A/N: Sorry I'm late updating, real life got in the way for a while. As always, a huge thank you to everybody who's read, reviewed and added the story to alerts and favourites. Also a huge thank you to my brilliant beta MuffyMorrigan – you rock, sis!
Hitting Walls and Getting Scars
Chapter 8
Present
While Sam talked, Dean had started pacing the room again, this time more violently, his movements ragged, jolting, his inability to contain the emotions that Sam's tale had brought up very obvious. Sam looked at him, his big brother's distress piercing through his own distress and guilt.
'Dean? What's the matter?' he asked in confusion, his concern growing when he heard Dean mumbling as he paced back and forth in the small motel room.
Dean continued pacing, not acknowledging that he had heard Sam's words.
Realising that somehow he had been the cause of Dean's behaviour, Sam rose to interrupt his brother. 'Dean! Would you please tell me what's wrong?' You're freaking me out here a little, Dean.
Dean finally seemed to notice him and stopped his pacing, but he did not look at Sam, rather, he stood still as a statue, his eyes glued to the carpet before him.
'Dean?' Sam's voice rose a notch, confusion and even slight fear evident in it.
Sam took a step towards him and reached out a hand to shake his brother's shoulder, then he hesitated, afraid of the reaction that might cause, and he let his hand fall again. 'Dean?' he asked again.
Yeah, Sam, I wouldn't want to touch me either, I'm such an ass, I wasn't there for you when you needed me, if it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't… And I'm so not going to lose it in front of you. I'm NOT!
He swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat that had formed while Sam told him about his collapse and subsequent stay in the hospital. To his dismay, it didn't disappear, rather it grew when he glanced at Sam sideways, seeing the worry and is that fear? on his face. Oh, God, Sam, I'm sorry! He tried to find his voice around the lump, but when he spoke, it sounded more like a croak than an actual word. He cleared his throat and tried again after clenching his teeth to once more fight back the tears that threatened to seep from his eyes.
'God, Sam… To hear what you went through, how terrible it was for you… And I wasn't there, I wasn't there for you…' He grew silent when the guilt and pain that the thought of his brother alone, hurt, sick in the hospital caused in him once more reared their heads. He felt himself withdraw into himself, but he was unable to stop the words from wanting out. 'To think of you there, in pain, alone, God, Sam, you could have died, and I wasn't there…' It's killing me to know what happened and to know that you were there all alone… No, not alone, you had Zach and Becky, and thank God for that, but I wasn't there to help you through it… The thought of you waking up in the hospital all alone… I should have been there, I should… But I wasn't… 'I wasn't there…' He repeated the words as a mantra, as if saying them, acknowledging the guilt inside him, would somehow ease the pain that it caused him.
'Dean, what are you talking about? You couldn't have known, you couldn't have done anything, don't blame yourself, ok? It was my own fault, not yours, not anyone else's.' Sam's voice hitched at the last words.
Dean shook his head. 'No, Sam, it was my fault. If I hadn't been too busy convincing myself that you were ok… And I knew… Somehow, Sammy, I knew, I felt that you weren't… But I didn't listen to myself… I can't believe I was so stupid! What would I have done if you'd… if you'd… and I wasn't there, and they wouldn't even have known how to contact us… God, Sam, you could've died!' And all because of me… You got that wound because of me! Because I let my guard down, because I let that spirit get the better of me…Sam, you almost died because of me! You almost died without me there… Oh God, Sam, I'm so sorry! The thought that he had almost lost his brother back then took his breath away and sent a light tremble through his entire body. To hide it, he resumed his pacing, now traversing a smaller space since Sam was standing in his former path. Soon after, he took up his mumbling again.
