Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
A/N: Alright, everybody—just as a warning, you really need to watch the italics/quotation marks in this chapter. Otherwise, it might get confusing. I think I managed to make it clear who's talking/thinking, but just in case, here's the breakdown: Italics alone (like this) are Dean's thoughts. Italics with quotation marks ("like this") are the voice in Dean's head. Italics with single quotation marks ('like this') are Dean speaking to the voice in his head.
Thanks to mimishell for being my awesome beta, as always!
Chapter 37: Psychic Fall-out
Dean's mind whirled as the implications of the lone voice in his head began to register.
"Dean, are you okay?" he heard Braden ask, even as Missouri shifted around to kneel in front of him.
Please don't be a demon—oh shit, does hearing dead people make me vulnerable to demonic possession? Shit!
"Nah, man, 's not like that. Relax, would ya? You makin' me nervous."
What the…
"Christo," Dean whispered, waiting with baited breath for any sign of possession. The fact that he could utter the word in the first place was promising, but still…Dean couldn't help but be skeptical.
After all, life had screwed them over more times than he could count.
"What the fuck, man? Are you not listenin' to me? I just told you I'm not a demon—'m just a spirit. Now quit dicking around and get ya' ass up and book it for that magic hocus-pocus circle your old man and the scruffy dude hooked up for you. Maybe you're not too far gone for it to do you some damn good."
'You the one holdin' back all the voices?' Dean asked, deciding to throw caution to the wind if it meant getting some answers for once.
"Uh, yeah. Man, you are acting all kinds of stupid today—what the hell's wrong wit' you?"
'Hey, it's been a long day, asshole,' Dean retorted, annoyed by the insult even as he wondered why the hell he cared. Or why the hell he was arguing with a dead guy. 'Look, how long can you hold 'em off?'
"Honey, can you hear me?" Missouri asked, breaking into the inner dialogue Dean had going, her hands cupping his face as she tried to look him in the eyes.
"Not forever, if that's what you're asking. But at least until you can get control of things on your own. 'Course, that bein' the case and all, you might wanna move your white-boy ass into the safety zone and save yourself a headache. I mean, I'm holdin' it off for now, but who knows how well that'll work? Could backfire, I suppose, but…"
'Right. That's so fucking helpful, I don't know where to start,' Dean retorted sarcastically.
"I need to get inside," Dean mumbled, still reeling from the bombardment of voices from before as well as the lone voice that had made himself known in no uncertain terms. He got to his feet shakily and moved toward the house.
"Dean?" Braden called, hurrying to catch up, even as Missouri took hold of Dean's arm to help him. Honestly, he didn't need the help, but it wasn't worth the hassle to shake her off.
The fact that Missouri wasn't the type to be shaken off had also occurred to him.
Then again, as he stumbled against her, he was forced to concede that maybe he did need the help.
Shit.
"How weak are your shields right now, Dean?" she asked him.
"Like muthafuckin' steel, baby," the voice told him proudly, and Dean couldn't help but snort in amusement.
'Funny, that's not how it feels on this end.'
"That's 'cause you ain't been practicin' with me. You and me, man, we can work this. I'll show you how to get things done without all that dream-catcher bullshit."
'So you gonna tell me why I feel like shit then?'
"Sure, man. You feel like shit, cause you been fightin' like a bitch to keep us all out. You don't got the psychic juice to pull that shit off, at least not yet anyways."
"You're speaking to someone, Dean—who is it?"
Missouri's voice once again jarred him back to the external world, her voice seeming far too loud to Dean's mind as he fought to refocus on what was happening outside his head.
"Dean, can you hear me?"
"Huh? Yeah," he mumbled, suddenly fighting back the urge to throw up, a sensation he'd become far too familiar with lately.
"Who is it, honey?"
"Who's who?" he asked, tripping over his feet clumsily.
"You're talking to somebody in your head-space right now—who is it?"
"I don't know what you're talkin' about," Dean told her evasively, not really sure why he didn't want to tell her but holding back nevertheless.
"Boy, I'm psychic. Now you quit tellin' me lies and answer my question. Someone's stepped forward into your conscious mind. We need to be certain that whoever it is can be trusted. Now who is it?"
"I dunno," Dean muttered as they mounted the stairs to Bobby's porch. "Hasn't said."
"That's cause yo' rude ass never asked."
Oh. Sorry, Dean told the voice, feeling nine kinds of stupid for apologizing to a voice in his head.
"You should be. I'm dead—don't mean I don't have feelings."
Dean was silent, not really knowing how to respond until the voice chuckled a second later.
"Dude, I'm just messin' wit' you. Name's Terrence, but you can call me TK."
Caught off guard at the voice's candor, Dean stumbled again, wishing that was the only reason why he'd stumbled.
"You are one jumpy sonuvabitch. You should switch to decaf, man."
''m not jumpy. And there's nothin' wrong with my caffeine intake,' Dean told him defensively. 'M' nerves are shot to hell is all.'
Can't even make my feet work. Shit. Hasn't been this bad in awhile…
"Dean Winchester, you better answer me, boy," Missouri's voice cut in, breaking through what Dean realized must have been a long-ass silence.
"Uh…what was the question?" he asked her confusedly, tired and still half caught up in the drama going on inside his head. He almost failed to notice when he stumbled for a third time. Almost. But then, the fact that he couldn't seem to hold himself up anymore sort of clued him in.
Missouri managed to catch him before he face-planted into the floor, but he realized vaguely that the older and much shorter woman wasn't going to be able to support him for long.
"Braden, go get your father," he heard Missouri order as she shifted to hold more of his weight.
"Shit, 'm sorry," he mumbled as he struggled to keep his feet under him.
"It's alright, baby—you're doing the best you can," she told him, even as TK spoke, pulling his attention inward once again.
"Boy, you walkin' like you're drunk off your ass. I ain't seen that walk since—."
'Dude. Seriously? Trying not to puke here. You think you could keep it down for awhile.'
"Yeah, alright. Wuss."
Suddenly, he felt his weight shift as his father grabbed his arm and pulled it over his shoulder to help him up the stairs.
"What happened?" John was asking, his voice at once both loud and familiar as he slowly maneuvered them to the stairs.
