trans_9 | The Sound of Silence [R for Cussing]

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The Sound of Silence [R for Cussing]

As new members of the crew were popped, Sam Winchester still lay in the medbay recovering from the ‘self-inflicted’ gunshot wound to his head. With Lyta Alexander refusing to return to the medbay after her argument with Brainy, Sam had been left in the care of Dr. Jean Grey—another telepath that had recently arrived on the ship. And, sure enough, Dean—true to his word—had barely left his brother’s side, anxiously hoping that his baby brother would eventually wake up, and soon.

Meanwhile, the patient himself appeared calm. His breathing was steady and the machines that monitored his heart and his brain activity continued their low, steady beeping rhythm, never increasing in speed or slowing down. Always steady. Which just said that, while Sam was still alive and not brain dead, he didn’t appear to be making any progress.

In a modest, two-story house in Palo Alto, California, a blonde woman stood in front of the kitchen sink, washing clean the pan she’d used an hour ago to make dinner for her two children. In her mid-thirties, Jessica Moore still held a strong resemblance to the young beautiful college co-ed she’d been ten years ago. Although, her thin frame had expanded slightly after having given birth to two children, she had worked hard to work off the excess weight and her dedication to staying in shape had paid off. While she may not have had the waif-like figure of the twenty-something girl she once was, she was proud that she had not allowed herself to balloon like so many of the girls she’d graduated with.

After wiping the pan clean, she rinsed it off and set it down to dry on the towel she’d laid out on the counter earlier. Then, after draining the sink and washing the suds away with the sprayer, Jessica unrolled the sleeves of her pajama top, dried her hands on the hand towel that hung from the refrigerator door, turned off the light and headed down the hallway to her husband’s office.

A line of light broke free through the slightly ajar door of the study, casting a line of yellow light on the eggshell-colored wall of the hallway. Stopping just outside the door, Jessica crept close, gripped the knob with one hand and lightly rapped on the wood surface with her other just before pushing the door open and poking her head in.

“Sam?” she said, peering around the door until her eyes landed on the familiar shoulders of her husband, Sam Winchester, hunched over his desk while he scribbled away on a yellow legal pad.

“Sam?” she repeated, this time louder, when he didn’t answer.

“Hmm?” Sam finally replied.

“It’s late. I’m going to bed,” Jessica said.

“Ok,” Sam answered, his voice was distant. His attention was obviously more focused on the case file in front of him than the woman who stood in the door behind him.

“Are you coming?” she asked, though she already anticipated his response.

“Yeah,” he said, with a slight nod. “I’ll be up in a few minutes. I just want to get this finished.”

She arched an eyebrow at her husband’s oh-so predictable reply. She’d been married to the man for eight years, who did he think he was fooling with an answer like that? “You said that last night,” she reminded.

Smirking, Jessica stepped into the room, leaving the door wide open as she moved across the study and stood behind Sam. Bending at the waist, she wrapped her arms around her husband and placed a kiss on his cheek. Then another, and another, and another.

If her intention was to distract him, it was working. Sam’s brow furrowed as he cocked his head upward to look at his wife and found himself getting a quick peck on the lips in return. “What was that for?” he asked, obviously confused by his wife’s behavior.

“I believe you lawyers call it ‘undue influence,’” she answered.

“Really?” Sam said, pivoting his chair around so that he was now facing his wife. “You realize that means that you must be trying to get me to do something I don’t want to do.”

“I am,” she answered, looking rather clever and wickedly deceptive.

“Oh? And what’s that?” he asked, arching an eyebrow in curiosity.

Smiling again, Jessica bent down to plant a few more kisses on him before she answered. “I’m trying to convince my husband to come to bed,” she admitted. “But it doesn’t seem to be working.”

“Oh, it’s working,” Sam laughed as Jessica ran her hand down his chest. “It’s definitely working. It’s just…” He took hold of her hands and pulled them off of him and placed them safely back at her sides. “…I’ve got a lot of work to do before the merger conference on Monday and I really need to get this done tonight.”

Releasing a defeated sigh, Jessica pulled away, obviously disappointed that she was going to have to go upstairs and sleep all alone in that massive bed in the master bedroom. “Ok…ok…I’m sorry,” she said, holding up her hands in surrender. “Just promise me you’re not going to stay down here all night again, ok? Last time I had to drag you to the chiropractor practically kicking and screaming.”

