When the Cradle Falls
Chapter Forty-Eight: Bring Me a Dream
There was a tired yawn as Cara placed her head on the book she was currently reading, the motel room going sideways, her eyes blinking heavily. The living area of the room was lit by a dim lamp, while the rest of the suite was plunged in darkness.
A pair of sideways legs appeared, wrapped in flannel. The figure rubbed his eyes and stopped, seeing Cara sitting at the table. Frowning, her uncle turned and looked at the digital clock. "What are you doing up?"
Sitting upright, Cara straightened the chair. "Can't sleep."
"Anything you wanna talk about?" Sam asked gently, pulling out the other chair, taking a seat.
She shrugged. She was tired, but couldn't seem to fall asleep. "Just one of those nights."
Sam nodded. He'd probably had more of those than restful nights. "Is it your dad?"
Looking into the darkness, she knew her brother and father were sleeping soundly. It was kind of amazing that she was awake and everyone else was asleep-both her father and uncle didn't require much sleep.
"It's just...Noah." She stared down at the table for a minute. "You know, I don't like keeping secrets. I'm not good at it. I feel like I'm gonna explode. She swiveled towards the page about the unification of the states of Germany and inhaled deeply, wishing it would put her to sleep, through sheer boredom.
Sam nodded. "It can be hard."
"And I just wanna tell him so bad. We only have so long and it's not fair that Noah's going through life thinking he has forever when he doesn't." She glanced down. "Did you know after WWII, Germany was split into two states until 1990? There was a communist and capitalist side."
"Yeah, the tail end of the Cold War."
There was a pill of loose fabric on her sweater that was particularly irritating. "They just opened up both sides and everyone was one country again. What was that like?"
He had to admit he had never given it much thought. Reaching across the table, Sam closed the textbook and slid it towards the opposite end of the table. "How are you?"
"What do you mean?"
"How are you doing?" Sam asked. "Is the homeschooling too much for you guys? I know you missed a lot. I didn't want you to fall behind and-"
Cara shook her head. "No. It's...I don't know. It gives me something to do. I just hate all of the bullshit."
"Language."
"Sorry," Cara muttered insincerely. "But am I ever gonna need geometry in my life? Like seriously."
"What do you wanna be?"
She shrugged. "I like writing. Maybe I'll be a journalist or novelist." She paused. "I don't think I want to be a hunter for the rest of my life," she admitted, glancing at Sam.
"That's fine. You can be anything you want. But really, you should try to sleep."
"I'll try to sleep in a little bit." She grabbed the book and flipped forwards. "Let me read about the Defenestration of Prague and I'll be sleeping in no time."
"Precursor to the 100 Year War? Riveting," Sam drawled.
"There's Christians. I mean they're Protestant and Catholic. But they believe in the same God."
"When was the last time you slept?" Sam asked.
"Last night."
"So an entire day?"
"Depends on the time."
"I'm not arguing semantics right now."
Carelessly, Cara tugged the book back to her. "Then I haven't slept."
"But you love sleeping." It was true. Cara would adopt the lifestyle of a koala if she could.
There was a failed attempt of Cara suppressing a yawn.
"You need to sleep," Sam said.
"I can't."
"Well, you should try."
Frustrated, she wanted to argue that she had already tried that. Standing up from the chair, she felt woozy, like she was tired. Maybe she did need to lay down. It was hard on the pull-out couch she was designated to, but before that, she had spent half the night staring at the wall. "Sure thing," she muttered.
From the table, Sam watched as she pulled back the blanket and tossed and turned a few times, before facing away from him, and sighing deeply.
Glancing at the history book, Sam flipped through the pages, catching glimpses of Medieval paintings, all the way to photographs of satellites being shot into space.
Ever since Dean had made a deal for him, Sam wondered if the demon was right. How sure was Dean that he had brought back Sam as he was. Sam felt completely normal, but watched every time he got irritated or angry, trying to measure that against what it would have been before he died.
Taking out the laptop, Sam began to click away at some keys and went to the FBI Kidnapped and Missing Person's page. He scrolled through faces and names and paused when he came across the picture of a young girl with dark hair and dark eyes. In the picture, her hair was curled and held back with a white satin bow, probably a school picture.
Silviana Floriane Medina-Serrano.
One of his biggest shames was that they had left a little girl alone to fend for herself. And it was as simple as that they had forgotten about her. And when they went back to look for her, she was just gone.
"I'm sorry, Silvia," Sam muttered, closing that lid to the computer. "We'll find you."
Pretty early the next morning, Cara offered to go with her father who was up before six.
"Why are you awake?" Dean asked suspiciously, as he was about to leave, Cara appearing suddenly, dressed and ready for the day. It was a strange sight. Normally she had to be literally dragged out of bed and appeased with chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream in the morning.
"I'm just up early." She knew that if she let on she wasn't sleeping, she ran the risk of being sidelined from the hunt.
"Uh-huh," Dean said, letting the issue slide for now. "You wanna come with?"
"Are you going to get food?"
He nodded. "That, and check out a lead."
Nodding excitedly, Cara grabbed her white canvas shoes and hopped out the door, shoving on her shoe.
"So uh what's the lead?" She asked, jogging to keep up with her father.
"Driver lost control of the bus and drove it over a bridge."
She winced at that.
"Don't worry: no one died."
"Good. And how do you know that it wasn't just an accident?"
"No drugs or alcohol in their system. Bus driver said they blacked out when it happened and doesn't remember."
"So demons," Cara muttered.
"Haven't found any sulphur to confirm it, but yeah, it's looking like that," Dean replied through the corner of his mouth, also quite tired of dealing with demons.
The bus driver was at the local hospital, and Dean introduced himself and Cara as second-or-something-removed cousins of the older man.
It wasn't hard to find his hospital room after being directed the correct way by the nurses.
"Follow my lead, okay? Don't say anything unless-"
"No, I think I'm gonna go rogue," Cara retorted, a bit irritated that she had to hear this spiel again. It was only the hundred thousandth time-
"You can can the attitude right now or you can sit in the car. Your choice."
"Yeah, follow your lead." I know.
Dean knocked at the door as a man with crazy gray hair in a hospital gown, looked up, frowning at the pair. "Do I know you?"
"No, you don't," Dean replied. He grabbed two chairs and dragged them to the edge of the man's bed, taking a seat. Cara slowly sat down next to him, feeling a bit rude for making herself at home without asking the man. "Marv, I just want you to tell me what happened."
