Don't Make It Bad

Preacher's Son

Here I am, in an endless loop, reliving my mother's death just like I've done every single night for twenty years. The dream is so real I can always feel the heat of the fire on my face and the presence of my baby brother in my arms. I am suddenly ripped away from the scene; heat, light, and closeness replaced by cold, dark, and emptiness. I open my eyes and they shift around the near empty motel room, it was small and honestly fairly dirty. The bed sat in the centre of the room, pressed against the far wall, to the left was a kitchenette with a table and to the right an ugly floral patterned old couch from the early seventies. I sighed and looked at the wall opposite of me, there was a window which let in the pale moonlight, the heater beneath the window rattled and hummed which caused the curtains to billow out a bit. Deep breaths, Dean. I think to myself, as I eye the door to be sure it was locked. It was, good. I sigh once again and lie back down on the uncomfortable bed, the mattress is too firm and the springs creak when I move. I rest my head on the musty smelling pillow and pull the thin blankets up to my shoulders, it was cold. I toss and turn until I find a moderately comfortable position, I check the time on the microwave quickly. 12:00 am, great. I think quietly, I burrow into my blankets. I'm doing my best to go to sleep but worried thoughts of my little brother, Sam, keep popping into my head. He's in college now, as for me, I dropped out of highschool. That probably explains why I live in a motel, but that doesn't really matter to me. I make good money working as the local mechanic. I quickly push these thoughts out of my head and shift to a more comfortable position. I close my eyes and relax, hoping for sleep. Which definitely was not something that came easily for me. Another hour ticked by before I was finally able to sleep, I slept for about four hours before waking with the dawn. I blinked and squinted against the sun, the curtains did very little to prevent the light from shining through. I sit up and rub my face before convincing myself to climb out of bed. I sigh and pull on a pair of pants over my boxers as well as putting on a shirt. I run my fingers through my hair tiredly before shuffling over to the coffee pot. I switch it on and make coffee, sitting at the small table as I glanced over to the window. Today's gonna suck, I thought as I waited for the coffee to brew. After my morning coffee, the morning started to blur together. I quickly styled my hair and brushed my teeth and all those other hygiene routines, I was always surprisingly clean for a mechanic, except when I was in the middle of a job of course. I left the house at seven o'clock, shop opens at eight. I walked out to my baby, she's a 1967 Chevrolet Impala, runs like a queen. "Good morning." I say once in the driver's seat with a deep rough tone, my morning voice was even more rough than my typical tone. I clear my throat and start the car, taking time to listen to the rumbling purr of the idol engine. A smile graced my face and I was ready to start the day. I took my time to get to the shop and got there at a little bit around 7:45 am, still had plenty of time to relax before opening up. I had barely unlocked the door and flipped on the lights before I noticed a tow truck pulling a vehicle into the shop parking lot. "Well son of a bitch, looks like we've got an early morning." I say to myself with a smile. I lean against the front counter as I watch as a man with roughly kept black hair and slightly slumped posture came into the shop. He looked up at me upon entry and I couldn't help but notice how dazzlingly blue his eyes were, "Excuse me, do you work here?" He questioned softly, glancing over at me. I couldn't help but smile, "Yeah, I run the place. Dean Winchester." I introduced myself and moved away from the counter to offer my hand. He waved my hand away, "My name is Castiel and I, uh, I don't do handshakes."