"'m alrigh', Dad," he muttered, realizing belatedly that he wasn't even moving his feet anymore. "Shit."
"Boy's drained his shields down to nothing," he heard Missouri tell his dad, TK now silent.
"So why isn't he puking his guts up right now? Isn't that what usually happens when he does that, the whole 'psychic fall out' deal you mentioned?"
Oh, just give it some time, Dad. That part's coming…
"Usually, yes," Missouri replied. "But I suspect a stronger spirit has stepped up to help him. It may be that we can avoid the backlash."
We? I only see one of us sufferin' here, so what's all this 'we' shit?
"Wait, what?" John asked, and even without looking, Dean could tell that his father's temper was gearing up.
"A spirit guide, Johnny. If the spirit's trustworthy, it's good news—I was hopeful, but I wasn't sure if Dean would be able to harness one…spirits are finicky."
"What the hell 's she talkin' about? I ain't finicky," TK told Dean, obviously offended by the woman's assessment.
"Wait, so Dean's got some sort of animal helpin—"
"John Winchester, I said spirit guide, not animal spirit. Honestly, you'd think you'd know a bit more about such things. You need to start reading up on this sort of thing, so you'll know what I'm talking about. I swear, Johnny—"
"Alright, alright, I hear you—quit lecturin' me," John grumbled.
'You still there?' Dean asked as they edged into the room.
"Yeah, man. Whatchu need?"
'You gonna stick around, keep the dead off my back for awhile?'
"That magic circle o' yours is a Catch-22, man—it quiets everybody a little, but it weakens me, too. Once you cross the line, bro, you on your own."
'Will it help?'
"Maybe."
'And when I come out of the circle?'
"I'll be back."
'Why're you helping me?'
Unfortunately, before TK could answer, John dragged Dean across the threshold of the circle around the bed, and that quickly, the migraine that TK had apparently been helping to stave off roared in at full strength. Dean lurched away from his father and the circle, just managing to grab the trashcan sitting by the nightstand before he started to vomit.
"Fuck," he whispered when the heaving finally subsided, dropping his head wearily onto his arms, which were still braced on the top of the trashcan.
"You want me to set you up with some of that painkiller of Bobby's?" John asked as Dean slowly dropped back to his haunches with a shaky sigh.
"Damn, man, that's just nasty."
"Why don't you shut the hell up, man?" Dean snarled, vaguely aware that it wasn't really the spirit he was angry at, but finding TK a much easier target than anything else.
"Excuse me?" John replied, his brows lowering at the perceived insult.
"Not you," Dean muttered.
"Then who the hell are you talking to?"
"So this is your pops, huh?"
Dean chuckled at that, amused at the thought of John Winchester being called 'Pops.'
"Yeah. 'cept, don't ever call him that."
"Dean?"
"Sorry. 'm talkin' to the voice in my head," Dean mumbled, vaguely aware that he sounded nine kinds of crazy, but shrugging it off nonetheless, too tired to care. "'s name's TK."
"How long have you been talking to him?" John asked, his expression more than enough to tell Dean that he was uneasy with the idea.
"Um…not long. Earlier, before you pulled me into the circle," Dean replied, rubbing his head tiredly before slowly trying to get his feet under him. His father reached down and hauled him up, steadying Dean with a concerned expression.
"But you weren't talking out loud before."
"Yeah. Don't have the energy for talkin' to 'im inside my head anymore—'m fuckin' tired, Dad."
"Missouri?" he heard his father ask, "Is this safe? And hell, how do we even know this isn't the same thing that's going on with Braden? What if this is another Oliver?! I mean, how the fuck do we know that we can trust this thing?"
Leaving his dad to interrogate Missouri on the finer points of communing with spirits, Dean slowly began to make his way towards the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to brush his teeth and then burrow under some pillows and sleep.
"Yeah, you seem pretty wiped, man. I'm having to do all the work."
"You think you could hold the other voices back for awhile, just until I can get rid of this fuckin' migraine?" Dean asked, hating the weakness in his voice but desperate enough to beg anyway.
'm tired of havin' to get Dad to drug me every night. 'Sides, it makes me feel like shit after I wake up...
"Yeah, man. I gotchu."
"Thanks," Dean mumbled tiredly, relinquishing every bit of his control to TK, too worn out and in too much pain to care anymore.
Dean ran his toothbrush through his mouth quickly, before he headed for the stairs. The couch awaited, safely away from the circular ward that Dean had decided would only make his migraine worse as it blocked TK from helping. The problem, of course, was the stairs.
"Ah, fuck," Dean mumbled, staring down at the seemingly endless stairs that he knew well enough he didn't have the energy to go down.
"Dean?"
Sammy.
"What are you doing, man?" Sam asked, coming up beside him with a worried expression.
"Couch. 'm tired."
"You don't want to sleep inside the ward?"
"No."
"No?"
"'s what I said. Headache'll get worse."
"Worse? I thought it made things better."
"Not anymore. TK's helpin'."
"Who the hell is TK?"
Fuck, Sammy—do we gotta do this now?
"Sam." The familiar voice came from behind him, and Dean could only sigh in relief as Jessica's footsteps could be heard coming up behind him.
If anybody has better timing than Sam, it's Jessica.
"What?" Sam asked, looking past Dean to where Jessica had appeared from the door of the spare bedroom.
"I think he's a little tired for the third degree right now. He can explain it to you later," she scolded gently, casting a soft smile at Dean before she gave Sam a gentle nudge. "Now are you gonna help him down the stairs or am I?"
"I like her, Sammy," Dean mumbled as Sam got a steady grip on Dean's arm and pulled it over his shoulder. "'s good people."
"Yeah, I like her, too, Dean," Sam told him gently as he began to lead them down the steps, Jessica following behind them.
A bunch of steps later, Dean suddenly and inexplicably found himself being laid on the couch, his brother easing his shoulder out from under his own as Dean blinked up at him confusedly.
"You need me to get a trashcan or anything?" Sam asked softly.
"Uh-uh," Dean mumbled, his eyes dropping closed as he blindly groped for another pillow to burrow under. A second later, someone gently settled one on his head, and Dean managed a heart-felt grunt in reply before he dropped swiftly and mercifully into sleep.
