Supernatural Series Rewrite- Season 4

Lazarus Rising- Part 2

4 Months After Dean's Death

Things have been getting worse for you. You stopped caring about hygiene or your health. Sam still hadn't called, and a small part of you was worried for him. Before he left, you told him that if he needed you to call your father since he would most likely answer the phone. However, he hasn't called once.

Your father was worried about you, you knew that much, and no matter how hard he tried to talk to you, you would shut him out. There were days that went by where you didn't even enter his house. Nights would go by, and you would be sleeping in Dean's car. Days would pass where you would be working on her to make sure she never broke down without use. The way you've been treating your father, it wasn't fair, but you didn't know what else to do.

The only thing you cared about was Dean's car which is why you spent most of your time working on her. She needed new spark plugs, and replacing her old ones was the only thing you could think about. Sometimes, at night, you would drive her around just to feel at home, but it was never the same anymore.

Apart from working on her, you noticed your magic has been getting more and more under control. It was weird since everything you touched before either exploded or broke. Whatever it was that let it loose was back now and tied it to whatever made it stable. However, you couldn't focus on your magic problems, not when Dean's car needed care.

"Come on," you grunted when you couldn't get the stupid sparkplug on. After a few more failed attempts, you yelled in anger before grabbing the old one and throwing it at a window, causing it to shatter. Tears quickly fell from your eyes, but you hastily wiped them away before going back to work. For the past four months, you've been doing nothing but crying, and you were sick and tired of it.

Taking a deep breath before another panic attack could come, you grabbed the new spark plug before calmly twisting it in place. Once it was on, you sighed in relief. Baby was done, for now, so you lowered the hood before going over to the sparkplug you threw.

Picking it up, you stared at it intensely. The anger you felt when you threw it came bubbling up to the surface before you could stop it. Throwing the spark plug at another window, you watched as it shattered like the first one. Bad thoughts swirled in your head, making it throb in pain. To get the anger out, you turned to the car you hit the first time and moved to the back window before punching it as hard as you could.

Your knuckles busted open at the first contact, but that didn't deter you. The more you punched it, the more the window cracked, the more your energy was being released. Watching your blood seep through the cracks of the window, you pulled away with a wince. Feeling pain was better than feeling nothing at all which is why you did this to yourself. Without it, you would be an emotionless bitch.

Looking at your bloody hand, you knew you had to get this taken care of right away. Leaving your spot, you walked back to the house before entering the cool interior. Clutching your sore hand to your body, you tried to make it past the living room where you knew your dad would be. However, one small step on a creaky board made your dad look up from his book.

"Where is the first aid kit?" you asked, showing him your bloody hand.

"Upstairs in the bathroom where you left it," he replied, and you nodded, turning around to leave. "Hey, wait."

"What do you want?" you asked, not turning around.

"Want to eat with me? We can sit and talk. I'm worried about you," he sighed, hating that you were like this.

"Don't need it. I'm fine," you said as you left the room. Walking upstairs to the bathroom, you removed the first aid kit from the medicine cabinet before opening it. Washing your hand, you watched as the water ran red with your blood. The longer it stayed underneath the element, the more the color faded to its original state. Sighing, you wrapped your hand in the gauze before using surgical tape to secure it. The blood started to stain the cloth, but you knew it would be fine.