“Ok,” Sam laughed. “I won’t. I promise.”

Nodding, Jessica turned and headed back for the hallway then stopped just shy of closing the door completely and ducked her head back in. Sam had, already, pivoted his chair back around and was hunched back over his work. “Don’t forget, Dean and Gabi are coming down next weekend and you promised you’d take Samuel and D.J. fishing with you.”

“Yeah, uh huh,” Sam said, obviously already so wrapped up in his work that he probably hadn’t even caught what she’d said.

With a light roll of her eyes, Jessica just shook her head and closed the door and headed for the stairs. After ascending to the second floor, she peaked in on her sons who lay soundly sleeping in their beds, a tiny night light cast a low glow in the room for D.J.—the youngest—who was still having difficulty with the dark. Quietly stepping inside, she adjusted the boys’ covers, tucking each of them in more snugly, and placed a kiss on each of their foreheads before moving back into the hallway, pulling the door nearly closed behind her—leaving it open a sliver for the boys.

After ensuring that her children were secure in their beds and her husband was downstairs slaving away, Jessica Winchester finally stepped into the room she shared with Sam and climbed into the big empty bed that awaited her.

Sam Winchester jerked awake suddenly. He was bent over in his chair with his head planted on the case file he’d been working on when he’d inadvertently fallen asleep at his desk. He felt a familiar dull pain in his neck as he righted himself and rubbed his eyes before it finally hit him that something had woken him. His eyes shifted back and forth and he combed his fingers through his already graying hair as he tried to remember what it was that had pulled him out of his sleep so violently. Then, he heard it again.

It was a low wail, a crying. Not that of animal or a bird outside but that of a child. D.J., he immediately thought. Sam and Jessica’s youngest boy had been plagued with nightmares that seemed to come and go over the last few months. There were times he would go for weeks without incident but then there were times Jessica would be running into the boys’ room two or three nights in a row to calm their youngest son and soothe away the terror the latest nightmare had caused.

Realizing it was pointless to try to force himself to stay awake to get any more work done, Sam rubbed his eyes and left his office, shutting the light off behind him. Climbing the stairs, he was just nearing the second floor landing when he heard the wail again, this time it was louder. His brow furrowed in confusion. Jess should have been in the boys’ room by now, why would D.J. still be crying?

Glancing at his own bedroom door, he contemplated going in to get Jessica, but finally shook the idea from his head. After all the nights that Jessica had gotten up in the middle of the night to scare away the monsters that D.J. was convinced lived in his bedroom, it was time Sam took his turn and now seemed as good a time as any. He was up already, after all. Rubbing his eyes again, he crossed to the half-open door of his sons’ bedroom and pushed it open.

He found D.J. sitting upright in his bed, holding his knees tightly against his chest, crying and Samuel—who was three years older than his brother—just beginning to wake up from his brother’s crying.

“Daddy!” D.J. cried out as his father entered the room.

“Hey, buddy,” Sam replied, trying to be as soothing as possible. He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of his son’s bed. “What’s wrong?”

D.J. leant into his father, wrapping his arms around Sam’s neck in a tight hug. “Mo…mon…monst-er-er,” the boy sobbed. “In my…clo…closet.”

Sam felt a slight smile begin to tug at the corners of his mouth as he recalled waking up for the very same reason when he was younger. He’d always wake up screaming about the thing in his closet and, unlike Jessica and Sam, John Winchester had merely given young Sam a .45 to shoot whatever might have been in there rather than doing the healthy thing and telling him that there was nothing to be afraid of.

“It’s ok, buddy,” Sam replied, rubbing his son’s back with the palm of his hand. “You want Daddy to take a look? Scare it away?”

Pulling away, D.J. looked up at his father with tear stricken eyes and, after a brief whimper-filled pause, gave a slow nod.

“Ok,” Sam said, easing his son back into bed then rising to his feet. He walked over to the wall and made an exaggerated point of picking up Samuel’s baseball bat to use as a ‘weapon’ to beat up whatever was hiding in his sons’ closet, then made his way to the closed door.

“Mom already took care of it,” Samuel, who’d been rubbing the sleep from his eyes, groaned from his bed.

“Go back to sleep,” Sam answered his oldest son, then continued on to the closet. Gripping the knob firmly in his hand, he glanced back at D.J. as if to make it look dramatic, then jerked the door open. What was waiting on the other side, however, was not what Sam had been expecting.

