Mud.
That's the first thing that he noticed, a long dirty road covered in mud. The slippery feel of the substance under the soles of his boots annoyed him, it seemed so very familiar.
A flashlight in his left, a shotgun in his right, he knew who he was looking for, he knew which path to take, he had done this before.
"SAM!" He yelled out while looking through the darkness, ears worked overtime to trace any sign of his brother against the deafening silence of the woods.
"DEAN!"
His knees almost buckled with relief when he heard his brother shouting his name, but there was that damn feeling again, he held his breath as he sensed the danger before it happened. The shadow was there, lurked behind Sam as if to mock Dean's attempt once again. His body suddenly decided to work on slow mode and failed to deliver a warning before Sam's back arched around the knife. He sprouted into a run, perhaps if he ran a little bit faster this time, but the mud, the damn slipper mud won't let him!
"NO!"
He was shocked back to the real world by his own scream, realized that he fell for the nightmare once again like he was stuck in some memory loop. He achingly curled to his right side as if to hold inside the trembling that suddenly took over. Without warning, something rumbled in his stomach and bile urged itself up his throat. He forced himself out of bed with barely functioning legs and ran to the toilet just in time to vomit the alcohol. The bile's aftertaste made him grimace, tastes like fucking mud.
He doubled over with arms clutching the toilet's ring for dear life, stomach violently released all the alcohol he forced in last night, "Oh God," Dean mumbled when he felt his throat fighting against the dry heaves that left him panting for a breath, as if his body was disciplining him for the abuse.
His eyes were forced shut as his body raged against him while his head felt like it was about to explode. Through the punishment, something soft rubbed his back "It's okay Dean, let it out son, try to relax," Bobby softly repeated as he rested a cold cloth on the back of his neck.
Dean hated how good the coldness felt against his clammy skin. He breathed through the waves of nausea and lifted his head up slowly when they finally began to rest. Bobby quietly handed him a glass of water which Dean took without looking up to rinse and spit the aftertaste. He started to push himself against the toilet when Bobby bent down intending to grab his arm, offer him support, but typical Dean, he pushed Bobby's hand away walked and unsteadily towards the room, collapsed back to the bed, and immediately folded himself into a ball as if to hide away from it all.
"You stay put, let me grab you some Aspirin and a cup o…"
"Mm fine Bobby, don't want your pampering," Dean cut him off, subconsciously hit himself for being mean to the old man when he was just trying to help, he didn't deserve Bobby's attention, definitely didn't deserve his help.
Bobby noticed that Dean's walls were back up, gone was the needy pained young boy that left him sitting last night on that chair till morning. Every time he was about to pull his hands away, Dean would unconsciously grab on with whatever strength he had left, as if the old man's hand was the only thing sheltering him from the dark abyss of his nightmares.
Back to the present, Bobby slowly covered Dean with the blanket which Dean tried to shrug away while his eyes were closed, he continued talking as if he didn't give a crap what Dean wanted at that moment, "Well I know you must be havin' a killer headache boy so I'll put it next to your bed, take it or leave it." he said without waiting for a reaction. Dean just grunted as he held the sides of his head, as if trying to keep his skull intact.
Bobby left to the kitchen, popped two Aspirin pills and filled a cup with warm water, he did it slower than usual, dreading the conversation that was to come. How am I gonna break the news to him? He thought to himself as he squeezed the bridge of his nose.
Just this morning, he received a call from a friend named Greg down in New Orleans, needed some help with a haunted cabin he was planning to move into. Now if it was any other guy, Bobby would've excused himself without a second thought, he wasn't planning to leave Dean in the state he was in, but that's the thing, this was Greg. Their bond went way back to when Bobby lost his wife, Greg was his buffer, he was no hunter or soldier, just a regular good old friend he met at a bar who was at the right place and knew what to say at the right time. Thinking back, he surely would've killed himself if it weren't for Greg's shoulder to lean on. He had to get this done, he owed him this much.
But how can I?! The other side of Bobby yelled as he looked back at the room, saw Dean as he covered his whole self in the blanket he tried to reject earlier, clutched it as if it was shield of stone against the world. He sighed to himself, it's been 2 months, and Dean seemed to be going further down the drain rather than up.
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Two hours later, Dean walked out of the room showered and dressed, but that didn't seem to be doing him any better. It seemed like water washed the color off his face, his cheeks now looked paler than the day before, which made his freckles stand out like ink and the dark circles under his eyes like bruises. He was a far cry from the predator that sprouted fear amongst the Supernatural.