"So have you gotten anything out of him?"
The sound of his father's voice pulled Dean out of sleep, and with a sigh, Dean groggily shoved the pillow off his head and sat up, relieved that the migraine had vanished.
"No sir," Braden was saying, and John sighed with a frustration that Dean had long since become familiar with. "'m sorry, Dad—I can't really control him or anything. He only talks to me when he wants to."
"Have you tried… 'letting go' again, like your brother told you to?"
"Yessir, but nothing's happening."
"Dammit, Braden, we need some answers."
"John, why don't you get your panties out of a wad and give the kid a break already?" Bobby broke in gruffly.
"Bobby, I've got all kinds of weird shit attaching themselves to my kids—I don't have time to dick around here," John retorted, and Dean rubbed his eyes tiredly.
"Well pestering Braden about it isn't gonna change anything," Bobby pointed out. "Look, let me see if I can find something to call Oliver up, and in the meantime, you give it a rest with the demands."
"Your old man is one intense sonovabitch, man."
'Oh. Hey,' Dean thought slowly, wondering how he'd managed to forget his 'new friend.'
"I save your ass from the migraine from hell and all I get is a 'Oh hey'—that's just wrong, bro."
'Yeah, you're right. Sorry. 's just…this is kinda fucked up, you know? I mean, I've got a disembodied voice in my head. 's not like I've got a whole lot of experience with that sort of shit.'
"Alright, I'll give you that one, 'cause you got a point. So…why don'tchu tell me somethin' about you?"
'You're kidding, right?'
"Nah, man. Think about it—I'm in your head all day, might as well get to know each other, don't you think?"
'I guess,' Dean told him indifferently, not particularly giving a shit at the moment but willing to play along if it meant TK continued to keep the voices at bay.
"Sweet," TK said excitedly, and if he'd had a body, Dean imagined he'd be rubbing his hands together with glee.
Weird.
"You first," TK prodded when Dean didn't automatically begin.
'Ah hell, dude, I've never been good at the whole "getting to know you" shit…just tell me what you wanna know.'
"How about your family—tell me about them."
'That's what you pick? I give you the option of asking me basically whatever the hell you want, and that's what you pick? I mean, hell, you've already met most of 'em. Sam's the one that helped haul my ass downstairs earlier, Braden's the younger one, and Aubrey's his twin.'
"Yeah, I haven't met her yet. She around?"
'She's somewhere. But hell, you could probably talk to her directly, since she's got some of this clairaudience shit now, too.'
"Oh. Good to know. Does she try to shield as damn hard as you do?"
'I don't think so. Pisses me off, too—she's already got a handle on this shit, and I'm still trying to tell my ass from a hole in the ground.'
"Oh. So…who's the hot blonde that we saw last night?"
'That's Jessica—she's not family, or at least not yet. She's Sammy's girl.'
"Do we like her?"
'Dude, she's nine kinds of awesome. I get it you know, why Sammy likes her so much…so yeah, we like her. She's on the DFW list for sure, but I look out for her.'
"DFW list?"
'Don't Flirt With list….the 'F' is flexible, but…Anyways, it's a small list, mind you, but Jessie has to be on it—Sammy'd be aiming that bitch-face of his at me endlessly if I flirted with her. Trust me, it's just not worth it.'
"Oh. So what about the old guy, Bobby. That your dad's bro?"
'Nah. He just sort of adopted us. But he and Dad sure fight like brothers, don't they? It's a good cover for us, and we have papers stashed in the car saying he really is our uncle, just in case we need 'em.'
"So you got any real uncles?"
'Not that I know of.'
"So…who else should I know about?"
'Um, well, my sister's got a fuckin' hell-beast in the other room that I should probably warn you about.'
"Say what?"
'A hell-beast. They call it a hamster, but that thing's fuckin' evil.'
"So why ain't you ganked it yet?"
'You kiddin' me? My dad's been all over that since Aubrey got the fuckin' thing. I don't have a chance.'
"What about your ma, man? You ain't mentioned her."
'Mom was killed when I was four.'
"Oh, sorry about that, man. The cops catch who killed her?"
'No. It was a demon. That's why we do what we do. Dad's been looking for the sonovabitch for a long time.'
"Was it random, or did it have a reason for killin' your ma?"
'I'm not talkin' about this anymore.'
It was too close. Even though it had been weeks since the encounter with the demon in Sam's apartment, he still felt raw, the memories of the night his mother died still fresh in his memory.
And apparently, the memories were strong enough that TK caught a glimpse, as a second later, Dean heard a muttered curse.
"Shit, man—you saw that when you were a little kid? That's fucked up."
'You stay out of my memories, you hear me?' Dean told him coldly. 'Bring this up again, and I don't fuckin' care if it gives me a migraine, I'll park my ass inside that circle upstairs and stay there.'
"Alright, alright, man, I get it," TK replied, his tone conciliatory as he settled into the back of Dean's consciousness, obviously giving Dean some space as he left him alone with memories that had never ceased to haunt him.
It's not the ghosts and shit that I have to worry about.
Memories were a helluva lot harder to kill.
With TK now running interference, Dean suddenly found himself able to function semi-normally for the first time in what seemed like forever.
It was a little after eleven, and everyone was beginning to settle. Dean was sitting on the couch with Sam and Jessica, absentmindedly cleaning an old carburetor while he listened to TK chatter inanely at him. The TV was on, but only Sam and Jessica seemed to be watching it, as John had his head buried in another of what Dean had hours ago decided were books of the 'absolutely useless' variety.
Not that anybody can tell him that.
The twins had wandered upstairs about fifteen minutes before, Aubrey to shower and Braden to no doubt find some way to fight sleep, a habit he'd fallen back into ever since he'd allowed Oliver to hijack his body that one time. It was like the more he thought about it, the more freaked out he was by the thought that Oliver could use him.
"You gonna tell your pops that your bro ain't sleepin'?"
'I'll give it another day or two, try to talk Bray into sleeping on his own. I don't wanna bring Dad in on it if I don't have to.'
"You sure that's a good idea, man?"
'Yeah, I do,' Dean told him, thinking of Braden's face as he'd told Dean how he didn't want Dad to look at him like he was a freak.
