Bedeviling the Chipper
Summary: "Loneliness is never more cruel than when it is felt in close propinquity with someone who has ceased to communicate." – Germaine Greer
Sidenote: This isn't exactly like my other Supernatural fics; this one actually has a plot. I'm not saying it's anything special… but it'd probably be a good read. I can only hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. The chapters get longer down the road, I promise.
Disclaimer: I am not making any money off of nor do I own anything supernatural… other than my roommate.
It was the sunniest day he'd seen in a good long while. The sky was a spring of fresh blue, stretching for miles, and the air was cool and crisp but not biting. The happy critters of the air and land were scampering about, playing their games and singing their songs in the safety of the beautiful atmosphere. And here he sat, alone on a bench in the middle of a small park downtown. He was alone, hunched over, elbows on knees, head in hands, completely oblivious to the loving caress mother nature had bestowed upon the mid-day. His world wasn't consistent with the budding tides of spring… all he saw was grey, and all he felt was numb… numb but for the ball of broiling despair that was pressing against his inner cavity; pounding against his chest… trying to squeeze it's way up his throat… and straining for escape against the back of his eyes. Here he sat… alone.
This was it, it had finally happened. He was on his own from here on out. Everything was going to change and he was going to have to face whatever cruelties life decided to hurl his way by himself. He linked his fingers together behind his head, squeezed his eyes tightly closed; trying very hard to extinguish that damned persistent ball of anguish.
He wasn't even fully aware of where he was… only that he'd walked around in a state of numb shock, disconnected from his surroundings for about an hour before coming to exist on this bench for the next two hours. His butt was certainly aware he'd been in this position one hour too many, however it had simply numbed itself right along with the rest of him.
He didn't know what to do. He knew there was a choice here and he even knew which he was supposed to be making… had promised to make, but… he couldn't, and then the frustration of all the confusion and disparity combined into that damned ball which once more was working its way up his throat, wiping clean all rational thought processes. He'd called his father… but that had been so helpful the other ten times he'd called him, he was coming to terms with the fact that help was not an acquaintance that would be knocking on his door anytime soon if ever again.
"Excuse me," Dean didn't look up, he could see the pair of designer shoes in the top corner of his vision, but didn't have the energy or want-to to spare in answering; if he ignored the stranger maybe he'd go away, "Are you Dean Winchester?"
Hearing his own name pulled at him slightly, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to leave his morose thoughts yet. "Go away." His voice sounded drained and dead and he hadn't even put the energy into lifting his head to acknowledge his visitor. Looking up would reveal a world he wasn't yet ready to re-join. He distantly noticed the shoes turn slightly, and then some annoyed mumbling reached his ears. And then a sigh, the kind of sigh a kid gives his mom when she asks him to take the trash out right as the killer reveals where the body is stashed during his weekly obsession.
"You're brother died this morning right?"
Well that did it… Dean snapped back into reality. He lifted his head slowly, a quiet, dangerous look in his eyes. The thin man's eyes widened almost comically and he took a step back, recognizing the threat. He took a few more steps back as the eldest Winchester stood and slowly walked towards him. "You a reporter?" Dean asked accusingly.
The delicate man held his hands up in the classic surrender pose and shook his head in fear, glancing to his left for help. "Then this is your lucky day," Dean stabbed a finger into the blond man's chest, "you get to live. Now get hell out of my face." And with that Dean pushed past the man; again with the walking.
He heard a high-hat huff behind him and then a loudly whispered and annoyed, "I know!" before the sound of expensive shoes clicking on concrete reached his ears. This one obviously didn't take a clue.
"Um, excuse me," the thin man, about Dean's height, long blond hair, obviously styled in a salon, panted slightly as he caught up. He stepped in front of Dean's path and actually rested a… were his nails manicured… hand on his chest to halt his progression. He seemed to recognize the Winchester's dislike and added on a slightly nervous laugh to try and demonstrate his friendly stature. "I have this problem you see-"
"I don't give a shit." Dean shoved the hand off and pushed past once more. It didn't seem to help; the guy was persistent, he'd give him that. Blondie stumbled along beside his fast paced walk.
"Well… maybe you should."
"You've obviously got a lot of pent up anger, not to mention being incredibly rude-"
"Look!" Dean whirled on him like lightening, entangling his hand in the Prada shirt. "My brother, possibly the last member of my family, is currently sitting in a little white room; practically brain-dead, hooked up to God knows how many machines keeping his shell of a body alive so that they can turn him into a political debate on morality! You don't know the beginning of my anger." The last was said in a dangerously low voice, but he continued on. "I can't get in to see my brother because a straight-A Stanford drop-out was suddenly found nearly brain-dead in an emergency room with no cause and his older brother, a convicted murderer was found dead six months earlier. So technically I don't exist, and since the father of the vegetable is currently AWOL, power of attorney goes to the government. Which means my little brother's body is going to waste away in an empty room for the next five years or however the hell long it takes for politicians to pull their heads out of their asses and let nature have her way!"
Dean stared hard into the other man's wide eyes; his nose a mere inch from the other man's much larger nose. The other man seemed to be weighing his words carefully before he opened his mouth, "You have gorgeous green eyes do you know that?"
Dean's brow furrowed in confusion before reality clicked in. He shoved the man away in disgust. Now that he was taking a closer look, the guy was obviously a flake. "What the hell do you want?"
"How detailed would you like me to get sugar?" The man put a delicate hand on his hip and smiled flirtatiously if not completely inappropriately considering the situation. He suddenly looked to his left and held up his other hand, palm to the sky. "What? I'm just being honest." He seemingly defended to a tree. He then rolled his eyes and gave a greatly annoyed sigh, which Dean was quickly realizing was this man's thing. "Oh for God's sake, fine." The blond head turned sulkily back to the confused and now wary Winchester.
"What are you nuts?" Dean cut the man off before he could even begin.
"Oh I'm more than just nuts honey," he leered, "there's brains in this beauty. I'm the whole package." He suddenly held a hand up to his left in the classic stop-sign, forestalling whatever it seemed the tree was going to say; and now it seemed he was down to business, his focus on Dean. "Look, I know you're in a bit of an emotional hurricane right now, but I need you to focus on the here and now. Carpe Diem is banging on your door sister." The man finished with a matter-of-fact tone, hand on hip once more. Dean frowned in distaste at 'sister'. "You handle supernatural problems…" Dean's head perked up slightly despite his dark mood. The blond fruit-cake smirked smugly. "And I have a supernatural problem."
Dean blinked. "What you have is a supernatural brain tumor."
The man flung his hand, carelessly brushing off the jest. "Whatever. It's your brother; therefore it's your problem."
"Excuse me?" Dean was beyond tired of this… if the man wasn't so feminine, he'd have put his fist in his face several times already.
"Boy you're a quick one aren't you?" the man said in his loud, nasally voice. He walked closer and put a graceful hand on the eldest Winchester's upper arm, garnering his attention. "Your brother…Samuel Winchester… is haunting me." Fruit-cake's eyebrow suddenly quirked and he squeezed Dean's bicep appreciatively. "Do you work out?"