Whisperings of Angels

By: Tidia

Disclaimer: Ridley is all about The Brotherhood and Kripke is all about Supernatural. I do not profit from either.

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Chapter 2/5

Dean groaned out of bed at six o’clock. The florescent light flickered before coming to full brightness and lighting up the bathroom. The teen showered, letting the hot water work through his shoulders then turning to have it fall on his face. Finishing, he put on his usual jeans and t-shirt and went to wake up Sam.

Dean called out at first, but his brother slept on, slacked mouth and oblivious to the morning hour. Next, the older teen shook the bed, which elicited a moan. “Time to get up, Sammy.” The older brother repeated, and then left the shared bedroom to prepare breakfast and their lunches.

A rumpled sheet on the couch was all that remained of Caleb. An unwashed coffee cup in the sink was the vestiges of his father, who returned to his job as a mechanic at the local Jiffy Lube.

The older teen opened the refrigerator, setting out the carton of milk and grabbing 4 eggs. He poured the coffee remaining in the carafe into his cup, perturbed that it was only half a cup.

Sam shuffled in, and Dean scraped two scrambled eggs in his plate. He shoveled the food in his mouth, while the older brother ate out of the frying pan. Fifteen minutes later they were out of the house.

Students were congregating outside. Dean pulled over to the curb.

“Going to stop the car first this time?” Sam asked, as he went for the door handle..

“If you didn’t take so long to wake up, we’d be on time.” The older Winchester brother replied, putting the Impala in park, but revving the engine to get the attention of the other students. Sam alighted from the vehicle, and Dean to embarrass his brother yelled out: “Make good choices, Sammy!”

He pulled away from the middle school laughing, and still had a smile on his face as he parked in the high school lot. He ran into the school to make it homeroom before the bell rang.

At the end of the day he headed to the locker rooms to suit up for baseball practice. The coach had worked them hard, to make up for their previous abbreviated practice. He took a quick shower, and walked out to head home.

“Winchester,” Brenda, the Goth girl, was leaning against the chain link fence.

Dean kept walking to the car. His brother and father would be expecting him. "Who's stalking who?"

She caught up to him. The silver chains that hung on her neck jingled. “What? I’m not good enough to talk to? Going to ruin your reputation?” She called out to him.

To stopped for a moment, and turned. “I have a rep?” Thinking again, he shrugged his shoulders, and allowed her to catch up. “I gotta get home-you know how it is.”

“Yeah,” She kept up with Dean’s pace and followed him around the car, as he put his baseball equipment in the trunk. “Listen, ummm, maybe you can help me?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. He didn’t find Brenda attractive. It wasn’t the Goth get-up. It seemed as if darkness permeated her soul. He was looking for quick fun flings with wide-eyed girls, not someone to make his own shadows apparent.

She chewed on the ends of her hair, letting the strands drop when she understood the meaning of his facial tick. “You are so not my type.”

“Thanks,” Winchester shrugged off the insult. He glanced at his watch. He was expected at home. He opened the car door.

Brenda placed a hand on the Impala’s door so that Dean was unable to close it. “I was told you could help, that you deal with things that are out of the ordinary.”

The teenager was startled. Recovering quickly he tugged forcefully at the door for the Goth girl to release it. “I don’t know what you are talking about Brenda.”

She held the door firm. “I know stuff about you, Dean Winchester.” Then let the door go.

The blond slammed the door closed and turned the ignition, harshly pulling out of the parking space. Dean blasted Iron Maiden, trying to drown out the strange conversation. He felt a sinking sensation, not knowing if their big family secret was in jeopardy.

He decided not to mention Brenda's revelation to his father or brother. He needed confirmation first. He stayed silent during dinner, only answering direct questions, and planning a course of action. Dean cleaned off the table, set the coffee maker to make its brew in the morning then headed upstairs to do homework.

The next day, instead of going to work, he gave up the fifty dollars in pay to follow Brenda. He left the Impala at the school, deciding the car was too distinctive. He followed her on foot, as she first languished at school, then headed home. She didn't stay there too long. She left the cape with a slam of the door. The small white house was set close to the street.

Brenda ran down the street, stopping at a sandlot. She slowed down once she got there, and headed to the back of the lot where a few makeshift structures had been constructed. Some were boxes, others were piles of wood, just enough to provide protection from the elements. Dean knew this was where some of the homeless and junkies gathered. He kept his head down, not making any eye contact, but fully aware of his surroundings. The lot was vacant, at night there would be a greater risk, but in the daylight, the teenager felt secure.

