THEN THERE WAS LIGHT

CHAPTER 8

The boys drove up to the nearest place to eat. It was a bar and grill. Dean insisted on sitting in the back-corner booth, as far away from the other customers as possible. He sat with his back against the wall, watching everything that was happening around him.

This hasn't been the first time Dean has acted this way. In fact, he does this a lot. He has this overwhelming need to make sure everything is safe and feels like he needs to keep an eye on everything around them. In Dean's mind, there's a possibility for danger in every corner, every place they went. Any one, or anything, could pose as a threat. But, today, he watched with a wildness in his eyes. With an uncertainty.

"Hey." Sam whispered. "It's okay. You can stand down. I got you right now, remember?"

Dean glared at Sam, and shook his head slightly. There was no way he was going to let his guard down right now.

"Okay, then how about we look through the menu? Decide on something to eat?" Sam tried to distract Dean, which seemed to help some.

Dean wasn't really feeling all that hungry, but he knew he needed to eat, it was the human thing to do, after all. He settled on a stack of pancakes, this place served breakfast all day, which Dean could never understand why every place didn't do that, and a cup of coffee, black.

Sam ordered a grilled chicken sandwich, a side salad, and a cup of water. When the waitress returned with their drinks Sam added coffee to his order, he didn't know how long they were going to have to stay awake, and figured he would need the caffeine to deal with Dean.

"Do you remember, when we were young." Dean broke through the silence that was between them. "We came to a place like this, you, me and Dad. We sat at one of those tables with the really tall chairs. Man, you thought you were so cool because we were in a 'bar', sitting at a 'bar table'. You were probably around 8 and I was like, 12."

Dean's face spread a smile across it with the memory of his little brother taking in every experience in life, and being happy with the simple things. Dean could never find happiness in the simple things, he always had too much weighing down on his shoulders.

"Me and Dad had just finished a hunt." Dean continued. "And, we had picked you up from Bobby's. It was a shitty hunt, I remember that, and we were hunting with…" It took Dean a minute to remember his name. "Jacob, yeah, that's who it was. Anyhow, we got to Bobby's late that night, and in the morning we all left, Dad said we were going to have a special day, just the 3 of us. No hunting, no other hunters, just us. He let you pick were we ate, which made you think you were a big shot."

Dean laughed at the memory. "And you said," Dean hadn't taken the time to think about what he was saying, he was just finding the need to talk. "You wanted to be like a big guy and eat at a bar. Of course, Dad and I both laughed at what you said. You were just a little thing, and so damn cute! So, Dad took us to a place like this. And, we sat at the tall table as close to the bar as we could get." Dean laughed again. "You could barely climb into the tall chair. I had to help you."

Sam just sat and listened, watching the genuine smile on Dean's face as he remembered a time they were happy. He had noticed the time he was talking about, but it didn't seem to click with Dean. Sam was curious as to why he would choose that to be a good memory, when so much bad happened in the holes of the version he spoke about.

Sam just smiled back. "Yeah, I remember that. I had forgotten all about it. That was cool, Dad was awesome that day!"

Sam didn't want to cause Dean any heartache, but he was torn on rather he should make mention of other things that day, or just let Dean live in the happiness of that moment. He decided he would push, just a little, to see what Dean remembered. He realized, this may not be the place, but he needed to know what Dean's memories were like, what was real and what wasn't, and how he saw them compared to reality.

The waitress brought their food, and Dean realized he was hungrier than he thought, but by the time he had made it half way through his pancakes he was already starting to feel full. He had drank 3 cups of coffee, so he figured that was part of it.

"I wonder why Dad was so nice on that day?" Sam asked, curious of Dean's reply.

"I don't know." Dean said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Maybe because he was an asshole the day before?"

And there it was. Dean had said it. But, he said it in a matter of fact type of way, no emotions, no tears, no heartache. Just, a simple statement. The same way he had mentioned Jacob's name. When Dean had told Sam about that day, he couldn't even manage to say his name, it hurt him too much, and now it was just like any other word that came out of Dean's mouth.

"How was he an asshole?" Sam questioned, still curious on the way his brother's brain was working.

"I've already told you all of this." Dean replied, still no emotions.

The fact Dean wasn't showing any emotion toward the event he was talking about had Sam concerned. He had crinkled his forehead in confusion. Dean noticed, and thought he was confused about what he had told him, but once he started speaking, Sam didn't have the heart to stop him.

"Oh, come on!" Dean responded. "Don't tell me you've forgotten already. You know, Jacob, Dad's hunting buddy. We went on a hunt together and everyting turned to shit afterwards. He took over Dad's training game and when we got back to the motel he decided he was going to one up Dad on the whole sexual experience thing."

"Yeah." Sam replied, still wondering why his brother wasn't showing any emotions toward it. "And, that's when Dad taught you how to hurt yourself, right?"

