The sky too is folding under you (and it's all over now, baby blue), part 9
Part 9
Dean thought that now that he was free again, now that he was far from that nightmarish place, the nightmares would leave him. He was very wrong.
His night had been plagued by nightmares, alternating between that little boy, body full of holes, crying at him, asking him why he’d given him away; and Sam’s body, limp and cold, under Lyle’s laughing and triumphant frame. He dreamt of Lyle violating and abusing him as Sam was forced to watch, and when Dean would turn to look at his brother he’d see the disgusted look on his face. Lyle would force him to beg some more, and Dean would oblige, knowing he was protecting Sammy by indulging in Lyle’s twisted fantasies. At some point, the two dreams merged and Sam was back to his ten-year-old self, body bloody and full of holes, begging for Dean to protect him, to keep him safe.
Dean jerked awake, feeling feverish and nauseous, and rushed to the bathroom to empty the coffee he’d drunk a few hours before. He rinsed his mouth and, groggy, put on a sweater that Jarod had left out for him on a chair. The remnants of his dreams where still fresh and vivid in his memory, and he could still see the nightmare unfold before him, even as he was awake and eyes wide open.
He slowly made his way to the kitchenette, feet dragging across the floor. His stomach was still cramping, his throat raw and hurting.
Jarod was sitting by the kitchen table, laptop open and on. His fingers were running on the keyboard, his concentration focused on the task at hand, whatever it was.
A McDonald’s brown paper bag was next to the laptop, the bottom stained with grease. A burger box sat empty a bit further on the table, and a bag of fries was getting cold next to it.
A quick glance to the clock on the wall told Dean he’d been sleeping for five hours, much less than he’d hoped. Noon was approaching, and the heat of early fall was getting at its peak.
Jarod raised his head when he felt his presence, and his attempted smile quickly faded when he realized the state Dean was in. He didn’t ask, though, and Dean was grateful for that. He didn’t think he’d have it in him to talk about anything that happened in the Centre, nor would he be able to admit the horrors he’d committed just so he could be a bit better off.
“I’m quickly making sure everything is running smoothly; nothing unexpected so far.”
Dean nodded, not really knowing what Jarod meant by that, not nearly curious enough to ask him for details. He didn’t feel like talking anyway; wasn’t used to it anymore.
“I got you a burger and some fries; you must be hungry. Help yourself, I already had my share”
Dean grabbed the brown bag and emptied its contents on the table. The burger fell in front of him, the fries on top. He eyed the food with interest, his stomach growling. The smell of grease was something else he’d forgotten. He thought about how happy it should have made him, to rediscover all the nasty junk food he’d never been granted, but he found out that it didn’t have much an effect on him.
He felt numb; as numb as he’d been in his last days at the Centre. Everything was much more intense here: more flavors, more smells, more colors; much more music and much more life. But it all seemed distant to him, like it was something he couldn’t have, never again. He wondered if it’d change one day or if he was broken and unfixable. He didn’t necessarily care.
He bit down into the burger, and after having only been allowed the taste of that grey mush, the only thing his tastebuds could identify was the grease. He didn’t mind, happy to have something to fill his stomach in case he had to puke again later.
Jarod sat silent in front of him, finishing whatever he was doing on his laptop, leaving Dean be.
“I don’t really like the idea of letting you leave like that, be on your own, you know,” Jarod bluntly informed him, out of the blue, while Dean was munching on his fries.
“Tough break. Nothing you can do about it though, huh?”
“I guess not. It’s not my decision to make. But please, consider the idea that you might not be ready to face the world again on your own…”
His voice was low and deep, deeper than usual, and Dean remembered he’d used the same tone to calm him down in the car the night before.
“And what the hell would you know about that?”
Dean regretted the words as soon as they were out. He knew Jarod’s life; had studied every piece of it back at the Centre. He knew Jarod had been through so much more than he had, yet had had to cope on his own. He didn’t, however, apologize.
“Look,” Jarod said after a while. “I just want to make sure you’re gonna be okay. I know what you’ve been through. You’re confused, you’re having nightmares, and trust me, they won’t go away that easily.”
