You try to be good; you know how it hurts your brother. You sit and writhe waiting to feed the addiction you have tried so hard to rise above. But the outcome is inevitable. So you do the only thing you can: open the window and let the freedom blow at your face and whip through your hair. You sneak out undetected like smoke, moving effortlessly and without pausing to think, and you find yourself a little scared at how easy it is for you to choose the drug before your brother. But before your conscience eats you alive, you start running. You run and run, until the night swallows you whole, leaving nothing but a semi-conscious thought to be back before Dean finds the empty bed.
You walk the back alleys and dark streets searching for shady people, sinking into the shadows at the sound of a car grinding to a halt beside the curb. It doesn't take you long to get the powder; but a feeling of uneasiness clings to the space around you. As a Winchester, you learn quickly to move when you're feeling uncertain. So like a shadow, you follow the dealer's example and disappear into the darkness. Slinking behind the motel, and taking cover between the branches of evergreens; you slowly open the box containing the remnants of the last dime bag, a lighter, a spoon, and the faithful old needle that will once again raise you up and into the sky. You know from life-long experience that you'll want to stay there and never fall, but the high costs are more than you can afford. Besides, you need to be able to look at your brother tomorrow and not have a glassy-eyed gaze. So you tear into the plastic wrapped powder, dipping the tip of your baby finger into the sandy substance and bringing it to your mouth. It tastes good, it tastes pure. Careful as to not spill a single bit, you pour the contents onto the spoon. You fill the syringe from the water bottle you bought at the convenience store, and release a steady stream onto the silver surface. You stare in sick anticipation as the partially dissolved particles glint in the moonlight. You pick up the lighter sitting on the ground beside you, and hold it's warmth to
the underside of the spoon; watching the magic of the powder and water boiling. The steady hand you hold dissolves as quickly as the drug, and your body starts shaking with the need to feel the burning in your veins as the needle pierces the skin and penetrates the vein.
You don't remember how, but you finished both bags and were soaring. You finished the water, but it doesn't really matter; you weren't really thirsty anyways. You sit and watch the full moon so low and big, rise to its peak in the sky. You follow it up until it disappears behind the sunrise coloured with blue and pinks. Then, you slip into an addict's crashing sleep, losing the thought that you should slip back into your own bed and pretend that sleep hasn't evaded you all night. But your limbs are elastic and your eye lids lined with lead, and you're just too damn tired to care. So you stop caring, and prop yourself between the cluster of trees and the little box of dreams in your arms. You sleep through the day nestled in the trees, which are keeping you safe and covered from looking eyes. Your subconscious hears Dean calling your name, covered so deeply in worry that his voice was breaking. Your mind tells you to wake up, it tells you that something isn't right with your brother. But your body craves sleep, so it pulls you deeper into the dreamless black abyss. Dean is forgotten along with where you are sleeping, and what is curled between your arms.
You wake up to the darkness of the night, confused as to where you are. You try to sit up; but decide that lying down is still better. A pounding headache threatens to crack open your skull. You knew you should have brought more water with you. As your head starts to clear, you remember the craving, the shadows of alleys the moon fading into a sea of colour. You try to think past the head-ache to what happened during the night (apparently the day too.) Dean's voice, cracked and dripping with worry, assaults your brain competing with the head-ache. Why didn't you wake up? You obviously understood how bad your brother hurts, knowing that you're missing. No, not "missing". Winchesters never went "missing," they were always kidnapped.
Dean is probably blaming himself for not taking care of you like he promised he would. That in itself makes you stagger to a crouching position; a movement that has you wishing you were dead. Of course, Dean will make sure of that when he finds you. You know that this is your fault and you know you are going to have to own up to it. You fall to your hands and knees and slowly crawl towards the house, but not before burying the box. Dean can't find out about your addiction. Maybe, you can just lie and tell him it's just a bad hangover. Maybe, you can say it was just pent up teenage anger that lead to you sneaking out into a bar. Maybe that way, he might not be as mad as he could be. Whatever you decide to tell him; you're going to have to find a way to tell Dean you're sorry. Something you think of as you painstakingly crawl towards the condo you rent with Dean as you wait for your dad. You almost reach the door before it becomes too much. Your vision blurs to black and your body slumps lifeless to the cool ground once again.
You wake once again keeping your eyes closed to whatever is beyond your lids. You think you might be dead, you might be stuck like all other ghosts that you fight; reliving your death over again till someone burns your body. You realize that you're covered in thick scratchy blankets, and a warm light that enters past your lids; eye-lids which are too stubborn to open. Then, you hear Dean's voice talking to someone you don't recognize. Dean sounds so relieved, but the other person sounds stern and almost angry.
"You think I should allow a young man, such as your brother live here?" the stern voice scolded. You wait for Dean to tell the masculine voice to screw off, that he would take care of you. But Dean just mumbles his apologies, and says that he'll try harder. You screw your eyes and will your body back into slumber. You don't want to listen to your brother sound so broken; but it's a punishment your body makes you endure. So you hide your head under the blanket and wait for the unknown voice to leave the house. As you wait you think of ways you'll make it up to him, but somewhere between sorry speeches and punishments for yourself, Dean gently shakes your shoulder and asks if you're awake yet. You're conflicted. Maybe you can postpone the inevitable; but no. You decide that you have put him through too much already, so you throw the covers away from your face to see how bad your brother actually looks.
"Dean I'm sor..." you whisper, stopping at Dean's glare.
You find your voice unable go any louder; even if you wanted to. You try once again, "I really mean it!" you quickly whisper, as Dean begins pacing around the room with his hands running through his hair.
He's angry, and you can tell that he wants to bitch you out. But he won't. At least not right now, because you need to be taken care of. He tells you that the person who was there was a social services representative he had to call after you went missing. He continues with a sorry, and tells you that you're getting placed in foster care. But once Dad comes back, they'll come and get you; he reassures you. He tucks you back in and tells you to sleep, he'll be back before you wake up. As he exits you hear him leaving a message on your dad's phone, begging him to come home. He closes the door, and tears fall from your eyes. You think of ways to make it better, to make it up to Dean. Finally, you find a way… the only way.
You throw the covers off of you, and head to the kitchen. Your stomach was grumbling, so you figured it would be the best place to go right now. As you reach for the refrigerator door, you notice a calendar. You think back to that night and check the date today. It's been four days; and suddenly you're not really hungry. You head to your bedroom, and grab the duffel bag that you were so glad to stop living out of once Dean rented the condo. Now, it's the first thing you reach for. You fill it with clothes, the favourite knife of yours that Dean gave you a couple years back, and your saved allowance. You head once again to the kitchen, grab a couple of granola bars, and write a note for Dean. You write everything down that Dean wouldn't let you say. You tell him you're sorry, that you're going to make it better. With that, you place the note in Dean's bed and sneak out the front door; with plans of never returning. You swear you're leaving this place for good; you just need one more stop to the trees to dig up the box. You're going to burn the box that once held everything you wanted in life; the reason you will never see your brother again.
You pour the gasoline and light the match; you watch your dirty secret be engulfed by flame. It seems liberating leaving no trace of a former life. As your cravings start to take hold, you know its going to be hard. But you are going to be clean, because you have no one else to hurt but yourself.