A/N: Thanks so much for the awesome reviews! Wow, thanks a lot guys.
In this fine little chapter (NB. overly happy tone required to read that line) you will get a little more inside into Mal's troubled and probably slightly psychotic mind. :-)
Enjoy!
"Dean!"
His name was shouted along with a series of rapid knocks on the door. Dean rolled over onto his side in an effort to block out that voice. Sam could get the door for once. Who started banging on motel doors this time in the morning anyway? The knocking continued along with another shout of his name.
"Dean, get out of bed already!"
Sam. Why was calling him? He wearily opened his eyes and grunted. This was not a motel room. Of course it wasn't a motel room. He was out of bed and at the door before he even had time to blink.
"What took you so long?" Bobby asked before Sam got the chance as soon as Dean opened the door.
"Well…" Dean started but his voice trailed slightly as his mind finally registered that both Sam and Bobby was standing in front of him. "Why isn't one of you watching Mal?"
"That's why I've been trying to wake you for the last five minutes." Bobby answered sounding slightly irritated, but Dean only imagined the worst which must have shown on his face because Bobby quickly continued. "He's fine. He's woken up and is sitting downstairs in the living room."
"What?" Dean questioned. He had never before believed that dying and then sitting in a living room instead of resting was such a good plan. "Why isn't he in bed? He died, Bobby."
"You don't need to tell me that, sonny, I know. The thing is," Bobby continued with a sigh, "he is refusing to rest."
"He remembers." Dean mumbled. He had sincerely hoped that Mal's little death incident along with the Daemonkuren had wiped out the memory of what had happened in the basement.
"No, doesn't seem like it so far." Bobby assured him, which caused Dean to look at him with a raised eyebrow.
"So he's alright?" Dean asked.
"Dean, just listen to what Bobby has to say." Sam cut in before Bobby had a chance to speak which earned him a death glare from Dean.
"I've already filled Sam in while we tried to wake you." The death glare was now directed at Bobby. "He's awake and alert but it seems he let something slip that he has not mentioned before. He hears the voice of the demon in his head."
"How did you find out about this?" Dean questioned while he quickly pulled on a pair of jeans over his boxers.
"He collapsed."
"I thought you said he was alright."
"Dean, listen to me. He says that it speaks to him and that he can't get it stop. He is scared and I can't get through to him." Bobby said in a rush but his tone told Dean that the hunter cared more about the kid than he let on.
"Anything else?" Dean asked trying to sound as though he was not as worried as he was.
"Talk to him." Sam said after making quick eye contact with Bobby. "He trusts you more than us."
"Even after what happened before?" Dean said quite certain that simply could not be true.
"He does not remember. Dude, Bobby already said that." Sam said irritably.
"Jeez, don't freak out on me." Dean said, holding up both hands in mock defence. "I'll go."
With that he hurried out of the room quiet aware of two pairs of eyes burying into his back but at that precise moment he did not care if he seemed like a mother hen because he had been freaking out for the last three days and now the cause for those troubles was finally awake. He hurried down the stairs hoping that Bobby had not lied when he had said that the kid was alright, but on a more selfish front, he also hoped that Bobby had been right about the little memory loss.
Bobby had certainly been right about the boy being in the living room. He was sat on the couch rocking slightly backwards and forwards wearing dark sweat pants and a t-shirt. He was pale. Way too pale for Dean's liking but he was alive.
"Look who decided to join the land of the living." Dean joked as he slipped on a smile and leant against the doorframe looking at the boy, whose head shot up and for a moment he looked most like a deer caught in the headlights.
"Hi." Mal said rather hoarsely as he realised who it was standing in the doorway.
"How're you feeling?" Dean asked as he made his way over to the couch and sat down next to the boy, getting slightly more worried when he noticed how worn out the boy looked.
"Alright, considering." Mal answered rather vacantly. "You know, apart form having regular conversations with my other half."
"That's very funny, but no one's laughing." Dean said.
"Yeah, I noticed. It sucks." Mal said.
Dean could not help smirk slightly at the boy's attempt at light-hearted humour even though Dean was a bit worried he was rubbing off on the boy because the whole attitude of covering things up with humour was his area of expertise.
"So, what's up?" Dean gathered it would probably be best to get right to it.
"What, you're my shrink now?" Mal questioned and Dean did not miss the slightly heated note to his voice.
"No." Dean answered him simply.
"I'm fine."
"That's not what I heard."
