The Illusionist

Chapter 10 : The Rain Song

The vibration from the thunder woke him from his dreamless sleep. The motel room was dark and chilly, the clock on the nightstand flashing 12:00 AM, meaning sometime while he was passed out, the power had surged. He was so exhausted that he hadn't even noticed.

It took a moment for him to realize that he was alone, his father no where in sight. Green eyes darted to the bathroom, only to find the door wide open and the lights off. Panic started to rise in his congested chest.

He left you. You knew this day was coming...

He shook his head, and rubbed his tired eyes, inwardly hoping that he was wrong. Dean knew his dad meant well. Times were tough, and life was hard, especially without Sam, but they were managing. To an extent anyway.

The twenty-three year old pulled himself up off the motel bed, taking note that his boots were still on as well as his coat, and Sam's hoodie, of course.

He walked over to the window, lightning flashing across the darkened night sky, temporarily lighting up the heavens. He watched it for a moment, a part of him wishing he could still hear the crackle of thunder that followed, one of the many sounds he missed from time to time.

He shrugged off the thought, and scanned the parking lot, the Impala nowhere in sight. He pulled out his phone to check the time, knowing it had to be late when it vibrated in his hands, NEW TEXT MESSAGE flashing across the screen. His brow narrowed as he flipped open the phone, Sam's name staring up at him. Reluctantly, he pushed the TALK button to open the message, almost afraid of what it might say. He hadn't responded back to his little brother after the incident with his father in the car. Three days had passed since then.

You'd better be alright, Dean.

He couldn't help but smile at the message. He could read the threatening undertone that was in between the lines, but he could still kick his little brother's ass any day of the week. The upward turn of his lips slowly faded though, knowing Sam wasn't going to like the text he was about to receive. Carefully, Dean typed a response.

Im fine Sammy. Dad found out that we still speak.

He waited for the reply, tucking a thumbnail nervously between two teeth. His phone buzzed less than thirty seconds later.

So? What, are you not allowed talk to me anymore or something?

Dean shook his head, wanting to laugh at Sam. Even when the nineteen-year old was angry, he still had to text each sentence perfectly.

No. Thats not it.

Dean had seen the look in his father's eyes when he saw Sam's face beaming back up at him from the phone screen. The man had looked absolutely crushed, and Dean hated the fact that he'd been the one to do that to him.

Then what's the problem, Dean? Do you not want to speak to me anymore because the old man's upset? Whatever.

Dean's jaw clenched at the last word, not liking the finality of it. His fingers hurriedly worked the buttons once more.

Come on Sammy. Dont get ur panties in a bunch. I was just letting you know. He misses you you know.

He waited, and waited a few more minutes without getting another text back so he tried again.

Sammy you can stop acting like a princess now ok?

Lightning lit up the world outside again as he took a seat near the window at the small wooden motel provided table. He sighed, and looked down at the dark screen of his phone, feeling the ache in his chest grow.

Way to go, Dean. Way to go.

He ran a frustrated hand through his too-long hair, making a mental note that it needed to be cut soon. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he realized a file folder was laying open on the table in front of him. A cough escaped his lips as he reached for it, feeling utterly blind for not seeing it sooner. He slid it closer, and peered down at the newspaper clippings.

There were a few from the real estate section, Dean taking note that it was the same house up for sale three times in the last two years, the price declining greatly with each new listing. Tired eyes scanned over the rest of the pages, the main headlines indicating that a child had died at the address twelve years previous.

Shit.

The more they dealt with cases involving children, the more he hated what he had to do; because somehow, in some way, shape, or form, the kid ended up reminding him of Sam, and made him feel guilty for banishing the poor thing's soul from its plane of existence.

Another cough escaped his lips, and he could feel the congestion rattling around in his chest that time. He tried to shake it off, but another coughing fit decided to erupt and replace the old one. After what felt like an hour, but couldn't have been more than a few minutes, it subsided, just as his father opened the motel door.

Dean looked up, trying desperately to blink away the involuntary tears that had flooded his eyes as a result of the fit, hoping John wouldn't be able to see them due to the lights not being on.

"Are you trying to go blind too?" his father asked a bit harshly, sending an incredulous stare his way as the older hunter flipped on the light switch.

"No, sir," he immediately responded, heat rising to his cheeks as he felt the congestion still coating his throat, and constricting his voice. He cleared his throat and tried again, praying that it didn't come out in some high-pitched squeak like it probably had before.

"Right," John stated, his brow still narrowed in disbelief. "Got something to eat," he said, motioning towards the plastic bag he sat down on the table.

Dean nodded in thanks, but didn't even attempt to reach for the bag's contents. Instead, he glanced back down at the file, then back up at his father. "Looks like we've got our work—"

His words were cut off by another coughing fit, sending more phlegm around inside his chest and up his throat. He hurriedly spit into the nearest wastebasket, and wiped his mouth. He forced himself to look at his father, preparing himself for the constant disappointment the man always wore on his face, but was instead met with a slightly worried one; an expression he hadn't seen on John's face in quite awhile. Hell, years.

