The Illusionist II
Chapter 18 : Came Back Haunted
John paced back and forth across the room, glancing at his watch every few minutes. His footfalls echoed off the walls, his boot-clad feet going back and forth, back and forth. Every so often, he'd glance at the weapon that they'd fought so hard to get, his mind running away with thoughts of revenge and finality.
Just as he was about to pick up the phone to find out where the hell his boys were, the front door opened. "What took you both so long?" he immediately blurted out, but stopped himself from continuing further once he saw that there was only of his sons standing in the doorway. He felt his jaw clench in reflex at seeing his oldest, the urge to speak leaving his lips. Though he managed to force out, "Where's Sam?"
Dean closed the door quietly, and murmured, "He went to go get us something to eat." His son's voice was barely audible, sounding so broken and sad it almost hurt to hear. Hell, who was he kidding? It did. It did hurt to hear. This was his own kid for Pete's sake, and he didn't even want to speak to him, let alone look at him. It hurt too damned much, and John Winchester didn't particularly like to feel pain. He preferred to block it out, and pretend it wasn't there, a trait he'd managed to pass down to his oldest. And he felt like shit for it. Every time the kid spoke, or looked at him expectantly with those damn eyes full of weariness and hope. It felt like his chest was caving in, because that shit was his fault, and even after all these years, John Winchester didn't want to accept responsibility.
So he did what was easiest; what he was used to. He snapped.
"Went to go get us something to eat? Why would you let him do that?!" He felt a twinge of guilt twist in his chest, but chose to ignore it, and continued on. "It's not safe to be out there alone! Dammit, Dean!" He saw his oldest flinch as his voice grew louder, watched his back automatically hunch, and the rest of his body go stiff as a board.
"I'm sor-"
"How many times have I told you? You need to look out for your brother! Anything could get him out there alone!" He was in Dean's face before he knew it, hands clenched into fists at his side. It'd be any minute now; he just knew it.
"Dad, I'm sorry. I really am," Dean pleaded, eyes wide and scared and full of fear. "He said he wanted to be alone for a little while, so I let him." He hung his head, no longer able to meet his father's gaze.
"Do you even think about the consequences of your actions? Something could get him out there, Dean!" John shouted, anger surging and coursing through his veins.
"Something could get him in here too," Dean replied, voice low and filled with something that made the hair on the back of John's neck stand on end.
"Excuse me, what did you say?" John said, taking a step closer to his suddenly still son.
"I said," and Dean looked up as he spoke, "That something could get him in here too."
John felt his heart momentarily skip a beat, the action making the organ accelerate rapidly once it started passing blood through his body again. "And what could possibly get him in here?" His tone was incredulous as it often was when he was speaking to his oldest son, but the force behind it was all but gone.
Something wasn't right here.
"Me." Two pools of black replaced the green of Dean's eyes, and a grin so evil slid across his lips that John felt his blood run cold at the sight. Suddenly, it felt like ice was creeping through his blood vessels. His mouth opened slightly, the word "no" on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn't force it to come out of his throat. "That's right, Johnny boy! I'm ba-ack!" The laugh that tumbled from his son's lips chilled him to the bone, making his eyes go wide with shock and surprise. "I bet you thought you'd never see me again, huh, Johnny boy? Yet, here I am, wearing your kid's meatsuit. Again." It chuckled as it stared into his eyes. "How many times is this now? Two, three? Oh, hell, I can't remember!"
"How did you get in here?" John shouted, shrugging of the demon's taunts, all the hatred and rage he felt for the bitch coming to the forefront.
It laughed at him again, black, blank eyes not matching the emotion. "Why, that's an easy one," it answered. "Since I salted those doorways and windows myself, that is."
John shook his head, dread bubbling up into his chest as he watched the demon pull his son's lips up into a tight grin. "You used me, didn't you?" he forced out, the words barely making it out and across his vocal chords. "You're the reason I blacked out!"