“And what do you suggest? That we talk about our pasts, cry on each other’s shoulders and hug, and everything will be okay?”
“I know you’re angry, Dean, and I know you’re hurt.” Jarod spoke with what seemed like infinite patience, something Dean seemed to recognize from Sydney’s behavior. “But shutting everything and everyone out is not gonna make it better. What’s the point of being out, free again, if you don’t allow yourself to savor your freedom?”
Dean let out a sigh, and collapsed on the couch. He didn’t want to talk about it, dammit! He didn’t even want to think about it.
“I just need to keep going; find Sammy, find Dad. I can’t afford to think about myself, not right now. Please understand that.”
Jarod nodded. “What do you want to do, then?”
“Could I borrow your computer and your phone? I need to start looking for my father.”
***
Dean had called everyone he could remember the number of: Bobby, Pastor Jim, Caleb. None knew the whereabouts of his father; in fact, none seemed to have known anything about Dean’s disappearance either. To them, Dean had just stayed under the radar, while keeping hunting. He figured it was a good thing he wouldn’t have to give any explanations.
He’d then researched what could have drawn his father to Jericho, California. Nothing was on the web, however; the happenings of the little town were too insignificant to interest anyone. Thankfully, the right call got him copies of several articles about mysterious deaths in the area. His dad had been hunting something, alright….
He guessed the next step after getting Sam out of Stanford was to drive to Jericho to find his dad, and learn why on earth he’d stopped answering his phone.
It was already late when he was finished, and told Jarod he’d be leaving early the day after.
“So… I need my car” Dean simply stated, eyes shining with anticipation.
“Right. It’s not far from here, let’s get it now.”
They drove for about ten minutes inside what Dean found out to be Washington, D.C. It was bright outside, the luminosity hurting Dean’s eyes, the noise distracting him. It wasn’t like he’d become a hermit, or agoraphobic, or whatever, but fuck, he’d never been a big city kind of person in the first place. Jarod was driving silently beside him, eyes on the road, both hands on the wheel, edgy.
Dean’s heart was beating fast in anticipation by the time Jarod turned right, into the underground parking lot. He inserted a ticket, a fence opened and he drove in. They skipped a couple of floors that seemed packed with Toyotas and Fords, and then they got down to the 3rd floor, half empty, darker, more silent.
Jarod made another turn and Dean’s heart stopped. Oh, god. Dean had forgotten how beautiful she was; black, slick, curvy in the right places. Not as shiny as he’d hoped, not with the dust it had accumulated, but still as awesome as ever. Jarod stopped the car a bit further, dove into the glove box and dug out keys he jingled in front of Dean’s nose, mischief shining in his dark eyes.
Dean needed no other clue: he grabbed the keys and jumped out of Jarod’s car. Two big footsteps and he was in front of the Impala, hands barely daring to touch the hood, instead tracing the contours and shapes of it, like the caress of a ghost over a lover’s naked body. He opened the driver’s door and without further waiting, sat in the driver’s seat.
God, it’d been so long. His spine could still remember the feel of the seat behind him, though, and the smell was still as familiar as it had ever been. He ceremoniously put both hands on the wheel, pushing his back further into the seat, and closed his eyes, breathing in, picturing the road ahead of him.
“Shh, honey,” he whispered. “I’m home”.
He turned the key in the ignition and shivered with pleasure as the low growl of the engine reverberated in his bones. Everything was still there, as he’d left it, like he’d never been gone. Like the world, his world, had stopped for him.
Except… Except Dad was missing now, and Sammy had probably graduated already, and fuck, he had to get to Sam, make sure he was safe. With a brief hand-signal, Dean motioned for Jarod to drive out of the parking lot, and back to the apartment.
The drive back was completely different. It was like Dean was slowly sewing himself back together: first his freedom; now his car. Soon he’d have Sam, and then Dad. Everything was just a bad nightmare he could put behind him and forget all about. Yeah. Had to be.
***
Dean also rejoiced over finding his - his dad’s - leather jacket. He wouldn’t need it for another couple of weeks on the East Coast, not for another couple of months in the Southwest, but the fabric was comfortingly familiar, like a second skin.
