Warping to Destiny - A Supernatural FanFiction

Chapter 37 - How to Make Dean Talk

Maggie's POV

We spent the rest of the day very pleasantly, working out, playing video games, having dinner and watching a few more episodes of Supernatural. Dean was hilarious when he got all indignant after we watched "Something Wicked," you know, the one where all the kids in town were getting sick. He sat up and pointed at the screen and said "That's such a bunch of bull! They always show you all the good parts but do you have any idea how long it took us to clean up that room, and how disgusting it was? People wouldn't be so gung ho to idolize our lives if they showed all the really disgusting parts."

While I was sure he was completely right, we all still had to laugh at his antics. When we decided it was time to go to bed, I caught Sam glare at Dean and almost imperceptibly nod his head, and had to wonder what that was all about.

When we got to Dean's room, I went right to the chair and plopped myself down in it. Dean looked at me puzzled. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Waiting," I said.

"Waiting for what?"

"Waiting for you to stop being an ass and tell me what the fuck is going on with you. And I'm not getting in that bed until you do!"

"Maggie, I…"

"Yes?"

He paced around the room a few times, wiping his hand over his face and through his hair. Then he stopped in front of me. "Maggie, you don't understand!"

"I'm aware of that, which is why I'm sitting here, waiting for you to tell me. Then, guess what? I will understand."

He turned around and said under his breath, "Son of a bitch!"

"Yeah," I said, casually, "life IS a bitch sometimes, isn't it?"

I picked up a book from the nearby table, folded my legs under me and began calmly reading it.

"You're serious?" he asked incredulously. "You're really not coming to bed until I tell you?"

"Completely Serious," I answered. "Baby, would you get that light for me? It's a little hard to read here without it."

Dean stared in absolute amazement for a good minute. Then he said, "Okay, fine, you wanna know what's wrong? You really have to know?"

I closed the book, and said calmly," Yes, Dean, I need to know. When someone I love is obviously going through a tough time, that's what I do, I want to know, so I can help."

"But that's just it. I don't like putting my burdens on other people. Why should I saddle you with my problems so you go through hell too?"

"And that's your problem, isn't it, baby?" I said, softly. "You are always so concerned about others, trying to keep them from hurting, trying to look out for those you love, that you keep all your own pain bottled up inside you, refusing to share it. Because you think you know what's best for the rest of us. But I'm not going to let you do that to me. You can't hide your pain from me, and that means I'm always going to want to know what's causing it. Now," I said, as I reached out and took his hand, "come, sit here by me and tell me what's hurting you now."

He had started crying as he listened to what I was saying. Then he took my hand and sat on the floor by my chair. He put his head back against the chair and began speaking in a low, slow, almost expressionless tone. "Okay, you win." he said. "It's this Mark of Cain. I discovered something about it."

I was petting his hair and rubbing his temples lightly while he talked, hoping to keep him calm. "Okay?" I said, as a question.

"I've discovered, over the last few times when you have gone to your home world, that when you aren't here, it's worse. I have a much harder time controlling the impulses. And then, when you come back, it gets easier again. It's like you're a buffer between the mark and my brain. It's always there, nagging at me, urging me to kill something. But when you're here, it's not quite so loud. And the closer you are to me, the easier it is to deal with. And each time you go, it gets worse and worse."

When I thought he was done talking I said, "I see. I have to say, I did not see that one coming. Now I understand why you were acting the way you were. And now, things are better."

"I didn't want to lay this on you, he said, still sniffling."

"I know. But it's better that you did, don't you see that?" I stood up. "Come," I said, "come lay with me."

He got up and we walked to the bed. We silently undressed, turned out the light and got into bed. I held him close, so close I could feel his heart beating, and began muttering soothing sounds, caressing him, petting him, telling him everything would be all right. And then he cried. Long, deep, piercing sobs that just about broke my heart. I held him tightly against me until he cried himself out. Still he held onto me tightly, neither of us saying anything for a long while.

Then he shifted position a little and softly, ever so softly, he said, "I love you Maggie."

"I know, baby, I know," I said.