~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ CHAPTER 9 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's late by the time they pull into Lisa's driveway, but most of the lights are still on.
Lisa lets them in, and they follow her into the living room where Ben is sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, pieces of a board game scattered around him, a look of utter triumph etched into his features.
"Told ya," he says the moment he catches sight of the brothers. "Told ya I could stay here."
"You have officially impressed me, kid," Dean says, feigning a casual tone. In actuality, 'impressed' is only part of what he is. Mostly, he's just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's rare, but he's heard stories of ghosts that have found a way to attach and reattach themselves to different anchors. The physical traces of ghosts are easy enough to map- fingernail clipping here, lock of hair there, a bag of bones to be burned- but ghosts leave parts of themselves within people, too, intangible pieces of thread tying them back to the living. And those stories never end well. A ghost with too many anchors can lose themselves quickly (as all ghosts do eventually), their pieces scattered too far and wide, their remnants dissolving in the spaces between the people and places they had loved.
And as much as Dean would love to believe it, there's no way Ben Braeden is the exception to that rule; the first person in the history of eternity to somehow make the afterlife his bitch. No way he won't eventually lose control, and in Dean's experience (and his crappy run of luck), it'll be sooner rather than later.
Ben's still smiling that shit-eating grin of his, though, so when Dean smiles back at him, it's genuine.
Ben gestures to the game that surrounds him. "Hey, you guys wanna play Scattergories? I was just kicking Mom's ass."
"Ben, hon, you gotta cool it with the language," Lisa chides, but there's no heat behind her words. She's smiling at him, and a moment later she sits down next to him on the floor, reaching for a 26-sided die that holds every letter of the alphabet.
"I was actually planning on doing a bit more research tonight," Sam answers, already backing out of the room. He shoots a loaded glance at Dean, but Dean just squints at him, not sure what the message behind it is. Ben is staring up at him expectantly and Lisa is avoiding all eye contact and Dean's not really sure he can think of a weirder situation than sitting down to play a board game he's never even heard of with this particular company at this particular moment, but he clicks his teeth together and says 'Sure.'
Turns out the game is pretty simple.
Someone rolls the die, and whichever letter it lands on is the letter for that particular round. Then a list with categories is chosen, and everyone has two minutes to fill in as much of their list as they can, using only words that begin with the letter that's been rolled. When time's up, you see who has the most filled out. If you get the same answer as someone else, neither of them counts.
After a short explanation of the rules, provided by Ben, Lisa rolls the letter 'B', and the first round begins. Dean stares down at his list, listening to the aggravating tick tick of the timer.
1.A Boy's Name
Ben, Dean thinks automatically, but doesn't write it down. He's fairly certain that will be everyone else's answer, too.
2. Something You're Afraid Of
Dean scoffs a little at that one. Boggarts. Banshees, he lists off in his head. But he's not actually afraid of those kinds of monsters. It's been a long time since their regular gigs had the ability to genuinely spook him, especially since Purgatory. Dean twirls the pencil in his fingers, thinking.
Becoming a fucking monster.
That one's true at least, but he doesn't even think about writing it down.
3. Items In Your Bag
Knives, guns, machetes...blades, Dean thinks, scribbling it down. He erases it a second later. Idiot. No one else has a damn blade in their bag.
Batteries, he writes instead, and still that seems wrong. He tries to think of what Lisa used to pack into her purse in the mornings and comes up blank. It's not really something he'd been keen to pay attention to at the time. He goes to the next item on the list.
4. Spices/Herbs
Bacopa, used for cleansing rituals. Dean crosses that one off, too. He writes Basil instead.
5. Something that burns
Borax, Dean almost writes. Then remembers that only works if you're a Leviathan. Brands, he thinks, shaking his head at the almost-lost memory of a deranged hillbilly pushing a poker into his shoulder. At least he knows that answer is accurate.
