Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
A/N: I shall dedicate this chapter to AJ2951, because AJ so sweetly PM-ed me several times over this very long period between chapters. So nice, and so very encouraging! So, AJ, this one's for you! Hope you like it!
Special thanks also goes to my beta, mimishell, who always reads over everything for me. And sorry, mimishell—the book reference stayed in! LOL!
Chapter 36: Relieving the Pressure
Even though they were still there, the sudden change in volume got Dean's attention. A wave of…something…cascaded over him, and that quickly, the voices shifted from a deafening cacophony of shrieks and yells to something slightly more manageable. They weren't gone, certainly, but simply turning down the volume a bit after so many hours of their screaming was such a blessed relief that, for a minute, it made all the difference in the world.
"Dean? Can you hear me?"
The voice was muted, as thought it came from far away, but it was different than the rest, more…substantial. Hands gripped him, and Dean fought to respond, but his body felt heavy, and distantly, he was aware that his body was completely limp. It wasn't until he heard his sister cry out that his eyes flew open, panic lending him the strength to come to his senses.
"Whoa, whoa, easy, bro—I gotcha," he heard Sam murmur, the younger man's hands gently restraining him.
"Aubrey," Dean croaked, wincing at the rawness of his throat.
"Dad's got her—it's okay, just take it easy," Sam said soothingly, and with a groan, Dean let his head drop back to the floor. "You alright?" Sam asked, laying a hand on Dean's forehead worriedly.
"Tell Sarah…no you…everything lost… sorry… not… too late…dammit…know you…why won't you…can hear me…do something…find it…hear me…she's there…didn't do it…"
"Dean?" Sam asked, breaking through the murmur of voices in his mind and bringing Dean's focus back, his green-eyed gaze meeting Sam's hazel one.
"Huh?"
"You with me?"
"Um…yeah, think so," Dean mumbled, shaking his head a bit to try and ignore the voices still clamoring for his attention.
"Do you still hear them? The voices?"
"Yeah. But not so loud now."
But still pretty fucking loud, he thought, listening to the voices still trying to make themselves heard.
"There's too many, Daddy," he heard Aubrey say tearfully, and he turned his head to see Aubrey clinging to their father, burying her face in his flannel shirt. "Make them stop, please, just a little bit—I can't help them, there's too many!"
"Damn it, Oliver!" John yelled back, " This wasn't supposed to happen! She's as bad off as Dean was!"
"No, this was expected, John," he heard someone reply, and the voice was unfamiliar enough to make Dean frown. "You can't expect either of them to gain control over this immediately—it's not going to happen. They need time, both of them."
What the—
"Can't you do…shhh don't tell…I was fine…he's out there…it wasn't…supposed to…can't you see…I couldn't…no one listens…maybe she… they're still alive…it wasn't human…I never saw…they pretend…don't know what happened…"
Would everyone just shut the hell up for a minute! I can't think!
"Well what about the fucking talismans then?" John yelled back, the words only adding to Dean's confusion. "What are you waiting for?!"
"I've reconsidered. We think it best if we hold off on that for a time in order to give Dean and Aubrey a chance to gain a measure of control first—otherwise, they won't be able to wield their gifts properly," Braden said, and something about the way he said we would have bothered Dean if he didn't have people screaming at him in his head.
"And you didn't realize that before we started? Look at them!" John yelled angrily.
"Dad, you're not helping," Sam broke in, staring angrily back at their dad, and it was at that moment that Dean came to the vague realization that Sam might actually know what the hell was happening.
"Sam!" he barked, grabbing his younger brother by the collar of his shirt and dragging him down to his face, desperately trying to focus on Sam's face rather than the constant harangue of voices. "What's happening?"
"Hey, hey, just calm down, okay?" Sam said, trying to pry Dean's fingers loose even as he spoke in that soothing tone that only pissed Dean off.
"Dammit, Sam, you tell me what's going on! Now!"
"We didn't know what else to do," Sam told him apologetically. "You were slipping, man, and we couldn't see any other way," he babbled, and Dean tightened his grip, shaking his brother as his patience snapped.
"You're not making any fucking sense, and I can't think with all these fucking people in my head so you need to start giving me some clear answers!" he yelled, hardly able to hear himself think as the voices continued to murmur.
At least it's not the screaming it was before…not quite so many of them either.
"Ask him…to…why won't... you…it's not so hard…only a minute…"
"We split the clairaudience between you and Aubrey," Sam was saying, Dean's momentary distraction allowing him to pull himself from Dean's grasp.
"What?"
"Oliver said the voices you're hearing are too much for just you to handle. So we split it between you and Aubrey, sort of like turning the volume down a bit so you could learn to filter it out."
"Who the hell is Oliver?!" he asked, glancing back at Aubrey, glad to see that she wasn't crying anymore but not exactly reassured by the way she cradled her head in her hands and rocked in their father's arms.
"She can hear…can she…don't listen…it's in the house…run and don't…stop…won't let go…"
"Braden's…tag-along."
Dean had a vague recollection, then, of his youngest brother frantically trying to tell him something earlier, his mouth moving even as the words were lost in the mess of voices all screaming at him. But there had been another voice, he recalled with sudden clarity, another voice emerging from Braden. He distantly remembered talking to it, but damn if he could remember exactly what they'd talked about.
"Tag-along…the voice that was piggy-backing on Bray?"
"Just look…can't see…not enough…why don't you…killed in the…believe…"
"Yeah. Except he's sort of more than that."
"Huh?"
What?
"He's more than just a voice," Sam told him.
"Then what the hell is he and why are we listening to him?!"
"Actually, we're not entirely sure what he is—he hasn't exactly been forthcoming with answers in that department."
"What does Braden say?" Dean asked, closing his eyes as he fought to push the voices back into the periphery of his mind.
"Well, he's sort of…checked out at the moment."
"What the fuck does that mean?!" Dean demanded, growing more and more angry and confused by the non-answers Sam was giving him. The murmurs in his mind grew louder, setting off a pounding in his head that threatened to make him throw up.
"Shit," he groaned, grabbing his head with a grimace of pain.
"Here, boy," Bobby said, suddenly appearing at Dean's elbow with a glass of water. "You're probably not far from being dehydrated—you need to get some fluids in ya'."
"I don't want water—what I want are some damn answers!" he snarled, knocking the glass away hotly, feeling a dark sense of satisfaction at the resulting shatter of glass.
"Dude, you need to calm down," Sam told him, pressing down on Dean's shoulders as he fought to rise. Dean batted Sam's hands away, glaring past the building pain in his head as he sat up.
"No, what I need is for you to quit it with the vague answers and tell me what the hell has been happening!"
"It was…never saw…couldn't make it…a noise…the end…not like that…prayed for…wasn't ready…should've listened to…sorry so sorry…strange smell…I was only…not fair…didn't know what would…that's why I can't…"
"Dean!"