He opened his duffle bag to jump back into his own clothes and immediately stopped. There it was, on top of the pile of clothes, tiny and light. The amulet. God, how could he have forgotten about it? And how lucky had he been, really, that the leather thread had broken off a couple of times already and, not wanting to lose it for good, he’d put it in his duffle bag until he had time to buy a new cord… They would have probably taken it away from him and he would’ve never seen it again.
He grabbed it, his hand closing into a fist around it and pressing against his lips, like he was palming a rosary and kissing the buds he was praying with. The memory of Sam, that he’d vainly tried to burry over the past months, the one thing that this amulet always brought back, came back vividly, crashing down on him, choking him up. And suddenly, he was suffocating, the room spinning, his body shivering with need; his mind overloading with Sam’s smell, Sam’s smile, Sam’s voice.
He fell down on his knees, one hand on the floor to stop his body from falling further down, the other still clutching the amulet, eyes tight shut and blocking out the room around him, as endless memories of his brother came back, everything he hadn’t known he’d locked away, way before he’d ever been stolen away from his life by the Centre; memories he’d buried to survive the idea of that bus taking Sam away from him forever, leaving him alone with Dad, alone with the hunt. The only reason it had ever been possible for him to even keep going was because he’d never allowed himself to realize how much he needed Sam; because he’d never allowed himself to acknowledge that it wasn’t any more possible to live without Sam than it would be without the Impala.
“Take a deep breath, it’s okay,” he heard his mind filter through the haze: that voice, as deep as his dad’s. Soothing, like the hand that was rubbing on his back, massaging the shivers. Jarod.
Dean focused on Jarod’s voice, on the carpet under him, the hand on his shoulder, anything.
“I… I have to get him”, his voice trembled, body shaking as he gathered his thoughts, sitting on the carpet, one hand on his forehead.
“Not tonight, you don’t” Jarod shook his head, concern all over his face, sympathy in his body. “You’re way too tired to hit the road, Dean, and even more confused. I don’t even think you should go tomorrow. Not on your own”.
Dean rose up abruptly, pushing Jarod back. He paced the room, muttering to himself, going back and forth between his duffle bag and the window, gripping his hair, not knowing where to begin.
“I’m gonna have to get the map and a full tank of gas,” he said to himself, “and I’m gonna need food and coffee, I can’t stop on the way”. He turned back violently, facing Jarod. “You’re not stopping me,” he accused him. “He’s in danger, and every minute I spend away from him is a minute they get.” He switched back to the window, eyes suddenly afar and lost into the horizon, before rushing back to his duffle bag, shuffling through it.
Jarod got back on his feet, hands suddenly on Dean’s forearm, the gentle grip harmless but clearly a promise he wouldn’t be letting go. He made Dean look up, into his eyes.
“Okay,” he just said.
“Okay?” Dean asked back, confused.
“Okay. We’ll go tonight,” he smiled and got up, leaving the room.
Dean, back on the floor, duffle between his legs, frowned. He stared at the contents of the bag as if he was trying to figure it out for a good five minutes, calm and still, as if Jarod had found the switch.
He got back up again, brushing the sweat from his palms onto his jeans, and went back into the living room, where Jarod was packing up.
“We?” he asked confused, realizing that Jarod had every intention of following him.
“If you think I’m gonna let you drive off like that on your own, you’re not as smart as everybody seems to think.”
Dean stayed there for a minute, looking at Jarod as he went back to packing without another word, and then went back to the room and re-packed the contents of the duffle bag he’d thrown out during his rampage.
***
Dean had protested fiercely when Jarod had claimed he’d be the one to do most of the driving, but when Jarod had threatened to knock him out and drag his ass back to the apartment, he’d realized there was no point arguing.
Jarod had thus installed himself behind the wheel of the Impala, and it probably said how much Dean trusted him that he was letting him drive his baby like that. Then again, Jarod had freed him from the Centre. And because of the simulations they’d made him do, he knew the guy probably better than Jarod knew himself, so he guessed if there was anyone he could trust outside the family circle, it was him.
