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Dean was no stranger to overwhelming guilt, and he was certainly no stranger to pushing it down and attempting to ignore it until he no longer could -- at which point he’d start drinking far more than was healthy for any human being -- but this was different. This was so overwhelming that he didn’t know how to deal with it in the first place, didn’t know which of his usual -- albeit unhealthy -- coping mechanisms to go with. Not that he ever really knew -- he tended to just drift into coping --but this was somehow different.
Because really, shit kept happening and kept happening and kept on friggin’ happening and he didn’t know when or if it would ever end. There were times where he was pretty sure he wouldn’t mind so much if the world ended, and it was those times that made him drink the most. Because if he felt like that, it meant that the bad guys -- whoever you wanted to call the bad guys at the moment-- had won and fuck if he’d let the bad guys win.
But at the same time, it was harder and harder to give a damn nowadays. But they had friggin’ Leviathan to deal with, not to mention Sam being jumpier than a... well, than a jumpy thing, and he simply couldn’t afford to let things fall apart.
So he dealt the same way he always did -- by drinking and eating and watching porn. Except the porn wasn’t even interesting anymore, which really should have told him something was wrong but went unnoticed as anything other than something incredibly annoying. Because really, when Dean wasn’t interested in porn, something was wrong. His life went on as always, though, angst and drinking and guilt and trying to soldier on as best he could.
And his greatest source of guilt haunted him with a frightening frequency.
He saw Jo everywhere -- on street corners, in restaurants, in grocery store checkout lines. Only he knew it wasn’t Jo, it couldn’t be Jo. Jo was dead and gone and if he was seeing her so much, then he was even crazier than poor Sammy was at the moment.
That knowledge didn’t stop Dean from seeing her again, though, looking in at him from outside as he stood in a liquor store checkout line. She looked the same as she did every other time he’d seen her -- heartachingly sad and just as beautiful as ever. Part of him wanted to take a step towards the window, but he knew that if he did, he’d just lose the moment. He’d rather have a few moments of seeing her than have the illusion shattered.
“Hey, buddy!”
“Hm?” Dean’s attention was torn away from the window. “Oh, yeah, right. Sorry.” He smiled sheepishly as the cashier rang him up. “Sorry, was thinking about something.”
Once he’d paid for his purchase, he glanced back to the window hopefully. Jo was gone.
The illusion had been shattered after all.
He sat in the motel parking lot for a good twenty minutes, head bowed slightly as he thought. Or rather, as he tried not to think. Thinking just led to his issue running rampant and quite frankly, he had other things to worry about at the moment. Like the way Sammy’s sanity seemed to be heading for a Tahitian vacation without so much as a goodbye and no promise of a postcard later.
Yes, he figured he’d worry about that instead. It was safer that way. Worrying about the state of Sam’s ever-slipping sanity was infinitely better than thinking about his own damn problems.
He didn’t do worrying about his problems. Or acknowledging them, really. He was much more of a “sublimating the problems” kind of guy, hence the alcohol sitting in the backseat.
It was the alcohol that got him to get out of the car, by virtue of the fact that he’d really much rather be drinking himself silly in a semi-comfortable motel room than in the Impala, no matter how much he loved the car. The Impala was suitable for a good many things, this was not one of them.
So into the motel room he and his alcohol went. He was more than a little relieved to see Sam sitting at the table, attention focused on the laptop in front of him. Dean had half been expecting to see Sam cringing at shadows, and not for the first time.
“Anything interesting?” he asked, setting the six-pack of beer on the dresser.
“Nothing so far,” Sam replied, glancing up. “And before you ask, no, I haven’t hallucinated Lucifer lately.”
Of course, “lately” meant “in the past five hours,” but Sam would take it. Dean, he knew, was more concerned by it. But it was Sam’s brain and he figured his was the opinion that mattered most.
“Lack of hallucinations is awesome,” Dean said, shrugging his jacket off. “Maybe your noggin’s sorting itself out.”
Probably not, but they could hope.
“It’d be nice,” was all Sam said before turning his attention back to the half a dozen interesting -- though not case-inspiring -- news articles he had open on the screen.
“You’re not seriously reading all of those at once, are you?” Dean asked, looking over Sam’s shoulder.