Sam, realising he had to do something to pull Dean out of the shell that he had retreated into, realising that it was his story that had put him in there, once again tried to get through to his brother. 'Dean, please listen to me! Don't blame yourself, hell, I could've just called you, let you know… But I thought… I thought you wouldn't…' What is he saying? Dean? He sounds so upset… Maybe… maybe he…
At last Dean seemed to hear him, but that didn't make him stop his ramblings, he just raised his voice a little, letting Sam hear what he was saying. 'I could have avoided it, Sam. Those days, those years, I could have avoided it. But I thought… God, Sam. I thought you didn't want to pick up your phone. I thought you…' He stopped and looked at Sam, a new understanding in his eyes. 'Was that… That must have been how you felt when… And all the time it was because you were unable to, not because you didn't want to…' God, I'm such an idiot. How could I ever think that he didn't want to see me? Stupid, stupid mistake, and how it's cost us… I'm sorry, Sam, for this, for not being there, for those years… Can you forgive me, little brother? I'm sorry I wasn't there for you in the hospital, I'm sorry I wasn't there all this time… And all because of something I said…
He suddenly turned away from Sam again and started pacing again like a lion in a cage, his breathing growing harder and harder. Finally he grabbed a pillow from his bed and threw it across the room with all his force. Then he stopped, breathing heavily, looking at the pillow as if berating it for not shattering on its impact with the wall.
'Dean?' Sam tried again. 'What did you mean…? Those calls… They were from you? But… No one picked up when I tried to call back…' Could it be? But no, he's so angry…
Dean turned his eyes on Sam, trying to control his breathing and the emotions raging inside him. 'I never knew you'd tried calling back… I guess I was out of the room at that time – I was going a little stir crazy, you know, started going out to check on the nurses once in a while.' He tried, and failed, to make his voice sound light, humorous.
Dean… I know what you're trying to do, but you don't have to put on an act for my sake. If that rage you're showing is directed at me, then please tell me and I'll… I'll go away again. I'm sorry for putting this on you now, for causing you this pain. I shouldn't have told you. I've screwed up again, haven't I? I don't blame you for being angry with me. Hell, I'm angry with myself, have been for a long time. And… I have even more reason to be so now. Only that exact piece of information I can never share with you, because if you don't hold me in contempt now, then you surely will if I tell you about Jess…About how I didn't save her…
Dean suddenly noticed Sam standing in the middle of the room, looking at him, seeming a little freaked, his earlier tears still not completely dried on his face. God, he looks so young sometimes… So vulnerable. And when I think about him alone in that hospital, and at home afterwards… The guilt settled upon him like a heavy blanket, dampening his show of emotion, forcing him back into himself. I have to do something, I have to make him understand… Maybe if I tell him about those days, how I felt… Maybe then he'll understand that I never wanted that break between us…
'Sam… Sammy, please sit down, it's ok. I'm sorry.' For more than you'll ever know.
Realising that Sam was still rooted to the floor, Dean walked to the table and sat down, hoping that might make Sam do the same, and he was relieved when a few moments later, Sam took the few stumbling steps back to his chair and sat down across from him.
'Sam… I wasn't angry with you back then. I was hurt that you'd left us, sure, but I never… I never wanted that silence between us. But when I made those calls and you didn't pick up, I thought… I thought that was what you wanted…' And I have always given you what you wanted, Sammy. That's my job… Take care of you, keep you safe and happy. Seems I failed badly there, didn't I? Once again the thought that Sam might have died back then, so close to him yet so unreachable, stabbed through him like a physical pain.
Sam looked at him, hope once again dawning in his eyes, fighting with the well-known fear and guilt. 'You thought… But… Does that mean…?'
Finally I seem to be getting through to him. 'Yes, Sam. I missed you. Missed you like crazy, to tell you the truth.' And that takes the prize for chick-flick moment of the month! But I think he needs to hear it. 'To tell you the truth, those days in hospital were hell. Apart from the hot nurses, of course.' He smiled a small, crooked smile, then became serious again. 'And, Sam…' God, Sam, please don't hate me for this confession I'm about to make. 'I knew… I felt that something was wrong… But I didn't listen to myself, I let Dad convince me that I was just imagining things…'
He paused, then started telling Sam about those days in the hospital.
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Past
Near Palo Alto
When Dean woke up, he was quite sure he would rather have stayed unconscious. The moment he was conscious enough to merely consider moving a muscle, it felt like every single fibre in his body started protesting and his brain tried pounding its way out through his skull. The breath caught in his throat, any attempt to control his breathing sending new cramps through his abdominal muscles and out to the rest of his body. Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm and heard his father's familiar voice.