Marv looked panicked. "What are you…"
"On the bus, Marv. What happened?"
"I-I don't-"
Dean held up his hands. "Look, my mom was on that bus. She's currently in the hospital, much like you. Laid up with a nasty broken hip. She was just on her way to her job of working with special needs kids when...well, that's what I want to know."
"And what'd she say?" Marv asked, gulping loudly.
"Said she was just reading her daily hymnal when there was a jolt and everything started spinning. Did I mention she hit her head as well? Hasn't been able to read a single verse from the New Testament since then. You know how small the font is in the New King James?"
"I don't remember!" Marv exclaimed, close to tears. "I swear! I was just driving and then the next thing I know I'm being fished out of the water-like a fish!-by some firefighters." Now he was sobbing hysterically.
Immune to the man's tears, Dean gave a deep sigh. "Okay, look...I shouldn't be telling you this but, everyone on the bus has been talking about a possible lawsuit. I can speak if it's for you or the bus company, but really, if you could provide me with anything that I can bring to my mom to help your case...please, Marv, for your own sake, you gotta give me something. Anything."
Marv shrugged desperately. "My cat, Godiva, died a few weeks back. I'm coming up on the twelfth anniversary of my wife's death. I haven't slept in close to a week and a half. My kids won't talk to me. I'm late on my car payment. I have this weird tingling in three of the toes on my right side. My neighbor-"
"Whoa whoa whoa. Okay okay. You haven't seen any black smoke or smelled anything sulphur-y?"
"Are you talking about my egg salad sandwich? I know it doesn't smell the best but-"
Dean stood up abruptly. "Right. I'm sorry to bother you. You seem like a nice guy and I'll pass the information onto my mother. Sorry, for bothering you."
Marv waved a hand as the other was used to blow into his hospital gown. "Tell your mother I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, you know. And let her know she was a looker. But not that I noticed. And that definitely wasn't why I crashed the bus. My eyes were on the road-"
"Let's go," Dean muttered to Cara, turning for the door. "Thanks again, Marv. I hope that everything works out-er...things will be okay for you."
The two left the room as Marv continued to sob.
"What was that?" Cara asked, once the two were in the hospital.
"I needed information. He gave it to me. Sometimes you have to lie to get the truth," Dean responded.
She knew that, but this didn't feel right. "How about making some poor man in a hospital cry?"
"For the greater good, sometimes you have to bend some rules," Dean responded.
"The 'greater good?'" Cara asked, not entirely understanding the phrase.
"When you're looking at the big picture, sometimes you need to let the details slide."
"Are you talking about communism?" Cara asked.
Dean's face scrunched up in confusion. "Huh?"
"Like you said. One person sacrificed for the good of everyone else. That's communism. So...hunting is communism?" It left a bad taste in her mouth, knowing that communism wasn't exactly favored by her country.
"I-uh-I...you want Waffle House for breakfast?" Dean sure as hell wished Alice wasn't at some rehab retreat right now and could explain things to their kids that went way over his head.
She gave him a sideways look. "Only if they have choc-"
"-olate chips."
Cara smiled. "You know me so well."
"Is there butter?" Noah asked, the waffles already torn to shreds in the to-go box.
"Here." The butter was pushed towards him by Cara.
Noah took a few bites of his waffles and stopped to watch Cara sullenly swirl her finger in her chocolate milk.
"That's disgusting," Noah commented.
Realizing she was dozing off, Cara sat up straight. She took a look at her finger, gave a grimace, and pulled it out onto a napkin. "Oh, I don't know."
"Huh?"
Cara glanced over at her brother. "What did you ask me?"
"Uh, nothing? I just said that was disgusting," he gestured to the chocolate milk.
"Right."
"What's wrong with you?" Noah asked, when Cara continued to doze off into space.
"I didn't really sleep last night."
"It sure looks like it. You look like a zombie."
Grimacing, she pushed that chair back and stood up. "Thanks, Noah." She pushed the chair in. "Have you had a chance to talk to Dad yet?"
"No."
Nodding, Cara didn't respond and moved towards the motel room door and left, without a word.
Sighing at how weird his sister was, Noah took a bite of waffles dipped in butter and ripped it apart with his teeth. Ever since he had exorcised Pride, Cara and him had been weird. There was a strange tension between them, as Cara's cryptic words danced around his head. His dad was gonna break his heart. Cara told him to talk to Dad and kept bringing it up.
Noah didn't want to talk to his dad. Really, he just wanted his mom. And he knew-it had been made clear-that he wasn't to call her. She needed space and time to get better, which really stunk. Mom always made him feel better. He knew Dad cared for him, but Noah always felt pressure to "be tough, be a man, protect others"
He and Uncle Sam had been trapped, watched others like them die, and had to deal with Yellow Eyes.
After all of that, Cara was asking him weird questions, Sam was too nice, Dad was distant-more than usual-, and Mom was just gone.
To top it all off, Noah couldn't even go to school to blow off some steam, and pretend that he was normal for a while.
Pulling the waffles closer to himself, Noah continued to eat by himself in silence, interrupted by Sam bursting into the room, launching to his laptop, opposite Noah at the table.
"Everyone okay?" Noah asked between gulps.
"This case just keeps getting weirder…" Sam said, eyes glued to the screen.
"Yeah?"
Sam kept typing away, "It's not good."
"What? I haven't heard anything, so we're okay."
Sam glanced up, making eye contact with his nephew. "Glad to hear it. But it's still not good," Sam continued. "We have a bus driver with no memory, and now we have two children that wake up not seeing anything."
There was one less bite of the waffle. "So they're blind."
"Their eyes were gone."
"Uh what?"
"Their eyeballs were literally missing from their sockets."
Suddenly feeling nauseous, Noah pushed the food away. "What?"
"They don't have-"
Noah took another bite of his waffle, instantly regretting it, but still swallowing "Sorry for asking. I get it. Ugh."
With a nod, Sam continued to type away at his laptop. They had an old man who crashed a bus and two kids that just woke up without eyes. So basically...they had a whole mess.
"Where's my dad?" Noah asked, Sam sunken into the laptop screen.
"Huh?" Sam looked up. "He's following the no-eye lead."
"And Cara?" Noah asked. She'd left about twenty minutes ago.
"With your dad," Sam replied.
Noah looked down at his breakfast. "So, I'm just here eating some waffles?"
Shrugging, Sam continued clicking and typing, unaware of Noah's displeasure.
