Author's Note: Oh dear God, people, I am SO SORRY it took this long for the last chapter. Way back in May, I had an accident at work which left me without the use of my right hand for almost two months. Then I had problems reworking the ending so ... Yes, excuses are bad! Again, I apologize so profusely!
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Chapter 9
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Dean shut off the faucet and lifted his head. He almost didn't recognize himself in the bathroom mirror. A hand brushed the piece of gauze taped over his left eye – it'd finally stopped bleeding. Good. He wanted to avoid stitches, if possible. He preferred to keep his scars in the inside, where they couldn't be seen.
It'd been an awfully long morning. He glanced over his shoulder, using the mirror. He couldn't see Sam but Dean knew he was in the motel room. The local morning newscast was on. They'd all picked up the Tabitha Jordan shooting. Typical. It becomes more important than another girl's vicious murder when money was involved.
His gaze dropped to the white basin which was stained a weak pink with streaks of his own blood. He figured Sam wasn't handling the incident well. When he'd shown at the room a few hours earlier, he looked almost as bad as Dean did. Not physically but something had significantly mentally bitchslapped him.
He could still see the blank expression on Sam's face, the 9MM hanging loosely in the fingers of his right hand and that ... sadness in his eyes. He didn't need to ask, he knew then Sam hadn't done anything monumentally stupid to save him. "Monumentally stupid" was his deal. Still, when he learned Jaina was behind it, Dean felt responsible. He never should've showed her that gun. Yet, deep down, he knew if he hadn't, he probably wouldn't be alive now. Sam just didn't have it in him to kill anyone else, no matter what.
He shifted his attention to his reflection, and hiis mind flashed back to the nightmare. Sam, or what he thought was Sam, had offered him the opportunity to kill him. More like forcing him, but it made little difference. He couldn't even do it in a dream. What bugged him even more was the fact the nightmare was so different than the previous ones.
He'd thought it was Tabitha's doing, but after Sam told him Tabitha said people didn't last long against their greatest fears, he wasn't certain anymore. Somewhere, in the darkest corners of his own mind, did he actually believe Sam could become the sadistic bastard from his nightmare? If he did, what the hell was he fighting for?
His eyes closed as he bowed his head. Images from the nightmare flowed through his mind like a slideshow. Just seeing it again, the look in Sam's eyes, it disturbed him. Maybe Sam was capable. Then, Dean didn't think he was himself until he was forced into the situation. But that was purely survival. For Sam, in the nightmare, it wasn't about survival – it was fun for him.
Dean's eyes opened and he stared at the faint streaks of blood in the sink again. His mind drifted back to the last discussion he'd had with their father. 'There's something you need to know ...'
"Dean?"
Startled, but not showing it, Dean straightened as he looked in the mirror. Sam leaned through the doorway, that expression of half-concern/half-guilt on his face. "What is it?" he grumbled.
Sam's fingers nervously drummed against the wall for a few seconds then he replied, "We should really get moving."
"Why? We on the news or something?"
He shook his head. "No. It doesn't mean we won't be eventually."
Earlier that morning, when Audrey discovered exactly whom Sam was, she'd promised to keep it out of the press and away from Mr. Jordan as well. Also, with her help, Sam avoided dealing with the local police when they'd arrived. She'd basically shoved him out of the back door, without even a simple 'thank you'. Not that he'd expected one. It still would've been nice.
He wished he could've at least claimed her discretion was a gesture of gratitude. No, she made it abundantly clear a man like Steven Jordan and his daughter couldn't be linked in any way to "people like them". Either way, it didn't guarantee Jaina's or Mrs. Myers's silence, so the quicker they left town, the better.
Dean turned to face Sam. "What're they saying on the news?"
"Nothing much." Sam looked away. "They haven't released Jaina's name as the shooter." He knew how much the Jaina aspect bothered Dean. He kept running through the scene at Tabitha's house in his own head, trying to figure out if there was anything he could've done himself to have saved both girls. It was pointless pondering, he knew. Didn't stop him from doing it, though.
Dean nodded as he dried his hands on a nearby towel. "What do you think will happen?" He paused then focused on Sam's profile. "Think they'll cut her any slack?"
"I don't know," he honestly replied, shrugging. "They may take the alcohol and her grief into account ... but she already has a juvenile record for aggravated assault, Dean. Then there's the fact the father of the girl she shot is a powerful lawyer." He saw the expression on Dean's face then sighed, "I wish I could tell you a different story. It just doesn't look good for her at all."
Tossing the towel into the sink, Dean let out a heavy breath. "Well ... guess we can't do anything else here. We'd better hit the road."
Sam stared at Dean as Dean turned his back to him, to rinse the blood out of the sink, more than slightly gobsmacked by the reply. "You're not the least bit curious about Tabitha?"
Dean kept his head down, noting the tone in Sam's voice. His brother was trying not to be pissed at him, but was failing. "She was shot in the head. How could she be?" he flatly asked.