The sound of his father's voice immediately cut through the noise in his head, pulling Dean's attention around, and he turned to see his father still rocking Aubrey in his arms, his hand cupped around her ear while he cradled her head against his chest, as though he could somehow block her from the noise.
"That's enough, son. I know a lot of shit's gone down and you're confused—and I promise you, I'll explain everything to you as soon as I can. But right now, you've gotta calm the hell down because you're only making things worse."
"How 'm I supposed to calm down?!" Dean yelled hotly. "I got a bunch of fucking people in my head all talkin' at me, and I don't—"
"They'll settle down if you cease this uproar and instead focus on shielding yourself from them," Braden interrupted, and something about him immediately raised Dean's hackles.
Without conscious thought, Dean lunged forward and grabbed Braden, jerking him forward until the two of them were face-to-face, scarcely an inch between them.
"You're not my brother," Dean growled, ignoring the pounding in his head only through sheer stubbornness.
"That is a matter of perspective, boy. Your brother and I are quite intricately tied together—we're virtually one in the same. Viewed in that light, I am your brother."
"No, you're not! You give him his body back and you get the hell out of him! Now!"
"Not right…human…careful…maybe who…lost…isn't something…"
"I can't do that, I'm afraid. We're rather attached to one another—it wouldn't go well for either of us."
"Bullshit!"
"You're not helping," John said, and from the corner of his eye, Dean saw his father motioning for Sam to come over and take Aubrey. Sam complied reluctantly, and a second later, John was there, prying Dean's fingers from not-Braden's shirt, ignoring Dean's struggles as he wrapped his arms around him and eased him down.
"Dad! 's not Braden! 's not him! You gotta get him back!" he yelled back at his father, feeling a sudden, inexplicable urge to bawl as he looked back at his youngest brother, who's gaze was not his own.
No, I can't do this! I can't lose anyone else!
"Dean, you gotta calm down, son," John soothed, but Dean was completely incensed at that point, unwilling to back down.
"Do something, Dad! Can't you see?!"
"Honestly, there's no need for this," not-Braden said, and Dean bucked against his father's hold.
"Shut up! You're not him! Give 'im back, you sonovabitch!"
"Why do you rail against things you have no control over? This is pointless, and a waste of your energy—"
"You're making things worse here," John broke in, his eyes dark as he aimed a stern gaze at not-Braden. "Go see if you can help Aubrey get a handle on this—I've got Dean."
"Dad, no!" he begged as he watched not-Braden turn with a rueful sigh towards Aubrey. He wasn't even sure what he was asking as he fought back an unwelcome rush of tears. "Please! Can't lose Bray—no. I don't…I can't…Dad."
And all the while, the voices were there, screaming at him.
"Dean, look at me," John commanded, one of his hands coming up to cup Dean's face, turning his head so that Dean had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Listen to me. It's alright, okay? I'm gonna take care of it."
"But it's not…"
"Just focus on blocking out some of the noise in your head, yeah? Let me worry about the rest," John murmured, releasing Dean's face and rocking Dean back and forth, much like he'd done with Aubrey a few minutes ago.
"Hold…not too..lessen the…stop…worse than…fighting doesn't…listen…not asking much…begging you…don't understand…can't stay like this…losing…no one…help us…why do you ignore…there's no one else…no…can't fight us all…only ask that…we can…you only have to…not enough…"
"Too fuckin' many. All talkin' at once," he mumbled, dropping his head back against his father's chest.
"Dammit, Oliver, can't you just give him the damn necklace, now?! Look at him!"
"He needs to learn to control it somewhat without the aid of an external factor. Otherwise, he will be left with a dangerous Achilles heel that could leave him at the mercy of anything smart enough to rip it from his throat—if he's too dependent on the necklace, removing it from him would result in him becoming completely overcome in minutes. Do you really want to leave your son with such an obvious vulnerability? Really, John, I thought you were smarter than that. It's strategically unsound."
"Then what the hell am I supposed to do here?" Dean heard his father snarl, but at that point, Dean was getting so lost in the maelstrom of voices that it was all he could do to maintain even a modicum of situational awareness.
"Make him gain control, John," not-Braden told John forcefully. "You brought him up as a soldier--give him an order, and he will follow it. Mayhap it will only be temporary, but at least the order will push him to attempt to gain control."
"Shit," John muttered before shifting his grip on Dean so that he was staring Dean square in the eye.
"Dean, listen to me," he heard John say, but the words seemed to slip past, lost before Dean could fully process them.
"He...don't…lesson for…no one ever…inside a box…too cold…the ground isn't…put it…too much…three days…they don't know…woods…gone…sheltered under the…only one…can't hear me anymore…doesn't care…never find…"
"Dean, can you hear me?" his father asked, his eyes wide as they looked back at Dean worriedly.
"Dad," he whispered, his fingers gripping his father's shirt tightly as he struggled to focus.
"Look at me, Dean. Look at me!" John said more forcefully, shaking Dean out a growing stupor long enough for Dean to lock eyes with him. "Can you hear me?"
"Yessir," Dean told him, his words slurring even as his father's hands tightened on his shoulders.
"You need to focus, do you understand me?"
"Dad…can't anymore."
"Yes, you can. And you will. Now you focus, dammit—block the voices out and get a hold of yourself."
The need to obey his father's orders was as hardwired into him as breathing, and the familiar sound of John Winchester's deep baritone was enough to cut through the noise.
But Dean knew without a doubt that it wouldn't last.
Six hours, ten minutes, and countless scrambled conversations from the dead later, Dean just wanted someone to put him out of his misery. He'd tried to sleep, but so far, it hadn't worked worth a damn. He was nursing a migraine from hell, the pounding behind his eyes offset only by the voices still hammering at his consciousness. Sure, it wasn't as bad as it had been before his dad had trusted not-Braden to perform some damn ritual that even Bobby didn't know.
But it's still pretty damn bad. Why can't the dead just shut the hell up already?
He was laid up on Bobby's couch, desperately trying to will away the pain while ignoring everyone else in the room. His father had sent Sam and Jessica upstairs to get some sleep hours ago. Bobby had settled in at his nearby "dining room office table" with a stack of books, no doubt trying to figure out the intricacies of the ritual that not-Braden—Dean still refused to call him by name—had pulled out of his ass. Aubrey was in Bobby's room, not-Braden at her side, claiming he would stick around long enough to ensure she was alright. If Aubrey was handling things any better, Dean couldn't say, but in theory, not-Braden was helping her deal with it all somehow. And then there was Missouri. She'd showed up an hour ago, and she'd been irritating the hell out of him ever since, ordering him to rest so that they could get to work on his shielding soon.
You try fucking resting when you've got voices on high volume that you can't turn down.
Not-Braden had offered to stay with Dean and see if he could help him somehow gain further control, but Dean had pitched a holy fit over it, and the issue had been dropped. Dean didn't want not-Braden anywhere near him, and he wasn't exactly thrilled with his younger brother at the moment either. Truth was, he felt downright pissed at the both of them.