'Easy, son, try to relax, the nurse is here, she'll give you something for the pain, just hold on a little longer, then it'll be better.' Hope you're right, Dad, because this is as close to unbearable as I've ever had. He didn't even notice the nurse giving him the painkiller in his IV, but moments later the pain receded and breathing became easier. He turned his head slightly to look at his father. He looks pale, and his eyes are red… What? Why? 'Dad? Is something wrong? What's happened? Is it Sam?'
John looked surprised, then said 'No, Dean… Nothing's wrong… Don't worry.' Yeah, sure, Dad, that's why you won't meet my eyes. But before Dean could question his father any further, the need to sleep, to heal, overwhelmed him again and he drifted off.
A few hours later, he woke up again, the pain less intense this time and his mind clearer. He looked at his father slumped in the chair beside him, sleeping. I hope he's ok, I don't know how much the spirit banged him up last night… I can't really remember what happened… It was there, it was throwing things at me, I think… Which must be why I feel like I've been used as a punching bag. But I remember… Sam?
'Dad?' His voice didn't hold much strength. He tried again. 'Dad?' John started in the chair, then straightened and looked at his son.
'Dean? How are you, son? Are you in pain?'
'No, it isn't bad. Dad… How's Sam?'
John looked at him with confusion on his face. 'Sam? I don't know, I haven't spoken to him since he left.'
'No, Dad, he was there last night… I saw him, I heard him…' Dean's voice faded away in confusion.
'Son… You've been pretty out of it since last night, and with everything that's happened… Sam wasn't there last night, you burned those bones and got rid of the spirit, and right on time too. You got that SOB, saved our asses, but it messed you up pretty badly.'
Dean frowned, trying to make his father's words correspond to what he remembered from the night before. Then his mind caught on to what his father had said. 'What do you mean, with everything that's happened?'
Guilt and regret flashed across John's face in that instance with the realisation that he had said too much. He sighed. 'Well, this morning… Don't worry, you're fine now, but this morning you… They…And I wasn't…Well… You had a heart attack, and they sort of… had to bring you back.'
Dean was surprised at the unusual hesitancy in his father's voice, then he realised the significance. 'You mean… I died?' His mind shuddered at the thought.
'I… Yes. But only for very few moments, they brought you back pretty easily.' The words tumbled out of him, then he clammed up again, the guilt consuming him. 'I… I wasn't here yet, God, Dean, I wasn't here… They told me when I got back.' John looked at his hands. 'Dean… I'm sorry I wasn't here, I should have been. I shouldn't have left you.'
'Dad, it's ok. You couldn't know it would happen. No one could. Don't blame yourself. I didn't even notice it happening.' He tried to console his father, storing away the fear that his father's revelation has caused in him. I nearly died! Alone… I guess I should be thankful that I wasn't awake, that I didn't notice it happening. I wish… When it happens, when it really happens I don't think I'd want to be alone. But I don't think I'd want Dad or Sam to see it either. And I don't think I'd want to watch them die either. I can't even imagine what that would feel like. That must be the most terrible experience ever. Without realising it, he drifted off to sleep again.
He didn't see his father finally letting go of the tears that evidenced the terrible fear that followed the realisation that he had almost lost his oldest son earlier that day, only a few months after having driven his youngest away from him. He knew that without Dean, the rift between him and Sam would never be mended. He hid his face in his hands, the worry for the son lying in the hospital bed combining with the worry for his estranged son being so close yet so unreachable.
Dean became aware again some hours later, drawn to the surface by a well-known voice and a warm sensation on his hand. As if through water, he heard the voice talking to him. 'If you knew how much I've missed you since I left…' He faded again, then once more re-surfaced to listen to the voice. 'I can't do this alone, not knowing where you are or what you are doing.' The voice got muffled. Dean tried to listen harder, to stay with the voice. 'I can't live with that, Dean. But I can't live without you either'. Sam? Is that you? Are you here? How? Then the voice suddenly stopped, and his hand only felt the cold air. No, Sam, please stay, where are you going? Don't go, Sam, please don't leave me.
The silence did not last long, though, as soon after he became aware of a gentle rumbling voice talking to him. What is he saying? Sam? I think Sam was here… But no, I thought that last night as well, and Dad was positive that he wasn't there… What's that?