The demon clapped loudly, and chuckled again. "Two points for little Johnny Winchester," it mocked, and John never thought in a million years he'd miss seeing the green ocean that made up his son's eyes. He hated this—this darkness that enveloped them now. There was no sign of Dean anywhere in there. None at all. "It was easy, you know. You were so hell bent on revenge, and thinking you were gonna catch ol' Azazel that you didn't even see me coming."
John's attention peaked at those words. "Azazel? Yellow eyes' name is Azazel?"
A look of shock spread across his son's face. "Seriously? You're more interested in that instead of the fact that I'm wearin' your kid? You're more fucked up than I thought..."
"Well, not exactly. But it served its purpose," John replied, and immediately lunged for the Colt, right hand grasping the cold metal as his fingers made purchase on the weapon. He aimed at the demon, brow narrowed, and heart beating a mile a minute.
"So that's the way you're gonna go about this, huh?" the demon asked, tone neutral as it stared John down.
"Yep," the older hunter replied simply, index finger on the trigger.
"That's a shame, Johnny, because I was hoping we could have a little more fun before we had to get down to business, but since you wanna rush things..."
"Shut the fuck up, and get outta my son!" John ordered, teeth grit as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. He steeled himself, exhaustion, frustration, and anger attempting to overpower him.
The grin disappeared from the demon's face, a darkness shuttering any trace of glee it wore. "You honestly believe that if you snap your fingers, I'm gonna jump to like one of your kids?"
"It's either that, or I put a bullet right through you."
The grin came back, though his son's eyes were still void of any real life. "Hate to break it to ya, Johnny, but you put a bullet through me, you kill your kid. It's only been four months. I'm surprised you forgot that rule. You can't hurt me at all. But the kid, now that's a whole 'nother story." The smile grew wider, forcing lines to form around Dean's mouth due to the skin being pulled so taut.
"That's what you say, but we both know how much your kind likes to lie," the hunter sneered, finger still itching on the trigger, though the demon didn't even move an inch.
"Try me. You think just because I'm hitchin' a ride in your kid means nothing can happen to his physical body? Oh, John, it's about time you studied up on your demonology," it said condescendingly. "If you make this body bleed, it has no effect on me whatsoever. It only damages lil' Deano. But honestly, you never cared about that before, so why start now?"
Hatred flooded through John's veins, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. He was running out of options, and fast. There had to be something he could do...
"You know, you're rather smart, John, I'll give you that," the demon started, its voice taking on a more serious tone. "Always thinking two steps ahead, regardless of the fact that we both know, no matter what you do, you're fucked. Hell, I'd say all the Winchesters are pretty fucked right now. Especially lil' Sammy. He didn't even see it coming. Not really anyway."
A fresh wave of fury rolled through John's form, and he looked as though he were ready to shoot, mindless of the fact of what would happen if he did. "What did you do to Sam?" His voice was low and dangerous, but the demon, however, didn't seem to care.
It smiled, flashing Dean's white teeth again in his face, though this time, it was grim, not holding any of the gloating satisfaction that it had earlier. "You know, it's amazingly sad how little you've changed, John. After everything that's happened in these past few months—your oldest managing to pull your youngest one out of retirement, and helping the kid out even though ol' Deano can't even begin to take care of himself; Deano getting electrocuted and having a heart attack—one almost fatal at that. And you act...as though you don't even care, as though none of it ever even happened. Explain that one to me, John. Now, do you see how your kid couldn't even tell you were possessed? And, on that thought, don't you feel like the biggest asshole on earth, because you couldn't even tell he was possessed again? Bravo, John. Bravo. Got some A-1 parenting going on right there."
"You've got some balls judging me, bitch," he returned, voice turning coarse the longer he used it.
"Oh, Johnny, I wouldn't call that judging. It's just a simple observation. This poor kid," it said, pointing at its chest, "has been killing himself for a long time now. And you've done nothing to stop it. Absolutely nothing. He does every single thing you want and more, and what do you do? Push him as far away as possible. I wonder, if I took away Sam's hearing, would that affect you?"
