Harmless Things (Jean Hobbs AU)

Part thirty-one

Dean P.O.V.

Three weeks later

Repetition

Noun

1) The action of repeating something

2) The recurrence of an action or event

Repetition could either be a heaven or a frustration to some people. Doing the same thing over and over provided a sense of familiarity and comfort for a daily routine: you knew what you were doing, where you going and all the time and travel involved. Otherwise, if someone kept tapping their pen against the table or hummed the same tune again and again, repetition just became plain irritating.

I thought I didn't like repetition. I thought I didn't want to be doing the same thing day in day out, but I grew so used to my daily patterns that sudden change was terrifying.

After some forms, some shuffling, biting of lips and lifting, we were wheeling Scarlett out of hospital. She was buried under three blankets but was still shivering, and squinted when we got outside.

"I-It's too b-bright."

"Just close your eyes then, you're tired anyway and the taxi will be here in the minute," I told her, after I had knelt down by the wheelchair to face her properly.

"Home?"

"Yeah, home."

We had been given a couple of days notice that Scarlett would be coming home, but as scary as it was, it was nice to know we would all be away from breathing in sterlie and where everything was white. No more getting up early and going to hospital and leaving my sister alone there in the evening, now it would be a constant 24 hour caring job, but the difference was that we were home.

The house was clean and tidy but we had left Scarlett's room just the way she left it. On a sleepless night, I did a bit of internet research and found out that when children came home to put things to put things to rest, they liked things to be as normal as they could.

Since she was so sick, Scarlett wouldn't be able to go back to school but she didn't seem bothered when I told her.

"They hate me anyway, they s-s-s-" she screwed up her face up frustration, eyes shooting daggers at the floor next to me as if it were to blame. "Said to s-stay away from th-them. They said I'm d-d-dirty and they're clean and that I'll make them dirty."

"That's not true! You're just sick, that's all," I said, beginning to run my hair through her hair. I knew she liked it when I did that, it was relaxing for her and she refused to look at anyone while tears spilled out of her eyes that stayed glued to the ceiling and didn't dare to move.

Our mother awkwardly slowly got up like she always did when she couldn't cope, but for once, Dan didn't follow and put his shaky hand on his sister's. Jack did the same to me but laced our fingers together and it was the small gesture that reminded me I wasn't alone in this and that I had someone to lean on.

"Welcome home, Scar," I whispered quietly into her ear as she clung onto me, her arms around my neck as I carried her. We had only borrowed the wheelchair to get her from the ward to downstairs and had to give it back. Not that I think she would be up for wild adventures when we got home, and I was perfectly capable of carrying her when need be anyway.

A lazy smile grew on Scarlett's lips, which you could still see despite her sucking on her thumb. I was going to ask where she wanted to go but I heard her sleeping breaths and took her up to her room, tucking her into bed. But instead of leaving her to it like I usually did, I sat down on the floor drinking in as much of her as I could.

From her eyelashes, the freckle on her cheek and her jawline, no detail was missed. I forgot why I was treasuring as much time as I could with her, but then oh god, it hit me - she came home to die.

Why is it raining? I asked myself when I remembered the realisation. But of course it wasn't raining and I was being an idiot because I was indoors and rain wasn't precise enough to only hit my cheeks.

To minimise the hassle I let myself cry this time and I thanked myself for letting myself since I got so much relief with it. It wasn't the sort of crying where you were sobbing and your face flushed and there was a lump in your throat, but instead the one where the tears just fell freely and none of the other attention-seeking drama.

I sent Jack a text to tell him to come over to my house later but I forgot about it until half an hour later when he replied to confirm to say he would be seeing me today. It didn't even feel like half an hour and it scared me how fast time was slipping away. I wasn't even sure on how much longer Scarlett had left, the time she had kept jumping up and down from what the doctors had been saying to me, but if she was home, surely she couldn't be too far from it? 

Sometimes I was could get impatient for her death to come but for the majority I wanted it to be put off for as long as it possibly could. The two different sides kept arguing with each other but there was no winner, and instead I just loathed myself for partially wanting my own sister to die. Not that I would tell anyone that, anyway. 

That sounded awful on its own, but it didn't mean what you probably thought it meant. I meant it in my best interests, because I was exhausted, my brother was lifeless, my mother couldn't cope and my sister just didn't want to be here anymore. Scarlett's death would be a benefit with plenty of consequences, but a benefit. 

Even though she's never really told me out straight, I could see the constant pain and fear she was in. I didn't want to see that. Your younger sister should be carefree and happy, but mine was frightened with wires and medication for friends. She was being dragged down into the end but human instinct and the worry of letting other people down kept her fighting. Like she was drowning in the ocean but her feet kept kicking so she could break the water surface and gasp for air and live. 

Sometimes you just have to let go. After you've pulled every string and tried every idea you could come up with to solve the problem that still remained broken, you just have to put your jacket back on, pull the sleeves over your hands and reluctantly mumble something of a goodbye, even if it was the hardest thing you've ever had to say.

Maybe it was my fault that she was still here since I hadn't told her that or something of the same kind of thing, or maybe she had a sudden change of heart and didn't want to accept death yet which kept her clinging on. I didn't know, and I wasn't sure which one of those I would prefer.