He crouched down at the entrance to the wooden planked structure. Brenda sat there, smoking a cigarette as if waiting for him. “Winchester, you wanta a smoke?” She offered him the pack, then shook it. “But, you don’t smoke.” She smiled, and cocked her head to study him. “Drink a little, no drugs.” She released the smoke slowly through her nostrils and sighed from the nicotine coursing through her. “Your mom would be proud. Would ‘cause she’s dead, your dad’s a drifter and your brother’s a dreamer.”

Dean laughed, hiding the truth and the discomfort he felt at the summation of his family. “Are you making this stuff up?” He moved in closer to her, bending his knees and hunching over to fit in.

She grinned again and the smoke this time escaped through her mouth. “Nope, just what I’m told.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. He had to tread carefully if he was going to be able to find a solution. “Who's telling you?”

“Angels,” She gestured with the cigarette in the air, the ash of the tip falling to the ground. “They want me to help people.” She ground out the cigarette, noticing there was nothing left. “You think I’m crazy?” Brenda entwined her hands then wiggled her fingers in nervousness.

The blond teenager was thoughtful. “Didn’t say that.” The Winchester family's line of work did not create skeptics. The brothers had been taught to question everything, to research and be well informed to deal with the supernatural. “What do they say?”

Brenda took a piece of her hair and placed the tips in her mouth. “They tell me things, especially about a little boy and he needs help.” She pulled her hair back, and Dean saw the myriad of piercings on her ears. “Will you help?” She wrapped her arms around herself. Her too large dark sweater enveloping her, "Someone needs help right now. There's a fire." She crawled out. The blond teen followed her. "Come on!"

The Goth girl seemed distracted at first, and then steadfastly ran forward. She climbed the short chain link fence, catching the edge of her pants on the link. Dean was carefully pulling on the material to release her, but she tugged it, ripping the hem. Winchester easily jumped the fence and followed her to one of the track houses.

Studying the house, a fire was not apparent. There was no smell of smoke in the air. Dean crept up to the front door, feeling its coolness and then placed his ear against it. "There isn’t a fire here, Brenda."

"There is, there is." She pounded on the door. Dean glanced around, hoping they were not attracting attention in the sleepy neighborhood. "We need to go inside. . ." She looked inside the window by the door.

"That's against the law."

"Like you haven’t broken the law before," Brenda commented. She turned the door knob. "The door's open."

She stepped inside, and Dean followed her. He wished his reaction had been to run away. He just knew he was walking into trouble. Smoke was coming from the back room. The hunter ran ahead, pushing the Goth girl out of the way.

An elderly man had fallen asleep on a recliner in the porch, looking out to the backyard. Dean stomped at the flames to clear a path to the man. He kicked the ashtray, evidently the man had missed his mark. Flames licked at Dean. He hoisted the man on to his shoulder. He stumbled into Brenda, who had grabbed a blanket and threw it over the three of them.

Once outside, all three of them tumbled to the ground.

"Winchester! You're leg!" Brenda pointed to the side of his left jean leg. He was going to put the flames out with his hand, when the dark haired girl threw the blanket over the hunter's leg and suffocated the flame.

Not taking time to focus on his injury, they both turned to the elderly man. His eyes were open and he took in a deep breath, coughing violently as he exhaled. His hands shook, as he tried to get his breathing under control.

In the distance the teens could hear sirens approaching. Both stayed silent, Dean staring at Brenda and the possibility that someone had told her about the fire, or that she had psychic abilities.

A fire truck and an ambulance arrived at the scene. The small home was swarming with people as the neighbors couldn’t resist the commotion. An EMT bent down in front of Dean. Two were helping the elderly man, immediately placing an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose.

"Kid, let me take a look at you." The EMT rested a hand on the teen's chest. He took out his stethoscope to hear Dean's lungs and if he was suffering from smoke inhalation. "What's your name?"

"Dean, Dean Winchester," the hunter replied. He felt fine, and knew he hadn't inhaled enough smoke to cause him problems.

"It's his leg." Brenda waved off her own EMT, and pointed to the blackened area on the left pant leg.

