Broken Blood

A Slow Detox

Hey everyone! Sorry again about the late update, I'll try to make more time for writing in the future!! :)

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“Patrick…Sydney…Thomas…Noel….they were all…?” my voice is quiet but fades to silence amongst the rhythmic drum of water as it falls around me. I stand in the stream of steaming water and try to think, the thoughts that had just been beginning to bubble on the way back home have reached a furious boil, there seems no end to the questions. *Had they been….hallucinations?* but that couldn’t be, my medicine assured that I couldn’t have hallucinations anymore…but.

I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel the horrible pounding of a headache swelling over my head, *it must be true*. I bend down and place my head under the stream of water and remain there, eyes closed trying to formulate answers. *They were…real people…but…?* it seems impossible, the water runs down my face, tipping off my nose in a thin stream, I decide to conquer the easier stuff. *Demons are real* , my inner voice says possessing something that sounds like a mother, something like nurse Andy, who’d been the closest thing to a mother I’d ever had. The headache persists and I begin messaging my head to alleviate it.

Opening my eyes I notice an inky blackness bleeding from my hair…I don’t remember dieing it but there the dye goes, slipping swiftly down the drain, swiveling through the small currents of water like a million black snakes. I grab a bottle of shampoo from the side of the shower and squeeze a glob into my hand. I work up a lather in my hair with my eyes closed, rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat, all the while trying to recount things from my imaginary life. I find, instead of memories, a plethora of blank spots, somehow it seemed the time between leaving Bobby’s and Sam and Dean coming back had stretched on forever…but where did it begin? When did I start working at the coffee house? When did I apply there?

I finish cleaning myself trying not to wonder about where I’d actually been going every morning.

My feet touch the icy linoleum floor and I quickly wrap my towel around my chilled body. I make my way to the mirror, wipe away the fog and am frozen in the eyes of my own reflection. There’s nothing like the feeling of realization that comes over me, final, absolute understanding falls over me suddenly, I realize the time and realize all at once that I’ve finally woken from my drug induced coma. *6:36 am* I’ve never gone a morning without my pills, the foggy world within the bathroom mirror is somehow the most clear image of the world I’d ever seen. My hair is dark brown, a color I remember, and I know it will dry to a sweet chocolate brown hue and completely return to it’s natural color. It had all been made up somehow, my life after Bobby was only real for me. Dean and Sam had returned in order to make me see this…but it was more than that.

*knock knock*

“Almost done” I call to whichever one of them is on the other side of the door, there is a silent aggravation translated through the door and I wonder absent mindedly how men ever successfully raised productive daughters with such little patience for bathroom rituals.

*20 Minutes Later*

My room is messy, clothes are all over the floor and empty paint tubes speckle the litter. I wonder how in the hell I had failed to notice this everyday, swearing my room was neat and tidy, perhaps I’d based my assessment off of the preposterous alignment of the hideous renderings on each wall of the room. They are hung one by one in a straight line, three on each wall in an exactly straight line, paintings of sunsets and flowers. The juxtaposition of the chaos on the ground and strict order on the walls is dizzying, as if two completely different beings had existed in this room.

I noticed the colors of the clothes all over the floor, all checkered and plaid, button down shirts and acid wash jeans, the mixture looked sickening as I leaned over the piles. So I dressed in the only color left hanging in the closet, black leather jacket, black sweater, black jeans…I had been avoiding this color and now It’s all I want to wear.

My hair is still wet and I hate the feeling of the strands sticking to the back of my neck. I pack the clothes that remained in the closet into a duffle bag, Dean had made it extremely clear that I should only bring what I needed…I suddenly thought of my paintings…*Bobby’ll keep em’*

Packing moves rather quickly, every pair of underwear I own, any money I have, clothes, and…no medicine. I almost smile when I think of this…but don’t, I know the hard part is yet to come anyway.

Opening the bedroom door I carry my bag into the living room and set it on the couch, my hair is beginning to dry and I am grateful for the feeling. Sam and Dean seem somewhat surprised to see me, I look up at them and find wide eyes, “what?” I ask…they’re so weird.

*Sam’s POV*

We’re frozen. Quinn enters the living room and it’s as if she’s a different person entirely. Her clothes, hair, face…everything is different, cleaner, more…herself. “What?”

She asks, I don’t know how to answer except to shrug and say:

“Nothing”

She sighs and plops down on the couch, her eyes are clear and as she continues to speak I’m abundantly grateful with every word she doesn’t skip and every statement she doesn’t repeat.

“So” she begins with a firm conviction I had yet to hear from her, “demons…were always real…and now…they’re after me…correct?”.

I almost smile, she’s speaking so clearly.

*Dean’s POV*

She walks in and I can’t believe it…she looks so…normal! Her hair is a huge improvement from that black mess it had been when we got here, now dark brown just like me and Sam‘s…and dad‘s.

“What?” she asks, I don’t even know how to answer *you look like less of a nut job* I think instead of speak. I watch her plop onto the couch and ask about the demons, I’m reluctant to talk about it.

Sam and I had put on hold his stupid quest to save me from hell in order to come here, from one fight to another I guess.

*Quinn’s POV*

I feel an icky annoyance oozing over me at the silent moment, it’s filling with emotion and concern and…I’m beginning to hate it. “Yea, basically, but we don’t know when and we don’t know how…best bet right now is to get you to Bobby’s” Dean says and for once I’m grateful for his directness. I stand “cool” I remark smoothly,

“cool?” Sam asks, I look at him with raised eyebrows

“no fight? Questions?”, I shake my head

“nah…never solves anything now does it?” I state more than ask…they seem relieved to hear this from me, and I’m relieved that I can say it.