Ch. 18: Over the Edge
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Only get pleasure, no money. Welcome to the world thru my eyes.
Summary: Dean is crashing after a string of bad jobs. One last, terrible incident pushes him over the edge. He's on a downhill slide and the Moonstar is the last place he needs to be.
A/N: I will admit ending that last chapter the way I did was a little crappy, but it was getting so long I wouldn't have been able to post for another couple of days so I actually was being nice by splitting it. I figured any posting was better than no posting. I worked on this all day Tuesday until midnight and I finally had to quit. Sorry. Ta for your patience and your loving abuse when the patience ran out. This is the last chapter, thank God. I hope it satisfies. I will never be able to go to this place again and look at it the same way.
Tracer and HT turned me back to the dark side, thanks guys.
Onward and upward, my friends, the curtain rises…..
Sam and David had wrestled the two bodies outside, under the covered patio where equipment was stored to keep it dry. Rain was falling in earnest and thunder and lightning still flamed the sky.
They returned to the lobby where Dean and Linda waited. Sam helped Dean get back on his feet. He was looking worse by the minute but Sam was more concerned about Dean's mental equilibrium. Dean appeared distracted and confused and seemed to have trouble concentrating. The look on his face, though, told Sam an argument was pointless so they started down the stairs. Linda elected to remain in the lobby.
Sam carried the shotgun. He wouldn't have trusted Dean with a weapon anyway. He wasn't steady enough on his feet and had to use the walls to support himself as he walked down the corridor that led to the morgue.
Dean was freezing and wore Sam's jacket over his filthy shirt, trying to keep his teeth from chattering, wishing he'd thought to put on his boots. He stumbled along behind Sam, his slashed arm hugged to his body. He had shut himself down, refusing to listen to the words still hissing through his mind, sensing his demons hovering close by ready to sweep him away at the first unguarded moment. They hung, gibbering softly, just beyond his reach and he couldn't help putting a hand over his ear to try to block out the sounds. He could almost see the swirling fog rising up to smother him, hands reaching out to drag him down.
God, it would be so easy to just let go…..
"Dean…." Sam caught Dean's elbow, causing Dean to jerk upright with a gasp, shuddering away from Sam's touch, not even sure where he was. Somehow, he was bent over, leaning against the wall of the morgue.
"It's ok, Dean," Sam was saying softly. "This'll be over soon. Sit down, David and I'll search the alcove."
"No, I'm coming in with you." Dean finally managed to say, pulling himself from the whirlpool of his thoughts. "It's there, Sam."
"I believe you, Dean," Sam assured him. "I hope we can find it. It's just…I'm worried about you being here, so close to this-"
Dean frowned at him, straightening up painfully. "I'll be all right," he growled impatiently. He pushed at Sam, his eyes desperate. "I gotta stop this, Sam. This shit in my head…I can't…" Dean faltered, looking away.
Sam sighed, Dean's pain almost more than Sam could stand to see. He stepped aside.
Dean stepped through the doorway that had been hidden behind the lockers, hissing at the chill in the passage. Sam still frowning, went through after him. David followed, flashing his light down into the darkness then into the opening they had created in the wall Margaret and Stephen had been closed up behind.
Dean put his back against the wall across from the hole and slid down to the ground, feeling the rough wall scrape his back. He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around himself, shaking. He was so cold and it was getting colder.
Sam laid the shotgun on the ground by the opening and shoved his upper body through the wall, flashing his light around on the dirty ground in the shallow recess. Part of him recoiled at the thought of what lying here, bound inescapably to her dead lover, waiting to die, had to have been like for Margaret. Despite himself, he could almost understand what had driven her to do what she did. He was just sorry Dean had been the victim. He hoped to God the damage done to him was repairable.
He glanced back at Dean, crouched against the wall, head resting on his bandaged arm, the other hand cupped over the back of his head, eyes closed. Sam could see him shivering from where he knelt. He needed to get Dean to a doctor.
He twisted his body to look up along the mortared walls, searching for anything that might be the prize they were seeking.
Sam's eyes shifted around as he noticed how cold it was becoming. His breath was starting to fog. He pushed his body further into the opening, trying to reach up to a large blob of dried mortar. He could see something just hanging off the edge. He couldn't quite reach it…..
Dean's eyes snapped open and he slowly turned his head to look down the corridor as the air suddenly turned to ice and he couldn't breathe.
"What the…" David gasped, hugging himself. "Why's it so cold?"