"She's in a coma. Her doctors aren't optimistic about her chances of waking up."
"Is that a bad thing, Sam?" He looked at Sam via the mirror, just in time to see Sam's eyes narrow at him. "With an ability like hers, with as friggin' whacked out as she'd got, how long would it have taken her to move up to 'mass murderer'? Not very."
"You'd write her off? Just like that?" He snapped his fingers.
"What the hell else should I do?"
Sam's eyes narrowed again. "You're a real jackass sometimes," he snapped, then vanished from the bathroom doorway.
"Hey!" Dean followed, grabbed him by the shoulder and half-whirled him around to face him. "What's your problem? What's with this pissy second grader crap?"
Sam scoffed. "Do I have to spell it out for you?"
Dean let him go. "In case you've forgotten in the last three hours, that bitch tried to kill me. So forgive me if I don't shed a tear for her or her current situation."
"Who's being the pissy second grader now?" Sam snorted. He shook his head. "Just ... never mind." He waved a dismissive hand as he went to his bed to pick up the last duffel bag in the room. "You don't understand. You don't want to understand. Let's go, all right?"
"Why in the hell I shouldn't be relieved some twisted chick isn't gonna hurt another innocent person? You're the one who likes to talk about every goddamn thing." He blocked Sam's path to the open motel room door. "Come on, man. Tell me."
After a moment, Sam threw the bag onto the floor between them. "All she cared about was what her father thought," he evenly said. "So scared that if he found she was different, and I don't mean like me, he would shut her out."
"And that gives her the right to kill innocent people? Come on, Sam!"
"No."
"Sounds like what you're sayin'."
"You know that's not what I meant. Didn't you look at it from her point of view?"
Dean only stared at him, unflinching.
"Do you ever look at the world from any point of view except your own?" Sam added, a bit more bitterly.
"We're not talking about Tabitha Jordan anymore, are we?"
Sam simply shook his head as he picked up the bag again. When he tried to pass Dean, his brother blocked his path. And kept doing so until he gave up.
"Are we?" Dean repeated, his eyes narrowing a little. He shoved Sam back when he attempted to go around him once more. "Where're you goin'?"
"Don't start," Sam warned, his tone cool this time.
"It's already started. What, do you still think I didn't give a damn back then? When you wanted to ditch us and do your college thing?" He paused as Sam averted his gaze. "You're talkin' about everyone else's point of view – what about Dad's? What about mine?"
"Dean - "
"Oh, no. This's been lurkin' around long enough, we're gonna get it cleared up right now."
He finally looked Dean in the eye. "All right. You want to clear some things up? Fine." He dropped the bag on the floor. "Let's. The dream you had last night was different." He saw the expression on Dean's face change. "I've been thinking on it for most of the morning and I can't come up with a decent explanation of why." Now it was Dean's turn to look away. "Why was it different? The first one was about the demon, that one was about me. What changed?" He waited a few seconds, then asked, almost demanded, "Are you hiding something from me? I swear, if I find out you are -"
"I don't know why it changed!" he angrily cut in. He still avoided looking Sam in the eye, though.
Sam studied him closely. "Tabitha said people never lasted long against their deepest fears." He paused, hoping Dean would stop lying to him for five minutes. "Why are you so scared I'll become ... that?"
"It was a goddamn dream, Sam. It doesn't mean anything," he shortly replied as he finally looked at him. "Just drop it." He saw Sam start to say something else. "I'm serious - drop it."
The following uncomfortable silence was interrupted by Dean's phone. After staring at Sam for two more "rings", he yanked it from his jacket pocket. "It's Ellen." One more "ring", he answered, "Yeah?"
"Nice way to answer your phone," came Ellen's voice from the other end. "Where are you two?"
"Still in Kansas." He glanced at Sam. "Why?"
"This Jordan shooting is all over the national news," she answered. "I suggest you boys high-tail it outta there quick." Her tone became less harsh. "What the hell happened, Dean?"
Dean bowed his head, finding the tops of his boots interesting as he considered his response. "I screwed up," he quietly said.
There was a pause on her end. "Just get out of town, all right?" she gently replied. "Small town like that, won't take long until somebody starts remembering strangers. You've got enough heat on you as it is. The both of you boys."
Massaging his temples with the fingers of his free hand, he sighed heavily as he nodded. "Thanks for the concern, Ellen."
"Not like you'll stop doin' things for anyone to get concerned about ..."
He smiled faintly, said goodbye and lowered the phone. "Ellen says it's all over the national news. We should get out while we still can." He finally looked at Sam again. "No tellin' when our names'll pop up, like I'm sure they will." He'd been glad for the interruption, as well as the excuse to drop the argument with Sam. Any longer, he might've let something slip.
