Actions speak louder

Chapter 4

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

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Dean watched the doctor approach slowly, and though he knew otherwise, he still hoped that she would bypass him and find some other poor shmuck to deliver her bad news to. But he was after all, a Winchester, and luck was rarely ever on their side. The sharp clicking of her heels stopped directly in front of him, and he allowed himself to be led into a small corner room separate from the rest of the emergency waiting room. Wasn't that nice of her, he thought sardonically. She wanted to destroy him privately.

He wondered if the sudden dryness in his mouth, and the leaden legs was how it felt to be an inmate taking that final walk to be executed.

She spoke in a hushed tone, and he found it difficult to concentrate on what she was saying. Her mouth moved, but it was if someone had put the woman on mute. Hey, that's a good idea. It's not true if I can't hear it.

She spoke a little more insistently and her voice reluctantly cut through his fog, "Mr. Winchester? Can you hear me?"

Shit! I have them our real names? 'No insurance, no names' is the phrase that's been drilled into us since before Sammy could talk. Dad's gonna' kill me! That's not such a bad idea. I killed Sammy, so it's only fair.

The doctor touched his shoulder lightly and tried a different approach. "Dean? Did you hear what I said?"

Dean hadn't heard a word she said. But it didn't matter. It was all in her eyes, the windows to the soul. He would have thought they were beautiful if they hadn't been filled with such devastation. He jerked his head around, the lie automatically dripping from his tongue. "Yeah. You said Sam's gone. I killed him."

"I'm sorry about your brother, Dean. We did everything we could. But you didn't kill him and it's not your fault. From what I heard from the police and witness, your brother saved your life. He's a hero."

His voice dropped an octave, but his monotonous tone made it clear that he was already withdrawing. "Like I said, Doc. I killed him."

"You can't blame yourself for-"

Dean abruptly cut her off in a tone that would brook no further argument. "I've got to make a call, if you'll excuse me." He reached for the courtesy phone in the room, tuning her out and willing her to leave him in peace. He actually snorted at that thought. How could he ever find peace again?

He dialed the familiar numbers when he heard the soft click of the door shutting behind her. Dean's heart beat faster as he listened to the pre-recorded message and waited for his chance to speak. Years of practice had made him accustomed to giving short, concise reports to his military-trained father and he had never had any problems doing it. But hearing the tone, he suddenly lost his ability for speech. His breath hitched in his throat before he realized that he had to say something or the machine would take his silence as wasted airspace and hang up on him. "Dad? It's Dean. I uh—I need you to call me back. The number here is uh—321-555-1212. I lost my phone, I think. But then again, I lost a lot of things today…I'm not really sure what I should do. I screwed up, dad, really bad this time. I'm so sorry, dad, I um—"

Dean lifted the receiver and held it against his forehead, hoping the distraction would give him the courage to say what he had avoiding. He inhaled quickly and rushed his words before slamming down the receiver, "I lost Sammy."

Now that that was over, Dean collapsed back into the chair trying to figure out what to do next. His decision was made for him when the door flung open, followed by an anxious nurse panting heavily. It looked as if she had just run a 2-mile marathon.

"Mr. Winchester? Thank goodness you're still here. Please, come with me."

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Starview Motel

Less than an hour away, John Winchester sat at the table of the musty old motel room, straining his eyes against the dark letters on the page. The red pen in his fingers darted across the white space of the margins as he tried to connect the dots. He was getting closer, he could feel it. Or maybe that was just the vibration of his cell phone going off in his pocket. He had missed the call, but the number wasn't familiar, so he ignored it and placed the object on the far side of the table.

He had been getting a lot of calls in the past week, thanks in part, he thought with dismay, to his elder son's twisted sense of ironic humor. While John's voice mail said to call Dean, Dean's voice mail circled back around and said to call John. Apparently his boys had decided to take a vacation. The oldest Winchester actually didn't mind the idea—it was healthy for them, just as long as the two siblings kept moving. That was all that mattered.

A moment later, the phone vibrated again, alerting him that he had a new voice message. He dropped the pen with a huff, rubbing his weary eyes to shake off the fatigue. Perhaps he needed to come at this with a clear head. He decided to listen to the message. John had no intentions of answering the probable call for help, not when that thing was still out there. But maybe something in it would jog the impasse in his sleep-deprived brain.

He hit the speaker button, dialed his mailbox, entered his password, and waited. And waited. He was about to hang up until he heard the shaky voice of his oldest child trailing through the tiny speaker. Was that really him? John thought and began to panic. Dean never sounded like that. So—lost. Not even when he begged him to help when they returned to the old house. Dean was babbling. Dean never babbled. It just wasn't a trait that the boy normally possessed. How could he not know if he lost his phone, his mind screamed irrationally. Lost a lot of things? John moved to the edge of his seat, talking out loud to the message as if he were speaking to his son. "Like what Dean, what did you loose?"

"Come on kid, tell me…you can do it champ…"

John heard silence, and for a moment thought he had lost the connection. Then the shuffling in the background, sniffling, and Dean's muffled voice came back. "I lost Sammy."

John nearly found himself hyperventilating and he was glad that he had been sitting down, because he was sure that his legs couldn't hold him right now. He reached out with trembling fingers and tried to dial the number he had just committed to memory. "Damn it, Dean, pick up!"

The phone rang for what seemed like eternity before someone finally answered, but it wasn't Dean. The voice that answered sounded as smooth as honey, but the words she answered with were certainly no comfort to him. "Clearview Memorial Hospital, how can I help you?"

John grabbed his keys and forced himself up, stumbling out of the front door while he demanded, "How do I get there?"

TBC…