'I think you should call him when you wake up, you know. Maybe let him know you're in the area.' What? No, Dad, not when I'm like this, Sam would be freaked. He might even feel that it's his fault for not being around, I know him… 'No,' he struggled to get the word out. 'No!'
'Dean? Are you awake? What?'
'I said no, Dad. Don't call him. Not now. Don't want… see him now.' Damn, can't even speak properly. I don't want Sam to see me like this. Maybe I'll call him up later, maybe when we're in the area again. But I won't do it now, he might feel obliged to come back and I don't want him to do that. He's made his choice to follow his dream, and I'm not going to spoil that for him. I'm sure he's ok, he was always able to make friends if he set his mind to it. And with that geeky mind of his, he'll probably be the teachers' favourite already. Or rather professors'. Guess little brother's moving upwards in the world…
He was distracted from his thoughts by his father's continued talking. Then, when his father went back to the motel, snippets of what he'd said came floating back to him. What did he say about the spirit? No, Dad, I didn't… I torched the bones, yes, but it still came at me… I let my guard down and paid for it, I guess. Teach me not to become complacent, eh? But I still think that Sam… But no, it can't have been him, I must have been seeing things. God, I wish he were here. I don't think I've ever been in the hospital without him before. Now who can I tell about all the hot nurses?
With thoughts of his brother still playing in his head, he once more drifted off to sleep.
He spent most of the next day resting, sometimes in a deep sleep, sometimes lightly dozing. John was there during visiting hours, filling him in on a hunt Bobby had called about and looking through national papers to search for potential hunts for the two of them once Dean had recovered sufficiently. Late in the evening, after his father had gone back to the motel for the night, he lay staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep now that he wanted to. As it always did lately, when his mind wasn't otherwise occupied, it turned to thoughts about his little brother.
I wonder what you're doing right now, Sammy? You ought to be on some café with your friends, but knowing you, you're probably holed up at home with your homework and a pile of books. You've got a home now, Sam. How does that feel? I hope you like it. Maybe… Maybe someday I can come visit you. Maybe find you there with a hot blonde on your arm. I shouldn't wonder, chicks dig the broody, geeky type, and I know I've never told you this, but those puppy-dog eyes of yours have girls swooning. You just never notice it. He smiled at the thought. I wish you luck, little brother. Although it hurts like hell not having you around. But you always knew what you wanted, and you always went for it. An image of a four-year-old Sam screaming his head off until John gave in and placed him in Dean's bed came to his mind. His smile widened, and he fell asleep with the memory of the two of them sleeping together, feeling safe, in his mind.
When he next woke up, it was late morning and his father was once again sitting in the chair beside his bed. When John saw that Dean was awake, he smiled at him.
'How're you feeling, dude?' he said.
'Hungry,' Dean answered. 'Is that coffee I'm smelling?'
'Yeah, but you're not getting any… Doctor's orders.'
'Since when do you care about doctor's orders?' Dean asked with a frown.
'Since now,' his father said, his voice leaving no room for discussion. Huh. What's eating him?
'So, when am I getting out of here?' Dean said, changing the subject.
'In a day or two, depending how things go… and how you behave.' There was a twinkle in John's eyes, caused by the relief of knowing that his son was improving well.
'Hey!' Dean said in an offended tone. 'I always behave!'
John laughed. 'Yeah, I know, that's what worries me. Seriously, though. You had a close call two days ago, and that wound needs time to heal, not to mention that your concussion needs rest. So be patient, ok?'
'Yeah, yeah, I'll be a patient patient. Hey, who do I have to charm around here to get some breakfast?'
Dean's question was answered when a tall blonde came in with a tray laden with food. 'Good morning, Mr. Harrison. Glad to see you've chosen to join us.' She smiled at John. 'Let us know if he doesn't behave, then we'll take measures, ok? He needs his rest.' Did she just wink at Dad? I can't believe the hot nurse prefers Dad! I must look like shit, probably the stubble. I need to do something about that! Then he noticed that John was fighting very hard to contain his chuckles. He turned to look at him, trying to maintain the offended look on his face, but he failed when faced with his father's mirth-filled eyes.