"I think I can handle this one on my own," John declared, staring at the twenty-three year old with a narrowed brow as he sat down at the table.

The words made Dean sit up straighter, a pleading look crossing his slightly fever-lit eyes.

He doesn't need you anymore...that's not concern in his eyes for you, that's concern for himself...you're weak, and just getting weaker...he'll leave and won't be back...

The thoughts raced endlessly through his exhausted brain, forcing him to push them away, and attempt to speak. "I'm fine, sir. Really," Dean said, though he felt far from it. An ache was painstakingly making its way across his forehead, and down throughout his sinuses; and the back of his throat was starting to feel raw and scratchy from all the coughing. It didn't help that every time he breathed, it felt as though he was going to start coughing all over again.

John sent an annoyed glare his way, disbelief still written clearly across his face as he pulled a Styrofoam container from the plastic bag. "You've got one chance, Dean," he said sternly, and even though he knew the kid couldn't hear him, he made sure he could read the expression on his face. "If you screw up, then you're off the case. You got it?"

Dean breathed a careful sigh of relief and nodded in understanding. "So when do we check out the house? Tonight?" He tried to look as hopeful as possible, but judging from the look on his father's face, he was probably coming across as desperate.

"At 08:00 hours. I've already spoken to the owner and that's when he's agreed to meet with us," the older hunter replied, digging into his food. He paused when he realized he was the only one eating. "You gonna let it get cold or what?" he asked, pushing the bag towards his son.

Dean looked up from the open file, his eyes immediately shooting to John's lips, realizing he'd missed something.

John could feel the anger start to simmer when he saw the confused look on Dean's face. "Are you gonna eat or did I just waste five dollars trying to feed your ungrateful ass?"

The twenty-three year old could feel something stir in his chest at the anger that was starting to radiate off his father, and this time it had nothing to do with his cold. He quickly pulled the container over, and opened it, though the food that sat inside looked anything but appetizing. He swallowed hard, trying to force down the nausea that was creeping up his throat, but as he continued to stare at the greasy mess that was his meal, the task became harder and harder.

"I'm...," Dean paused, almost afraid to finish his sentence. "I'm not really hungry," he said, easing the container away from himself, and staring back down at the contents of the folder. It only took three seconds to feel an iron grip on his wrist. He jerked his head up, feverish green eyes staring at the man who called himself his father.

"Money isn't exactly easy to come by, Dean, so I suggest you eat that or you'll be fending for yourself for the next week." The man spoke through gritted teeth, making it even harder for the younger hunter to know exactly what he was saying.

Dean watched his father's lips stop moving, then let his gaze trail back to the food that was getting colder by the minute. He swallowed down the awful taste in his mouth again, trying not to wince when his father's grip grew tighter. "I'm just not hungry, Dad. I'm sorry," the whispered words left the younger hunter's lips, his sore, scratchy throat making his voice come out in a higher pitch than normal. He felt John's grip immediately disappear, but he still steadied himself for the impending storm. He knew better than to expect anything less. He was upsetting his father again, but this time he just couldn't help it.

He waited a few seconds more, expecting some type of force to hit him in the face, but nothing ever came. He wondered, before he let himself attempt to make eye contact with his father, if this wasn't some trick or game; make him feel safe momentarily, then strike when he was truly not expecting it, but as he let his eyes rise to meet John's, he saw that the man was no longer looking at him. Instead, the older hunter had put all his concentration into eating, and was ignoring the younger hunter.

Dean quickly swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat (he had no idea where it had come from), and continued studying the micro-film printed pages in front of him, inwardly hating the fact that his father had went into his own version of the silent treatment. He wasn't sure what was worse: the man treating him as though he was just short of being invisible but still managed to somehow get in his way and under his skin; or treating him like he was his shadow, something that he walked on, never spoke to, and completely disregarded as being anything close to relevant.

Less than five minutes later, he felt the table shake slightly and the vibration from the other chair sliding across the floor, indicating that the older hunter had gotten up. Without another word directed towards Dean, the younger hunter watched his father toss his trash into the nearby wastebasket, double check the salt lines in the room, and then, head over to his bed, all without so much as a "goodnight."

Dean took one last look at the still full container of food that was meant for him before dumping it as well. He rose quietly and carefully, shrugging off his jacket and boots, and slid under the covers on his bed. He made sure to keep the hoodie on, zipping it up further almost to his chin. He let one last glance stray to John's bed, but the older man hadn't seen it; he was lying on his side facing the other way.

Dean let out what he hoped was a silent sigh, and pulled the hoodie tighter around himself, drifting off to a restless sleep, while thoughts about his dad and Sam both ignoring him simultaneously raced around his mind.

A/N: I just want to thank all of you that have reviewed, and put me on your fav and alert lists. I can't say enough how much I appreciate it, and even though it's taking me forever to update this story, I still intend to finish it. Thank you all again! :)