The Illusionist Part II
Disclaimer : This is a sequel, so if you haven't read the first one, you might want to check it out first. Or not. :D
Warnings : Abuse, angst, language
Chapter 2 : Come Lay Down
His heart was pounding in his chest, and even though he couldn't hear it, he could feel the damn thing trying to jump out and leap away. Dean shrank back towards the car, clutching his Remington twelve gauge in one hand, and clenching his other hand so tightly that his nails had made four tiny crescents in his palm. He could see his breath spiraling out from between his lips in quick, fleeting wisps, dissolving into the air as his father's dark form came through the gates of the cemetery. Dean didn't need moonlight to see the look on John's face. He knew it was angry, red, and more than likely, painted in a shade of hate. He couldn't help but back up further, the cold steel chilling his skin even through his many layers. He bit his bottom lip in fearful anticipation, his breath stilling when the older man came to stand a mere foot away from him, appearing exactly as Dean had suspected.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" John's angry voice rang out loud and clear in the frigid night air.
Dean tried his best to stop shaking, but it was hard when it was so cold and what he had just seen...or rather who... Before he knew it, John's calloused hand connected with his cheek, pain immediately radiating up and down his jaw bone because when John smacked, he made sure the heel of his hand made it there before his fingers. The force threw the younger hunter back against the car; something that was becoming increasingly easier with the more weight he lost, though he knew his father probably pretended not to notice just as he himself did.
"You could have gotten the both of us killed back there! Do you not realize that?" the older man boomed, still unable to come to the truth that no matter how loud he shouted, his son would never hear him.
Dean stared at him with wide, green eyes, involuntary tears swimming in them. After a few moments, he finally managed to force out some words. "He...He looked like Sammy." His skin was pale, even in the dim lighting, and the shadows under his eyes stood out worse than ever. "I just..." He flinched when his father's large hands suddenly gripped his jacket, pulling him up and closer to the older man.
"You know that wasn't your brother. You know that, Dean! You need to cut out this bullshit, and grow up! When did you become so weak? Huh?"
"I'm not." His voice was barely above a whisper as he stared into his father's scowling gaze, trying desperately to hide the wince that flashed across his features when he felt John's grip tighten. "I'm not," he repeated, almost too low for John to hear.
"Then quit acting like it! I taught you to be strong, and to always be on your guard! Instead, one look at that kid's face, and you froze!" John exclaimed, throwing Dean back against the Impala, eyes narrowing when he heard the metal bend behind his son.
A look of confusion spread over Dean's face when he saw that his father had become even angrier, though the man's grip had loosened. He felt John jerk him aside, so he moved, finally seeing what his father saw.
Shit.
Dean felt his chest tighten when the realization hit him; his father was more worried about the state of the car than the state of his son.
He's just mad. That's all. This'll all blow over soon, and everything will be okay...
But Dean was smarter than that, even though he repeatedly kept telling himself that denial was just a river in Africa. It wasn't okay. Not at all, not even a little.
The next thing he knew, his father's fist was making impact with his stomach and then his ribs. He doubled over, a cough escaping his lips, spittle flying everywhere. John didn't stop though; he punched the younger hunter again and again until Dean's knees gave out, sending him to the concrete ground below. Dean's vision was swimming when he felt his father's hand wrap around his chin and jerk his head in the older man's direction.
"Get up..."
Dean shook his head, though remnants of the memory were still clear in his mind. He clenched the steering wheel harder, his prominent, stark-white knuckles contrasting greatly with the black material. He glanced over at the passenger seat, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips.
Sam was fast asleep, head leaning on the window and mouth starting to hang open. Dean laughed silently at the sight of his little brother; he hadn't seen him that relaxed since... It had been awhile. The tiny grin slowly faded though as Dean got a good look at him. There were hints of dark circles under the brunette's eyes, and he was still on the thin side, his loose clothes all too evident of that fact. He wasn't relaxed; he was just flat out exhausted.
Dean glanced back at the two-lane highway, though his mind was anything but focused; he just kept to the routine of staying within the white lines.
His thoughts drifted back to his little brother's life for the past three years and what it would have been like if he wouldn't have interfered with it.
He'd probably still be happy and not itching to get away from the likes of your sorry ass.
Dean clenched his jaw, hating that sometimes that little voice in his head sounded way too much like his father's. Even after all these years, he could still remember how deep (and at times, gravelly) it sounded, especially when he was angry. His thoughts drifted, and he wondered what Sam's sounded like now. He imagined it was deep and smooth, and probably soothing too. He could only recall when it was still high-pitched and the main words that the kid spoke were "Dean!" and "I'm hungry."
