Unseen, unheard

Chapter 8

Dean floated in a space between dreaming and waking. There was something comforting about this state: short of the total vulnerability of sleep, but still relaxed, with his mind too lethargic to ask questions, his body too numb to answer them. It was a state of suspended reality, in which he could exist without the memories of what had happened before he passed out, or the searing agony of the consequences. It was bliss. If heaven existed, it might be like this.

The only thing that spoiled it was the vague knowledge, nagging at the back of his mind, that this state was temporary, and that cruel reality and shattering revelations awaited him inevitably when he woke up, and that he couldn't postpone it forever. He was willing to try, though.

Something startled him out of it. It wasn't a sound, or any message from his senses, but a thought, sudden, clear, sharp-edged, invading his stupor, uninvited, but necessary.

Sam…

Piercing him like a glass knife, the thought shocked him awake. He opened his eyes and shuddered violently, gasping into wakefulness. Senses cascaded onto him all at once, unwelcome. Bright light, stinging his eyes, white and remorseless, air cold and harsh in his lungs, and pain, stretching his chest, assaulting him in a sudden barrage. Moving hurt, breathing hurt; it hurt to keep his eyes open. Thinking hurt.

Sam.

With another forceful jolt, he recalled the dusky silence of the motel room, Sam freaking out, and himself trying, failing, to get the words out. Michael's plan. The message, Forgive me, inscribed so inappropriately on his chest for Sam's benefit. Passing out, and leaving Sam, alone and lost, guilt-ridden and vulnerable.

A nurse slipped into the room, and blinked at him in mild surprise.

'I'll be damned,' she said. 'You're awake.'

She was young and pale, with a bright eyed innocence which seemed incongruous with her blunt voice. Dean made no response; he wasn't in the mood for flirting – any other day, yeah, now… no.

'We weren't really expecting you to come round just yet. You're… lucky to be alive,' she went on, looking at him incredulously. She seemed to come to herself, and added. 'I should really get a doctor…'

She turned to go, but he called her back.

'Hey, wait! Uh… where's my brother?'

'Who? The guy you came in with?'

'Yeah. Sam…'

'Sam Simmons, right?'

'Yeah, that's him.'

He fixed her gaze, appealing to her with raised eyebrows and pleading eyes. She shut the door and moved back towards his bed.

'I'm really sorry… he left. Last night, just after you were stabilized.'

Dean said nothing, but his face froze in shock. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

'I can call him for you, if you give me the number,' she suggested kindly. 'Hey, are you ok?'

'What…? You… uh… you told him I was ok and he just… left?'

Dean's mind was racing with possibilities. Sam had found out he was going to live, and then he had left? If he thought this was his fault, then Sam must have left him either because he couldn't face Dean after what he believed he had done, or because he thought he could protect him by leaving, because he was afraid of hurting him again.

'No… we told his friend, who came to sit with him. Then he passed on the message. And they left together, if you want all the details. But, look: I can call him. He's not gonna leave you – you should have seen him, he was a mess. Terrified. You guys must be really close. I can guarantee he didn't leave because he doesn't care.'

Far from being reassured, Dean gasped at the mention of Sam's 'friend' and shot upright, wincing at the pain brought by the action, but pushing the feeling away, occupied with stripping away the tape and IV tube which held him to the bed.

'What are you doing?'

'I've got to go,' he muttered vaguely in reply.

'You can't, you're still… I don't think you realise how close you came to…'

Her words met with no response, and Dean, ignoring her, was surprised when she caught his wrists in her slender fingers. He could easily have broken her grip, but something stopped him. Her pale, unremarkable eyes had become inflamed with a ferocity which he would never have expected to see in the placid young woman.

'Stop it! What the hell are you doing?'

He stared at her with wild eyes, helpless and desperate, wracked with pain in the aftermath of his escape attempt.

'I have to go…' he repeated, softer than the first time, appealing to her silently with his green eyes. She bit her lip, and sat down on the edge of the bed, releasing him, but with a dangerous look in her eye which suggested that she wouldn't tolerate another self-destructive outburst.