He shoulda trusted me to help him, 'stead of trying to fix things with ritual shit that I'm paying the price for.
"Are you gonna…don't do it…she's not far…he'll listen…if you…maybe you can…I told you…not ready…don't ignore…he…man with…she won't believe…nobody can know…find to…show how…not hard…can I just…didn't mean to do it …"
Couldn't you all just shut up?!
"Please please…come…the only one…eyes the eyes…it was Tuesday…buried deep…tell…open the…nothing is left…"
"Dad, could you just put me out?!" he blurted out suddenly, hating himself for begging his father to help, for admitting that he couldn't handle it anymore.
But enough was enough, and he just couldn't take it.
"Dean, I don't think it's a good idea, son," John replied, coming over to lay a gentle hand on Dean's head.
"Look, it's not a big deal," Dean told him desperately, "please, just—choke me out, knock me over the head, whatever you have to do. Just do something, 'cause I can't fucking take much more of this."
"Son…" And though John was shaking his head, Dean could tell his dad was weakening, and Dean could already imagine the reprieve he would soon get from the unending onslaught of noise in his head.
"John Winchester, don't you even think about it," a familiar voice said, and Dean didn't even try to hold back the curses that erupted when Missouri's voice cut in. "He needs that like he needs another hole in his head," she said bluntly. "He has to learn to shield his mind properly, not depend on his father beating him over the head every time the voices get to be too much for him. Boy's got enough problems."
"Why don't you stay the fuck out of it," Dean snarled viciously, the migraine brewing in his head enough to blow any hint of manners out of the water. "Nobody fucking asked you! Dad?" he said, turning a hot gaze back on his father, turning his back on Missouri.
"Dean, I think she's right," John said, and right then, Dean was finding it very hard to resist the urge to get up and hit someone. He settled for taking out the lamp and a stack of books that Bobby had placed on the coffee table with one sweep of his arm. When the frustration and anger didn't dissipate, he grabbed the empty beer bottle someone had conveniently placed at the edge of the table, only to have his father snag his wrist in an iron grip and remove it from his hand.
"That's enough," John said softly, removing the bottle from Dean's hand and moving it out of reach before releasing Dean's hand.
"Baby, that anger isn't gonna make it any easier for you," Missouri said, not unkindly. "You need to be calm, so that you can concentrate on reinforcing your shields."
"What shields?"
"Well you obviously have some shielding—not much, mind you, but about as much as the average person. Maybe a little stronger, allowing for genetics. Your daddy has rather formidable shields for someone so head-blind. You need to focus—shield your mind, but don't resist the gift."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Dean yelled, deciding that raising his voice was a bad idea when the pain in his head spiked. "Ah shit, Dad, 'm gonna—"
John barely got a trashcan under him before he started hurling, everything he'd eaten in the last twenty-four hours seeming to make an undesired reappearance.
"As much as I hate to say it, Johnny," Missouri said after he'd finished throwing up everything in his stomach, "I think you're right after all. He's not going to be able to do anything tonight," Dean heard her finish, and if he hadn't been so busy trying to stop his head from falling off, he might have been insulted by her implication that he was weak. But as it was, he flopped back against the couch pillows, willing his stomach to settle, his head to stop pounding, and the voices to shut the hell up, if only for a few minutes.
"Dean, you think you can sleep, son?" his father asked a second later, laying a gentle hand on Dean's head.
"Can't leave…written down…can't find him… just need to go now…didn't see…too late…she's gone and…what to do…if…can't…"
He shook his head, but it didn't make the voices go away. If anything, it made things worse, and with a groan, he grabbed at his head, wanting nothing more than to claw his brain out just to make it all stop.
"Dean!"
He didn't realize he'd started to yank on his hair until his father suddenly grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away from his head.
"Dad, I can't—" he gasped, struggling to free himself from John's grip, instinctively trying to curl into a fetal position.
"John, here," Dean heard Bobby say gruffly as he came into the room. With his eyes pinched shut tightly, Dean only knew the older man was approaching by the sound of his boots shuffling across the floor as the grizzled hunter seemed to switch places with John. The pain spiked as Dean tried to open his eyes, and he jerked in his father's grasp, fighting to free his hands as another wave of nausea threatened. John pinned one of Dean's arms to the couch cushion, and a second later, Dean felt a pinprick in the crook of his elbow.
"Easy, son, easy," John murmured, and Dean bit down on his lip to stifle what would have been a groan. A few minutes passed before he noticed, a pleasant darkness slowly pressing in on him as the pain began to recede. The voices grew quieter, as though they'd been stuffed under a layer of cotton, and even though they were still there, it was enough to allow him some reprieve.
"Let's get him upstairs, John," Bobby said softly. "We can put him with Aubrey, and then set up some protective sigils around 'em, maybe help things ease up a little, at least for a bit."
Hands suddenly lifted him, and Dean frowned, alarmed when he couldn't find the strength to even open his eyes. He felt himself being carried towards the stairs and he grunted as he tried to lift his head.
"Don't fight it, Dean, just sleep."
Yeah. Sleep sounds good.
And as whatever his dad or Bobby had shot him up with took effect, that's exactly what Dean did, dropping off into sleep as the voices slid away from his consciousness.
A low murmur that was becoming more and more familiar slowly brought Dean into a foggy sort of awareness, the voices that had been with him once again making themselves known.
Shit.
At least they've turned the volume down, he thought groggily.
A warm weight at his side shifted, and Dean cracked his eyes open to see Aubrey looking back at him, a pained look in her eyes.
"D' you hear 'em, too?"
"Yeah," he muttered. "They loud?"
"Not like they were," she whispered back. "But they're still there. They just…don't make any sense. It's like…too many people all trying to talk at the same time, and I just keep catching fragments. It wouldn't be so bad, I think, if they'd talk one at a time. They make my head hurt."
"'m sorry," he murmured, feeling like absolute shit for bringing this on her. "I never meant for this to happen."
"'s not your fault, D. You don't hafta feel bad about it."
"You got stuck hearing fucking dead people just to save my ass. That pretty much makes it my fault, Aubrey."
"Well, not really. I volunteered. And Daddy gave the go-ahead. You were too out of it to agree to it."
"Still. This shouldn't have happened, and Dad never would've agreed if I hadn't been too damn weak to handle it."
"It's okay, D," she said soothingly, scooting closer and laying her head on his shoulder. "I mean, yeah, this isn't fun, and it hurts. But you do all kinds of stuff for me and Bray—you look out for us, keep us safe, buy us things we don't need and that we really don't have the money for, just 'cause you like to make us happy. You do everything for me and Bray, and you never ask anything in exchange. And maybe we don't always say thanks, but…well, we notice. And we love you, D. And this time, it was my turn to do something for you."
"Yeah, well a new hunting knife or a 9mm says love just as well. You agreeing to hear dead people really wasn't what I would've had in mind for you repaying me. Shit," he grumbled, rubbing at his head wearily.