As usual, he headed to the cabin in search of the bottle of Jack, but when he found the storage empty, he prepared himself to snap at Bobby, but Bobby beat him to it.
"That's enough Dean."
"Bobby, I'm not asking for your permission, let's act like adults here" he says hoarsely, throat still ached from the throwing-up escapade.
"I will if you stop acting like a kid! You almost drowned yourself in rum last night, all I'm asking for is that you fill your sick stomach with something other than liquid ya idgit."
Dean rolled his eyes and exhaled in annoyance, he roughly grabbed a toast on the table and bit off a chunk then smacked the toast back on the table, "There! Ya Happy?! Now where's the bottle Bobby?"
"Unbelievable Dean, you're damn straight unbelievable."
"Well fucking believe it old man, God…" Dean said as he rubbed his eyes then stared back at Bobby, "Are we gonna do this every damn morning?" Dean asked impatiently.
"No Dean, you won't have to, I'm leaving tonight." Bobby snapped, cursing himself at how he revealed the news to the kid, he hadn't meant to drop it stone cold like that!
A hint of terror flashed through Dean's eyes before his blank mask was poorly placed back on, "Well that's good to know, it's about time you quite with this fatherly role playing."
But Bobby knows better, under all this bravado act Dean had goin' on, he was as scared as Bobby was, last night was enough proof.
Dean grabbed the glass of water, anything to hide the tremble that ran through his fingers, he took a sip to shove the piece of toast that suddenly seemed so hard to swallow. He didn't feel like arguing, the surprising news of Bobby leaving, the killer headache, and the exhaustion of throwing up made him weak and he sat down, folded his arms on the table and dug his head between. It was only a matter of time till they all left.
As if Bobby sensed Dean's thoughts and said right away to undo his reckless damage, "I'm only going for a bit Dean, it just happens to be a quick hunt I can't skip, was actually thinking if you might wanna come with?"
"Good for you Bobby, and no thanks I'll pass the invitation." Dean said, voice muffled from between his arms.
"Expected," Bobby knew Dean's answer before he even asked it, "Well I won't be long, heading to New Orleans, remember Gre…"
He was cut off short as Dean jolted his head from his arms with glazed eyes, he gulped a few times before speaking, "N… New Orleans?".
"Yes Dean," Bobby answered tentatively, "You got some beef there?"
Dean closed his eyes, no longer caring about hiding his trembling hands as the shaking climbed up his shoulders, he was almost able to hear Sam's voice in his head as Bobby's became distant. He brought his face back down to the cocoon of his arms, closed his eyes and breathed shallowly through the memory…
"Out of all the cities I've been to Dean, can't get enough of New Orleans! Hey that kinda rhymes!" Sam said as he took a sip of some good old New Orleans brewed coffee.
Dean chuckled to himself, "Oh yeah? And why's that?"
"Look at this place," He said as they casually strolled down the French Quarter of the mystique city, "You walk around people who believe in myths, legends, vampires, ghosts, witches, fortune tellers, voodoo dolls, Dean you name it!"
"And why would that be comforting?" Dean asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Cause it's a place where I'd feel normal in, I'm at peace. We can walk around and say we hunt the supernatural and people would actually believe us, accept us, maybe even damn respect us and not think we're a bunch of nut jobs. They might as well find my vision mojo jojo cool! It's liberating." Sam sighed to himself, "I'd come here anytime just to feel this peace Dean, heck I'd die here if I can."
"You're full of shit Sam" Dean snorted as he shook his head.
Sam let out a laugh, he stopped abruptly as he noticed a street saxophonist playing some Jazzy tune.
Dean looked at his brother with surprise, "Never knew you were the jazz kinda guy Sammy."
"There are other types of music besides that cassette box of yours Dean," Sam said as he smiled at the guy to encourage his playing.
Dean chuckled as he stared in awe, noticed Sam's head softly rocking with the tune, eyes closed to enjoy the music; he really looked as if in peace.
Peace…
"Dean!"
Dean jolted back from the memory and blinked a few times to register that he was back in the kitchen, the saxophonist's tune still played in his head as if he was right behind him.
"Will you stop blacking out like that every now and then?!" Bobby said with concern.
Dean just stared at him, Sam's voice echoed clearly in his mind, "I'd come here any time just to feel this peace Dean."
As if something clicked in his head, resolve registered in his face, "I'll go."