He sighed, knowing he was inadvertently avoiding the main issue he was supposed to be focused on.
It had been three days since they'd gotten the text, presumably from their father, and it had taken Dean one full day to convince Sam that they needed to follow the lead and go there. Sam being Sam finally agreed, albeit after much reluctance and a show of stubbornness.
There was still approximately three hundred miles away, located in Helena, Montana. They'd done some research before hand, and found out that there had been a rash of suicides at a college there, four students leaping to their death in less than two weeks. Neither were sure what to make of it, but it definitely sounded like something worth checking out.
Dean couldn't help but wonder about their father and his reasoning for sending them there. He'd tried to reply to the text, but it hadn't gone through because of it being an unknown number. He was pretty sure Sam had tried to find out their dad's number via his special know-it-all-little-brother-skills, but he hadn't had any luck either.
He sighed silently, and glanced back at Sam, guilt gnawing at his chest. He hated keeping things from him, he really did, but he knew if Sam found out everything, he'd be trying to kill their father instead of save him. And that's the last thing Dean wanted. He wanted them to get along for once instead of the both of them yelling until they couldn't talk anymore. He hated the way they would argue for hours on end, and how they just assumed he didn't know what was going on, but he was deaf, not stupid.
Then there were the times when he actually stepped in and tried to separate them or at least get them to stop, and when that happened, things only got worse. Sam would accuse him of taking his father's side, and vice versa. He hated always being in the middle of the two, literally and figuratively.
He hoped that maybe when they finally did find their father, that he'd be happy to see Sam and not as angry as he was before. He wished that they could be a family again. But Dean knew that hoping was mostly futile, and wishes were for little kids who didn't know any better.
He checked his watch, his eyes widening slightly when he saw that he'd been driving for six hours straight without stopping. He hoped Sam hadn't missed one of his insulin shots because of his inability to pay attention to the time.
It wasn't long before he came across a town, some place called Blackfoot, ID when he pulled over, stopping at the first diner he saw.
"Sammy, hey, wake up," he said, shaking his brother's arm. It took a moment before Sam opened his eyes, looking around dazedly until his gaze met Dean's.
"Are we there yet?" Sam asked, glancing out the window, his brow narrowing when he saw signs about 'The World's Biggest Potato'. Dean started to worry when he saw Sam's mouth curl into a smile, and laughter spill from between his lips. "Look, Dean, it's a giant potato," he chuckled, pointing to the sign with a giant spud on it.
"C'mon. I think we need to get you something to eat," Dean stated, removing the keys from the ignition and hurriedly getting out of the car. He opened the passenger side door and wrapped a hand around Sam's right arm, not expecting his little brother to shove him away.
"Sammy-"
The grin was gone from his little brother's face, replaced with a scowl that looked eerily like their father's. "Don't, Dean!" Sam snapped, blue-green eyes angry and accusing. "I can do it all by myself, just like you always can. Always do everything on your own. What do you need me for?" Sam muttered, Dean unable to read half of what he said.
The older of the two tried again when he saw his little brother's unsuccessful attempts to exit the Impala only to be pushed away yet again.
Even though the town looked on the small side, there were still plenty of people walking along the streets due to it being midday and Christmas being less than three weeks away; and most of those said people were now staring at the two young hunters, forcing Dean to nod nervously at a few passing by.
"Sammy, I think your blood sugar's low. You need to eat something right now so come on." He hoped he was sounding forceful and commanding enough to catch his little brother's attention, to drag him out of the low spell he was falling into.
"Whatever," Sam murmured, eyebrows still narrowed in irritation. He held out his hand and Dean could see how badly it was shaking.
Without hesitation, Dean reached for it, but Sam jerked it back yet again and burst out laughing.
"Ha! Gotcha! You almost had me..."
Dean could feel his heart starting to race, not liking at all what this was becoming. He knew he had to get some sugar into his brother like right now or he was going to black out again. And that wasn't going to happen again under Dean's watch. His eyes drifted to the inside of the car, searching for some type of sugar-boosting substance.
There were a few empty bottles tossed on the floorboard, so those were of no help. His gaze flicked to the backseat, and he immediately flung open the back passenger door, retrieving the half-empty orange juice container. He opened it and gave it a quick sniff (to make sure it was still drinkable) before holding it up to Sam's lips.
"Drink," he ordered, not liking the pouty expression that was crossing Sam's visage. He decided that he was going to have to get his little brother's mouth open one way or another. "Come on, Sammy."
"It's-" Before Sam could even utter the second word of his usual 'It's Sam, not Sammy', retort, Dean was pouring down the day's old orange juice, placing his other hand on the back of Sam's head and pulling it back slightly so that he wouldn't choke. He didn't let up until the liquid had all but disappeared down his little brother's throat.
