𝗜 𝗔𝗠 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡 𝗠𝗬 𝗕𝗢𝗗𝗬 - Dean Winchester

things we try to forget

chapter ii.

     Once Dean was sure the man was asleep, he slipped out from under his grasp, picked up his discarded clothes from the floor, and crept into the living room. There, he laced up his shoes, slipped the lockbox full of cash into his bag, and left. He was too numb to care or even think about that night.

He walked for over an hour back to the motel room. It was still dark out, with only the street lights illuminating the path before him. His breath is shown by the frigid air of the night. He was relieved to find that Sam had already gone to bed, sleeping peacefully in the bed they shared. He left his things in the living room and went straight for the shower.

He stripped off his clothes and turned the water to the highest temperature as if the scolding heat would do anything to wipe away the filth he felt. Giving up, he sat down on the floor of the bath, resting his head on his knees, and let the water wash over him. It was then he finally let himself feel again. Let every emotion he had bottled up to get him through what needed to be done spill out. "It's over, it's over." He quietly grounded himself. It was no use, he only cried harder, thankful that the stream of water muffled his broken sobs. He hated it, hated how his clothes smelt like alcohol and cigarettes from the man's house, hated that all he could do was lay there, not even trying to run away. He hated how it made him feel, he was supposed to be better than this. Instead, he was just another washed-up loser who's daddy didn't stick around to take care of his kids. He wanted to blame John, after all, it was his fault that he left his sons in a broken-down motel room with barely enough food for a week and was gone for far longer. He couldn't hate him even if he tried, he willingly agreed to what he did, it was a choice he made, and no one forced him to do it. Or at least that's what he told himself.

Dean sat under the stream of water until it ran cold and he felt his small body shiver from the temperature. He returned to the bedroom where he changed into a fresh pair of clothing and slipped under the covers. He couldn't bare to face Sam, what would he think of him? Would he be disgusted at what he had turned into? Or would he be ashamed to even be seen with him? Instead, Dean lay on his side facing the wall until sleep finally took him.

__________

    It was short-lived however as Sam began shaking his shoulder. "Dean, Dean," Sam said in a harsh whisper. Dean groaned and opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as his eyes focused on his little brother.

"Unless the house is on fire go back to sleep." He mumbled, turning to lay on his back and pulling the sheets up to cover his face.

"I-I have school, Dee." Damnit, he was right. Dean removed the sheet from his face and realized that his brother was not only awake but already clothed and had his bag packed. Dean grunted as he sat up, he was sore, more so than before he went to sleep. He wobbled into the bathroom and washed up before taking himself and Sam out to catch the school bus up the block.

He felt like a ghost walking the halls, feeling the eyes of every student and teacher around him as if they somehow knew what he had done. It felt weird somehow, to go through something like he did and still show up for school like his whole world didn't just break in half.

It was biology class when he had fallen asleep at his desk. "The classroom is not for sleeping, Mr. Winchester." The teacher rudely announced, pulling off his hood.

"Sorry Ma'am, must be your teaching." He responded sarcastically. Not out of superiority or need for the attention he often received, but as a coping mechanism. Something he'd worked up for so long that people started rolling their eyes when he spoke instead of asking how he was, which he was okay with.

The teacher clenched her jaw when the other classmates seated around him chuckled. "I will have you sent to the principal's office if you do not stay alert for the remainder of the class." She responded unamused. Dean winced when he sat back in his chair. He was still sore, his backside felt bruised from the inside out. He tried positioning himself as comfortably as possible without drawing attention to himself.