When's the last time I've seen him like this? I can't even remember. Not since Sam left, that's for sure. And not for some time before that, what with the constant war zone those two created. I wish Sam were here to see him like this. I don't think he realises that much of Dad's behaviour towards him lately was based on fear… A fear that I understand because I feel it too. Who knows what might happen to you out there on your own, Sammy? But I guess we both need to let you go. Guess you're not our little Sammy anymore. Not that I'm every going to let YOU know that I just thought that.
When he had finished breakfast, I'd kill for a cup of coffee right now! Even hospital coffee, he and his father chatted for a while about their next hunt. This is kind of nice, actually. I can't remember the last time we've talked like this. I wonder how long it'll last. Probably not long, only until I'm back on my feet and we're out hunting again. Then the drill sergeant will be back. He took a deep breath. I don't want to ruin this mood, but I have to ask. 'So, you heard from Sam?'
John looked at him in surprise. 'No, I haven't. Didn't expect to, either. How come you're asking, I thought you didn't want to talk to him?'
Dean shrugged. 'Just thought about him, that's all. So it probably wasn't him that called the other day, then.' Why do I feel disappointed?
'I don't know, but with everything that happened, I never got around to calling back. Probably just a contact, which means it doesn't matter now that the hunt's finished. But if it were Sam, he probably would have called you rather than me, don't you think?'
'Yeah, but my phone's trashed. But you're right, I don't think you're his favourite person right now.' And with good reason, considering what you said to him that night. Although I guess Sam gave as good as he got. He winced at the memory of the harsh words that his father and brother had exchanged and his own futile attempts to calm the waters. The pain that he had felt when his brother finally had had enough and walked out the door, their father yelling to him to stay gone, suddenly came back to him full force, the longing for his brother's presence an almost physical ache in his heart. How many times have we been apart for more than a few days, Sammy? Not many. In fact, I can't even remember us ever having been apart for this long.
Dean felt himself starting to doze off again, so he told John to go back to the motel and do some research. Then he let himself drift off again. This is a little annoying, how can I hit on the nurses when I'm sleeping all the time?
A few hours later, he woke up again, this time to an empty room. He looked around him, considering pushing the call button just to chat with a nurse, then decided against it, thinking about what the blonde nurse had said that morning about taking measures. Although I wouldn't mind her taking certain measures… He smiled at the thought, then cast about for something to occupy himself with. His father had left him a couple of magazines, one about classic cars and one about guns, but he was unable to focus on reading, his attention getting drawn away every time he heard footsteps out in the hallway. This is stupid, I know he isn't going to come, he doesn't even know that I'm here, so why do I keep expecting him to show up? Ok, admit it, you miss him like hell… It just isn't the same without him around. It's like I've lost my main purpose in life and I don't know where to turn to find it again. Sometimes everything we do just seems… empty… and pointless. I know it isn't, and I know I shouldn't feel this way, because what we do is important and we save a lot of people doing it… But it just isn't the same without you, Sammy.
He threw the magazines back onto the bedside table in disgust over their inability to distract him from his thoughts. He heard footsteps approaching his room again, pausing outside the door, maybe? Sam? but then felt a stab of disappointment when they continued away from him again. He shook his head at his reaction, then his restless nature got the upper hand and he decided that he needed to get out of the bed before going stir crazy. Wonder if they have any hot nurses on duty? They would definitely make better company than these bloody walls. I'll even settle for medium hot, just as long as she's willing to talk to me… And stop rolling your eyes at me, Sammy, I saw that. He sighed, again feeling the pang of the lack of his brother beside him. Wish you were here, Sam. I bet you never thought I'd think that, right? And now I've started to talk – well, think – to you… I definitely am going crazy. I need some company, preferably female, and preferably soon!
He slowly rose from the bed at least I'm wearing a t-shirt and trousers, not one of those awful gowns, then padded towards the door. Wonder where my clothes are? I better have Dad bring me some clean ones, from what he told me, the ones from the other night are probably a little the worse for wear. And some shaving gear, my stubble's starting to itch. And although chicks dig stubble, I think there might be a very fine line between stubble and the beginnings of a beard. He opened the door slowly… and came face to face with the blonde nurse who seemed to have taken a liking to his father.