"Yeah," Sam agreed with a nod. Whatever problems he and Dean still had, it'd have to wait for another day. That would work for him. "You want me to drive?" he asked as they left the motel room. Dean looked at him as though he were nuts. He shrugged then tossed the bag into the trunk and closed it. "Sorry. Thought I'd offer, considering what you've been through in the past 24 hours ..."
"Well, you can quit thinkin'," Dean replied as they both got in the car. "I've been through worse. I don't need you tryin' to baby me."
"Kind of hard to resist the urge when you act like one." He smiled slightly when Dean glared at him.
"Real funny," he flatly replied, an unamused expression on his face. He turned the Impala's engine over. At the same time, the tape deck kicked on and blared loudly.
"Exit light ...
Enter night ...
Take my hand ...
We're off to never-"
Dean's open palm slammed against the dashboard, making Sam jump a little. Immediately after it ejected, the tape was thrown over Dean's shoulder, onto the backseat.
Stunned and confused by Dean's violent response to the music, Sam glanced at the Metallica cassette tape teetering precariously on the edge of the seat, then asked, "What the hell's your problem?"
His eyes narrowed after he'd backed out of the parking space. He shifted the car into 'drive' and slid his gaze to Sam. "I hate that song," he muttered. When Sam made a move to change the radio station, he snapped, "Leave it."
"You took the wrong turn
At the city of dreams
You ended up back where
You came from, it seems ..."
"I thought you hated E.L.O.?" Sam replied, his hand backing away from the dash.
"Back there to where
There's nothing else to do
Back there to where you can sit
And think of only you ...
Cry, baby, cry ...
Tell me 'bout your lonesome lullaby ..."
Dean glanced at him again, frowning even more. "It's an E.L.O. kind of day."
"How's that?"
"It sucks."
With that, Dean's foot hit the gas, he pulled onto the two lane highway and they headed away from Tonganoxie. Away from Kansas. He never wanted to see this goddamned place ever again.
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The images flashed through his mind, almost like those on a television when someone is channel-surfing. Or the picture goes in and out, in a desperate attempt to 'tune' into a particular frequency. Also, they were muddled and made absolutely no sense to him. Glimpses of places he'd never been, people he'd never met, the sounds of songs and voices he'd never heard.
Until one of them came across clearly ...
He recognized the room immediately - the converted parlor at the Jordan home. At the piano, sat Tabitha. He wasn't in there physically, he could tell. Still, he seemed to approach her from behind. She never faltered in her playing or made any movement suggesting he was a presence she could sense. The tune was familiar. The lullaby, so melancholy.
The image fluttered. When it became clear again, Tabitha's playing came to a halt. Her head raised as she sat straight on the bench. Ever so slightly, she looked over her shoulder.
"You should be more careful when you dream ..." The young woman turned fully, looking directly at him. She bore no malice in her expression or gesture. Once again, the image flickered and was less clear when it steadied. "You never know who may be watching you ..."
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Sam awoke with a start. After a few seconds he realized it'd only been a dream – not a vision – he'd had of Tabitha Jordan. Rubbing the fingers of his good hand over his eyes, he struggled to sit up straight in passenger's seat. Outside of the window, the landscape, considerably more engaging than that of Kansas, whisked past. Probably Pennsylvania, by the look of it.
They were headed to their next job. It'd taken some convincing on his part but Sam managed to talk Dean into taking a break after what happened. Their "vacation" lasted almost a grand total of eight days. After nearly two weeks of no work, Dean declared he'd had enough and took on the first thing he could find.
"You all right?"
Sam glanced when Dean's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "I'm fine."
"Another nightmare-vision ... thing?"
A hand rubbed against his right temple, his eyes closing at the same time. "No."
Dean eyed him. "You lyin' to me?"
Sam's hand dropped into his lap as he looked over to him, slightly annoyed. "No, I'm not. Nothing out of the ordinary about it. Just a bad dream."
He gave his brother another suspicious glance. "You sure you're not lyin'?"
"Dean, nothing happened. I was asleep, I woke up. What, am I not allowed to do that anymore?"
"All right, all right."
However, Dean wasn't so sure. Even though Tabitha's fancy doctors were almost certain she'd never regain consciousness, he was still scared to sleep at night. Or during the day. He'd never tell Sam – or anyone else – that, either.
Fact was, they didn't know the range or details of the girl's ability. She'd been trained in controlling it by that yellow-eyed bastard. An already accomplished liar, who knew what the hell else she'd kept from them? If she managed to get inside his head again, he might not be so lucky the next time.
"You'd tell me, right?"
"Huh?" Sam turned away from the window again, curious. "Tell you what?"
"If something was up with that chick?"
He hesitated. Not long enough for Dean to notice, but just long enough for Sam to wonder if he truly would. He worried about how Dean would "handle" the situation should it arise. "Everything's fine. It was just a bad dream, that's all," he assured him.
'You should be more careful when you dream ...' Tabitha's warning resonated through his mind. 'You never know who may be watching you ...'
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End.
(Or is it?)
