The Illusionist Part II
Chapter 11 : Ocean of Noise
Dean wasn't quite sure how they'd made it out to the car—he just knew that they had. And all he could do was stand there, next to the passenger side, brow furrowed in confusion. He stood there for some time, staring at his reflection in the window, unable to quite figure out why he looked different. All he knew is that his appearance had somehow changed.
His head immediately jerked up at the sound of his brother's voice, and all he could do was stare at Sam, eyes wide and searching. His gaze immediately flicked to his lips out of reflex, though there wasn't a need anymore. He could hear him loud and clear, though Sam didn't know that fact.
Yet.
"Dean? Are you okay?" Sam asked, hands and fingers moving in unison, a worried look marring his features.
He hadn't yet spoken either, a deep rooted fear of what his voice sounded like suddenly consuming him. As a response, he only gave his brother a nod before slowly letting his fingers trail across the cool metal handle briefly before he opened the car door.
It squeaked faintly as he pulled it open, the sound blending in with all the others that were suddenly penetrating his ears. He could hear the wind howling, screaming across the low-lying plains as thunder rumbled in the distance. The sound of birds chirping hysterically also drew his attention and he couldn't help but let his eyes wander, attempting to locate them.
Then there was the sound of the Impala starting up as Sam turned the key in the ignition; and for the first time in years, instead of feeling it come to life, he actually heard it.
There was suddenly water in his eyes and he quickly wiped whatever had managed to fall away, and got into the car. The problem was, it just wouldn't stop. The inside of the car was mostly silent as Sam backed out of the muddy lot, and Dean listened and soaked every tiny noise that he could in.
The keys jingled as Sam made the turn onto the highway, and Dean caught his concerned glances out of the corner of his eye as they moved across the pavement, yellow and white lines beginning to pass faster and faster until they began to blur.
They'd only made it about a quarter of a mile before Dean started to sniffle and damn, if he didn't feel like the biggest girl in the world.
But he couldn't help it.
For sixteen years—sixteen years long years—he was unable to hear nothing more than a muffled sound here or there with his old device (long gone thanks to John); but now—now he could hear every fucking thing!
"S-Sammy," the name came, tumbling off his trembling lips, and he wiped his eyes one last time before finally looking over at his brother that was growing more and more worried by the second.
"Dean, what's wrong?" he asked quickly, bringing his right hand up and extending his pinkie finger and thumb while he brought it to his chin, shaking his head once while keeping an eye on the road.
Dean would never admit it (like, seriously, never in a million fucking years), but the noise that managed to burst through his tightly clasped lips sounded like a sob and he immediately brought both hands up to cover his ever reddening face. He was trying to silence himself, because this wasn't right—crying uncontrollably because he wasn't strong enough to stop—and he only felt worse as he heard Sam put on the turn signal and pull over to the shoulder of the road.
The purr of the engine gradually ceased, and suddenly Sam's hands were on him (gentle, always so damned gentle), attempting to pry his hands apart. "Dean," he heard his name being said, and slowly uncovered his face. With his heart pounding in his chest (and with no trace of the pain he'd felt before), he allowed himself to look at Sam, and it took every last ounce of self-control that he had not to break down again.
Quit acting like that! If Dad could see you now...
The thought wrapped itself around his brain, and he stiffened for a moment, torn between the mask he usually wore and actually letting Sam in for a moment.
He managed to find a compromise somewhere in between.
With his head hanging and hands shaking in his lap, he murmured the words, "S-Sammy, I can hear again." He didn't look up—not yet.
The car was bathed in absolute silence for a moment, just that damned banshee-sounding wind from outside whirling in and around it.
Suddenly, he felt the car move. He glanced up once he heard Sam's door shut, only to find his brother already on the passenger side, flinging his door open. Dean's eyes widened for a moment, a memory of his father doing the exact same action not that long ago. His body froze up, but it didn't matter, Sam was already there, pulling him up and out of the car and throwing his arms around him in his typical Sammy manner, but at that moment, Dean couldn't find it in himself to care.
He felt one of Sam's hands settle on the back of his head and pull him closer (if that were even possible), whispering, "I knew it. I knew it."
