Harmless Things (Jean Hobbs AU)

Part thirty-nine

Jack P.O.V.

Four days later

I was worried about Dean, even more so than usual. He still wasn’t sleeping and when he did he had nightmares, waking up in a cold sweat.

The funeral for Scarlett was planned for tomorrow, so I thought that maybe when it was over and he had said his final goodbye, it would close that door and maybe things would get easier for him and he’d start to feel better. But then again, who was I to say anything? I was an only child, so I would never be able understand losing a sibling, but it felt like I had. Since I had known about Scarlett’s cancer from the start and saw her pretty much daily after me and Dean had patched up, the Dobbs were like my second family.

I knew what I was feeling was only about 2% out of the 100% that Dean was since he had suffered the most out of anyone. He had become so sensitive that anything would set him off into tears – dropping a fork, not finding that shirt he wanted to wear or there not being a towel in the bathroom to dry his hands after he had washed them.

I wouldn’t tell him but I thought it was because he had repressed so much in the past couple of months and it was all coming at once because it had the opportunity. The bottle that he been filling with emotions he hadn’t risked to let out had cracked at first, but now it was smashed and there was nothing to stop it all escaping now.

“Jack, I can’t stop crying,” Dean moaned with a thick voice as he entered the room, smelling of mint and strawberry since had gotten out the shower. He had dressed while he was in there too, so he was wearing a baggy t-shirt with a random design on it and pyjama bottoms that were just a little too long.

I was sitting on the floor trying to do homework that was due for next week, but I couldn’t focus on it since I couldn’t stop thinking about the funeral would be like and instead had just spent the last half an hour staring at it in a daze.  Dean slumped down next to me and put his head on my shoulder.

“That’s not bad though, you can’t keep it in all the time.”

“But it makes me get a headache and I feel tired all the time and my eyes go red and nose goes all weird,” he sighed. He turned my hand over so my palm was facing upwards and ran his thumb over it before he interlocked our fingers together. I’ll admit that there was a strain on the relationship at the moment, but I needed him as much as he needed me and it was all these little moments that made the struggle all worthwhile. “There will be a point where I’ll have no tears left because I cried them out.”

“And that’ll be because you’re dehydrated, so you should keep drinking water. Why is your hair wet?”

“I dunno, I washed it.”

“Let me dry it for you, you’ll want it looking nice for tomorrow.”

“My red face will ruin how I look tomorrow, it doesn’t matter.”

“Dean,” I said with a little sternness in my tone. He huffed again but got up and left the room, coming back with a towel, hairdryer and a brush and sat cross-legged in front of the mirror. I went over and sat behind him, towel-drying his hair first before carefully running a brush through it all, untangling the knots but in a way so I didn’t hurt him. I styled it the way he always had it and plugged in the hairdryer, putting it on a medium heat and then starting from the bottom, dried his hair bit by bit, working my way upwards before getting him to turn to face me so I could do the front.

Dean didn’t say anything during the couple of minutes, but he looked the tiniest bit more content when it was done.

“See? Now it’s just how you like it,” I commented, messing it up a little because I knew he didn’t like it when it was flat without a hair out of place.