"Yep." Dean replied as he pushed another fork full of pancakes into his mouth, after chewing them he continued. "The only problem with that was after a while, the shit he taught me, it didn't really work anymore. Didn't hurt enough, or whatever, it didn't do its job, so I had to figure out other things, to make it work."

"Like what?"

"Well, most of it was pretty simple, really. As far as cutting myself, I just cut deeper, and in places that hurt worse, like the bottom of my feet. Every time I would walk, I could feel the pain, the reminder. And, it wasn't very difficult to figure out how to break a rib or two, I mean, hell, it's not like that's not part of the job anyhow, right? So, no one even noticed the difference." Dean took another drink of coffee.

"Of course, there were some days that were just shitty as hell and I acted completely reckless, got myself hurt more than what I meant to, but, it was fine, once again, just part of the job, no one knew the difference."

Sam sat shocked, speechless for a moment. "Dean, you do realize what you're saying, right?"

"Yeah." Dean had a hint of confusion in his voice, like he was wondering why Sam would ask him that.

"Um, you do know those aren't good memories, right?"

"Well, I mean I guess not, but I guess it's the way you look at them."

Sam's mouth hung open. "It's never a good thing when you purposely hurt yourself, or get yourself hurt, it doesn't matter how you look at it."

Dean had a puzzled look on his face as he forced the last bite of his food into his mouth.

"Why would you think it was?" Sam questioned.

"Because, I was being obedient. I was doing what Dad told me to do. And, that's… that's what I was supposed to do… right? I mean, it's always a good thing to be obedient. Isn't it?"

"Depends how you look at it, I guess. I mean, if being obedient means getting yourself hurt or killed, then no, it's not always a good thing."

Dean looked honestly confused. The waitress returned with their bill, Sam ordered 2 large coffees to go and paid for their meal. Dean hadn't said anything else. He was running the thoughts of what Sam had said through his mind. They made their way to the car and into their seats. Sam started the engine and looked over at Dean, who still seemed a bit shocked.

"You alright?"

Dean shot a glance at Sam and then looked away. That was the only reply he gave.

Sam let out a sigh and headed back to the motel.

It was a long day. Dean was confused. That was the only word to explain it. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, he wasn't sure how he was supposed to act, or think, or any thing really. He knew he was not allowed to sleep, but that's it, that's all he seemed to know. And, even through his confusion, the restless energy he always seemed to have, was more than present through his pacing and constant fidgeting and moving positions through out the room.

Finally, he sat on the edge of his bed, across from where Sam was stretched out on his bed, and just stared at him typing on his laptop. Sam was fully aware of Dean's stare, he tried to ignore him but couldn't. He closed is laptop and sat it beside him, pulled himself to a seated position, his legs hanging off the bed, and looking directly at Dean.

"What?"

"Why was it a bad memory?"

"Huh?" Sam was confused at Dean's question.

"What I said earlier, you told me it was a bad memory, that it wasn't a good one, why?"

"Well…" Sam started. "It's not that it didn't have its good memories in there too, like the stuff at the bar, yeah, that was pretty cool, you can keep that as a good memory. But, Dean, Dad and Jacob, they hurt you, they violated you, and the fact that they had you allowing it, obediently, makes it that much worse."

"But… a lot of people have violated me."

"Yeah, I know, but that doesn't make it right. It doesn't make any of it right, no matter who it is."

"Even Dad?"

"Especially Dad."

Sam's phone had rung at that point, putting a halt to their conversation. When he looked at the number, he anxiously answered it, stepping towards the door to walk outside, to speak in private. He turned back toward Dean as he placed his hand on the door knob.

"Don't you go to sleep!"

He ordered, receiving a nod from Dean, then Sam was gone, the door closing behind him. Dean wished he didn't feel so confused, he knew what Sam was telling him was something he should have already known, but for some reason he couldn't remember it.

'Especially Dad?' that thought kept running through his head, but he couldn't get his mind to wrap around it. He couldn't understand how being obedient was a bad thing. He couldn't shake the feeling that he felt almost like a child, learning new things for the first time, yet his head was so full of a life time of memories, but, he didn't seem to have any emotions with them, they were just facts, and nothing more. Maybe that's why he couldn't figure out what was good and what was bad? He'd have to remember to ask Sam that when he returned.

Sam was already talking to Dean before he even closed the door.

"Okay, so, I've got someone who's going to be meeting us here. He's about 3 hours out, so he said, give him a little time to gather what he needs, so he should be here in around 4 hours, give or take."

"For… what?"

"The curse. Have you even been listening to anything I've been saying?"

"Yeah, of course, I… I just can't always remember what you've said, but I listen."

Dean looked so sheepish, so childish, so scared and confused. Sam sunk down on the bed beside Dean. "It's okay, we're gonna fix this." He placed a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder to reassure him that everything was going to be okay.

Dean knew he had something to ask Sam, but couldn't remember what it was. He sat, trying to remember their conversation before he walked outside to talk on the phone. Oh, yeah! The good and the bad, but what about it?

"You okay?" Sam was watching the expression on Dean's face changing with his thoughts.

