thanks for reading and for the awesome reviews!! bambers;)
Chapter Four
"Eight hundred eighty-seven bottles of beer on the wall . . . eight hundred eighty-seven bottles of beer, crack one open, chug it down, eight hundred eighty-six bottles of beer on the wall . . .Eight hundred eighty-six bottles of beer on the wall . . . eight hundred eighty-six — "
"Enough with the freakin' song," Dean lifted his head off his pillow and glared at the doublewalker who was leaning against the wall with one leg outstretched and the other knee bent with his left arm resting casually on it. "Two hours straight, two freakin' hours. If I wasn't crazy before, I'm seriously heading that way now."
The doublewalker took a sip of the beer he held in his hand, then held it out to Dean. "How about it, Dean, wanna a drink?" A deep grin settled on his face as he lifted the bottle to his lips again and took another swallow. "Naww . . . better not, nothin' worse than a crazy drunk."
"What the hell are you still doin' here? Thought you were gone." Dean twisted his wrists, trying to loosen the padded cuffs to no avail. Straining his muscles, he yanked on the cuffs with all his strength, yet they still held firm.
"Not my fault you're in here." The doublewalker chugged down the rest of his beer, set it down and another one appeared in his hand. He cracked it open, and took another long drink, before adding, "Told ya if you weren't careful you'd end up in a padded room." He shrugged as he glanced around the stark white room. "Guess I was right, huh?"
"Wouldn't be in here if I wasn't talkin' to you."
"Naww . . . think it was when you started answerin' yourself back that got you in trouble. An' punchin' that pretty little nurse in the face," the doppelgänger grimaced, "yeah, well, that just really didn't work in our favor either."
"Meant to hit you . . . me . . . whatever." Dean struggled into a half-sitting position as he continued to glare at the doublewalker.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you have anger management issues," the doublewalker said as he got to his feet and came to sit on the bed beside Dean. "Probably why we drink a lot."
"Don't drink a lot."
"Sure you do," he held the bottle up to Dean's lips and tilted it so Dean could take a drink. When Dean was done, the doppelgänger chugged down the rest of the liquid and threw the bottle at the wall. "Remember the first time we ever got rip-roarin' drunk."
Dean pursed his lips, and gave a quick shake of his head, not liking the direction the conversation was heading. "No."
"Sure you do."
Eyes the exact same shade as Dean's looked intently into his own, and Dean could see all the pain hidden well beneath the surface. From what Dean saw in the doublewalker's eyes he knew that it didn't want to remember either, but was doing it just to punish Dean.
"Said I don't remember."
"W-we were eleven," the doublewalker's voice hitched in his throat as a frown overshadowed his previous smile. "Wonder exactly how many eleven-year-olds get drunk, Dean. Probably not too many, I'll bet."
"Wasn't that young." Dean's hands clenched into tight fists as a faded image of his father coming home seriously injured from a hunt came to mind. "Had to have been older than that."
"Daddy injured, Sammy buggin' the crap out of ya, an' a twelve pack jus' beggin' to be drank. Wicked combination, don't ya think?"
"There was an old tree fort behind the motel we were stayin' at," Dean mumbled as the unwant memory came into focus in his mind. "The wood was gray and splintered. The door was just an' old piece of plywood, fell off when I opened it."
"Knew you remembered." With a wave of the doppelgänger's hand they were in the tree fort Dean remembered from his childhood. The wood was even more aged and rickety than Dean had recalled, and the fort itself seemed much lower to the ground. A young boy with short scruffy hair and sad green eyes cracked open a beer, stared at it for a moment, and then cautiously took a sip. Gagging repeatedly, he tried to swallow it down, but ended up spitting the beer out on the floor. With trembling hands, the boy held the drink up to his lips again, tilted back his head, and chugged it down.
"That was our first in a long line of drinks, Dean. Our only means of escape . . . well, that is until Dad gave us the Impala." The doublewalker snapped his fingers and the tree fort faded away and they were in a motel room. John lay deathly still on a bed, a wide bandage covering his forehead, his arm in a sling and his ribs tightly bandaged. Even from where Dean was standing by the door, he could see the sheen of sweat covering his father's body, and remembered how terrified he'd been at the time that his Dad was going to die and it would be all his fault.
"Wouldn't let me call for help. Said it would raise too many questions, an' I was old enough to handle it." Dean swallowed hard as he watched the younger version of himself trying his damnedest to take care of all his father's injuries, and at the same time trying to keep Sam occupied. "Was only eleven . . . why the hell was it my job to take care of him."
"Even back then we always were lookin' out for everyone but ourselves. Why the hell was it our job to take care of everyone? We were only eleven for God sake. When's enough, enough, Dean? We deserve a chance an' Sam gave it to us. It's his turn to carry some of the guilt, we've done it long enough."
With one last look around, Dean lowered his head, and muttered, "Take me back to the hospital. Don't need to see anymore."
"So you'll stop trying to remember?" the doublewalker asked, an expression of hope crossing his features. "Don't need to remember, Dean. We're better this way."
"Didn't say that . . . need to get back to the hospital so I can figure out a way to get Sammy out of there."
"Alright, Dean," the doppelgänger gave a curt nod, "see we're gonna have to do this the hard way."
"What the hell do you mean?"
"See, unlike you, I can get to Sam . . . can get inside his head," he tapped at his temple, "really screw his mind all to hell. An' believe me when I'm finished with him there won't be anything left worth salvaging." With that, the doublewalker disappeared before Dean had a chance to argue.
The vision of the past melted away and Dean found himself in the hospital bed once more. A quick glance around the room told him that he was alone, and he let out a slew of curse words under his breath. Dean's thoughts turned swiftly to Sam, all alone and unprotected from the doublewalker, and fought all the harder against the padded cuffs around his wrists and ankles.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Sam's eyelids fluttered open at the sound of his brother's voice, and he glanced around the hospital room in search for Dean. At first he didn't see his older brother, and thought he'd only imagined hearing Dean's voice, but after a moment, his brother came into focus. Stretched out on the bed in the far corner of the room, Dean sat with legs causally crossed, his head cradled between laced fingers.
Although the straightjacket Sam wore limited his movements, he somehow managed to shift into a more comfortable position. For several minutes he sat on the floor, trying to gather his scattered thoughts, and also trying to remember why he was wearing a straightjacket. His attempts were quickly thwarted as the voices inside his head grew so loud he couldn't hold onto a single solid thought for more than a mere second before it was lost to him.
"D-Dean," Sam called out, wondering why his brother hadn't even tried to help him out of the restraints that were holding him prisoner.
"Fought your way out for a moment, huh, Sammy?" Dean sat and hung his feet over the side of the bed. "Gettin' a helluva a lot harder, isn't it?" He stood and came to sit beside Sam.
"Help me, Dean . . . make 'em stop . . . please, j-jus' make 'em stop," Sam begged as he uselessly fought against the restraints.
"They're not gonna let you go, little brother . . . ever. You see, Bo, Reeves, Sarah, Molly . . . me . . . an' a whole shit load of others, we like it inside of your head." Tapping his finger at Sam's temple, Dean smirked. "Why don't ya just make things easier on all of us, an' quit fighting it. You're gonna lose. Reeves won't let you win . . . I won't let you win."