"Oh hey, man. Listen, there's this spirit chick, Cheryl. She's sorta hopin' you'll do her a favor and pass on a message to her aunt and uncle. Says she left some stuff in a safety deposit box that she wants them to have, says they really need the money to take care of her brother. And she wants her brother to have some little package she put in there for 'im."
TK fell silent, waiting for Dean to respond, and Dean sighed, wishing that part of the deal he'd struck with the spirits didn't involve doing shit for them. Of course, he could choose not to, but then it'd be harder for TK to hold them off for as long as he did.
And let's face it—I need to keep TK happy, 'cause if I don't, he might decide to quit helping me, and shielding this hard without him holding back the damn 'psychic fallout' still leaves me with fucking migraines.
"So you gonna do it?"
'Huh?'
"I said are you gonna do it? You gonna help Cheryl?"
Damn.
'I'll need names and all the info you can get for me on the box,' Dean told him after a moment. 'You get all that from Cheryl, and yeah, I'll take care of it.'
"Sweet, man."
'You'll let her know then?'
"Yeah, I'll tell her…but you know, you could just as easily tell her yourself if you just stopped shielding so damn hard, man."
'No way, dude. One extra voice in my head is enough. 'sides, I don't trust that dropping my guard won't let twenty-eleven voices in instead of the one that I'm looking for.' So forget it. You just tell her what I said and get me the info.'
"Alright…but I bet your little sis could do it with her eyes closed," TK goaded him, and if TK had a body, Dean had no doubt that he'd have a cocky smirk on his face to rival Dean's best.
'Ah, fuck you, man—I'm taking things slow, being cautious. I want my shields to actually work right before I start trying that whole one-on-one conversing with multiple dead people.'
"You know, all bullshitting aside…you're not doing so bad. I mean, I haven't exactly been around a lot of people with your…talent…but I do know that this shit ain't easy, 'specially not for someone who wasn't born to it. You're doing pretty damn well, all things considered."
And if Dean was inclined to go easy on himself, he'd admit that TK had a point. Dean had at least progressed to the point where he hardly needed Missouri's help anymore, and since TK was planning to stick around, there was no real reason for Dean to stress himself out about his shields.
Still, it was a bit of a blow to the ego having to acknowledge that without TK he'd still be knocked on his ass by migraines and watching his baby sister show him up. She'd fared better from the start, taking pretty easily to Missouri's instruction on how to filter and tolerate the voices she was now hearing. In fact, except for a few moments where Dean caught her staring blankly into space—obviously turning her attention inward to listen to something—and once or twice where he'd overheard her talking aloud to seemingly no one, Aubrey seemed no different than she normally was.
"Man, c'mon! Quit beatin' yourself up over that shit—you startin' to sound like a fuckin' broken record."
'So quit eavesdropping then, asshole,' Dean retorted, rolling his eyes.
"D?"
Dean looked up to see Aubrey suddenly standing in front of him, a hopeful expression on her face as she twisted a brush and a ponytail holder in her hands.
'Ah, hell, TK—you're really fuckin' up my sense of awareness. I didn't even notice her come in!'
"Like that's my fault. You don't need me to fuck with your attention span—you ain't got one."
'Two different things, dude—awareness doesn't have anything to do with attention span. And Dad can vouch for that. My attention span may not be much better than a five-year-old's, but I've got situational awareness coming out of my ass…usually. Fuck."
"D?" Aubrey asked again, stepping right up to him to stand nose to nose with him as she stared at him intently.
"Aubrey, what the hell?! You're in my personal bubble!"
"Well, sorry, but you weren't listening to me!" she told him plaintively, Sam snorting in amusement as Aubrey stepped back with a grin.
"What do you want?" Dean asked, sparing a narrow-eyed look at Sam before looking back at Aubrey with a raised eyebrow.
"Will you braid my hair for me? Becca said she'd tell me how to do it, but I like it better when you do it."
"Who's Becca?" Sam asked as Dean sighed and set his carburetor down, motioning for Aubrey to sit down in front of him.
"Oh, she's this girl who started talkin' to me last week," Aubrey said matter-of-factly, plopping down between Dean's knees on Bobby's worn rug. "She's sixteen, and she knows a lot about stuff like that," Aubrey went on. "She died last year in a car wreck—drunk driver hit her."
Across the room, their dad looked up from his research, looking mildly unhappy at the turn of conversation.
Not like it's a big secret that the dead are talkin' to us now, Dad. Might as well get used to it, he thought as he pulled the brush through Aubrey's hair once before dropping it into her lap and beginning to separate her hair into sections.
"Aubrey, I can do that for you," Jessica offered with a smile. "I'm pretty good at a French braid."
"That's okay," Aubrey said lightly. "I like when D does it—he's good, too."
"Your brother can French braid," Jessica asked in a dead-pan voice.
"Uh huh. He learned when I was nine. There wasn't anybody else who could do it, so Dean learned how."
"How'd you manage that, Dean?" Jessica asked with a quirk of her eyebrow.
"C'mon," Dean said with a playful grin, "surely you noticed what a chick magnet I am. I just asked this girl I was seeing—Stacy, I think…or maybe it was Julie…oh well, one of em. I just asked her to show me how it was done."
"That was…sweet…of you," Jessica said, shaking her head.
"Yeah, well, I got tired of listening to Aub whine about her hair not looking pretty. 'sides, it's a helluva lot easier for everybody if her hair is pulled back outta the way. Get's less tangled and shit, and then we don't hafta listen to Sam bitch when Dad tells him to brush her hair."
"Dude!" Sam protested. "When are you gonna let that go already? I was thirteen! And Aubrey's hair got tangled all the damn time—you're not the one who had to listen to her cry about it."
"Yeah, because I was actually able to figure out how to run a brush through a nine-year-old's hair. So much for that big brain o' yours."
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
"Asshole."
"How about dickhead?!"
'Ah, a classic. Sure, why the hell not?'
"Dickhead," Dean threw out, waiting for the retort that would no doubt be forthcoming.
"Shithead."
"Asswipe."
Braden appeared in the doorway a second later, looking like absolute hell in Dean's opinion, but he seamlessly joined the insult battle, throwing in a well-placed "fuck-wad" as he flopped over on the couch with a tired but sincere smile.
