Dean downed the shot of whiskey, trying and failing to get the rush of memories out of his head. It kept replaying and replaying like it was on a continuous loop. The first time he had ever seen Connor, saw him smile, heard him laugh. When he finally told her he loved her and wanted to be with her. Their first time. The way she kissed him and held him tight when he told her had to leave.
"Barkeep," he called and watched as the bartender filled his glass up for the fourth time. He took a big gulp, and then groaned.
People say she's only in my head
It's gonna take time, but I'll forget
They say I need to get on with my life
What they don't realize
He swirled the contents of his glass. She had left, gone on vacation or something with her boyfriend, Rick. He thought the name with as much contempt as he could muster. And taken his son with them.
Is when you're dialing six numbers just to hang up the phone,
Drivin' cross town just to see if she's home,
Wakin' a friend in the dead of night,
Just to hear him say it's gonna be alright
When you're finding things to do not to fall asleep
Cause you know she'll be there in your dreams
That's when she's more than a memory
Rick. Who thought he was unfit to be a father to his son. His hand unconsciously went to the scar hidden by the hairline near his right temple. He could still hear the words echo in his head. His brains are probably addled by the shot he took while in the army. And you trust him with your son? He's crazy, and should be locked up, not taking care of a child. He took another long gulp of his drink and finally focused on his surroundings.
The bartender was at the other end of the bar, tending to a couple. There were a few people standing around, dancing and talking. All-in-all it was a pretty quiet night for the usually filled Tric. Then again it was a Sunday night in Tree Hill, North Carolina. He listened to the music playing over the speakers—no band tonight—and inwardly groaned.
"Hey, Karen," he called out to the woman who had helped his dad raise him and his brother after his mom had died of cancer. "Can't they play some different music?"
She listened for a moment and gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry, Dean," she said. "It's on a continuous loop." He stared at her, certain that even though she saw through most of his ploys as a child and teenager, that she couldn't read his mind.
Cause when you're talking out loud and nobody's there,
You look like hell and you just don't care,
Drinkin' more than you ever drank,
Sinkin' down lower than you ever sank,
When you find yourself falling down upon your knees,
Praying to God beggin' Him please,
That's when she's more than a memory.
He finished off his fifth and sixth drink in quick succession, and was considering another, when he saw the look on Karen Scott's face. "Dean Winchester," she warned.
He held up his hands in surrender and left the bar. He didn't want to go home. There his father and brother had been trying to keep his spirits up and the attention was driving him crazy. He opened the door of his Impala, heard the familiar squeak of the door, and drove, knowing Karen would be royally pissed if she had found he had drove in his condition.
Without realizing it, he had driven to a familiar place. The cemetery. He got out and his feet automatically took him to his mother's grave. There were fresh flowers on the headstone. His father had made it a habit to come visit her every Saturday and brought orchids, his mother's favourite flower. He sat and read the words so familiar to him. "Mary Winchester, December 5, 1954 - November 2, 1983, loving wife, mother and friend."
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he let his thoughts stray to memories of his mother. When he was little, she used to quote Dr. Seuss to make him laugh. The one she quoted most frequently was to show him to live his own life, be a leader. He still remembered it. "You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself, any direction you choose."
He let a few tears escape as he remembered the day she died. She had been fighting breast cancer for months and eventually her body wore out and stopped fighting. He was eight years old. He remembered asking anyone who would listen Why? Why was his mom dieing? What did she do to deserve what she got? No one knew how to answer him, but Mary, weak as she was, scooped both her boys in her arms and told them, "Dean, Sammy, sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple. God has decided that it's my time to go."
Sometime later, Sammy fell asleep and Mary looked at him and saw the tears pouring down the young boy's face and smiled at him. "Don't cry because it's over Dean. Smile because it happened." And then she was just gone.
Dean did a double take as the memory quickly switched to one with Haley, when they were happy. The tears flowing freely now, he wiped them away roughly and left the cemetery.
He decided he wasn't going to wallow in self-pity anymore. He was going to get his son back and maybe, if he tried his damnedest, Haley. He smiled as he remembered the saying so oft quoted by his long gone mother. "You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself, any direction you choose."