Dean was, for lack of a better word, pouting. Waking up, confused and alone, had been weird. Waking up in a hospital and realizing that no one could hear or see him had caused a minor freak out. Realizing he hadn't actually woken up at all caused his current state. He had stared at his body for a full minute before the realization had come. Then he had begun pacing in disbelief, telling himself over and over again that this had to be a dream, and that he would wake up soon. Ten minutes later, and plenty of pinches in between, Dean had come to terms with his out of body appearance. The acceptance hadn't stop him from pouting in the corner of the room, though.
Seriously, why hadn't anyone come to check on him yet? What happened to the rest of them after the crash? Maybe they were laid up somewhere in the hospital, too. If all three of them were hurt that badly… Crap, he didn't want to think about it. Dean crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. His eyes, once again, darted over to his unconscious body. Dressed in patient scrubs with a tube down his throat. What a way to go. Well, at least his ass wasn't out in the open. Glowering, Dean almost didn't notice his brother step into the room. When he did, he took in a sharp breath.
A sight for sore eye he was, even with his face scratched up. It wasn't worse than the ugly bruises on his own face, that's for sure. "Sammy…!" Dean hurried over to his brother, not stopping himself from grinning. "You look good… considering." He chuckled lightly, but his brother ignored him. Dean frowned as Sam stepped closer to the hospital bed. "Man, tell me you can hear me…" No response to him at all. Sam only mumbled something under his breath and shook his head. "How's dad? And Trace? Are they okay?" All of his questions went unheard. "Come on! You're the psychic—give me some ghost whispering or something!"
"Your father's awake." A new voice caused Dean to turn his attention to the door. A man—probably a doctor—stood in the threshold. Sam turned to face the new arrival. "You can go see him if you like."
"Oh, thank God!" Dean sighed in relief.
Good news, finally. He shifted his gaze to his brother, but Sam didn't seem to share the same relief. The youngest Winchester frowned and looked down at the floor for a moment. "Doc, what about my brother? And my girlfriend?" he questioned. Dean looked back at the doctor, hoping for more good news. The man's expression hadn't changed, so maybe…?
"They both sustained pretty serious injuries," he began. "Ms. Noland's legs took the worse of the damage. The bones were broken and her nervous system was affected. At the moment, she is not responding to outside stimuli. Once she wakes up, we can give her a better assessment, but… in my experience, I don't believe she will be using her legs for quite a while. Maybe not ever." Dean obnoxiously scoffed. Clearly, this guy had never examined a Slayer before. Get some food in the tiny tank, and she would be good as new. "She will live, though."
"And Dean…?" Sam obviously wasn't going to be happy until he heard that all of them were going to be alright.
"Your brother, on the other hand-" That was not a good start. "-suffered blood loss and contusions to his liver and kidney. In fact, most of his internal organs are severely bruised. I've never seen anything like it—definitely not from a car crash. We've done all we can to stop the internal bleeding. It will take time, but eventually he will heal. It's the head trauma that I'm worried about. There's early signs of cerebral edema." Dean watched enough medical dramas to know what the hell that meant. Swelling in his brain…? Not good. He was pretty sure it was life threatening.
"Well, what can we do?" Sam asked.
"We won't know his full condition until he wakes up," the doctor replied. "If he wakes up."
"If…?!" An incredulous voice from the hallway caused all three men to turn. There, sitting in a wheelchair, was the tiny tank herself. Like him, she wore the same attire, though the white shirt seemed a little big on her. With her fingers gripping the top of the wheels, Tracee appeared hella angry. Her brown eyes were sharp and focused on the giver of bad news. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail, he could clearly see the cuts on her face and neck. She had visible bruising as well. In her lap, there was a tanned bucket. Inside the bucket were her clothes inside a large plastic bag. Maybe her shoes were in there, too. "Doctor, there's no if about it. Dean will wake up."
"Ms. Noland… I-" he seemed flabbergasted. "We weren't expecting you to wake up until tomorrow."
"I take lots of vitamins," Tracee countered testily. "Now back to Dean—what the hell makes you think he doesn't have a chance of waking?"
The doctor cleared his throat. "I have to be honest," he said. "Most people with this degree of injury wouldn't have survived this long. He's fighting very hard. But you need to have realistic expectations. He might not make it through this." The anger drained from Tracee's face and in its place was horrified shock. Sam didn't look any better at the news. His brother clenched his jaw and turned unreadable eyes to the corner of the room.
"Come on, Sam! Go find some hoodoo priest to lay some mojo on me," Dean told him. "I'll be fine!" The attempt had reassurance went right over his brother's head. "Sam…!" Growing frustrated, he, again, realized that no one could actually hear him. Tracee rolled into the room just as the doctor walked out. Desperate, he moved towards her, dropping down to his knee beside her wheelchair. "Hey, Trace…! You're kinda psychic, too, right? You can sense me, at least, right?"
She didn't acknowledge him at all. Tracee lifted her left hand and carefully intertwined her fingers with Sam's right. His brother took in a shaky breath. "Tracee, I-" He swallowed hard, gripping her hand. Sam shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "No, this isn't it. This can't—if the doctors can't do anything, then I will. I'll just… find some hoodoo priest and lay some mojo on him. Dean choked out a laugh. Tracee gave the younger brother a crooked half-smile before she shifted her attention to the unconscious body. "I'm gonna go tell dad."
"I think I'll stay," Tracee said.
"Are you sure?" Sam asked. Slowly, the tiny tank nodded her head. "Alright… Dad's room is just down the hall—three rooms down." Tracee nodded again. Sam lowered himself to kiss the side of her forehead. "I'll be back soon." She hummed a bit. With a sigh, Sam released her hand, and then turned to head out. Dean moved to follow, but he halted for a moment.
"Trace, I'm gonna be fine," he told her, though she couldn't hear him. Again, Tracee hadn't acknowledged the words and hadn't turned her solemn gaze away from the hospital bed. Dean sighed heavily, and then continued on to catch up to his brother.
