Fear Itself

I was in the tower again, but this time, it was different. I was above, that was where I watched it from. I was seated in a comfortable, rolling chair in front of a panel of screens, screens with lines that flashed and blinked and beeped. There were fifteen people beside myself, I was seated beside Commander Kennedy. My father was seated on the far end, looking down from our balcony with cold, emotionless eyes. My eyes moved forward, and below us was that chair that awful, awful chair. My breath caught in my throat. I didn’t myself in it. I saw Dean.

From beside me, I could hear Kennedy laughing. “Oh, this is the most fun I’ve had in weeks,” he jested, spinning around in his chair like an excited toddler. It made me sick to my stomach. When eyes peered out the plexiglass window again, the chair had morphed into the silver slab, and I watched Dean hanging limp and lifeless. The doctor put the mask back on, and I watched with relief as the sound of his breathing echoed through the room. Kennedy reached forward and pressed a red button on the panel, leaned into the microphone in front of him. “Do you want to answer yet?” he asked.

Dean grunted and huffed out a blunt, “No.” The doctor took the wooden board and slammed it into Dean’s stomach. He did it over, and over, and over again. It wasn’t very loud, and it was strained, but I heard him groaning down there. He didn’t have the strength to scream because they had zapped it out of him. I had been there before. I knew all too well that he wanted to scream, but he couldn’t.

“What’s wrong, Giroux?” Kennedy huffed, looking at me. “Not enjoying yourself?”

I looked at him, wondered why he was speaking to me, how he knew my name, why I was even there in the first place, but soon Kennedy called out for phase five. I looked down with utter fear, and Dean looked up at me with weak and weary eyes. He forced a half-smile at me, and I rightly thought I had lost all my courage right then and there.

“No,” I protested as I watched them put the bag over his head. “No!” I shouted louder, no longer caring about the board around me. I slammed my hand on the red button, but the microphone in front of me wasn’t turning on. “Stop it!” I screamed. Tears poured out of my eyes, and I pounded my palm against that button in a panicked frenzy. “Don’t do it, stop! Please!” I begged, sobbing, still slamming my hand on the button, but it wouldn’t turn on, it just wouldn’t, no matter how hard I tried.

A bang sounded, and that was it. I saw red splatter against the inside of the white bag, and I screamed as it fell shapelessly over his shoulders.

I shot up in bed screaming, sobbing and thrashing wildly, drenched in my own sweat. “No!” I shrieked, eyes still clenched shut and blinded by tears. Dean shot up as well as grabbed me. I shook with terror in his arms and sobbed. “No,” I whimpered, choking on my tears.

“Sh,” he hushed me and held me close to him. “It’s just a dream,” Dean said. “That’s all. It’s not real.”

“It was,” I sobbed. “It was… at least… at least it felt like it was,” I sputtered and dropped my head. “It was you,” I cried. “You were in that chair, you were down there, and Kennedy was laughing, and you…” I sobbed again. “They… they…” I stammered.

“You don’t have to say it,” he whispered gently. He rubbed my back and scooped me up, much like he had been doing the last day or so because it still hurt me to walk.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He simply replied, “Outside. I think you could use some air.” He carried me through the backdoor and out into the yard. It was still dark out, very early in the morning, probably. I didn’t glance at the clock before we had left. He sat us both down in the grass, pulled me into his lap, and cradled me. “Look up,” he said. I tilted my head out from under his chin to look up at sky, and my heart finally decided to slow down. It was starry, and dark, and endless. Calming.

“I don’t like to talk about it,” I murmured.

“You don’t have to,” Dean told me, shaking his head.

“It just makes me very nervous, and I—“ my voice cracked. “I just—“ He held me tighter.

“You’re safe,” he murmured.

“Talking just makes it worse,” I cried.

“Sh,” he hushed me again. “I know,” he said. He rubbed a hand over my head. “I know.”

“I love you,” I blurted out, stopping only to heave a tiny sob. “I’m sorry, I know that it’s probably weird to say that because it hasn’t been that long, but I do. I really do,” I confessed. “And I was sitting down in that chair, and it was all I could think about. I was thinking about how I hadn’t seen you in days and how badly it killed me that we didn’t even get a goodbye because the idea of not being with you terrifies me. It physically hurts me, and that was why I started crying in there. I couldn’t stand the thought of not getting to see you again.” I sputtered out another sob. “You’re just the best part of my life, Dean, and I don’t… I don’t ever feel scared when I’m with you, and I trust you with all my heart,” I told him. “You’re the only person in my life who hasn’t royally fucked me over, not even once, and you don’t know how much that means to me,” I cried. “I love you so much.”

There was a tiny pause, but Dean squeezed me gently, pulling me closer to him. He kissed my forehead, and he chuckled a little. I could hear the smile in his laugh; I didn’t need to look up to see it. “I love you too, Blondie,” he told me.

I pulled back a bit, looked up at him with shock and asked,” Really?”

“Really,” he chuckled, leaning forward and kissing me on the lips. “Now, stop your crying,” he joked. “No need for tears, right?”

I blinked out my last few and managed to smile. I gave him a nod. “Right,” I agreed. I looped my arms over his shoulders and around his neck, and I nuzzled my face against his shirt for a moment, burying my eyes. We stayed out there until I was sure that I had calmed down, which didn’t happen until the sun began to break over the horizon, covering the sky with pink and orange hues. Dean carried me back inside, and we both slipped back under the sheets, and I fell asleep with him curled around me.