Five
Dean stared forward from the driver's seat of the Impala. The road stretched for miles ahead and he found that his eyes were starting to get a bit dry. He blinked several times before taking a swig of the soda he had picked up about two miles back. The radio blared Rock and Roll Fantasy by Bad Company.
"Dean," Sam said, breaking the silence. "Do you need me to drive for a bit?"
Dean considered this. He had been given the all clear to drive by Garth when he'd inspected his eyes that morning and claimed the worst of the sickness was over. There would be residual effects maybe for a day or two, but they would be minimal. Garth had graciously provided the Winchesters with a few extra vials of the concoction he'd used on Dean in case of future emergencies and Bess had packed them sandwiches.
"Come back and dance again soon, okay?" Gertie had said, after hugging his legs and running off to join her friends at the edge of the woods. Dean had felt his chest tighten a little at that statement, staring bashfully at the ground as he and Castiel passed by one another on the way to their respective seats in the car.
"I'm good," Dean replied. "Thanks."
Sam nodded, shifting slightly in his seat, and fidgeting his hands. He tapped a few fingers against the passenger side door arm rest. He let out a few deep sighs, which Dean tried his best to ignore.
"According to Google," Castiel piped up. The angel had become quite a Google freak recently. "There are several motels within the area I calculate that we'll be reaching around the time right before sunset. I suggest we stop at one for the night. We need to make sure Dean is at full capacity once again."
"Alright Dr. Serious," Dean rolled his eyes from the front seat, although he did appreciate Castiel's concern. "We'll stop for the night, but if that's the case you're helping us pay for the room."
"Understood," Castiel nodded. "I managed to take out a credit card recently. Did you know they surprisingly rarely question men with the name John Smith."
Dean chuckled. Sometimes Castiel still had an air of naivetes surrounding him, but the guy meant well. At least they wouldn't necessarily have to worry about funds for now. Worst came to worst, Dean could scrounge up a few extra dollars playing pool at one of the local bars.
"Which place is the cheapest?" Dean asked.
Castiel scrolled down a few inches on his phone, clearly weighing their options. Sam stiffened a little as the song changed to Kashmir.
"The Sleepy Nook Inn," Castiel concluded. "It's fifty a night. If we're only staying for one, we shouldn't break the bank as people tend to say."
Dean's stomach dropped to his feet. The Sleepy Nook Inn. That was in one of the sleepiest little towns in Illinois: Arrowsmith. A name Dean had loved the moment his dad had mentioned it long ago when they'd managed to destroy a full-blown Djinn infestation that had taken several weeks.
A name that now made Dean's skin feel cold and prickly with goosebumps.
"Only if we have to."
"Can you change the song, please?"
The brothers both blurted out their sentences at the same time and looked at one another for a moment before Dean turned back to the road, giving Sam a skeptical look as they continued along.
"I've just heard it too much recently," Sam swallowed hard. "That's all."
He quickly flipped the channel to a different classic rock station and Dean remained quiet, satisfied with the music choice for the time being. He didn't dare comment on his statement, even though both the eyes of his brother and Castiel bore into the side and back of his head as they all wordlessly finished their drive for the evening.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-
"One room, two beds." Dean started to say to the bleach blonde woman with the electric red lipstick smeared across her lips at the front counter of The Sleepy Nook Inn. Castiel stood, admiring various tourist locations miles from where they were posted on the cork board on the wall.
"Make it two rooms actually," Sam interrupted, pulling his credit card from his pocket, and cutting off Dean. The woman gave them both a look of confusion but took the card and ran it.
"Like we have that kind of money." Dean commented under his breath.
"It's fifty bucks Dean," Sam took his card back, his key, and snapped up his bags from the floor. "We can afford it for one night."
The younger Winchester left the other two in the dust. Castiel passed by Dean with a pat on the shoulder and grabbed his own bag. Dean slung his duffel over his shoulder, trying to ignore the amused look from the counter woman as he went.