0-0
It was quiet. So bloody quiet. The sounds of medical equipment and conversations happening outside the room were all muffled to her. Muted even. The atmosphere was eerie and uncomfortable. Honestly, it chilled her to the bone. Hospitals weren't her favorite place to be, and with good reason. Over a decade later, and she couldn't escape the silence of a hospital, waiting for an inevitable outcome. Tracee remained in the wheelchair, quietly staring at the body of Dean Winchester. The only difference had to be that she had been allowed to be up close and personal to the dying. The joys of being an adult.
She shut her eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow breath. She hoped to God that it didn't happen again. Dean Winchester had become someone she could care about unequivocally. To lose him now…? It would be a cruel fate. Honestly, she didn't know what she would do after. Tracee didn't want to think of an after without Dean. Her eyes opened and drifted back to the rise and fall of his chest. It was hard to swallow, watching him slip away. If only he hadn't stolen that demon's attention. Shouldn't he have realized that no matter what torture that bastard inflicted, she would heal? It had been her job take whatever pain so that they wouldn't have to. She had failed, and now Dean would pay the price.
Tracee released a breath with a shudder. Oh, God… Her chest suddenly grew tight, and her eyes stung. She had failed. All this bloody power she possessed, but she couldn't save one of the people that mattered most? What was the point then? "Dean, you have to wake up," she murmured, gaze darting to his face. She shook her head. "I can't do this without both of you… I won't do this without both of you. So you've got to get up. We've got things to slay and people to save. We've got to hunt this yellowed-eyed bastard for everything he's done."
Expectedly, Dean didn't even twitch at her plea. Tracee sighed heavily and closed her eyes again. Her head tilted down as she mentally cursed the demon that had done this. It wasn't her demon to kill, but if she ever had a chance to get her hands on it, it would be torture before death. No question. Whatever Sam's reservations, she was certain he would agree to it if Dean didn't survive. He better survive. Please survive.
The sound of buzzing broke through her thoughts. Tracee blinked rapidly and swallowed. She breathed deeply to compose herself, and then shifted in her seat. Before leaving her own hospital room, she had grabbed her personal items. She hadn't planned on returning to that room if she could help it, so her clothes and shoes had been taken along for the ride to Dean's room. Clearing her throat, she opened the plastic container, and then sifted through her clothes.
Honestly, she had been surprise that her cell phone had made it through the crash. There were cracks, but the device still functioned properly. Grabbing a hold of the cell phone, she flipped it open, not bothering to read the screen. "Hello…?" she greeted, voice coming out far more tired than she had wanted to let on.
"Tracee, you will not believe the night I had…!"
"Cassie…?"
"Yeah, of course. Wait a minute… Wh-What's wrong?"
She didn't know why, but hearing the sound of her best friend's voice, while her other best friend lied on his death bed, set her off somehow. The tears she had been holding back—desperately holding back—began pouring like a waterfall. Tracee tried her best to explain the situation through the tears, but she could only manage incoherent babbling. She could tell because through the loud sobbing, she could somewhat hear Cassie asking over and over again 'What's wrong?' in an increasingly frustrated tone of voice.
"C-Cass-Cassie…!" she blubbered. Through teary sight, she looked at Dean. "I don-don't know what to do! Dea-Dean's… Dean is…! He's hurt, Cassie! He's hurt real bad, and I-" Her sobs began choking her again. Straining, she coughed out the rest of her rambles. "We-We were in a car cra-crash… The doc-doctor said that… the-they don't know if he'll ever wake up! He's dying!"
"No… H-He can't…"
"He is… and I-I can't help him. I don't know what to do…" Tracee whimpered.
"… What hospital?"
"What?"
"What hospital are you at, Tracee?!"
0-0
Sam had tried. He had tried so hard to calm down on his way back to the hospital. He tried breathing deeply. He tried thinking of more positive things, but nothing worked. His mind continuously drifted back to the items he carried in the duffel bag. Like a good little soldier, he had followed the order and had gotten the items on the list that his dad had given. But he had to hear from Bobby that the combination of items were not used to ward away demons. Admittedly, he was pretty upset about that, but the thing that caused his anger was more serious. His own father had lied to him. Again. When he hadn't needed to.
God—Sam thought his dad had gotten pass the deception, but apparently it would never happen. No matter what. No matter if his own sons talked to him about it. No matter if a stranger yelled at him for it. John Winchester was set in his ways, and absolutely nothing would stop his lone wolf mindset.
Scowling, Sam forced himself not to stomp into his dad's hospital room. He walked by the bed and went straight to the window. On second thought, maybe he should have went to Tracee first. She had a knack for calming him down. The younger Winchester gripped the strap of the bag as he shut his eyes. He attempted bringing her to mind, visualizing her pretty face on the chance that it would help. "You're quiet…" John remarked. The moment he had spoken had been the moment the chance had been lost. Sam breathed in through his nose before facing his father. He stepped forward, nearly slamming the bag on to the bed. His father had the nerve to look offended.
"You think I wouldn't find out?" he nearly growled. John's nerves of steel were amazing because his expression morphed into confusion as he asked what Sam could possibly be talking about. "That stuff from Bobby! You don't use it to ward off a demon—you use it to summon one!" John pursed his lips, closed his eyes, and sighed. All the confirmation that Sam needed. His anger spiked at the sight. "You're planning on bringing the demon here, aren't you? Having some stupid. Macho. Showdown. Once again. By yourself."
"I have a plan, Sam," John attempted to reassure him.
"That's exactly my point!" Sam shouted. "You have a plan! Dean is dying and you have a plan all by yourself to go after this demon! You still don't trust me! After everything! But that's not my main concern!" It was, and it hurt, but he cared more about his brother's state than the trust of man with too many barriers. "You'd go off to kill this demon instead of trying to help your own son!"
"Don't you tell me how I feel!" John shouted back. "I am doing this for Dean!"
"No the fuck you're not! You're not thinking about anyone but yourself!" Sam yelled. "It's always been for yourself! Always! It's the same selfish obsession!"
"That's funny—I thought this was your obsession, too! This demon killed your mother, killed your girlfriend!" John jabbed a finger in his direction. "You begged me to be part of this hunt! Now, if you killed that damn thing when you had the chance, none of this would have happened!"
Sam physically stumbled back. Not at the bite of his accusation, but at the shock of the revelation. This man in front of him—his father—was the exact same man Sam had left behind years ago. This was the same argument. They had just been going around in circles this whole time. His father hadn't changed. His father was stuck in the past. Nothing could get through to him. Not yelling. Not reason. Not love. He would always be the same man—one who was more than willing to sacrifice himself for this hunt despite the people left behind.
