I am back. Just before vacation, I am back. BWAHAHAHA..ehem... Sorry it took so long, but i'm still writing that other story. I am also going on vacation tomorrow (well, actually, very verrrry early saturday) for two whole weeks. (and guess what? No internet. whoo...) So after this chapter, please be prepared to wait a bit. But hopefully by the time I get home, I'll have lots (?) more.
and yah know what? since my best friend starting reading this story... oh god, i've never heard the end of it. "So when's the next chapter gonna be up?" and "WHAT'S WRONG WITH DEAN?!" Every. single. time. we. talked. This is for you, mimi, here it is, FINALLY, yah JERK! (haha, i'm just kidding. loveyou)
This chapter...it felt like I was in a trance when i was writing it... Damn, that really doesn't sound good. I hope it's okay...damn i'm worried about it. Please let it be okay.
And just so you know, Popo almost died last chapter, since he only got three reviews. So I had to rush him to the...button doctor. I cried for days. That poor Popo! Maybe if he got twenty reviews this time... LOL, no, I know I'm pushing it.
I STILL don't own Supernatural...NEITHER does Popo!
please enjoy
True to his word, Dean took Sam to the Laundromat the next afternoon. They had stopped in a town a state or two over, and were staying in a motel until Sam found their next gig.
When Dean and his brother stepped into the Laundromat, they found it completely empty. There was only a sleeping man at the counter in the corner, but otherwise, nothing.
Sam didn't waste any time. He took his clothes and shoved them into a nearby washing machine. He dug into his pocket and took out a huge handful of quarters. He put a few of them in the washing machine and turned it on, and then turned to give Dean some.
Dean stared at him incredulously. "Dude, you look like you raided an arcade."
Sam poured some quarters into his hand. "It's called a change machine, Dean." And with that, he sat down on a bench in front of his washing machine.
Dean set the quarters aside and took his own clothes out of his bag, and stuffed them into the adjacent machine. He was about to close the top, but he realized that there was still something in his bag that he had missed. He dug into the bottom of the bag and drew out a pair of faded jeans.
Dean felt his movements slowing as he got a better look at the jeans. Crimson handprints stained the thighs, where he had wiped off the blood, and the knees were completely soaked through with the same liquid. Dean swallowed hard, recognizing the jeans he had worn the day Emma was killed. It was her blood. Her blood on his jeans. Dean bit down hard on his tongue and threw the jeans into the wash. Once he had fed the machine some quarters and turned it on, he eased into the bench beside Sam.
He might've been completely unaware of how he drifted off into a different world, or how his body didn't seem as sturdy as before, but Sam did.
Sam frowned as he sensed that something was wrong. He glanced to Dean, seeing the distant look in his brother's eyes.
What's up with that? he wondered. He didn't have to answer his own question, because he already knew the answer. He knew his brother was just hiding away again, beneath false smiles and stupid jokes… Dean was hoping that Sam would forget the nightmare so he wouldn't have to talk about it. But last time Sam checked, he didn't have Alzheimer's.
"Dean…," Sam began in a low voice, stealing a quick glance to the snoring man in the corner. "Why are you doing this?"
"Yeah, I wonder why…," Dean answered vaguely, as if he knew Sam was thinking about asking that question. He then frowned and looked at Sam. "Wait. Why am I doing what?"
Sam arched an eyebrow. "What did you think I meant?"
Dean shook his head. "I don't know… What did you mean?"
"I meant, why are you acting like you're completely fine when you're obviously not…?" Sam had to bite back the 'again'.
"What are you talking about, Sam?" Dean demanded, looking completely confused. "Dude, you really need to get some more sleep. I swear, I'm sorry for waking you up early yesterday. If I knew the lack of rest would go to your head, I woulda let you sleep for a month."
"Don't do that!"
"Do what?"
Sam glared at him. "Whenever I say something that even suggests that there's something bothering you, you go all Fort Knox on me and blame it on my nonexistent mental problems!"
"Man, you are a psycho." Dean tipped his head to one side and smiled widely. "But it's really cute when you act like you care."