Sam's fingertips just caught the mortar and he pulled up a few more inches, fingers closing on a small, shriveled object.
"I think I got it!" he cried excitedly. He lost his precarious grasp and the tiny object tumbled to the ground.
Dean dropped his arms and rolled to his knees, eyes cut so tightly to the side they almost appeared white. "He's coming…" he murmured.
There was an ominous crack from overhead. "Get out! " Dean screamed at David suddenly, finding the strength somewhere to lurch to his feet and shove the man toward the opening into the morgue. Caught off guard David tumbled through the doorway and sprawled in the outer room.
Sam heard the scuffle and pulled back out of the wall as another crack shot through the corridor as sharp as a gun blast. He watched, dumfounded, as the walls of the corridor literally rippled outward, sending a wave of bricks, stone and mortar.
Sam instinctively curled into a ball, covering his head with his arms as the explosion of rock came at him.
"Sam! Look out!" Dean threw himself over Sam's body knocking them both back into the shallow alcove as the ceiling collapsed into the corridor, burying them in an avalanche of bricks, stone and mortar.
David, still shocked by Dean's sudden action, barely got out of the way to avoid the rocky missiles that shot out of the doorway along with a billowing cloud of dust. Stone crashed against the far wall.
Warily, waving the dust out of the way, trying to see, David pushed back into the doorway, coughing as he tried to inhale in the dusty air.
"Sam! Dean!" he shouted, stumbling over the rubble. He tripped over the stock of Sam's shotgun and jerked it free from the dirt.
"David!" Linda's voice shrieked his name as she ran into the morgue. "What was that! I heard an explosion—Oh, my God!"
She stumbled to a halt staring at the mass of debris falling out of the doorway.."David!" She screamed again. "Oh, thank God, are you all right?" she exclaimed as he stepped out, shotgun dangling from his hand..
"I'm fine, help me! Theguys are trapped in here!" He disappeared into the slowly dissipating dust cloud. Linda followed without hesitation, picking her way over the scattered stone.
"What happened?" She cried, coughing.
"I don't know. Help me get these rocks off them!" He started heaving the chunks of rock off of Sam and Dean's legs. Linda crouched down next to him and started pulling rocks away.
Both men were buried up to the point where their bodies disappeared into the shallow wall crevice and David could not see past midway up their chests. One pair of legs shifted suddenly, dislodging more stone and David heard someone groan.
Renewing their efforts, the couple cleared as much off as they could and pulled the top body free. Linda cried out as Dean rolled limply back into her arms. Sam was moving now and with David's help managed to extricate himself from the hole. His arms and body were scraped and cut and blood trickled down from a small gash on his forehead but otherwise he seemed ok. He shook the dirt out of his hair and tried to clear his head.
His eyes fell on Dean, lying in Linda's grasp, eyes closed. Blood trailed from the corner of his mouth and a new assortment of cuts and scrapes had been added to his tormented body.
Sam knelt over him, feeling his arms, legs and chest for breaks. "Christ, Dean…."
Dean's chest convulsed and he coughed suddenly, curling over. Relief flooded Sam as Dean's eyes fluttered open.
"You… ok?" Dean gasped, reaching out for Sam's arm.
Sam grabbed his hand. "I'm fine, you stupid bastard! What the hell was the idea behind that?"
Dean rolled his head against Linda's pillowy chest. "Did you find it?" Dean groaned.
Sam nodded. He held out his hand, somehow he had managed to snatch the tiny object from the ground and keep hold of it during the explosion. "I got it, Dean."
Dean lifted a hand but it fell back limply to the ground. "Burn it, Sam….now….burn them…."
Sam shook his head, "I'm not leaving you here—"
"Sam just do it…." Dean clutched his head suddenly, eyes clenched shut, crying out. "God……PLEASE! Jesus Christ, Sam, make it stop!
Yes, Sam, make it stop,
Sam heard the voice in his head.
"You bastard! What are you doing to him? Stop it!" Sam screamed out into the darkness. Linda and David stared at him.
Nothing. I opened a door….he can close it again…..if he doesn't go insane first….
Sam saw the deeper darkness that coalesced into a form a few feet from Dean's writhing body as Linda tried to comfort him, tears running down her face.
Sam snatched the shotgun from the ground at David's feet and pumped both barrels toward Becker's laughing spirit.
Linda screamed as the booming echo deafened them all in the confined space.
Sam took another long look at Dean's twisted face and cupped a hand against it.He fixed Linda, openly weeping now with a deadly look.