Sam clenched his jaw tight, realizing that at some point, he had been just like John Winchester—hell bent on revenge for that thing that had murdered Jessica. And if he hadn't been just like him, then he had certainly been on the path to becoming the man in front of him. Looking at a mirror seemed hard. No wonder they always butted heads. Sam looked down at the floor for a moment before turning his gaze to his father.
"You know what, dad? I'm not going to keep doing this with you," he started. "You can't see anything beyond the past. I'm not going to waste my time regressing back to the past just to argue with you. Because I'm looking at the here and now. And right now, my brother is dying. My girlfriend is three doors down, more upset about the possibility of Dean's death than his own father." John opened his mouth, looking as though he might protest, but Sam gave him no time. "So go ahead and do whatever it is that you think you need to do. Alone. Like always. Get your revenge. Sacrifice yourself. Whatever it is, it's not gonna help Dean now, so I don't want any part of it. I guess we really are different, after all."
Not waiting for John's reaction, Sam turned and left the room. He felt horrible, but right now, there were more important things than the Demon. He couldn't keep focusing on a personal vendetta when the person he cared about most was fighting off death. Yes, he hated that Jessica's killer still breathed. Yes, he hated the Demon for taking away a mother's love before he had the chance to receive it—to really know and appreciate it like Dean had. But he couldn't let those reasons dictate the rest of his life. He couldn't let himself die over those reasons, not when there were other factors to live for. He couldn't become John Winchester.
Sam took in a deep breath, preparing to pick up the pace to Dean's room, but before he could, he was nearly knocked over by a gaggle of nurses, hurriedly making their way down the hall. He watched them, eyebrows furrowed as they veered to the left… and into his brother's room. A sharp gasp left his mouth as fear took hold of his insides. He quickly rushed forward. Just as he made it to the entrance of the room, Tracee was wheeled out and told to wait outside. Her expression pale and horrified. Eyes wide and rimmed in red, she stared into the room.
Hesitantly, Sam stood by her side and looked into the room as well. The doctor was frantically trying to revive his brother. A nurse continued to state that a pulse couldn't be found. His brother's heart monitor was at a flat-line. Sam strained to keep breathing, but his lungs weren't listening. "No…" he pleaded in a whisper. Not Dean. Please, not Dean. Through blurry eyes, he stared as shock after shock went into Dean's body, and yet the horrible sound of the monitor didn't change.
"No change," the doctor announced. "Starting CPR."
I said get back…!
Sam reared back, blinking in confusion. Had he just…? His eyes darted across the room, but there was nothing. But he could have sworn he just heard Dean shout. His voice had been muffled, like an echo, and angry. But it had been him, hadn't it? Before he could contemplate any further, the machine's tone changed. Sam focused on the people surrounding his brother. "We have a pulse," one of the nurses stated. He breathed out in relief as the woman continued speaking. His legs nearly gave out he was so relieved. Oh, God, this was the worst. Dean had come so close. He almost lost his brother.
"Oh my God… Oh my God," Tracee's voice caught his attention. Sam turned to see that her palms were covering her face as she whimpered out over and over again. Had it only taken a little over three months for her to care so much? Shakily, he dropped down to his knees in front of her wheelchair.
"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay," Sam assured her. He gently wrapped his fingers around her wrists and pulled her hands from her face. Her cheeks were wet with tears. He hurt to see her like this. In so much pain at the thought of losing Dean… "It's okay… It's gonna be okay," he whispered. Tracee sniffled and shut her eyes, trying to nod—trying hard to compose herself. Sam sighed, pressing his forehead against hers. "It's gonna be okay," he repeated, determined to convince her and himself. "We'll think of something. We're not losing him. Okay?"
"O-Okay," Tracee agreed. She sniffed several times before he felt her nod. "Okay."
Sam reared back, hands reaching up. His fingertips brushed against her cheeks, wiping at her tears. She sniffled once more before she opened her eyes. Finally, her breathing came under control again, and she stared back at him, appearing exhausted. He knew the feeling all too well. Tracee bit her lower lip, and then reached for his face. Her wet palms cupped his cheeks, and her thumbs caressed the skin under his eyes. Sam hadn't realized he had been crying, too. Swallowing hard, he squeezed his eyes shut. Tracee's arms wrapped around his neck, and he easily relaxed into her embrace.
Face buried in the crook her neck, he, wrapped his arms around her torso. Her warm touch had been exactly what he needed right now. That had been too close. He needed to figure out something, and he needed to do it quickly. Dean didn't have the luxury of time right now. Sam rubbed his nose back and forth against Tracee's skin, and breathed deeply. He just needed to calm down and think. Pinching his brow together, he remembered. "I heard him…" he murmured.
"You what…?" Tracee asked.
Sam slowly, and reluctantly, released his hold on his girlfriend. She did the same. "I think I heard Dean," he told her. "Like he was just out of eyeshot, or something. Right before the doctor started the CPR, I heard him yelling at something." Tracee scratched at her neck, appearing unsure.
"I didn't sense anything," she stated.
"Well… he's not dead, so maybe he's not a proper spirit," Sam said. "His body is still alive, so maybe that's why you can't sense him." Tracee nodded her head in understanding. "I think… I wanna try something. It might not work, but… it might get us closer to figuring out something." She nodded again in agreement. "I have to leave to pick it up, but I'll be quick."
"Be careful," she said.
"You, too." He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, and then stood to his full height. Sam thought about going down the opposite way to report back to John, but… What would be the point in that? At the moment, he couldn't stand the sight of his father. He internally scoffed before moving towards the exit. Maybe he would attempt another conversation when he returned. After seeing if his idea worked or not.
0-0
The moment Sam and Tracee had started wiping at each other tears had been the moment Dean had decided to turn and walk away. One: it had been a private moment between a couple, and he hadn't needed to see it. Hadn't wanted to see it either. Two: it had made him a bit uneasy. Tracee had never cried before. He hadn't seen it. So to see her tears—an actual breakdown…? It had been alarming, totally out of character for her. Dean had known she cared, but… Well, he had expected anger—maybe she'd destroy a hospital wing or two in her rage—but tears had been completely unexpected.
