It was ten o'clock, sleeting and I was tired and cold.

I made my way back around to the front. My eyes locked on the Impala sitting there in front of the motel room door. She might not have offered much in the way of warming me up by this point, but inside, she was dry and comfortable. Not to mention, she was always open.

I went to the passenger side backdoor, smiling at the familiar reluctant squeak when it opened. I didn't care of anyone saw the door "magically" open and close. All I cared about, was I was in the only familiar thing in this city. She was the best friend anyone could ask for – strong, steady, always unchanging, loyal… But more than that, she was a little piece of the home I'd left behind when I was just barely old enough to remember. In all actuality, she was the only permanent home I ever had, and until the Demon was killed, she always would be. Heck, she might continue to be even after that…

I lay down on the leather seat, curling up as best I could. Being 6'1", it proved to be quite difficult, but I managed to get comfortable enough. I lay on my back, my feet laying semi-haphazardly on the floor behind the passenger seat.

I stared at the ceiling of the car. I didn't want to believe any of this was real. It was just… confusing and I didn't have the slightest grasp of what was going on. All I was acutely aware of, was Sam couldn't see or hear me and I had scared him so badly he went so far as to line the motel room doors and windows with salt…

If I was a spirit, how the hell did I scare Sam as much as I did? Was he hunting something? Was it nastier than a spirit? A shapeshifter or a demon or something? Did he think I was whatever he was hunting? Maybe he thought it was after him, hence the salt and the cat's eye shells.And since it seemed like I was now something supernatural… That thought sent shivers coursing through every inch of my body. I was the very thing I hunted – a spirit… But I was in two places at once… Out-of-body experience maybe?

No! If I was having one of those, that would mean I was close to death… Why? How? What the hell happened to me?!

My eyes drifted to the back window. Stars twinkled in the sky and the moon was half full. I wasn't the praying type – the only person, outside of Sam, I ever prayed for was Layla – but I found myself doing just that. I prayed for someone to talk to, someone to find me, I needed to know what happened to me…

"I need help," I said aloud, weak and defeated. Tears stung at my eyes, but I didn't care. Nobody could see or hear me anyway. "Help me?"

Oh, God, please… Help.