"Right, yeah," Noah muttered to himself, pushing away the empty container, trying to figure out what to do now.
"I'm Agent Yelnats," Dean said, to the woman at the door, who looked like she hadn't had a wink of sleep in a while. "I know your case, and I know how it looks, but it's ' bring your kid to work day' and my daughter is just desperate to see everything. If you would have her. Of course." Cara wiggled her hand from the backseat window of the car.
"Have you seen the movie Holes?" She asked, with an edge in her voice.
Dean shrugged. "No m'am, I have not.
"Huh," the woman commented, looking him up and down. "You ever carried anyone up a mountain?"
"Can't say I have."
She frowned.
"Do your feet smell?"
"My lady would say otherwise."
The woman glanced back at Cara. "That's your daughter, you said?"
"Yes m'am."
She clenched the door tightly. "How'd you feel if you woke up and found out both of your kids were blind, their eyeballs gone?"
Dean's attitude became a little more subdued. "I'd be devastated."
"That's one way to react. I, however, am not sleeping until I find whatever psycho did that."
"And there were no signs of anyone breaking in, nothing was stolen?"
The mother shook her head, face turning red, likely thinking about the state in which she found her children. "No. Nothing." The woman opened the large wooden door. "Jacob and Matthew are at the hospital with their father right now. You and your daughter can look around if you want."
As Dean passed the old woman, she grabbed him. "You smell peach, you yell my name," she warned, arm gripped tightly.
"Of course," Dean said, as Cara approached the house.
"So, we're okay?" Cara asked.
"Just don't smell peach or rotten shoes," Dean advised.
Cara frowned. "Why'd she say that?"
"Cause she found her kids with no eyes and obviously hasn't slept," Dean supplied.
"What name did you use this time?"
"Agent Yelnats."
"Right. Where'd you get that name from?"
"From the list of the FBI/police/illegal potential name list," Dean hissed, looking around. "I'm not creative," he mentioned. "Neither is the list."
"You ever read the book Holes?" Cara asked?
"No," Dean replied, entering the bedroom of two of the children. It was standard. They were boys that had a medium blue wall and dark wood bunk beds.
"You should," Cara repeated.
With a sigh, Dean looked around the room. "What do you think from this?" Dean asked.
"The blue looks nice," Cara supplied.
Dean stared at Cara, in the middle of the "now" blind boys' room. Everything was normal.
Walking over to the window, Dean ran a finger over the sill. Holding his finger up in the light, he noticed the heavy, rough particulates that had been picked up from the surface. The window obviously hadn't been dusted or opened in a long time.
"Anything?" Cara asked, shining a flashlight under the bottom bunk.
"No," Dean muttered. "At least there's no sulfur."
"Back to square one."
"I thought you'd be happy it wasn't a demon."
Cara shrugged and continued to look around the room, eyes landing on the bed. She stared at it longingly as there was a knock at the door. "Need anything, Agent?" The woman asked.
"No m'am, I think everything is okay."
"Any signs of someone breaking in? I check the window lock and it hasn't moved."
Dean nodded. "There weren't any footprints or signs in the dust on the windowsill."
Frowning, she came over and observed the windowsill, arms crossed tightly. "Huh."
"What?"
"It's just...oh well it's not a big deal."
"What is it?"
She brushed a bang out of her face, seemingly almost flustered. "Well, I thought-I could've sworn-that I-I mean I was positive that I just cleaned this room a few days ago, including dusting that damn windowsill." Her eyes moved to Cara. "Sorry for my language." Cara didn't really seem to notice.
Dean gave a tight smile. "You've had a lot going on. Trust me, cleaning would be the last thing on my mind."
Comforted, she nodded.
"I think I have everything I need here."
The woman nodded. "Good. I'm in desperate need of an Irish Coffee."
"Hey, Sam, you ever had an Irish Coffee?" Dean asked, looking up from the pad he was taking notes on.
"Uh, yeah, sure Dean." Sam gleaned at the clock. "Why, you trying to justify having some Jack before eleven in the morning?"
"Pff," Dean muttered, staring down at his notes. He had 'bus driver', 'kids with no eyes', 'dusty windowsill.' In other words: a fat pile of crap. "You get anything from the hospital?"
Sam shrugged and waved his hands. "I mean...I guess? One of the boys said they weren't actually sleeping and felt someone grab their eyelashes. Doesn't remember anything after that. Other boy doesn't remember anything. They didn't see anything-not to sound morbid." Sam swallowed and shook his head, trying to forget the two children with white bandages tape over where their eyes should have been.
"What sick bastard steals kids eyes?" Dean seethed.
"I don't know, but I'm telling you, they better not steal mine," Noah declared, shuffling through Cara's European History book.
"Not funny," Dean grumbled.
"No. Neither is the history of Prussia."
"The hell are you reading?"
"This." Noah held up the book.
Sam became a little indignant. "Shouldn't you be finishing your assignment of dividing and multiplying fractions-"
"It's done. I'm also done with the book report on 'Tuck Everlasting'."
"That's not due for another two weeks-"
"I didn't have anything to do."
"Really?" Sam drawled, attention stolen from his laptop. "You're done with everything I assigned for the next two weeks?"
"Three," Noah corrected, head placed on the table, using his breath to blow a napkin up and down.
"Yeah? And where's all this homework?"
Noah pointed towards his backpack. "It's there if you wanna check it." Glancing at Cara, who was silent, ignoring them, and flipping through a book on a wide mythology of monsters, made Noah remember something. "Oh yeah. There's something else."
"What?" Sam asked.
Without preface or preamble, Noah sat up and began to recite the exorcism he had used on Pride.
"Amen," Noah finished, glancing at Cara, who was half paying attention to her book now.
"When did you memorize that?" Sam asked in wonder, it was only in the last year that he had fully mastered that exorcism, Dean even less recently than him.
"When we were at Tamera's."
"How?"
"I saw the page of the book."
"And what? You just remember it in your head?" Sam questioned.
"Yeah?"
"Told you it was a big deal," Cara muttered, through the corner of her mouth.
The brothers frowned and glanced at one another. "Okay. Let's try this," Sam said, he typed something onto the laptop and showed Noah a dense paragraph. "Lemme know when you have it."
Noah leaned forward and slowly read over the small print. He nodded after a few minutes.
Pausing, Sam eventually asked Noah what it said.
"Uhh… 'Well, Prince, Genoa, and Luke-Lucca are now no more than private estates of the'-not really sure how to pronounce that-'Bonaparte family. No I want you, that if you do not tell me we are at war, if you again allow yourself to pal-' Again not sure about this word-"
"That's good enough," Sam said, in awe.
