What Needs To Be Done
Title What Needs To Be Done
The human body needs at least four hours sleep
in a twenty four hour period; anything less than that and cognitive performance
drops pretty drastically. The thing is though, it's kinda hard to get those
four hours when I don't know where I'm going to wake up. It's always been a
little disorienting, sleeping in the car, which is odd because you'd think I'd
be used to it by now, but I've never really been much of a fan of the open
road. Opening my eyes to see lights flashing by in the distance screws with my head.
Reminds me of other lights.
Of flames and smoke filling my lungs and silent screams and strong arms pulling
me out, away. And of being useless.
Doesn't make all that much difference when we do stop somewhere either. Being
in a motel that isn't too likely too move in the middle of the night - although
with the things we've seen, who can say for sure? - just makes it easier to get
to sleep. But sleeping means I dream, and dreaming means the nightmares come
back. And now I don't even know that they are nightmares because some of them
I think I know the difference, a nightmare doesn't usually leave me with a
freaking migraine for the rest of the day, while a... vision does. But even the
nightmares are too much sometimes.
They aren't always about the fire, or maybe that should be fires plural,
sometimes they're just a randomized feeling of dread or guilt, and sometimes -
like tonight - they scare the crap out of me because of what I see myself
I can't talk about these dreams, Dean refuses to listen, and anyway what would
I say? How could I tell him that in the middle of the night I wake up and have
to check I haven't actually blown his brains out or sliced him up somehow. The
dreams are so real.
And there's a vibe.
There's something that makes me think these are more than dreams. Have these
powers - whatever they are - grown to the point where the migraine's don't
factor in any more? Are these dreams or visions?
How can I tell?
Dad was ready to kill me because of what he thought I might do, but Dean won't.
I know he'd kill himself trying to stop me, but he won't kill me.
So if these aren't dreams then he is going to die. At my hands.
I can't let that happen.
I should go. I shouldn't be around him, or anyone. I should...
Is that the answer?
If it was that simple a solution, then would I still be alive? Wouldn't Dad
have... But could he have? Really? I wish I'd known him better, as an adult, a
friend, the way Dean did. But he was always my father first, and I know I'm
probably still thinking of him as always having the answers - even when I
thought they were wrong, he still had them. Guess that's why we butted heads so
often, because he was always so damn sure he was right.
But would he have done it?
I couldn't. Not when it came down to it. He was begging me to finish it, and I
couldn't pull that damn trigger. I just couldn't do it.
For exactly the same reasons I know Dean won't be able to do it either.
So I should.
While I can.
all these moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.