Unseen, unheard

Chapter 10

Sam tried to persuade Dean that he should go back to hospital, but, unlike Eleanor, he lacked the stubbornness to compete with his brother in arguments of this type. They returned to the motel room.

The Impala was silent during the journey, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence: the Winchesters were simply enjoying the calm reassurance of one another's company, particularly Sam, who was still half afraid that he would soon wake up into the world in which Dean was dead. His brother's apparent resurrection seemed too lucky to be true. Whenever he felt it safe to take his eyes off the road, he flicked his gaze sideways to check that Dean was still there. He exhaled in relief every time he saw his brother still sitting there.

Despite Dean's wounds, and both of their exhaustion, the brothers sat up for most of the night, catching up. Sam was horrified when he realised how easily he had been duped. Even after Dean had told the whole story, he carefully recapped from the beginning, not quite believing what he heard.

'He kidnapped you?'

Dean hesitated. 'Kidnapped' sounded like something that happened to damsels in distress, and he didn't want to admit to it. He shrugged, reluctantly. 'Yeah, I guess… sort of.'

Sam laughed, and the sound was surprising, but very welcome in Dean's ears. 'What? You were sort of kidnapped? Just… slightly kidnapped?'

'Shut up.'

They exchanged sleepy grins. It felt so good to be reunited.

'So, Michael… attacked you?' Sam continued, adapting his choice of words to go on with his recap.

'Yeah,' Dean grunted. He was lying back on the hard bed, bandages changed; dosed with painkillers, and very comfortable, considering that he had nearly died only a few days ago.

'He wanted you to think you had done it. All the messages before that were just to… sort of, set the scene, draw you in. He killed Louise and Philip, entirely for our benefit. Little prick.' Dean spat the last words with great relish.

'So why was I writing on the walls?'

'He has some kind of… telepathy, or something. I think he's only powerful enough to influence you when you're already asleep, but he made you write it. He could have made you write anything, he didn't need to relate it to the murders, but he wanted to make sure we would investigate.'

'He's like me…' Sam muttered, suddenly serious.

'What?' Dean asked sharply, looking up. 'How is he like you? You have some psychopath tendencies I don't know about?'

'No… well, probably not. I mean, his mother died. In the same way as ours, I think. You remember Max? He was the same… The thing we're looking for… seems like it targets people with… unusual abilities.'

Dean was silent for a moment, digesting this information. 'You sure?' he asked eventually, glancing sideways at his brother. 'About his mother?'

'Pretty much. Hey Dean… that makes two others we've met now, both screwed up. You think I could end up… the same way?'

Dean turned fully to glare at his brother. 'You remember you asked me that before?'

'Yes.'

'You remember my answer.'

'Yeah, but, now there's more evidence…'

'Hasn't changed.'

'Sure?'

'Yep.'

There was a pause. Dean's tone had made it absolutely clear that there could be no dispute on this point. After a short hesitation, he turned his head back towards Sam, having slumped back onto his pillows, and asked,

'Sam? At the hospital… what happened, when you left?'

Sam shifted uncomfortably. Of all the times he had been taken in by Michael, that was possibly the most shameful.

'I saw the doctor coming… and, I just freaked, man. Michael offered to speak to him for me… and, hell, I was just so screwed up right then. I let him. He came back in, and he was all sympathy. Told me you'd died, and how sorry he was.' He paused, disgusted with himself. He hadn't even checked, had just taken Michael's lies at face value.

'Sam, it's okay,' Dean said quietly, watching his brother's face carefully. 'If it had been the other way round… let's just say I wouldn't have been in full command of my mental faculties…'

'Still… I should have…'

'Hindsight is twenty-twenty,' Dean pointed out, twitching an eyebrow. 'What happened next?'

'He suggested we go out and get some fresh air. Asked me what I was gonna do now, and I just broke down. I didn't have a clue. He said he knew a group of people who were looking for… people like us. That they would train us and help us understand how our… powers worked. I just… didn't know what else I was gonna do, man. I don't believe I was so gullible.'

'Did you ever see these people?'

