Chapter 24
The following Thursday Dean's not his usual self. His voice sounds off, dead almost, and I have to practically beg him to talk to me. Sera's still not talking to me, and that stings, but I've convinced myself that it's better this way, better for all involved.
It's also the day when Russia leaves a panicked voicemail on my phone, begging me for news. That asshole can stew in it; I've got more important things to do. Why can't he just go after Sera himself, why does he need my help?
Sack up and make yourself heard, and all that shit.
"Hey, Dean?" I ask him over the phone, walking to my car after work. The hour has changed and it's the last week of November, and instead of dusk being a friendly reminder that the day is ending, seven pm is pitch black like the bowels of hell.
"Yeah?" Man, even his voice sounds tired, just pure exhaustion, and … hollow.
"We don't have to hang out tonight, if you don't want." I'm pretty sure I just won the Academy Award for best fake-calm, since everything inside me is pulled taut, waiting for his answer.
Maybe he's finally come to his senses. Maybe he doesn't want to waste his time with you anymore. Maybe he wants somebody normal …
Tamping down on my anger is hard to do, and I nearly scratch Roxie, fumbling for my keys with shaking hands. My anger always gets me into trouble, and while my luck hasn't been so bad lately, maybe I shouldn't tempt fate.
"Actually, maybe you can come with me. I'd like it if you came with me."
My heart does jumping-jacks and if it had a voice it'd be squealing, sounding very much like Sera.
"Okay, I'll come pick you up. I might even let you drive," I say, hoping it will somehow cheer him up. I've never heard him sound so out of it before, there's no intonation to his voice, no Deanness. Something's wrong, something's really wrong.
"Nah, I know how you love her," he says, sounding a little bit more like himself. "Max is already there with his girl, so we'll meet them there. Do you mind picking up something to eat? I don't feel like cooking."
Sirens wail in my head.
"Sure, Dean. I'll come get you and we'll pick something up on the way, okay?" I ask, trying to sound reassuring. I'm frowning down at my hand, ready to get my key in the ignition, sitting on the freezing cold leather seats of my car.
"Alright, I'll see you in a bit," he grunts, and I wonder what the hell is going on. I stop myself from calling Sera, from trying to figure out if they spoke with each other, if she knows what's going on.
Oh, yeah, I dissolved that friendship and I'm stuck going it alone. Just like it's always been.
I drive like an old lady to Dean's, partly because I'm trying to figure out what to do about making him feel better without sex involved, and partly because I've been more vigilant when it comes to driving since I hit Dean last month. I mean, now that it's happened, there's more of a chance it will keep happening, and this isn't a game of Grand Theft Auto.
I pull in front of his building, wondering if I should call him to come down, or double-park and hoof it up, but he's actually making his way down the outer stairs and he looks worse than grim.
Shit, this is going to suck.
He's also dressed in that black peacoat and he's got, shit, shit, shit, a suit on. His hair looks wet even from this distance, and he's wearing glasses, the frame silver and not those typical hipster glasses. He also looks like he hasn't shaved in a week, and the unease I thought I had rationalized away on my drive over comes back with the force of a tsunami.
This is so going to suck. What's happened that's got him looking like that? Did one of the boys die?
I gasp when the thought ticker-tapes its way through my mind, and I didn't think I could have tears in me for the death of a dog. But Potter, Kal and Pongo never hurt anyone and it all seems so unfair if they were to die. There's so much shit in the world and it doesn't make sense that the good is slowly being siphoned away.
Dean gets into the car without saying a word.
So this is how it's going to go. Should I say something? What if it's true, what if one of the dogs is dead?
"Hi," I say, keeping my voice low. I turned off the radio because he looks like he can't take the music right now.
"Hey, Kat," he says, giving me a half-hearted wave. I want to smile, I want to laugh at the sight of it, because that's Dean, being dorky and awkward but there's something else I don't know about yet and I don't want to do something wrong.
"Just tell me where to go."
Dean grunts, and gives me a sign to go straight. I follow his directions until he verbally tells me to find a parking spot. My hands are glued to the steering wheel and I really don't want to get out.
Cemeteries skeeve me out. I don't like the idea that I could step on someone, no matter what stage of decomposition they're in.
