Haunting ▹ Dean Winchester [2]

PART ONE ; twelve

      twelve ; hand in unlovable hand 

      Dean didn't like sleeping alone. 

      Dwelled between the prickly cotton duvets and enmeshed with solitude and melancholy, Dean oriented his heed onto anything other than the desolation overcoming him. Though he was traveling alongside his brother, who'd been resolute on redeeming his life and his dwindled relationship, he wasn't sure if he was completely content with the remainder of his life. As he thought before, he didn't like sleeping alone. The isolation often spurred unwelcomed sentiments he tried so desperately to burrow. 

      Glancing to the empty portion beside him, Dean thought of the pain he was going to experience when the time he possessed was gone, how the descent into Hell was going to feel like. Would the ordeal be quick and immediate, or would he have to undergo some intricate process that would last an eternity like the movies? Thinking of everything coming soon, his stomach lurched. God, he's afraid, deathly so. Perhaps he shouldn't be thinking of such horrid thoughts, but there isn't much positivity inboard his life. 

      Typically, when afraid or concerned or infuriated, his mind's immediate reaction was generating a pictorial image of Odessa. But, nowadays, she wasn't his source of happiness anymore. And, at times like this, he wondered if he was still her source of contentment. Chances were she didn't want anything to do with him. And even though she was happy and he wasn't the reason by behind her smile, he was glad she was slowly picking herself up. He had just wished she was recollecting herself with him. 

      Before his deal, he didn't have much to be afraid of. He'd been raised in the hunting lifestyle, there wasn't much to frightened of when you knew the solution to almost every monster lurking in the shadows. But, as he looked at the emptiness alongside him one final time, he thought of the lack of Odessa, the lack of hope for himself, and the lack of an actual future. 

      Dean didn't like sleeping alone, and he supposed he didn't like much anymore nowadays.

<<>>

      As Sam and Costello used their calloused, bare hands to tear a wooden beam from the Morton house, Odessa thought over the case, concentrating intently on the noises from the house. Every leap year, at the beginning of midnight, the house becomes the most haunted place in America, supposedly. There'd been hundreds of filed missing person's reports over the decades and now the four of them were here to finally put an end to the disappearances. 

      Noises from inside piqued her attention, echoing through her ears painfully. "There are people inside," She said, tearing through the silence. Costello took a moment to focus his own hearing and he winced, rolling his eyes as he realized the people inside were amateurs. They were exceptionally loud, strange considering their location, and genuine hunters would never behave as them. "We aren't alone in this." As if on cue, the four of them reached for their weapons and apprehensively stepped inside.