'Tell me,' she ordered quietly. The authority in her voice was surprising. Looking at her properly, he realised belatedly that she was attractive. Somehow, her beauty wasn't diminished by being less obvious: she had a subtle, delicate prettiness which became clear only when she was impassioned.

Dean hesitated. It was clear that he had to tell something, but couldn't possibly tell all. He wondered exactly how much he could entrust to her.

'I… think Sam may be in trouble,' he began, sighing. He opened his mouth to continue, but closed it again abruptly: however appealing she was, he didn't trust anyone when it came to Sam. 'I need you to discharge me. I'll sign whatever…'

'I'm not gonna do that. You'll die,' she replied with brutal honesty. 'I'll help, if I can, but I can't do that.'

'You can't help,' he answered bluntly, meeting her abruptness with a similar attitude.

'You can't leave.'

They stared angrily at one another, and Dean was powerfully reminded of childhood disputes with Sam: the clash of two stubborn wills, each unwilling to compromise or accommodate the other's wishes.

'Look,' he said eventually, shying away from her fierce gaze. He realised he would have to explain further, if he wanted to change her mind. 'The guy Sam's with is… bad news. The friend you mentioned. And Sam's… going through a tough time right now… I think his… "friend"… might try to take advantage of him.'

'I'll call him for you. I already said, I can do that. I'll get him to come to you, and you can stay here.'

'I don't think he'd come…'

'Why not?'

'Because… Sam thinks… he's responsible for this,' Dean muttered waving a hand to indicate his heavily bandaged chest. He felt like every word was forcibly dragged out of him.

'Was he? Responsible, I mean?'

Dean glared at her, refusing to justify the question with an answer.

'Ok, I get it. Sow do you know the friend is so… bad news?' she asked, echoing his phrase. He studied her face, and realised that she was genuinely interested, and genuinely wanted to help. He decided to risk it: he wasn't going to tell everything, but he felt he could trust her.

'He did it… the friend, he's… responsible.'

'You need to call the - ,'

'Trust me, I don't need to call the police.'

She raised an eyebrow at him, critically. She didn't say it aloud, but her look said it all. What have you got to hide?

Dean's first thought for an answer was, a lot. For the second time, he blinked away from her disconcerting stare, shrugged, and tried to justify himself. He reflected that this was probably the first time he had met anyone as stubborn as himself.

'Look, this freak's got my brother right where he wants him… I want to make sure it's handled… carefully.'

She sighed. He waited uncertainly, not holding out much hope. Without telling her everything, which was not an option, he couldn't really expect her to understand. Any normal person would call the police… he hoped desperately that she wouldn't take matters into her own hands, and realised suddenly what a risk he had taken in confiding in her. If she called the police, he'd be stuck at the hospital ages, and their bull-in-a-china-shop approach would surely alert Michael to the search too quickly for there to be any hope in saving Sam. Michael's plan had already been disrupted on one point: Dean had survived. Even if he had somehow succeeded in winning Sam over, he still might return to make sure he couldn't be followed. He needed to act quickly, and quietly.

'What can I do?' asked the nurse, studying him with sincere eyes.

Dean blinked in surprise.

'Sorry?' He glanced back to meet her gaze with confused eyes.

'I'll do whatever I can to help you, if you promise not to leave until you've recovered, at least enough to be safe.' She delivered this short speech in measured, reasonable tones, though it was clear that she would take no nonsense. 'Deal?'

'You're not gonna call the police?'

'Not if you think it'd be a bad idea.'

'And you won't… say anything, to anyone else?'

'Of course not.'

'And I can leave, right, as soon as it's… safe? Say, when I can…'

'Walk? Convincingly and without swaying or falling over.'

Dean glared, but resolved that he could force himself to stay upright if he had to.

'Deal.'

She took his hand in a grip that was surprisingly firm despite her narrow fingers, and shook it decisively. She nodded, as if to herself, with an emotion that might have been relief in her eyes.