"Take care of him!" he snarled and ran from the room. David got to his feet and pounded after him.
Linda cradled Dean against her and cried helplessly, her tears dropped on his dusty skin, leaving muddy streaks trailing down his face.
The door to the morgue slammed in Sam's face as he shot toward it. He slammed into it. Already hanging from his earlier assault , it flew backwards out of the frame.
His long legs ate up the narrow hallway that led from the morgue to the lower level rooms. That door too, slammed shut. Sam made short work of the doorknob using the butt of the shotgun and kicked the door outwards. David followed, panting.
The second Sam stepped into the main room, the packing cases and equipment tumbled toward him, tools sailing across the room and impacting into the walls. Sam covered his face and tried to shove and block as much as possible. He heard glass shatter as cases hit the display windows of the new sauna and David swearing behind him. Broken glass sliced into his skin but he ignored it, fighting his way up to the first floor landing clutching Becker's remains in an iron fist.
Linda's weeping had dropped to quiet sniffling and she wiped her eyes with her fingers, brushing the dirt off of Dean's face with the other hand. He had fallen still once Sam was gone, his breathing labored but steady. Sweat had formed on his skin and she used it to help wipe some of the dirt away with her sleeve. His skin felt so hot.
She was frightened by the muffled crashes she heard but resolutely stayed where she was. She knew she couldn't move Dean by herself and wouldn't leave him, no matter what.
Dean moaned softly and rocked his head against her, his eyes shifting restlessly under his lids. He couldn't face this nightmare anymore, screaming filled his head as horror after horror poured from the breach in his battlements, despite his desperate efforts to shore the walls back up and insulate himself from them. A pit was opening beneath him and the longer the battle raged the more he felt himself weakening, gradually being overcome with the desire to let himself fall into it, end it. His body would be left behind but his mind would no longer comprehend the need for the struggle.
I'm sorry, Sammy…..I can't take it anymore…..
Sam fought his way up the stairs, David on his heels, helping to block and clear the way as Sam stumbled and fell. David grabbed his arm and hauled him back up, racing through the lobby, leaping and dodging the obstacles cast in their way as they ran.
Thunder and lightning crackled outside as the front doors blew open and slammed back against the wall with an ear splitting crash, wind and rain blasting through the opening, soaking them both in an instant.
As they hit the dining room they both threw themselves to the ground as every window in the room exploded inward showering them with icicles of jagged glass. Wind screamed as it tore past the glass left in the frames. Wiring and lights exploded into geysers of arcing blue, raining sparks to the ground.
Dean suddenly felt himself being wrenched back from the edge he was teetering on. Strong hands gripped his arms and held him steady even as his body tried to fall back.
He twisted his head up. He was standing on the edge of a windswept cliff, sky a crooked patchwork of black and grey clouds racing each other from one horizon to the other. It was cold and dark and wind whistled and screeched though the barren branches of the skeletal trees stretching their claw like limbs skyward. Below him, at the bottom of the abyss, flames leaped upward and withered arms and hands curled in and out of the fire, blackened faces with red eyes and torn mouths called his name. He felt himself pulled toward the edge and again he was hauled back.
I'm sorry…..we never meant to hurt you….
He turned. Behind him Margaret stood, hair blowing in the cold wind, a sorrowful look on her face as she watched Dean. Next to her stood a dark haired man, not the man ravaged by illness but the man as he had been once. Strong and ….happy. Stephen.
Margaret reached out a hand to Stephen and he accepted it with a smile.
We don't have much time…..
Dean blinked at her, he lifted a hand to his aching head. "I don't understand."
She stretched out a hand to him.
Let us help you, as you helped us…..
Dean stared at her a moment longer. He was so tired….
Margaret lifted her hand higher, turning it palm out.
Dean glanced back at the fire, feeling the temptation of it's warm embrace, the aching need to just stop trying…
Sam smiling at him. Laughing with him.
Standing outside their house as it burned, clutching Sam in his arms. Acceptiong the adult responsibility with fierce devotion.
Sam as a laughing baby, splashing in the tub as Dean tried to bathe him. Laughing in return, even with soap in his eyes.
Huddling together under the bedclothes during a storm, the first time Dad didn't come home all night. Being brave for Sam, so he wouldn't be scared.
Teaching Sam to hold the shotgun correctly, so the recoil didn't knock him down. So proud when he finally fired and kept his feet
The choking fear every time they went on a hunt with Sam and Dean feared for his brother's safety. The glorious relief when they made it home safe.