The drive to Palo Alto wouldn’t take more than forty-eight hours, during which Dean was sure he’d be allowed to drive only to let Jarod rest. Yes, it sucked, not being able to drive the car when he’d been stuck in that hellhole for so long, but he figured between that and risking his car by suddenly snapping and going mad again like he’d been at the apartment, there was no contest.
So Dean settled shotgun for the first part of the drive, watching in awe as the landscape switched from city buildings to the forests of Pennsylvania and then Ohio. They’d decided to follow the I-80, travelling as far north as possible without losing time, to catch some cool air and avoid the dry heat of the south this time of the year.
Eleven hours of driving and they were almost to Chicago. The light was faint, the day barely breaking through the thick clouds, but the road was clear and easy to ride on. Jarod was avoiding the bumps of the right lane so as not to wake Dean up. He’d fallen asleep about eight hours ago, hypnotized by the motion of the trees passing by on the side of the road.
No matter how smooth Jarod’s driving was, however, it didn’t stop Dean from suddenly jerking awake from a nightmare. He abruptly sat up in his seat, scanning his surroundings to remind himself of where he was.
The car. Right.
He rubbed a hand on his face, trying to shake off the remnants of the bad dream; trying to shy away from the echo of a boy screaming.
He could feel Jarod’s eyes shifting back and forth between him and the road, concern obvious on his features. Dean braced himself for the “talk” that was about to come, about how he had to share his feelings and talk about his nightmares and he was not going to. No way.
“I’m not gonna talk about it,” he re-affirmed, out loud this time, when it became obvious Jarod wouldn’t be instigating the conversation.
“I know.” Jarod kept his eyes on the road ahead, both hands on the wheel.
Dean shifted again in his seat, his bones hurting in this position. It was clear he’d lost the habit of travelling for so long.
“I’m serious. I don’t want to talk about it. So you can shove your concerned look where the sun don’t shine, keep driving, and quit giving me those looks.”
“Okay.”
The trees were still scrolling by outside the window, their silhouettes barely distinguishable from the dark, clouded sky.
“It’s not even that big of a deal anyway. I’m fine.”
“Sure.”
The engine was still purring contentedly, the car vibrating all the way into Dean’s bones, the quiet hum of the road soothing an ache that had long since been installed.
“And you know what? It was just a nightmare. I can deal with it. I don’t need to be dreaming about unicorns and rainbows to be functioning.”
“Is that all that matters, though?”
“What… unicorns and rainbows?”
Jarod scoffed.
“To be functioning?”
“No. What matters is getting Sam safe. And I don’t need freakin’ therapy to do it.”
Jarod nodded, clearly looking for the proper words.
“And after we get Sam?”
“What about it?”
“Is functioning still going to be enough?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you going to just push away whatever it is you don’t want to deal with, hoping it’ll eventually go away?”
“I don’t know.”
“And what are you going to do when something sets you off, and you freak out in front of Sam, just like you did at the apartment?”
“I DON’T KNOW, OKAY?”
The shout echoed in the car, leaving nothing but silence as it died off. Sensing Jarod wouldn’t reply to his sudden outburst, Dean hoped he’d leave it at that for the rest of the trip, and settled back into the seat, head against the window.
“Look,” Jarod started again, “I don’t want to push you. And you’re gonna have to figure things out on your own anyway. But there is one thing you’re gonna have to understand.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“If you just settle for going through the motions, without even appreciating the things around you, then it’s like you never left. It’s like they’ve still got you, like you never escaped. And trust me, you don’t want that. Because once you start realizing that, you stop fighting, and you might as well hand yourself over to them.”
Dean was looking at his hands, not trusting himself to look at Jarod, afraid what he was telling him might be too real.
“That’s another thing. They’re not gonna stop wanting you locked up just because you had the backbone to leave them. They’re gonna hunt you down, and they won’t stop until you’re either dead or back in their clutches.”
“Gee, you’re one happy camper!”
“I’m sorry, Dean. I just… I don’t want you to think you’re gonna be able to go back to the life you had a year ago. You’re gonna have to be careful.”
“I know. Don’t worry, I will be. I just… I need to focus on Sam right now. I can’t think past that.”
