Author's Notes:
this chapter is of course a flashback, taking us to the very beginning of this tale, and to a couple of months after Sam jumped into the hole, this does not follow the show's timeline.
He grunts, head rolling to the side, eyes still scrunched shut. His consciousness still lies somewhere in between reality and dreams, only his dreams are nothing short of a nightmare. The stench of sulphur and copper jarring his senses, caught on the back of his tongue, and he'd rip it out himself if only he'd stop convulsing.
"Dean."
His name. The owner of the voice strong and true, with a twang of familiarity, making his heart stutter in his chest. The person said his name again, softer this time, but as clear as a bell, it felt nearer too. Sam? He heard that too, though this he was sure hadn't left his head, and now there was a weight to this other being, pressing in on his shoulder as he was shaken, and he jolted forward with a desperate gasp, eyes wild, trying to piece together where he was before it all came crashing back, and there she was. Lisa.
He flinched as she reached out to him, her thumb grazing his cheek. It was then he realised they were wet, and he swiped at the tears with a haste, clearing his throat.
"You were dreaming again."
She says it smally, non-accusatory, her hand falling to his, and he knows had he the courage to look that he would see concern etched across her beautiful face, but it still burns, and he pulls his hand back, letting it rest on his thigh. When he finally raises his eyes to hers, his lips, pulled tight, are cracked, and he lets his tongue flick out over them, opening his mouth to speak, but he had nothing to say, and without any coffee in his system he doesn't quite have the patience to hear anything that she has, so he pushes up from the bed heading to the en suite.
Feeling more than seeing her at the door, knuckles growing white as he gripped onto the bowl of the sink, he closed his eyes, taking a much needed breath. Forcing his eyes back open he took up his toothbrush, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as she left him to it, but not before she gave a resigned sigh. And he couldn't blame her for it, he didn't deserve her kindness. He didn't deserve her bed. He didn't deserve her. This wasn't what she had signed on for. He knew that she had known that there would be a 'grieving period' but that wasn't what this was. This was a way of life.
And one he wasn't so willing to just let go. For as long as he hurt he felt Sam. And in the moments, however fleeting, like when he had watched Lisa load up the dishwasher or when Lisa had taken him to one of Ben's baseball games or the time that Ben had decided to tell Dean about his first crush, rather than telling his mother, and had asked advice about kissing. Those were the times it hurt even more. When he remembered. Knowing that somehow he'd dared to forget.
He rinsed out his mouth, dragging his hand down his stubbled jaw. The toilet seat making a hollow clunk as it hit the lid against the tank.
o_O ~One Month Later ~O_o
His lip curled as the light shone on his face. Pulling his arm up and over his eyes, he tried to twist round, the honking of a horn from a passing truck making him leap out of his skin, and he sat up too quickly, his head smacking against the steering wheel. "Son of a-" he rubbed at his forehead, smacking it with his palm before moving to sit up properly, carefully. He grunts, his throat feels thick, like he may never swallow again, and dry like sandpaper, or like the rough end of a weathered park bench. He reaches back over the seat to try and find some water, but comes up with empties. He rolls his shoulders, his cheek resting against his left, and he stretches his neck 'til he hears a good crack, repeating the action for the other side. Pulling his hand down his face before slumping back into the seat, he tilted his head back over the top, eyes screwed shut.
Dean let out a low groan, he hadn't managed to find a motel the night before, forcing himself up into an upright position, he wrestled the keys from his pocket. He'd been on the road for almost two weeks, though he hadn't strayed too far. Hadn't even made it across the state line. He'd just had to get out of that house. Didn't want to disappoint the kid. But he knew he already had. His laugh was sharp, bitter and short lived, not even a full bark, just enough to remind him he needed a drink. He crammed the key into the ignition, putting his foot down a little too hard, his baby jerking forward, and he hit the brakes, cursing up a storm under his breath, and he smacked his hands down hard against the wheel.
Shaking his head on a breath, he pushed his hand back through his hair, and he started again, pulling out of the clearing, with no destination in mind, he drove. There was only forwards. And that was the problem.
o_O~Two Days Later~O_o
When Dean got to the front of the bar, he had to do a double take. Saloon doors? Actual real honest to god saloon doors, "Dude," he said with an incredulity to no one in particular, and that was mostly because there was no one for him to say it to, and partly, well he wasn't exactly aware of saying it out loud. He pushed his way through, walking straight to the bar and he was met by a wall of plaid, and he faltered. Managing to stay upright, and he drew his gaze up All the way up, "Dude you're huge," had to be at least seven feet, luck the only thing that saved him from saying 'fugly', which had he been in a more sober mind he might have appreciated, as it was the guy looked far from pleased at his presence.
"I think you should leave."
Dean threw his head back with a chuckle which ended on a dry note, "Yeah? Well you wanna know what I think buddy, I think you shouldn't be so hasty when it comes to those cream filled donuts," and he poked him. He should not have poked him. So much for luck.
