Like Moths to a Flame
Flying towards their demise
No definite explanation why
Possibly because they home in on the light
We'd asked them how if only they didn't burn
Take Me Away to a Secret Place
When being alone means having no one to share with.
Sam got the highest score, as usual. This one is a bit special because there was a competition. Well, Madelleine seems to think there was. And Sam doesn't like to disappoint.
Classmates clapping his back. Guys extracting promises for a celebratory beer and night out. Girls asking him out and slipping him numbers. He can't wait to tell Dean. He's grinning and opening the lock when he remembered.
He closed the door and went inside his empty apartment. It's been more than a month since he told Dean anything but his full ride to Stanford and a bitter goodbye.
Just A Mirror For The Sun
He's running. Shot-gun in one hand, a flashlight in another and a silver knife in his boots, his back and his thigh holster.
It was a werewolf. Or a shapeshifter. Something that hates silver most likely. He hid behind a tree and waited. Stood still and listened even when blood stung his eyes and dropped to his chest.
He can't believe the concussion's so bad he can't remember what the hell he's hunting. A sound of rustling leaves, heavy footsteps and he shoots. Next time, he'll take Sam with him. Sometimes he can deal better with Sam's bitchy know-it-all snappings. He can almost here it in his head - "I told you, it's a werewolf, Dad. What are you doing with iron bullets?" Rather than Dean's dangerous nagging "Dad! Dad you ok? Hey, you sure? Wait, stay there. Sam keep an eye on Dad. I'll check if the shapeshifter's still there." And then Dean'll go and Sam will follow - "Werewolf, Dean." "Whatever, geek."
He finishes the hunt. It was a shapeshifting werewolf. Go figure. Salt and burn and he's listing. The concussion's bad when he almost forgot the way back to the Impala.
He's opening the Impala's trunk and looking back at the forrest worried why his sons aren't back yet - then he remembered. It's been almost a year since he screamed "If you go out that door don't you ever come back!".
Sam's away learning at Stanford. Dean he sent hunting solo. He's proud of his sons. He is. But he's not proud of himself, for what he did and to all the decisions he would do for this, for the hunt, really for all of this to end. He's gunning the car with the radio on to some sad song about paying bills then he frowned thinking of something that he'd only thought of when drunk out of his mind or when in tonight's case, concussed and in shock. He wondered when Sam got out - why the hell didn't Dean follow.
Wear the Scars That Won't Heal
Dean's shrugging the leather jacket off before he even got inside the room. It's a cat-themed room this time. Cute but kinda creepy - the amount of cat eyes on the wallpaper, floating kitten heads on the bed sheets, the cat figurines lined up in the cabinet by the table, it's a freaking obsession. Dean empties smoke-scented and suspiciously stained leather jacket, plunks it and one of his wallets, his smith 'n wesson, his lock pick set, cellphone and some numbers on papers all over the cat head shaped table and whistled "You Shook Me All Night Long" while heading to the shower.
He's grinning when he passed by the cat bobble head, he bopped it and laughed like a kid when it did it's wiggly bobbing. Reminded him of Adriana. Hmmm, Adriana. Adriana with her british accent, her deep chocolate gaze, her catty reflexes and flex- Well, make that a cold shower.
The chinese and the burger and the pizza looks really delicious. It was and then Dean beat a personal record for eating all of it in one sitting. Except for the pizza which still had a few slices left. He can't say the same with the apple pie he brought from Granma Rose. He must say, Granma Rose didn't lie - the pie was absolute heaven.
Still had so much cash left from winning those poker games from the last town and then the thousand cash from the pool at the bar tonight. Credit cards and cash altogether , he's filthy rich. He sighs contently at the lazy boy in front of the TV playing X-files. And watches a parody of his life play out in the small staticky screen of a cat obsessed motel room after he gorged himself full. Hey, people like cakes and gifts and stuff yeah? Not Dean, just give him anything he'll be fine or don't do nothing it's ok, he doesn't care what birthdays mean anyways. Not his. Damn, Mulder makes him think stuff and he shuts off the TV.
He's limping towards a bed when he remembers - he hasn't taken his meds yet. Two sets of ten stitches would do that to you. Bloodloss and broken bones and especially fucking hospitals who doesn't know the meaning of AMA and fucking know it all doctors who'll give you every lame drug in the planet. He'd like to come back there just to say "Here I am Dr. McCarthy, and co." then he'd nod to those Nurse Ratchet wannabes, "I don't look like a squashed salad anymore, see. And I can walk now, thank you very much." More than walk actually but let's just say that there won't be missing teenagers in this town anymore. You're welcome Gardenville.
After chugging those pills down, he clambered to the nearest bed. Then tucked himself to sleep, sniggers at himself to that. Tries to sleep but he can't - he's so- If he doesn't make himself smile - he doesn't- And he's chuckling low at the cats painted on the ceilings frolicking in the meadows it seems like. The cat -she's playing tag, ok, with that other one and Dean thinks she's winning maybe she's fast, how she runs and runs nearer to the sun, while the other one seems so gray and so pathetic and maybe he doesn't know how to run or play tag and maybe he doesn't know it's a game and he's so close to crying and maybe all she wants is for him to go with her to the sun, but then they'll burn. And b-burn. burn.
It's the meds. It's the fucking meds. And it's not his fault people always leaves him. It's not.
And maybe it really is his fault.
And he remembers Sam and his backpack, his silhouette as he starts his quest to normal - for more than 3 years now, had he found it? If he already did would he come back?
Staring at Dad's back giving him nothing more than some texts, a call and all of those disappearance acts - highest record four months and counting - Come on Dad, i'll give you the jacket back, I don't need it anyway. No? If I return b-the Impala to you, would you take me back then?
You don't remember Sam and Dad - when they last talked to you. One off on his own adventures at higher education and the other eager to finish his lifelong quest. Which apparently required them to leave his ass. Family meant so much more than this before. Whose good idea was it to think that it'll be all better for anyone to leave everyone?
And then there's a litany of names and pleas to comrades, and friends, to a few women, to Cassie and Lisa and Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim and to someone or other. It ends with Mom, Mom, Mom, if I eat a bullet would I die and go to where you are? Would you watch over me now instead of the angels? They can go back up there in heaven if you could just be here. He closed his eyes aware that it's the meds keeping him from sleeping, keeping him from feeling the pain but not from feeling this- It's just the meds.
That's what they told him. Sure, yeah, but seriously I don't need a shrink for that. You have to think how much they hate you. When everyone you ever cared for fucking leaves. Or when they just send you away. You kinda start wondering what the fuck's wrong. With you.
But you don't say that. You don't think of that as much as you can. Like how you don't try to think that you stayed - you fucking stayed and for what? For this.
It's the meds. Dean'll swear it was the meds when one unfortunate night after his birthday, he slept alone with a wet pillow on a room full of kittens on the wall, an empty bed by the door and a cellphone with no messages or calls.
It Never Ends