Just Reality

Chapter 45

Rinse my Mouth. Brush my teeth. Wash my face. None of anything I've tried has removed the icky feeling from my body. Instead, it seems to have spread it like wild fire, creating goosebumps on my skin that refuse to go away.

Emotionless eyes rise to my reflection, taking in my suddenly tired appearance without so much as a swift look over.

I feel disgusting. No doubt about it. And it isn't until a tingling warmth envelops my arms in that paranormal grasp that I decide to shower. I practically scramble away from the cold clutches of absolute shit defying nothingness, taking the two tiny steps towards the porcelain tub and twisting on the water.

The droplets smack against the enamelled steel in a mesmerizing pattern, successfully lulling me into a thoughtless dreamland. That is, until a firm knock pulls me out.

I blink a few times, wondering if I'd imagined it, but the contrary is confirmed as the sound comes again.

"Kathy?" They murmur through the plywood.

I sigh, shuffling towards the door. I glance at myself in the mirror before pulling open the exit to reveal a very concerned looking Dean on the other side.

"I'm okay," I say, reading his expression clear as day. And just as easy as the first, I can read his nonverbal 'thats bullshit' reply that forms next. "I'm just going for a shower. Nothings wrong."

"I don't really buy that," he murmurs, appraising my face with a heavy gaze. "Look me in the eyes this time when you tell me you're fine."

Dammit, Kathy.

I hadn't even noticed my eyes fall to his shoulder, but low and behold, Dean wasn't as willing to bypass it.

Unwillingly, I meet his sharp gaze with a glare and move to shut the door, but he blocks it easily with his arm and pushes his way into the room, locking the door behind him.

I fold my arms across my chest, keeping my sight on the counter, and the toilet, or the towel rack. Anything to try and keep my eyes off of Dean, which he also doesn't stand by, as he tilts my chin with his fingertips.

His touch is light. Barely a graze. He's not upset, although he has every right to be. Rather, he's flummoxed and perturbed. Something that can only be mustered by someone who truly wants to understand.

Dean has always been that way with me. Ever since the beginning, he's supported me through my times of hurt. Mental, emotional, or physical. Sometimes multiple at once. He's never backed down from being at my side when I need him- even when I tell him he doesn't need to worry so often.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself," he says. His words barely a whisper. "It's not too late to turn back-"

"This is different, Dean."

Apparently, I'm not as good a hider as I thought. But then again, Dean always seems to know when somethings wrong. Sometimes I wonder if it's some sort of sixth sense.

"You don't need to work the case," he tries. "It's taking a toll. It's getting to be too much-"

"Backing away from it won't make things any better. It's the unknown that hurts more. You'd understand," I susurrate.

"Well you can text Cruz, tell her you don't want to do the interview."

"But I have too, Dean-"

"No! You don't have to do anything!" He urges. His voice doesn't rise in pitch. If anything, it's his change of tone that gets his message across. Desperate. Earnest.

"Then I want to do it. Trust me when I say this could be the only way to catch the guy. If it works then Cruz could actually have an exact profile- a face she can actually look for. Right now he's underground, and he doesn't seem to want to come out anytime soon."

"But is it worth piling this crap on you in return for your well-being?"

"I'm not getting hurt, Dean," I say.

"Not physically, no, but Kathy your heart is tired. You-You went to see your dad last
night-" He trails off, taking a deep breath to compose himself. "Are you positive that you're okay?"

"I'm as okay physically as I am mentally," I respond vaguely. He nods imperceptibly, and I know it means he has his answer- but what answer is my question. Is he taking my words at face value? Or is he being logical and assuming the exact opposite of what I said is true?

"Let me look at your shoulder," he suddenly says. "That way we can see if we need to cover it again."

He puts his hand on my arm, and I tense. I'd planned on looking at my brand alone, but obviously he has other terms in mind. He gives me a face as he says, "Kathy, don't fall into that phase again. Let me help you."

I pout absentmindedly in thought- a face Dean knows all to well as my thinking face. In a means to convince me, he cups my chin, pulling my face mere inches closer to place a mind numbing kiss to my lips. However soon he pulls away, the simple act still holds the knee wobbling effect, and his easy going smirk at the sight of my sudden speechless state only makes me melt faster.

"That's not fair," I whisper, the words barely falling from my lips.

"Life's not fair," he counters, and without any further room to argue, he takes place at my backside, lifting the black tee shirt over my head.

I have no idea how long the waters been running at this point. Maybe ten minutes, which, in a house full of teens, is a big no.

"I'll be quick," he says, reading my thoughts.

As he begins to peel away the bandage I wince, and no matter how slight the twitch was, I can feel Dean freeze momentarily. I glance into the ever increasingly foggy mirror, meeting his unsure eyes, and nod, signalling for him to continue.

Once he starts pulling away the rest of the sticky material again I avert my gaze downwards, refusing to make eye contact in the mirror.

I still remember the first few weeks after the whole Locke debacle. It's what Dean was referring to when he mentioned "the phase." Once I reached the stage where my brand began to peel I'd refused to let him even peak at my shoulder, and although he did attempt to convince me otherwise, he didn't push too hard. He would nag just enough to implant the overall decision in my head before giving the curtesy of dropping the subject for the rest of the day.

Now here we stand. Two months later in the bathroom after a late night freak accident.

"It looks okay," he says, pulling me out of my thoughts. "It'll be up to you whether you want to bandage it after."

"I think I'll be fine," I whisper.

An arm is wrapped securely around my waist, and as he tosses the blood stained white square into the trash he squeezes lightly, trying to reassure me in any way possible.

His lips graze the nape of my neck, his warmth a nice contrast to the seemingly cold state of my skin.

Slowly the tender brushes trail across my left shoulder blade, and higher, towards my neck. "You're so strong, Kathy," he murmurs. "Promise me you'll stay this way. No matter how things turn out."

The request is a large one, frankly, and it's one that I pray I can keep, although it may not prove to be so easy in the long run.

"I promise," I smile. "I promise."

Filler Chapter? I do believe, I do believe