Actions speak louder

Chapter 6

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:)

AN: sorry it's been a while, but you know classes and all…so so sorry…

By the way—can't remember if their home town is Lawrence, or Lawrenceville—so I'm going with former since that's the first thing that popped into my mind.

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He couldn't see the quirky little teasing smile that his brother gave him before turning to head into the convenience store. In fact, he couldn't remember any of the more pleasant times with Sam right now. All Dean could focus on now were the ones that he would regret for the rest of his life. He tried to put them out of his mind, yet they just came rushing back at him like a boomerang, hooking him with the image of those red-rimmed, pleading green eyes. It came back to those dimpled cheeks that when he smiled, gave Sam the picture of boyish innocence, but when he cried—only made Dean want to gather him up in that pale blue receiving blanket and protect him from all the bad things in the world. Just like he did when Sammy was a baby.

He could still hear the desperation in the wavering voice as he begged him to listen. "Dean, please. I have to tell you something—it's important!" He could still hear his own biting retort, and feel the perverse pleasure at the wounded look they had produced. "There's nothing you have to say that I either need or want to hear. You've said all you needed to say and you've made it pretty clear on those thoughts."

Dean figured that he would let Sam stew for a while before he officially forgave him, before he himself could get over the feelings of betrayal. There would be time to reconcile later. There's always time. Only now, maybe there wasn't.

Everyone else had left the waiting room with good news of their loved ones, but could the Winchesters find the same relief? He stared up at the wall across from him, watching the clock pass the hour hand for the 2nd time. Or was it the 4th? He wasn't sure, but he felt as if it were far too long to be left alone with his depressing thoughts. His father had been quiet the entire time since he told him what they could be waiting for.

Now the silence was too much for Dean to bear. The bland and flat tone of his voice cut through the eerie atmosphere, and for a moment, Dean wondered if he spoke to the only family he had left. "Sam knew something bad was going to happen."

John was caught up in own thoughts, barely listening to the soft spoken voice of his oldest. He did his best to offer comfort, but knew he was falling short when the gruff tone tumbled out of his mouth. "Dean, this isn't your fault."

The younger Winchester raised his voice seeing that they were alone in the waiting room. He glared at his father with a hint of madness. "How can you say that? Weren't you listening? Because I sure as hell wasn't! He tried to tell me—WARN ME! And I. Didn't. Freakin'. LISTEN! I was too damned concerned with showing how pissed I was at him. Sulking like a big baby instead of acting like a big brother—now you tell me, how is this not my fault! You don't even know why I was being a stubborn jackass, dad."

John didn't know why listening to his son berating himself surprised him, but it did. He had made Dean responsible for Sam since the moment he thrust an infant into his tiny arms. It was only natural that Dean would feel like the cause of every bad thing that ever came Sammy's way. The kid even blamed himself when Sam lost his first baby tooth—thinking that he had somehow been lax with making sure his little brother brushed his teeth properly.

John actually did know exactly what had transpired at the Roosevelt Asylum. Sam's possession, to put it loosely, terrifying to say the least, was something he had feared for 22 years had come to head. Thankfully, it wasn't enough to undo his family and was reversible. He had even thought the boys were dealing with it as well as could be expected. He frowned, searching his mind for a way to ease his son's mind.

He didn't want to tip his hand, but he always knew what his sons were up to. It was his job to know. Not knowing would certainly get his children killed. John Winchester always had the inside information on his only remaining family. And they were the ones who gave it to him, unwittingly, of course. It's why he paid for their cell phones and refused to accept a change—even while Sam was away at Stanford. He needed a reliable contact number to reach them at. His source needed a reliable contact number.

The boys never understood the purpose of what they believed to be prank calls, but he and Missouri did. She barely needed a minute to read their thoughts even through the airwaves. Of course, John would never tell his sons about his blatant disregard for their privacy—but it was a necessary element in their hectic lives. It would be difficult if they ever found out, but it was something that he would never apologize for.

Though he knew the answer already, he feigned innocence. "What happened Dean?" He listened thoughtfully, nodding at carefully timed intervals, and watched as his oldest son finished his explanation and expected his father to place as much blame on him as he did to himself.