The only thing Sam remembered seeing before he felt himself being pulled—by some unseen force—across the room and slammed against the far wall were a pair of bright yellow eyes and an evil sneer. The loud thud of Sam’s body hitting the wall was immediately followed by the screams of his children. But before the boys could climb out of their beds and rush over to their father, another invisible force grabbed hold of both of them and pulled them back into their beds, drawing the covers tightly over their bodies and pinning them down.

“Hello, Sam,” a voice said just as a man dressed in a black trenchcoat exited the closet, slamming it shut behind him. “Miss me?”

Sam stared wide-eyed as the yellow-eyed demon, the one that had killed his mother and Jessica stood there, in front of him, in the middle of his sons’ bedroom. Wait. No, he didn’t kill Jessica. He couldn’t have killed Jess. She was Sam’s wife, the mother of his children.

“DADDDYYY!” D.J. wailed from his bed.

She couldn’t be dead. If she were dead then…

Just as suddenly as they’d started, the cries ended and silence fell over the room. The demon smirked and looked over at each of the beds that Sam’s sons had occupied. Occupied. They were gone. Samuel. D.J. Both of them had disappeared and now only two empty twin beds, neither looking like they’d ever been slept in, remained.

“Where are they?” Sam demanded, trying to force himself free of the telekinetic hold the demon had on him. “What did you DO to them?”

“What did I do to them?” the demon sneered. “I didn’t do anything to them, Sammy. I didn’t have to do anything to them. Because they never existed. Oh, don’t get me wrong, they would have. If sweet little Jessica hadn’t died, if you hadn’t gone off hunting with your brother, this is what your life would have been: a reasonable three bedroom house in a nice neighborhood, a pretty wife, two adorable little boys that would grow up to be fine strapping young men. You, working corporate law until you turned forty and finally opening your own law firm, getting old and flabby while your sons go off to college and follow in their daddy’s footsteps.”

The demon paused as he drew closer to Sam, so close that Sam could feel its breath on his face. “But I took care of all of that the night I gutted pretty, sweet Jessica and pasted her to the ceiling of your apartment,” the demon mocked. “That’s right, Sammy. I took away your mommy…your daddy…your cute little girlfriend…and those two boys you would have had if she’d lived. And, now, thanks to that little deal that brought you back from the dead, I get your brother Dean, too.”

“No!” Sam protested, still fighting to free himself. “I won’t let you. I’m gonna stop you.”

“Oh really?” the demon mocked. “And just how are you gonna do that? You’re lying on a slab in a hospital with a head wound, Sammy. You’re too busy painting pretty little pictures of what your life should have been like, selfishly waiting to die, to do a damn thing to save your brother. And who can blame you? What did Dean ever do for you, huh? After everything you’ve already lost, he sold his soul to bring you back from the dead. He just ensured that you’re the one that’s going to be left alone while he gets to go somewhere else. He’s gonna leave you behind and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. “

“Nooo!” Sam shouted, his face growing red as he pushed and pushed, forcing his wrist to move an inch away from the wall.

“Hahaha! Keep trying, Sammy. Try. Fight. Struggle,” the demon laughed. “I could really use the pick-me-up.”

“Fuck you!” Sam cursed. One inch. Then two.

“You can do better than that, Sammy. Come on, I know you got it in you,” the demon cajoled. “Get mad. Get pissed. Show the world just how mean big, bad Sammy Winchester can be.”

“Go to HELL!!” Sam shouted just as he finally managed to break free of yellow-eyes’ telekinesis and launched himself at the demon.

Beep...Beep…Beep..Beep..Beep..Beep. Beep. Beep. BeepBeepBeepBeep. The machine monitoring Sam Winchester’s brain activity began going crazy. The steady beeping became frantic, building up until it was just one steady, mind-numbing tone. Then, just as quickly as it had started, it fell completely silent as the unconscious patient on the bed reached up and ripped the nodes from his head.

Sam Winchester was awake.

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This was one of the rare moments that Dean had actually managed to sleep; he'd been staying up constantly, and the hours and minutes had all blurred into one big lump of time, separated by the occasional bout of passing out. On this occasion, he'd lost track of the time, and folded his arms on the bed so that he could rest his eyes for a minute. Ten seconds later, he was dead asleep, and unresponsive to the world.

Of course, Dean's still a hunter through and through, and though he may not exactly be a light sleeper, he still knows certain sounds when he hears them. In fact, the moment that Sam's monitor starts spazzing out is the moment that Dean jerks awake, already freaked out.