And that's when it really hit Dean.
The last time he had heard his little brother's voice, it had been so hurt, so full of pain (so high), and now, it was exactly like he'd imagined it to be. Deep yet comforting—soothing. Everything he had missed and then some, and he could hear it.
He let Sam squeeze him tighter (humoring him just this once, of course), and buried his head into his shoulder, letting the tears that were leading an exodus from his eyes stain Sam's jacket.
He could feel his body shaking—trembling more like it—but he couldn't stop. He just gripped the fabric of Sam's jacket all the more, hoping that it would eventually stop.
After a few more minutes passed by, he slowly backed away, wiping away the last remnants of that damn water that had been pouring from his eyes. He sniffled and looked away, taking in the dreary landscape before letting his gaze fall back on Sam.
The kid was standing there with the brightest grin on his face, tears still glimmering in his eyes. He looked young—too damn young—and so happy. Dean hated that he was about to ruin it.
"As much as I'd like to celebrate, Sammy, we've still got a job to do," and he still felt odd finally being able to hear his own voice after all this time. It sounded so foreign—nothing like he'd thought it be anyway. It was deep, but not too deep. Not nearly as bad as he was expecting. "Something's going on back there."
Sam's grin faltered at the words, but there were still lines around his eyes from the action. "Well, of course, something's going on back there, Dean! A freakin' miracle, that's what!" and if anything, the smile grew wider.
Dean nodded and looked away again, watching lightning zigzag across the sky some miles away, a grim smile settling on his lips. "Sammy—I know that's what you want to believe—"
"What is it, Dean?" The happy tone was gone, replaced with something more cynical and questioning.
"I-I saw something back there, Sammy." He paused, finally letting his eyes lock with his brother's once more. "There was someone standing behind Roy, some sort of spirit. It looked right at me before it disappeared, but it was definitely there."
Sam stared at him, disappointment now set in his eyes. Dean always hated to let the kid down, and this was just another one of those times. As much as Sam might have prayed for a miracle, Dean presumed that this was something else entirely.
"How's-How's your, you know," Sam asked, suddenly finding his hand gestures unneeded as he dragged his fingers away from his chest.
"I...I feel fine, actually. Pretty damned good, to be honest," Dean said, a hint of an actual smile pulling up the corners of his lips.
Sam's eyes gleamed when his brother spoke, the happiness that had faded bouncing back momentarily. It dimmed somewhat again as he spoke. "We should probably get you checked out first thing tomorrow. Just to make sure, you know?" Sam asked, eyes slightly squinted as a stray ray of sunshine trickled through a hole in the storm clouds from above.
Dean nodded in agreement and took in a deep breath. It didn't hurt, not one damned bit. He wanted to be happy and hopeful, but something about the whole event made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Something wasn't right; that much he knew.
He wondered though, if he honestly wanted to find out.
S*P*N*S*P*N
It was storming when they woke up the next morning; a mix of freezing rain and flurries rapping against the motel window. The light noise woke Sam from his restless sleep, only to find his brother standing there, staring out the window, eyes searching for something they both knew wasn't there.
"Mornin' sunshine," Dean said without so much as a glance, gaze still lost to the outside.
Sam rolled his eyes in annoyance at the verbal jab, but the corners of his lips lifted anyway. There was a subtle change in his brother—in the way he stood—that he couldn't help but notice. His back wasn't as hunched as it usually was, looking as though it were bearing the weight of the world on it. He stood straighter, and Sam couldn't help but be happy for him. Getting his hearing back might not have been a miracle, but it was still something.
Something that neither one actually thought would be possible. It didn't hurt that his heart was more than likely healed too.
Sam pushed back the covers and stood up, only to be hit with a wave of dizziness. As patches of blue and purple zigzagged across his vision, he plopped right back down to the bed, immediately drawing his brother's attention.
"Sammy? What's wrong?" Dean asked, worry creasing his brow as he quickly moved from his guard at the window to Sam's bedside.
"Just a little dizzy. It's nothing," Sam mumbled, one hand holding the side of his head.
