The Short Second Life of Mil Winchester - Book 2

From the Inside Looking Out

A/N: Welcome, Millers, to the new book! Enjoy!

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FROM THE INSIDE LOOKING OUT

DEAN'S POV

Sam's face was impossibly calm, almost impassive, but I knew the truth that lay behind those stoic paua eyes. I squeezed his hand tight into mine as we proceeded up the ominous trail. I could practically taste the alcohol on dad's breath that tainted the air behind me as he followed at my heels, six month old Mil in his arms. I wondered if it was entirely safe to entrust him with a baby whilst intoxicated, but as dad'd pointed out - I was only ten. What did I know?

The service was small, consisting of only a few friends from dad's work, the neighbours, and the smattering of extended family we still had left - mostly cousins on mom's side whom I couldn't remember ever meeting, but all the same offered their sincere condolences. I swear, I heard 'I'm sorry for your loss' enough times in the space of an hour to make me want to blow my brains out. Mom wasn't dead. She wasn't. All of this was just a bad dream. She was only attacked, like last time. She was a bit burnt and in hospital, but she'd recover. She'd be fine and we'd all go back to normal very soon.

But no.

It wouldn't go back to normal, would it? There wouldn't be a normal anymore, not for us. Nothing would simply be 'fine' again; because this time mom really was dead, and our lives were about to change forever.

I was only ten, almost eleven, but already I had to grow up, to be mature and to take care of my little siblings, because they were about to grow up without a mother. Through thick and thin, I had to protect them, and we had to stick together. I, Dean Winchester, had to protect this family.

And I, Dean Winchester, had failed.

Beeeeeeeeeeeep

"I'm sorry, sir, but I have to ask you to leave."

No.

"Mr Snyderson, you need to leave. I'm sorry."

No.

I was vaguely aware of Sam tugging my arm, of stumbling blindly out the door, where buzzing filled my ears.

"Mil," I choked. "Mil. Please."

Sam was rubbing my back, his head on my shoulder, tears staining the collar of my jacket. I think the action was supposed to be comforting, but it didn't make me feel any better.

"I know, Dean. I know," I heard Sam mumble.

"Mil..."

MIL'S POV

My coming to was probably one of the most dramatic I'd ever experienced. At least five unfamiliar faces swirled around me, dressed in lab coats. One held a pair of defibrillator paddles, I noted. This observation occurred as I gasped for breath, I could hear my lungs rattling and hissing and I breathed again, deep. I blinked against the harsh lights of the room, and then one of the observers - female - spoke.

"Millicent. Millicent Snyderson? Can you hear me?"

I winced both in response to the use of my name and the sudden realisation of stabbing agony up my right arm and in my chest - topped off with a pounding headache. I mumbled something imperceptible even to myself - it was probably just that, a mumble.

In response, the woman turned to one of the other observers and ordered something that sounded like: "She needs more pain meds."

Pain meds? What? Where the heck was I? The crook of my left elbow felt weird, and I glanced down with a lurch to see an IV line protruding. What? Was I in hospital? What had happened? I wracked my brains, but was met with a blank wall. I couldn't access anything more recent than the confrontation with the trickster Isabel. That made my head pound, and I groaned, closing my eyes again. Darkness welcomed me and the pain was even beginning to fade... then that blasted woman began calling my name.