So yeah, he had essentially run away. He still wasn't a talky-feely type of person like those two were, but he was sure they would have launched into talky-feely mode if he had stayed longer. Dean had something more important to do, anyway. He needed to find this spirit before it tried another attempt on his life. Dean quickly moved down the hallway. He looked in every room in search of the spirit. So far, he couldn't find it, but it was only a matter of time.
"Can't you see me?!"
A cry of panic caught his attention, stopping him in his tracks. Dean turned his head, eyes darting towards where the voice had come from. Normally, a cry in a hospital wouldn't put him on alert—not really. But the words of the cry had been too similar to his own after he had woke up. The voice came again, more alarmed than before, demanding anyone to just talk to her. Similar, indeed. Dean headed towards the voice, noting the high pitch. Most likely, he was about to encounter a scared chick.
So he followed the sounds and came across, as expected, a woman, frantically going up the stairs, demanded people's attention. Her cries were useless. The people ignored her as though she hadn't been there. Dean ignored his initial impulse of getting the girl's attention and calming her down. Eventually, she would turn around and noticed that he was staring directly at her. It gave him the time to address a few things. He had been 'spirit hunter' in this building for more than a few hours now. Sure, he had kept to his floor, close to his room and hovering around his dad's room, but there were plenty of people in the hospital. Why had he suddenly heard from someone else in his predicament? Honestly, it was weird. Had no one else, in a hospital, been close to death?
Dean narrowed his eyes a bit as he watched the girl finally turn around, expression twisted in desperation. She had fair skin, pitch black hair, cut just above her shoulders, and bright grey eyes… maybe. He couldn't really see the color of her eyes from the bottom of the flight of stairs. She had pink pouty lips and a button nose. Definitely a cutie. The girl seemed to be in his age group. Like him, she wore patient scrubs, but the shirt she wore had obviously been made for a woman. Dean idly wondered why Tracee's shirt had been a plain t-shirt while this girl had buttons. Most of those buttons were undone, revealing a bit more of her chest.
The girl's eyes zeroed in on him. Her mouth dropped open as she continued to stare, clearly unsure on how to proceed. Dean had been nearly gawking at her, but hadn't tried to make contact. Maybe she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her? He should probably open his mouth and say something so she could relax. But he kept quiet, waiting for the girl to make the first move. He still wasn't sure about this whole situation, after all. No need to jump the gun without having, at least, most of the facts. Now was not the time to rely on luck.
The girl, still watching him, dropped down a step. "You…" she finally addressed him. "You can see me, can't you?" She came down a few more steps. "Tell me you can see me, please!" Dean finally nodded his head, responding to her. "Oh, thank God!" Clearly relieved, she moved forward until she joined him at the bottom of the flight of steps. Now that she was standing beside him, he noted that she was shorter than him. Maybe a little taller than Tracee. "What's happening to me?" she questioned. "Am… Am I dead?"
Dean hadn't known how long this girl had been wandering the halls of the hospital, but judging from the sudden screaming, he guessed that it hadn't been long. Hell, no more than a couple of minutes. Not many people would jump to 'dead' that quickly, would they? Maybe if she had seen her body first, but her confusion at the situation squashed that idea. If she had seen her body, she wouldn't have been freaked out that people couldn't see her. Still, everyone was different in their reactions to certain things, so… he wasn't about to judge just yet.
"First things first," Dean said. "You should, uh, calm down. You know, take a second to breathe." The girl continued staring at him. The relief had left her eyes, and she seemed suck in a state of confusion. Dean stopped himself from sighing. Sam was way better at this. "Alright… What's your name?"
"T-Tessa…" she answered.
"Alright, Tessa, I don't know the answers to those questions," Dean told her. "It sorta depends on where you woke up. I might be able to answer some questions if you can show me." Tessa hesitantly nodded her head. "Let's go then."
Again, she nodded, and then turned on her heel. She quietly led him down the hallway, and Dean followed her. They walked in silence for a few moments before Tessa came to a stop outside a room. She looked inside and just stared, face devoid of any recognizable emotion. She was just blank. Dean came to stand beside her, gaze looking into the room as well. Seemingly, the girl's body lied in bed, hooked up to machines. There was another woman in the room, sitting at the side of the bed. The woman had the girl's hand clasped in her own hands.
"I don't understand," Tessa murmured. "I just came in for an appendectomy."
Dean was no doctor, but he knew that that particular surgery had a very low fatality rate. Too many medical dramas, probably. Tessa shouldn't be close to death from that type of surgery, should she? Was her situation really that similar to his even though they had been brought in under very different circumstances? Dean scoffed inwardly, wondering if he should have read more on astral projection rather than tossing that book over his shoulder, but like most of those old books, the contents had been boring as hell.
"It's just a dream, that's all," Tessa whispered as she shook her head. The action drew Dean's attention. The girl stepped forward, but then turned to face him. "This is just a very weird, unbelievably vivid dream."
Dean felt sympathy for the girl. He, himself, had run to the denial stage more times than he could remember before Sam had showed up to his room. So he knew what she might be feeling. "Tessa, this isn't a dream," he told her. "If it's anything like what's happening to me, we've become something like spirits, trapped until we cross over."
"Cross over…?" Tessa repeated. "You mean dying? We're gonna to die?"
"Not necessarily," Dean answered. "We can hold on while our bodies get better. We do that, we can snap back and wake up."
The disbelief left her expression, and a look of contemplation took its place. That had been a quick transition, and Dean wasn't sure what to make of it just yet. Tessa averted her gaze elsewhere and made no comment to his assumption. It had been an assumption, or at the least a white lie. He believed that whatever was haunting the halls of this hospital was to blame for their predicament. Killing it was probably the most sure fire way of snapping them back in their bodies. But springing news of his world on her would probably be overwhelming, so he kept the knowledge of the ghosty bastard to himself.
Tessa sighed, heavy and quiet, and then walked away. With nothing better to do at the moment, Dean followed after her. The longer they walked, the less tense her shoulders appeared. When she had become completely relaxed, he stepped to her side and matched her pace. She swung her arms like she didn't have a care. He frowned and crossed his own arms. Something about this was nagging him, but he didn't know what just yet. "I gotta say, I'm impressed," he began. Tessa gave an inquisitive hum. "I mean, most people in your spot would be jello by now, but, uh, you're taking this pretty well. Maybe a little better than just about anyone."
