Maddison Winchester: Journal 7 {Supernatural} (Editing)

1 Meet the New Boss: Part 4

In the morning, Sam and I geared up to hit the road and strolled into the kitchen. We spotted Dean chilling at the table, legs kicked up, sipping on a glass of whiskey.

"You want some coffee with that?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "It's 6:00 PM somewhere."

"We got to hit the road," Sam insisted. "I mean, how are we supposed to get Cass to that lab by friggin' 3:59 AM?"

"We don't," Dean replied.

I furrowed my brow. "'We don't'? What does that even mean?"

Dean took another sip of his whiskey. "I mean, we can't bring the horse to water, and we can't make it drink. Why fool ourselves?"

Sam sighed. "Dean, look, I know you think that Cass is gone—"

Dean cut him off. "It's 'cause he is."

"He's not!" Sam snapped. "He's in there somewhere, Dean. I know it."

Dean shook his head. "No, you don't."

Sam hesitated and sighed with a nod. "No, I don't. But, look, I was pretty far gone sometimes myself, and you never gave up on me."

Dean nodded, taking another sip. "Yeah, and it turns out that you're about the same open book as you've always been. Hallucinations? Really? I got to find out from Death?"

"What was I supposed to do?" Sam argued.

Dean shrugged. "How about not lie? How about tell me that you've got crazy crap climbing those walls?"

Rage started boiling inside of me. I was so tired of hearing people say they were willing to talk and help, but it never seemed true when it came down to it.

"Why?" Sam asked. "You can't help. You got a lot of pretty severe crap swinging your way lately. We all do and— and I thought..." He sighed and shook his head. "I thought, why burst the one good bubble you had left? It's under control."

"What? What, exactly, is under control?" Dean snapped.

"I know what's real and what's not," Sam said.

Dean shook his head. "Sam—"

"Oh my god!" I shouted. "Stop. Just stop. Dean."

He furrowed his brow at me, surprised. "What?"

"You cannot be mad at people for not talking about their crap. You, of all people, definitely not. If Sam doesn't want to talk about what's going on with him yet... or ever, then that's his choice," I said.

"Oh, really?"" Dean asked with judgment in his eyes. "You sure you're defending Sam, or are you defending yourself?"

I shook my head. "What are you talking about?"

Dean gave me a look and sat up. "Were you ever gonna tell us what actually happens to you when you use your powers or whatever the hell they are?" He gestured to my now unbandaged and healed arm. "What happened to your cut, by the way? I thought after the hospital, you couldn't do it anymore."

I glared at him. "Well, first of all, I never said I couldn't. Second, I had no idea any of that happened to me. I don't remember it." I shook my head. "The way you just said that is exactly why I didn't want to tell you anything."

He furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about?"

"You say it like— like you're disgusted or something." I shook my head, and tears formed in my eyes. "I can't help it. I didn't do this to myself, to begin with, and I sure as hell would have rather it stayed buried for as long as possible."