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 4/5

Dean wished Sam had fallen asleep on the over three hour drive back. They stopped at five for dinner at Wendy’s. Dean wasn’t in a rush to return home, because the world was suddenly distorted. They had never come across something which didn’t involve the supernatural. On the other hand, they never went on their own hunt. The oldest Winchester brother assumed he was ready after he killed his first creature. But, he was far from prepared. Added to that, he had involved his little brother.

They were lucky their father would remain clueless.

However, the truck parked in the driveway meant Dean’s luck had finally run out.

Sam saw the ominous black truck, “Ahh, Dean.”

“I see it, Sam.” Dean cut the lights, but didn’t make any effort to move from the driver’s seat.

“I’m with you, bro.”

Dean appreciated the sentiment. He was not going to use his brother as a mediator or a shield. The older teen grinned. “Yeah, I know, but we shouldn’t lie, well, we shouldn’t lie to Dad.”

Sam laughed nervously, but he didn’t move. “Are we going inside?”

The older brother sighed, “Guess so.” He opened the car door, looked longingly at the shelter of the car before he committed to entering the rental home. Sam lingered by the door, waiting for his brother so they could walk in together.

“Where have you two been?” John asked. He was waiting for his boys to come inside, alerted by the Impala entering the driveway. His arms were crossed. There would be no delay in explaining the situation.

Sam looked back at his older brother. Dean held the car keys in his hands, fidgeting them back in forth between his hands. "This friend of mine asked for some help..."

"A girl-friend or a boy-friend?" John didn’t move from the entrance to the home. As an interrogator he was not about to allow Dean any comfort.

"Girl," the older teen sighed, knowing his father would jump to the wrong conclusion.

"Great, Dean, just great, and what kind of help did she need?"

"She said that angels talked to her and a little boy needed help." Dean felt awkward, because explaining it to his father made the situation sound preposterous. It was a case in which John needed to have been there to believe her. "But, it was all wrong." He held the keys in his right hand, feeling them dig in as he tightened his grip. "She was on drugs."

"Drugs? This just gets better and better." John narrowed his eyes, signaling to his sons his patience was wearing thin. "Crack?"

Sam stayed quiet, watching the exchange between his two family members. He stared at Dean, waiting for his reply then grimaced when he heard it.

"No, heroin.” Dean flinched, but was surprised with his father's reaction.

"Continue," he said in a low tone as if trying to rein in his emotions.

Dean looked back at the keys. "She wanted to kidnap her kid. . . We left right away."

John exploded, took a step towards his son, then squeezed his hands into fists before looking away. "You took your brother with you? Jesus, Dean," he spat out the words his face burned red. "Kidnapping! Did they see the car?"

"No, they didn't notice us," Sam interrupted the tirade. "And I'm fine, Dad. No harm no foul." The youngest Winchester lifted his arms to show he was indeed in one piece.

John stared at his youngest son. "Go to bed, Sam."

The younger teen looked at his watch, which read eight o'clock, then back at Dean.

"'Night, Sam." Dean gave his brother a nod. Sam did not need to be present for the rest of the conversation. The older brother had accepted his fate. He deserved a lecture and to feel guilty.

"Night,” Sam whispered to his brother. He glanced at him as he went up the stairs. Dean took the momentary reprieve to place the car keys on the hook. He stepped further into the house, and sat on the edge of the couch.

John gave Sam time to get to his room before he started in on his older son. “Jesus, Dean, you're hanging out with junkies?”

“Dad, I didn't know.” The teen shook his head. He picked at the brown plaid couch. The coarse material irritated his fingers. “She said that angels talked to her,” he licked his lips, “knew about mom, and us. . .” Dean cleared his throat as his voice became huskier. He wrinkled his brow. He still did not know how Brenda knew what she knew.

“Stay away from her, Dean. You hear me, boy.” John pointed his finger at his son. He snorted with disgust. "I know you want to help people, but people like that..."

And Dean wondered why his father didn't recognize they were the people like that-hurting and lost. When did the Winchesters become better than another group? "She asked for some help." The teen attempted to rally and defend himself.