"Don't get me wrong," Tessa said, turning to face him. Her eyes didn't met his, though. Hm. "I was pretty freaked at first. But now, I don't know, maybe I'm dealing?"
"You're okay with dying?" Dean asked incredulously.
"No, of course not!" she responded, scoffing lightly. Again, she wouldn't look him in the eye. The nagging feeling grew stronger. Damn it—what was it? He wished the nagging could be a little less cryptic. "I just think… whatever's gonna happen is gonna happen. It's out of my control. It's just fate."
"Well, that's crap," Dean said, giving a scoff of his own. "You always have a choice. You can either roll over and die, or keep fighting no matter wha-" The beginnings of his rant were cut short by a couple of nurses running by. He tensed in anticipation and turned to watch the nurses hurriedly make their way down the hall he and Tessa had come from. This might be a chance to confront the thing that was going around sucking the life out of people.
"Dean, where are you going?" Tessa questioned.
"Just wait here!" he told her, and then took off in a sprint after the nurses. In the corner of his mind, the nagging had turned into a sharp jab, but he honestly didn't know why. Nor could he really think about it right now. Dean might have only one shot at this. He had to hurry and try saving someone.
He raced to the end of the hall. The nurses had gone into the last room on the left. Dean moved closer, hearing the flat-line of a heart monitor. Crap. Swallowing, he focused on the apparition hover above the bed. Its fingers brushed against the patient's face. Double crap. The patience was just a kid. "Get away from her!" he shouted, stepping closer. Before he could attempt to grab it, the apparition faded from view, leaving him to stand there, searching frantically. But it had disappeared completely. Gritting his teeth, Dean turned back towards the bed just in time to watch the doctor pull his fingers away from the girl's neck.
"Alright, let's call it," he said, gaze dropping in resignation.
"Time of death," one of the nurses began, looking at her watch. "5:11 P.M."
"At least she's not suffering anymore," another nurse soberly remarked.
Dean turned his attention back to the child, realization forming in his mind. Suffering. Death. Dying. This wasn't an angry spirit, going around and picking off the weak. This was a Reaper, doing its job. Triple crap. That meant he couldn't kill this thing. Even if he tried, he wouldn't be able to. Dean furiously rubbed at his forehead. Death was coming for him, and it wouldn't stop until its job was done. Crap. Slowly, Dean turned, walking out of the room. He walked back to where he had left Tessa, but she seemingly disappeared.
He frowned, but he honestly didn't have the energy to go looking. He was going to die. She was going to die. This Reaper would take them both because that's what it had been created to do. Dean exhaled sharply as he moved. "I'm gonna die," he said out loud, voice going numb. Clenching his hands into fists, he headed in the direction of his room. No. He couldn't. He couldn't! No way that this was how he died. No way that this was his time to go. No.
Dean shuffled back to his room, going right through the closed door. Tracee was the only one in the room. She had moved her wheelchair to the left side of the bed. She sat back in the chair, eyes as exhausted as the rest of her body. She probably hadn't gotten any sleep. Same with Sam. Speaking of his brother, he wasn't anywhere in sight. Maybe talking to dad right now…? Dean sighed again, moving closer to his hospital bed. He crossed his arms. "Tracee…" he started. "I don't wanna die, but I don't know what I'm gonna do against a Reaper. I know I said I was gonna be fine, but…" He shook his head. Then he scoffed. "I don't know if I can still promise that."
"You'll be fine," Tracee suddenly spoke. Eyes darting in surprise, he focused on the tiny tank. For a heartbeat of a second, he thought she had heard him. But she kept her eyes on his body and not his spirit form. He deflated like a tire pierced by a rusty nail. "You're going to wake up… because God wouldn't do this to me again."
"God…?" Dean scoffed. "He doesn't care, Trace. Doesn't even exist." He scowled, wondering why religion had never been brought up before. He had assumed that Tracee wasn't the religious sort. "Whatever! You keep praying, or whatever it is you're doing, I'm gonna go sulk and think of a way to get this Reaper off my ass."
Before he could head over to the corner of the room, he heard the door open. Sam came in, holding a large brown paper bag. "Hey," Tracee greeted him as he stepped over to the right side of the bed. Sam gave her a tired smile before his eyes focused on the body in the bed. "What'd you get?"
"If Dean really is here, I thought maybe we could try to communicate with him," Sam explained. He shrugged and shook his head. "It was the only thing I could think of." His turned his head, eyes looking around the room. "If you're here, don't make fun of me for this, but… this might help." He pulled a rectangular box from the paper bag.
"You have got to be kidding me!" Dean exclaimed, realizing what Sam had gotten.
"An Ouija board?!" Tracee nearly shrieked, obviously mirroring the bewilderment he had felt. Dean should have seen something like this coming. His psychic brother couldn't sense him, so he decided to buy a novelty toy that definitely would not be able to sense him. Wonderful. And he had meant that with the most sarcasm he could muster. "And not even that. That's clearly a generic version, Samuel."
"They didn't have the real thing," he replied with a sheepish shrug. His brother headed over to the foot of the bed. He sank down to the floor and began unpacking the board and its triangular piece of wood used for the talking. "You want to try…?"
"Shyeah… No, I've seen too many horror films, darling," Tracee answered with a shake of her head. "You go right ahead. I'll protect you from anything evil." She wheeled herself closer, giving herself a nice view of the upcoming séance.
A slight chuckle slipped out of Sam's mouth as he set the box to the side of him. "Good to know." Tracee rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. He took a deep breath before looking around the room. "Dean…?" he began. "Dean, are you here?"
The spirit in question rolled his eyes and shook his head. He dropped his arms and went over to his overly optimistic brother. "God, I feel like I'm at a slumber party," he muttered, dropping down to sit across from Sam. He sighed heavily. "Alright, Sammy, but this isn't gonna work." Sitting with his legs cross, he reached for the wooden triangle, copying his brother's posture. He blinked in surprise when his fingers didn't go through the communication device. His eyebrows rose as he began moving the indicator towards his response. Sam gasped, clearly just as surprised. "I'll be damned."