'And where exactly do you think you're going, Mr. Harrison?' she said.
'Uh…' Damn, damn, damn! 'The common room?' he said, trying his best to imitate his little brother's imploring eyes. He always seems to be able to get away with such things. I don't know how he does it, but everyone seems to believe him when he flashes those damn eyes.
The nurse looked at him as if trying to determine whether he was lying, then said 'You shouldn't be up and about yet, Mr. Harrison, but seeing as you're already out of bed and it's only a few steps down there, I'll let it pass for now. But next time, ask the doctor before getting out of bed, ok?'
Thank you, Sammy, it worked! He smiled at her. 'Of course. And please, call me Dean.'
She smiled slightly. 'Right, Dean, off you go, and no running around after you get there, otherwise you know what will happen.'
Ok, didn't work that well. But at least I'm out of bed. And I'm sure the view's much better from down there. He slowly walked the rest of the way down to the common room. When he turned the corner, he saw to his horror that most of the chairs were occupied by elderly people, and the TV was showing Discovery Channel. Great, freaking great! I've ended up in the geriatric ward. Just my luck! And Discovery? Who actually watches that stuff voluntarily? Except for geeks like Sam, of course. God, I can't believe this is happening to me! Sighing, he settled into an armchair anyway. I swear, if any of those old crones start talking to me, I'm going to suffocate her with a pillow. Luckily, none of them did, and he turned his attention to the TV, which was showing a documentary on America's largest roller coasters. Wow, that looks cool! Hmm it isn't far from here. Maybe one day Sam and I…
He suddenly remembered Sam's fifteenth birthday which they had spent in an amusement park. John had been away on a hunt, and Dean had surprised his brother by planning out the entire day, first going to the amusement park for the day and then spending the evening in their motel room with pizza and a movie. They had gone on the roller coaster over and over again and afterwards had laughed their heads off while walking through the 'Haunted House', pointing out to each other the countless factual mistakes in the exhibits there and planning how to best take care of the monsters shown there. Sam seemed so carefree that day… Almost happy. I wish… I wish he'd been more like that. I hope he's getting to experience that again now. He felt a momentary pang of grief and regret at the thought that Sam might experience that without him now. I wonder what you're doing, Sam? Do you think about me at all? Or are you so caught up in your new life that there's no time for that? I wish… I'd like to keep in contact, you know. Call you up once in a while, just to chat. Maybe drop by. And maybe we can patch things up between you and Dad as well. The need to talk to his brother suddenly overwhelmed him, and he rose quickly ouch, guess that was a little too quickly then walked back to his room and the telephone there. I have to get Dad to buy me a new phone. Oh, he's going to love that.
Once back in his room, he pulled the phone close to the bed, then picked up the receiver to dial Sam's number, but before he punched in the final number, he hung up again. What am I going to say? 'Hi, Sam, how are you?' sounds a bit weak, doesn't it? And he'll think at once that something's up… I can't let him know I'm here and hurt, I have to tell him something else… He's so damn perceptive. Which I guess is a good thing when we're – were – researching, but which is a pain in the ass when you can never hide anything from your little brother. He smiled, remembering the many times he had been able to convince his father that his days had been spent researching when the reality was something quite different; something which Sam had been able to guess every single time. Dean still felt grateful for the many times Sam hadn't told on him, no matter what he had been doing. But that's what little brothers are for, isn't it?
He sighed, then picked up the phone again. Who cares what I say, I just need to talk to him. I'll just take it as it goes. He dialled Sam's number and was surprised when it went straight to an automatic message. 'Sorry, you have reached a number that is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this message in error, please hang up and dial again,' an impersonal voice told him. What the hell? Sam? Did you actually…? Dean dialled again to make sure he hadn't dialled a wrong number in his haste, but he merely got the same message. He wrote down the number on a piece of paper, checking to see if he remembered wrong, but he knew the number by heart and knew he had made no mistakes. He dialled one last time and got the same message and realised with a sinking feeling that Sam had in fact changed his number. He paled at the though of the degree to which his little brother had severed his ties to his family. Maybe he really doesn't want to talk to us anymore? I knew he was angry with Dad, but this? He sat staring at the phone for a while, then an idea occurred to him. No, hang on… Maybe that's not the reason. Maybe it's because the old number was created under an alias… Maybe he's gotten himself a new one, under his real name. He would do that, now that he's putting down his roots there – here.