"Don't you even dare," John growled, dark eyes agleam with fear and anger. His chest was heaving, breath passing in and out of his lips at a hurried pace.
"Or what? What will you do? Hmmm?" it egged him on, mysterious grin set upon its lips. "You gonna shoot me, Johnny? Sacrifice one son for the other? Somehow, I don't doubt that you would." The demon shook its head, circling the man. "You're a true piece of work, Winchester."
"Where's my son?" John demanded, eyes narrowed as he sized up the demon.
"He's right here," the demon replied, pointing to itself, laughing as John grew angrier. "Oh, you mean the other one. He's in a safe place. How's that?"
John shook his head. "Not good enough."
"You know, you're not really in a position to call the shots here, Johnny. You do realize that, right?" It stared at him, incredulous expression set upon its features—his son's features.
"Where's Sam?" John repeated, jaw clamped so tight his teeth were starting to hurt.
"Always so worried about that kid, aren't you?" the demon continued, sliding off Dean's jacket, leaving it standing there in a pair of rugged, holy jeans, and a flannel over a henley to boot. John felt his heart sink, the way the clothes just hung on his kid's body turning something in his stomach. He grimaced, hating how many bones he could count as the demon rolled up Dean's sleeves. "Well, John, I think I've had enough of this. It's showtime!" it shouted, and with a flick of the wrist, John was thrown against the far wall, his head smashing into the wood at impact. The gun slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor with a thump. "All the world's a stage, Johnny boy, and now it's your turn to watch as the show plays out right in front of your eyes." It smiled again, though Dean's lips held an eerie calm on them. It reminded John of the way it felt right before a bad storm or hurricane was coming; peaceful yet foreboding.
Something bad was about to happen. Something terrible.
He wondered, if he was going to survive the night.
As the demon slammed his head against the wall once more and darkness started to overtake his vision, he saw his chances becoming slim to none.
He only knew one thing; this would be the last time he'd see that demon after tonight. Which one would be on the winning team, though, was anyone's guess.
S*P*N*S*P*N
Sam felt himself coming back to consciousness, the feeling of being awake forcing him to drift away from the haze he'd been shrouding himself in. The drum that pounded against his skull was beating away swiftly, pain coming in waves the more aware he became.
"Sammy!"
The sound of his name caught him off guard, and he blinked his eyes open, finding a gray ceiling above him.
"Sam!" his name was called again, and he was hit with such an intense wave of deja vu it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
"Sam, please! Wake up!"
At that, the youngest Winchester sat bolt upright, eyes wide and taking in the room before him.
Shit! No, no, this can't be happening...
He turned his head in his father's direction, eyes going wide as he saw the man tied up in the chair, just like in the vision he'd had numerous times before. There was blood staining his forehead, and running down his face too.
"Sam, look, I know we're not on the best of terms right now—but please, son—"
If his father was tied up in the chair, then that could mean only one thing. Goosebumps traversed the expanse of his skin as he turned his head, his brother coming into view. Suddenly, he recalled the car ride, and Dean's odd behavior. And he couldn't forget his eyes. The way they turned into two black voids instead of the clear pools of green they usually were.
This can't be happening! How the hell can this be happening?!
"Oh, don't worry about him, Sammy. He'll be just fine." And there were those eyes—those eyes devoid of everything Dean—staring at him, staring through him. "It's you, you should be worried about." Dean's lips pulled upward, revealing his perfectly white teeth.
Sam shook his head, because his brother didn't smile like that—didn't grin like a fucking maniac—and he sure as hell wouldn't take pleasure in hurting anyone, unless they hurt his family first. But this person standing before him wasn't Dean. No, this person couldn't be his brother. It was that damned demon he'd heard so much and so little about at the same time. This was the thing that had helped destroy his brother's life.