6. Something in this room
Bullshit. This is Bullshit, is what this is. Sitting here playing a board game while Lisa's life hangs in the balance. While something could be peeking in the window right this second, waiting for him to shuffle off to bed so it can take her away from him all over again. Even though he doesn't have her. Even though he lost the right to have any kind of claim to her years ago now.
The timer goes off, and Dean jumps so badly that Ben flickers a little bit next to him. Lisa freezes, staring at both of them.
Ben clears his throat. "I wrote Bartholomew for number one," he says, breaking the heavy silence.
Lisa unfreezes, forces a chuckle. "Wish I'd thought of that for you," she teases. "We could've called you 'Bart' for short. I put 'Bradley.'"
Ben purses his lips in an over-exaggerated frown. "Mom, I'm hurt. Why not Ben?"
"I figured you'd write it down!" Lisa volleys, sticking her tongue out at him. "Besides, I picked it when it counted. That's why your name isn't Bartholomew."
"Fair enough," Ben allows. "Dean, what'd you write?"
Dean stares down at his paper. "Beau," he lies. That spot is still blank.
"Alright," Lisa declares. "Everybody gets a point. Number two…"
They continue on all the way down the list of twelve items. Dean hadn't even made it to half of the categories, but he keeps his sheet of paper angled towards himself and makes most of them up on the spot. He 'wins' the first round by one point. They play six more rounds before Lisa calls it, announcing that it's time for bed. Ben groans.
"Come on, Mom. I don't even need to sleep!" he whines.
"Yeah, well, I'm exhausted," says Lisa. "Everybody's had a long couple of days."
Dean almost snorts at the understatement. "Your mom's right, Ben," he says instead. "Probably not a bad idea to let your body rest. Can't be easy picking up pens and keeping yourself visible all the time like this. You deserve a break."
Lisa's eyebrows droop in concern. Her eyes flick from Ben over to Dean and back again. "Is that true, honey? Are you having trouble staying...like this?"
"Nope," Ben shakes his head, glowering at Dean. "I feel good." He must see something in Lisa's expression, because he smiles at her reassuringly. "I promise, Mom. I'm good."
Lisa bites her lip and nods, not seeming entirely convinced.
"Well, keep your strength up," Dean says. "We've still got some stuff to figure out before...I mean…" he pauses, wishing he'd just shut the hell up. Because how does he end that sentence? Yeah, plenty of stuff to get accomplished before we send you away forever. "...you should just be smart about this," he finishes lamely. Ben rolls his eyes good-naturedly.
"Whatever you say," he agrees easily, rolling to his feet and making his way towards the stairs. He flickers on the way, disappearing completely before he's made it little more than halfway up the steps.
Lisa clears her throat, starts gathering up the pieces of the game. Lisa has always been clear-headed when it comes to crazy, even his particular brand of it, but he wonders how much more of this insanity she can possibly take. It seems unfair to place Lisa under the category of 'normal people,' but it's what she is, and Dean knows there's no way she could have ever been prepared for the events of the last few days. Dean hands her back the pencil he'd been using, watching her carefully while she organizes everything back into the box.
"Need me to make up the couch for you again, or is the hallway okay?" she asks.
Dean smiles good-naturedly at the jab. "Don't worry about it. Couch is perfect."
Lisa nods, but she glances over at the untouched blankets, uncertain. "Do you...are the blankets okay?"
"Yeah it's not..." Dean pauses, rolling his tongue when he catches where her eyes go. He knows what she's really asking. "There's nothing wrong with the couch."
Lisa gets to her feet, the Scattergories box in her hands, and Dean follows her lead.
"Dean?"
Dean sighs, straightening a little and surrendering himself to what he knows comes next. "Yeah?"
"Will you tell me about Castiel?"
Dean lets out a sharp breath and stares at his feet. This isn't the question he was expecting. "Why?" he asks.
"I'm just curious," Lisa shrugs. "I guess I want to know more about the thing that took my memories."
Dean nods his understanding, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "You...it's complicated," he says, finally, with not a shade of eloquence. He bows his head again in frustration.
"Try me," coaxes Lisa.