"D, in case you haven't noticed, our family is totally about that whole self-sacrificing thing. We've kinda made it an art form. I was just doing what any of us would have done," she told him matter-of-factly.
Still. I kinda wish you hadn't.
Because guilt was a hell of a burden to bear.
"Hey, you're awake."
Dean turned his head to see Braden standing in the doorway with a relieved look on his face. As he stepped in, Dean knew instantly that this was his little brother. And an answering flood of anger filled him as Braden approached.
"Ya'll feeling better?"
Like we have the fucking flu or something, Dean thought hotly. How the hell do you expect us to feel better when we have the dead yapping at us all the damn time now?
Locking his jaw, he bit down on any response and looked away, nudging Aubrey away from him so that he could sit up. Without looking at Braden, he stood, grasping the bed for just a moment to steady himself before pushing away. A shower sounded pretty good.
But he wasn't two feet from the bed when he was suddenly bombarded with the shrieking and moaning from before. He dropped heavily to his knees, shouting as he grabbed for his head.
"Dean!" Braden leapt forward to help, but Dean shoved him away.
"Don't touch me," he growled.
"Dean?!"
Sam's familiar voice swept over Dean, and even though the voices were still screaming at him, Dean felt himself calm just a little as Sam knelt down beside him.
"Braden, what happened?"
"He crossed the barrier before I could warn him not to," Braden murmured.
"Shit," Sam muttered. "Okay. Dean, we gotta get you back to the bed, okay?"
"Wanna shower, Sammy."
"Not yet, okay? Missouri wants to start working with you and Aub on how to handle this. Until you get some measure of control, you're gonna want to stay within a few feet of the bed. Bobby's got some pretty strong sigils laid down there."
"Fuck," Dean said, allowing Sam to help him to his feet and propel him back to the bed. Before he'd even sat down, the voices quieted, returning to the low, steady drone they'd been before.
"I was gonna tell you, D," Braden said apologetically, "but you moved before I got a chance."
Just another example of you not telling me shit that I needed to fucking know.
When he didn't reply, Braden frowned, biting his lip hesitantly.
"You mad, D?"
What the hell do you think?
"Uh, Bray," Sam interjected, "why don't you give us a minute, huh?"
Without another word, Braden backed away, casting one last look over his shoulder before quietly shutting the door behind him. Sam waited for Braden's footsteps to recede before he turned a questioning expression on Dean.
"What was all that about?"
"Nothin'."
"That was not 'nothing,' Dean."
"You mad at Bray, D?" Aubrey asked softly.
"Why the hell wouldn't I be?" Dean asked his sister incredulously.
"What do you mean?"
"Aubrey, I've got fucking dead people in my head that won't shut up. And you know what? They wouldn't be there if Braden hadn't been doing shit he never should have been messin' with. So yeah, I'm pissed."
"He didn't mean to, D—he was just scared. He was tryin' to figure out what was happening to him."
"Yeah, and he could've asked me for help instead of waiting for me to fucking walk right into the middle of it! I am so damn tired of all the secrets in this family! Because guess what? I'm the one who always gets fucked over in the end."
"Dean," Sam began, but Dean cut him off, knowing well enough that if he didn't head Sam off at the pass, his little brother would want to emote, to talk and share and all that other girly shit that Sam was so fond of.
"No, 'm done."
Rolling onto his side, he pulled his pillow over his head and nestled down, signaling the end of his part in the conversation.
Sam didn't try to continue, which was a fucking relief, Dean decided as he tried to ignore the whispers in his mind. Beside him, Aubrey shifted next to Dean, rolling over before finally settling, and within a few minutes, her breathing slowed, signaling that she'd fallen back to sleep.
Soft footsteps on the floor reached Dean's ears, and he frowned, wondering if Braden had decided to come back.
"Your dad sent me to check in on everyone," he heard Jessica murmur softly. "Braden came back downstairs, and he seemed upset."
"Yeah, well, Braden has bad timing, and Dean's pretty pissed off."
"Is he any better?" she asked worriedly.
"Well, he's lucid at least, so that's something, I guess. But it's gonna take awhile. Missouri's gonna have a helluva time teaching him and Aubrey how to control this shit."
"You know, you never did tell me who exactly she is," Jessica told Sam pointedly.
An interfering pain in the ass, Dean thought in reply, groaning as a headache pounded at his temple.
"Dean?" Sam asked in lieu of a response to Jessica's question.
"What?" Dean mumbled through the pillow.
"I thought you were asleep—you okay?" Sam asked, and from the way his voice sounded, Dean figured he'd moved closer.
"Headache," Dean muttered as Sam lifted the pillow to stare down at him worriedly.
"Can I get you anything?" Jess asked softly, her weight settling on the bed at Dean's hip as she laid a hand on his shoulder.
A bottle of Jack and some painkillers, maybe?
But he didn't say that, instead grunting what he hoped would translate as a no. He closed his eyes tightly, wishing he could make it all just go away.
But when the hell has that ever worked in this family?
"How is it that Aubrey can sleep like a baby through all this shit, when I can hardly even function?" he asked angrily, fighting back the urge to throw up as the pain in his head spiked.
"Missouri says it's because Aubrey's younger—she's not fighting it as much, and whatever shielding she has in place is still a bit…um, malleable. She's not subconsciously fighting it the way you are, so she's able to adapt better. It's probably a little more complicated than that, but that's the gist of it."
"I adapt," Dean argued moodily, vaguely aware that he sounded like an argumentative five-year-old, but not caring enough to retract his statement.
Jessica snorted, even as Sam shook his head.
"Dude, you don't adapt—you rebel. Or you bulldoze your way through anything that doesn't suit you with sheer stubbornness."
"…nobody asked you," Dean retorted.
"Dean, face it. Missouri's right—you're twenty-four, and you're pretty damn set in your ways. That's why you're having a hard time. You're fighting it."
"Of course I'm fighting it, Sam! Would you want a bunch of fucking dead people screaming at you twenty-four seven?"
"Well no, but—"
"Yeah, that's what I thought. So quit it with the lectures already. I've already got a fucking headache."
"Sorry," Sam said, and when the simple apology wasn't immediately followed up by an insult, Dean determined it was sincere and so let his ready retort go unsaid. His heart wasn't really in it anyway.
Damn, my head hurts.
He must have made some sound because a second later, soft, feminine hands settled on his temples and began to gently massage at his brow. And even though it didn't really change the fact that he had dead people in his head, it was nice to know that someone was trying to make things better for him.
"Thanks, Jess," he whispered, and before long, the rhythmic movement of her hands was enough to drown out the murmur of noise, and for a little while, he slept.
Three days, fourteen 'training sessions,' and six doses of Bobby's magic sleep juice later, Dean was no less angry at his younger brother, though he was slowly getting a handle on the voices. Sort of.
Okay, so I haven't puked since yesterday. That's progress, right?