"Boys," John interrupted, casting a stern look at them before returning his attention to his book, and Dean shot a glance at him to make sure he wasn't looking before mouthing "ass-hat" at Sam, watching Sam sling back a silent "fuck-tard" with a glance of his own at their father.
Braden threw another one in, as Jessica looked on with a mixture of disgust and awe and tried not to laugh, while Aubrey did what she always did and ignored them as she elbowed Dean, signaling that she wanted him to finish her hair.
Dean was just tying off the end with one of the ponytail-holders he kept around his wrist and was about to toss out TK's latest insult suggestion when the phone rang, cutting through the comfortable camaraderie of a few minutes before with a suddenness that was all too familiar.
A call this late was never good.
Across the hall, Bobby emerged with a worried expression on his grizzled face as he hurried to the closest phone—the one hanging in the kitchen—his gruff voice filtering into the living room as he answered the phone.
"Hello?...Yeah, I got the whole pack of 'em here, Jim...What!?...Ah hell…You all right?...Alright, yeah, hang on, I'll put him on...yeah, I'll have him take it here in the kitchen…"
A second later, Bobby's voice yelled for John to get his ass into the kitchen and answer the phone, and Dean watched motionlessly as his father rushed out of the room, waiting only until his old man was out of the room before he lunged for the phone sitting on the coffee table beside the couch.
"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam asked as Dean made a move to lift the receiver.
"What's it look like I'm doing?! Now shut up—I don't want Dad to hear you," Dean told him, aiming a stern warning look at his brother before slowly lifting the receiver off the hook.
"…yeah, I'm alone, Jim, 'cept for Bobby," John was saying. "—yeah, they're all in the other room. What happened?"
"It's bad, John. I called you as soon as I got a chance, but I'm worried."
"Wait, back up—start at the beginning," John told him calmly, waiting for Jim to gather his thoughts. Dean bit his lip impatiently, well aware that whatever it was that had Jim worried could only mean things had just gotten a shit-load worse. Just as Jim was about to explain, though, John cut him off.
"Hang on, Jim. Dean, hang up the damn phone," John barked over the line, and Dean cursed under his breath, wondering not for the first time how his dad always knew.
Maybe if I'm really quiet…
"NOW, Dean."
"Dad, c'mon, I'm twenty-four years old—you and Pastor Jim don't have to hide shit from me."
"You're right—you are twenty-four years old—too old to be eavesdroppin'. Now this is a private conversation, so hang up the damn phone, before I come in there and do it for you."
Fuck.
"Your old man sounds like he's about to bust yo' ass, man—I'd hang up the damn phone like the man said."
Conceding the point, Dean muttered a well-meant expletive and hung up the phone. Staring angrily back at the receiver for a long minute, he narrowed his eyes before turning to face the others.
"Braden."
"You want me to..."
"Yeah."
Without a word, Braden hopped up from the sofa, brushing past Dean to take his place at the phone. No one moved as Braden slowly picked up the phone, shielding the mouth piece even as he placed the receiver to his ear.
"How's this any different from you listening in? Your old man's gonna catch him—"
'Nah, man. Braden's a pro at this. Just wait—you'll see."
Dean watched worriedly as Braden's face began to settle into lines of concern, and he became downright alarmed when Braden's eyes widened with the closest thing to panic Dean had ever seen on his baby brother's face.
"Man, that's not a good look."
'No shit.'
A painfully silent ten minutes later, Braden painstakingly lowered the phone back into the cradle before turning to face them all with a somber expression.
"Yellow-Eyes sent a demon after Pastor Jim," he told them, the dark worry in his eyes belying his calm tone. "Pastor Jim got away, but he told Dad that the demon said Yellow Eyes had plans for Sam."
"Plans for me?" Sam asked, his voice rising in alarm. "What kind of plans?" he demanded, his jaw clenching as he stared back at Braden.
"The demon didn't say—it was just taunting Pastor Jim with it, you know, like a 'I know something you don't know' sort of thing. But Pastor Jim told Dad that we should probably keep moving. 'Cause if he found us, then who's to say the demons won't?"
"Shit," Dean mumbled, dragging his hand down his face wearily.
"Man, ya'll got a demon on your asses? Ya'll got more problems than I thought."
'Yeah, no shit, Sherlock!'
Heavy footsteps coming down the hall marked their father's return, and with a warning look at his siblings not to say a word, Dean settled back against the couch, feigning angry indifference as he stared blankly at the television screen.
"Demon's still on our tail," John said without preamble. "We need to pack up. We're leaving tomorrow."
"Dad, I don't think we should be so quick to leave," Sam stated bluntly.
"We're not having this discussion, Samuel."
"Why not?! You can't just decide that we're not even gonna talk about it. This affects all of us, Dad, not just you."
"Sammy, don't," Dean said softly, cutting off the argument before it could truly start. "This isn't the time," he clarified, subtly casting his eyes in the twins' direction. With an angry sigh, Sam subsided, and Jessica cast a commiserating look at Dean as she leaned close to Sam and spoke softly to him.
"Fine. But we're not through with this," Sam bit out, casting a dark scowl at their father before subsiding into a moping silence with which Dean was pretty damn familiar.
"Sammy, would you stop with the bitch-face already," Dean grumbled. "Seriously, you look like a pissed off thirteen-year-old girl."
"Bite me, Dean."
"Really, is that all you've got? Fancy-ass law school, and that's the best you can come up with? So much for a rebuttal, huh?" he teased.
"You're an asshole, you know that?" Sam retorted, his face now a scorching red, though whether it was from anger or embarrassment, Dean was hard-pressed to say.
"Alright, enough," John cut in forcefully. "Aubrey, Braden—go to bed. And Braden, you'd better actually go to sleep, because if I come up there and find that you're faking it, I'm pulling out the sleeping pills, understand?"
'Well, damn. I guess Dad knows more than I gave him credit for.'
"Dad, c'mon—" Braden began but John wasn't having any of it.
"No. Now go pack your things and then get to bed."
Braden was hardly out of the room, Aubrey right behind him, before Sam started up again.
Big surprise.
"I'm not packing a damn thing until we talk about this," he announced, and with a weary sigh, John dropped his duffel and turned to face Sam.