"You know, I gotta say, Sam, after hearing about all this college mojo, I thought for sure you'd be a helluva a lot smarter than what you are. I almost understand why your daddy didn't see this coming—but you? I know I'm a pretty good actor an' all, but I thought for sure that you'd see right through it." The demon chuckled. "It's amazing how neither of you really know this kid. I'm almost starting to feel sorry for him. Almost."
"What do you want?" Sam asked, fingers clenching the gray sheets on the bed (naturally, they matched the color of the ceiling, but it was a very bad time to think about that). His whole body felt tense, as though he were a wind-up toy that had its key turned one too many times. His head was pounding away, his brain thumping against his skull like it was a damned bongo drum.
"What do I want?" the demon asked innocently, stepping away from the doorway and moving closer to the bed. "What I want-" and at that moment, Sam felt something warm run down his chin. He lifted an unsteady hand to his lips, and upon glancing down at it, saw red. "What I want is for your daddy to suffer and be as miserable as he possibly can."
Sam's headache began to steadily grow worse, and it felt like his head was about to explode. He immediately pressed his hands to his temples, trying desperately not to let out a cry of pain, but it came out anyway in the form of a grunt.
"Leave him alone!" John shouted, his voice thundering in the quiet room.
The demon shook its head, laughing all the while. "Do you see now, Sam? Don't you want him to suffer too? After all he did to you and your brother—don't you want to see him in pain? In fact, if you're not feeling up to par, I can just wreck this body for a little while. Because while seeing his oldest son in pain might not hurt him, it'll hurt you, and that's the last thing he wants. He doesn't want a hair on poor lil' Sammy's head getting touched." The demon paused, wiping the grin off it's face and sending John a glare. "But you can't always get what you want, can you, Johnny?" it asked, bringing its hand up and squeezing an object that couldn't be seen.
Sam screamed as pain electrified his brain, the trickle of blood that had been dripping from his nose a steady stream now.
"Stop! Stop it, you bitch!" John yelled, yanking at his binds.
The demon laughed again. "What's wrong, Johnny? Am I hurting the wrong son?" The look of innocence it feigned was sickening, so un-Dean like, it made Sam feel even more nauseated than he already was. The pain was almost blinding him, so excruciating he was sure his head was just going to pop open like a rotten watermelon. The demon rushed over to the bed, kneeling down in front of the youngest Winchester. "Aw, does it hurt, Sammy?" it taunted, switching its eyes back to Dean's original color, though any sign of his brother was long gone from them. "Do you know what I'm doing to you?"
Sam shook his head, palms still pressed against his temples. He gritted his teeth against the pain, though it did nothing to stall the throbbing against his skull. Involuntary tears escaped his eyes, running down his cheeks and falling onto his jeans.
"I'm slowly but surely killing you! That's what!" the demon said mockingly, a sneer now on its lips. "Bit by bit, I'm crushing each little tiny brain cell. Pretty soon, that head's gonna be full of mush."
"Dean!" their father's voice thundered from the chair, sending both Sam and the demon's heads in his direction.
The demon laughed at him, standing up straight and walking over to him. "There is no Dean anymore, Winchester. He's all packed away up here," the demon said, pointing a slim index finger to its head. "He can look out every now and then, but as far as control goes, he's all but lost. So the next time you address me," and it backhanded him across the jaw as it spoke through clenched teeth, "Make sure it's by my real name."
Blood trickled from John's now split lip. "What is it again? Oh, yeah, it's bitch, isn't it?" he offered up, surefire smile lifting up the corners of his mouth.
The demon scowled, eyes growing dark once again as it landed a punch directly on his cheek. "I'm getting' a little sick of you calling me that, Winchester. So consider this one on you." It stood up and turned around, a hand reaching for the knife that was attached to Dean's belt loop. Before it could take another step though, John kicked it right in the left calf. The demon went down with a pained grunt, legs buckling beneath it. Its head caught the edge of the coffee table right before it landed on the floor with a thud.
