Wherever 'Miles Away' Really Is
On
Thin, white curtains billowed inward as cold air sough quiet refuge inside the dark motel room. Draw out shadows danced miserably in the light cast from a tiny, glowing lamp that flickered on, off, on, off in perfect timing with the changing mood of Dean's thoughts. Laying on his back, arm outstretched to the lamp's power button, Dean's eyes fixed themselves carefully on the ceiling, but his breaking heart was miles away with his baby brother.
Wherever miles away really was.
Off.
Sam had escaped two weeks ago. Dean had trembled and watched his lanky brother storm out, screaming curses at their father, who just stared and watch him leave. The tension from that night had since leaked into silence, and Dean wondered if Sam knew that it was okay form him to come home now.
On.
John's messy notes and Dean's half eaten burgers decorated the room, sitting, forgotten, atop dressers, or hiding quietly in open drawers. Room Service had tried to lay claim to them, but Dean had refused them entry to the room. They would have mopped up the dirt from Sam's boots on the peeling linoleum in the kitchen; neatened the pile of drawn-in, second-hand textbooks beside his unmade bed. They would have taken the very last traces of Sam that still lingered in Dean's world.
Off.
Pathetically, Dean shuddered and curled into himself.