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
Dean thought that now that he was free again, now that he was far from that nightmarish place, the nightmares would leave him. He was very wrong.
His night had been plagued by nightmares, alternating between that little boy, body full of holes, crying at him, asking him why he’d given him away; and Sam’s body, limp and cold, under Lyle’s laughing and triumphant frame. He dreamt of Lyle violating and abusing him as Sam was forced to watch, and when Dean would turn to look at his brother he’d see the disgusted look on his face. Lyle would force him to beg some more, and Dean would oblige, knowing he was protecting Sammy by indulging in Lyle’s twisted fantasies. At some point, the two dreams merged and Sam was back to his ten-year-old self, body bloody and full of holes, begging for Dean to protect him, to keep him safe.
Dean jerked awake, feeling feverish and nauseous, and rushed to the bathroom to empty the coffee he’d drunk a few hours before. He rinsed his mouth and, groggy, put on a sweater that Jarod had left out for him on a chair. The remnants of his dreams where still fresh and vivid in his memory, and he could still see the nightmare unfold before him, even as he was awake and eyes wide open.
He slowly made his way to the kitchenette, feet dragging across the floor. His stomach was still cramping, his throat raw and hurting.
Jarod was sitting by the kitchen table, laptop open and on. His fingers were running on the keyboard, his concentration focused on the task at hand, whatever it was.
A McDonald’s brown paper bag was next to the laptop, the bottom stained with grease. A burger box sat empty a bit further on the table, and a bag of fries was getting cold next to it.
A quick glance to the clock on the wall told Dean he’d been sleeping for five hours, much less than he’d hoped. Noon was approaching, and the heat of early fall was getting at its peak.
Jarod raised his head when he felt his presence, and his attempted smile quickly faded when he realized the state Dean was in. He didn’t ask, though, and Dean was grateful for that. He didn’t think he’d have it in him to talk about anything that happened in the Centre, nor would he be able to admit the horrors he’d committed just so he could be a bit better off.
“I’m quickly making sure everything is running smoothly; nothing unexpected so far.”
Dean nodded, not really knowing what Jarod meant by that, not nearly curious enough to ask him for details. He didn’t feel like talking anyway; wasn’t used to it anymore.
“I got you a burger and some fries; you must be hungry. Help yourself, I already had my share”
Dean grabbed the brown bag and emptied its contents on the table. The burger fell in front of him, the fries on top. He eyed the food with interest, his stomach growling. The smell of grease was something else he’d forgotten. He thought about how happy it should have made him, to rediscover all the nasty junk food he’d never been granted, but he found out that it didn’t have much an effect on him.
He felt numb; as numb as he’d been in his last days at the Centre. Everything was much more intense here: more flavors, more smells, more colors; much more music and much more life. But it all seemed distant to him, like it was something he couldn’t have, never again. He wondered if it’d change one day or if he was broken and unfixable. He didn’t necessarily care.
He bit down into the burger, and after having only been allowed the taste of that grey mush, the only thing his tastebuds could identify was the grease. He didn’t mind, happy to have something to fill his stomach in case he had to puke again later.
Jarod sat silent in front of him, finishing whatever he was doing on his laptop, leaving Dean be.
“I don’t really like the idea of letting you leave like that, be on your own, you know,” Jarod bluntly informed him, out of the blue, while Dean was munching on his fries.
“Tough break. Nothing you can do about it though, huh?”
“I guess not. It’s not my decision to make. But please, consider the idea that you might not be ready to face the world again on your own…”
His voice was low and deep, deeper than usual, and Dean remembered he’d used the same tone to calm him down in the car the night before.
“And what the hell would you know about that?”
Dean regretted the words as soon as they were out. He knew Jarod’s life; had studied every piece of it back at the Centre. He knew Jarod had been through so much more than he had, yet had had to cope on his own. He didn’t, however, apologize.
“Look,” Jarod said after a while. “I just want to make sure you’re gonna be okay. I know what you’ve been through. You’re confused, you’re having nightmares, and trust me, they won’t go away that easily.”
