Chapter IX - Witness

"So you really feel okay," Dad asked for the umpteenth time since we took Uncle Dean to the clinic to double-check the reverend's work.

"I feel fine, Sam," Uncle Dean said, his voice lacking emotion. I don't know about him, but if I was given a second chance like he did, I would probably be a little happy that I didn't have a set death-date.

I tried to focus on some out-dated gossip magazine. This thing was so old it talked about Mandy Moore's upcoming world tour. Did she just fall off the map a few years ago? Of course, my mind kept returning to what happened earlier with Reverend le Grange, the healer, and the fact that Uncle Dean wasn't going to die.

"Well, uh…" the doctor walked in, looking at a clipboard that held Uncle Dean's test results, "according to your tests, there is nothing wrong with your heart—no sign that there ever was." The doctor sighed. "Not that a man your age and health stats should have heart trouble." She shrugged. "Strange, it still happens."

"What do you mean strange?" Uncle Dean asked.

"Just yesterday, a guy like you—forty, physically fit—died of a heart attack."

Some sort of light bulb went off in Uncle Dean's head. I have a feeling that the two of us have the same theory: somehow, Uncle Dean being healed of a heart attack could have triggered someone else to have one.

"Thanks doc," Uncle Dean said.

"No problem." The doctor left, leaving the three of us alone.

"Well…isn't that odd," Uncle Dean said.

"Maybe it's just a coincidence," Dad said. "People's hearts give out all the time, man."

"No they don't."

"Look Dean, do we really have to look this one in the mouth? Let's just be thankful that the guy saved your life and move on."

"I have to agree with Uncle Dean on this one," I said. "Something just isn't right, here."

"What is wrong with you guys?" Dad asked.

Answer: too many things to list.

"Look, I just can't shake this feeling, that's why," Uncle Dean replied, not really answering Dad's question.

"What feeling?" Dad whispered. For once, he was out of the psychic loop.

If whatever Uncle Dean was feeling was at all psychic. I just know I felt something funky back there.

Uncle Dean shrugged on his coat. "When I was healed," he went on to explain, "it felt…wrong. I felt cold and for a second I saw someone—a man. I'm telling you, Sam, it was a spirit."

So, I did feel something back there—a spirit, according to Uncle Dean.

But I still wasn't sure that it was a spirit.

"But if there was something there, me and Liz would have seen it too," Dad countered. "We have been seeing some weird stuff lately."

"Why do you automatically assume that I didn't see it?" I asked him.

"Did you?"

"Well…no, not really. But I felt something odd."

"I guess Sam isn't the psychic wonder we all think he is. Maybe you should have a little faith on this one."

Dad still didn't look convinced.

"I have been hunting long enough to trust a feeling like this. Between that and Liz's…feeling, I think we can come to the conclusion that something is seriously not right here."

Dad gave a small little chuckle, like something Uncle Dean said was funny. "Alright," Dad said, with a sigh, "what do you want to do?"

"You go check out the heart attack guy and I'll go visit the reverend," Uncle Dean said.

"And I'll…?"

"Be at the motel room," Dad answered for me.

Of course.

-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-

It seems like every time something bad is going to go down, I'm rejected to either the Impala or a motel room. I feel like I am just some nuisance that Dad and Uncle Dean are forced to deal with while they do their job.

Maybe Dad should have let me live with Aunt Natasha, that way I would be out of their hair and they can focus on the hunt.

I tried to focus on school. I still haven't figured out the difference between a metaphor and a simile and I really, really hope Dad doesn't notice that I completely bombed my algebra test.

Define foreshadow…

I rolled my eyes. An event that takes place that predicts what might happen later on.

AKA: my life.

"Hey Liz," Dad said upon entering the motel room.

"What did you find out?" I asked, my ever-curious mind wondering what happened.

Dad sighed. "Liz, I'd rather not get into this right now."

"Dad, I just want to know," I said, getting defensive. "You always tell Uncle Dean what you find out, why can't you tell me?"

"Because it's his job—not yours," Dad argued, throwing his jacket onto the chair by the table. "You should be focusing on school." Dad's eyes narrowed at me. "Speaking of which, why did you get a D on your last math test?"

Because I was too worried about you and Uncle Dean on the last hunt you guys were on, was my original answer. But I went with the typical, "I did my best."

"Liz, your grades have been slipping. Back in Palo Alto, you were practically a straight-A student. What happened?"

I slammed my computer shut in irritation. "Where have you been in the last few months if you have to ask a question like that?"

"Don't get mouthy with me," Dad warned. "I'm not the one with barely passing grades."

"Well sor-ry if I'm not the perfect little student that you were."

Dad sighed. "I wasn't perfect—"

"Then don't expect me to be!"

"I don't expect you to be perfect. I expect you to do your best and I damn well know that having a C-minus-average is not your best."

"What does it matter? I'm pretty much stuck with this life."

"No, you're not. I got out and went to college."