"Sam, Sam you okay?" John called out immediately.
Sam took a deep breath, the pain in his head still present, but nowhere near as bad as it was before. "Yeah," he answered weakly before repeating himself, this time his voice a little bit stronger.
"Son, I need you to untie me. We have to work fast—before it wakes up," he added, a look of pure desperation on his face.
Sam nodded, one hand still massaging his temple as he slid off the bed. He stumbled a bit, boots catching on the raggedy carpet, but managed to stay on his feet. He quickly made his way over to his father, blood-smeared hands undoing the binds.
"Sam, I need you to listen to me, and do everything I ask, okay? Can you do that?" John stared at him, steadying his injured son with a firm hand on his shoulder.
Though his vision was still a bit tricky, the youngest Winchester nodded, swallowing back down the nauseating feeling that was clambering up his chest and into the back of his throat.
Immediately, his father sprung into action. "I need you to get my journal," he said as he knelt down and retrieved Dean's unconscious body from the floor. Sam stood there for a moment, watching, unable to move. All he could do was stare at his brother, and how impossibly frail he seemed as John pulled him up and sat him in the chair the older man had just been tied to. It just seemed so easy. Far too easy...
"Sam!" The sound of his father's voice broke through the silence of his thoughts, and he came to, eyes focused on his father. "My journal. Now."
Sam nodded. "Right," he mumbled, and searched for the prized possession, movements still slow and sluggish, no matter how hard he told himself to move faster. His brother's life was at stake, that alone should have got him moving, but the pain in his head was stalling him, making the task he was assigned all the more harder.
It took a few moments, but he finally found the damned thing, buried deep down in his brother's duffel. "What do you need me to do?" he asked, and his father must have caught the way he swayed when he spoke because the older man's eyes were full of nothing but worry.
"There's a banishing ritual, near the end. I need you to find it for me," John answered as he pulled the seated demon to the hardwood part of the floor, and began to pour salt around it.
Sam flipped through the pages, glancing up every now and then, watching as his father used chalk to make various symbols and markings on the floor around the salt circle.
"I think I found it," Sam stated, brow narrowing as he started to skim through the Latin. At first glance, he didn't recognize any of the words, his memory backfiring on him. He shook his head, and forced himself to concentrate, even though the more he focused, the more his head hurt. It didn't help that his father's handwriting wasn't exactly the greatest, some of the words almost ineligible.
"It's not going to work," Dean's voice was low and venomous as it spoke, instantly pulling Sam's attention from the foreign language.
"That's what you think," John muttered as he stood, never turning his back to the demon as he retrieved a bottle of holy water from his duffel.
The demon snickered through grit teeth as it struggled against its bindings. "Oh, I don't think, I know," it replied, slim fingers working at the knots that were tied tightly around its wrists.
"Let me see the journal, son," John ordered, reaching a hand out towards Sam whose full attention was on the demon. He stared straight ahead as though he were in a trance, unable to break eye contact with the evil being pretending to be his brother. "Sam?" John tried again.
"He's going to kill your brother, Sam," the demon stated. "You do know that, right?" It's gaze burned a hole into the youngest Winchester, and he gaped at its words, eyes widening at the demon's remark.
"Sam, don't listen to it," John hissed, fingers clasping at the journal's pages.
"Hell, Deano's just about dead inside anyway, so I guess it really doesn't matter. After all the things your daddy's done to him, I'm actually surprised he's still around."
"Shut up!" John shouted, his anger getting the best of him as he splashed holy water on the demon.
It laughed as smoke shrouded it momentarily, then disappeared into the air. John's brow narrowed at the demon's easy dismissal of the water, knowing full and well that the water should have hurt it, but it did nothing.
"You're hilarious, Johnny. Holy water ain't gonna do a damned thing to me. Silly old man."
