Featured song
The Village - Wrabel
"I CAN'T KEEP DOING THIS DEAN!" You are so angry you can barely see straight. "WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN THIS TOGETHER. IF YOU KEEP RUNNING OFF AND DOING STUPID SHIT WE. ARE. DONE." Dean's mouth twists up into a snarl.
"Don't you dare push this bullshit onto me. If you weren't such an emotionally damaged basket case we wouldn't even be talking about this right now." He chugs his beer and slams the glass bottle back onto the table. It's so quiet you can hear the clunk echo through the bunker.
"Glad to know how you feel jackass," You stand from your chair, knocking it over with the force. You reach the bedroom that you share with Dean. Used to share anyway. You throw your duffel bag onto the bed and raid drawers, pulling out clothes and possessions. You grab all your belongings and trek out of the room. You lug your stuff past the brothers and into the garage. You unlock your car and throw your stuff into the passenger seat. You slam the door in Sam's face. Sam's muffled voice falls on deaf ears as you start the car and hit the button for the garage door. You drive away leaving the brothers in your rear view mirror.
You drive and you drive and you drive. The farther that you can get away from the bunker, the better. You're in a daze, the headlights on the empty road in front of you play a hypnotic lullaby. Your trance breaks when your cell phone's obnoxious ringtone starts playing. You dig it out of your pocket and stare at the name on the caller ID.
"What is it Sam? As you might have noticed I don't exactly want to talk to anyone."
"I know that, but I want you to think about what you're doing. If you're gonna go at least stay safe and be smart about it ok? Stay somewhere or with someone that you trust." You sigh, staring into the depths of the night. You don't respond for several seconds, your heart aching at Sam's concern.
"Thanks Sam. I appreciate it. If that jackass is standing next to you tell him to go fuck himself and I hope he falls off a cliff." You hang up the phone, throwing it into the passenger seat. You drive, as if out of reflex, until you arrive at a familiar homestead. You get out of the car, grabbing your things, and trudge towards the front door. A sense of anxiety begins to overwhelm you. What if he won't let me in? What if he tells me, "Stop being an idjit and go work out your problems." You try and shake it off. It's Bobby. He deals with Dean all the time. He'll understand what I'm going through. You knock on the door, duffel bag at your feet, and a mournful look on your face. The door opens after a long hesitation and Bobby stands there looking at you with an unreadable expression.
"What'd he do this time?" He ushers you inside, taking stock of your bag, which is bursting at the seams.
"He's being a stupid jackass as per usual," You plonk the bag down next to the couch, and fall into the couch next to it. It's as though the couch digs its way into your soul, pulling out all the emotions you were trying to hide. You wrap your arms around yourself and begin to cry. Bobby moves your bag from the couch, sitting down where it was and wrapping an arm around you.
"I'm sorry kid. He's always done dumb stuff like this. Ever since he was knee high and still in diapers." You hiccup and sob until all your energy is drained. "Why don't you go upstairs to the guest bedroom. Settle in and get some rest. It'd probably do you some good." You nod wiping your face with your sleeve and drag your bag upstairs to the last room on the left. You open the door and find the room clean despite the fact Bobby probably doesn't get a lot of guests. You throw your bag onto the floor at the foot of the bed and collapse onto the duvet. Fully clothed, you drift off into an emotionally drained, dreamless sleep. Hopefully, letting nirvana take away all your pain.
You wake slowly, as if in a haze, and your environment looks foreign to you. Panic grips you and you sit straight up trying to rationalize where you are. When your brain finally catches up to the sequence of events, you sink back into the bed relieved. You spot your phone on the bedside table and you snag it. You see a voicemail on the lockscreen from an unknown number. You play it and your heart breaks when you hear his voice.
Baby please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I love you and I'm coming to get you. You play the message over and over again. You plug your headphones in and play the last song on your playlist.
No your mom don't get it
And your dad don't get it
Uncle John don't get it
And you can't tell grandma cause her heart can't take it and she might not make it
They say, " don't dare don't you even go there cutting off your long hair you do as your told."
Tell you, "wake up go put on your makeup this is just a phase you're gonna outgrow."
There's something wrong in the village
In the village
Ooooooooh
They stare in the village
In the village
Oooooooooh
There's nothing wrong with you
It's true
It's true
There's something wrong with the village
With the village
With the village
There's something wrong with the village
Feel the rumors follow you from Monday all the way to Friday dinner.
You got one day of shelter then it's Sunday
Hell to pay you young lost sinner
Well, I've been there sitting in that same chair
Whispering that same prayer half a million times
It's a lie though buried in disciples one page of the bible isn't worth a life
You begin to cry and you fall back into a tumultuous sleep.
A gentle hand on your shoulder jerks you out of sleep and you sit up blinking sleepy eyes at a tall figure.
"Baby? I'm so sorry," His jaw clenches and he looks away, not making eye contact with you as a singular tear slips down his cheek.
"Dean!" You fling yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck clinging on for dear life. Your tears tracks run rivers down his neck and you two hold each other. Dean's hand on the back of your head rocking you slightly as you sob and snot.
"If anybody is the emotionally damaged basket case it's me sweetheart. And for that I am sorry."