To top it all off, he was antsy as hell and tired of being stuck in one place. He was sprawled on Bobby's couch, trying to take advantage of the quietness of the house by attempting to focus. Jessica had 'convinced' Sam to take her into town to shop, insisting that Sam hadn't done much in the way of picking out clothes for her to wear. The two of them had taken John's truck into town, leaving the Winchester patriarch in the company of Bobby in the study. Braden or whoever the hell he was calling himself these days had disappeared outside, up to who knew what out in the junkyard. Aubrey was with Missouri in the kitchen, the two of them doing a bit of baking as a way to distract Aubrey a bit from the voices nagging at her as insistently as the ones nagging Dean.
He'd been invited to join them, Missouri claiming that keeping his hands busy with the cookie dough would provide him with a measure of focus, but Dean refused. So she'd handed him the materials for a dream-catcher instead.
So here he was, parked on his ass in Bobby's living room, his fingers almost moving of their own accord as they wrapped the thick leather around the hoop.
Thing's fucking huge—how's she expect me to finish this?
"Dean?"
Slowly, he pulled his eyes away from the dream-catcher to see his father staring back at him from the doorway.
"Sir?"
"You got a minute?"
"'s not like 'm goin' anywhere, so yeah, I guess."
If the voices in my head will stay quiet long enough for me to focus on what you're saying.
They'd almost become white noise, as the movement of Dean's hands kept him from trying to focus too hard on what they were saying. Missouri had explained that part of the reason he was having trouble was because his mind was trying to process and hear all of the voices at once—he didn't have the control to tune out all but one voice, but his brain kept trying to filter them all out. And mostly failing.
"Shield but don't resist," she'd told him, and just the memory of it had him rolling his eyes.
Yeah, whatever the hell that means.
It was still pretty hard to be out of the protective circle Bobby had drawn around the bed, hard to focus, hard to hold the voices at bay.
Which was why Missouri had shoved the dream-catcher shit into his hands and propelled him into the living room with orders to focus his mind on the task at hand. The purpose, she'd told him firmly, was to do something that he could channel his energy into while allowing him to settle into a different mindset.
Apparently, the voices were supposed to fade into background noise as his attention shifted to his hands. Task-oriented training.
Too bad the dead folks didn't get the memo.
Just then, his fingers slipped and the cord slipped, loosening the weave he'd been currently wrapping and somehow managing to tangle.
Shit. Stupid-ass dream-catcher. Focus, my ass.
He could've told her he'd do just as well working on an engine from one of Bobby's clunkers, but somehow he didn't see her paying him any mind.
So far, it hadn't happened yet, and Dean wasn't altogether certain that Missouri wasn't full of shit. But still, it hadn't been a complete failure, Dean reasoned. They'd quieted a bit.
And every little bit counts. Even if I do have to keep my attention centered on this stupid-as-hell dream-catcher.
And keeping his attention centered was a bitch. Aubrey had managed to get a better hold on her voices than Dean, and it had rankled. Nevermind that their father had reassured Dean it wasn't his fault—the ADHD made it a lot harder. But still. It was like having your younger sister beat you in…well, anything.
In fact, it had been absolute hell.
"Dean?"
Oh yeah.
"D'you say somethin'?" he mumbled as he began to unravel the minor tangle in the cord.
"Just when I thought your attention issues couldn't get any worse," John muttered ruefully before he straightened and walked over, easing down beside Dean with a tired sigh. "We need to talk, Dean-o."
"You channelin' Sammy now, Dad?" 'Cause that's creepy as hell."
"'m serious."
"Can't talk now—gotta work on this," Dean told him, only half-kidding. He really did need to focus. But that wasn't his only reason. Because honestly, any conversation that started out "we need to talk" was bound to be messy and chick-flicky.
Seriously, no.
"It'll only take a minute."
Shit. C'mon, Dad—read the nonverbal signals I'm sending you here. Hell, read the verbal signals.
"Do we have to do this? I really don't feel like a chick-flick moment."
"It's important."
With a heavy sigh, Dean let his fingers fall still, trying to trick his brain into imagining he was still focused enough to ignore or quiet the voices.
So in all honesty, Dean wasn't completely listening to his father.
At all…
"...so do you get what I'm saying?"
"Um-hmm," Dean mumbled distractedly, watching sort of absently as his fingers shifted the dream-catcher in his hands and began to move once again, working a bead seamlessly into the pattern.
"Dean?"
"Hmm?"
"You haven't heard a damn thing I've said, have you?
Dean stilled once more, frowning as he slowly looked up at his father.
Oops.
"Sorry."
"You need to talk to Braden, Dean," John told him bluntly, obviously having come to the conclusion that no build-up was the only way Dean was actually going to hear him.
"'s that all?" Dean asked him dismissively, refocusing on the dream-catcher as he wondered belatedly if the damn things actually worked.
"Dean," John said with a sigh, "I know you're angry at him—and I don't blame you. Hell, I'm pretty upset with him myself. But he's tearing himself up over this, and I'm not the one who can fix it. And let's face it, I seldom am."
"How are you so sure it's even him right now? How do you know it's not whoever the fuck's been possessing him?" Dean asked hotly, fighting back the surge of anger that was threatening to blow his control all to hell.
"We're ruled out demonic possession, and for the time being, Oliver hasn't manifested since the night he helped us save your ass. It's just your brother now. And you need to talk to him. You hearin' me?"
"Yessir."
"So you'll talk to him?"
Like you're giving me a fuckin' choice.
"Yessir," he said instead. "Can't right now, though. Gotta finish this or Missouri'll kick my ass," Dean told his father, wishing the excuse would grant him more than just a few hours' reprieve.
"Yeah, she will," John replied, reaching out to ruffle Dean's hair affectionately before he stood up and began to leave. "Talk to him soon, Dean," he told Dean softly before he left the room, leaving Dean to his dream-catcher.
Shit.
Another day, three awkward-as-hell meals, and one migraine later, Dean was sitting on the front porch steps of Bobby's house, leaning wearily against a column as he halfheartedly tried to focus on his breathing and the other Zen-like bullshit that Missouri had been nagging at him to do when he heard the screen door open. It could only be Sammy, he knew without opening his eyes, the sound of heavy, Sasquatch-like footsteps telling him all he needed to know.
Without a word, his younger brother's large frame dropped onto the steps beside him, and after a moment of silence, it didn't take a genius to know that Sam had something on his mind.
"What is it, Sammy?" Dean mumbled.
"Huh?"
"We both know somethin's botherin' you, so just spit it out already."
"I wanted it to be me," Sam murmured after a minute. "I wanted to be the one to help you."
"Sammy, I—hell, man, I'm touched. Really. But dude, I wouldn't wish this shit on anyone, much less my little brother."
Bad enough that Aubrey got hit with it.
"Oliver said I couldn't help you."
"Did he say why?" Dean asked placidly, not bothered by Sam's statement but rather mildly curious.