The single, steady tone just about gives Dean a heart attack, and then...

Sam sits straight up, and tears the sensors from his head. Dean stares for a second, and then his expression fades into relief. His voice is hoarse, exhausted.

"... Sammy?"

"Ugh...whoa..." Sam grumbled, his throat groggy and hoarse from extended lack of use. While one hand propped himself up in the bed, the other went immediately to his head as a wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him.

He'd gotten up waaaay too fast. Baby steps, Sam. Baby steps.

"Yeah?" he grumbled, obviously not immediately recognizing his own brother's voice. "I'm here. I'm awake. What's up? Where am I?" he asked, closing his eyes in an effort to still the dizziness.

"Whoah whoah whoah, hold on there, cowboy," Dean says hurriedly, immediately standing and making sure that Sam doesn't fall or anything. He steadies him with on hand on Sam's shoulder, the other bracing himself on the bed.

Dean watches like a hawk, looking over his baby brother to make sure that he's not hurt anywhere else, or seriously, at least. It all looks alright, but Dean doesn't relax, just says in a slightly tight voice:

"I dunno where the hell we are, man. You tell me."

Sam wobbled on the bed, the room was spinning so fast that he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open long enough to even get a good look around and every time he tried he felt his tummy start to churn.

"Looks like a stomach," he groan, reaching out and grabbing Dean by what he thought was his shirt and pulled him closer. "Why am I in a stomach?"

Dean's expression is stressed, and he pushes at Sam's shoulder, trying to make him lay back down.

"Hey, cut it out. Lay back, Sammy, or you're gonna puke. And I am so not cleaning it up." Dean growls, but Sam grabs his shirt, and he falters. For a moment, he's still, and then he pulls Sam a little closer, hugging him and holding him still so he wouldn't be sick.

"Beats the hell outta me," Dean replies quietly. "Hold on, kiddo. I gotcha. Just relax."

"I'm all right. I'm all right," Sam insists.

Then, obviously disoriented, he waivers a bit before falling forward into his brother.

"Dean?" he says uncertainly, gathering up just enough strength to look his big brother in the face. "Heeeey, Dean," he almost sounds drunk--or at least drugged up. "You will not believe the dream I just had."

"Uh huh." Dean says, and you can almost hear the exasperation in his voice. But he does hold Sam tightly, of course, and maybe even tries a little to nudge him back down to the bed.

Sam sounds drunk, yes, and that earns a half-hearted smirk from Dean, who supports Sam up enough to make it easier for him to look Dean in the eye.

"Heeey, Sammy," Dean drawls back. He's using his 'little kid' voice, though it's almost forced. "Dream, huh. Clowns or midgets?"

"Cockroaches!" Sam answered, finally allowing himself to be lowered back into the bed. "Big ones. And seaweed. It touched me. I was naked and it touched me. Why did the seaweed touch me?"

Dean breathes in and out slowly, relieved again, when Sam lets himself be pushed onto the bed. That makes him feel a bit better. Of course, his kid brother's brains are scrambled and Dean's thinking about the Yeerk and what it had said, so he's flipping the fuck out internally, but yeah, sure, he's alright.

Keeping a straight face, Dean rolls his eyes.

"I dunno, Sammy. Maybe it was just looking for a good time," Dean says sarcastically. "Relax, it's not gonna hurt you. You're safe here."

Is that Dean brushing Sam's hair out of his eyes? It might be, but if it is, it's done in a very brisk way, business-like. Not at all like a mother to a child, of course.

"I don't like seaweed..." Sam mumbled as he lay on his bed. Forcing his eyes open wider, he finally took a more extensive look around. The dizziness was starting to go away, at least a little bit. Laying down had been a good idea.

"Where am I?" he asked, again. "It looks like a stomach. Why am I in a stomach?" Uh oh, he was repeating himself...

"Yeah, you're preachin' to the choir." Dean answers, but he's still standing, keeping his hand on Sam's shoulder just in case he decides he wants to get up again. No way in hell is Sam getting up until he's less dizzy.

And then, Sam mentions the stomach. And Dean's expression twists, slightly. He stares down at his little brother, and the click that echoes in his brain as his worry-switch activates can almost be heard.

"Hey. Look at me." Dean says, taking Sam's face and forcing him to look at Dean. "You know who I am, right? Tell me."