The first heart stopping time Sam had gone down and not gotten up again, blood everywhere. When he had opened his eyes, smiled weakly and everything was okay again.
The night Sam left for Stanford. Seeing him again after two years.
Sam fighting and screaming as Dean dragged him from his flaming apartment, leaving Jess behind to burn. Keeping Sam alive.
Sam, standing by the side of the road, alone in the dark, as Dean drove angrily away. And Sam riding in like the God damned cavalry in a stolen car to save Dean's ass.
He lips pulled in a small smile. Hesitantly, he reached out and allowed her to take his hand in hers. A gentle strength flowed into him, enough to push back a little against the broken barriers. Enough to make him step away from the edge.
Sam poured kerosene over the two bodies, still locked together, as David stood ready with a match. Bloody cuts dotted both their bodies and David's hands shook uncontrollably, but he tossed the match as Sam nodded. Flames burst upwards, whipped by the wind. Sam tossed the withered finger in his hand into the hottest part of the fire and fell back, arms over his face as blue fire licked outwards like a tentacles in a last effort to punish them.
"Holy Mother of God!" David yelped. "Jesus Christ, now I've seen everything!"
Sam couldn't help it and laughed. Exhausted, hurting, he sank down on a crate and watched the fire burn. He started as the scent of honeysuckle suddenly wafted over them, overpowering the smell of smoke. The underlying scent of death was gone.
He looked up to see Dean, leaning heavily on Linda, coming through the archway that led back into the hotel. He rushed over to take Dean's weight from Linda. Dean's face was white, his manner agitated.
"Dean! Man, are you ok? I mean…." Sam floundered for words as he helped Dean to the crate he'd been sitting on.
Linda stood next to David, examining his various cuts. She made a face. "How are we gonna convince the insurance company we had an earthquake?" She bit her lip. "Is it really over?"
Rain began to fall again, drumming the roof above them and dripping through small holes. Occasional drops hitting the fire with a hiss.
Sam, kneeling by Dean, nodded. "Yeah, it's over." Sam cocked his head and spoke softly. "Dean?"
Dean. staring at the fire, suddenly jerked upright, gasping. He blinked as though waking from a deep sleep. "Christ…." He muttered, lifting his arms and looking himself over with a growing look of disgust.
Sam frowned. "What?"
Dean started fumbling with his shirt, his movements suddenly frenzied and uncoordinated, dragging the cloth roughly down from his shoulders.
"Dude, what are you doing?" Sam asked, slightly alarmed, as Dean struggled to get his arms out of the sleeves.
Sam reached out to stop him but Dean jerked away with a growl. "No! I want 'em off!" The pain in his arm and hand was agony as he savagely jerked the shirt off and threw it on the fire, losing his precarious balance in the process and falling forward to his hands and knees.
"Dean! Man! What…?" Sam grabbed him to help him up but Dean pulled away again. "Dean, it's the fever…"
Dean'shands wouldn't cooperate as he tried to unfasten his reeking, blood saturated jeans. Their very touch was repellant.
"I'm not delirious!" Dean snarled. "Help me!" he begged Sam. "I want to get this shit off me!" Dean tried to stand to work the jeans down but his knees buckled and he stumbled. Sam grabbed him, trying to stop his fall and succeeded only in taking them both down again. Dean flailed angrily but his body was too worn out to respond as he wanted.
"Dean! Calm down. I'll help you. I understand." Sam quickly helped Dean undo the stained jeans and pulled them off his legs.
"Burn'em!" Dean demanded, still on the ground.
Sam did as he was told, throwing the garment into the flames. They ignited with a whoosh.
Sam bent to help Dean to his feet. David and Linda gaped at Dean as he stood there, dressed now only in black boxers, dirty, bloody, body crisscrossed with scars, old, not so old, new scars, every one a memory, an experience that had created the man who wore them.
"I need to get this off me," Dean repeated hoarsely, gripping Sam's shirt. Leaning toward the pouring rain. At first Sam didn't understand, then realization hit him.
"Dean, no...you're sick. C'mon you need to be in bed." Sam tried to pull Dean along but Dean resisted.
"I'll crawl if I have to," he threatened, meaning it.
Sam locked eyes with Dean and finally nodded. He helped Dean out into the rain. Dean could no longer stand under his own power so Sam eased him gently to his knees. The rain was cold but Sam found it oddly refreshing. Instead of going back under the roof, he stayed where he was.