"Don't do that!" Sam repeated. "Stop making stupid jokes! Stop smiling! Stop covering it all up, Dean, 'cause you aren't fooling anyone!"
Dean's smile quickly turned into an irritated frown.
The snoring man in the corner snorted and began to wake up. "Eh?!" he grunted loudly, blinking his eyes open. After fixing his eyes on Sam and Dean, he immediately narrowed them. "Do yah fellows need and 'elp?"
"No sir," Dean replied evenly. "We're just great." To Sam, he whispered, "Not here, Sam."
Sam folded his arms across his chest angrily, but sat back and fell silent.
Dean almost sighed in relief as he thanked the previously snoring man for waking up when he did. But he knew this peace wouldn't last very long.
The brothers spent the rest of their time in the Laundromat in complete silence. When Dean needed more quarters for the machines, he didn't even need to ask Sam for them. Sam just wordlessly dropped the coins into Dean's hand. Dean had even used some of the quarters to get four gumballs from the gumball machine, and Sam hadn't even complained about it. Why did he get four gumballs when he only really needed one? Well, there were two reasons. One, he only liked the blue kind and it took four tries to get it, and two, for some reason, he liked to watch the gumballs roll down the spiral ramp. When all was said and done, he had his four gumballs. Two white, one purple, and his blue one.
But since he despised the purple ones, he handed it to Sam without a word. Sam loved the purple ones…
Sam looked up in surprise, a question on his face. Maybe he was surprised that Dean remembered what his favorite was. Maybe he was surprised that Dean had even shared at all. Dean didn't know, but Sam took the gumball and popped it in his mouth anyway.
Dean looked down to the remaining three, and put each of them into his mouth. They were huge and rock-hard, but once he chewed them up, they turned into a huge gob of gum. And for a few more minutes, all was well.
But again, Dean knew this wouldn't last.
And Dean was right.
He and Sam walked back into their motel room, clean laundry in tow. Dean had noticed, dolefully, that the blood in his jeans hadn't washed out very well. Once he set his bag down, Sam, predictably, opened his mouth.
"Hey, Dean, we need to talk."
Dean hid a wince. Not the dreaded words… He feigned calm, though, and replied, "About what, Sam?"
Sam's eyebrow twitched irritably. He was getting sick of Dean playing dumb. "About you, Dean."
"Oh, cool. Well, I'm twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight… I like—"
"Dean!" Sam was getting impatient now.
Dean frowned, suddenly seriously. "I'm okay, Sam."
"Okay? Okay?! God, Dean! You haven't been okay this whole time! Ever since you came back, something's been wrong! Hell, even before that!"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You think I haven't noticed?! You're my brother, Dean! I know when there's something wrong with you! You haven't been acting like yourself, there's just something off! You barely even eat anymore, and God, did you really think I wouldn't notice that?!" Sam was yelling now, but he could care less.
Dean stepped closer to him. "Do you really want to know, Sam? I can't eat! I can't sleep! Do you have any idea why? Because it's kind of hard to keep on living when the two most important people in your life don't need you!"
Sam was silent for a second. "Dean, I swear, you've got to get over that. Me and Dad, we do need you. You're…you're…"
But Dean ignored him. "Sam, I swear, I've tried to eat. I don't even have to think about it… But my body, it just rejects it! It just won't take anything! My body can feel exhausted, I mean, seriously, running for your life for a week, exhausted, and still I can't sleep! I can't control it at all, it just does what it wants!" He clenched his fists hard enough that he could feel his nails biting into his skin. "I don't even know what the reason is anymore! It could be hunting. It could be you and Dad. It could be all this shit that's been going on. It could be everything. All I know is that I hate this, and I just want to go back to before all this happened!"
All that happened, Dean repeated in his mind. What do I mean by that? All that happened with the demon a few months ago? All that happened with me running away? All that happened with Emma? All that happened to us for all these years?
"Dean…," Sam said, losing his words for a moment. "Dean, we can't go on like this. This isn't working. I swear, I wish that we could go back too, but we can't… And…and, I'm kind of glad that it happened."
Dean tried his best to contain himself. "Sam. You just said that you didn't have mental problems."