“Of course not,” Sam replied, somewhat distractedly. “At least, not all literally at the same time.”
Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes, never mind that Sam couldn’t see him. Though part of him had to admit that this bit of normalcy, fleeting though it would probably be, was nice. A little banter, a little snark, things were almost like they used to be.
Only they wouldn’t stay that way. Before either of them knew it, they’d be right back to facing down the ever-looming threat of Leviathan.
God, he hated his life sometimes. Not the living part of it -- Dean was actually pretty fond of that part of it, especially after that whole being dead thing -- but the part where the universe once again opened up and dumped on him and Sam just because they were the Winchester brothers.
Sometimes he wondered what it was like for other hunters, the normal ones -- if fighting and killing monsters qualified you as normal, anyway. But for all his occasional wondering how the others had it, this was his life and he’d be damned if he let anybody try and end it for him. The Leviathan might be the next world-ending possibility -- whether it led to an actual apocalypse or no, he figured their simple damn existence qualified as lead-up to the world, or at least his, ending.
And then he wondered when he’d gotten so damn philosophical.
The philosophical streak continued late into the night, with Dean working his way through the six-pack over a matter of hours. He could’ve consumed them a hell of a lot faster, but he was at least vaguely attempting to convince Sam that he wasn’t a raging alcoholic.
The next time Dean looked over in Sam’s direction, Sam was sound asleep at the table, having faceplanted next to the laptop. Dean smiled faintly. It was nice seeing his brother doing something so normal as sleeping in the middle of his geekery. Normal meant being able to pretend for a little while, and Dean wasn’t going to pass that up.
He turned his attention away from Sam, only to see Jo standing by the door. He stifled an undignified yelp. “Oh, this can’t be,” he muttered. “I can’t be seeing this. You’re dead. Really dead. You can’t be standing in my damn motel room looking at me like that. Dammit, woman, stop looking so sad.”
And yet, he was happy to see her. Or rather, he would be happy to see her if he were completely sure he wasn’t hallucinating. And he wasn’t completely sure, wasn’t even close to completely sure. All he had was the strong hope and the useless prayer that he was really seeing her, that he wasn’t cracking like his brother.
That was the thought that scared him, even as he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jo. He couldn’t be cracking like Sam, he just couldn’t. One of them needed to be the sane one, the strong one. The one who made their worlds make sense, as much sense as they could make at the moment.
But this was Jo, and he couldn’t bring himself to be too upset that he was seeing her, even as he hoped it didn’t mean his sanity was shattering. Because at least Sammy had a reason for his hallucinations; Dean had none.
“Jo?” he whispered, afraid to speak in more than a hushed tone. “Is it really you?”
Jo didn’t say anything, just gave Dean a sad little smile.
“Well, that’s helpful,” Dean mumbled. “Way to encourage my sanity there, Jo.” Surely the sarcasm would get a reaction out of her if she were real -- it always had when she was alive.
But not this time.
“I’m losing it,” Dean muttered. “I have to be losing it. I’m seeing my dead friend and she’s not saying anything to me. That’s a special kind of hallucination right there, man.”
Jo held a hand out to Dean, almost as though she were beckoning him closer.
Dean stood, reaching out to take Jo’s hand. He stifled a gasp when he was actually able to take her hand in his. “Does this mean I’m not hallucinating after all?”
Jo just smiled again, squeezing Dean’s hand tightly.
Dean was confused. It was almost as though she were trying to tell him something, only he didn’t know what and she wasn’t helping the situation any by not saying anything. He was starting to understand how Sam must’ve been feeling every time he saw Lucifer.
Jo pulled her hand away, reaching up with that same hand to touch Dean’s face. She brushed her fingers over his lips, smiled tenderly, and disappeared.
Dean swore softly. She’d felt so real, so didn’t that mean she wasn’t a hallucination? But at the same time, Sam’s hallucinations felt real and he was hallucinating.
Damn, he was confused. And he didn’t do confusion well at all.