John interrupted. "Pretty girl?” he asked harshly, and didn’t wait for a reply. "You and your brother, your brother, Dean, could have been in a lot of trouble.” John uncrossed his arms, then crossed them again. His stance shifted slightly, showing he was holding his ground. He didn’t try to narrow the gap between him and his son.

Dean knew there was a chasm between him and his father when he stated, “I expect better than this from you."

“If we have to move because of this stunt. . . " the sentiment trailed off, and John’s lips formed a grim line. “I am very disappointed."

Dean’s shoulders drooped. He was tired. He understood the family was placed in peril when there were insecurities and doubt. “Yes, Sir, won’t happen again.”

His father turned, abandoning him without an acknowledgment of hearing his son’s misery.

Dean exhaled slowly, and got up from the couch. His leg throbbed. The blister had burst during the drive. His sock had absorbed the liquid. It was aching and irritating. He needed to clean the skin debris before infection set in.

He crept up the stairs, being careful to avoid the wooden creaks. He did not want to disturb his father. Instead he wanted to disappear into an anemic existence.

He kicked off his sneakers, and left them next to the door to the bedroom he shared with Sam. He didn’t want to talk to his brother. Sam would say Dad didn’t understand his teen sons. Dean understood too well, John relied on his eldest to be responsible. Some time wallowing in self pity was beckoning.

He padded into the bathroom. The fluorescent overhead light flickered and lit up the white tiled bathroom. The grout had worn away over time, leaving a graying hue to the small tiles, the floor snagging Dean’s socks. He pulled out the first aid kit under the sink.

He stripped off his jeans, and crumpled them into the hamper. Sitting on the toilet he pulled off his socks, his left one sticking slightly as the liquid from the blister had set in. The yellowed gauze was exposed, and Dean loosened the tape from the edges. The paper tape came free easily. The burn cream he applied that morning had kept the gauze from sticking to the remnants of the large blister. The skin was pink and the blistered skin translucent in its color.

Clad only in his boxer shorts and t-shirt, he stood up and propped his leg up on the sink, tilting it at an awkward angle so he could remove the dead skin. He picked the tweezers and scissors from the kit, dipping them both in the bottle of alcohol in order to disinfect them. He pushed the dead skin up with the tweezers and cut with the scissors. The skin underneath was healing and sensitive. The haphazard hacking was causing irritation. Dean pulled the skin, pinching at the healthy skin. He smothered an expletive.

He concentrated on fixing his leg and didn’t notice his father watching him at the door. The bathroom door needed a firm hand to close it or it would spring open slightly. In the Winchester household with three men, modesty or privacy was not warranted. Dean looked up when John cleared his throat.

Dean attempted to hide what he was doing, but gave up. "Just cleaning this up."

"Let me see that." John entered the small bathroom and ordered his son, "Sit down."

The teen did as directed. He shifted so his father would have easy access to the burst blister and be able to fit into the bathroom. Dean smelled the Jack Daniels on his father's breath. He closed his eyes for a moment from the guilt of his actions having sent John to seek some refuge in his old friend.

Dean opened his eyes and saw hit father deftly cutting at the skin. The teen swallowed. John scared Dean. He was their only parent, the provider of the family. If they lost him, Dean's thought was interrupted.

"It was a stupid move, Dean," John stated as he examined his work. He reached for the first aid kit and removed a bandage.

"Yes, sir," Dean replied, watching his Dad wrap the white gauze around the calf.

John tore a piece of tape with his mouth and sealed the end of the bandage. "You're all set." He patted his son's leg.

Dean stared at the bandage, not wanting to face his father. "Dad, I'm really sorry." His actions had been foolhardy. He had risked there very existence for a stranger.

"Get some sleep." It was an order from father to son. John didn't want any further discussion on the matter.

Dean remained in the bathroom for awhile longer. It scared him, how much he wanted to help Brenda, believe in a cause. It would have been nice to help the good side of the supernatural. Believe there was actually a 'good side'. But, as usual there was no black and white. There was always gray. Dean sometimes thought his family could shine enough light on it and change it. This experience reminded him about being cautious, especially when he involved his brother, his family.

The oldest Winchester brother closed the emotions away for his subconscious to deal with at a later date. He stood up and shut off the light. He picked up his sneakers as he opened the bedroom door. "Hey, Sammy, you still have that stash of candy hidden in the false back of the desk?"

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