"Sam, what the fuck?" Tracee hissed. "Are you just doing that to prove a point?"
"No!" he laughed out. "I'm not moving it at all. It's Dean! It's Dean!" Tracee visibly swallowed, face scrunched up. She scratched at her neck, and then pushed herself from the chair. Groaning in pain, she made her way over. "Hey, be careful!" She physically swatted away at his concern, and then finished limping towards them. She grimaced as she lowered herself near Sam. "Are your legs okay?"
"They will be," Tracee replied. "Think the nerves are healing now." She grimaced again, and then focused on the board. "Ask him something only he would know—make sure it's him. Like… Like ask him if he really does enjoy my rapping skills." With an almost vehement swipe to the left, Dean made sure they both saw that his answer was a firm 'NO.' "Well, it's definitely him—the ninny." Tracee crossed her arms with a huff as Sam burst out laughing. Dean had to chuckle himself. Only the tiny tank would think of something like that to confirm his identity. Even though she had gone towards her British accent, the smile on her face outweighed her irritation.
"Oh, God, Dean…!" Sam sighed in relief. "You have no idea how much I've missed this—the three of us—it hasn't been the same without you." Tracee nodded her head in agreement, and then moved a bit closer to get a better view of the board.
"Damn straight," Dean remarked. "Okay, let's see…" He focused on the board, wondering how he could explain the situation in a few words. Something simple first. He knew that Sam would quickly catch on and fill in the blanks, so he spelled out the word 'hunt.' As expected, his brother guessed correctly, and asked if he had been hunting. His answer of 'yes' made Tracee scoff.
"Really, Dean? On your death bed, and you're hunting?" She huffed lightly, resting her hands on her knees. "I can't tell if that's W.P.S or just straight W.S."
"What's W.S.?" Sam asked.
"Winchester Shit," Tracee stated, completely unapologetic. Dean chose this moment to spell out 'bite me.' "That's funny. I didn't think wanting to be bitten was a hereditary trait." At first, he didn't understand, but a quick glance in Sam's direction—seeing his red face—caused the innuendo to click. Gross…! And he had opened the door for that one, hadn't he? Scowling, Dean spelled out 'gross.' Tracee only chuckled. "This is fun, let's ask him something else." She put her hand on the triangle, grinning all the while. Then she flinched, violently, and seemingly recoiled away from him. Lips parted and eyes wide, she seemed to stare right at him.
"Trace…? You're looking at me," Dean said. "You're definitely looking at me, right?"
"Tracee? What's wrong?" Sam asked, noticing her mute horror.
"I…" she began, slowly turning towards her boyfriend. She licked her lips, and her eyes glanced in Dean's direction again. "I can see him. I see Dean. He's right there in front of you."
"You can see me?! Holy crap!"
"You can see him?!" Sam questioned at the same time.
"Sh-Shyeah… It's him. He looks pretty solid," Tracee replied. "He's talking, but I can't hear him. And I can't read lips, so…"
"Really?" Dean huffed out, disappointed. Just when he thought he didn't have to use this board to get his message across.
"Still, it's impressive that you can see him at all," Sam said. "You think this is a Slayer thing?"
"I'm not sure," Tracee muttered. "Slayers are able to sense spirits, that's true, but I wasn't able to sense Dean at all before. Probably because he's not a proper spirit like you said. And even then, I can only see spirits if they actively choose to reveal themselves."
"So its Dean that's making it possible?"
"I don't know, but we can experiment to see," Tracee suggested. Sam agreed with a nod. Dean had almost forgotten that his companions were the biggest nerds he knew. Of course they would want to experiment and question new information. They couldn't help themselves. "Okay, Dean, take your hands away from the plachette." Noticing the 'huh' look on his face, Tracee rolled her eyes. "The triangle, Dean."
"Could have just said that," Dean shrugged. He then, as told, took his fingers from the plachette. Tracee then announced that she could not see him anymore. Honestly, he felt a little uneasy about that, so it took only a second to place his fingers on the triangle again. Tracee sighed in relief as her eyes focused on his form again.
"I don't think it's a Slayer thing," Tracee commented. "I don't think its Dean's doing either. Samuel, try sensing him like you did before."
"I wasn't trying to sense him, though," Sam admitted. "It just sorta happened."
"Well, now you are trying," she replied. "You can do it, darling." Her right hand left the triangle and rested on Sam's left. "Just like with the telekinesis. Concentrate and visualize like before, but focus on Dean inst-"
"I can see him," Sam interrupted.
"… That was fast. Wow, good job, Samuel."
"Yeah, I'm not trying," he told her, eyes honed in on Dean.
"Well, that's weird," Dean mentioned. "Can you lip read, or is seeing me all but useless? Figures—two different psychics and we can't communicate without a bloody crystal ball!"
"I can hear you!" Sam exclaimed.
"I can, too," Tracee stated, flatly. "And don't think I didn't hear that 'bloody' part. I'm going to have to tell my father. He'd be so proud."
"Let's focus here," Sam cut in before Dean would retort. "How is this possible? I just bought this thing from a regular store. It says mystical, but I highly doubt it." He looked down at the triangle with narrowed eyes.
"Let's try…" Tracee trailed off, removing her right hand from Sam. "Can you still see him?" His brother lifted his gaze, but his eyes were no longer focused. He looked as though he was staring at the wall behind Dean instead of at Dean. Solemnly, Sam shook his head. Tracee touched his skin again, and Sam stated that he was able to see again. "Okay, now, take your hands completely off." Sam did so, and after a few seconds, he said he couldn't see Dean. "I can't see him either."
Sam visibly swallowed. He looked at Tracee, and she stared back at him. Dean could see the gears shifting. They were about to come to a conclusion that he couldn't begin to understand. Sam pressed his lips together and looked down at the board. "I… It's me… I think I'm somehow using my psychic thing," he said.
"What? What does visions and telekinesis have to do with anything?" Dean questioned.
"Because he also has telepathic abilities," Tracee supplied. "I think that the plachette is being used like a conduit. When he touches it, you are able to touch it. When I touch it, along with Sam, my senses are heightened and I can see you. When I'm physically touching him, I think our abilities are… bouncing off each other—if that's the right word—making both of us communicate like normal to you, a spirit."
