Disclaimers: I don't own "Supernatural", nor the song "Hey God" (which belongs to Bon Jovi), and am making no profit from this.
Warnings: I've done my best about grammar and such, but this is unbetaed and I'm Italian, so please forgive any errors.
Hey God
Dean shifted in his sleep. He could hear music playing just above his consciousness.
He got up with a sigh and exited the motel room.
"Dad?" he called as he locked the door. "Keep it down, will you? It's not even six in the morning, you'll have the owner of this place comin' out to shoot us with his freakin' rifle. Or shoot the car, which would be worse."
"What are you talking about, Dean?" John Winchester said as he stretched to open the passenger door so that Dean could throw their bags in. "It's not me."
Dean frowned as he approached, 'cause he realized that the radio in the Impala was, in fact,
silent. But still, the music was playing. He looked around, puzzled.
"What the hell…?"
He woke with a small groan, blinking owlishly behind his sunglasses. The damn music was still playing. And this time it effectively came from the radio in the Impala. He sat up straighter and took the glasses off, rubbing his eyes and frowning at the sudden light.
"About time," Sam grinned beside him, shooting him a sideways glance as he drove.
Dean only grunted.
"Well, aren't you just the brightest ray of sunshine when you just woke up?" the younger Winchester chuckled.
"Shut up, Sam," Dean snapped, trying to recognize the music that had woken him up, which had nothing to do with his cassette tapes collection. "What the hell is this?"
"Well, you were asleep, so I just figured I'd do without Metallica for a change," Sam shrugged.
"Yes, but… Bon Jovi!" Dean said incredulously as the notes for 'Bed Of Roses' flowed out of the radio. "I mean…"
"Driver picks the music," Sam grinned again, reminding his brother of one of the sacred rules.
Dean grunted again but didn't complain any further, instead glancing out of the window.
"How long?" he asked.
"We're almost there."
Dean nodded and remained silent, the dreams he'd just had still flashing mercilessly in his mind. Sam wasn't the only one who had nightmares, but damn if Dean was going to tell him about his own.
Hey
God, tell me what the hell is going on
Seems like all the good
shit's gone
It keeps on getting harder hanging on
Hey God,
there's nights you know I want to scream
These days you're even
harder to believe
I know how busy you must be, but Hey God...
Do
you ever think about me
Hey Go-
Click.
Dean had reached out abruptly and turned off the radio.
"Dude, what's your problem?" Sam snapped.
Dean didn't reply as he continued staring out of the window.
Sam watched his brother's taut shoulders and sighed.
"Dean?" he said, now in a soft voice. "What's wrong?"
Dean wanted to reply. He wanted to quote the song and say, "There's nights I want to scream, Sammy", but he didn't. He just remained silent.
"Dean, talk to me," Sam called worriedly. "What's going on?"
Dean leaned his forehead against the cool window. He swallowed hard.
"Just drive, Sam."
Sam stared at him, swallowing hard himself. His brother's voice had been rough, barely above a whisper. He'd never heard him sound quite like that and he wasn't liking it one damn bit. He decided not to press matters, though. For the time being, at least. He would have waited for when they'd reach the next motel and Dean had cooled down a bit.
So with another sigh, he turned back to the road.
Unseen to Sam, Dean squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to keep his emotions under control, that damn chorus playing endlessly in his mind.
Hey God, tell me what the hell is going on
"What the hell is going on?"
Just how many times had he asked himself that? When mom had died (minus the "hell", because of course, little boys don't swear); when dad had been slipping away, totally engrossed in his obsession; when Sam had fought furiously with their janitor and left; when dad had gone missing; when Jessica had died; when Sam had started having his visions; when said visions had let them back to their home, in Lawrence; when…
Jut how many times had he asked himself that? And just how many times hadn't he received any answer?
Seems
like all the good shit's gone
Everything he'd known, everything that had ever given him comfort, his habits, his family, his dreams… Everything was gone. It all burned down that night of twenty years ago. He hadn't known it then, but as he grew up, he'd come to finally realize that. It had kept on digging into his chest, constantly eating away at him, and he knew it'd never stop.
It
keeps on getting harder hanging on
Harder and harder every day. He tried to be strong, he tried to be brave. For mom, for dad, for Sammy, for himself. But it was getting harder, and he was getting more tired with each passing day, each passing minute, each breath he drew. Hard… so hard…
Hey God, there's nights you know I want to scream
He did. A scream of rage and pain was waiting at the back of his throat. Sometimes it just dwelled quietly, watching for a spark of weakness that he wasn't about to concede. Sometimes it reared up its head and begged for release. Dean hadn't given in, yet, but he didn't know how long he would manage to refuse it.
These
days you're even harder to believe
He had stopped believing in God a long time ago. He told Layla he would pray for her, but the truth was, he didn't know how to.
When Dean had first realized that he didn't know how to pray anymore, he had just closed his eyes and hoped that his desperate thoughts would be enough.
I
know how busy you must be, but Hey God...
"Do you ever think about me?"
"What? Dean, did you say something?"
Sam stole another sideways glance at his brother, who still had his shoulders to him.
Dean startled inwardly, mentally kicking himself for having whispered that aloud.
"Nothing," he said.
Sam nodded, unconvinced, and continued to drive silently.
Dean sighed in relief when Sam didn't press the matter.
He stared at the darkening sky, brow still pressed against the window.
"Do you ever think about me?"
- END -