Deeply Red

The spot.

(Amy's POV)

With one hand on the wheel, and one hand on the box I begin making my way across the empty field towards the treeline. The food bounces on the floorboard as my car goes over bumps along the way. I pull my car behind a huge bush to hide myself from anyone passing on the dirt road. Then I pop open my trunk, and grab my roll of duct tape.

"I just can't have you falling out into my bag," I state to the box apologetically.

I pull the tape around the box keeping the lid from opening, and stick it into my big brown tote bag. Then I place the small bag of food inside with him.

I make my way through the trees until I come across a small opening. Standing in front of an old oak tree,
memories of Dean flood my head like a sinking ship.

We'd come to this old tree, and roll joints, drink some beer, hell we even threw a party here. The old tree reaches out of the earth like an open hand reaching for the sky.

In what I guess would be the palm, was the hut we built. The green boards that made up the walls keep it almost camouflaged from the view on the ground. Which is exactly what I need right now.

Putting the bag on over my head, and around my back I begin to climb the limbs of the tree. When I reach the small platform beneath the hut, I push the floor's door open above me. I take off my bag placing it in the hut before pulling myself up. Out of breathe from the climb I rest against the wall in the small space.

It's been almost two years since I've been here. By the looks of it, Dean hasn't been here in a while either. Or he stopped with the upkeep. Overgrown vines have grown around the windows, and through the floorboards.

Doodles, and random things litter the interior. Except for one wall which Dean had written "the spot" big in black painted letters.

I'd like to say that I came here today, because this was our spot, and I miss him. But the truth is over the last few years we fell apart. In fact the last time we actually spoke to each other was when the cops took him away the day we fought.

You see we both have anger issues. Once someone pisses us off we go mad, arms wailing, and legs kicking.

But that day isn't what brought me here. I'm here because one summer night after riding here on our bikes from Cisco's diner. I ate my usual fries, and a peach. Dean ate a slice of whatever pie they had that day.

We were passing our joint to each other, and enjoying each other's company. Then Dean turned to me, and said. "When I die, promise me you'll come back here, eat some food, and smoke a joint for me." He seemed serious, so I of course did what any good sister would do.

"That's an awful lot of work, just for you," I grinned.

"Bite me," he responded flipping me the bird.

"Okay fine, but if I die first you gotta do the same."

Then we shook on it, and went on with our lives. Not knowing that the day we were speaking of was less than a decade away.

But now here I am in this old treehouse, because I loved my brother. Even though only a few months prior I would have gone into an endless rant if he was anywhere near me.