Morning came entirely too quickly and with it Dean and a severe lack of sleep. Oh, he’d tried sleeping, but all he’d been able to do was think of Jo and the way he kept seeing her, the way he’d been able to touch her, the way she’d been able to touch him. He wasn’t sure what any of it meant; all he was sure of was that he shouldn’t be seeing her. She was dead, dead and gone, and he shouldn’t be able to see her.
But he was seeing her, which meant something was going on. Never mind that Dean couldn’t figure out what it was, he knew that there was something going on. And he was going to figure it out if it killed him.
Not an appealing idea, really, but that was how determined he was.
“You look exhausted,” Sam said, lifting his head from where he’d been asleep at the table all night.
“You don’t look much better,” Dean countered. “You don’t sleep on tables, Sammy. That’s what beds are for.”
“I was busy reading,” Sam defended. “I couldn’t help falling asleep.”
Dean just shook his head. “Whatever, man.” It was a familiar argument, one they’d had a thousand times over the past years.
“Seriously, though,” Sam said, running his fingers through his already messy hair. “You look horrible. What gives, Dean? Didn’t you get any sleep at all last night?”
“Not much,” Dean admitted. He wasn’t going to tell Sam that he was hallucinating their good friend and fellow hunter, but he could at least own up to the lack of sleep.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, tilting his head curiously. “You’ve got that ‘ I don’t want to say anything’ look on your face.” He knew his brother pretty damn well and if Dean ahd that look on his face, then something was going on.
“It’s nothing,” Dean said. “Just a little wacky from lack of sleep, I promise.”
“Catch a nap, then,” Sam replied. “Not like we’ve got anything pressing going on at the moment.”
“I might,” Dean said. “In a little bit.”
If he slept, he would dream of Jo, he just knew it, and that wasn’t something he was ready to do just yet.
When sleep did come, it was fitful. But at least it was sleep.
Amazingly, though, he didn’t dream of her. Or if he did, he didn’t remember it upon waking. Either way, Dean was both relieved and a little disappointed. Jo had been one of the most normal and also most vibrant parts of his life. Seeing her again, whether it be hallucination or dream or something else entirely, made him feel like things weren’t entirely hopeless.
He knew this probably wasn’t a good sign for his sanity that he was willing to hallucinate the woman he’d cared for more than he’d wanted to admit, but there you had it. Dean was long past giving a crap as to the overall state of his sanity. Or maybe that was just the hangover talking, since just the previous evening he’d been worried as to what the hallucinations meant.
He shook his head to clear it and promptly stifled a groan. “Stupid move, Dean,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re hung over, why are you shaking your frigging head?”
“Alcohol’s not your friend this time around, I take it,” Sam said, amusement in his voice.
“Bite me, Sammy,” Dean grumbled.
Well, Sam figured, if Dean could snark at him like that then nothing was too terribly wrong. At the moment, anyway. Give it twenty minutes -- if that -- and things would probably be changing. Their lives tended to be wacky like that.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Sam said, shaking his head and stifling a smile. “It’s lunchtime, or close enough. You hungry?”
“Starving,” Dean said after a second. “I think it’s time we eat.” He pushed himself up off the bed. “I’ll even run across the street and grab something from that little dive-y looking place.”
“Dean, are you sure?” Sam stifled the urge to wrinkle his nose. “That dive-y looking little place looks like it’ll give you a disease just by walking through the door.”
“You kidding me?” Dean grinned. “Those are the best places.”
“You’re not a well man, Dean,” Sam said, shaking his head again. “Not a well man at all.”
Dean just went for his wallet. “Like I already said, Sam, bite me.”
And with that, he was out the motel room door.
It was a nice day out, Dean had to admit as he crossed the motel parking lot. If he were the kind of guy to pay attention to that kind of thing, anyway, and he wasn’t -- unless the weather influenced a monster, Dean didn’t generally notice it. But for some reason, he had to admit that today was actually a pretty nice day.
He’d blame the alcohol. When in doubt, blame it on the alcohol. It worked for him, anyway.
A loud noise caught Dean’s attention -- just in time for the car to slam into him and send him flying up over the hood to hit against the windshield before rolling off the car to hit the ground.
He lay there, stunned and afraid to even think about moving. He hurt. He hurt a lot. And he was pretty sure he was bleeding from some injury or other, but he wasn’t going to try and check. No, he was pretty content to lay there and hope he hadn’t gotten irreparably broken.