Another long pause, and Dean's words come tumbling out before he can stop them. "How do you feel about angels?"
Lisa blinks. "Harp carrying, hymn singing angels?"
"Not quite," Dean shakes his head, smiling sadly, wishing he'd never given her an answer. Dean imagines Lisa is the kind of person who wants to believe angels are watching over the people she loves. He imagines she's like Mary that way, and he's shattering that part of her. As if he hasn't already taken enough.
But "Oh boy," is all Lisa says, and she doesn't seem crushed, just contemplative. "Maybe I don't want to know. Then again, if Castiel is an angel, I feel a bit better about having him poke around inside my head."
Dean nods, not bothering to tell her all the reasons she's wrong about that. About all the ways in which even Cas had let them down.
"You didn't use the pillows. Or the blankets," Lisa says after another short silence, gesturing to the couch with one hand. "I mean, I know you got...distracted and you ended up in the front hall. But even before then- all the blankets were on the ground, folded. What's that about?"
"Wasn't cold."
"Dean."
Dean rubs a hand along his forehead, trying to push back the headache he feels forming behind his eye sockets.
"Look, Lisa. There's a lot you still don't know. There's things you just shouldn't know," he tries to explain, almost pleading. "Things that make this world too big and too goddamn scary. I think it's best to keep you away from that. Seems like even just knowing me for that short amount of time made you a magnet for the crap that's out there. I don't wanna make it worse."
Lisa tilts her head, considering. "Doesn't the not knowing make it worse? Isn't that what gets you killed?"
Dean doesn't answer. Can't answer, because he's not sure he has one. This is the same dilemma he faced just a few years ago. To stay and protect them, or to leave and protect them. To teach them everything he knew, or to keep them as far away from it as possible. John Winchester had the same choice to make, and his and Sam's lives are evidence to one side of that argument. But Dean wouldn't wish this life on anybody, and technically it's not like they've exactly survived because of what their dad taught them. In other words, neither option could be counted as a win.
"Your brother said you went somewhere this past year," Lisa says, finally, when she realizes Dean's not saying anything. Dean wonders why she doesn't just go to bed. He wonders why she's spending more time around him than she needs to. It's either strength or curiosity or both, Dean can't decide.
"Mhm," he affirms. Knows she'll just keep digging until she's done. He can ride this out, though. He can give short, clipped answers until she gets frustrated enough to throw her hands in the air and storm off. It worked in the year he was living with her, and it will work now.
"Where?" Lisa asks.
Dean shakes his head. "Hard to describe."
"Summarize," Lisa urges, parroting his strategy.
Dean thinks about lying. He thinks about giving her some sarcastic answer about his trip to the Bermuda Triangle or his hot-air balloon ride around the world. But he's sick of holding everything in all the time, sick of making the same mistakes over and over again, never letting her see him. He'd been afraid, when he lost Sam, that if he showed her his ugly insides, she'd take one look at all the ragged edges buried there and leave him to his own destruction. It would've been the smart decision, after all. But maybe if he'd let her in more completely, shared more of his world with her, he could've saved Ben.
"Monster afterlife," is his deadpan response.
Lisa blinks hard at that one, mouth open in a silent, gaping question she's not sure how to ask. Dean knows she hadn't been expecting a real answer. And obviously she hadn't been expecting an answer like that.
"Bu...but you...you're…" Lisa gulps.
Dean smiles his understanding. It's not a happy smile. "See you in the morning, Lisa," he says, reaching around her to grab one of the blankets off the floor, giving her an out. She stands stock still for another long second, Scattergories box still pressed tight against her chest. Dean's not facing her anymore, but he knows she almost says something else before deciding against it. Instead, she shakes her head and shuffles off towards her room. Dean listens to her hasty retreat as he spreads the blanket over the couch, reaching for a pillow next. He waits until he knows she's out of sight before he lets the pillows and blankets drop back to the floor, sound like a soft exhale.
Full disclosure: there were quite a few last-minute edits in this chapter, so I apologize for any errors that might be hovering around. See you next week!