“And what do you suggest? That we talk about our pasts, cry on each other’s shoulders and hug, and everything will be okay?”
“I know you’re angry, Dean, and I know you’re hurt.” Jarod spoke with what seemed like infinite patience, something Dean seemed to recognize from Sydney’s behavior. “But shutting everything and everyone out is not gonna make it better. What’s the point of being out, free again, if you don’t allow yourself to savor your freedom?”
Dean let out a sigh, and collapsed on the couch. He didn’t want to talk about it, dammit! He didn’t even want to think about it.
“I just need to keep going; find Sammy, find Dad. I can’t afford to think about myself, not right now. Please understand that.”
Jarod nodded. “What do you want to do, then?”
“Could I borrow your computer and your phone? I need to start looking for my father.”
***
Dean had called everyone he could remember the number of: Bobby, Pastor Jim, Caleb. None knew the whereabouts of his father; in fact, none seemed to have known anything about Dean’s disappearance either. To them, Dean had just stayed under the radar, while keeping hunting. He figured it was a good thing he wouldn’t have to give any explanations.
He’d then researched what could have drawn his father to Jericho, California. Nothing was on the web, however; the happenings of the little town were too insignificant to interest anyone. Thankfully, the right call got him copies of several articles about mysterious deaths in the area. His dad had been hunting something, alright….
He guessed the next step after getting Sam out of Stanford was to drive to Jericho to find his dad, and learn why on earth he’d stopped answering his phone.
It was already late when he was finished, and told Jarod he’d be leaving early the day after.
“So… I need my car” Dean simply stated, eyes shining with anticipation.
“Right. It’s not far from here, let’s get it now.”
They drove for about ten minutes inside what Dean found out to be Washington, D.C. It was bright outside, the luminosity hurting Dean’s eyes, the noise distracting him. It wasn’t like he’d become a hermit, or agoraphobic, or whatever, but fuck, he’d never been a big city kind of person in the first place. Jarod was driving silently beside him, eyes on the road, both hands on the wheel, edgy.
Dean’s heart was beating fast in anticipation by the time Jarod turned right, into the underground parking lot. He inserted a ticket, a fence opened and he drove in. They skipped a couple of floors that seemed packed with Toyotas and Fords, and then they got down to the 3rd floor, half empty, darker, more silent.
Jarod made another turn and Dean’s heart stopped. Oh, god. Dean had forgotten how beautiful she was; black, slick, curvy in the right places. Not as shiny as he’d hoped, not with the dust it had accumulated, but still as awesome as ever. Jarod stopped the car a bit further, dove into the glove box and dug out keys he jingled in front of Dean’s nose, mischief shining in his dark eyes.
Dean needed no other clue: he grabbed the keys and jumped out of Jarod’s car. Two big footsteps and he was in front of the Impala, hands barely daring to touch the hood, instead tracing the contours and shapes of it, like the caress of a ghost over a lover’s naked body. He opened the driver’s door and without further waiting, sat in the driver’s seat.
God, it’d been so long. His spine could still remember the feel of the seat behind him, though, and the smell was still as familiar as it had ever been. He ceremoniously put both hands on the wheel, pushing his back further into the seat, and closed his eyes, breathing in, picturing the road ahead of him.
“Shh, honey,” he whispered. “I’m home”.
He turned the key in the ignition and shivered with pleasure as the low growl of the engine reverberated in his bones. Everything was still there, as he’d left it, like he’d never been gone. Like the world, his world, had stopped for him.
Except… Except Dad was missing now, and Sammy had probably graduated already, and fuck, he had to get to Sam, make sure he was safe. With a brief hand-signal, Dean motioned for Jarod to drive out of the parking lot, and back to the apartment.
The drive back was completely different. It was like Dean was slowly sewing himself back together: first his freedom; now his car. Soon he’d have Sam, and then Dad. Everything was just a bad nightmare he could put behind him and forget all about. Yeah. Had to be.
***
Dean also rejoiced over finding his - his dad’s - leather jacket. He wouldn’t need it for another couple of weeks on the East Coast, not for another couple of months in the Southwest, but the fabric was comfortingly familiar, like a second skin.
