A New Normal

Chapter 8: Party Boy

•Author's Note: There really is no plot from Supernatural in this chapter. This is my attempt at building my characters and relationships before moving along with the plot of the show. Enjoy!•

I'm unsure if the music has gotten quieter or if I'm beginning to disassociate. It's an eerie feeling, being so aware of the adrenaline pumping in your body but being unable to do anything about it. My eyes haven't left the single crack in the wooden table, I'm afraid if I look away I'll burst into tears. And I'm not giving him the satisfaction of knowing he's made me cry. Not only am I unwilling to do it, I can't. He can't know how much pain one word has struck through me.

'Okay.'

As if my revelation to him meant nothing. Like I mean nothing. Like my life means nothing to him. Out of all people, I thought he would understand. I thought he would have what little empathy remains in his body for me. I wasn't saying that as an excuse, rather, an explanation. Either way, the lack of respect in his response has shaken me. I feel cold, like I just dove into an ice cold lake.

I grimace when a glass tumbler hits the table. It sounded louder than it actually was. The music comes back as well, as if Sam placing my drink in front of me woke me up from a nightmare. I lift my eyes to his and suddenly I'm aware that his mouth is moving, he's saying something to me, but I can't hear it.

I want to say something. I want to tell him that I'm so angry that I can barely see straight. But then he would have to know why and I won't put him in that position. I swallow hard and reach out with shaking fingers to grab my drink. It's cold, as soon as it hits my tongue, I'm awake. It burns it's way down my throat, cheap vodka isn't great to sip on.

"Did you hear a word I said?" Sam asks, dipping his head down into my line of vision.

I cradle my glass in my hands and push a fraction of the anger down. "No, sorry," I mumble and shake my head slightly.

The corners of his lips perk up minutely, but he doesn't smile. "I asked if you were alright," he says, voice filled with concern. "You seem out of it."

"And that surprises you?" I ask with a raised brow, narrowly avoiding his question.

He shrugs halfheartedly. I can see he's worried but I don't have it in me to placate his panic right now. All of my energy has been put to work on keeping my mind present. "Did something happen with Dean?"

My blood turns to ice in my veins yet I can feel the sweat pool into my palms. "What?" I spit, my tone much too harsh. I hadn't intended to sound like that.

"Did something happen with Dean?" He repeats as if I didn't hear him.

"What makes you think that?"

He looks over his shoulder, seeing his brother throwing darts not too far from us. Even over the blaring music I can hear the darts slam into the board. The noise makes me flinch. "He stormed off pretty quick, seemed kinda pissed." He sips on his beer, trying to act nonchalant but he's pushing me for information.

I chew on my lip to keep myself from spilling everything that was said. "No, he was just being his usual, delightful self," I grumble. He nods a few times, showing he doesn't believe my story but isn't going to press the subject further. I roll my eyes to myself, when did I have to start explaining myself to everyone? Briefly, I wonder if I could hitch a ride back to Stanford. Re-enroll in my classes and finish what I started. Sam and Dean don't need me here.

At this point, I'm just extra cargo weighing down the class. Like when a boat is sinking and the sailors have to toss heavy things to the water to keep themselves afloat. I'm weighing them down, I'm slowing them down, and I'm causing tension. However, we didn't talk to the police after Jess died. I'd be a prime suspect for arson.