He dialled 411, got through to Information, asked for Sam's number Yahtzee. I knew it! And of course it's listed under Samuel Winchester. Sounds much more lawyer-like that Sammy, eh, little brother? and before he could decide against it, he dialled it, holding his breath as he heard it ringing.
And ringing.
And ringing.
'Hi, this is Sam, please leave a message…'
'Dammit, Sam, why didn't you pick up your damn phone?' He slammed down the receiver, surprised by the intensity of emotion that the sound of his brother's voice had caused in him. Well, he's probably out with his friends, at some noisy café, unable to hear it. Or he's fallen asleep with his head in his books, his oblivious when that happens. He tried to quell the instinctive worry that started to grow inside him because of his inability to reach his brother. Calm down, this is stupid. He's just busy. Nothing to worry about. He lay back in his bed, closing his eyes, trying to go back to sleep, but the worry for his brother kept nagging at him. 30 minutes later he tried calling again, but with the same result. Should I leave a message? No, wouldn't know what to say. Speaking to him would be better. Messages are so awkward. And, hell, I want to hear his voice.
He hung up again and sat for a while staring at the wall, caught up in memories and thoughts of Sam and himself over the years, and for the first time really contemplating what the future might look like without Sam at his side, not just for a few years at college but also afterwards if Sam really did mean to follow a career in law. Happiness that his brother was living out his dream was warring with his worry that his brother was on his own for the first time in his life and his sense of loss that his brother and best friend was no longer at his side.
Shortly after, his father came back, looking markedly more cheerful for having spent the day researching their next hunt. Dean let him talk about it for a while, trying to sound interested, trying to hide the worry for Sam that just wouldn't go away. It became harder and harder to do, though, and he felt himself shut out his father's voice as his mind blocked out the uninteresting information that it provided and instead gave in to the darkness of worry that emptied his mind of conscious thought and left him with pure emotion in its place. Finally he could not take it anymore and he interrupted his father.
'Dad… Have you heard anything about Sam? From him, I mean?'
John stopped talking and looked at him in surprise. 'No, I haven't… Not that I expected me to call me. Why do you ask?'
I have this feeling... Something's wrong, I know it… 'I just wondered… Hey, can I borrow your phone for a sec?'
John nodded, pulled his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Dean. 'Oh, by the way – I found the pieces of your phone. I think it's history, but we may be able to salvage the SIM card. I'll get you another one soon.'
Dean distractedly nodded his thanks, scrolling through the list of incoming calls on the phone. Most of them seemed to be from Bobby, and he realised to his dismay that his father had already deleted the number that had tried calling him a couple of days earlier. He handed the phone back to his father with a sigh. No luck there, dammit! Do I tell him? No, I'm probably just over-reacting.
John looked at him questioningly, then replaced the phone in his pocket without saying anything, realising what Dean might have looked for.
'I'm sure he's ok, Dean. Nothing's gonna happen to him here. That spirit seems to have been the only supernatural entity in the area right now, and that's taken care of.'
Dean nodded, a little surprised at how well his father knew him. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised; when it strikes him, he's as perceptive as Sam. 'Yeah, you're right.' He sighed, then looked up at his father again. 'So, tell me about this spirit – Bobby said it might be a young boy haunting the place?' They went back to discussing the hunt, and if Dean still had a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, he didn't reveal it to his father.
When John had left later that evening, Dean tried calling Sam's number again. His worry didn't diminish when this time, it went straight to voice mail. He tried calling a couple of times later, but with the same result. Why does this worry me so much? He's probably just holed up with a book or a paper for tomorrow. Maybe he's even gotten himself a girlfriend. Nah. It's the books for sure. He always walls himself in when he has an important paper due. But I can't shake this feeling… He tried distracting himself by watching TV for a couple of hours, but not even Spinal Tap could catch his attention. He finally fell into a fitful sleep, haunted by dreams of Sam's departure and the countless fights between John and Sam over the years where more often than not he had been caught in the middle.
To Be Continued