"What'd I just read?"
"The beginning of War and Peace."
"Haven't heard of it."
That pulled Cara out of her reverie. "You haven't heard of War and Peace? It's a classic. It's by Leo Tolstoy-"
"Thanks, the first paragraph told me everything I needed to know," Noah muttered.
"Uh-huh well the first time I met you…" Cara muttered underneath her breath, going back to flipping through the book almost mindlessly.
"How long have you been able to do that?"
"My entire life, I guess."
"Told you," Cara muttered again.
"Shut up," Noah said under his breath.
"Be nice, you two," Dean warned. "So, you have a photographic memory?"
"That's what it's called?" It's not the first time Noah had heard it, recently.
"Yeah most people can't just perfectly recall a picture in their head," Dean informed.
Visibly upset, Noah pushed his chair away from the table and stood. He angrily shoved some blinds out of the way and glared into the parking lot, not really looking at anything with an intended target. "Great. Another thing that makes me a freak."
Incensed, Cara stood, shoving her book to the ground. "Yeah cause like you just aren't already perfect!"
Noah's neck snapped towards Cara. "What? I'm perfect?"
Her hands went up. "You always are! You have a photographic memory. You're smart. You have friends. You're the favorite!" There was a lull in the air as she went to catch her breath. "You were wanted!" She screamed, the motel room slamming behind her, again.
It was only a few minutes later that Dean was up from his chair, following her out the door.
With a scoff, Noah plopped down onto a bed. "Yeah. I'm the favorite."
Sam came over and sat next to Noah on the bed. "You know, being the youngest can be hard."
"Guess so."
"It is. There's always pressure to be perfect, because you're the last one. It's not an easy role."
Sniffling into his hand, Noah wiped his nose. "I just wanna go to recess with my friends and go to football practice."
There was an area where Sam failed to relate to his nephew. Noah's realization of hunting was newfound. Noah had memories of childhood, and innocence, and being carefree. Sam didn't have that. But to hear Noah's heart yearn for that really made Sam wrench in guilt at everything that had happened to that young boy.
"Cara can't wait to be in high school. She's always talking about it," Noah said. For him, that was a lifetime away, but not for his sister.
"I used to be the same way. Couldn't wait until I was old enough to do what I wanted." Sam gave a melancholy sigh, thinking about his time with Jess. "Look, your sister hasn't slept well lately-"
"So it's okay she yelled at me?"
Sam shook his head. "No. It's not."
Shaking his head, Noah turned back to his work. "I just wanna get this done."
By the time she had finished her rant and escaped from the motel room, she was on the floor, cross-legged around the far side of the motel, away from the parking lot and any guests that were staying there. Everything was fuzzy. Her head felt tired, but her body and brain wouldn't let her rest.
While she was willing herself to rest her eyes for a moment, there was a gruff voice that called her name.
Snapping up, Cara watched warily as Dean approached. He stopped near her.
Expecting him to yell, she tensed up.
Instead, there was a heavy thud as he slid down beside her. "What you said to your brother was not okay. Okay?"
She was right. He was just here to berate her. "Why not? It's true."
"Which part?"
"All of it!" Cara said loudly, defensive. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest.
"He's perfect?"
"Yeah, basically."
"He's not. Neither am I. No one is perfect."
"Okay fine he's pretty much perfect."
Dean sighed, not knowing how to convey how wrong she was. Who the favorite child was obviously touched a deep nerve within her, and Dean knew he needed to wade carefully, balancing the needs of both his children. "If that's the case, you're both pretty much perfect."
Not buying his bait, Cara slammed her face into her knees.
"Okay, so there were some things you said that were true. He might have a photographic memory. And that's fine. Cara, do you think you're any less intelligent, smart, or clever for not having that? I have never met someone more diligent than learning about and researching demons than you. I have never met someone that has been more well read than you at your age-even more than your uncle.
"And you think Noah is the favorite? There is not, never has been, and never will be a competition between you and your brother, so I want you to forget that. Both of you are your own people."
Dean scooted a little closer to his daughter, who looked like she was on the verge of passing out. "Yes, it was a shock when I found out Mom was pregnant with you. And yeah, it might have been rough. But, we were just kids ourselves. Mom having you and me meeting you taught us to be adults. You really opened up a whole new world for me that I never knew. You understand? Cara, you have made all the difference in the world for me and your mom...okay?"
Looking close to tears, Cara swiped at her nose with a shirt sleeve. "Sure."
Nodding, Dean wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his side, letting them sit for a few moments.
Frogs croaked in a chorus from a nearby marsh as there was a warm, humid breeze that rustled the canopy.
Dean slowly pulled his arm away, only to have Cara open her eyes and lean upwards.
"Thought you were sleeping."
"Nope."
"Well, great," Dean muttered sarcastically, standing. "We should go back."
"Hmm."
"You're dead on your feet."
"I'm not!" Cara snapped, whipping around, fire on her breath.
Smiling, Dean nodded. "In that case? You need to apologize to your brother?"
Her jaw almost dropped. "For what?"
"You were rude to him and yelled at him."
"Are you ki-"
"Cara, stop."
He waited until she did.
"I understand how you're feeling, and it's valid, but you cannot talk to your brother like that. How do you think that made him feel?"
Frowning slightly, Cara shuffled her feet. "Bad."
"Yeah, it did. So you need to apologize and tell him you're sorry."
She nodded. "Fine."
A few moments later, the two entered the room, where Sam was on his feet. "Dean, I-"
"Cara wants to say something," Dean cut him off.
The finger Sam was holding up wilted, as Noah tensed up further in his chair.
Cara took a step into the room. "Noah."
Dean gave her shoulder a nudge.
Cara began her speech. "Noah. I'm sorry. I get so wrapped up in my problems and I guess I forget other people have them. I didn't mean what I said. Other than that you have a photographic memory and you're smart."
Perking up a little, Noah was nearly ready to give her a hug. "Thanks. I accept your apology." His first grade teacher had always told him to say 'I accept your apology' instead of 'it's okay.'
She gave a thin grin and nodded. "Good." The word was held out for too long.
"What's wrong with you?" Noah asked.
The smile went down and up. "Nothing. I'm just tired," Cara hissed back. To him, it didn't feel very grateful.
"Why don't you just go to bed?" Her brother inquired.
"Why cause 'I'm a zombie?'"
