COLD

Twenty-One

Another week passed, drudging on. My depression set in, and since I had no responsibilities, I spent all my time in my bed. I hadn't eaten, except for when Sam brought me smoothies because he said it at least had some substance and he didn't overload it with ice cream or sugars. I didn't hardly talk to him when he came in, I just said simple thank yous, and he would leave it at that... I knew at some point he would start asking me to talk about it, because it "couldn't be bottled up". It "wasn't healthy". And he was damn right, but I wasn't in the mood for it. And there was nothing to talk about.

I had been abused by Dean in an animalistic, senseless way, that tainted some pretty precious things in my life. I was thankful I had tried to avoid looking at him when it happened, because I only know what it felt like, even though my mind created its own mental images, which I sometimes feared were worse. But they were fragments... they were less repeatable than actual memories.

It was like I was in shutdown mode, because while I was anxious and depressed, it didn't do anything. I didn't move besides just to be in a new position. I slept for as long as I wanted to sleep, and was awake for as long as I wanted to be. I didn't touch any books, I didn't write. I maybe watched TV once in a while to lighten up, but once I was sucked out of the unreality, hidden in other worlds through what I was viewing, I went straight back to being a poor excuse of a wife. I knew it wasn't Dean's fault this was happening, and I could only imagine what he was saying to Sam and Cass as they tried to cleanse him of the demonism, but I tried not to let my mind wander and explore all the infinite possibilities anxiety helped me design.

This "fine" morning, I stared up at the ceiling, warm tears running down my cheeks, dripping against my neck and the cold sweat that layered me all my days in bed. Sam came in and told me that I didn't look too good and that I needed to get up and do something. I refused and turned away from him. I could feel that I was somewhat malnourished, and if I kept this up, I could get sick easily. Stress and a torn down immune system didn't mesh well together. I had started feeling feverish, and I ached, but that was about it.

"I uh... I have some bad news Hannah," he walked in and sat on the bed.

"What? Is Dean dead?" I didn't bother to turn back to him...

"Well, no... he - escaped, somehow... *pause* Cass and I think he's with Crowley and they've been teaming up,"

I didn't show remorse or emotion. If they fucked up and Dean managed to get away, that was on them and I'd let their sorry asses deal with it. "Okay well figure it the fuck out.," I cut down Sam with my biting tone, "I just want this all fixed. I want my baby back home. I'm tired of this shitty ass waiting game. It needs to stop,"

"You know, you're not the only one tired of waiting and trying to figure this out. Don't be selfish Hannah,"

I sat up and snapped. "Oh, what? Like you and Dean don't have a single selfish bone in your bodies? All you two do is fight for each other no matter what the other says. You can't lose each other so you do whatever it takes no matter what. Now tell me, that isn't selfish, is it?"

"Well you could be helping more than you are! And all I've been doing is being un-selfish and taking care of you! You could be helping more!"

"But I can't Sam! I physically and mentally can't! And I asked you to shoot him! I gave you the demon bullet! So how the hell did he escape?!"

"I said already... Crowley, Hannah... apparently they've been in cahoots and he was the one who helped Dean turn demon after he died, since the Mark won't let him die. When he died, it brought him back as a demon,"

"Oh duh, because the King of Hell attaches himself to bad ass demons, ones who can do serious damages and be his companions, of course Sam," sarcasm and cutting anger went against him.