"Fine, Sam," John said tiredly, his non-combative tone surprising the hell out of, well, everyone.
And as if that was all he needed to hear, Sam's own tone lowered, becoming less hostile as he took a deep breath and tried, for maybe the first time ever, to have a civil discussion with their father rather than the usual screaming match.
"Dad, I think we should stay put," Sam said quietly. "We're safe here, and—"
"You don't know that," John retorted. "This demon isn't a lightweight contender, Sam, and I have my doubts that Bobby's wards will be enough to keep him out."
"Then why the hell hasn't he already come after us, huh?" Sam threw back, and Dean sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward.
So much for that lasting…
"Who the hell knows? But I'm not gonna give him the chance. We're gonna leave first thing tomorrow, get back on the road where this thing can't track us."
"Dad, that's ridiculous—this thing's not even human! What makes you think—"
"Alright, everybody just wait a damn minute!" Bobby hollered, interrupting the growing argument. "Now it's late, we're all tired, and I don't think any of us want to listen to Winchesters bitch at each other like a bunch of old women. You two want to start that shit, you take it outside. Otherwise, shut the hell up and give us all some peace."
"Well said, old man."
'Yeah, Bobby's pretty bad-ass, isn't he?' Dean thought to TK with a grin.
"Well? We goin' outside, son?" John asked, his voice holding just a touch of challenge, and Dean winced, waiting to see if Sam was going to take him up on it.
Odds are good that he'll take the bait. He's about as bad as the old man when it comes to that.
"Sam," Jessica said softly, laying a hand on Sam's arm. When Sam looked down at her, she shook her head minutely, giving him a gently pointed look that had Sam sighing before he settled back on the couch with a sigh. She smiled at him then, lightly kissing him before nestling back against him, casting a smile at Dean before returning her attention to the TV as though nothing had happened.
"Good," Bobby said with a nod. "Now if you all don't mind givin' the drama a rest, I've got some stuff to research. I'll be at my desk. Don't bother me," he added before he disappeared into the other room.
John caught Dean's eye, grinning as he shook his head ruefully before he changed the subject. Sort of.
"Dean, you feel up to breakin' the guns down, cleanin' them? I wanna start loading up everything that I can so that we can leave first thing in the morning."
With a nod, Dean stood, moving towards the duffel where most of the firearms were carefully placed inside. He hefted the bag and carried it towards the card table set up in the corner just for that purpose, setting it there carefully before unzipping it. As he began to lift out the various guns inside, he heard a low whistle echo through his head.
"Damn, man, ya'll like the National Guard Armory up in here—that's a shit-load of guns, man."
'Yeah? You should see the trunk of my car—that's where we keep the really fun stuff, like the flamethrower and the machetes. That's some awesome shit, there.'
"Ya'll are some scary-ass sons-of-bitches, man."
'Yeah,' Dean replied fondly, smiling a bit as he settled down with a gun in hand.
"We goin' to Jim's?" Dean asked his father softly, as his hands quickly disassembled the Beretta and began to clean it.
"I don't know yet."
Dean didn't pursue the matter any further, instead allowing his mind to sink into the task at hand. He was vaguely aware of Sam settling down beside him as Jessica went to work helping John sort through the large stack of books that he'd accumulated.
"Funny how she fits in with all this," Dean said softly, casting a look at his brother before returning his attention to the Beretta.
"Yeah," Sam said back. "It sorta gives me hope, you know."
"Hope?"
"Yeah, hope. You know, that we still have a shot at being at least quasi-normal."
"Quasi-normal? What the hell, Sam? Who says that?"
"You know what I mean," Sam said, shaking his head with a hint of a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.
"Sam, normal is way-overrated. Who the hell wants to be normal? Normal's fucking boring."
"Oh, and having crazy shit happen to you on a daily basis is so much better?"
"Hell yeah," Dean replied fervently, nodding his head even as Sam snorted in disbelief.
"Yeah, says the guy who has the dead talking to him now. Forgive me if I'm a little skeptical."
"Aw, but Sam, you don't know what you're missing," Dean said with a grin.
Sam smirked and they fell into a comfortable silence, the two of them easily managing the familiar task of cleaning the weapons. The sound of the TV blurred, becoming a comforting white noise that Dean long associated with the comfort of motel rooms, late nights, and family.
It was pretty damn nice, too.
Until Dean heard a familiar shuffle coming down the stairs fifteen minutes, one gun, and five commercials later.
Ah shit.
"What's wrong?"
'Braden's sleepwalkin' again.' At least I hope he's sleepwalkin' and not somethin' else.
Sam looked up a split-second after Dean did, and they both stilled as Braden slowly walked into the room. Without a word, Braden stopped in the doorway, his eyes glazed over as he slowly lifted his hand, revealing the Sharpie he had clenched in his fist.
"Shit, not again," Sam murmured, glancing at Dean with a 'what the hell do we do now?' expression.
"Shut-up," Dean muttered under his breath, catching Jessica's eye as she looked up quizzically. He shook his head minutely at her while he tried to figure out what to do. A quick glance showed that his dad was well enough immersed in his research not to have noticed Braden, and if Dean had his way, he'd keep it that way.
'TK? Can you tell if that's Braden or Oliver at the helm?'
"Well, the geeky-ass Star Trek sounding reference aside…yeah, that's your little bro. Damn, he's zonin' out something major—that is some true-ass sleepwalkin' right there, my man. Oliver ain't runnin' that show…what kind of pansy name is Oliver anyway?"
'Is it any worse than Terrence?' Dean retorted, quietly sliding the pieces of the gun he was holding back together as he prepared to stand.
"Oh, that's rich, coming from you, Dean."
'Hey, fuck you, man—there're lots of cool-ass people named Dean.'
"Like who?"
'James Dean. Dean Martin. Dean Cain.'
"Who the fuck is Dean Cain?" TK asked.
'Dude, he played Superman. C'mon.'
"Whatever, man. Your name still sucks as much as mine does."
'So then, what the hell? We all have shitty names—what're you bitching about?'
"Dean?" Sam hissed, cutting his eyes pointedly at their brother with an expression that could only be translated as 'are you going to do something or what?'
Shit. Lost focus.