He opened his duffle bag to jump back into his own clothes and immediately stopped. There it was, on top of the pile of clothes, tiny and light. The amulet. God, how could he have forgotten about it? And how lucky had he been, really, that the leather thread had broken off a couple of times already and, not wanting to lose it for good, he’d put it in his duffle bag until he had time to buy a new cord… They would have probably taken it away from him and he would’ve never seen it again.
He grabbed it, his hand closing into a fist around it and pressing against his lips, like he was palming a rosary and kissing the buds he was praying with. The memory of Sam, that he’d vainly tried to burry over the past months, the one thing that this amulet always brought back, came back vividly, crashing down on him, choking him up. And suddenly, he was suffocating, the room spinning, his body shivering with need; his mind overloading with Sam’s smell, Sam’s smile, Sam’s voice.
He fell down on his knees, one hand on the floor to stop his body from falling further down, the other still clutching the amulet, eyes tight shut and blocking out the room around him, as endless memories of his brother came back, everything he hadn’t known he’d locked away, way before he’d ever been stolen away from his life by the Centre; memories he’d buried to survive the idea of that bus taking Sam away from him forever, leaving him alone with Dad, alone with the hunt. The only reason it had ever been possible for him to even keep going was because he’d never allowed himself to realize how much he needed Sam; because he’d never allowed himself to acknowledge that it wasn’t any more possible to live without Sam than it would be without the Impala.
“Take a deep breath, it’s okay,” he heard his mind filter through the haze: that voice, as deep as his dad’s. Soothing, like the hand that was rubbing on his back, massaging the shivers. Jarod.
Dean focused on Jarod’s voice, on the carpet under him, the hand on his shoulder, anything.
“I… I have to get him”, his voice trembled, body shaking as he gathered his thoughts, sitting on the carpet, one hand on his forehead.
“Not tonight, you don’t” Jarod shook his head, concern all over his face, sympathy in his body. “You’re way too tired to hit the road, Dean, and even more confused. I don’t even think you should go tomorrow. Not on your own”.
Dean rose up abruptly, pushing Jarod back. He paced the room, muttering to himself, going back and forth between his duffle bag and the window, gripping his hair, not knowing where to begin.
“I’m gonna have to get the map and a full tank of gas,” he said to himself, “and I’m gonna need food and coffee, I can’t stop on the way”. He turned back violently, facing Jarod. “You’re not stopping me,” he accused him. “He’s in danger, and every minute I spend away from him is a minute they get.” He switched back to the window, eyes suddenly afar and lost into the horizon, before rushing back to his duffle bag, shuffling through it.
Jarod got back on his feet, hands suddenly on Dean’s forearm, the gentle grip harmless but clearly a promise he wouldn’t be letting go. He made Dean look up, into his eyes.
“Okay,” he just said.
“Okay?” Dean asked back, confused.
“Okay. We’ll go tonight,” he smiled and got up, leaving the room.
Dean, back on the floor, duffle between his legs, frowned. He stared at the contents of the bag as if he was trying to figure it out for a good five minutes, calm and still, as if Jarod had found the switch.
He got back up again, brushing the sweat from his palms onto his jeans, and went back into the living room, where Jarod was packing up.
“We?” he asked confused, realizing that Jarod had every intention of following him.
“If you think I’m gonna let you drive off like that on your own, you’re not as smart as everybody seems to think.”
Dean stayed there for a minute, looking at Jarod as he went back to packing without another word, and then went back to the room and re-packed the contents of the duffle bag he’d thrown out during his rampage.
***
Dean had protested fiercely when Jarod had claimed he’d be the one to do most of the driving, but when Jarod had threatened to knock him out and drag his ass back to the apartment, he’d realized there was no point arguing.
Jarod had thus installed himself behind the wheel of the Impala, and it probably said how much Dean trusted him that he was letting him drive his baby like that. Then again, Jarod had freed him from the Centre. And because of the simulations they’d made him do, he knew the guy probably better than Jarod knew himself, so he guessed if there was anyone he could trust outside the family circle, it was him.
