Contact 16
Title: Contact 16/36
Author: Deanish
Rating: PG13
Length: 1,100 / 60,700 words
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam/Jess (but I'd still say it's more gen than het)
Summary: A 'what might have been.' What if the demon had stayed in hibernation for just a little longer?
Chapter 16
John was, predictably, on the road when the phone rang.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Dad?”
“Dean. Good. I was getting ready to call you. You done in Colorado yet?”
Dean hesitated for a moment which cued John’s frown. “Uh, no, Dad. I’m still in California.”
“Still? That spirit give you problems?”
“Well, yeah, actually. But that’s not why I’m still here.”
John knew that silence could be used to more effect than griping where his oldest son was concerned, so he didn’t say anything - just let Dean stew for a moment in the unspoken disapproval.
Dean cleared his throat, evidently getting the point, and started talking.
“I, uh, decided to save some money and stay at Sammy’s place.”
John drew in a deep, long-suffering breath.
“And, uh, since it was Saturday and there was no real rush on the Colorado job, I let him talk me into staying an extra day.”
John pursed his lips at the “no real rush” part, but still didn’t say anything.
“But Dad - Sam and I were playing pool and …” Dean paused here, and John suddenly realized that the hint of a tremor in his voice wouldn’t come from guilt at taking a day off. But Dean rushed on before John could really think about what that meant.
“And, uh, Sam collapsed. I’m at the hospital, and they’re doing tests, and … and Dad … they don’t know what it is, but … but it could be bad.”
The quality of John’s silence changed - from disapproval to desperate disbelief in seconds flat. He was pretty sure his heart had stopped, and he knew for a fact that he wasn’t breathing.
But a change in the quality of a silence is, unfortunately, hard to hear over a cellphone, and Dean apparently missed it.
“Dad?” The tremble was replaced by heat. “Dammit, Dad! I can’t believe you’re -”
“Dean.”
The ragged quality of John’s voice must have convinced Dean that whatever he’d been about to say wasn’t relevant. He stopped and drew in a shaky sigh.
“Bad …” John started, choking on the word. “Bad how?”
Dean hesitated, and John surmised that he again had something he didn’t want to say. Something John didn’t want to hear.
“He’s OK right now - he’s awake and fine. But they’re, uh, they’re checking for a,” here he tripped over the word, “brain tumor.”
And John again couldn’t find the breath for a reply.
“But his doctor didn’t seem to think that would be it,” Dean rushed to add.
“They didn’t?” John rasped out, grabbing onto the life preserver the words represented.
“No,” Dean reassured. “But,” and John could actually hear Dean’s regret at getting his hopes up and realized that the best case scenario must not be all that much better than the worst. “But he said if it’s not … that … then it might be a, a neurological problem. Like … like schizophrenia.”
“What?” John gasped. “Why would they think that?”
Had Sam been talking about what they did? Surely he knew better.
“Because he,” Dean started, but broke off. “When he … he had a hallucination or something.”
“What?” This time it was confused. Dean sighed again.
“Like I said, we were at a bar playing pool. Sam went to get the beer and when I turned around, he had dropped the beer and was clutching his head like he had a bad headache. And then he fell down and then … he zoned out. And when … he came back, he said he’d … he’d … I don’t know. Hallucinated.”
John finally had to pull over at that. He definitely couldn’t concentrate on the road at this point.
“I … uh …” he stuttered, then gave up. “God.”
“Yeah,” Dean said, quietly.
Neither one said anything for a few minutes. Then Dean cleared his throat and took a deep breath. John braced himself.
“Dad - I … I think you should come.”
“Dean,” John sighed.
“No, Dad. You know you want to come. And I know Sam would want you to be here. He’s scared, Dad. He needs you. We need you.”
John closed his eyes against the emotion those words provoked. Dean was right - he did want to go. He wanted - needed - to see Sam with his own eyes. Do what he could to make sure he was OK, make him OK. But.
But.
He just didn’t know if he could. And he didn’t believe Dean could be right about Sam wanting him there.
“Dean,” he tried again.
“Dad.”
John sighed. “Dean, I can’t,” he began. “I-”
“Dad, no. You can.”
“Dean,” John bit out. He was feeling guilty and feeling guilty made him angry. “I just … You know I can’t just pick up and go. I was about to call you to come help me if you were done in Colorado. I’ve got a job in -”
“Dad, come on,” Dean interrupted. John wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Dean use that tone with him. “It can wait. This is Sam with a brain tumor. How can you hide behind a job?”
“Hide behind a job? Dean, this is a ghost decapitating people with windows. One man’s already died, and I can help. I can’t help Sam, even if I’m in Palo Alto. You know how this works. This is what we do, and it’s important.”
Silence.
“Dean?”
More silence. And then, in a hesitant rasp, “Did you say decapitating with windows?”
Thank God. He was going to buy that as an excuse. “Yes,” John said.
Silence.
“Dean?”
“Uh. Dad. That’s … that’s what Sam … hallucinated.”
“What?” What?
“That’s … Sam … it was a man … getting his head cut off by a window.”
Silence.
“Dad?”
“That’s … impossible.”
“No shit.”
“It … I mean … that’s … a hell of a coincidence.”
“Dad.”
“Well, it must be … That’s …”
“Dad.” Dean said the word with the same tone he had used for brain tumor earlier. And John gave in.
“I … That means …”
“Yeah.”
“Get your brother out of there.”
“Out of here? And go where?”
John’s mind raced. He had no idea what to tell Dean, but he knew if what they were thinking was right, Sam needed to be far away from people who could diagnose him as schizophrenic. He considered turning around and heading to California … but that left the situation in Michigan, and if Sam was having … visions … about it, there must be something going on there. He had to go on.
But …
“Saginaw. Meet me in Saginaw.”