"Yup, that."
"As soon as you tell me we're okay;"
"We. Are. Good," Cara supplied, flopping onto her assigned bed.
Noah recoiled. "Fine. It's okay." He looked back at his father and uncle.
"You okay?" Dean asked lowly, to his son.
Noah nodded.
Smiling, Dean pulled Noah into a one-armed hug, messing his hair up with the other hand. "Right. Let's all try to get some sleep, huh?"
Dean was never the first one up. He wasn't now, but Sam was off following a lead from the bus driver. So being the 'first' awake gave Dean a power he never knew.
"GOOD. MORNING. CARA. NOAH." Dean repeated the sequence throughout the apartment.
Cara was immediately up, slamming the bathroom door behind her. She had never been a morning person.
Noah popped up like he was being attacked, looking around before slinking back down. "I'm awake," he added.
A decent while later, Cara emerged, wearing jeans and a shirt with a moose on it. She looked very serious. "Is there a lead?"
"No. I just thought we would get breakfast."
Cara looked around the room. "Where's Uncle Sam?"
"On a lead."
Cara nodded. "Well I guess I'll lay down and wait for Noah to be ready," she asserted calmly, before flopping on the nearest bed.
Dean slammed down into a chair. "He's ready."
Popping up like a fucking jack-in-the-box, Cara was up, dead on her feet. "Ready," she added.
Once their dad had ordered, he turned to Cara, who wobbled. "You okay?"
"Bueno."
"Did you sleep last night?"
"Six hours," Cara replied. She turned to Noah. "You?"
"Uh seven?"
She tucked her chin and muttered. "Perfect."
"What?" Noah asked.
"Don't worry about it."
As the three went to get breakfast through the drive through, Dean ordered the breakfast burrito supreme, while he made sure Cara and Noah got healthier choices of waffles. Dean got Sam a yogurt parfait.
"Take the food," Noah said, passing it back to Cara, who was sitting dazedly in the backseat. "Cara!"
"What?"
"Take it." She finally grabbed the bag.
"What is this?"
Noah frowned in confusion, "What?"
"What's in the bag?"
"It's our breakfast?"
"Oh."
From the driver's seat, Dean caught Cara's appearance in the rearview mirror. There were purple crescents under both eyes, lids drooping heavily. "Cara."
"Huh?"
"How much sleep did you get last night?"
What had she said before? She didn't remember. "Uh fi-six hours."
"Don't lie."
"Why does it matter?" She burst, hating the stares she was getting from her father and brother, as well as the not-so-fun twenty questions game.
"Because if you're not sharp on a case, that's dangerous for you and everyone else."
Her hands flew up, bag of food slumping onto the rest of the backseat. "I've tried. I can't. Literally. Probably counted a thousand sheep in my head. More than once."
"That's a lot of sheep," Noah commented. He doubted he ever made it to a hundred before he fell asleep.
"When was the last time you slept?" Dean asked.
It seemed to take a substantial amount of brain power for Cara to go back in her memory and try to remember the last time she wasn't conscious. Her fingers raised and she counted something. "I guess not since we've gotten to this town."
"It's been four days since we've been here!" Dean exclaimed.
"'And you're gonna take a nap as soon as we get back to the motel room,'" Cara predicted to herself, wishing they had silence in the car. Ever since they had been there, every time someone talked, they had seriously annoyed her.
"Is there something bothering you?" Dean asked.
Her eyes flicked up. "Sure. There's a lot of things bothering me, Dad. How about you?"
"Pretty as a peach," Dean growled. Regretting his phrasing, Dean put the car into drive and cruised down the road.
Noah noticed the weird interaction in an already strange conversation between them, and how quickly it had ended. As the car continued to roll towards the motel room, Noah's mind spun like the wheels on the Impala. Cara hadn't slept. The bus driver had nearly passed out. Those boys had had their eyes plucked out as they slept.
"It's sleep!"
"What?"
"That's what they all have in common! It's sleeping! Cara couldn't sleep. The bus driver fell asleep. The boys did, and they lost their eyes."
"You're saying that's the connection?" Dean asked, mulling over the details. He could see the thin connection, but it most certainly was not very strong.
"What else is there in common?" Noah asked, not as a challenge, but simply posing a question.
Fishing out his cell from his pocket, Dean handed it to his son. "Call Uncle Sam. Tell him we need to regroup at the motel room."
Noah was finishing the call as they pulled into the parking lot.
"We good?"
Noah nodded. "He said he's on his way."
"Great. Let's figure this out. Cara?"
"Huh?"
"Try, and get some sleep, okay?" Dean asked, trying to be kinder than he'd been before.
"Yeah, sure, I'll try."
Once the four were assembled in the motel room, Sam had reached for the nearest coffee and began chugging it. He took a breath to wipe some that had formed on his mouth, before chugging some more.
Like Cara had underneath her own, Dean noticed the same dark bags under Sam's eyes. "How many hours of sleep did you get last night?"
Cara was in bed, pretending to try to sleep, and she was so ready for that question to be put to bed.
"What's your minimum amount? Four hours? Three? Yep I got all of that."
"Sam-"
"Dean, really, save the lecture."
Huffing, Dean nodded, not wanting to get into it right now. "You find anything?"
"Their father was there when I got there. He said one of the boys dreamt of a dwarf wearing pajamas with a matching hat."
Dean rolled his eyes. This case was a joke. No one had died-that was good. But here they were, apparently dealing with one of the Seven Dwarves that had a fetish for sleeping. "Any idea, Noah?"
The young boy was flipping through a book of obscure creatures. "Uh...what's that Disney movie with the elves?"
"You talking about Sleeping Beauty and the Seven Dwarves?" Cara muttered, arms crossed, eyes closed.
"Maybe?"
"They're dwarves, Noah. Not elves. It's not Lord of the Rings." Her tone was especially hostile.
He felt like he wanted to throw up with the amount of literature references and general-later he'd find the word-bitchiness. "Keep the nerdiness to yourself," Noah called across the room.
"Kids…" Dean warned, reaching for his own coffee, wishing it was a beer. He swiped at his face. He got as much sleep as he normally did, but dealing with a cranky Cara, coupled with the bickering going on between his kids, the ridiculousness of this case-not to mention Alice losing her mind and Noah still unaware of his deal-the man was reaching the end of his metaphorical rope. "So...the victims saw a midget wearing pajamas?"
"Yep. Said he had gray facial hair. White and blue striped pajamas."