Well that's not gonna' happen, John thought wryly and changed tactics. "Did I tell my ten-year-old son how disappointed and angry I was with him when he took his six-year-old brother to fight a water sprite--that almost drowned them both?"

Hazel eyes blinked in confusion at the out-of-the-blue question and Dean found himself mumbling a response before looking away. "Um hmm."

John let the barely audible sound slide for the moment, "And have I told him the very few other times when I felt he did something stupid enough to get his little brother hurt?"

"Um hmm."

He wasn't letting it go this time. Dean didn't respond to coddling, only disciplined and direct confrontations with his father. He snaked his hand out quickly and grabbed his chin tightly, forcing the young man to stare into his eyes. "Excuse me?" he demanded roughly.

Dean blinked slowly, before snapping out crisply, "Yes Sir!"

"Then why would you think I wouldn't tell you this time if I thought you screwed up, Dean? This was nothing more than a stupid run of bad luck, son. I don't blame you for being pissed. Anyone would have. Even if you hadn't been fighting, this probably still would have happened and you'd just be looking for another reason to blame yourself. But you can't. I won't allow it."

Dean wished he could look away from the intensity of his father's gaze, but his hand held him firmly in place. He wanted to fault John's logic, but he still found unwavering faith in the knowledge that his father was rarely ever wrong. More still, he just given him an order, and one that would help him ease his conscience. But he couldn't accept it completely, not until he heard it from his baby brother. And if Sam was truly gone, than Dean would simply carry the lingering guilt around for the rest of his hopefully short life.

John recognized the point when Dean accepted his argument, at least partly. The blonde's shoulders eased back a bit and he swallowed reflexively. But the taut muscles in his jaw told John that Sam was the only one that could force him to accept it completely, and he understood that.

Hoping to ease some of the tension, John did something he rarely ever did—he joked with his oldest son knowing that it is exactly what Sam would do right now. "The world doesn't end because you fight with your family, Dean. If it did, your brother and I would have brought it to a halt years ago."

Dean snorted as his lips curled slightly in recognition of his father's efforts. But the nagging feeling in the back of his mind would not let him ignore the possibilities any longer. "What if it's not him dad? What then?"

As the doors burst open, John stood up anxiously, breathing a sigh of relief at having been saved from answering his son.

A new doctor met them half way, his expression pleasantly hopeful. "Mr. Winchester? Your son came out of surgery just fine. He's in recovery right now, but we'll be moving up to ICU in a little bit because I'd like to keep an eye on him personally. Now, we don't normally allow this, but Dr. Lacie mentioned what a difficult time you've all had, so if you'd like to come up and sit with him, I'll make sure to let the staff know it's ok."

Both men nodded slightly, waiting patiently for the opportunity that would make or break their tiny family. Dean hesitated before he took another step. He wasn't sure after all if he wanted to find out who—or what—was on the other side of the door.

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Lawrence Kansas…

Missouri Mosley was finally enjoying a nice relaxing afternoon. The past week had certainly been tiring for the psychic, especially after having read those Winchester boys and seen the trauma that they had been through in that asylum. It was definitely going to take them awhile to get over that one.

She shook her head and sighed loudly, bending over to blow on the cup of steaming hot tea. She froze when her breath suddenly chilled in front her, swirling over the cup that suddenly felt cool to the touch.

She set it down quickly, darting her brown eyes around the room suspiciously. She knew that feeling, and it always meant that a spirit had entered the room. Slamming her palms down on the table, she called out in her soft spoken but demanding voice, "I know you're here, you don't fool me. Who are you and what do you want?"

Missouri was expecting something to reveal itself in some misty, partially invisible form. What she wasn't expecting was the phone to ring at that very moment and she nearly jumped out of her skin. The air suddenly warmed and she felt as if she were alone again.

"I hate when that happens", she mumbled to herself.

Looking up, she noted that the phone had yet to stop ringing. She yanked it to her ear roughly, "Hello?"

"Help him…" the faint feminine voice answered.

The chill was back, only now it seemed to be coming through the ear piece of the phone. She couldn't get a clear reading off the voice, because she knew that the voice wasn't human. Not anymore. A rare few words could be spoken in communication like this, so Missouri wasn't sure how to do what it asked.

But one thing was certain—the Winchesters needed her help—again.

TBC…