It was much later when Dean told Castiel he was setting out.
"Are you sure you're up to it?" Castiel asked, reaching a hand to Dean's forehead before he could say a word. Dean's breathed hitched ever so slightly at the angel's touch and he tried to control what little thoughts he was sure Castiel could see if he chose to look.
"I'm fine," Dean replied and backed away, leaving Castiel with a confused and mildly hurt look. "Sorry Cas, I just...need a night to unwind by myself. Had a lot going on recently. No offense."
"I do not take this personally," Castiel replied, but it was clear he did. He said nothing in regard to it though. "Have fun, Dean. Pray if you need me."
The angel turned towards the couch and took residence there. Dean swallowed hard and debated waiting, staying in. Maybe getting drunk again, but with Castiel this time. Maybe then he'd have the courage to spill his guts.
Reality took hold of him once more and Dean bit his lip as he walked out the door.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-
"Trouble in paradise?"
The woman from before chimed in to break the silence. Dean had been pretending to read over the local restaurants and bars guide in the lobby, despite knowing exactly what places still existed and which still had ghosts that wouldn't be happy to see him should he return.
It only left one, because it was the only bar in town with food that wouldn't return up your throat an hour after eating.
"Scuse me?" Dean asked, putting down the pamphlet and trying to convince his feet to move out the front door.
"You and that guy you came here with," the woman mentioned, inspecting her nails, and giving Dean a sideways glance from where she leaned her giant breasts on the counter. Normally, Dean would have glanced, or perhaps done more, but his head was currently swimming upstream and he had no life vest or directions.
"Oh god no," Dean shook hurriedly his head. "That's my brother."
"My mistake." She shrugged.
The woman left for the back room and Dean wanted to call her back. Not for looking, but for another presence. Somebody to guide him back from the currents of his mind as he forced his feet to work and he opened the lobby door and stepped into the misty night.
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It was still the same as it had been all those years ago.
The Cave. Appropriately named for its black painted exterior and inky interior. The air reeked of cigarettes still, even though smoking indoors had been banned years ago. The carpets held every stain from its conception and the vinyl on the bar stools had started to crack. The music wasn't what Dean would have typically listened to, but it was bearable.
Phantom laughter echoed in Dean's ears. A beautiful, wasted laugh.
He sat down.
"What'll it be, man?" the gruff bartender asked. He was new from the last time Dean had ever been to the establishment. It may have been a small town, but at least some things changed.
Then again, some things never would. They were ingrained in its history and the history Dean had here.
"Whiskey," words finally broke Dean's lips and the bartender nodded and walked off to get his drink.
Dean looked around. The same neon signs adorned the walls. The framed picture of the bar's first dollar bill. Pictures of past employee parties and celebrations. Everyone's smiles immortalized forever. The wall of karaoke night champions, names written in sharpie haphazardly near the machine. Dean smiled at the thought of it. It was nice to know it hadn't been painted over even years later.
More echoes of laughter.
Suddenly though, the fog in Dean's mind cleared, and he heard the song playing. The voice sounded familiar, despite him being unfamiliar with the tune.
"A thousand other boys could never reach you, how could I have been the one?"
More echoing laughter, but this time it was real.
Dean slowly turned his head, not knowing what to expect in that moment, but as the bartender placed his glass down and took Dean's card off to run it, he found he suddenly didn't care.
In the corner stood a man, with his familiar shaggy, but short jet-black hair. His crystal blue eyes closed tightly, and his smile blown wide from laughter. In his hand, he held a green bottle, and he wore his favorite Henley shirt. Dean knew that it was his favorite. He'd just thought he'd never get to see him wear it ever again.
Dean knew everything about this man.
The man paused his conversation with the girl beside him and she walked off to the bathroom. The man turned his head and, as cliche as it was, it was as though time stopped.