"Was this little bastard the one that ended up scooping out their eyes?"
Pushing away the empty coffee cup, Sam blinked his eyes harshly several times. His mind was muddled, like he was having a hard time keeping everything straight. Normally, on a case, he was sharp, but not now. Noah was definitely right about sleep being the connection between everything. "Sorry I don't have better news for you Dean, but I really don't know."
The older brother nodded. "Ugh, don't say it."
"It's time for some research Dean."
"I told you not to say it, damnit."
"One year one year. Dogs are gonna get you. One year one year dogs are gonna get you. Hot heat hot heat."
Groaning, Noah rubbed his eyes and listened to the quiet, steady chanting that was coming from the other bed. The room was dark and the door leading to the other suite was shut. He tried to cover his ear with the other pillow, but could still hear the rhythmic hymn through the shitty cotton.
Huffing, Noah sat up, reaching for the light. When it clicked on, there was a pause for a second, the voice registering the warmth, before it continued. "Cara."
She faced away from him, laying on her side. Reaching for her shoulder, he shook it. "Cara. Cara!" He hissed sharply, still trying to keep his volume low.
"Make a deal owe a favor make a deal owe your life-"
"Argh!" Frustrated, Noah grabbed a sweatshirt and stalked to the door of the motel room. He grabbed a key and gun, wrenching the door open, not caring if salt spilled everywhere. They were obviously not in any danger of a demon at this point. The only danger right now was Noah strangling Cara to death for being so annoying.
They had been on the case for a week. It had been four days since Cara had slept, and three for Sam. His sister had basically become insane, muttering to herself incessantly, not responding unless someone offered her food or reminded her to go to the bathroom or brush her teeth.
It was ironic that Cara was basically bedridden, due to the fact that she couldn't sleep. She had tried to stay on the case but had gotten so mouthy that Dean had basically grounded her to the motel room. It had been a good call, because a few hours later, they found her turning the light switch on and off repeatedly, forgetting that she had even argued with them, the previous part of that week a complete blur to her.
Noah slammed the door behind him, not caring who it bothered. It certainly wasn't going to be an issue for Cara.
He was angrily muttering to himself when he was halfway down the stairs, and stopped, body constricting, foot raised, hand clenched around the stair banister.
A clock chiming. "Sick'em, boys," a syrupy female voice said. Dogs barking and growling. "Dean, no!" A familiar voice yelled. Screaming. Agony.
Tripping the rest of the way down the stairs, Noah grabbed for the stair railing and began to breathe heavily. Slamming down onto the last step, hands were wrapped around his weakened knees as his muscles lost their strength. The vision had completely knocked him off his axis. The words he heard in his head spread and subdued through his body, becoming part of the cursed fibers that were already there. Sobbing and breathing heavily, Noah tried to banish auditory visions from his head, trying to ignore how they matched to Cara's infernal sleep deprivations.
He was dead. Yellow Eyes was dead. So why was Noah still having these visions? Shouldn't the cycle be broken with the one who started it?!
With a desperate cry, Noah found himself at the back door of the Impala. The handle was locked. The key was probably somewhere upstairs with Dad. Not caring about the repercussions, Noah used the gun he had grabbed and pounded against the handle until it gave way.
Slamming the door, Noah laid down on the backseat, curling into himself. Various voices preaching apocalyptic omens swirled in his head. Trying to banish the voices, Noah hugged himself tighter, and began to sing the songs of a song their mother would sing.
"I'm the one who wants to be with you. Deep inside I hope you feel it too..."
"The hell?"
That was what Noah heard when he woke up. Sitting up straight, Noah tossed the hoodie he was using as a blanket, hand stopping himself as the car braked.
Going about rubbing his eyes and straightening his hair, the Impala was in the middle of driving down the main street of the town they had been in for a while.
"Hey Dad," Noah offered through a yawn.
"I almost shot you," Dean informed.
"What? You didn't notice me until you were already driving? Sounds like you're slipping."
Noah smiled when he saw it got half a smirk from his father. "Shut up," Dean muttered, playfully. "But seriously. Why are you in here and not the motel?"
"Cara's been repeating all kinds of crazy things in her 'not' sleep. So I decided sleeping in the car was the next best place."
"You could've woken me up. We'd've switched."
"You slept well?" Noah asked.
"Not at all," Dean supplied. He normally pretended to be fine in front of his kids, but the string between everything was pulled tightly, about to snap. They were all feeling the exhaustion "Uncle Sam kept muttering about some political science final he was missing."
Noah shuddered. "Is that true?"
They pulled into the breakfast joint. "Sure is. You wouldn't believe how many times your uncle told me about that final. It's been a nightmare since he was a sophomore."
In the backseat, Noah shivered, hearing that Sam's dream was real. Cara's mutterings had given way to one of Noah's episodes. It was something he wanted to confront, but not now.
"What are we getting for breakfast?" Noah asked.
"It might have to wait. There's a lead. The brother of the bus driver. He lives in a retirement home."
Noah discreetly rubbed his eyes and popped his head over the front seat. "Why are we going there? Talk to the brother?"
Dean grimaced, looking back at his son. "I'll sure try. The guy has dementia, pretty bad."
More alert, Noah returned the sweatshirt that had propped as a pillow over his head. "Dementia?"
"Yep. Dementia."
"What is that?"
Dean wished Alice could explain the more medical shit. "Uh...sometimes people's brains get old and they forget things."
Accepting that as an answer, the young boy tried to smooth down his crazy hair at first. Once his hair was as flat as it would ever could, Noah frowned. "Why are we talking to him if he can't remember things?"
Trying to make himself seem normal, Dean shook out his shoulders. "The brother, the one with dementia, said he was visited by an old man in pajamas, and so was his brother..uh..the bus driving brother."
Noah considered that words as they pulled up to the nursing home. It was a nondescript one-floor brick building. Dean emerged from the car wearing his usual plaid and denim.
At the front desk, the secretary smacked her gum, not even bothering to check Dean's fake credentials. She gave a cursory glance to the top of Noah's head as it passed her countertop.
The two wove through the hallway, Noah meeting a scent that made his toes curl. Is this what old people smelled like? He thought as they moved through the corridors. They would move past hallways, passing white-haired people watching TV, managing plants, slipping smoke out the window, talking on the phone...all nonstop.
When the pair entered the room, Marv's brother, Steve, was sound asleep.
Looking around the room uncomfortably, Dean sat in the chair near the bed. "Get that stool behind me," Dean suggested.