The drive to Palo Alto wouldn’t take more than forty-eight hours, during which Dean was sure he’d be allowed to drive only to let Jarod rest. Yes, it sucked, not being able to drive the car when he’d been stuck in that hellhole for so long, but he figured between that and risking his car by suddenly snapping and going mad again like he’d been at the apartment, there was no contest.
So Dean settled shotgun for the first part of the drive, watching in awe as the landscape switched from city buildings to the forests of Pennsylvania and then Ohio. They’d decided to follow the I-80, travelling as far north as possible without losing time, to catch some cool air and avoid the dry heat of the south this time of the year.
Eleven hours of driving and they were almost to Chicago. The light was faint, the day barely breaking through the thick clouds, but the road was clear and easy to ride on. Jarod was avoiding the bumps of the right lane so as not to wake Dean up. He’d fallen asleep about eight hours ago, hypnotized by the motion of the trees passing by on the side of the road.
No matter how smooth Jarod’s driving was, however, it didn’t stop Dean from suddenly jerking awake from a nightmare. He abruptly sat up in his seat, scanning his surroundings to remind himself of where he was.
The car. Right.
He rubbed a hand on his face, trying to shake off the remnants of the bad dream; trying to shy away from the echo of a boy screaming.
He could feel Jarod’s eyes shifting back and forth between him and the road, concern obvious on his features. Dean braced himself for the “talk” that was about to come, about how he had to share his feelings and talk about his nightmares and he was not going to. No way.
“I’m not gonna talk about it,” he re-affirmed, out loud this time, when it became obvious Jarod wouldn’t be instigating the conversation.
“I know.” Jarod kept his eyes on the road ahead, both hands on the wheel.
Dean shifted again in his seat, his bones hurting in this position. It was clear he’d lost the habit of travelling for so long.
“I’m serious. I don’t want to talk about it. So you can shove your concerned look where the sun don’t shine, keep driving, and quit giving me those looks.”
“Okay.”
The trees were still scrolling by outside the window, their silhouettes barely distinguishable from the dark, clouded sky.
“It’s not even that big of a deal anyway. I’m fine.”
“Sure.”
The engine was still purring contentedly, the car vibrating all the way into Dean’s bones, the quiet hum of the road soothing an ache that had long since been installed.
“And you know what? It was just a nightmare. I can deal with it. I don’t need to be dreaming about unicorns and rainbows to be functioning.”
“Is that all that matters, though?”
“What… unicorns and rainbows?”
Jarod scoffed.
“To be functioning?”
“No. What matters is getting Sam safe. And I don’t need freakin’ therapy to do it.”
Jarod nodded, clearly looking for the proper words.
“And after we get Sam?”
“What about it?”
“Is functioning still going to be enough?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you going to just push away whatever it is you don’t want to deal with, hoping it’ll eventually go away?”
“I don’t know.”
“And what are you going to do when something sets you off, and you freak out in front of Sam, just like you did at the apartment?”
“I DON’T KNOW, OKAY?”
The shout echoed in the car, leaving nothing but silence as it died off. Sensing Jarod wouldn’t reply to his sudden outburst, Dean hoped he’d leave it at that for the rest of the trip, and settled back into the seat, head against the window.
“Look,” Jarod started again, “I don’t want to push you. And you’re gonna have to figure things out on your own anyway. But there is one thing you’re gonna have to understand.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“If you just settle for going through the motions, without even appreciating the things around you, then it’s like you never left. It’s like they’ve still got you, like you never escaped. And trust me, you don’t want that. Because once you start realizing that, you stop fighting, and you might as well hand yourself over to them.”
Dean was looking at his hands, not trusting himself to look at Jarod, afraid what he was telling him might be too real.
“That’s another thing. They’re not gonna stop wanting you locked up just because you had the backbone to leave them. They’re gonna hunt you down, and they won’t stop until you’re either dead or back in their clutches.”
“Gee, you’re one happy camper!”
“I’m sorry, Dean. I just… I don’t want you to think you’re gonna be able to go back to the life you had a year ago. You’re gonna have to be careful.”
“I know. Don’t worry, I will be. I just… I need to focus on Sam right now. I can’t think past that.”
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10