"Not really. He just spouted a bunch of bullshit about me having a purpose to serve and enough trouble of my own to come. What does that even mean? What does any of that mean?" Sam asked, turning worried, desperate eyes on Dean, eyes that Dean knew meant 'fix it.'
Shit.
"Ah, look, man, I don't know. I wish I could give you some answers, but I don't know shit. You'll have to ask…Oliver."
And hope for the best.
"Well aside from the fact that he's pretty much AWOL at this point, he's not exactly forthcoming with answers, Dean."
"Yeah, no shit. Kinda figured that out for myself when the bastard up and disappeared before I woke up from the drugs Dad pumped into me."
"You think Bray would know anything?"
"What, like a sort of…residual knowledge kind of thing?"
"Uh, yeah, actually," Sam said with surprise. "So what do you think? You think it's possible?"
"I dunno," Dean said, rubbing at his head wearily. The conversation was quickly wrecking the little bit of shielding Dean had been able to achieve, as his attention began to waver. "But good luck getting anything out of him—you know how he is. He's about as bad as that fucker who was possessing him."
"Listen…family under the…look for…can't be here…trellis…watch out…wasn't a…never did…not what they say…"
Ah shit. Not again.
"Yeah. But I've got to at least try. I need to know what Oliver meant. If I've got something gunning for me, I need to know because it could put Jess at risk. I can't let anything happen to her, Dean. So you know where Bray is?"
"Aub said he was out in the scrap-yard building a skateboard ramp."
"I'm guessing Dad isn't aware of that," Sam replied dryly.
"Probably not."
"You gonna tell him?"
"Nah, dude, 'm not the tattletale here—that's all you," Dean said mildly, hoping to shift Sam away from the subject of their baby brother. Truth was, he didn't want to talk about Braden at the moment. His father was already giving him the evil eye, no doubt well aware that he hadn't spoken with Braden yet.
"Jerk," Sam retorted, nudging Dean's shoulder playfully, which Dean returned with a slightly harder nudge of his own.
"Bitch."
And for the first time in what seemed like forever, it felt like things were finally like they used to be, back before Sam had left. It felt right.
Weird, considering how fucked up things are right now.
Because he could still hear them, hovering on the periphery of his consciousness, getting louder with every passing moment, whispers clamoring for his attention as his control slipped.
"Don't do…help…not…couldn't help him…tricked…wasn't I…was only going to…not the right one…can you…it was mine…"
"Hey, you okay?" Sam asked, bumping his shoulder suddenly with a worried expression.
"Huh?"
"You faded out on me for a minute. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, 'm fine," he said, rubbing at his temple fruitlessly.
"Dude, that's Winchester code for 'I feel like shit but I'm too macho to say it.' And at this point, I've heard it enough that it's totally transparent."
"Bullshit."
"Uh, no it's really not. Aubrey's the only one who doesn't try to hide how she's feeling behind that utter lack of creative deflection."
"That's cause she's a girl, Sam. Sorta like you."
"So you admit it—it's a macho ploy to divert attention."
"I admit nothing," Dean said, keeping a straight face as he stared his little brother down with a cocky gleam in his eye. Because the truth was, even feeling completely craptastic, he'd missed this with his brother. Not to mention that the easy bantering kept his mind off of more unpleasant things.
Like how I've got these voices in my head that don't know how to shut the hell up. Fuck, he thought, wincing when the drone of voices began to crescendo, gaining strength as Dean's failed. He still couldn't maintain any sort of shielding against them for longer than a couple of hours. Missouri said that he was doing well, his innate shields helping him tremendously, but so far Dean wasn't seeing it.
It was all just too damn draining.
"So listen…" Sam began, and Dean cringed inwardly, knowing that tone all too well. Sam was about to ruin everything by initiating a chick-flick moment. "You gonna talk to Bray any time soon?"
"Ah, dude, I'm not talking about this. Dad's already given me the lecture—"
Most of which I wasn't actually listening to, but Sammy doesn't know that…
"Dean, he's really upset—you haven't seen it because you've been avoiding him for the last four days, but it's really eating him up that you're angry at him."
"It's not just about me being angry, Sam," Dean retorted. "It's about my own brother not trusting me. It's about my own brother putting me through hell because he'd rather try some fucked up, archaic, bullshit ritual instead of talk to me. So I don't want to hear you lecture me about talking to him. Strategic retreat, Sam, that's what I'm doing. Because anything else is just waiting for someone else to come along and shit on me."
"Dean, he's a kid. He's a fourteen year old boy who's trying to figure out how to be a man and handle things on—"
"Are you even hearing yourself?" Dean interrupted incredulously. "You sound like a fucking Hallmark movie."
"I'm serious, man."
"Alright! I'll think about it, okay?! Just shut the hell up already," he told Sam, annoyed that he was already considering Sam's words.
Besides, it was easier to concede than continue to argue, what with the voices in his head getting louder and demanding more of his attention.
Damn, I'm tired.
"Can't think…are you doing…water was…couldn't see and…born in...attack…oldest daughter…not…open it…a man…nowhere to go and…listening but...lied…too small…screaming…"
"Dean, you come on in now, you hear me?!" Missouri called suddenly from inside, and Dean winced.
Shit.
"'m fine—'m just gonna sit with—"
"Don't you lie to me, boy," she replied, stepping out onto the porch to stare down at him sternly. "I declare, you're as bad as your father, always with that 'I'm fine' mess. Don't anybody believe you, not even that girl of Sam's who's only known you for a week, so you might as well stop trying."
Sam snickered, and Dean rammed his elbow into his little brother's side.
"Now you come on inside—you're tired, and those shields of yours don't hold well when you're tired."
They don't fucking hold well at all.
"They're still there…not okay…didn't try hard enough…gotta…home…gathering…nobody knows…hard to think…not enough…"
"You'd better do what she says," Sam said suddenly, breaking through the voices as he gave Dean a gentle nudge. "You don't want her to come after you with a spoon."
"Hey, those things fucking hurt, dude," Dean said, even as he climbed a bit unsteadily to his feet, pretending not to notice Sam's hand on his elbow steadying him when he wavered.
Because the truth was, he needed the help, even if he hated to admit it.
Taking a deep breath and mentally steeling himself against the voices beginning to creep back up on him, Dean slowly stepped outside and headed for the junkyard, following the sounds of metal striking metal.
Rounding a '69 Ford that had seen better days, he found his youngest brother dragging what looked like an old trunk lid over to the rusted out husk of a Chevy Nova. He stilled when he sensed Dean standing there, allowing the lid to fall from his fingers as he straightened.
"'m sorry," Braden told him abruptly, never having been one to beat around the bush. "I didn't mean for anything to happen to you. I didn't mean anything by it, either—I was just trying to figure out what was happening to me."
"So why didn't you just ask me for help? Why all the secretive shit?" Dean asked, dropping down on the hood of a heap of metal that was almost unrecognizable as a car anymore.