"I don't! What I'm trying to say is, at least now I know that for some crazy reason, you think that me and Dad don't need you. That's the only reason you would believe the demon. The only reason is because you believe it too, and don't even try to deny it." He paused, looking seriously into Dean's eyes. "Dean. Me and Dad need you. We need you. God, if you weren't around, I think…I think…" He shook his head. "We couldn't go on without you, man."
You seemed fine when I was gone before, Dean thought before he could stop himself. "Fine, Sam, I get it. I believe you, okay?"
He really wished he did. He really wished he could. He wanted to so much, but there was something inside him that just wouldn't accept that. The words weren't enough somehow. Why? Why was this happening?
"Promise?"
Dean laughed at the gravity in Sam's voice. "Yes, Sammy, I promise." He smiled slightly. "Thanks for saying it." It was nice to hear, even if he didn't believe it completely.
"You're welcome. Now let's go get something to eat."
Dean frowned at him. "Jeez, I'm supposed to be the one who always thinks with his stomach."
"Well we skipped lunch, if you hadn't noticed, so yeah, I'm a little hungry. Do you think you're up to it?"
Dean's frown deepened. Now he regretted telling Sam about his sleeping and eating problem. His brother had officially turned into Nurse Sammy. "Yeah, I think I'll be okay for this one." God, he hoped he'd be okay.
"Okay, but why don't you order something like—"
"If you say 'salad', I swear I'll wring your neck."
"Uhh…order chicken or something. Like…plain…chicken."
Dean stared at his brother for a long time. "You suck, man."
"Shut up."
With Nurse Sammy, his mother hen and professional nutritionist, Dean got through the meal without projectile vomiting—which, it seemed, was what Sam was expecting. After eating, the brothers returned to their motel room once again.
Dean, full and happy, flopped onto his bed. He hadn't been full in a long time. Maybe it was because Sam was there. He didn't really know, but he was still happy. And since Sam had distracted him all day long, he hadn't thought of much of anything.
He pulled the covers up over himself to keep warm and frowned to himself. Now that he and Sam were going to sleep for the night, there was no one to distract him. And he was restless, again.
I probably should just take sleeping pills. Ah, like Lunesta, though that whole butterfly thing is pretty gay. What does a butterfly have to do with sleeping anyway? I bet Sam'd know…, he thought with a yawn. But sleeping pills were out. He didn't like those things at all. Once he was out, he was out, meaning if something came in to attack Sam, Dean would probably sleep right through it.
Just like when a something attacked Emma, and you slept right through it, he couldn't stop himself from thinking. His heart pounded twice, hard. He could still hear her little voice and see her cheerful face…
Dean unconsciously gripped his shoulder. It was mostly healed now; all that was left were a few four big scabs. They'd turn into nice scars.
Dean almost smiled. That's what John would always say when he or Sam got torn up.
"They'll turn into nice scars."
It was back when he and Sam were young, and scars were cool things to have—after they were done hurting. As they grew up though, the "they'll turn into nice scars" turned into "well, that'll make a good story."
Dean's mind came back to the present. Those scars wouldn't turn out nice. And they wouldn't make a good story. The only thing they would do was remind him of the mistake he had made. He could never tell Sam how badly he felt about it, because he knew his brother would try to fix it. It couldn't be fixed. Dean didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive himself. And…
He was so afraid that it'd happen again.
He was so afraid that one day, he'd fail to protect Sam.
Sam…if he ever died…
Dean knew he'd never be able to forgive himself. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle it. He couldn't stand to lose Sam. He couldn't let Sam get hurt. That's why he had to work harder to protect him…
Dean let out a huge yawn. I'm sure…Sam'll…be okay. I…I won't fail him… And he began to drift off to sleep.
But right before he fell asleep, he felt something twisting in his gut, and he got this feeling… He got this terrible feeling that something was going to challenge that promise he had just made.
OMG that sounds so ominous!
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review or I won't have any motivation whatsoever. And Popo will have to go back to the hospital...
I...love the gumball scene... I wrote it and knew it was pretty pointless... But I loved it... And so I didn't take it out...
Yeah just a random note.
Please review !