Without another word, he heard his blood-testing kit being unzipped and prepared.
"Give me your hand," Dean ordered softly, yet firmly, and Sam reluctantly complied.
Big brother to the rescue, he couldn't help but think as he felt the tip of lancet pierce his skin and draw blood. Dean's reaction to the number on the machine told him all he needed to know : his blood sugar was low. "How bad is it?"
Dean was already grabbing a bottle of orange juice from the mini fridge and removing the top. "Fifty-seven," he answered, concern haunting his eyes. "Why's it so low?"
Sam swallowed a mouthful of juice before replying. "The body burns more calories in the cold, and since this room is freezing, I'm guessing I burned more than normal while I was asleep."
"You gotta be more careful, Sammy," Dean chided. "A little lower and you could've blacked out."
Sam could feel a venomous comment readying itself to pass between his lips, but bit his tongue instead. Dean was only trying to help, that was all. He only wished his brother realized he'd been taking care of himself just fine for the past few years. Well, there had been...
Jessica...
He quickly cut the thought off, not ready to see her face just yet this morning. It'd been haunting him far too much lately...
"Gonna grab a quick shower, and then it's off to the clinic," Sam stated, finishing off the last bit of juice and standing to his feet, this time without a problem.
"Sammy, I'm fine. Nothing hurts, I can hear again," he said, lifting his hand to his ear. "Maybe we should just go back-"
"Dean," Sam cut him off, sounding so much like their father it was uncanny, and Dean must've noticed it too because as soon as his name was said, his whole body tensed. "We just have to make sure. It'll only take half an hour, if that. Then we'll figure out what's going on. Okay?"
Dean's jaw clenched visibly through his skin, but he nodded without a word. As Sam was grabbing his clothes, he saw Dean sliding on his jacket. "Where are you going?"
"I'll be back in a few. Gonna go grab some coffee."
"Alright," Sam said, watching as Dean picked up the keys to the Impala and went out the door. He heard it start up a few seconds later, the engine purring loudly as Dean drove off. "Ok-ay," Sam mumbled, and hurried into the bathroom, desperate to get under the hot water. He turned the fixture on, and stripped quickly, goosebumps breaking out across his bare flesh. Relief flooded over him as he stepped under the spray, the water pressure just right as it poured out. He closed his eyes and felt his body relax as the water rained down on his skin.
Everything was fine, until suddenly the warmth disappeared and he was in a dark, cold motel room. Though this time wasn't like all the others. He knew that story very well, had the reoccurring vision memorized like the few scars that crossed the flesh on the back of his hand. No, this—this was much different.
The door to the room flew open, a figure being pushed across the threshold. It landed on the floor, while the second figure that had so obviously pushed it stomped into the room, slamming the door closed behind them and flipping on the light. "You just can't do any goddamned thing right, can you, Dean?" And Sam saw who it was—it was their father.
The youngest Winchester watched helplessly as the vision unfolded, unable to do anything but remain a spectator.
John gripped a hold of the fallen figure's collar, jerking him off the floor. It was then Sam could see that it was Dean. Without a doubt.
A pained grunt was all that escaped his brother's lips, and as soon as it did, John reprimanded him with a back-handed slap to the face.
This time it was followed by silence.
"You almost let that damned thing escape!" he shouted, grabbing Dean by the collar once more. "Just because Sam isn't here anymore doesn't give you the right to be so damned lazy! He's gone, Dean. Don't you get that?"
A shaky, barely audible, "Yes, sir," followed.
"I don't think you do," he spat out, and pulled Dean up off the floor and to his feet. "Ten miles. Now," he ordered, and shoved Dean away.
Dean quickly recovered from the push, careful not to fall, and went to pick up his running shoes when John clamped a hand down on his arm. "You're not getting the comfort of those tonight. You stick with what you've got on."
The middle Winchester stood there for a moment, eyes gleaming with silent pleas, but John wasn't having it. "Dean," the warning came and with that, Sam was pulled from the vision and back to the water that was now running cold against his skin.