"If you know everything already then why are you asking me?" Mal snapped.
Who just did a hundred-and-eighty degree mood swing? Dean had to remind himself that Mal was, half-demon or not, still a teenager. Dean resigned to simply raising his eyebrows at Mal before answering. It wasn't as if this was the first time he was dealing with a teenager. Sam had been rather rebellious at that age.
"I would like to hear it from you." Dean said promptly ignoring Mal's attitude.
However, what Dean had not expected was for the boy to clam up like an oyster and limply shake his head only to resume his light rocking back and forth.
"Mal…" Dean prompted after a full minute had gone by.
"I'm crazy." Mal muttered.
"No you're not." Dean said with a little too much enthusiasm.
"I'm completely bonkers." Mal said vacantly.
"No you're not." Dean repeated, this time lacking the enthusiasm.
"How do you know?" Mal asked looking rather helpless as he finally raised his gaze to meet Dean's.
"You're not, okay, trust me on this one." Dean said, hoping that was assurance enough.
"I have a voice in my head," Mal said slowly pointing to his head as he spoke, "so, you tell me how that does not classify as someone completely off his rocket."
"You aren't exactly normal." Dean reasoned.
"Thank you." Mal said sarcastically and turned his gaze to the floor.
"You seem to be okay." Dean said quietly as he watched the boy push some of his dark hair out of his face.
"I already told you I'm fine." Mal said. "I just…"
"What?" Dean pressed on.
"What happened?" Mal asked looking directly at Dean again, making Dean feel like the boy was daring him to lie.
"Bobby didn't tell you?" Dean questioned even though he already knew the hunter hadn't.
"No, but I think it may be coming back to me slightly." Mal said making Dean stiffen slightly. "I went back to the hospital, right?"
"Yeah." Dean answered with a nod.
"I couldn't remember that before. Now, I…I don't know." Mal muttered.
"I'm so sorry." Dean whispered, knowing it would be wrong to keep lying.
"I'm sure it was not your fault." Mal said tonelessly.
"Yeah, that would be good." Dean mumbled looking anywhere but at Mal for a moment.
Mal groaned suddenly causing Dean to snap his attention back to the boy. The teenager was holding his head tightly as he held it between his legs.
"Mal, are you okay?" Dean asked as he tentatively raised a hand but put it down when he was unsure what to do with it.
"It was quiet for a while." Mal mumbled as continued to rock slightly backwards still with his head held in his hands.
"What does it say?" Dean had no idea if this was the right time or thing to ask but he had slowly started to wonder why it was taking such a toll on the boy. Sure, having someone yapping in your head all day was sure to tire you out eventually but Mal looked ill.
"I can't…" Mal muttered, and this time Dean could not but put a hopefully reassuring hand on the teenager's shoulder.
"You can." Dean encouraged actually sincerely hoping that Sam was not listening into the conversation because this was starting to sound awfully like a chick-flick.
"It tells me to kill…constantly." Mal said, his voice cracking slightly even though he clearly tried to not break down. "I keep reminding me of what happened, a-a-and what I did. It was never this bad. I can't stop it."
Dean was about to say something when he caught unto what Mal had just said; 'what I did', not 'what he did'. To tell the truth Dean was rather disturbed by Mal's whole little confession but those three words kept running in his mind and his mouth had this annoying and inconvenient habit of talking before his mind said 'no'.
"What you did?"
Damn it, where did that come from? Dean Winchester was of that moment the most unsympathetic person.
"Did I say that?" Mal asked but Dean did not miss the guarded tone which clearly told him that this was not something that the boy should keep inside.
"Yep, you want to tell me what that is all about?" Dean questioned as Mal slowly raised his head.
"No."
"I think you should."
"I don't want to."
"Sound more like a child."
"What?" Mal snapped his head directly to the side to look Dean in the eye and though Dean had expected the kid to look angry he looked mostly hurt.
"That came out wrong." Dean said weakly.
"Okay, shrink, you really want to know what happened?" Mal snapped as he tried to push himself up from the couch but failed causing him to sit back down.
"What happened when?" Dean said, feeling as though this conversation was going completely the wrong way.