Shaking off the distraction that was TK, Dean slowly set aside the gun and carefully stood, moving towards Braden with the idea of ushering him out of the doorway.
"Bray?" Dean murmured, casting a look at his dad to see if he'd noticed Braden. John didn't look up, writing intently in his journal and Dean breathed a slight sigh of relief, wondering what the odds were of getting Braden back to bed without his father noticing.
"Slim to none, I bet," TK offered.
"Dude, shut up—you're not helping."
Right about the time Dean reached Braden, though, the fourteen-year-old dropped to his knees on the floor, uncapping the marker with a steady hand.
"C'mon, Bray—why don't you gimme the marker and go on back to bed," Dean murmured cajolingly as he reached for the Sharpie.
"No!" Braden snapped, jerking back and turning his shoulder to protect the Sharpie.
"Dude, if you draw on Bobby's wall, he's gonna shit a brick," Dean told him lightly. "You know he likes to do his own artwork, and 'sides, he prefers the ceiling to the walls."
"Is that really gonna work?" TK asked skeptically.
'Probably not. Logic doesn't really factor in with him when he's like this. I'm hoping my tone'll calm him down more than anything.'
"Bray—" Dean began again, but the nickname had scarcely fallen from his tongue when his father's voice cut through him like a hot knife through butter.
"Dean. See if you can steer him back to bed. I'm gonna take care of it first thing in the morning."
"What do you mean?" Dean asked, seriously not liking the sound of that.
"Bobby mentioned a ritual—'m gonna use it to call Oliver to the forefront, see if we can't finally get some damn answers about what the hell is goin' on with him," John said bluntly, gesturing toward Braden, who'd used Dean's distraction to begin drawing a complex set of symbols in what Dean could already tell was a circular pattern.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Dean exploded, staring back at his father disbelievingly, releasing his grip on Braden's arm to stand and meet his father head on.
"Excuse me?"
"Dad, seriously, haven't we had enough with the damn rituals already? I mean, look at our track record so far—we've managed to screw ourselves nine ways to Sunday with the rituals, and I don't know about you, but I'm not too eager to do another one."
"Dean," John began with a sigh, but Dean stepped closer, gazing back at his father with a serious expression.
"Don't do this, Dad," he said quietly, trying to tamp down on his anger so that he had at least a chance of getting through to his father. "We've been through hell lately, and fucking around with some ritual isn't gonna do a damn thing to make it better."
"So what, you think we should just sit around with our thumbs up our asses while the demon goes after people we care about, while Oliver knows something that we can use?!"
"Dad, we don't know that Oliver knows jack-shit! That's just fuckin' speculation! You don't know that!"
"Well after we do this ritual, we'll know for sure, won't we?" John threw back, his own temper sparking in response to Dean's.
"Yo, isn't bitchin' out your old man usually your brother's thing?"
'Shut the fuck up!" Dean snarled back, his entire focus centering on his father, staring him down in what was one of the few 'vehement disagreements' they'd ever had.
"John, perhaps I have a solution."
Dean and his father turned simultaneously to see Missouri standing in the doorway, staring back at them with an enigmatic expression.
"I'm listening," John said slowly.
"Well, I can't be sure yet," she said slowly, "but I think Braden's having the same trouble that Dean's had—he's shielding himself a little too hard. The shields for this sort of gift are supposed to be somewhat flexible—you let a little through, just not enough to be overwhelming. If that's the case, all we need to do is train Braden to quit shielding so hard. Provided he can do that, then we may have a chance of talking to Oliver again without straining either one of them."
"Now wait just a damn minute," Dean interrupted before his father could reply. "I don't know about anyone else in this room, but I thought it was a good thing that Braden hadn't been taken over by that sonovabitch Oliver. And now you want Bray to open himself up to the damn thing?!"
"Dean, calm down."
"Isn't that a bit ironic coming from your old man?"
"No, just no," Dean yelled, angry that his father was even considering Missouri's idea.
"Dean," Sam broke in, "weren't you the one to tell Braden to 'let go,' to 'stop fighting' in the first place?"
Dean wheeled around, his eyes blazing as he glared back at his younger brother, incensed that the little smart-ass had the nerve to side with their father against him.
"Maybe! But you know what?! I had about a hundred fuckin' dead people screaming at me in my head, Sam, so you'll have to forgive me if I'm a little shaky on the details!"
"Look, what's your problem, man? How is letting Oliver in any different than the dude you've got in your head?" Sam argued.
"Maybe because I know what the hell we're dealing with when it comes to the guy in my head. We know TK is a spirit—there's no question of that! Oh, and he doesn't fucking take over my body!" Dean threw back with biting sarcasm.
"Okay, I concede those points to you, but you've gotta look at the evidence, Dean—Oliver hasn't done anything to harm anyone. Hell, if anything, he's done nothing but help us since we learned of him. All of that suggests that we don't necessarily have to fear him."
"Yeah? Well you can take your evidence and shove it up your ass—you're not the one that has to watch Bray fight sleep all the damn time because he's fuckin' terrified that Oliver's gonna take him over!"
"Boys, that's enough," John broke in firmly. "Look, Dean, it's either we do this Missouri's way, or we do it my way, with a ritual that should pull Oliver to the forefront long enough for us to get some damn answers already. Frankly, Missouri's way sounds a bit easier, if not a little more time-consuming. So you tell me, Dean—which do you prefer?" John asked pointedly.
"How about neither?" Dean retorted bitingly.
"That's not an option. Frankly, it doesn't really matter what either of you think—the decision is mine," his father said, the finality in his voice enough to tell Dean that he'd reached his limit. "I need you to get with the damn program and help me out on this."
His dad wasn't going to listen to him on this one.
It was enough to piss Dean off tremendously, and for Dean, it was the last fucking straw.
A/N: Okay, so this chapter was supposed to be the big reveal chapter for Oliver, but yeah…once again, that didn't happen. I swear, you guys, these chapters have a mind of their own—I'm just along for the ride. So I'm going to stop trying to predict when the big reveal is coming, and just let it happen when it happens. For those of you who were anxiously awaiting it in this chapter…my profound apologies to you. Regardless, thanks to all of you who reviewed!
