Frankly

Aloha, readers. I hope you enjoy today's installment of Frankly. Just, be warned, I did write this at three in the morning. It might be...error filled. And make no sense. EITHER WAY: I still don't own Supernatural, sillies.

ENJOY!

"What glitters," the whispered song rang out, breathless the second it leaves the pink lips that formed it.

The sentence, the owner of the lips can tell, will come out only in fragments. "Is not always," the lips quiver with each step that bounces its features.

Light refracts off wet cobblestone pavers that make a road and buildings hang ominously over alley ways. "Gold." It's not even a whisper, the mouth forms the word without making a sound.

The sound of skirts rustling wakes me up from my after school nap and my head lifts off the pillow in an instant. I'm breathless from the get-go and purely exhausted. The dreams keep coming: sometimes different, sometimes not. There is nothing more frustrating than not knowing what's happening to your own mind.

I'm going crazy. Being a Winchester might finally be catching up to me.

Getting up and leaving the unhappy thoughts behind, I slipped my house shoes on and open my bedroom door in favor of the bathroom. A shower sounds just about right after another long day at school. It's finally Friday, and even though the weekends as of late have been pure hell, I'm looking forward to it. So, I look into the mirror with a small smile.

In the shower I try to scrub away the worry that has settled on my skin like another layer, so close. 'The dreams must be a manifestation of worry for my brothers,' I think. At this point, the many numbers have been changed or cancelled. My worry has become an ever present reel playing in the back of my head. Always there and never ending.

Well, I already said that, I suppose, but the point has been made, at least. I know they're alive, but I can't tell where they were, and their new phone numbers wouldn't magically come to me. No matter how hard I wished for it.

I've wished for a lot of things in the time they've been gone. Brought on by missing the little things. Like the sunlight in Dean's hair, or how he always bugged me to shave the hair on his neck with his electric razor. Or my dad lecturing me about texting. That used to annoy me so.

I wonder if I'll ever get those little moments back.

"Sam!" I hear Dean's loud voice filtered through the bathroom door. I shake my head, causing shampoo to burn my eyes. The burn doesn't distract the sadness I feel. I'm going crazy. Why won't my brain stop this? It's hard enough worrying about them without having auditory hallucinations.

I rinse my hair and my eyes before stepping out onto the fuzzy rug, a towel already wrapped around my torso. I have my hairbrush halfway through a tangled mass of wet hair when I hear it again. This time, the water is off and I hear it more clearly. "Sam, hurry up! I know it's hard to walk up the stairs in your heels, Princess, but get a move on. Frankie's waiting."

I stare at my frozen, terror filled face in the mirror. Terror because, if it isn't real this time, I might explode into a million pieces. They had to be there, they had to.

I've waited so long for this moment, so why I remain frozen is a mystery to myself and my reflection. All I see, all I think for a moment of time is concentrated on taking in the sight of my reflection, as if I could ask it if what I heard was real. And, if it wasn't, why it would play such a cruel trick on me? Like it was responsible.

The hairbrush is dropped into the sink's shallow basin and I'm out the door in a matter of seconds, searching. 'Dean? Sam?'

And there, standing on the carpet in my bedroom doorway is my sandy headed brother, in all of his stocky glory. The sun filtered through his hair just like I remembered. "Hey, Frank."

I close my eyes for just a moment, taking a breath and swallowing down the lump that has formed in my throat before I realize how much time I'm wasting.

I'm in my brothers arms in a matter of seconds, hugging him as tightly as I possibly can, my face pressed to his chest. His heart beat is slow and steady beneath his skin and clothes and it's just what I'd hoped it would be.

Sam is standing behind him, next to my bed. He's even taller than I remember. "Thank God," I whisper into Dean's cloth covered chest before I pull away from the embrace. "Where," now I'm angry. They're alive. And I see a phone shaped object in both of their pockets. Five weeks they could have called. Five. "In the hell...have you two idiots been?"

I can feel my hair drying into a mass of dark brown frizz as their faces contort into that of awkwardness. They're framing their response so as not to fully piss me off, which is just proving to pissing me off. "You two make me sick," I say, gripping my towel tighter to my body. "Make up your excuse in the hall so I can get dressed."

The door is slammed in their faces as soon as it can be, which leaves them confused, I can tell. I missed them so, but this is only going to be unnecessarily awkward if I remain in nothing but a towel.

They are, after all, fully grown men.

Clothing is hastily pulled up and over my body as quickly as it can so that the time spent away from my two dearest brothers is as short as it could possibly be. Also, I'm still not entirely convinced this isn't a dream or hallucination.

The door is open in no time at all, everyone filed into the room, and I await the excuse of a life time. 'It better be good.'

"Dad disappeared. I was so busy looking for him that, by the time I recruited Sam to help look, calling you had slipped my mind. We've...run into a little trouble, you could say."

"So," I drawl out. "What you're saying is...You were too worried to even send a text?"

Dean's hand runs through his short hair. I notice the hair on his neck is completely untrimmed. "Got new phones," insert a coy, guilty smile here. "The other ones had to be trashed. We headed for you as soon as we could."

"Where were you that it took five weeks to get to me?"

Eyes are rolled. Sam is still silent. "We just left out yesterday morning. Drove all through the night and over the speed limit to get here."

"That's no excuse," I whisper. "I was worried sick."

"Sorry, Frank." Dean looks guilty as he pulls me into another hug. I missed the way he smelled. Like cheap hotels and the polishing agent he used on the seats of the Impala. "Don't you ever scare me like that again."

Sam, by now, is sheepishly scratching the back of his head. He knows how upset I was when he left. I think he senses that his actions have permanently damaged our once well structured bond.

Either way, I still give him the tightest hug I can manage. "I'm so glad you're okay," I whisper. I don't even really come up to his chest now, with his height, but I think he heard. Because he suddenly hugs me back.

The special thank you to my reviewers will commence...now.

Eva Sirico: I'm glad you love it already. I know I do. Thank you for the review!

SuzSinger: Thanks, Lovey! Appreciate 'ya.

Impalagirl67: If you're hooked, then my fishing trip has gone well, wouldn't you say? Thanks for the review! Hope you enjoy.

LauRa-ReaDinG-XoX: Thank you for both of your reviews! DING, DING, DING! You win the special prize! (Not really, I'm broke. But, if I could, I'd send you a golden cookie.)

Lucifersdaughter: Thank you, you're great. I hope this satisfies your need to know more.

Until next time, Lovey's. I'm outie.