Dean sank back on his haunches, head down. Sam watched as Dean knelt there and let the rain run over his body. The fire light flickered and glowed on his slick, wet skin as he slowly ran his hands over his arms and chest, oblivious to the bandages, rinsing away the grime, sweat and blood. He cupped his hands next to his uplifted face and caught the rain as it fell, pouring it on himself, running his hands through his ragged hair and over his face.
The rain plastered his boxers to his muscular frame and for all intents and purposes he may as well have been naked. Dean obviously didn't care as he continued rubbing his hands over his body to rid it of whatever bloody memories he could.
Sam face had shifted to a smile and he shook his head gently. Dean needed this and he was damned if he'd stop him. He lifted his own face to the rain and raked the wet hair back from his eyes.
Linda also stood with her mouth open.
David glanced at her, then stepped in front of her. "Ahem, maybe you oughta go get that blanket." He commented, giving her a not so gentle shove.
Sam had finally forced Dean back into the hotel, pushed him under a fast hot shower and into bed. Dean wouldn't go to a hospital so Sam stuffed some painkillers and antibiotics down Dean's throat and had spent an hour re-stitching Dean's hand for the third time and carefully repairing the damage to Dean's lacerated arm as well as he could. The scar would serve as a permanent reminder to him of how desperate things could get.
Sam carefully dressed the wounds with fresh bandages and tended to the myriad of other tiny cuts dotting Dean's body. Dean was still feverish but nothing like before and more importantly he seemed calm. Sam was certain Dean would feel much better after a solid sleep. His other injuries would, at least on the surface, eventually heal. He hoped it would be the same with whatever wounds he bore internally.
He finished up and was putting the few remaining supplies back into the case. He thought Dean had finally fallen asleep, his face worn and thin looking. Dean had lost a lot of weight in the last few weeks, Sam reflected, sighing. Dean shifted, his eyesopened and rolled in Sam's direction.
"Hey," Sam said. "I thought you were asleep." He smiled.
Dean moved his head in a slight negative. He was having trouble focusing his eyes let alone focusing his thoughts. He lifted his hand to rub his eyes but couldn't make it, engulfed in a haze of pain killers. His hand fell onto his chest.
Sam moved the case onto the floor. "Do you want anything? A drink?"
"I'm sorry," Dean finally whispered, so softly Sam almost didn't hear him.
"Dean, for what?" Sam leaned forward on the bed, frowning.
Dean's moved his bandaged arm. "What I did….tried to do…." His teeth sank into upper lip, eyes shut.
Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean, it's ok. You weren't responsible. It's over."
Jesus, Sam thought, please don't do this.
"No. I didn't think…I mean, no matter how bad it got, I never thought--" He made a frustrated noise. "Sam, I would never do that. I swear."
"I know that, Dean. But everyone has a breaking point. Even you." Sam added at Dean's look. "You have to admit you had a little help." He squeezed Dean's shoulder. "Get some sleep, Dean. You'll feel better after some sleep. We can get outta here as soon as you feel like it."
Dean watched Sam's face for another moment and then nodded shortly and closed his eyes, turning away from Sam.
Sam sat quietly until he heard Dean's breathing smooth out.
Once he was sure Dean was asleep, Sam took a long slow shower and tended to his own cuts. He tumbled into his bed and fell instantly asleep.
Sam slid behind the wheel of the Impala and shoved the key in the ignition, holding his breath. "Yes!" he crowed when the engine roared to life. He patted the steering wheel. "Good girl." He crooned, then was grateful Dean was sitting on the front steps of the hotel and couldn't hear him.
He pulled the car around to the front steps and got out, grabbing their bags and tossing them into the back seat.
Dean climbed slowly into the passenger side and settled himself against the window. He had said his good byes, been engulfed and half smothered by Linda's bosom, shaken David's hand, brushed off their apologies for his unfortunate experience. His temperature had dropped to 100.3 and even though he was still shaky on his feet, Sam had finally agreed, after a short argument, to leave. Dean could finish recuperating somewhere else.
David and Linda had insisted on having food sent in from the Spring Grill so they didn't leave on an empty stomach. Sam was starving and appreciated the gesture, though he really was hot to go. Even Dean had admitted to being hungry, although compared to usual he hadn't eaten much.
Dean was ready to go, and was glad when Sam finally shook David's hand, allowed himself to be muffled by Linda and climbed behind the wheel, slamming the door.
Sam put the car into gear and with a final wave pulled away, armed with directions that would not take them back down the steep mountain road. He tossed an envelope in Dean's lap.
"Our pay." He said.
