No curtains to hide behind. Not this time...

Basically i did a story and this part is 1/2 of Dean's point of view. It doesn't matter if you haven't read any of it, it still makes sense.

He was there. He was there in my dream.

He looked straight at me, if looks could kill bloody hell, I’d have died several times over. Stretching his face into a grim smile, I fell over in shock that he was actually in front of me. The sound of footsteps came into my ears and I saw him walk over to me, a gun in one hand and a photo in another, a photo of his kids and wife in another. The gun lifted up and into my face, the shiny grey surface touching my cheek. It burned, making me flinch. But the torture hadn’t even started yet, he cackled as he brought his head back, his finger no longer hovering over the trigger…

 

I shot up from bed, gasping and belligerent for air as I shook myself out of the dream. He wasn’t alive, I shot him. I shot him. I did.

Climbing out my bed I took a shower and rinsed myself from all the guilt and all the murders I’d stood by and watched, and all those I had taken part in. It was for the good of my country, I was a hero in family’s eyes, but in my own I was a coward. I killed people, how was that good?

There was a banging on the door. I tensed, slowly creeping forwards like I always did. It was how I’d been taught, to keep alive. My hand wrapped around the door handle, twisting it ever so slowly. From the slight gap I sighed, swinging the door open and walking back to the kitchen. He followed me after shutting the door behind us.

“Dean, where have you been the past few days?” he asked me, a hint of panic and annoyance in his voice. He wasn’t the type of person to argue though, more to understand. I took a deep breath, looking at him and putting on the most patronising voice I could come up with.

“I was out, that’s what adults do you know. You should try it sometime. It might do you some good you know, get a girl, get married and settle down…”

“Don’t patronise me Dean,” he glared at me, slamming the fridge door I had opened for the fun of it. I shot him a fierce look, walking further away and into the lounge, relaxing into my old mans chair. He was long gone, but I still felt him around, giving me and Sam lectures, telling us what to do and his overused ‘words of wisdom.’

“Dean, what’s with you recently? Ever since you came back you’ve been edgy and I know it’s something. Dean,” he said, waving his hand in my face. I winced from the closeness, “Dean, you need to talk to me. I’m your brother for f***s sake!”

I looked at him confused. “Since when did you start swearing?”

He looked at me blankly, “Unbelievable. This is all about me now! Since you haven’t spoken to me about what happened. We were fine, and now you’re in your own world and I just want to know what’s going on with you. Please, what’s going on?”

He was looking at me pleadingly, and I reached for a beer to take the stressfulness away. Having a drinks cooler is pretty cool, literally as well, it saves you having to go up and get it yourself.

He kept looking at me, his breathing the only thing you could hear. My mind drifted off to some happier times and by the time I got to Sarah he sighed impatiently and stormed off towards the door.

“Fine, fine Dean. Don’t come running to me when you’re so distressed you can’t think properly.”

He opened the door and just before he took a step outside I spoke, making him stop and slowly turn around to face me.

“I’m sorry. Okay.”

“Will you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Certainly.”

“Stop with the sarcasm, I know your trying to block out the past when you do that. It’s more obvious.”

I cringed at his psycho analogy crap. “What do you want to know then brother?”

“What went on in Iraq?”

I stared at my beer, reading the label and inspecting it carefully.

“Forget it.”

“All right, I’ll tell you.”

Author's Note

Thanks for reading.
Please give me any comments :)