"I don't remember what we were talking about when you walked outside. There was something I was going to ask you, but… I don't remember… something about good and bad?"

"Yeah, I was telling you that someone hurting you and violating you isn't good, even if its done under obedience, it doesn't make it right, and you asked me about Dad, and I said that it's especially bad coming from Dad."

Dean nodded his head, remembering now. "So, if I don't feel anything. Because, I really don't, it's like just these pictures, or movies, in my head, but I don't have any feelings about them. So, does that still make it bad? And, how do I know if it's good or bad, if I can't feel anything?"

Sam released a sigh. "Dean, we're gonna fix that, okay?"

"Do I want it fixed?"

"What?"

"I mean, you said that I should have bad memories, that stuff I said should be heartbreaking and bother me, so why would I want it to? I mean, isn't it better if I don't feel it?"

"Well, I mean, in a way, I guess, yeah, but… that's what makes you human. You have to have feelings."

"Why?"

"Because, without them, you'll miss the good too. I mean, sure, it would be nice if we never had to feel pain or heartbreak, but we would miss feeling the happiness and love too."

"I… I don't think I've ever felt that."

"Sure, you have, you may not remember, but you have. Not as much as the pain in life, I'm sure of that, but you've felt both the good and the bad, and the good, you don't ever want to lose, that's what keeps you going, that's what keeps you pushing through, fighting from day to day."

Dean nodded, still confused, but understanding what Sam was saying.

"I think, there's a lot of memories in my head, that I don't want to remember how they feel."

"I think you're right, but, we've dealt with them once before, and we'll do it again, okay?"

"Yeah, and… you'll help me?"

"Of course."

"Okay."

Dean seemed to be lost in the world he was living in. He still felt like he was in the wrong place, like he didn't belong there. He felt like he wasn't supposed to be him, he was supposed to be someone else. But, Sam said he was supposed to be a monster, and he didn't want to be that. He didn't want to be scary or hurt anyone. He wanted to be with Sam, and to feel okay again. He didn't feel okay. He felt, like something was terribly wrong.

Dean started bouncing his leg with nervous energy. He was rubbing his hands up and down his pant legs, pausing only to grasp the bedding beside him, then returned to rubbing his legs again. He couldn't seem to sit still, like a ball of nerves just hit him and spread through his body. He constantly rubbed his hands down his face and through his hair, then returned them to rubbing on his legs and grasping the bedding. His eyes darted back and forth through the room as he chewed on his lower lip.

"Dean, hey man." Sam knelt on the floor in front of him. "What's going on? You okay?"

"I don't know, and NO!"

"Okay."

"I'm not okay, Sam. Something is wrong, and I don't like it, I don't like this feeling, I just want it to go away, to leave me alone."

"I want it to also, and that's what we're working on, okay?"

Dean nodded his head, more of a jerking motion than an actual nod. His hands were shaking, arms trembling. He had reached out and grabbed a hold of Sam's shirt. Not like he had done before, this time it was different. It wasn't a little tug as he wrapped his fingers in the bottom edge, this time he grabbed a fist full, with a tight grip. His flannel shirt that was over his t-shirt was unbuttoned and opened, Dean had grabbed the opened edges at the top of his shirt, holding on, like his life depended on it. His hands shaking too hard to let go.

Dean squeezed his eyes closed, his breathing had gotten heavy and labored. His heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest.

"Hey, Dean, I need you to open your eyes for me, okay? I need to know you're awake, that you're still with me."

Dean opened his eyes, they were filled with unshed tears and fear. The expression on his face emphasizing the look of fear.

"Make him go away!" Dean whispered to Sam, barely loud enough that Sam could hear it.

"Huh? Who?"

Then there was a knock on the door. The fear on Dean's face intensified as Sam pried Dean's hands from his shirt and headed toward the door.

"No! please, Sam, don't open it, please, make him go away."

Sam knew who was at the door, but he couldn't understand how Dean knew before he ever knocked, or why he wanted him to leave.

Sam opened the door, introducing himself to the native American chief who stood in front of him, and welcomed him into their room.

Dean had jumped to the head of his bed, his back pressed against the headboard and his knees pulled tightly to his chest. His arms were wrapped so tightly around his legs that he was blocking proper circulation. He had a wild look in his eyes again. And refused to move his glare to anywhere except onto the stranger.

The man looked at Dean, without saying a word he sat in the chair that was between Dean's bed and the door.

"Dean." Sam spoke. "This is Chief Wild Horse. He's from a long line of ancient native Americans. The ones I believe caused this curse, and Wild Horse, believes the same thing. And, he thinks he can fix this."

Dean didn't reply to Sam, he just kept staring at Wild Horse. Sam explained to him his behavior right before he had arrived and he seemed to be understanding, not surprised at all.

"We shall give it a few minutes, to allow him to settle down, to let the light and darkness find their place again." Wild Horse said, as he folded his hands together on his lap and waited, silently, for Dean to show signs of calming down.