"So what? He's like a psychic battery?" Dean muttered.
"In theory… We would need more… tests and variations to be certain," Tracee stated, eyes shifting to Sam. He had been quiet the entire time she had given the theory. He just stared down at the board. Dean already knew his brother didn't like that he was so different. On top of that, his psychic abilities were obviously growing, more than any of them had anticipated. Sure, he had spent a week trying to move stuff with his mind—mental training, Victor had called it—but honestly, the purpose behind the training was to have a last resort if needed. A surprise to the things they might encounter. Sam hadn't been supposed to get another ability. Tracee frowned lightly, and then turned her eyes to Dean. "But we can look into that later—maybe even ask the Madam about it. Right now, we need to focus on you, Dean. What exactly have you found to hunt?"
The question had been a welcomed distraction for both Sam and Dean. Down the road, maybe they would have to address the elephant, but the three of them already had so much on their plate. So with a heavy sigh, Dean began to explain the creature lurking the hospital halls. Sam and Tracee freaked about the news of a Reaper, made worse only be telling them that it was after him. "I'm screwed," he finished, squeezing his eyes shut.
"No… There's gotta be another way," Sam insisted. He pulled away from board, and then stood up. "This-" He pointed towards the hospital bed. "This isn't natural, so this thing shouldn't be hovering around Dean in the first place. There's gotta be another-"
"Samuel, calm down," Tracee ordered, softly. At her command, Sam took a deep breath. He shut his eyes and nodded his head. "Maybe you're on to something there, but you're about to overheat your brain." Again, Sam nodded. "Now, pick me up."
"Oh, right, sorry," he said, and then moved over to Tracee. He lowered himself gripped her sides to lift her off the floor. Dean stood up as well. "Dad… Dad might know what to do. I'll tell him, and… we can figure this out together." Sam carried his girlfriend back over to the wheelchair and set her down. "Do you even still need this?"
"Maybe for a few more hours," Tracee shrugged. Smiling a little, Sam lightly kissed her cheek and said he would be back soon. As soon as he turned the corner, the tiny tank released a sigh. "Dean, I'm worried." Since there was no way for her to hear him without Sam, he remained silent, curious to see if Tracee would vent her worries. "He's… becoming a very powerful psychic. That yellow-eyed demon already said he had plans. What if by getting stronger, Sam is just painting a large target on his back? What do we do then?"
"We'll kill it," Dean blurted, though she couldn't hear. "Simple as that. Nothing is getting its nasty hands on my brother. You got that? Nothing! We'll kill anything that tries!" Tracee didn't respond to him, of course. She merely shook her head and wheeled herself to the other side of the bed, closer to the door.
Moments later, Sam came back in. He sat down at the end of the bed, showing the journal he had brought with him. Tracee faced him with a thoughtful look. "I couldn't find dad, but-" Of course his brother didn't hear the question 'where is he?' "-I got his journal, so who knows? Maybe there's something in here?" He opened the worn journal, quickly flipping through the pages. "What about you, Tracee? Your handbook say anything? I know you've read that thing front to back by now."
"Not about Reapers, no," she answered. "The book, itself, was written by humans, so I doubt Reapers are even in the book. From what you told me before, I gather that they only appear to the person about to die. No time for footnotes, I'm guessing. And I haven't actually read the whole thing—gets tedious after reading rule after rule. Where is it, by the way?"
"At Bobby's," Sam stated, distractedly. "Oh, here." He placed the journal on the bed so that Tracee could get a look at it. "I skimmed over it before." Tracee hummed in agreement. She had been known to look through the thing when she became bored on their trips. But she had complained numerous times how much she hated the way their dad wrote things down. Apparently, his notes were 'unnecessarily vague and hard to follow along.' Shaking his head at the memory, Dean looked over to see what Sam had found.
As his eyes scanned the words, they widened in shock, and then narrowed in anger. "Son of a bitch!" he growled. He nearly stomped out of the room, man on a mission. Dean couldn't believe it hadn't clicked right away. He had had the nagging suspicion the entire time, and yet his stupid brain hadn't come up with it before reading about it in his dad's journal. Determined, he finally approached the room he had visited. Unlike before, the room hadn't had any lights on. There was no despondent mother inside, weeping for her unconscious daughter. No, there was only 'Tessa,' sitting on a bed that seemingly hadn't been used recently. She wore casual dark clothes in stark contrast to the lighter clothing she had been in before.
"Hi, Dean," she greeted with her hands clasped together in her lap.
"Funny," he began, stepping into the darkened room. The only light came from outside the room, from the artificial lights and the moon's light, too. "I don't remember giving you my name, Tessa." She frowned then, line of sight falling to the floor. Dean almost scoffed at the sight. "I didn't know Reapers could alter human perception. They can make themselves appear however they want… Like a pretty girl with a sob story for instance. What a perfect lure for Dean Winchester, right? He'd obviously take the bait."
"… But you didn't, did you?" Tessa spoke up. "I was surprised how… cunning you were. Not at all what I imagined. From the moment you saw me, in this form, at least, half of your mind had already figured out what I might be. It was only a matter of time before the rest of you caught up."
"Why are you toying with me? You don't have shit else to do?" Dean questioned.
"You didn't give me much choice," Tessa replied, far too laid back. "You saw my true form, and you flipped out. Kinda hurts a girl's feelings." Dean clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to yell out that she wasn't a girl at all. Thoughts of Meg filled his mind though, so it had effectively stopped him from snapping on the Reaper. "This was the only way I could get you talk to me."
"Okay, fine," Dean relented through gritted teeth. "We're talking. What the hell do you want to talk about?"
"That death is nothing to fear," she answered. She stood from the bed and walked over to him. "It's your time to go, Dean." He saw her fingers reaching towards his cheek, and he immediately stepped to the side away from her touch. He had seen what the brush of fingertips could do. It may have ended that kid's suffering, but hell if he was going to let this chick touch him.
"Bullshit…!" Dean exclaimed. He backed himself away from the Reaper, and she watched him with narrowed, almost annoyed, eyes. He had seen that look way too many times on Tracee. Annoyance at having plans go astray. "There's gotta be some type of an error going on. It ain't over till the fat lady sings, and whatnot. I mean, I'm in the middle of a war right now. My family's in danger. I gotta keep fighting. I gotta keep protecting them."