"You already had so much on you, D—I didn't want to add any more," Braden told him softly, slowly picking his way over to Dean to settle heavily next to him with a sigh.
"Dammit, Bray, none of that matters," Dean barked, staring back at his baby brother intently. "You always tell me when something's happening to you. I don't care how much shit I've got going on, if something's wrong, you come to me."
"But, D—"
"No. This family is all I've got, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let anything happen to it."
Braden was silent for a long time, and Dean had vaguely started counting all of the engines he could fix as the voices began to swirl around him.
"D?"
"Hmm?"
"Have you ever read The Catcher in the Rye?"
"Okay, random."
"Just answer the question."
"Yeah, a long time ago. Sam tricked me into it. Fucker. Why?"
"Because you remind me of the main character sometimes."
"I remind you of an anti-social teenager that's bat-shit crazy?" Dean asked dryly, quirking his eyebrow at Braden.
"No, not that part. Just…the things that he said sometimes… 'And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff,'" Braden began to recite, ' What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff—I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all…' That's you, Dean. I mean, the context in the book is a little different, but…it fits, if you think about it. You're the one who stands out in front of the rest of us and tries to keep us from falling. But we just keep evading you."
It was eerily perceptive for a fourteen year old boy. The fact that he was right, too, didn't escape Dean's notice.
"So let me do my job then and quit dodgin' me. Let me catch you."
"'kay," Braden murmured, wearily leaning into Dean, who hugged him close. "I wasn't tryin' to make things hard for you," he mumbled into Dean's jacket. "I thought I could handle it," he finished, settling back beside him with a disappointed sigh.
"Yeah well…if I hadn't stepped into the circle, things might've gone differently. But damn, Bray, that shit's dangerous. Even if I hadn't fucked it all up by stepping into the middle."
"Yeah, I know," Braden grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
"Why didn't you at least tell Dad?"
"Dad already looks at me like I'm a freak sometimes when he thinks I'm not lookin'. I didn't wanna give him any more reasons to look at me like that. 'sides, what was I supposed to tell him that didn't sound like nine kinds of crazy. At the very least, he'd 'ave thought I was possessed."
"Are you so sure you aren't?" Dean asked slowly. "I mean, I know you're you right now, but…we don't know that Oliver actually left."
"I dunno what Oliver is exactly, but he's not a demon."
"Dude, he's somehow crammed himself inside you, he's sharin' your head-space, and he hijacks your body—that sounds pretty demonic to me."
"But besides all that, none of the clues match. He doesn't flinch at the name of God, salt-lines don't do shit to him, and I can drink holy water all day without either of us so much as blinking. It doesn't make any sense, D."
"Ah, forget I said anything—Dad and Uncle Bobby'll figure things out. In the meantime, has it said anything else since it let you have your body back?"
"No. Before…he'd sometimes whisper things to me when I was asleep or almost asleep…but since he gave me back control, I haven't heard anything from him."
"D' you think…maybe he…left?" Dean asked, rubbing his temple as he felt the stirrings of what was no doubt going to be a deluge of voices and a migraine.
"No."
"Why not?" he asked, trying to focus on the conversation instead of the murmurs that were taking shape.
"Because he's been with me for as long as I can remember. I mean, his presence has always just been there with me."
"If he's been with you that long, how come you didn't notice him before?"
"Shhhh...can…have to…'
Dammit. Focus.. Just need a little longer, Dean thought as he fought to hear Braden's answer.
"I was a kid. I didn't know any different. 'sides, it was different then."
"What d' you mean?"
"I mean, if Oliver was taking over my body when I was little, I wasn't really aware of it. Or if I was, it obviously didn't bother me. I think I probably just thought it was normal."
"You know, that does sort of explain a lot of the weird shit you used to do when you were little. Hell, it explains a lot of the weird shit you still do."
"Well, it didn't seem weird to me. Still doesn't," Braden told him with a slight smile. "Well, some of it anyway."
"So…are you aware now?"
"Hurt me…not too late…you can't…sign of…not…wouldn't go…beginning of…"
You dead people are seriously pissing me off! Do you mind?! I'm trying to have a fucking conversation with my brother!
"Some," Braden was saying. "It's sorta…fuzzy, like I'm half-asleep. But that last time, I sort of fell asleep, and then I wasn't aware anymore. It scared me, though, 'cause I was gone for awhile. What if I couldn't come back?"
"Could…you…fight him…for control?" Dean asked him, struggling to hold back the sea of voices that were now actively fighting his weakening control.
"Maybe. But probably not for long," Braden muttered. "It takes a lot of energy to fight him, and I have to sleep sometime. And when I sleep, that's when he can take complete control."
"Can he take you when you're awake now, too?"
"I dunno…I think it sort of drains him to do that, since I fight him when he tries that. If he wears me down enough, though, I think he probably could."
"Not a demon…can't let go…Dean…a spirit…too small…hurt…not the same…"
Whoa, hold up. That sounded like something useful in the middle of all the bullshit.
Agitated, Dean rubbed at his temple again, at last motivated enough to try and fine-tune his control enough to converse with the voices.
Please let this work. Because if it doesn't, it's gonna hurt like a bitch.
Letting out a deep, even breath, Dean slowly let his shields—meager though they were—slip.
"…boy's right… …slipped on the ice…never going to be free…it wasn't supposed to…not enough time…you're walking into…too late…listen to him…knows…I ran but it…no way out…doesn't know everything…body is gone…it was blue with daisies…not a demon…didn't wait on me…long time ago…never seen anything like it…can't fight it like the others…"
Okay, one at a time, Dean thought, alarm ripping through him as they battered at him, all of them speaking at once.
If he's not a demon, then what is he? he found himself asking, just barely able to stabilize his control, his shields just firm enough to allow him to focus on not trying too hard to listen. Missouri had told him to sort of just ride the wave of voices and things would sort themselves out.
"Spirit but not a spirit….Something different," one murmured, its voice emerging out of the maelstrom of whispers and beginning to take on a distinctly male tone.
Well, I'll be damned. Maybe the old broad knows what she's talkin' about after all.
You don't know what it is exactly, though? he ventured, trying not to expect too much. Conversation with the voices hadn't worked so well before, so he told himself that expecting it to work now was being a bit too optimistic.
"No. None of us have seen anything like it. Sorry, man."
The apology as well as the lucidity of the response surprised the hell out of him, blowing his control to hell, just as he'd feared. The voices swarmed over him, all of them suddenly screaming at him so much that he couldn't push it away.
"Fuck!" he barked, dropping to his knees as he cradled his head in his hands.
"Dean!" Braden yelled anxiously, his voice only adding to the clamor.
He wanted to respond, but he'd been holding them all back for too long. It was too much, too hard to wrap his shields around himself again. Pain sliced through his head, leaving him reeling and trying not to vomit.
And then suddenly, Missouri was there, her hand on his shoulder as she knelt down beside him.