I get out slowly, trying to keep calm, trying to do something for Dean when all I want to do is ask if I can stay in the car. I swallow down the creepiness factor and round my car, somehow forgetting how to walk and bumping into the nose. Really?
Dean waits for me, looking through me again, but he's holding out his hand, waiting for me to grab it.
Oh, boy. Dear Virgin Mary, please help me help him. I'm going to need all your help on this. Amen.
He twines our fingers together and I try not to think about that.
He walks us into the cemetery, keeping pace with me by shortening his Viking strides. If he were feeling alright, he'd probably make a joke, but I'm grateful right now that the gravel path is packed well enough that I don't feel like I'm going to snap an ankle in my heels, and the cold hitting my stockinged legs has me shivering.
The sky's the color of ink, with tiny grain-of-sand-sized stars peeking through. The cemetery's pretty well lit from the streetlights, and they somehow added potlights to the main path, lighting our way.
I squeeze Dean's hand because this feels too much like a shitty horror movie.
His hand stays limp in mine, and the misery coming off of him has me swallowing past the tightness in my throat.
Christ, what is wrong with him? Who are we going to see?
"He's over here," he says, indicating with his chin that we need to turn right.
I keep my breath even as we walk onto the grass and I start sinking into the ground, and have horrible thoughts of decaying corpses' dead, dead hands jutting through the earth to snatch at my ankles. I put all my weight on the balls of my feet after that, and stare dumbly at the only other couple, uh, two-person-group standing in front of a pristine white tombstone.
This is a family thing. What the hell am I doing here? But … Dean wants me here, for some crazy ass reason.
"Hey, bro," the dude says, letting go of his girl's hand and moving towards Dean. The younger Carter brother moves forward but checks himself when he sees me, and Dean isn't letting me go.
"Hey, kiddo," Dean says, voice flat and devoid of his personality.
"Hi," I say, letting go of Dean's limp hand and sticking it out for a shake. Dean's younger brother, Max, takes it and gives it a one-two pump then drops my hand. I can't tell in the shitty lighting, but the overall Carter-gene resemblance is so there. Although Dean still tops him by a couple of inches, and for some reason, that makes me want to shake my ass.
So stupid. Can't you see he's in pain?
Yeah, well, I don't do well with heavy emotions. That's Sera's specialty. I just end up getting pissed and saying stupid shit that I'm too chicken shit to say otherwise.
"I'm Max," younger brother says, and reaches back for his girl's hand. "This is my girlfriend, Anna," he introduces us, and I shake her hand. I cringe when she gives me the tips of her fingers and jellyfish holds my hand with zero authority.
I shouldn't judge, I shouldn't judge.
Nope, I'm going to judge. Maybe later, when Dean isn't feeling so low.
"I'm Katie," I say to both of them, and make my eyes skitter over to the tombstone. Ah, shit. We're at their dad's grave. Never in a million years would I think Dean would want me here with him.
"C'mon, baby," Max says to Anna. "Let's give them a minute." Max nods my way, and Dean and I are left alone before the white stone, an inanimate object that's the only thing you have as a physical reminder of the person you lost.
Seems like a shitty way to remember someone to me.
"Hey, Dad," Dean says, and I feel the tips of my ears go red. Yeah, I really shouldn't be here. I should be on the sidewalk, next to my car.
This is too close, this is too intimate, and he's making me feel like I'm important enough to be standing next to him while he deals with his grief.
"This is Katarina," he says, voice still lifeless. I sniff in the cold air, watch my breath puff out in perfect clouds. We should both be somewhere warm, drinking hot chocolate. Dean should be laughing, or reading, or cooking, anything to get his mind off of this.
"I used to go to high school with her," he continues, and I really hope he isn't going to say what I think he is. "She's the one that pulled that prank on me ten years ago, now. She's the one I was in love with."
"Dean," I whisper, tugging on his hand now. He refuses to let me go and keeps me close to him. "I shouldn't be here. You need to be alone."
"She's the one that broke my heart," he keeps going, speaking to the stone. "I was thinking about you a lot, Pop, especially this past year. Did you know Mom started dating again?" His words come out quicker now, faster.