“Dean?”
A familiar voice, one Dean couldn’t quite place through the haze of pain. At the moment, thinking was so incredibly overrated.
“Dean! Get with it.” A bit more urgency to the voice now, urgency and fear at the same time.
He stared blearily upwards, seeing long blonde hair and a face with features sharpened by worry. But he couldn’t put a name to the worrier.
“Dean, look at me. I can help you, but you need to look at me.”
His vision sharpened. “Jo?” Well, if he was going to die, at least he was hallucinating a hot girl. And a hot girl he’d been half in love with, even better.
“Yeah, genius,” Jo said, touching Dean’s face tenderly. “Listen, I need you do a couple things for me right now, okay?”
“I’ll try.” For her, he’d try pretty much anything.
“Stay still,” Jo said, her hand still resting against Dean’s face and her other hand resting against his chest lightly. “And look at me. Keep looking at me. It’s gonna hurt, but look at me the whole time and it won’t be so bad. I promise.”
Dean opened his mouth to question her -- and then the pain hit.
He went stiff with shock, letting out a scream as the pain coursed through his body. What the hell was she doing to him? It felt like his body was friggin’ knitting itself back together. Which he supposed it was, really, but oh God it was hard to concentrate on anything when the pain ripped at his mind and destroyed his focus.
Through it all, Jo was murmuring something under her breath. Dean couldn’t catch it, but it sounded frantic and panicky, something along the lines of, “Please God, let this work. Don’t let him die. I can’t let him die.”
Finally, the pain subsided and Dean lay there, breathless and sweaty.
“Hey, buddy, are you all right?” This voice sounded panicky and a little freaked out; Dean figured it was the driver of the car that’d hit him. Who else would be that freaked out besides Dean himself? For entirely different reasons, though, quite obviously.
“I... I’m fine,” Dean said, pushing himself into a sitting position and looking around for Jo. “I’m gonna be sore as hell, but I’m okay.”
“God, man, I am so sorry. I didn’t see you,” the driver said, still sounding panicky. “Are you sure you’re all right? Should I call 911?”
“I’m gonna be fine,” Dean said as he slowly got to his feet. “Don’t worry about it, man.”
After another minute or two of reassuring the driver that yes he was fine and that no he was not going to try and press charges or anything like that, Dean shuffled off back towards the room he shared with Sam -- minus the food.
Sam looked up as the door opened. “You look like hell,” he said. “Did you hear that noise outside? Sounded like a car going out of control.”
“It did,” Dean said. “Out of control right into my body. Which, by the way, ow.”
“And you’re okay?” Sam just stared at his brother.
“I’m fine. Except... I wasn’t okay. I was pretty badly hurt.” Dean swallowed, not how to say it without sounding more than a little insane.
“But you look fine,” Sam said, confused. “Yeah, you’re kinda bloody but you look fine.”
“I wasn’t. She healed me.” Dean ducked his head, feeling unhappily awkward.
“Who?” Sam was wondering if his brother’s brain had gotten a little scrambled after all.
“Jo.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “You’ve seen her, too?”
“Wait, what, you’ve seen her?” Dean looked at his brother in confusion.
“Yeah, but I thought I was just hallucinating her, the same way I’ve been hallucinating Lucifer,” Sam said, running his hands through his hair. “So I didn’t say anything.”
“You should’ve,” Dean said. “Because I’ve been seeing her for weeks. I thought I was hallucinating. Was worried my brain was cracking like yours is.”
“But we’re not hallucinating her,” Sam said. “I really saw her and you really saw her.”
“Uh huh.” Dean shook his head in disbelief. “She healed me and then she was gone.”
“What does this mean, then?” Sam asked. “If we’re both seeing her, and you actually talked to her... but she’s still dead, right?”
“Hell if I know,” Dean said. “All I know is, she was there and she was worried about me. Really, really worried.”
“We have to figure this out,” Sam said. “But in the meantime, at least you’re alive.”
Alive and confused. But that was how Dean spent much of his life, so at least that much hadn’t changed.
And he knew that somehow, his life was forever changed as a result of what Jo had done.