The 'stool' was in fact a large stack of books that Noah tried to keep straight as he sat on them.
As Noah was struggling with the stack of books, a nurse came in and rubbed Steve's shoulder, talking loudly until he woke. "It's time for your pills," she said, producing a clear cup with a variety of pills.
Awoken, the man swallowed the pills and then accepted the water that followed. He was propped up on his pillows, staring ahead at a blank TV.
"Agent Yelnats," Dean said, showing his fake badge.
Steve nodded from his bed. "Fibbage state."
"What?"
"There was a sweater invasion."
"Can you repeat-"
"In the fucking metric baseball second base, you! Fuck it all damn!" Steve yelled, distressed.
As the man thrashed, a young woman in purple scrubs entered the room. She jolted in the doorway before approaching the group. "Hi, how's it going?" she asked, voice steady.
"We're just talking to Steve here about his brother-"
"You're questioning him?" The woman asked.
Dean nodded. "He's part of an investigation."
She frowned. "What investigation?"
"His brother was responsible for a bus going into the river. We're further looking into the matter and want his input."
She nodded her chin towards Noah. "You an agent too?" She asked with a slight smile.
"It's my son. Bring your kid to work day."
With a slight chuckle, the woman grabbed a chair from the hallway and sat down so she was beside Steve's bed, but still facing Dean and Noah. She leaned forward and placed her hand on Steve's. "How are you doing today, Steve?"
"In the green garden."
She smiled. "I'm doing well too, Steve." She turned her attention to Dean. "Hi, I'm Vita. I'm the speech therapist here."
"The what?" Dean asked, tired of the maze of information he had to gather to get the truth.
"Speech-language pathologist," Vita said.. "We work on speech and communication."
"I assume you're working with Steve here?"
Vita nodded. "Well Steve has aphasia."
"What?"
"Words don't make sense to him like they used to, He can't understand and can't say what he wants," Vita offered.
"Wait-wait. I thought he had dementia."
She nodded. "He does. Dementia affects your memory and cognition. Aphasia is usually secondary to that, and affects your language."
"Right right." Nodding, Dean patted the man on the shoulder with a bit of sympathy and glanced at Vita. "Well, we received information that Steve said he saw a man in striped pajamas walking around?" The lead was clearly becoming soured, once Dean saw that the man couldn't talk or remember. "But I guess now I'm realizing that information was probably unimportant, since he can't talk."
"He can still communicate." Getting up for a moment, Vita grabbed a device.
Steve immediately took it and started pressing buttons on the screen. "I see. Pajamas. Stripes. Green. House." A robotic man's voice repeated the buttons Steve pressed.
"I see. Pajamas. Stripes. Green. House."
"So what does that mean?" Dean asked, to Vita.
"There." Steve grabbed Dean's hand and pointed it to the window.
"Oh yeah?" Dean asked, playing along. He stood up from his seat and walked over to the window, to appease the man.
Coming to stand at the window, Dean looked out it into a courtyard. As advertised, there were some green trees around , Dean figured.
Huffing, Dean leaned forward and placed his hands on the windowsill. Frowning, he felt the rough surface underneath his palms. Examining one of his fingers, he held it close. It was the same type of particulates that had been at the boy's house. Each of the grains were larger than you'd expect common household dust or dirt to be. They were varying shades of light brown.
"It's sand!" Dean yelled, turning around to the other occupants of the room.
"Fuck yeah!" Steve yelled, as excited as Dean, pumping a fist.
Noah looked just as confused as Vita.
The speech therapist looked between the two. "Sorry...sand?"
Composing himself, Dean dropped his hand. "Yeah. There's sand on his windowsill."
She nodded. "Oh uh...good. Yeah, great!"
"Thank you very much, Vita. And Steve-" Dean pointed to the man as he and Noah exited the room. "-you're my man!"
"Fuck yeah!" Steve yelled again, his nonsensical, but excited chants echoing down the hallway.
Back at the motel room, Dean and Sam rallied at the table, chugging coffees as Dean regaled his brother with the tale of the sand.
At the same time, Noah yawned and retired to the adjoining suite where his bed was, shutting the door that was between the two rooms.
Still in bed, Cara was sitting up, propped against the headboard like a doll. Her skin looks waxy, eyes filled with gunk that Noah couldn't tell if they were half open or closed or were simply glued in that position. The only reaction from her was a small swivel of her head.
"They found sand," Noah replied, coming to sit at the edge of her bed. He paused for a minute, but she didn't respond. His father and uncle's voices were low in the other room, as were in deep discussion about the case. They were busy.
"I didn't sleep well last night. And I know that I shouldn't be complaining about that to you, but I had a weird dream last night. There was a clock chiming-it was midnight. And there's dogs barking and Dad screaming.
"I know it's him. It's like that time he got taken by a demon. I know those screams."
His shaking voice petered out and he didn't bother to wait for her to respond. Whatever creature they were dealing with was slowly sucking the life out of everyone, by forcing them to stay awake and face their reality. Cara had been the first. Sam was showing severe signs of fatigue. So far, Noah and Dean were the only ones that were even close to being okay. 'Okay' for a Winchester for Mercer was a pretty low bar, to begin with.
Flopping down onto his own bed, Noah closed his eyes and tried to fight against whatever force was preventing him from drifting off into dreamland.
Forty-Seven Hours Later
So Noah never ended up making it to dreamland.
In fact, none of them had.
The silent hours of the night gave the family plenty of time to determine who their monster of the week was. Sam was the one to stumble across him on a Scandanavian lore website.
Ole Lukøje was his name.
In other words, the Sandman.
So since then, they had been learning everything they could about the Sandman.
Each of them could feel their bodies shutting down, minds slipping into insanity as the lines between reality and fantasy blurred.
"Red light. Light, Dean!" Sam growled from the passenger seat in the car, as the Impala blew through an intersection.
"Shut up!" Dean hissed back, gripping the steering wheel tightly. His teeth were clenching and grinding against his brother's nagging.
"Don't tell me to shut up! You could've killed us."
"Right now you should be more worried about me strangling you. I am so tired of listening to you bitch and complain nonstop-"
"Yeah? Well I'm straight up TIRED!" Sam announced, a few decibels louder.
All passengers in the car-for the past twenty-four hours especially-had been hostile and cagey. None of them could think of the last time they had slept a wink.
Cara was essentially melting into a puddle, losing the ability to stay focused on something for more than a few seconds. Any thought that came out of her mouth was a glob of nonsense. But even from the backseat, her corpse was rolling her eyes at all the men.