Sam watched as it tore its gaze away from his father, and bore into him once more. "Sam, do you know why your daddy hates Dean so much?"
Sam shook his head, jaw clenched at the sight of his brother tied up and bleeding from the wound on his head. The youngest Winchester could see the blood that had been slowly dripping down the back of the chair and forming a small puddle on the floor below.
"It's because he-"
"That's enough!" John shouted, tearing the journal from Sam's hands, deep voice beginning to read the ritual. "Tibi de medio inferni, ut revertetur ad inferos.His verbis loquor, obtestorque te summoveant regnique..."
Sam watched in horror as suddenly Dean's eyes unclouded and became green again. Fear flooded his brother's face, his features contorted into one of pain. "Sammy, make him stop! Please! It's me, Sammy! Don't let him do it! She wasn't lying!" Dean started to cough, specks of blood passing through his lips and littering his shirt and mouth. "He's going to kill me, Sammy! The ritual – it'll take us both." Dean grimaced as the pain became stronger, tears stinging his eyes as he forced out another sentence. "The wording – the wording's wrong..."
Sam's heart pounded in chest, and the feeling of being sick overwhelmed him. Was it true? Was his father really going to banish the demon and his brother straight to hell?
He couldn't take that chance.
"Dad, stop!" Sam shouted, pain shooting through his skull as he reached for the book his father was refusing to stop reciting from. "Dad, please!" the youngest Winchester pleaded, voice breaking when it felt like his brain was going to explode.
But John didn't stop. He continued reading from the worn and yellowed pages, voice never faltering a beat.
"Sammy, please!" Dean screamed, the pain apparently becoming so extreme that the middle Winchester couldn't hold back the sob that escaped his lips. It broke Sam's heart to hear such an agonizing sound come from his brother. More blood bubbled from his lips, and then his eyes, and before Sam knew what was happening, Dean's mouth opened, a flood of black and white smoke pouring out of it and vanishing through the floor.
All at once, silence filled the room.
"No, Dean, no," Sam muttered as he watched Dean's head slump forward. Fighting the dizziness that was attempting to conquer his sight, he rushed over to the chair, crouched down, and reached for a pulse. "No, no, this can't be right," he murmured, shaking his head as he moved his index and middle fingers around his brother's neck to no avail. "No!"
"Sam?"
Sam's head shot up, the demon's laughter penetrating his ears. He looked around the room and saw that the demon was still in the chair, and that his father's journal was in his hands.
Shit!
He'd just had another vision.
That's all it was. It wasn't real.
"Sam? What's going on? You're bleeding!" Sam finally registered his father's voice, head jerking in the older man's direction. The action temporarily doubled his vision, but he quickly recovered, aware enough that he could feel a warm substance running down his lips.
The demon laughed harder, obviously thrilled by the sight of Sam's blood. "That's just wonderful," it muttered, gaze drifting between the two Winchesters.
"Sam, hey," John said, cupping Sam's face in his hands. "Sam, you okay?"
"Oh, he's fine, Johnny boy. A little blood never hurt anyone," it said, and sniggered some more.
"I'm okay," Sam muttered, glancing at the demon before looking into his father's worried eyes. "I'm fine," he reassured, wiping the still trickling crimson substance off his skin.
"You won't be for long."
Sam and John both turned their heads towards the demon. Sam's features narrowed in fear, his father's twisted into hate.
"Those visions are gonna catch up to you one of these days," the demon stated, showcasing Dean's white teeth again. "The headaches are only going to grow worse. And then, before you know it – BOOM!" It chuckled again, unprepared for the punch John threw at its jaw. The gesture only made the evil being laugh even louder once it recovered, blood now smeared across Dean's teeth. "Aw, you had no idea your kid's been having visions, have you, Johnny. His most favorite ones are when he sees what you did to his brother. The beatings you gave lil' Deano, the after effects – yeah, he's seen 'em all."