He hurriedly turned it off and got out, wrapping the cheap motel towel around his shoulders, water dripping to the tiled floor below as he shivered from the cold. He gasped for air, his breath coming so fast he almost started to choke.
"Sam? You alright in there?" came Dean's soft voice from the other side of the door. When Sam didn't respond, Dean spoke again, this time, a little louder. "Sammy? You've got five seconds before-"
"I'm alright!" Sam yelled back, a little too sharply. A pang of guilt immediately struck him in the chest as no response came from the other side of the door this time. Just barely audible footsteps as his brother walked away. "Shit," he mumbled, the previous images still haunting his eyes. He didn't quite understand what the hell was happening, or how he was seeing what he was seeing, or even if they were real; but he did know one thing—he was going to help his brother get through this.
He had to.
S*P*N*S*P*N
He couldn't shake the nausea that was spinning in his gut. Dean could feel the bile threatening to make an appearance; it kept coming up his throat just far enough to burn it, then fall right back down again as he swallowed. It didn't help matters much that his head was starting to ache, and he couldn't figure out if it was because he hadn't eaten for two days, or if he just wasn't used to all the sounds that were now invading his ears and mind.
His fingers tapped nervously on the exam table as he waited for the doctor to come back in, using the gesture as a way to prevent Sam from seeing just how badly his hands were truly shaking. He wondered if the weakness that was slowly snaking through his limbs and crawling up his spine wasn't a sign of low blood sugar, or the fact that he was afraid of what the doctor was going to say. The sound of Sam biting his nails from the chair behind him suddenly threw him from his train of thought, and he turned towards his brother, letting a pointed stare ease across his face as he met Sam's nervous gaze. "What?" the brunette asked, and Dean shook his head, rolling his eyes as he faced the door again.
It wasn't long before it opened and a woman in her mid-thirties came in, clad in a white physician's coat and dress attire. "Well, your test results are back, and everything looks good. Your heart looks just fine, no sign that there was actually anything ever wrong with it. Not that someone your age should be worrying about something like that, however, it does happen," she said, glancing at the clipboard full of results.
"It does?" Dean asked, the nausea growing so strong he clenched his jaw to the point of pain to keep himself from vomiting.
"Yes, it's strange actually. Just yesterday, we had a young man your age, healthy, and no previous cardiac problems pass suddenly from a heart attack. It's rare, but it does happen," she replied. "But all in all, everything looks good."
"Thanks," Dean murmured, attempting to actually look grateful but not having any luck.
"There is one thing I did notice, not that it's anything too much to worry about," she added quickly, once all the blood had drained from Dean's face and his skin was the color of chalk. "Your weight—well, I couldn't help but notice that it's on the low side of what's normal for your height. Just something to keep an eye on."
Dean cleared his throat and nodded, now unable to meet the woman's eyes, one hand sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. He could feel Sam's eyes burning into the back of his skull due to the doctor's last comment, so he opened his mouth first once the woman had left the room, not wanting to hear the lecture that was about to pour from his little brother's lips. "That's more than just coincidence, Sammy," he stated, voice wavering ever so slightly.
He glanced at his brother, watching the way he chewed on his lips before speaking. Dean already knew what he was thinking—he wasn't stupid. However, he was thankful when Sam did finally open his mouth and sounded more hopeful than accusatory. "And maybe it's not? Did you ever think that for just once in your life, something finally worked in your favor?"
"As much as I'd love to believe that, we both know it's not true," Dean stated, pulling on his jacket. "I told you before, I saw something—a ghost, a spirit—I don't know what the hell it was, but it was there. And the feeling I had—when he touched me? Didn't feel right, Sammy. It was cold...like death."
Sam stared at him for a moment, leaving only the sound of the ticking clock that sat upon the wall to fall between them. Finally, he sighed and Dean could see that he was biting the inside of his cheek. "What do you wanna do?"
"I want you to check out the guy that had the heart attack," Dean replied as he headed for the door.
"And what are you gonna do?" Sam asked, immediately falling into step behind his older brother.
"Figure out why I was the chosen one, and not one of the other sap's that were apart of his audience," Dean answered with a straight face. He heard Sam mumble something about "having faith doesn't make people a sap," and couldn't help but let his lips curl into the tiniest of grins.