Dean fumbled with the envelope. He couldn't bend the fingers on his right hand and flexing the fingers of the other hand made his arm ache but he managed to get it open and finger through a clump of money in various denominations.
"2500 dollars'" Sam replied. "I'm not sure it was worth it." He glanced at Dean who frowned.
"Do you know how long it's been since we had that kinda cash?"
Sam accepted the envelope back from Dean tucked the money inside his jacket, saying nothing. He pulled the car onto the main road, glancing at the Moonstar in the rearview mirror as it grew smaller in the distance. No matter how fabulous the building might be when it was done, he never wanted set eyes on it again.
"So what now?" Dean finally asked to break the growing silence. He rested his arms awkwardly in his lap.
Sam glanced at his watch, making a careful turn into one of the narrow streets. "Right now. This minute. Our vacation starts. Remember what I said. Sleep and eat. That's it."
"And that means?"
Sam paused at a stop sign and then turned the car onto the two lane highway. "It means, " he replied, "we get the hell outta this town and as far away from that hotel as possible. We'll go some place nice. Get a nice room at a nice hotel."
Dean stared at him. "That's nice." he said, a trifle puzzled
"I'm not through. After we check into the nice motel we're gonna find a nice restaurant and you're gonna stuff yourself so full of steak you can't move. Then we're goin' back to the hotel and you're gonna take your meds and sleep until you're hungry again."
Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Then what?"
Sam looked thoughtful. "Then I think maybe Italian."
Dean laughed, nestling back in the seat. He carefully crossed his arms over his stomach. His eyes closed. "Mmmmm….sounds good. You pick the place and I'll do my best to gorge myself."
Sam chuckled and they drove along in silence once again. Dean let the familiar sensation of being in the car lull him.
"Dean…" Sam said softly after a bit.
"Sam," Dean replied, eyes still closed. He braced himself to fend off what was coming.
"Are you really feeling better? Seriously." Sam asked, cutting his eyes at Dean.
Dean nodded, "Yeah. I'm gettin' there." He laughed softly. "Don't think I'll be running any marathons for a little while, though."
"How much of what happened do you actually remember?"
Dean opened his eyes and stared out of the window at the passing scenery. He carefully pushed a stone into place, balancing it next to the last one, closing the breach, even as thethings he sought to shut away still howled for release.
"Not that much. It's all kinda hazy. Like a bad dream." He looked over at Sam, trying out the new mask. Another stone dropped was placed in the gap.
Sam was concerned that Dean seemed so placid. He had witnessed Dean pushed to the point where taking his own life had seemed the only way out.
"Dean, please. I know how horrible this all was for you---I mean, look at you."
"Sam," Dean's voice was so thin and soft a breeze would have shattered it. His hand fell on Sam's arm again and his fingers tightened forcefully, pain making him grimace as he turned and just looked at Sam. His eyes pled silently for Sam to let this go. To understand that this was a line that couldn'tbe crossed.
Sam stared into Dean's hollow eyes, where wounds ran so deep they would never heal.
Sam finally nodded. "I'm sorry, " he murmured. "I won't ask again. But I'm here, Dean," he added gently. "I'm always here."
Dean's mouth pulled up a little at the corner. Sam felt Dean's fingers squeeze one last time. His hand dropped back into his lap and Dean turned away. Another stone was carefully stacked on the wall.
Dean watched Sam out of the corner of his eyes. Sam was frowning and Dean knew what was wrong but could not give Sam what he wanted. He licked his lips.
"Hey, Sam?" Dean ventured finally, facing Sam, one eyebrow cocked.
"Yeah, Dean?" Sam replied distractedly, trying to watch the road.
"D'you get a load of the boobs on that Linda? Fuckin' life of their own."
Sam sat in stunned silence, staring at Dean, whose eyes were twinkling.
Sam burst out laughing.
"Shit, Dean!" Sam choked.
Dean couldn't help it. He started to laugh, relaxing as the mood in the car lightened perceptibly.
And another rock slid home. .. The wall would be stronger and thicker than before. A fortress.
Once again, ta for your enthusiastic response to my past bizarre ramblings. Without you, this story would never have seen the light of day. This is the longest thing I have every written and I actually finished it, mostly because I knew there were people who cared that I did. All of the Moonstar players are grateful for your kind attention and we hope you enjoyed the show. We certainly enjoyed the audience.
If you are so inclined please leave a review. If not, ta anyway for reading. Time is valuable and I appreciate you spending some of yours with me.