Day 14
8:00 AM
Before I open my eyes, I know that it's raining. I can hear the heavy drops slamming into the window.
I stretch, groaning, feeling yesterday's combat in every muscle.
I turn onto my stomach, burying my face in the flannel that's wrapped around me. I inhale, but all I smell is the shampoo that Jenni had loaned me yesterday.
A quick glance to my left shows me an empty bed, and I jump up, immediately guarded, worried.
Dean.
He hadn't said a word the entire walk back to the house, which we eventually found after cluelessly stumbling upon the house where we had first met Jenni and making our way back from there.
I had gotten him inside and left him sitting in the living room holding the trench coat while I sat with Jenni in the kitchen, going over what had happened.
She still didn't seem guilty over leaving us behind. I still didn't blame her. Truth be told, I'd have probably done the same for almost total strangers.
"We didn't find much at the 7-11," she'd said while I stared out the window, a mug of tea cradled in my hands. "I don't think it's worth it to go back."
I nodded softly, my mind more on fixing Dean than finding food.
She'd still been talking when I interrupted callously, "Is there somewhere around here that still has gas?"
Jenni had stared at me for a second, then hummed thoughtfully. "There might be," she says. "But Caitlyn, do you really want to risk going back there?" Her eyes darted to the door to the living room where Dean was, as far as I could tell from the silence, still right where I'd left him.
"I don't know," I'd sighed. "He sure as hell can't go back, though. And I don't know enough about cars to know if that's even the problem."
She'd been silent for a few moments, nursing her own tea.
"I'll send Todd out tomorrow, if it's clear. He knows a thing or two."
I had offered to go with him, but she'd shot me a look and a smile that said I'd be sorry.
After finishing my tea, I had gotten Dean upstairs and into bed. He had remained mute, but compliant. No argument, no balking. He had stood in the center of the bedroom for a full minute before I had realized I was going to have to explain that he needed to get ready for bed.
He had managed to accomplish that task on his own, but I still had to all but tuck him in, filthy trench coat and all. I sat in the cozy chair by the window, and had managed to keep my tears in until I was certain he was asleep.
Two hours of crying later, I had crawled into bed and fallen asleep.
And now, I'm tripping over my own feet, racing downstairs in a desperate search for my broken friend. I hear rustling from the kitchen, and head straight there. The second I'm through the door, I skid to a stop in my sock feet. I'm sure it would be comical, if it weren't the zombie apocalypse and Dean wasn't dead center of a nervous breakdown.
Except, Dean isn't dead center of a nervous breakdown. He's dead center of the kitchen, showered, dressed, and scrubbing the counter for all it's worth. Jenni is leaned against the opposite counter, across the island, a baffled half-smile on her face, coffee in hand. She glances to me, shrugs, tips her mug in greeting, and heads into the living room.
I look around the room, and take it in. Not that it was dirty before, but it is nothing if not immaculate now. Knick knacks are straightened, dishes are put away, stainless steel is gleaming.
I clear my throat, and his head whips around. His smile is blinding.
"Mornin'," he says.
"M-morning," I stutter back. How is this the man I put to bed last night, I wonder.
"You missed breakfast," he says apologetically, still wiping at the countertop.
"That's ok," I reply carefully, trying to decide how delicately to tread.
I take the kettle from the useless electric stove and move to the sink to fill it with water, throwing out (what I'm hoping is) a very non-chalant "How are you?"
"Me? M'fine."
He seemed surprised at the question.
I set the kettle on the propane camp stove and settle back to wait for the water to heat, eyeing him.
He eyes me right back, waiting for one of us to finally become uncomfortable enough to fill the silence.
I break first.
"Yesterday…last night…you just seemed," I start.
He finally stops cleaning, lifting his head to look at me. "Caitlyn, I'm fine. I needed to…I don't know, process or something. But it's done, it's processed, it's fine, I'm fine." He sighs. "Now drop it. Please."
I turn my stare to the kettle, murmuring my acceptance to, in fact, drop it. I want to ask where he put the coat, as it wasn't obviously visible in the bedroom on my flight to find him, and clearly wasn't in his spotless kitchen. I assume that, pertaining to "dropping it", asking would be a bad idea, so I remain silent, waiting for the whistle.
Day 14
1:30 PM
The first glimpse I get of Todd since our meeting two days ago is his back, with a rifle slung across it, marching down the street with purpose.
I'm surprised he agreed to go, as he really wasn't getting anything out of it, and he seemed the type to demand a scratch in return.
I watch him through the dining room window until I can't see him anymore, then decide it's probably time to let Dean know what he's doing.
I find him in the living room, stretched out on the sofa, flipping through Cosmo, of all things.
He looks up when I come in the room, smirking.
"These sex tips, do women actually believe this crap?"
I grab the magazine from his hands, and toss it onto the coffee table, rolling my eyes.
"Of all the things in this house to read, you chose that?" I laugh.
He shrugs, then side-eyes me.
"You're hovering," he states.
I sigh, lowering myself to the other end of the couch, and he slides his feet back toward himself to make room.
"Baby," I say quietly to my lap.
"Hey now, I know we've spent the last two weeks together, but pet names?" he snarks.
"Stop it," I reply, as firmly as I can manage and not sound like a total bitch, and his gaze drops to his own lap. "Baby, Dean."
He swallows audibly, but seems otherwise stable. I take it as a sign to continue.
"Todd is on his way to check, to see if…if something's wrong, or if we just need gas, or…"
He nods tersely, and I already know why.
"We didn't want…" I pause, take a breath. "I didn't think it would be a good idea for you to go back there." He starts to react, and I slide myself around on the couch to face him. "No, listen to me, please. Yesterday, the way you reacted, you…That can't happen again, Dean. It can't." His eyebrows scrunch together, but he stays quiet, listening. "I'm no good out there by myself. I don't know what I'm doing, and if you go all useless on me again, I'm gonna get us both killed."
"Useless?" he scoffs.
"Yes, Dean, useless. Do you even remember? You sat there, staring at nothing, while a Walker came at me, at us."
"I remember, I'm not a fucking idiot, Caitlyn. You took care of it, knife to the head, no problem."
I jump up from the couch, tears springing to my eyes. "It was one, and she had one arm, Dean! And I barely managed to "take care" of her. What if there'd been more? What then?"
"Then I'd have helped you, Jesus, Caitlyn! You think I'd have just let Walkers attack you?"
"Dean!" I shout. "You did! That's exactly what you did!"
"It was one Walker, if I'd thought you couldn't handle it…" he trails off.
"No, no way," I say, starting to cry in earnest. "You were completely useless, and you can't even admit it. You're completely bent over this trench coat, and your car, and you were a useless mess, and you left me. You checked out, and you left me." I can't stop the tears, and they begin to flow hard and fast. "And Sam may or may not be out there somewhere, and his shirt doesn't smell like him anymore, it just smells like me, and it was all I had left, you and that shirt, and you left me." I hiccup, effectively stopping my rant long enough for him to interject, but he doesn't.
I don't chance a look at him, choosing instead to inspect the pattern of the carpet at my feet.
"I'm sorry," he whispers.
I take a deep breath, regaining my composure a bit.
"Me too," I mutter.
"No. Caitlyn, I…"
I look up at that, the falter in his voice.
"I mean, I'm sorry. For yesterday. You're right. That coat…Cas' coat…it threw me. And then the car. I just…I left you. You're right, and I'm sorry."
I nod, and whisper, "Ok."
"We're gonna have a problem though," he says.
I finally look up, questioning.
"If that dickbag thinks he's driving my Baby anywhere."