"I don't have time for this shit," John muttered darkly, and grabbed the journal from Sam's hands. Almost instantly, he began to read off the words Sam had heard him recite before, and immediately, the youngest Winchester reacted. Sam tore the leatherbound book from his father's hands, a sliver of fear filling him at the look of utter hatred etched upon his father's face. "Sam..."
"There's a mistake," the brunette replied, eyes glancing down at the pages.
Focus dammit, focus!
He had almost scanned the first paragraph when he felt his father's rough hand grab his wrist.
"I copied that ritual word for word. There aren't any mistakes in it," John stated, voice far too dangerous for Sam's liking. The man made a move for the book again, but Sam jumped back, eyes darting back to the pages.
"But there is!" Sam responded, forcing his brain to recall the years worth of memorizing the dead language so that he could find the mis-worded phrase.
"Sam, now is not the time!"
"You're going to kill Dean if you don't listen to me, so just shut up and give me a second!" the youngest Winchester blurted out, fingers skimming across the words.
"That's a banishing ritual for demons, Sam. I'm not going to hurt your bro-"
"Here! Right here!" Sam shouted, pointing out the mistake to his father. "Right here it says that you'll banish the host's soul as well as the demon. See?"
"You two put on such a wonderful show for me," the demon cut in, grinning from ear to ear. "I feel so special," and in an instant, the smile was gone, replaced with a frown so deep Sam wondered if the lines from it wouldn't be permenant on his brother's face.
John glanced up at Sam with acknowledgement and surprise in his eyes. Sam knew there would be questions later, but he'd live til then. As long as Dean was safe, it would all be alright.
His father began the ritual once more, and this time Sam knew it would be done right.
After a few moments, the demon started to struggle, eyes narrowing as it began to get pulled towards its origin point. It hissed and snapped as John continued on, voice only growing louder as the demon began to scream.
It's jaw dropped open, and suddenly, black smoke poured from its lips, flooding out rapidly into the air before spiraling down through the floor.
The familiar silence Sam had heard moments before filled the room. Without even caring about the splitting ache that felt like it was crushing his skull, Sam rushed over to his unconscious brother, hurriedly untying the ropes that encircled his wrists. Dean's head was slumped forward, just as it was in his vision, though this time when Sam checked for a pulse, it was there, beating steadily beneath his fingertips.
"Dean?" his voice interrupted the quietness of the room. His hand slid to the back of his brother's neck, the skin sticky and clammy. "Dean?" he tried again.
"Sam," his father's voice warned from behind, sounding unsure and wary.
After a few seconds, Dean's eyes slowly opened, looking dazed but the same wonderful color green they always had been. "Dean," Sam whispered his name and threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly. He heard his brother wheeze, and loosened his grip. "Are you okay?" he asked, pulling back and looking Dean over.
His brother stared at him for a moment, eyes glistening and searching.
"Dean?" Sam asked again, fear making his heart pound in his chest. Something was wrong.
Sam watched something cross over his brother's face, a mixture of relief and sadness as a grim smile formed on his lips.
"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean whispered, but the youngest Winchester could see right through that lie. Dean wasn't fine.
"Tell me what's wrong," Sam ordered, and once he saw his brother's eyes break contact with his and focus on his lips instead, he understood.
Dean couldn't hear him.
A/N : I don't think I can apologize enough for taking so long to update. I won't give any excuses, I'll just say I'm sorry, and hope that you all enjoyed the chapter. MASSIVE THANKS to Carla888, babyreaper, dels76, Stryder2008, jazzy2may2, renniespice, dandy44, kissacazador, Surely Sherlocked, TwightllightFairy(thanks for pointing that mistake out to me ;)), twaddletoe, Shara Raizel, and the three guests that reviewed as well as all of you who have stuck with this story for the past two years and have put it on one of your lists, THANK YOU ALL! I really truly appreciate every single review and alert I receive. I hope this chapter sufficed, and I pray it won't take me three months to get the next one out!