I wait. He doesn't come back. I stay in the room. If I leave, he gets mad. It's stupid. The computer runs out of battery, but I don't have the charger. It's in the car. With Dean. And he isn't back yet. I bet he's getting drunk. Getting laid. Maybe he finally left me. The motel has crappy cable channels. I settle on a Syfy movie about some octopus shark thing. I can't say when I fell asleep. Before the main character thinks of a brilliant idea to take down the beast.
I open my eyes to darkness. The TV is off. I fell asleep with it on. Is Dean back? I hear something move by my bed. I smell alcohol. I smell cigarettes. He doesn't smoke. Must have been a bar that allows smoking.
"You up?"
I'm tempted to ignore him. He left me. I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday. "No."
"Smartass." Neither of us speak for a second. I hear his bed groan as he falls into it. I can feel the trembling floor through my bed. I wait for the thump of his shoes falling, but it never comes.
"You should take off your shoes," I say quietly, not moving. He grumbles something. It's followed by the sound of his shoes hitting the floor. I smile before closing my eyes to sleep again. There's a sigh from Dean's bed.
"We're leaving tomorrow, Lex. Where're we goin'?" He's asking for the job. I wonder what will happen if I tell him that I didn't find one.
"Harrisburg, Pennsylvania," I say softly. "Shifter."
"I hate shifters."
"I know." I pause. "I think there's a witch in Colorado, but the Shifter is closer."
"Awesome."
We drive for hours when we wake. Dean is still hung over, so food is out of the question. I stay in the backseat. I like the backseat. It has more room and I can't just sit around for hours. It doesn't feel right to sit in the front. It seems to be reserved. I haven't asked by who though. I'm scared of the answer. After a while, Dean looks back at me through the rearview mirror.
His hair isn't in his usual faux hawk. His eyes are red. Tired. He looks like he wants to just stop. He looks like that a lot. It's either that or his suicidal mindset that won't let him leave a town until the big bad is dead. I wish we could quit. We never do though. So, here I am in the backseat of a car named Baby.
He speaks. His voice is rough. Raw and cracked.
"You look kinda pale."
"So do you," I respond, resting my head on the back of the bench seat he sits on. "I have an excuse. I'm almost ginger."
"Does being hung over count for anything?" he asks lightly. I think for a second. Just for show. I already know my answer.
"No. That was your own stupid fault."
He just rolls his eyes. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." He pauses and looks at me. Not through the mirror, but actually turning his head to look at me. My head hurts, my temple throbbing. I wonder if he can see it.
BoomBoomBoomBoomBoomBoom.
"You feeling okay?" He asks. He looks to the road again. I wonder what my answer will be. Am I fine? Am I just tired? Maybe I'll go with guilt trip and tell him I'm hungry. But I'm not. I just feel empty. I feel numb. I close my eyes to think.
BoomBoomBoomBoomBoomBoom.
"Lex."
I open my eyes. The light is dimmer. I look out the window. We're parked in front of a diner. The sun is low. Dean turns off the car. He looks back at me. He has a funny look in his eyes. Concern? Depression? He always has depression in his eyes. He sees how I have the bear in my arms. Something else flashes in his eyes. I don't know what. I'm too busy wondering when I grabbed the bear.
"Come on, you need food," he says finally. He gets out and I follow him. My legs protest. My knees hurt. I'm not sure why. Maybe the car shrank. I doubt it. Dean never complains about being cramped, and he's huge compared to me. He holds the door open for me, following me as I walk in.
The greasy smell makes me feel sick. I don't say anything. Dean doesn't like it when I complain about our food choices. I think he might have grown up on these types of places. I didn't. My old town didn't even have a diner. The thought of my old home makes me feel sicker than the smell of the food. I follow Dean as he sits in one of the booths. I slide into the seat across from him. He stares out the window at the car, then at me. He opens his mouth to say something, but a waitress walks up and cuts him off.
She's young. She's pretty. I have a feeling Dean's going to sleep with her. He's flirting. She calls me his daughter. He doesn't correct her. I wonder why. He orders a burger. It's a diner that offers breakfast all day. I get pancakes. He gets soda to drink. I ask for strawberry milk. I like strawberry milk. I'm sorry, sweetie, we don't have strawberry milk. I ask for chocolate milk. It'll have to do. The waitress leaves. Her name is Sherry, I think.
"You look like crap."
I ignore him. The jukebox is playing. Oldies. Music Dean doesn't like. I like the oldies. A song by Buddy Holly comes on. Dean makes a face. He opens his mouth, probably to call it stupid, but stops. I lay my head on the table. I listen to the music and close my eyes.
"Everyday, it's a-gettin' closer, goin' faster than a roller coaster. Love like your's will surely come my way."
Sherry comes back with our food. We eat in silence. I don't finish my second pancake. I'm not very hungry.
Decided to go ahead and put this one. Still okay? Dunno when the next will be, so yeah. Feedback is awesome. I got some awesome feedback for the last one. Awesome feed back makes me feel... well, awesome.