Hicks07: Glad to hear you like The Catcher in the Rye! I haven't read any of Salinger's short stories, but I'll keep your suggestion in mind next time I hit the library. Anyways, thanks for the review and the reading suggestion!
thedriverpicksthemusic: Yes, I'm totally unfair about leaving you guys hanging. I like to think that the wait is worth it, but that's a lot easier for me to say, I guess, since I know what happens (to a certain extent) and you guys don't. I've gotten a start on the next chapter, and things are coming along nicely, so with any luck, you'll get a new chapter soon after this one. Hope this gave you your much needed Dean-fix. Thanks for reviewing!
belgium-morning: Dude, you tried to read this all in one sitting?! No wonder you had some late nights and unfinished homework! Shh, don't tell the parentals. I hope you caught up on the sleep and the homework! I'm glad to hear that you find the characters believable—I only have an older sister, so it's tricky getting the extra siblings and the sibling interaction just right. I'm also not fourteen anymore, so getting the twins to be believable isn't easy. And bless you for saying that I transitioned well from weechesters to older Winchesters—I had a lot of worries about that. As for Oliver…I can't give too much away yet, so we'll have to see how your opinion of him develops as more is revealed. Anyways, thanks for the awesomely long and lovely review!
zuimar: You know, sometimes, I find myself wondering that same thing—where am I headed with this story? Obviously, I didn't get this chapter posted as quickly as we all hoped I would. A lot of that's my fault…but the rest of the fault lies with RL. It annoyingly interferes with everything! The good news is, I have about nine pages of Chapter 38 typed, so I'm making progress on the next chapter. Anyways, thanks for the review!
AJ2951: You're so wonderfully ecstatic—I like that about you. I was quite touched by your review, and I'm glad you enjoyed the Catcher in the Rye bits. No worries about the lateness of your review—the lateness of my chapters more than makes us even on that one. Actually, it's probably more weighted on my end, since I've made you all wait over a month…let's change the subject back to how amazing I am. LOL! Just kidding! Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!
Cherry8914: I'm sorry I left you hanging without another chapter. The good news is, I've typed about nine pages of the next chapter, and in theory, I can keep it moving along, especially once this one is posted. I'm so glad you gave my fic a chance, since you weren't sure about the extra Winchesters—I love that you "heart the twins"—that's so awesome! Thanks for reviewing and letting me know what you thought!
YohKo Bennington: I love getting new readers!! It takes me awhile to post new chapters, as I'm very much a believer in having at least ten pages per chapter. Anything shorter than that bugs me immensely. Anyways, I hope this took care of your curiosity concerning the spirit talking to Dean. Let me know what you think of him! Thanks for the review!
ShinobuSaiga: Definitely someone new. LOL! I don't know why I keep doing this to myself, the whole 'adding new characters that I'm going to have to keep up with' thing. I'm just making life difficult for myself. But I couldn't help it! TK just seemed too funny not to write in. Not so sure about Dean and Aubrey being able to tune into what's going on with Bray and Sam at this point. Maybe. I tend to not plan too far ahead—things just tend to write themselves. You'll find out shortly after I do! LOL! Thanks for reviewing!
jeps: Okay, so if the last chapter was an early Christmas present, this one must be like an early Easter present. Or a Lent gift. Not that one generally gets gifts during Lent…oh well, just pick a holiday. Oh, I know! A George Washington's Birthday present! Anyways…I was so happy to read that you found the Catcher in the Rye reference to be 'spot on.' And I was especially ecstatic to read that you find this to be your favorite story! YAY! Well, I took care of one of the big questions—the spirit talking to Dean. The Oliver question…yeah. Your guess is as good as mine as to when that'll come out. It could be the next chapter, but I can't make any promises. Anyways, thanks so much for the review you sent me!!
ohgravitysonfire: You know, it's nice to hear that I'm not the only one who sees fics play out in their minds like a movie/episode. It always gets a little harder to do when there are original characters added in, so I hope you can still see it play out, even though it's hard to picture the twins. Hope your fears about TK are resolved now! Hope to hear what you thought of the chapter! Thanks for reviewing!!
rholou: I hope you still think I can 'put across something that could have been confusing as hell' after you read this chapter. It was ridiculously crazy trying to keep the punctuation straight for all of the italicized stuff going on in this chapter, and part of me is very worried about how well it'll read. Anyways, thanks for the review. Hope this 'glimpse into Dean's head' is as much fun as the last!
courtneyun: I love bonding moments, too! I try to tie them in when I can. And when I can't, I smush them into one-shots! Alas, no more info about Oliver in this chapter either. Sorry about that. Hopefully, your patience will continue to hold out. Glad to hear that you like Catcher in the Rye, too. I should have done a poll and tracked how many of you said you liked it. Anyways, thanks so much for the review!! More bonding moments to come!
eggylaine: There are no pointless reviews—all reviews are fun and exciting. I'd much rather you like a chapter for no particular reason than dislike a chapter for a particular reason. So yeah. Thanks for the review! Hope you enjoyed getting more of Dean's POV!
stoic81: You check my page?! Really?! So often, I feel like I post updates there for no reason, so it was instantly exciting and gratifying to discover that there's someone out there who checks it. I'm going to do better about posting updates on my progress, so that you'll at least know where I'm at. I'm currently on page nine of Chapter 38, with more handwritten stuff that I haven't typed in yet. Not sure how much more I have to go, but like I said, I'll keep you up-to-date on my progress. I'm glad you found the Catcher in the Rye reference to be fitting, even if you didn't like the book. My beta loathes that book, so she didn't much care for the reference—LOL! Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for reviewing!
irishgirl9: Yay, another reviewer who liked the Catcher in the Rye reference and found it fitting! I'm going to collect you guys! Honestly, I didn't even consider that whole thing about Dean losing a brother the way Holden did…yeah, I don't think that's something you need to worry about. I don't tend to kill off characters, so it would likely take something incredibly drastic for me to do that. Hmm…
Beccatdemon13: It's nice to hear that you think the story keeps getting better and better! I know I already messaged you, but I wanted to thank you again for the awesome ideas on who would work well for visual representations of the twins: Tyler Patrick Jones and Haley Ramm are excellent ideas. Anyways, thanks again for reviewing! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!