Chapter 17
Author: Deanish
Rating: PG13
Length: 1,100 / 60,700 words
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam/Jess (but I'd still say it's more gen than het)
Summary: A 'what might have been.' What if the demon had stayed in hibernation for just a little longer?
Chapter 16
John was, predictably, on the road when the phone rang.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Dad?”
“Dean. Good. I was getting ready to call you. You done in Colorado yet?”
Dean hesitated for a moment which cued John’s frown. “Uh, no, Dad. I’m still in California.”
“Still? That spirit give you problems?”
“Well, yeah, actually. But that’s not why I’m still here.”
John knew that silence could be used to more effect than griping where his oldest son was concerned, so he didn’t say anything - just let Dean stew for a moment in the unspoken disapproval.
Dean cleared his throat, evidently getting the point, and started talking.
“I, uh, decided to save some money and stay at Sammy’s place.”
John drew in a deep, long-suffering breath.
“And, uh, since it was Saturday and there was no real rush on the Colorado job, I let him talk me into staying an extra day.”
John pursed his lips at the “no real rush” part, but still didn’t say anything.
“But Dad - Sam and I were playing pool and …” Dean paused here, and John suddenly realized that the hint of a tremor in his voice wouldn’t come from guilt at taking a day off. But Dean rushed on before John could really think about what that meant.
“And, uh, Sam collapsed. I’m at the hospital, and they’re doing tests, and … and Dad … they don’t know what it is, but … but it could be bad.”
The quality of John’s silence changed - from disapproval to desperate disbelief in seconds flat. He was pretty sure his heart had stopped, and he knew for a fact that he wasn’t breathing.
But a change in the quality of a silence is, unfortunately, hard to hear over a cellphone, and Dean apparently missed it.
“Dad?” The tremble was replaced by heat. “Dammit, Dad! I can’t believe you’re -”
“Dean.”
The ragged quality of John’s voice must have convinced Dean that whatever he’d been about to say wasn’t relevant. He stopped and drew in a shaky sigh.
“Bad …” John started, choking on the word. “Bad how?”
Dean hesitated, and John surmised that he again had something he didn’t want to say. Something John didn’t want to hear.
“He’s OK right now - he’s awake and fine. But they’re, uh, they’re checking for a,” here he tripped over the word, “brain tumor.”
And John again couldn’t find the breath for a reply.
“But his doctor didn’t seem to think that would be it,” Dean rushed to add.
“They didn’t?” John rasped out, grabbing onto the life preserver the words represented.
“No,” Dean reassured. “But,” and John could actually hear Dean’s regret at getting his hopes up and realized that the best case scenario must not be all that much better than the worst. “But he said if it’s not … that … then it might be a, a neurological problem. Like … like schizophrenia.”
“What?” John gasped. “Why would they think that?”
Had Sam been talking about what they did? Surely he knew better.
“Because he,” Dean started, but broke off. “When he … he had a hallucination or something.”
“What?” This time it was confused. Dean sighed again.
“Like I said, we were at a bar playing pool. Sam went to get the beer and when I turned around, he had dropped the beer and was clutching his head like he had a bad headache. And then he fell down and then … he zoned out. And when … he came back, he said he’d … he’d … I don’t know. Hallucinated.”
John finally had to pull over at that. He definitely couldn’t concentrate on the road at this point.
“I … uh …” he stuttered, then gave up. “God.”
“Yeah,” Dean said, quietly.
Neither one said anything for a few minutes. Then Dean cleared his throat and took a deep breath. John braced himself.
“Dad - I … I think you should come.”
“Dean,” John sighed.
“No, Dad. You know you want to come. And I know Sam would want you to be here. He’s scared, Dad. He needs you. We need you.”
John closed his eyes against the emotion those words provoked. Dean was right - he did want to go. He wanted - needed - to see Sam with his own eyes. Do what he could to make sure he was OK, make him OK. But.
But.
He just didn’t know if he could. And he didn’t believe Dean could be right about Sam wanting him there.
“Dean,” he tried again.
“Dad.”
John sighed. “Dean, I can’t,” he began. “I-”
“Dad, no. You can.”
“Dean,” John bit out. He was feeling guilty and feeling guilty made him angry. “I just … You know I can’t just pick up and go. I was about to call you to come help me if you were done in Colorado. I’ve got a job in -”
“Dad, come on,” Dean interrupted. John wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Dean use that tone with him. “It can wait. This is Sam with a brain tumor. How can you hide behind a job?”
“Hide behind a job? Dean, this is a ghost decapitating people with windows. One man’s already died, and I can help. I can’t help Sam, even if I’m in Palo Alto. You know how this works. This is what we do, and it’s important.”
Silence.
“Dean?”
More silence. And then, in a hesitant rasp, “Did you say decapitating with windows?”
Thank God. He was going to buy that as an excuse. “Yes,” John said.
Silence.
“Dean?”
“Uh. Dad. That’s … that’s what Sam … hallucinated.”
“What?” What?
“That’s … Sam … it was a man … getting his head cut off by a window.”
Silence.
“Dad?”
“That’s … impossible.”
“No shit.”
“It … I mean … that’s … a hell of a coincidence.”
“Dad.”
“Well, it must be … That’s …”
“Dad.” Dean said the word with the same tone he had used for brain tumor earlier. And John gave in.
“I … That means …”
“Yeah.”
“Get your brother out of there.”
“Out of here? And go where?”
John’s mind raced. He had no idea what to tell Dean, but he knew if what they were thinking was right, Sam needed to be far away from people who could diagnose him as schizophrenic. He considered turning around and heading to California … but that left the situation in Michigan, and if Sam was having … visions … about it, there must be something going on there. He had to go on.
But …
“Saginaw. Meet me in Saginaw.”
Chapter 17