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trans_92009-04-01 10:27 pm
thenameissam.livejournal.com) wrote in trans_92009-04-01 10:27 pm
Entry tags:
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.
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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"Nothing. You're fine, it's just..." Dean trails off, and starts again, distracted. "Do you remember anything?"
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"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."
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"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.
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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.
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"Who is she?" he whispered...loudly.
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"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.
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hopefulintrigued than he should have been.He cleared his throat. "Hi. I'm Sam."
Yeah, because she didn't already know that.
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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."
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"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.
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"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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He was lifted up and thrown against a wall. Then he woke up covered in slime. He then shoved some guy (Nathan) into a stone pillar. Then he was sitting with some girl on a bench looking at a black statue of Jessica--pinned to the ceiling of his apartment. He and a group of guys were meandering through what appeared to be a tunnel. Then he was pissed off and picked up the green dude and threw him into so strange pool. He was in the Vatican with two guys (the MacManus twins) he didn't know, but at the same time, he did. Then he was firing a burst of rock salt through Andromeda. Then he and the two guys from earlier were falling into the same strange pool that he'd thrown the green guy into.
Finally, Sam was on his knees while another guy (Terry) stood in front of him, and Sam was holding a gun to his own head...and he felt himself pull the trigger.
"AWWWW! FUCK!" he hollered out, doubling over on the bed as his head began to spin uncontrollably.
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She opened her mouth, completely ready to suggest that Dean go lay down and catch up on some much needed sleep when suddenly Sam's thoughts and memories overwhelmed her. She staggered back, her own hands flying to her head and she squeezed her eyes shut, intent on pushing whatever Sam was going through out of her head.
It took a few moments, and she felt her head mildly throb in protest of the assault it had just been through. Dropping her hands she took a deep breath and looked over to Sam.
Crap.
Crouching over a bit, she quickly cupped his face between her hands. "Sam, look at me.... Take deep breaths and look at me."
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"I...can't..." he groaned through gritted teeth. His breathing was already becoming erratic.
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Sam's protesting and then shouting, and cussing, and the shock of adrenaline that floods Dean is enough to temporarily wake him up. Dean scrambles to get his bearings, and looks to Jean for help, except she's got the same expression and is clutching at her head as well.
So Dean stands sort of helplessly, trying to think of what to do.
But then Sam's near writhing on the ground, and Jean moves to cup his face, but Dean's worried as hell and not in the mood for chivalry. Cursing under his breath, he elbows her out of the way and takes her place.
"Sam! C'mon. Sammy, look at me, or I swear..." he says, his voice hoarse again.
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She shook her head, and though she didn't like to manhandle people she firmly pushed him to the side. "Stop Dean," she said her voice making it clear that now was not the time to try and mess with her.
She already had a headache, she didn't need him to start in with the 'big brother' stuff as well.
Once again, she cupped Sam's face in her hand. "Sam, look at me." Her tone softened to a more soothing tone. "Sam, just open your eyes. I know it hurts. But please? Let me see your eyes. Open your eyes Sam."
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So when she pushes him aside, he completely ignores her tone of voice and stays as close as possible, halfway snarling.
"Sunnuva bitch--" He curses, and the internal freaking out is leaking into his voice. "You don't fuckin' tell me what to do, he's my god damned brother, you can't make me--"
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"Actually I can," Jean tossed back - making sure she kept her voice calm and soothing before she telekenetically nudged him a little back to show him she was serious. "Please don't make me though."
Turning back to Sam, she focused on him. "Sam, focus."
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"You ain't gonna find him."---"I've still gotta try."---"Giant bugs slaggin' suck!"---"Start strippin' everybody."
"I'm a Legionnaire."---"We're in some deep shit here."---You wanna get yourself an Andalite meatsuit..."---"Kinda makes ya feel like you're walking around in a Hellraiser movie."
"Aim to wound!"---"'Small-town cop' doesn't usually make for a great resume for a leader of a ragtag space crew of inter-dimensional kidnapees."---"No, no it doesn't."
"How long have we been here?"---"This is a ship."---"So, we've all been abducted, is that it?"---"Stacy is the ship."
"...Six months, fourteen days, and thirty-five seconds..."
"...I'm afraid it's time Little Sammy-Boy and I bid you adieu!"---BLAM!!
"AaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!" Sam screamed, throwing his head back violently as if it would somehow purge all the scattered memories from his head that were obviously trying to right themselves.
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Speaking of expecting....
She suddenly turned to Dean and held her hand up - telekentically keeping him from advancing forward and interferring with Sam. "If you even try to stop me from helping him, so help me I will make you think you're a five year old girl and I'll have you asking people to do your hair. Do you understand?"
She'd heard something like that before.
She didn't even wait for him to answer, she just turned back to Sam. Leaning over him she took a deep breath and lowered the walls in her mind completely. Touching his face again, she closed her eyes.
~Sam, please... You need to try and focus on my voice. I can't help you if you don't.~
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Every nerve in his body is shouting and raging at him to go help Sam, but Jean is holding him back with her freaky-deaky psychic powers or whatever, and he can't move any closer. And he tries, definitely, responds to her threat with an angry glare. He'd never try to stop someone from helping Sam, and he's offended by that, deeply so.
In fact, he's shouting at her, struggling with the telekenisis until he can't anymore, and when he finally slumps down to the floor, he's so tired he can barely move. He watches dully, panting slightly, and if there's tears sliding down his cheeks, well, he ignores them.
"Sam..."
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Gradually, the images began to slow down and eventually dimmed. One by one, the voices began to fade and fall silent until, finally, the only voice that remained was Jean's.
Sam's breathing was deep and heavy when he finally looked up at the red head that cradled his tear-streaked face in her hands. But when he looked at her, it was without recognition.
"Who are you?" he asked. The confusion in his expression was genuine. It was as if their earlier introduction hadn't happened at all.
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He was confused, and he wasn't playing around. He honestly had no idea who she was. It was like they'd never been introduced. Brain injuries.
"I'm a friend," Jean smiled, and quickly glanced over her shoulder and dropped her telekinetic shield she'd popped up in front of Dean. "My name's Jean," she added, her attention focusing once more on Sam.
"How are you feeling?"
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Dean thinks that's all he can do, for the moment.
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"Dean...?" There was a look of confusion on Sam's face. "What are you doing here?"
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