"My father and I kept moving around, he even enrolled me in school every now ad then though he seemed to think that was the least important thing." Mal said quickly looking anywhere but at Dean. "I was fourteen years old when we were in a pretty good neighbourhood for once. I never tried to make any friends," here he was forced to take a deep breath to get his voice back under control, "so, I was sitting somewhere in an alley reading some book trying to see how long I could put off returning home. A cop came by and he quite obviously thought that I was some drug addict." Dean had no idea why the kid just smiled; maybe he thought that was hilariously funny considering the situation he was in himself. "I was in a pretty bad mood and along with being a fourteen year old that did not go well, so to make a long story short he took me to the station."
"Yikes." Dean murmured, not wanting to form any distraction but feeling the need to say something.
"I don't know how long I sat in there," Mal continued as though Dean had not spoken, "because I slowly figured out that I was not just there because of the whole drug business. Apparently the officer who had picked me up, Officer Blackhurst his name was, had thought something was off. Guess he was right, huh?"
"Yeah." Dean answered, forcing himself to say as little as possible in the hope that he would not stop Mal talking, because the kid was not exactly easy to get talking.
"I clammed up, and absolutely refused to take my shirt off, but since they had no real evidence for anything, drugs or no drugs, they could not hold me there so I could leave." Mal took a deep breath before continuing, "I met Officer Blackhurst again the next day; apparently I was in his patrolling area. I told him to leave me alone. We played around like that for a few days until he eventually got me to stay still for five minutes and talk. I told him nothing but he gave me his number and address anyway before taking his leave."
Mal stopped talking and instead managed to push himself off the couch. He walked rather unsteadily over to the window where he rested his hands on the windowsill and let his eyes rest on the sunlight playing on his skin.
"Mal, what is it?" Dean asked but he forced himself to stay seated knowing that Mal had most likely left the couch because he needed some space. Dean only hoped that all of this was not too much for him after his three days of touch and go.
"One evening Father had been a little harder on me than I could handle at that stage. He was in one of those phases where he desperately tried to let the demon take control over the human side. I was pretty beaten up including a knife wound."
"What?"
"Don't sound so surprised, Dean." Mal said vacantly. "His attempts to get me to fight back had been unsuccessful causing a knife to make a cut across my stomach. It wasn't too bad but it hurt…everywhere. He left me like that and I took a chance. I got myself up from the ground where I had so gracefully plummeted and made my way to Officer Blackhurst's house."
Dean did not like where this little tale was going but then again Mal had never spoken of anything really so if this was where he started, Dean could only hope that it was true it was good to talk about your problems.
"He was home." Mal said as he raised his gaze to stare out the window. I didn't show him or tell him anything about the knife wound at first but after taking one look at my face he practically demanded that I took my shirt off. So, there it was and he was not exactly happy. I said he had to get me to a hospital and was already getting his things when…when…" he paused and Dean could practically see him re-living this precise memory. "Father came. I don't know how he knew where I was." A single tear escaped Mal's eye and traced its way down his cheek, "Blackhurst tried to get him out of the house but what can you do against a demon, you know? Father killed him. He just killed him…right there in front of me. Oh god…"
And then he broke.
He tried to stay on his feet but fell to his knees on the floor by the window, curling in on himself with his hands round his head. Dean could not sit there any longer. He had made it over to the boy in about nought point three seconds and for a brief moment wondered what the hell he would have done if this was Sam, because this was way beyond his brother and parental skills. He decided to forget about thinking, but instead simply acting.
He was not a big fan of hugs but he could see when someone was in great need of one. He pulled Mal into his arms and gently rubbed circles on the boy's back, now not even caring if Sam was watching. The threat of a potential chick-flick seemed like nothing now.
"I killed him." Mal croaked between sobs.
"No, you didn't." Dean retaliated rather strongly but he knew that it would never do anyone any good with carrying guilt around, and even though he would never admit it to anyone, especially not himself, he was living proof.
"If I hadn't gone to his house he would never have died." Mal said.
"Mal, listen to me; look at me," Dean said firmly as he held Mal's face in his hands, forcing the boy to look at him, "this was not your fault, okay? I want you to be very clear on that. If you need to blame someone, blame your father because quite frankly he's an ass."
Mal shifted his gaze downward and took a deep, shaky breath. This was enough for Dean to pull him back into the hug. For once he was willing to hold on for as long as Mal needed to, though he had certainly not been prepared for the next words that came out of the boy's mouth.
"Why did you make go back?"
I realised that I forgot the disclaimer at the top, but I don't suppose you suddenly think that I am the master brain behind Supernatural, do you?
Please be great (as usual) and drop in a review! Thank you! ;-)