"The fight's over, Dean."
"The hell it is!"
"Looks like you're in stage two—anger."
"You think this is funny?"
"Dean, I take my job very seriously. The fight's over… It's over for you. You're not the first soldier I've plucked from the field," Tessa explained. "They all feel the same. They can't leave. Victory hangs in the balance. I've heard it all. They're wrong. The battle goes on without them."
"No…" Dean shook his head. "No, you're wrong. You just don't get what's at stake here. My brother—he could die without me. My Slayer—she's gonna rip the world apart!" Her mocking sympathy instantly transformed to pure shock. She stared at him as though she was seeing him in a whole new way. "What?" Nearly stuttering, she asked what he had said. "What? About Trace? It's true—trust me, but I think her words were 'rip the world a-fucking-sunder.' I was just trying to, you know, censor it a little. But she's crazy enough to do it if anything happened to both of us, so-"
"Tracee Noland is a Slayer?!" Tessa squawked. "That can't be! I would have seen it! I would have stayed away!" Dean raised a curious brow. That was an interesting statement. Did Reapers tend to not come into contact with Slayers? That would explain why Tracee's handbook hadn't covered them. Crossing his arms, Dean informed the clearly panicked Reaper that the tiny tank had a high-level warding charm on her at all times. So far, only real ghosts, and people seconds away from dying, could sense her. "There's been a mistake. I'm not supposed to be here then. Reapers don't get involved with Slayers and their Champions."
"Champions…?" Dean repeated. "What are you talking about?"
Tessa merely sighed, ignoring the questions. "This is a huge mix up. An agent of the PTB is supposed to guide your soul. But your soul was blue last time I checked… How could this happen? Well, maybe that's the reason your time keeps fluctuating. I thought it might be due to-" Clearly, she was rambling. "I don't understand…" She shut her eyes and released a breath. "I need to check something—stay here."
Before Dean could attempt to protest, or get any more information, the Reaper disappeared from his sight. Quick as a blink, actually. Exasperated, Dean threw his arms up. The hell was that about? Champions? PTB? Blue souls? Tessa hadn't made a lick of sense, and then she had just left. Sighing, Dean looked around, unsure of the next step. Stay here? Nah. He huffed, and then moved towards the direction of the door. Who knows? Maybe with the Reaper gone, he could just pop back into his body?
With that thought in mind, Dean began his trek back to his room. His body would need time to heal, but as long as his spirit could return, it wasn't over. Hell, he would fight this so called PTB agent if or when it appeared, but he couldn't leave. Somehow, he had to get the new information to Sam and Tracee. There had never been any mention of it in dad's journal, so they would have to search elsewhere. This agent might have a weakness that could be exploited. Rather he have that now before it showed up to guide his soul.
Dean suddenly halted. He swallowed hard, finding it a little hard to breathe. He gasped, holding a hand to his chest. Something inside felt like it was being tugged. "What is…?" He didn't know this feeling. It was completely new, something strange and foreign. A low hum that rattled his chest. Made him dizzy by the rawness of it. "Holy shit…" He panted, stumbling forward. Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he moved. The longer he walked, the more insistent the tugging became. The clearer the want became.
Finally, he opened his eyes, discovering things had changed. Reality went on in muted colors and the sounds of the night shift at the hospital had vanished. Dean squinted, noticing something in the distance. Something bright and gold and shining. Unaware of himself, he moved at a quicker pace towards that shining thing. For the first time since he had woken up, he had felt warmth. The closer he got to it, the more the warmth spread through his body. He felt it swimming inside, leaking from his skin, humming just above the surface. It felt like it wanted to reach out to the shining thing, and so without thought, Dean broke into a jog.
He followed after, trailing a few paces behind the humanoid shape. Despite the need growing stronger, and the hums extending in its direction, Dean held himself back from touching. He didn't know what all this was, and he was wary about approaching. It didn't matter that the humming wanted to wrap around the shining thing. It didn't matter that the warmth had shifted to a pleasurable heat.
All too soon, Dean realized that he was back in his room. Though he kept his eyes on the humanoid glow, he recognized his surroundings. He noticed Sam and Tracee standing on the far side of his bed, closest towards the window. They, too, stared at the newcomer, but he doubted they could see what he could. Weird, Tracee had the same shine to her. Sam glowed, too, but his glow swayed between blue and gold. What the hell was going on? He hadn't seen that before. Tearing his eyes away, he focused on the space between his brother and the tiny tank. Wisps of their glows seemed to be interlocking and dancing around each other. Weird. Familiar. Different.
Dean furrowed his brow, and then turned his line of sight back to his shining thing. The brightness seemed to have faded during the time he had spent observing Sam and Tracee. He could now recognize the human. He blinked several times in surprise as his breath left him. His mouth formed a name, but no sound managed to make it through. Why was…? Dean took a step forward, and the air around crackled at his proximity. The visitor visibly shuddered the closer he got, but she paid no mind and only looked down at his body.
"Touch me," Dean found himself saying, unable to control the urge to. He stood by her side, watching her, watching him. He found himself breathing sharply, waiting for the touch. "Do it," he urged. This was a strange desire to connect. And then, finally, her fingertips caressed his left cheek. Everything changed. Dean sighed out a laugh, and he didn't know why. Because what he felt inside was tendrils of sadness and sharp guilt. But there was so much heat. It washed over him like the sea. He moved closer, and to his surprise, wisps of blue extended towards her. Her golden wisps stretched for his in response.
Anticipating the dance between their wisps of light, Dean didn't anticipate his hair getting grabbed from behind. With a startled shout, he was yanked backwards. He found himself staring into the eyes of the Reaper. But they were not the same mockingly sympathetic soft eyes. Now, they were marbled yellow and showed a cruelty he had only seen once in the eyes of his father when he had been possessed. Yellow-eyes had found him. How the hell?! "Today's your lucky day, kid," it said. Then another hand smacked against his forehead. Dean felt himself screaming. Not because of the pain… No, it had been the violent interruption. It felt like his world had been ripped apart before it could even form.
The dance hadn't begun.
0-0
Finally got to season two! I hope it gets better :D