S*P*N*S*P*N
Dean stared at the house, the two story structure looking more ominous the longer he let his gaze be held by it. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, the frigid wind blowing past him, through him. Dark storm clouds hung in the distance behind the home, purple and blue, and rumbling with menace. He could hear the hired security hands talking back and forth on their hand-held radios, the noise a minor distraction to his fractured thoughts.
He couldn't help but wonder why. Why had he been healed? Why had he been the one to get called up there when there were plenty of other people who had deserved that instead of him?
He wasn't anything special.
He knew this. His father had reminded him of that fact on numerous occasions, and he wondered if Sam had realized that fact yet. He would. It would only be a matter of time before his little brother saw him for what he truly was—a waste of space and air.
And he still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that someone else had died—his age and out of the fucking blue—of a heart attack.
Dean knew that it only could've been his fault. Sam could believe in whatever fairytale he wanted, but he knew the truth. Some innocent person died so he could live. How fucked up was that? He didn't deserve that. He should be asleep in some dark, cheap motel room somewhere, letting the hours and minutes tick away until it was time for his soul to be vanquished from this world.
It was wrong, and he knew it, but he didn't want to care. Care about the fact that he dragged Sam into all of this, and if he would've died, his little brother would be truly alone because there would be no one else left. Sure their father would still be alive and breathing, but Dean was pretty sure that John was all but dead to Sam already.
"Dean? Dean, is that you?" a friendly-sounding female's voice entered his ears, and he immediately jerked his head up to find Roy's wife coming down the wooden steps of the house and towards him, arms folded tightly across her chest due to the cold.
He immediately put on his best counterfeit smile and nodded. "Hello, Mrs. LeGrange-"
"Please," she cut him off with a matching grin, "Call me Sue Ann."
"Alright, Sue Ann..." He let her guide him across the walkway and up the stairs, each creaking sound marveling in his ears.
"I'm so glad you could make it back, Dean. Roy loves to hear from people he's healed. I think it makes it a little more real for him, if that makes sense," she said, glancing back at him as she opened the front door and headed inside.
"I'm sure it does," Dean muttered under his breath as he closed the door behind him, still not buying into the whole miracle aspect of his healing. It had to be something else. God had never done anything for him before, why start now?
"Roy, you have a visitor!" Sue Ann called out as she led Dean through a small entry way and down a hall, through a kitchen area, and into the living room. "Please, have a seat, Dean. Would you like anything to drink? We've got iced tea, water..."
"Um, yeah, tea's fine," he replied, though he wasn't thirsty at all.
"Roy!" Sun Ann called out again, and it wasn't long before the white-haired man appeared from the doorway on the opposite side they had come in on.
Dean immediately stood to his feet as Roy reached a hand out, and shook it. "Mr. LeGrange-"
"Now, now. Roy will do just fine," the older man stated and cut him off. "So, how are you holding up? How do you feel?"
Dean stared at his hands for a moment before answering. "I, uh, feel fine, actually. Just trying to make sense of what happened."
"The Lord happened, son," Roy replied, a toothy grin easing up the corners of his mouth.
Dean wanted to scoff at the response, but held back the action. He, instead, placed the fake smile back on his face and nodded.
"It truly was a miracle," Sue Ann chimed in as she poured three glasses of iced tea. "Miracles tend to happen a lot around Roy nowadays."
"When exactly did all those miracles start?" Dean asked, his eyes on the blind man before him, but his ears trained on the sound of the glass hitting wood as Sue Ann sat it down on the coffee table in front of him.
"About a year ago, I suppose. Woke up one morning stone blind. Doctors said I had cancer; maybe a month or so left. It wasn't long before I drifted into a coma. As you can see, I woke up, and the cancer was gone. Did leave it's mark though," he said and removed his glasses for a moment. "Other than the blindness, I've been fine ever since. It wasn't too long after, that's when the miracles started."
"And he's done numerous ones since," his wife stated, pleasant smile still pulled across her thin lips.