He took his sleeve and wiped away the little trickle that had made its way down the side of Sam's mouth and chin. The younger hunter still looked somewhat disheveled, but a bit more coherent than before. Dean waited a few moments before speaking again.
"You okay?" he asked, leaning down to Sam's eye level. He placed a hand on his little brother's right cheek, gently guiding his gaze to meet his. "Sammy?"
It took a minute before the brunette responded with a nod. "Yeah, jus'...think I need to eat."
"You safe to get up?" Dean asked, although he was already grabbing Sam by the arm, ready to shoulder whatever weight need be to get him into the diner.
"Yeah," Sam replied unsurely, accepting Dean's help without hesitation.
Dean avoided the stares of the onlookers and got his Sasquatch of a brother into the establishment without further trouble. He unloaded Sam on the first booth he saw, and immediately got the nearest waitress's attention.
"'Scuse me, ma'am," he said, placing one of his trademark charming grins on his face. "Is there anyway you could get my brother here a tall glass of juice and whatever today's special is? He's diabetic-"
"Say no more, sweetie," the red-headed, middle-aged woman interrupted with a smile. "Coming right up."
"Thanks," he said, lips still curled upward in appreciation. As soon as she walked away, his attention was right back on Sam, eyes wide and still full of worry. "Where's your blood tester?"
Sam pulled it out of his inside pocket and handed it over, hands still on the trembling side.
Normally, Dean knew Sam was all about privacy when it came to dealing with his diabetes (in the few short days he'd known about it anyway), but he'd decided that he needed to know the numbers he was dealing with now. He unzipped the case and followed the instructions Sam had given him. He took one of the strips out of its container and placed it in the machine, striped side first. Then, he took Sam's left hand and put the poker up to the tip of his index finger, pressed in slightly, and pushed the button that caused the lancet to pierce his skin. He removed it after a few seconds and placed the meter up to his finger; the strip collecting the needed amount of blood. He watched impatiently as the screen counted down from five to one, the number thirty-seven flashing when it was finished.
He knew thirty-seven was bad. Very bad. Like passing out and going into an actual diabetic coma and not waking up bad.
He wondered if the orange juice had fully kicked in yet, and if it had, what his blood sugar could have been before. He was doing more research on diabetes once they got to Montana, that was for sure.
Just as he was about to jump out of his seat to flag down the waitress he'd spoken to just minutes before, she came up to the table, a warm smile on her face as she sat down a plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon, and a cold glass of orange juice.
"Can I get anything for you, hon?" she asked, staring at Dean.
He'd been too busy shoving the food and drink in Sam's hands to realize she was speaking to him. He looked up, cheeks turning the slightest shade of pink when he saw she was still standing there. He held a hand up to his ear, pretending he hadn't heard her.
"Anything for you, sweetie?" she tried again.
"Just some coffee. Black, thank you," he replied, gaze quickly moving from her to his little brother. He relaxed somewhat when he saw Sam eating, slowly but surely. He waited until Sam had finished most of his food before saying anything. "I'm not liking this, Sammy."
Sam stopped chewing when he spoke, eyes drifting from the table to his. "Not liking what?" He still looked a bit peaky, but his color was starting to improve a bit.
"This whole almost passing out twice in less than a week thing. You've got to start eating more," Dean stated, nursing the cup of coffee the waitress had just brought him. He watched his little brother roll his eyes and set the fork down on the mostly empty plate, then wipe his mouth with a napkin before speaking again.
"I already told you I was going to, Dean, so there's no need to have this conversation all over again. I'll be fine. I'm fine now. I get low spells sometimes. It happens," he said sharply, his body tensing as he went into defensive mode.
"Yeah, you get low spells because you don't eat enough," Dean shot back, brow narrowing in anger.
"Will you stop with that crap? If you want to talk to someone about not eating enough, then you should be talking to yourself." The pointed look on his face screamed loud and clear to Dean how this conversation was going to end.
Badly.
"That's the thing, Sammy, I'm talking about you here. Not me," Dean said, pointing to himself. "So stop trying to divert-"
"Divert? Since when did you learn such a big word?" he quipped, lips forming a thin line when he saw the look of hurt flash across Dean's eyes. He sighed and put his head in his hands. He took a deep breath and ran them through his hair. When he looked up, Dean was already on his way out the door, a wad of bills laying carefully folded on his side of the table next to the still steaming cup of coffee.
S*P*N*S*P*N
The sky was dark by the time they made it to Helena. Dean hadn't spoken a word since the diner. He'd driven in complete silence, and hadn't so much as even glanced at his little brother. Sam would've noticed because he'd pretty much been staring at him the whole time.