'So, what can I do?'

'Could you look up a high school student for me, find an address? I don't have a last name, but I could… describe him.' He raised an eyebrow, hopefully, but with doubt in his eyes.

'Yeah, probably.'

'His first name's Michael. He goes to the massive school on the edge of town… Skinny kid, thin face, black hair. Really white-faced.'

'I'll have a look…'

'It would be a start…'

She stood up, nodding. In the doorway, she turned around in response to his appeal to 'wait'.

'What's your name?'

'Eleanor.'

He nodded, satisfied. She turned again, and again he asked her to wait.

'Eleanor… Thanks.'

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Eleanor found the address with relatively little trouble, and, on Dean's instructions, headed over to the institution to look for Michael, armed with precautionary pepper spray. Dean wasn't surprised when she reported that the motherly woman who managed the place hadn't seen Michael since the first day he disappeared. However, Eleanor showed herself to be resourceful, and when searching Michael's room she found an obscure address for a building somewhere near the town.

Dean, recovering, found himself better equipped to argue with her, but still it was a struggle to convince her that she couldn't approach this building alone.

'Well, who's gonna come with me?' she demanded. She was on a night shift, when the hospital was emptier, which Dean gathered was organised so that she could lecture him without getting called down by a doctor.

'You're not going, it's not safe…'

'It's not safe…' she repeated exasperatedly.

'Seriously, it's not… I have… experience of these things.'

He saw a question rise in her eyes, and his respect for her increased when she didn't ask it.

'You can't go. Remember, you agreed?'

He stared at her grimly, and carefully sat up.

'No, no way, don't even try. Look, I have training, I'm a nurse: there's no way you should be out of bed yet…'

He ignored her, and she hypocritically muttered 'stubborn' under her breath.

She stepped forward impulsively with concern shining out of her eyes as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Her hands fluttered forward to help, but he waved them away, rising slowly but steadily to his feet. His face remained entirely impassive as he crossed the room, and her eyes followed him incredulously.

'What...? How…? Doesn't that hurt?'

'No.' Yes.

She hesitated, reluctant. 'I'm impressed, but I know you're not healthy…'

Dean wanted to say, you promised, but he knew that wasn't fair. He felt like he had deceived her, and had violated their bargain. Instead, he just said, 'Please.'

She closed her eyes, and sighed. 'Be careful.'

'I will'

'Ok… I'll get the paperwork, to say that you're refusing further treatment. There's the address I found.'

A few minutes later, fully dressed, and sitting next to Eleanor on the side of the bed, Dean felt a pang of doubt, buried in his consciousness. He knew, as much as she did, that he had only succeeded in walking through pure will power. However, he suppressed the doubt: it was pale and weak in comparison to his resolve to find Sam.

A heavy silence surrounded them, resounding with the 'goodbye' that neither of them wanted to voice. Frowning suddenly with curiosity, Dean asked softly:

'Why did you help me?'

'I'm a nurse, I help people,' she said flatly. She was still pissed at him.

'Come on,' he prompted, laying a gentle hand on her arm.

She looked at him then, and in the dim light of the hospital room, it was hard to tell whether her eyes were bright, or shiny with moisture. She shrugged sadly.

'Maybe I like you,' she admitted.

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Eleanor watched Dean leave the hospital, her professional eye picking up on the stiffness of his limbs in his effort not to limp or look unstable. She was intrigued by him. He seemed intense and powerful, but his strength was full of cracks and small tragedies. He moved with athletic grace, hindered by injury. He was dangerous and gentle, brave, and stubborn as hell. She admired him almost instinctively, but something told her they would never be a couple. He was too mysterious, too elusive and unpredictable to be long-term material. Still, she felt her heart ache at the concept of him being in danger, and her intuition told her that he was, more so than she would ever know.

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Bit of a fill in chapter, that one… still, if I only had exciting chapters, the story would make no sense. Reviews are always, always appreciated. In fact, I refuse to update until you review. Yes, you!