"What? You wanna come along?" Bobby asked, without bothering to hide the hope in his voice. After two months, two long agonizing months of sleepless drunken tearful nights, Dean was finally leaving his shell.
"No Bobby, you're staying, I'm going."
He didn't see that coming, "What's that supposed to mean Dean?"
"Means exactly what it means, I'm going alone. I'll take care of the…h…" Dean choked on the word that caused him so much pain and tried again, "I'll take care of the hunt." He said it with such effort that almost broke him into a sweat.
Bobby couldn't help but wince, the word itself had Dean shaken up, what would the actual task do to him?! "Dean maybe this isn't a good idea, your legs are barely holding you up and you're as pale as the wall behind ya," he said worriedly, "No, Dean I don't think it's smart that you go alone."
Dean gave a false smile, "Funny, I don't remember asking for your thoughts Bobby." With that, he stood up and headed straight to his room, he had to do this now. He dusted off his gear while the old man tempered from behind but he just didn't hear a single word being shouted at him, as if he switched on some mute button within him.
He lost his brother, gone were his clothes, his books, his pranks, his protection, his aid, his voice. He had nothing left of him, nothing to remind him of his Sammy except for them damn nightmares. New Orleans, he said reassuringly to himself, it'll take me back to Sammy. It'll take him to the antique shops where Sam fiddled with holy beaded necklaces and bombarded the shop owner with questions about their history; the old bookstore where Sammy camped for hours reading about ancient spells and enchantments; the coffee shop next to their motel where Sam claimed every morning that it's the best roasted coffee created by mankind; and then there was the saxophonist.
It'll take me back to Sammy he said to himself again.
With Bobby still muted out, Dean grabbed his duffel bag and stuffed it with the flashlight and shotgun, winced at the memory of when he held these two instruments together. He pauses, takes a calming breath, and continues to shove objects inside, salt rounds, regular bullets, silver bullets, vervine, holy water and all that jazz. Bobby just stared at him with the same amount of shock as Dean seemed to be more determined by the second, "Dean would you stop and listen to me for a sec?! You're not up for this yet son! Not alone you aren't!"
Dean still chose to ignore Bobby as he wore his leather jacket, slipped on his boots, and shoved in his Swiss Army knife with quick ease.
The old man didn't know if this is over-steamed adrenaline or plain energy, heck if it weren't for the paleness of Dean's skin and loss of muscle, he would've thought Dean was back in the game.
"Dean I won't allow this!" Bobby suddenly yelled while blocking the front door as Dean stood up to leave.
Dean, suddenly getting his hearing back, dropped the bag roughly against the floor and looked straight at the old hunter like a bull ready to attack, he clenched his jaw before he spoke, "Really Bobby? You wanna say that to me one more time? You've been pressing my buttons for the past two months to go back to hunting; and now that I am you're blocking the door? Make up your fucking mind!"
"Son I'm glad, I really am, I just don't think you should do it alone is all. Why do you all of a sudde…"
Dean cut him off, "Why's none of your business, and I've done solo hunts before so rest your head." He sensed his adrenaline fading away, he had to pass through Bobby, get out the door before his mind closed off on him. "Now…" Dean started, then swallowed a cough that rose up his chest. "What's this gig about?" He said with the last thread of strength he found within him.
"Dean…"
"Bobby," Dean's eyes begged as he raised his left arm to rest on the door frame, balanced himself as if he was standing on the tip of a mountain about to fall off the edge, "Please," he whispered as he barely kept himself held together, "just tell me what do I have to do." His head bent down to stare at the floor. In less than five seconds, Dean turned from determined to desperate.
Bobby broke over the sudden change, "Okay son okay", he said as he rested his hand on Dean's shoulder, lending him some of the strength which he just overused, "I'll tell ya all ya need to know, just take a breath."
And Dean did, he closed his eyes and wiped a tear before Bobby got the chance to see it. He listened to Bobby's instructions while Sam's voice played like a mantra in his head, "I'd come here anytime to feel this peace Dean, heck I'd die here if I can…"
Yeah, Dean thought to himself, I'd die here too.
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Had to post this chapter even though nothing much happens here, basically this is the calm before the storm *evil grin*, I'm too excited to get into the actual juice of this story!
Please let me know what you think of the story so far, am I presenting the characters right? Am I depressing Dean too much? Am I going too slow or too fast? Let me know, this is complete foreign ground for me and your feedback would definitely help me in getting a clear grip of how to move with this.