"C'mon, honey," she said softly. "Get your shields back in place. You can do it—you just need to focus."
And just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped. The voices dropped away—all but one—and a sudden chill went down Dean's spine as he realized the truth: the voices had gone quiet, and he hadn't done a damn thing.
"There. That's better, isn't it?"
Oh. Shit.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews and alerts, everyone!! Oh, and the book reference was, as noted, to J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye (quote found on p. 173 in my version). My beta absolutely loathes that book, but I couldn't resist keeping the reference in despite her protests, because it really does seem to fit Dean. Feel free to disagree if you wish. But if you haven't read it, consider giving it a try someday!
ohgravitysonfire: Glad you are liking the fic—you're right about it being easier to read here than on LJ. One day, I'm going to get around to posting this entire fic on LJ, but so far, it hasn't happened yet. I was going to start making changes here and there to it, but it's too hard to do that while I'm still working on actually finishing the original. Anyways, I'm pleased that you like Jess being alive. I like fics where she lives, so it made since that she survive in mine. As for your idea concerning Mary being Braden's tag-along, that was pretty interesting—it never occurred to me to go that route, but it was quite creative on your part. And since you're the only person who's really chimed in on the trinket issue, the ring it is. Thanks for the reviews you sent!
WastedJamie: I'm so glad that you feel that the wait is worth it, because I certainly make you guys suffer in between updates. Part of the problem is that anything less than ten or fifteen pages seems too short, so I try to go for longer chapters. Factor in real life and occasional bouts of writer's block and well…you can see the problem. Anyways, thanks for the review!
whereinthewrld: Thanks for the compliments you sent! As for Aubrey's clinginess…while it can be annoying, I feel like it makes her more human. And as I didn't want there to be any chance of her coming across as a Mary-Sue, I felt a major weakness such as her inability to be alone worked well for keeping her on the level of the other characters. If you think about it, Dean's actually not far off from that—granted, Aubrey's is more of a pathological fear now, but Dean tends to dislike being alone, too. Both of them have aspects of separation anxiety.
zuimar: Hopefully, this chapter answered some of the questions you had left over from the previous one. Sorry you had to wait so long for the answers, though! So what did you think of Missouri's appearance? Granted, she was more of an 'off-screen' character here, but I think it sort of worked well that way, since Dean's more likely to avoid her than settle nearby. Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!
Isolda: Pretty sure I already replied to you…lol! In case I didn't tell you, I have noted your request for a Jessica-centered chapter. I'm not sure I can pull it off any time soon, at least not at this point in time, but there's a one-shot set in this 'verse that's from Jessica's POV. There's a link on my URL to it—it's "Of Mice and Winchesters." Again, I may have already told you that, as I'm pretty sure I replied to your review shortly after you sent it to me, but oh well. Thanks for the review in any case!
imokit: Thanks!
asdfjkl;: LOL! Nice screen name—it made me laugh. Anyways, as I was telling Isolda (above), I know several of you want a Jessica-centered chapter, but at this point, I'm not sure if I can make it work. As of right now, I think the next chapter will have to be another Dean chapter. I sort of had to end this one where I did due to time and length issues, but I wasn't really done with Dean's POV (and what happens next can only be told by him). So while I don't have current plans for a Jess chapter, I do have a one-shot set in this 'verse, called "Of Mice and Winchesters," and it's a really funny Dean vs. hamster story told from Jessica's POV. There's a link to it on my URL if you're interested. Anyways, hope this chapter fulfilled your wish for some Dean and Sam bonding time. Not a lot of it, I guess, but I tried. Anyways, thanks for the review!
Bunty: Thanks for reviewing! I'll keep updating if you'll keep reviewing! ;)
PRACK: Ah, I've missed you! I really enjoyed your point rewards system. Let me know how many points I get this time around! That's assuming of course that you were able to read the last chapter! Otherwise, I don't imagine you'll see this message any time soon! Anyways, thanks for the feedback on Chapter 34! Hope to hear from you soon! If not, have a great Christmas!
jeps: Your review made me laugh! "will the ritual proceed without any mishaps? i hope not especially if it involves more hurt Dean!"—LOL! A reviewer after my own heart! I hope this chapter satisfactorily fulfilled your wish for more hurtDean! Let me know how I did, okay? Thanks for the review!
achillies-eel: Okay, so I'm sorry to say that you'll have to wait at least one more chapter to get the real story on Oliver. Sorry! I really thought it was going to happen in this chapter…only it didn't. It would've been too much too fast if I'd tried to pull it off in this one. We'll see where the next chapter goes. Anyways, I did manage to get some Dean and Braden in here, as you requested! Let me know what you thought of the chapter, okay? I love hearing from you!
AJ2951: You know what I like so much about you? You don't wait for chapters to send me PMs. That's so sweet of you! Most of the time, I don't hear much from anyone between chapter updates, so it's nice to know that you've thought of me! Anyways, hope this chapter was a good one for you! Thanks for reviewing (and for PM-ing me several times)!
rholou: So what did you think of the ritual's outcome? Did it come across okay?
saberivojo: So yeah, I'm totally drawing out the whole deal with Oliver. I'm sure I'm driving everyone crazy with the questions concerning him, and I was totally going to answer them in this chapter, but it didn't work out that way. I couldn't fit everything in this time around—it would've been too much, too quickly. I'm hoping it'll be explained in the next chapter, but if not, I'm like 99% sure it'll be the chapter after that. Anyways, thanks for the review!
eggylaine: In all honesty, I have no idea how long this story will go on. Whether or not I'll ever get around to Sam's problems being explained is a question I can't answer at this point. I wasn't necessarily planning to go on that long, but maybe a sequel or something. We'll see. Glad you're liking Jess! I'm quite fond of her, myself! LOL! Anyways, thanks for reviewing!
sourtneyun: So, lots of bonding-sort of moments in this chapter—no Sam and John, but there were a lot of Dean with pretty much everybody else in this one, so what did you think? Did you like? As for finding out more about Oliver…yeah, sorry you didn't get more info, but it just wasn't going to work in this chapter. I'm hoping to get to that in the next chapter! Keep your fingers crossed! Anyways, thanks for reviewing!
Hicks07: So, was this chapter as intense as you were expecting? I hope so! Thanks for reviewing!
Beccatdemon13: You know, I like trying to picture how Aubrey and Braden would be in the episodes, too! It's fun to think about! Who would you cast to play them? Granted, they'd have to look almost identical, so maybe we'd have to pick one actor and then picture a more feminine version of him to play the other twin (or vice versa). Anyways, sorry for the long wait—thanks for being understanding and willing to wait!
ShinobuSaiga: Yes, I do tend to favor the cliffie type endings, don't I? But it makes it so much better when it builds anticipation like that! As for handling irritable Winchesters…yes, it does take a special kind of skill! Good thing Jess seems to have that skill as well! Anyways, thanks for the review!