Sam stares up at his brother with a bewildered look on his face.

"Yeah, I know who you are," he replied. "You're Ugly."

Dean snorts. "Clever."

But he's quiet, and he's staring intently at Sam. "C'mon, man. Tell me you know me. Skip the funny, this time."

Sam smiles, obviously proud of his little joke. But once the seriousness in his brother's face finally sinks in, Sam frowns and starts to feel more than a little anxiety.

"Dean...," he says, his growing worry evident in his tone. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

When Sam answers, Dean sighs, and drops his hands from Sam's face. One of those hands goes up to rub at his forehead, and he stares at the ground rather than look at Sam's frown.

"Nothing. You're fine, it's just..." Dean trails off, and starts again, distracted. "Do you remember anything?"

Sam's brow creases as he tries to concentrate. It comes in flashes, there one second and gone the next. And what was worse, none of them seemed to be in any kind of order.

"Yeeeeaaah...," he said, uncertainly. "I think so."

His face became very serious as he tried hard to recall anything of the past few...whatever.

"Cockroaches...seaweed...," he said, repeating what he'd thought was a dream only moments before. "...clocks, lotsa clocks...I beat some green guy up...he was kinda an asshole, you'da liked him...and then...then I think someone kicked me in the head."

It concerns Dean how fuzzy all of this seems for Sam, but he figures the kid just had major head trauma, and he was entitled. So instead, Dean slumps back onto his stool, and tries to think. He's so tired.

"Met the green dude. Cabbage Butt. You beat 'im up?" Dean blinks, and then stops speaking for a long moment.

"... More like shot in the head." Dean mumbles, and that's when he has to close his eyes, to attempt to block out the mental images.

"Heehee," Sam giggled. "'Cabbage Butt!' That's funny."

Stepping back into the medbay, Jean's eyes widened a bit as her gaze fell upon the Winchester brothers and for a moment she just stood there. Sam had finally woken up.

A smile formed on her lips and she moved over to the other side of Sam's bed - she'd learned that Dean was not moving for anyone a while ago. Gently she placed her hand on Sam's forehead in an almost soothing manner, and her brows furrowed for a moment.

His thoughts were all jumbled, but really that was to be expected.

"So you're awake finally. Welcome back Sam," She said, her gaze moving between Sam and Dean.

"Uh...yeah," Sam said, looking up at the new chick he'd never seen before but who apparently knew his name. "Who are you?" he asked, then grabbed hold of Dean and pulled him to him.

"Who is she?" he whispered...loudly.

Jean doesn't quite startle him, but her presence causes him to watch carefully, eyes narrowed. She may have proved she'd meant no harm, but Dean is a paranoid bugger, and besides, Sam was sick. And of course, he opens his eyes just in time for Sam to pull him forward, and Dean grunts.

"She's a hot chick," Dean mutters back, top tired to squirm away or say anything else. "Maybe if you're real nice, she'll give you a Scooby Snack."

What, he's tired. He doesn't have to make sense.

"Really?" Sam said. Yeah, he probably sounded a little more ~~hopeful~~ intrigued than he should have been.

He cleared his throat. "Hi. I'm Sam."

Yeah, because she didn't already know that.

An eye arched as she looked between the brothers and an almost exasperated sigh escaped her lips. What was with the men on this ship?!

~~Dream on Sam.~~

"I know," Jean simply said to Sam, ignoring Dean's hot chick comment for the moment. He was lucky she was in a good mood and didn't accidently knock him off of his stool. "I'm Jean," she paused, her other eyebrow arching up to match the other.

She leaned in a little bit and dropped her voice down into a whisper. "By the way... I can read minds. Just thought you'd like to know that."

Sam swallowed the massive lump that had suddenly formed in his throat...very loudly, in fact.

"Really?" he said, sounding worried. "Hehe, that's great," he tried to laugh it off.

But then he grabbed hold of Dean--again--and jerked him close...again.

"You set me up, didn't you?" he accused.

Dean's tired of being jerked around, and he grunts, trying to pull Sam's hands off of him. It's a half-hearted attempt, and he mostly just sort of flops, grumbling.

"Quit manhandling me, Sammy," Dean insists. His eyes are half-closed, and he's just barely paying attention; Sam's alright, so Dean's body is rebelling and trying to put him to sleep.

All he does at Sam's accusation is laugh, though.

"Nah, you just attract the psychic people like flies, man."

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