Dean nodded, taking in Roy's words. He hesitated for a moment, then, finally opened his mouth. "I just have one last question."
"Sure, anything," Roy said with a nod, hands folded neatly in his lap.
"Why me?" and Dean truly was puzzled by this. Out of all the people there, surely there was someone better—some one more deserving than him.
Roy's smile grew warmer, more understanding. "Well son, as I said before, the Lord allows me to look into people's hearts, and something about yours stood out from all the rest."
Dean stared at him, intrigued by his answer. "What exactly did you see?"
"A young man with an important purpose, and a job to do. And it isn't quite finished yet."
Those words resonated in Dean's ears as he said his goodbyes and made his way back to the Impala. What true purpose did he have? Being a hunter? Perhaps, but it wasn't like he was the only hunter in the world. There were plenty of others (plenty better than me); it wasn't like he was the only one saving people.
He sat there for a moment, the wind trying but being unsuccessful in its attempt to rock the heavy, metallic Impala. It was the sound of another engine turning that roused him from his thoughts. He glanced up into the rear-view mirror and saw that there had been a black truck parked about two car lengths behind him in the muddy parking lot. He didn't think much about it until he saw that it had Kansas license plates on it.
An eyebrow quirked in interest, and a part of him couldn't help but wonder...
Dad?
He couldn't see the driver—they were just a dark, shadowed figure gradually growing smaller behind him. With little hesitation, he quickly turned the keys in the ignition, Led Zeppelin's When the Levee Breaks blaring loudly through the Impala's speakers. Dean paid no heed to the music or the fact that it was hurting his ears; he was too busy focused on the driver of the truck and catching up with them.
His heart started to pound in his chest (thumpthumpthump), and the hair on the back of his neck stood on quickly put the car in reverse and began to follow the F-150 that was now little more than a speck on his windshield.
Memories sped past his eyes faster than he could recollect, images of his father's hand connecting with his face. The harder he pressed on the gas, the quicker they seemed to flash across his vision. He went further and further back, back to his very first hunting trip (the memory had haunted him for years and he suppressed a shudder at the thought), all the way until he was four and his father was smiling (he'd stopped with that after the fire, unless he was drunk, of course, and it wasn't real then anyway, more haunted and calculating than anything).
His vision had become blurry and he was confused as to why. Now wasn't the time or place for tears, was it? No, it wasn't. His father had left him bandaged, broken, and alone in a motel room in the middle of nowhere without even a note or a reason. He'd just abandoned him, and Dean wanted to know why. Was he not good enough to hunt with anymore? Was he that much of a failure? Was he truly that much of a burden?
He'd almost caught up with the truck when it slowed down and pulled over into a nearby gas station, a man stepping out of it that very obviously wasn't his father. His hair was white and thinning, and he was short and stout, nothing at all like the tall, athletic build of John.
Dean let out a sigh, and slowed down the car, feeling more than foolish for his actions. Of course, his father wouldn't be there. What was he thinking? That the man would actually just show up like that? Out of nowhere? Why? Because he'd been lying on death's door, all but ready for the banshee to wail and whisk his soul away?
His brow narrowed and he couldn't help but feel angry at himself. He was an idiot.
All the times that his father had told him such, and he'd tried to shake it off, tell himself that it wasn't true, but who was he kidding? He was an idiot, and always would be.
A/N- Thank you all so much for being so patient with me. I haven't had hardly any time to update this story due to my ridiculous work schedule (gotta pay the bills though, right?). HUMOUNGOUS THANKS to every single one of you lovely people including kissacazador, CrazyDreamin, dandy44, HPSmallCharm29, Glades of Grey, babyreaper, MysteryMadchen, renniespice, Love Me Like Sunday, M J Azilem, Sesshomaru-gal, Guest, Belle, Amira Wayne, Jesssy, PercephoneLynn, and the many others that have taken the time to read this story, favorite it, or watch it. I seriously can't thank you all enough, and hope this chapter sufficed. Don't know if I'll get another one out before Christmas, so just in case, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy Hanukah, Happy Kwanza, and whatever else you might be celebrating! :)