"This guy likes to steal kids' eyes, so I'd really prefer it if you gunned it, Dad," Noah piped up. Since they had gone to see Steve, three more kids had their eyes stolen, sand left behind on the three windowsills. And he didn't know how much longer he could keep his eyes open. Cara's were practically dried open at this point.
"No one is gonna steal your eyes, bud," Dean assured.
"Well don't lie to him," Sam muttered.
"I'm about to eject you out of this car and leave you on the side of the road."
"By all means."
There was peace for a few moments, until Dean turned his music too loud, Sam reaching forward to shut it off.
"You serious?"
"Eyes on the road."
"There's no one out here!" Dean exclaimed, gesturing out at the empty, one-lane farm road. It was a little before six in the morning, the sun just beginning to rise.
"I can't concentrate with your music that loud."
"You're not even the one driving."
"I'm the one navigating."
Again, Dean eyed the empty road. "Yes, thank you, very helpful, Samuel."
Noah rubbed the sides of his temples, an amalgamation of sounds pounding inside his skull. "Can you guys please, stop? We're all tired and I can't take it anymore!"
The brothers glanced at each other, and gave stiff nods, allowing for a tentative truce, for the sake of the kids.
"So this greenhouse? This is where he's gonna be?" Noah asked, not wanting to hear them argue, but wanting something to fill the silence in the car, and dampen the volume in his head.
"That's where he'll be."
They drove like a bat out of hell for another ten minutes, Dean slamming on the brakes when he almost missed the dirt parking lot shaded by a canopy of thick trees.
"Nice." Sam couldn't help the sarcastic comment from slipping out of his mouth.
Giving him a pissed-off expression, Dean slammed the car door with extra gusto and moved to the trunk, rummaging around for a wooden stake.
Even running on no sleep, Sam deftly caught the stake Dean threw, reflexes still intact.
Noah was given his own stake. "So this is gonna kill him?"
Dean nodded. "It'll do the job." Moving to the backseat, Dean opened Cara's door. Carefully, he reached inside and picked her up. It had been a long time since he'd held her, and the fact she didn't try to fight being in his arms was a sign they needed to move quickly.
Sam was the first to the bright red door. It was as brittle as paper and nearly crumpled as it was pulled open, hinges squealing.
Everyone winced at the sound and entered the structure.
The greenhouse was lush and suffocating, with rows of tall greenery stacked on shelves and the ground. Nodding, Sam and Noah went one way and Dean went down another aisle.
Creeping towards the back of the greenhouse, a gravely hum wafted over the leaves. The voice hummed a few words, whistled, and returned to the calm vibration.
Once he hit the end of the row, Dean turned down an aisle that was against the wall of the greenhouse. The humming had turned to a moderately-loud song in a language Dean didn't understand.
A figure in white and light blue stripes was bent over, facing one of the back corners of the structure. From behind another row, Sam and Noah emerged. Sam looked determined while Noah was slightly behind his uncle, eyebrows threaded together in worry.
The brothers made eye contact and nodded. Moving in tandem Sam grabbed the figure by the shoulders, spinning him around and slamming him against a wall, plants crashing to the floor.
The figure's yell was drowned out by terracotta plants shattering across the floor.
Sam held the figure-an old man-in place by the throat, other hand holding the stake.
"What the hell?" The old man demanded.
"Steve?" Dean asked, shocked at the sight of the familiar face. There hadn't been anything in the lore about the Sandman being a shifter, too.
"Lemme go! Lemme go!" Sandman demanded, struggling weakly against Sam's grip.
Flabbergasted by how pathetic the creature was, Sam loosened his grip. "We know who you are, Ole Lukøje."
"LEMME GO! LEMME GO!" Sandman yelled louder, struggling even harder.
"Maybe you should give him some space," Noah suggested.
"Okay! Okay! We'll let you go if you shut up!"
Sandman nodded.
"Okay." Sam slowly removed his arm and the monster slumped down to the ground. Immediately, he began to rock and hum.
What do we do? Sam mouthed. They couldn't very well kill someone pathetic old man when he was curled in a ball, even if he was a monster.
"Okay enough with the water works! Why the hell are you stealing kids' eyes?" Dean demanded, less patient than his brother.
"I was just treating myself," Sandman muttered into his knees.
"Ugh what?"
"They're like those little mozzarella balls. You know? The ones with-"
"Enough!" Dean reacted by grabbing the creature by his neck. He dragged Sandman up and slammed the monster against the wall. "My daughter here hasn't spoken in days and I am one-and I mean one-second away from stabbing you through the eye! You hear me! So tell me why the hell I can't sleep!"
In a strangled voice, the Sandman responded. "I'm just taking a vacation!"
"Well, vacation is over pal! So get back to sprinkling sand in people's eyes and stop eating childrens'!"
"Okay okay! I'll go back on one condition."
"What?" Dean humored through clenched teeth.
"Can you get me a cheese cake?"
"You're joking."
"No in fact I'm serious."
"Fine. I'll get you a cheese cake. But riddle me this, why do you look like Steve?"
Standing, Sandman brushed off his pajamas and straightened his hat. "I am Steve."
Dean frowned. "You are?"
Sandman shrugged. "Well...I am now."
"Meaning?"
"I sent Steve off to dreamland-permanently."
An electric shock rattled Dean, causing his lip to curl. "You killed Steve?"
"I did the man a favor, if you asked me!" Sandman's voice rose in pitch, becoming squeaky. "Just a writhing puddle of guts and bones. A waste until I came along!"
Dropping Cara to the ground, Dean removed the stake from his sleeve and drove it into Sandman's chest. "Gå tilbake til drømmelandet. Night night, bitch."
An anguished scream emanated from the Sandman. As Dean pulled out the stake, the old man abruptly turned into a pile of sand.
The weapon clattered into the sand. Breathing heavily, Dean straightened and stared at his brother and son. "I don't know about you two, but I could use a nap."
As soon as the group returned to the motel room, Dean carefully laid Cara down in her bed and pulled the covers under her chin.
The curtains were drawn tight and within ten minutes, all of them were conked out, not caring that it was the daytime.
Clock chiming.
Dogs barking.
Dad screaming.
"DAD!" Noah yelled, throwing himself upwards from his bed.
It's been a while! I hope everyone is doing well. Since I've last posted, I graduate with my Master's degree and have my first grown-up job starting in a few weeks!
Please review, fav, and follow!
V.