Reckless [Dean Winchester]

39. Room 7B

39. Room 7B

Mid-May. Exact date, couldn't tell you. When you're a businessman, you don't think about the dates.

I'm following Dean back with more files. Since last night, after we found Cas in the street and about the third trial, we've been hitting the research. If anyone had any information about curing a demon, it would be the Men of Letters.

So far, we've struck out. With each new stack gone through, our hope diminishes a little. There has to be something that can help us finish these trials.

Till next time, Maxi. I look forward to it.

He's practically in my head. He sounds as clearly as though I'm having a conversation with him right now. Damn King of Hell. Damn him to a fate worse than Hell. Is there such a thing? Damn him to Purgatory.

I'm running out of time, like I have been since Crowley reminded me. I'm really running short, as we're now in May. Mid-May. Exact date, couldn't tell you. I'd bet my life Crowley knows my expiration date, he just doesn't want to tell me. He wants me to be on my toes, make me paranoid.

I'm so zoned out that I don't realize where I'm walking. My arm knocks into a corner as I mindlessly turn, and the folders and papers drop to the floor, creating chaos. Dean hears the chaos and stops, green eyes full of concern.

"You okay there, Max?"

"Fine," I grumble as I bend down, scooping up papers and trying to stuff them back in their proper files. "I'm fine. I'm just..." I sit on my knees, eyes down on the plethora of papers. "Exhausted."

"I know." Dean's on his knees in front of me, helping gather the rest of my stack. "We're all a little worse for wear."

"When this is over, is there gonna be a break?"

"Knowing our track record, it's probably not gonna happen."

I sigh. "We need it. Something that doesn't involve hunting or research." I'd prefer to take it now before I can't live anymore.

"We'll get there, someday."

I don't bother alphabetizing anything, I try to make the pile neat. I'm on my feet now, but Dean's got his hands on my arms.

"Max, if there's something you wanna say, now might be a good time to." I lean into his warm hand against my face.

He's asking for it. Do it, tell him. He needs to know. The trials don't matter right now. Your time on Earth is tick, tick, ticking away. He's right here. Perfect chance. Go. Do it! The thought is rapid in my head, but I can't get my mouth to say the words. I can't find the courage to spill the story, what's been going on behind closed doors.

"How much do you hear me at night, Dean?"

"Do you want the nice answer or the truth?" He smiles wryly.

"Truth." Which is what you should be telling him.

"More than I'd like to. More than you think." He looks at me pitifully. "You're barely hanging in here, Max. It's starting to get me worried."

"I'm still here, aren't I?" I tease mournfully. "I've survived a lot."

"The streets can't compare to this, Max." He dips his head a little. "Every time I hear you, I'm up. I don't wake you, because I don't know what you'd try to do. I try to do everything in my power to make your sleep a little better. Sometimes I fail, other times it works.