"Yeah, and look how well that turned out. You got Mom knocked up, had me and now we have freaky psychic powers that we don't understand."

"Look, that might not have been ideal. But I still got out of this life."

"Yeah, and got shoved right back into it."

"This is my problem. This isn't your problem. I am going to make damn sure that this isn't your life."

"Maybe it is, Dad. You and Uncle Dean are always complaining about the Winchester curse. News flash, Dad: I'm a Winchester!"

"Don't think I don't know that! But this isn't your fight."

"Yes, it is," I cried. "I watched Mom die on the ceiling. This is just as much my fight as it is your fight."

Dad's face fell. "Liz, I'm sorry. I—"

"Don't be," I interrupted, grabbing my jacket from the couch.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Out."

Just as I was about to leave, Uncle Dean opened the door. I shoved past him, determined to get away from Dad. However, I doubt that I could ever get far enough away.

I stepped outside and was hit by the cold. It was raining anymore, but a chill hung in the air. I pulled my jacket tighter around me. Why didn't I grab the thicker one?

I didn't realize that I was crying until I unconsciously wiped them away. Dad and I never fought like that. The biggest thing that we have ever really argued about was whether to have French toast or pancakes for breakfast.

I would give anything to have that life back. Back then, I thought life was difficult between school and friend issues and Mom and Dad actually expecting me to be responsible. It might all seem so meager now, but that sure as hell beats hunting and the skeevy motel rooms and the stupid psychic powers.

I sat down on the nearest bench. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the one number that I have memorized over the years.

"Hello," Mrs. Jackson's voice rang through the speaker.

"Hey, it's Liz. Is Lily there?"

"No, she isn't." My heart sank. "She's in school right now…which is where you should be."

Mrs. Jackson wasn't a huge fan of me in the first place, since I was the one who introduced Lily to horror movies. Now, since we had to explain to her what Dad and Uncle Dean do for a living, she probably thinks I'm demon spawn or something. "Can you just have Lily call me back when she gets home?"

"Alright," Mrs. Jackson said. Without another word, she hung up.

I slammed the phone shut. Well, that conversation did nothing to help me.

"How did I get here…how the hell?

Pan left, close to the remains of my life"

That made me smile. Halloween was one of my favorite songs from RENT and it recaps what has happened so far in the musical. It is such a simple song but it has so much meaning behind it as well. But, maybe I am just overanalyzing it, like I always do.

"How did I get here...how the hell?

Halloween…Halloween last year"

Although it would fit the title song better, it just doesn't have the same ring to it.

"Why did Uncle Dean knock on our door?

And Dad chose that moment to reconnect with his past?

Why did Mom have to die?

Why am I the witness and when I try to do the right thing

Will it mean that this will never end and I am lost?"

I used to think Mark Cohen would be an amazing part to play on RENT.

Now I realize that it sucks.

I didn't know how long I sat on that bench.

"Mind if I sit here?"

I turned sharply to see Uncle Dean standing next to me. He motioned towards the spot next to me on the bench. I nodded my reply, not really trusting my voice.

Uncle Dean sat down with a sigh. "Sam told me what happened."

I didn't say anything.

"I remember him and Dad were always at each other's throats," Uncle Dean continued. "A day didn't go by where I had to be the mediator and stop them before they harmed themselves or others." He sighed. "I guess I always hoped that you two were different since you didn't grow up with a drill sergeant for a father."

I snorted in annoyance. "I guess J.K. Rowling was right: history always repeats itself."

"What?"

"Never mind," I said. "It's just…ever since this whole thing started, I feel like Dad is forgetting that I exist and is only focused on finding Grandpa and whatever killed Mom and Grandma. I mean, he stopped being a father, just like yours did."

Uncle Dean placed a tentative hand on my shoulder. "This job will do that to people. That's one of the reasons why Sam got out in the first place. That's one of the reasons why he wants you to go to college."

We tapered off into silence. I had no clue what to say about that. Dad was only looking out for me and I reacted like a total bitch.

"I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be apologizing to me," Uncle Dean said.

"I know but…I don't know if I can face him. I'm not great with awkward confrontation."

"Now, I'm surprised by that. You always stand up for what is right."

"There's a difference between standing up for what is right and dealing with the shit you've created."

"Look, short stuff, life is all about dealing with shit."

"I'm not going to be short forever," I countered. "I mean, look at my parents."

"Yeah, whatever you say," Uncle Dean said, rolling his eyes. "But, still, you need to talk to Sam, whether you want to or not."

"Why?"

"Because, you love each other and I don't want you two to end up like Sam and Dad."

"When did you get so wise?" I asked.

"Almost dying will do that to a person." Uncle Dean smirked. "And the fact that I am amazing helps to."

I rolled my eyes. "I hope you realize that you just totally ruined this moment."

"Good, I hate chick-flick moments," Uncle Dean stood up. "How about you and Sam kiss and make-up and then we go get some food—I'm starved."