The brunette felt like an ass for what he'd said. He knew his brother wasn't stupid, not in the least, but that still never stopped him from spouting a line of bullshit here and there. He just hated it when Dean lectured him on something; especially something he'd been mostly in control of for awhile now. And he hated how much Dean sounded like their father. But he knew if he told his older brother that, he'd just take it as a compliment instead of the insult it was supposed to be.
Sam sighed as they pulled into another run-down looking motel's parking lot. There were a few cars there, but the place looked empty for the most part. He watched his older brother get out of the car and head for the main office; still not even a glance cast in his direction. He shook his head and got out of the car, grabbing both of their bags from the back seat. He slung his across his shoulder and tucked Dean's under his other arm. Within a few minutes, his older brother came out of the office and walked over to him, not saying a word as he removed his bag from under Sam's arm.
"Dean," Sam said, frustration clear in his tone, hand reaching for the green duffel instinctively though he reluctantly let it drop.
His older brother continued on towards their room. Sam followed him, hating the fact of how routine it was all becoming. Even though they were brothers, and brothers fought all the time...he didn't like it.
Even if he did start it more than half the time.
He made it into the room shortly after his brother. The younger hunter glanced around the room and saw that not only had Dean already claimed his bed (the one furthest from the door this time), but he had also disappeared into the bathroom.
Sam deposited his bag onto the other bed and set his laptop down on the barely still-standing table. He grimaced as the scent of the room hit him; it was rank and had an iron-tint to it as well, like days old blood. He glanced at the carpet (just to make sure there weren't any mysterious stains), but other than being dirty, there was nothing else wrong with it.
He turned on the PC and looked around the room, wondering if there wasn't a coffee maker in it per chance. His searching stopped as soon as the bathroom door opened and Dean came out. He watched his older brother grab his jacket from his bed and head towards the door.
Almost immediately, Sam's face scrunched up in anger and frustration. "Where are you going?" he blurted out and reached for Dean's arm, his fingers grasping at the brown leather.
Dean avoided his touch, jerking his arm away before his little brother made contact. He continued his course to the door but paused before opening it. Keeping his gaze steady on the floor, he signed, "Back later," holding his right hand out in the shape of an 'L' before extending it forwards and curving it slightly.
"You can't just—dammit!" Sam exclaimed, growing even more irritated because he could keep on talking as long as he wanted but he knew Dean would refuse to look at him. The thought struck his mind that he could always force his older brother to look at him...
Without further hesitation, Dean opened the door and exited the room, closing it shut behind him.
Sam felt his hands clench at his sides, turning into fists. His legs were moving before he had a chance to stop them. He flung the door open and stepped out of the room. His anger helped him to ignore the frigid breeze that was blowing passed him and ruffling his hair; his mind was only focused on Dean. He scanned the parking lot, eyes narrowing when he saw his brother standing at the back of the Impala, the trunk hitched open. Without wavering, he stormed over to the middle Winchester, anger glowing intensely in his ocean-colored eyes.
He watched his brother do a double-take before slamming the trunk shut, brow narrowed in confusion. Before Dean had a chance to react, Sam shoved him up against the back of the car, fury plastered across his youthful yet weary visage.
He wasn't expecting to see Dean's eyes go wide, fear and shock filling the glimmering pools of green.
Sam could feel his brother's body go tense—too tense—for just surprising him like that. Dean was rigid, and his face so pale it made his freckles stand out even in the shady light of the motel parking lot.
Sam had never seen his older brother look so afraid in his life.
He eased his grip a little, most of his anger dissipating at the sight of his brother's mouth flying open as the words, "I'm sorry," came from his lips but didn't make a sound. "I'm sorry, Sammy."
All of a sudden, Sam lost focus, his vision blurring as pain shot through his head. Within seconds, he was back in the motel room, Dean walking passed him, just as he had minutes before.
This time he was able to grab a hold of his brother before everything went black.
S*P*N*S*P*N
A/N : Happy New Year everyone! :) A humongous THANK YOU to all of you who reviewed chapter one : MaevaSpn, MissGeorgie, shammy101, dandy44, babyreaper, kissacazador, 2People, Lbdba, anaspa, anon (yep, he's type 1 :D), SPSmallCharm29, Glades of Grey, and Black Eyed Kids.
I really do appreciate the support and feedback, so thank you so much again for it! :)
All medical knowledge concerning Sam's diabetes is due to personal experience. A very close member of my family has had it for the past 12 years, and I've been with them every step of the way.
Once again, thank you all so much, and I hope you all liked the chapter :)