The EMT ripped the end of the pant leg to expose the blister, which had formed on his left calf. "You really should get checked out at the hospital."

Dean shook his head. Already his father was going to be upset, and the teen didn't want to tack on having to explain a hospital visit. "I rather not, can you just bandage it up?"

The EMT cleaned the blister carefully with a saline solution, drenching the blue jeans along with it. "You should go to your doctor as soon as possible."

Dean nodded, appeasing the emergency worker.

From the EMT's case he pulled out a white cream and liberally applied it with a tongue depressor, handing over the remaining tube to Dean. "Wash it every day, apply this cream and bandage it. When it pops, you need to go to your doctor to have the skin removed. You shouldn’t scar."

He helped Dean up, and the hunter could feel an ache in his calf. Regardless, it wouldn’t stop him from playing baseball.

A police man waited for the two teens, and questioned them. They were given praise and then allowed to go on their way.

Dean walked Brenda back to her house. "Now do you believe me?"

"Maybe," He glanced at his watch. He needed to make his way back to the Impala and then to home. "What kinda of help do you want?"

She smiled. "We can talk about it tomorrow." She opened the door and went inside.

Tiredly, Dean entered the house, pulling his shoulders back to bring back an air of confidence to his stature. Sam was lying on the couch, a book in hand and looked up. His eyes narrowed when he saw the soot on his brother's face. He then glanced down and saw the pant leg. "What happened to you?" He announced, and got to a seated position. His father in the kitchen heard the question and came out to see what had occurred.

Dean hung his keys on the rack by the door. "I drove a friend home after school, and the next door neighbor's house was on fire, but we saved him." He relayed the well rehearsed story.

John's eyes went to the pant leg. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just a little singed on the edges." He opened the flap that the EMT had cut to show the white bandage. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Dean," John called out to his son, who was going upstairs.

"Yes, sir?" Dean wanted to escape the scrutiny and let his mind relax in the shower, plus the smell of smoke was nauseating and it had permeated every crevice of his clothing.

"You're not a fireman." His father said with reproach in his tone.

"Yes, sir," Dean smiled, thinking about his dream to be a fireman, but that had long since become a memory.

Feeling more refreshed after his shower, and placing his misgiving on hold, Dean regaled his father and brother with the story of his heroics. There was no modesty in this version. It was filled with puffed proud bravery.

The two brothers were on KP duty, while their father went to do preliminary research on a nearby hunt.

Dean dunked a dish into the soapy water, using a sponge he removed the remnants of Chef Boy R Dee Raviolis. “Sammy?”

“What?” The youngest Winchester snapped as dried a plate and placed it back on the cupboard.

“Never mind. . .” The older hunter hesitated, wanting to discuss the Brenda situation, but not sure if he should involve his brother.

“No, seriously, what?” Sam waited with the kitchen towel for the next plate.

Dean passed the wet dish to his brother, letting it rest in the towel. “Can I trust you?”

“Yeah,” Sam grimaced and passed the plate back to his brother. There was still red sauce on the dish.

The older brother held on to the plate. "This girl in school knows stuff about me.”

The younger sibling snorted. At thirteen he was getting a smart mouth and had picked up too much from hid older brother. “Told you size matters. . .”

“Jesus, Sammy, no,” frustrated that Sam was joking at a time of seriousness; Dean closed up and returned to washing the remaining two dishes.

The younger teen noticed his brother's stone faced expression. “Well, what do you mean?”

"Mom, Dad, me, you. . .” Dean left the plate in the water, and rested his hands against the sink. "She says angels talk to her."

Sam remained silent for a moment. The younger Winchester was still inquisitive at his age, and was transforming the trait into being analytical. "If demons can possess people, why can't angels?"

Dean thought about it too. The idea was plausible. They had never come across it, but the Winchesters hunted evil not good, so angels didn’t run in the same circle.

“You gonna tell Dad?” Sam asked, pushing Dean out of the way in order to finish off the remaining dishes.

“No,” the older hunter shook his head. He had decided not to involve his father because John was blinded by the righteousness of his hunts. “She says she wants help.”

Sam placed the dishes in the strainer, “Help?”

Dean pulled a chair out from the kitchen table, and sank down into it. “Some kid’s in trouble and needs help.” He looked up to his brother, who was leaning against the sink, “Can’t hurt for us to look into it.”

Sam smiled and nodded, “while Dad’s away.”

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