Popplagið
Creeno
My laptop is back, hard-drive intact, as evident by this long-written chapter. xD Me fucking with chronology again. Have fun with Sammy.
Forty weeks before Dean died, you woke up to find Ruby pouring demon blood into your mouth.
You threw her off and spat out what you could. You told her to leave. Ruby laughed.
Thirty-nine weeks before Dean died, while being held down by a possessed doctor, you were caught off guard when a scalpel from the near-by table suddenly zoomed up and sliced the doc's neck, clean.
Thirty-three weeks before Dean died, you woke up from a nightmare to see the lamps suddenly zoom back to earth and only managed to keep your laptop from falling too.
When Dean came back and asked about the mess, you said that one of the maid's had done it. You didn't feel guilty.
Thirty weeks before Dean died, you found Ruby waiting for you at a bar, smirking in the light, asking you just how far you would go to save your brother.
You answered. But not with words.
Twenty-seven weeks before Dean died, while he was out at bar doing some other nameless girl with a great body, Ruby taught you how to control other Demons.
You felt sick every time you did it.
Ruby told you you'd get better. She told you that you were deserving, you weren't Ava.
Twenty-six weeks before Dean died, Ruby gave you a book on how to summon the Dead.
You didn't think you'd use it.
You almost brought back your father, but she'd told you that you weren't able to bring anyone back from Heaven. It made you feel bittersweet.
You told Ruby to keep it.
Twenty-four weeks before Dean died, you found an e-mail. The tagline read:
6/1/08.
You frown, click, but it does nothing.
You decide to trust Ruby.
Four weeks before Dean died, you had finally found what could help you. Ruby had smiled, really smiled then.
Two days before Dean died, you had everything ready to go. You just had to wait a little bit longer.
The day Dean died wasn't the right day. It was the Day you were supposed to save him.
When you found him dead, after going out to get food, getting ready to tell him why you'd been so happy the past few weeks, you blanked.
You don't remember what happened.
The next thing you knew, Ruby had pinned you down, looking sad for the first and maybe only time. Her face was bloody, your hands were bloody.
She wouldn't tell you what you did.
But you guess.
After that, you didn't burn Dean. You couldn't do it.
You sat with his cold, cold body for three days, sometimes falling asleep next to him and thinking that he'd wake in the morning.
And he didn't.
That hurt the worst.
Ruby followed you, even if you couldn't see her. She followed you as you drove out and buried him in the thick, Georgia forest where you'd been that week. She watched as you spread runes, salt around his grave.
You think she might've cried too.
You know you did.
Cried more than you've ever had.
And afterwards, you put up a ring of stones.
You told Dean you'd be back.
Now, you measure time, postmortem.
Two weeks after Dean died, you woke up with a hangover to find one Sherman Tuscon standing over you, jerking, and a knife clutched in his hand. His eyes were bulging, and he kept trying to jerk down, kept trying to stab you.
For a moment, you almost let him.
Then you felt that thing Ruby told you to always control rise up and you said no.
You left Memphis with Sherman Tuscon in a pool of his own blood in hotel room number 447.
In Maplewood, Minnesota, you exorcised three possessed men.
Sort of.
If by exorcise, you mean leaving them gulping on their own blood and with a good bit of their psyche down the drain, then yes.
Twelve weeks after Dean died, Ruby catches up with you.
You've just gone toe-to-toe with James Dean: The Zombie and not the Rebel Without A Cause one. You won, and now he's having a nice time with his father's memories. You're bloody and exhausted and you've been blanking.
Ruby slaps you at first sight.
Then you blank out again and come back to her panting hard, blood on her doll-like face, pain going through your arm, and tears on your face.
She tells you to go to bed, you'll need it.
That morning, you two talk.
About what you did.
Why?
You couldn't honestly say.
So you didn't.
Ruby looked disappointed, at first. Then she handed you the Colt wordlessly and her knife. She looked up at you and bit her lip before speaking.
You still gonna try?
And again, you answered:
Yes.
It's been twenty-nine weeks since Dean has died. You're recovering from burn wounds, not too big. You were lucky to get out of that diner.
And all you can think at first are those words Lucifer held in front of you:
Sammy?
Mom?
Dad?
It hurts to know that Dean said your name first.
You twist in the uncomfortable sheets. Lucifer shut you down last night, without batting a goddamn eyelash.
You can find her corpse―
You tell your brain to shut the fuck up.
...tell Dean you said 'hello'.
The lights flicker dangerously and you close your eyes.
Not now.
Not now.
It's been long enough.
You stole a new laptop, left the hospital.
You click on the e-mail Ruby sent you.
And you smile.
Thirty weeks since Dean died, you pour pig blood into a vat. Dead black sheep line it and you pour milk and honey into it. You wrinkle your nose and go on.
You take a swig of wine before spitting it back out and pouring the rest into the mixture. The water goes next and then you slit your wrist over it.
And smiling, you let it pour into the mixture before you dip your whole hand and stir it all together, saying what Ruby told you.
You pull your hand out and you wait.
You'll have Dean.
You will.
Review, totally makes my day.