'No… they were gonna come meet us, though. But then you came. I guess if you hadn't then…'

'But I did. Who cares what might have happened? It didn't.'

Sam stopped, and nodded. After a pause, he added, 'I'm really glad you came, Dean.'

'Whoa. Stop there. No chick flick moments.'

'Yeah, whatever. Love you too.'

Dean grunted in assent, and Sam smiled. From Dean, that was as good as 'I love you.'

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Bullied by Sam, Dean reluctantly visited the hospital the following morning. He wouldn't let them admit him, but he submitted to a check up, change of bandages and general examination, largely to please Sam. Waiting grumpily in the cubicle, he was surprised and pleased when it was none other than Eleanor who appeared through the curtain with an armful of clean bandages.

'It's you!' she exclaimed, dropping half of her load on the floor, allowing Sam to gallantly stoop and pick them up for her.

'Look, Eleanor, I'm not dead,' Dead grinned, with an infuriating smugness which would have earned a slap if anybody else had tried it. Still, Eleanor made every effort to look disapproving, but failed to hide her relief.

'That's nothing to be showing off about. You are reckless and insane, and… intolerable, and… stupid, and…' She trailed off, lost in his eyes.

'And?' he prompted. 'Don't stop, I was enjoying your list of my character flaws…'

'And arrogant,' she concluded, laughing.

He grinned at her playfully. 'Ah, come on. You're glad I'm not dead, admit it.'

She grinned back at him, rolling her eyes. She laughed, and tilted her head from side to side, as if weighing up the idea. Eventually, she looked directly into his eyes, and whispered an answer. 'I'm glad you're not dead.'

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Michael blinked as the vibrant light invaded his peaceful unconsciousness. Shifting carefully on the uneven floor, he sat up. He jaw ached, and he wondered whether Sam had broken it. Various expletives occurred to him. He had been so close; to fail at that final hurdle, before Sam finally joined the 'family', was excruciating. He knew he should have made sure Dean was dead. He had underestimated the older brother… just because he lacked Sam's supernatural power, didn't mean he was easy meat.

'You awake? About time,' stated a cold, female voice, behind his slumped head. He spun round in the dirt of the floor, and found himself sitting at the feet of a young woman. He recognised her: she was the one who had spoken to him several months ago, who had entrusted him with this mission, and who had been scheduled to pick up Sam and Michael that day, to initiate them into the 'family.' She had been friendly and businesslike the last time they had met, but now, gazing down at him, her face was twisted with contempt.

'What happened to Sam Winchester, Michael?' she asked, in a soft voice which reminded him forcibly of the hissing of a snake. 'I could have sworn you told me he was here with you. Sounded pretty pleased with yourself, too.'

'I… he was here. It wasn't my fault, it was the brother.'

'I explained to you that we needed to take the brother out of the equation. You told me you had it covered.'

'I'll get him to come back,' Michael promised, without any idea of how to do that now that he had lost Sam's trust.

'Really? I don't believe you, Michael,' she drawled. 'I don't think we need you to join the family if you're not trustworthy. Family is based on trust, Michael, we all have to learn…'

'But I'm psychic, too. I can be valuable to you…'

'Michael,' she simpered indulgently, 'you're nothing compared to Sam. It's both or neither, I'm sorry.'

'But… I don't have anyone else…'

'That's not my fault,' she said. Then she paused, and reflected. 'Well, at least, it's not my problem.'

'Please, you promised. I've never had a family before,' he pleaded. He knew he was begging, on his knees, in the dust. He knew he looked pathetic, but he didn't care; he was desperate. He had never wanted anything more.

'You failed us Michael. I'm sorry.'

She didn't look sorry, or show any sign of remorse, as she turned stiffly on the heels of her heavy boots, and left the crumbling cabin. Crouched on the floor, sobbing, Michael heard her car start outside, and knew all was lost: his one chance at belonging to a family, dissolved into dust. He didn't know who to turn to. But he knew who to blame.

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Sorry it was short. Just seemed like the right place to end a chapter!

Reviiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeewwww!!