"Jamie?" Dean said, almost breathlessly.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
It was strange, the places Dean found himself in lately. Places where hunts went wrong and people died, as though he'd been distracted and not done his best, as his father would have not only wanted, but expected. Places where little werewolf girls made him dance with angels and almost cause his heart to explode out of his chest. Places where he silently danced around Sam and their differences in opinions lately.
Now places where it felt as though he was walking through thick air, yet simultaneously moving calmly, knowing where his metaphorical feet were going to land.
Jamie had come over to him and hesitated a moment before wrapping him in a large hug.
"Should you be drinking that?" Dean asked, the first words he'd spoken in twenty minutes.
"All the taste," Jamie turned the green bottle Dean's way. "None of the alcohol."
Dean gave him a surprised look.
"Third time's a charm." Jamie gave Dean his usual sideways smirk. Dean felt what he could have sworn was electricity shooting through all of his veins at once.
"Things really have changed since the last time I was here." Dean swallowed hard.
"Isn't that what's supposed to happen?" Jamie cocked his head and smiled at the bartender as he replaced his non-alcoholic drink with another. Dean couldn't help, but stare as Jamie's sleeve rode up the tiniest bit. The little marks were still there, but they were white now against his tan skin.
"Ya can barely see 'em anymore." Jamie remarked and motioned to his arms. He took a sip of the fake Heineken and Dean tried not to stare at the way it traveled down his throat. Every movement of Jamie's had always been free flowing.
"I thought I'd never see you again." Dean mentioned, right in the quiet of the songs changing and a few glasses clinked here and there.
Flashes of white followed by flashes of images of Dean pressed up in the corner of the sticky bathroom hallway wall. His fly undone and his pants sagging down below his ass. His head thrown back. A mess of black hair atop a head before his hips. The pounding of the music and heat from sweaty, drugged up and drunken bodies filling the air.
"I figured you never wanted to." Jamie gave him a look and sighed.
"I came back twice," Dean blurted out, almost like a child desperate for attention. "My dad had…other things to do in town."
"I know," Jamie smiled, and Dean felt as though he were turning into a puddle. "I appreciated those times, Winchester. You don't know how much they meant to me."
Jamie had him pressed up against the wall of his dilapidated house. Some Toadies song with a nice guitar riff played on a radio somewhere in the background. John Winchester had called him twice, Dean had ignored it both times, and at the time he hadn't cared about the consequences.
Jamie's lips had tasted like cotton candy.
"You look as though your mind is a million miles away," Jamie commented. "Care to share?"
Dean hesitated.
"It's me Dean," Jamie continued and motioned to the back room where they kept the pool tables.
"You can tell me anything."
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"So, you just don't know how to handle it," Jamie did a hook shot from the right side of the table and sank the ball into the corner pocket. "That's what you're telling me?"
"I can't believe I'm coming to you for advice on this sort of thing," Dean rolled his eyes playfully and took his turn. He sank the ball as well and Jamie gave him a look that showed he was impressed.
"I can't believe you're still pretty decent at pool." Jamie chuckled.
"Pretty decent," Dean faked offense. "I'll have your head for that comment."
"You're avoiding the question." Jamie responded. Leave it to him to keep Dean on topic when he desperately didn't want to be.
When Dean still didn't respond, Jamie motioned for him to follow, and led the two of them out the back door of the bar and back into the night air. A slight mist rested low and enveloped Dean's cheeks where they stood. Jamie stared up at the sky with a smile on his face.
"Are we supposed to be back here?" Dean asked.
"Did the King of daredevil-ism really just ask me that?" Jamie gave that sideways smirk again. Dean nodded, as if to say: "fair enough".
"There was one time," Jamie started, hands in his pockets as he continued to look up at the sky. "It was after karaoke night. We laid out in my truck bed back at the house and I blasted Phil Collins for hours because that was what I did when I tripped out. I think this time it was Take Me Home."
Dean remembered every detail of that night like it was yesterday.
"The sky was full of stars," Jamie continued. "You asked me how long I'd known about myself. You were so damn scared of what your dad would think so you swore to me you'd never tell him. I told you that the worst that could happen, if he genuinely loved you, was some yelling, some conflicting emotions on his part, and definitely some confusion."
"I never told him." Dean admitted. "Nobody knows, but you."
"I don't blame you," Jamie shrugged. "It's a hard thing to deal with. How do you think I survived in a small backwoods town for so long? Eventually times changed, less people cared, and I cared less about those that still did."
Dean nodded, feeling his eyes pricking with liquid at the corners, and he tried to will it away. What even was he anymore?
"If you want my advice Dean," Jamie placed a hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. For a brief second, Dean saw other familiar blue eyes. Blue eyes he wanted to live in.
"This world is an unforgiving place," Jamie explained. "She won't care how many regrets you have at the end. She'll still take you. Live now but live well. That, and whatever other nonsense the rehab place taught me. I still don't want to admit that it worked this time."
Dean chuckled this time and Jamie turned to leave, pulling out his car keys, and looking up at the sky one last time.
"We're but tiny drops in a giant bowl of water and dirt for such a short time," Jamie quoted, Dean assumed from his facility. Dean felt lips on his cheek and Jamie smiled when the green-eyed hunter met his gaze.
"Make it count."
Moments later, Jamie left no trace that he had even existed at all. Dean could feel his presence still. The air had a charge to it all of a sudden and the memories came back in a flood. The sound of cars on the interstate. It wasn't long before Dean realized he tasted no whiskey on his breath. He heard no neon buzzing signs. The car to the left of him showed its true colors.
Old rust from years and years of sitting outside.
He turned to face what once was the bar. The windows were boarded up and the glass in a few of them was shattered. Old half broken bottles with long faded labels sat in the back near the dumpster. Dean felt his chest start to ache with longing. He wanted to go back. He wanted to do it right this time.
But the bar was long gone, and Jamie Bower had been for years too.
He would have stayed longer, but the local cops would probably arrest him for trespassing. He heard the laughter again. The ghostly karaoke machine, long since dead, blaring a song it shouldn't have been playing, but it wasn't really.
It had been the strangest, yet most peaceful, encounter Dean had had with a ghost in years.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-
Dean was tired when he returned to the motel room. Bone tired, as he liked to call it. He looked out the back-motel room sliding doors to see Castiel sitting outside, staring up at the same sky Dean had been looking at prior.
His conversation with the front desk lady still rang through Dean's mind.
"I've seen you before," she'd said. "Years ago."
"How do you know?" Dean had asked, a bit pissed, but mostly disappointed in how the evening had gone.
"I never forget a face, sug." The woman had smiled.
Dean turned down the blankets and stripped his clothes. His body still hurt, but the fever had long since passed. He doubted there would be sleep tonight. Not with the dreams he was bound to have. He stared out at Castiel one last time.
"Make it count."
Dean closed his eyes.
A/N: A small explanation: I'm sure many of you took a guess, but everything Dean saw in this chapter wasn't real. It was sort of a time warp/mirage type deal, where everything seemed real, but it really wasn't. Basically, the bar was the mirage and Jamie was a ghost trapped in time with a few modifications via Dean's mind (his sobriety, the kiss on the cheek, etc.). Jamie Bower is an OC of mine that (in other stories and past roleplays) was a good friend of Dean's way back in the day despite him not being a hunter himself. Jamie was a drug addict (heroin being his favorite, hence the track marks Dean mentions on his arms in this chapter) and for the purpose of this story, he was also an old flame of Dean's. I hope the scene with him, and Dean was both cool and made sense to everywhere.
As you can probably tell from the number of words, I had a blast with this chapter. I hope everyone else enjoyed as well. More to come soon!
Songs Mentioned:
Black Balloon by The Goo Goo Dolls
Kashmir by Led Zeppelin
Possum Kingdom by Toadies