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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years ago

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Kick Ball Change (a Destiel fic inspired by 15x10 “The Heroes’ Journey”)

Dean has the Bunker to himself at a time after he and Sam regain their supernatural abilities. With nothing needing his attention, he decides taking time for himself wouldn't hurt. But the usual fare leaves him bored and tired.

So he tries something new. Something he wanted to try, but wasn't sure he would be good at. Dean starts off strong, but doing it on your own can only be so fun. Get you so far. Luckily a partner happens by and truly allows Dean to enjoy a part of himself he knew was there, but didn't want to share.

He leans forward, studying the laptop screen intently. Frowning, eyes flicking left and right while counting along with the instructor. His finger clicks on the trackpad and then pulls back. Restarts the video for the umpteenth time. When Dean feels confident, he pauses the video at the two-minute mark.

Distancing himself from the table, Dean’s stare dips down towards his feet. Watches them repeat the steps. Slowly, like if he were walking on a wintry lake where the ice thinly covered the surface. Imagines the clicks with each soft tap of his heel or a scratchy swoosh when he dragged his toes across the floor.

Through repetition, his skill improves. Instead of the jerky movements from which he began Dean moves with a touch of grace. Soon, he tears his gaze away and trusts that his feet will lead him through the routine without having to watch. Panting, beads of sweat dripping through his hairline, Dean dances the mini-routine at least ten more times. Then he stops and slumps over to the laptop again.

Two minutes. Out of thirty.

“Son of a…” he runs a tired hand through his hair, ignoring the aches in his joints and hits play.

There was only so much time he had anyway.

“I’m heading out.”

Dean glanced up from a magazine, Sam standing a few feet away with his duffel packed. “Where you going?”

“Jody’s,” he said, walking to the stairs, “she called about issues with a wolf pack and wanted some help. By the time her, Donna, and Claire make it there they’ve picked up and moved on.”

Nodding, he marked his page and stood. “Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll be ready –“

“Actually,” Sam coughed, blushing, “I was planning on driving over there alone.”

Stunned, Dean allowed a beat to pass before asking. “Oh?” brow raised, “You sick of me already? Alaska to Kansas too long being stuck in a car with your brother.” It’s only been a day since they returned, but it’s all the difference. Dean and Sam felt more like themselves after their luck returned. Being average was an interesting experience, one Dean never wanted to go through again. He would go mad if it became his reality. “Because I’ll tell you,” he continued, “it wasn’t me stinking up the cabin with those Gas-n-Sip burrito farts.”

Sam’s lips pursed and then thinned. “No,” he said, “you were too busy puking into a plastic bag after eating Bess’s grilled cheeses… again.”

Dean shrugged, neck heating up at the memory. “What? They were good.”

“You were lactose intolerant!”

“I call bullshit on that,” he argued, “Cavities, I get. Skills getting rusty, sure. But me gushing chunks after so much as a cheese stick? No – that makes no sense. Chuck was just being a dick with that one… keeping me from cheese.” Dean huffed, crossing his arms, “At least that’s not the case anymore, right? Me and cheese are friends again.” Sam’s bitchiness intensified. “Anyway… why’re you leaving me behind?”

As if Dean stabbed a pin into his balloon, Sam’s irritation deflated into a shyness. His shoe scuffed against the floor. “Well… I wasn’t the first person Jody called.”

“Right, you mentioned Donna –“

“Because, well… because Eileen is still en route.”

The clouds parted. Light streams through and brightened Dean’s face, his grin stretching wide until his cheeks hurt. “Oh,” he said, “that’s why –“

“Dean…”

“You don’t want me crashing your little date,” he chuckled, delighting in Sam’s scowl. “What? Afraid I’d embarrass you in front of her… like she didn’t see enough when she was haunting our home like Casper.”

“Dean –“

“You already kissed her Sam, and she’s still kicking,” Dean said, slapping the magazine across his knee. Aware of how close Sam was to having a meltdown, he pumped the brakes. “Go. Have fun with your girlfriend hunting weres,” he sighed, “I’ll watch the fort… alone… with nothing but my hand for company.”

Sam huffed, a smile threatening the dark corners of his lips. “You can always call Cas.”

“He’s busy,” Dean told him, mirth draining from his voice. “On his way back from Heaven he found a case in Southern California.” He wrung the magazine in his hands, wrinkling the pages. “You’ll probably be back before him.”

After exchanging quick goodbyes, Sam left. Seconds passed after the front door’s heavy slam, Dean wasting no time to sneak away towards the kitchen. Using his first night to revel in all the shameful acts Sam would cast a judgmental stare at. Like piling meats and cheeses – no vegetables – onto toasted bread. Paired with as many different fries he could find in the freezer and empty onto the baking tray. Enjoyed his meal alongside a very adult film, one Sam would make him watch hidden in his room. Where the grunts and moans were contained. They echoed in the War Room, mixed with Dean’s own laughter.

Except porn can only be so interesting.

He lost interest rather quickly without someone being there, around to possibly walk in. Catch him in the act and then admonish him. Loneliness softened the edges of thrilling danger. By the fifth movie, Dean tied his robe shut and waddled off towards the showers to clean up.

All throughout the shower, Dean wondered what he should do next. Pranking Sam felt too pointless, knowing his brother would return with a goofy smile and good mood that would be difficult to ruin. If he wanted any chance his energies were better saved coming up with over-invasive questions to pester him with.

Outside the washroom, Dean turned and wondered about the shooting range. The idea fit like an old shirt. Familiar, but ineffective. Dean outgrowing the need to blast bullet holes in his problems. Especially boredom.

He kept thinking while in the shower, lathering his body on autopilot. Not realizing he finished until he saw his reflection. Towel wrapped around his hair, eyes tinged red from where shampoo must have fallen in, and a piece of floss hanging from his mouth.

“I want you to promise me you’ll floss from now on,” Garth said, shoving the plastic cartridge into his hand.

Lips pursed, he tried handing it back. “If Alaska’s what you promised, I doubt I’ll need to worry about my teeth again.”

Garth fought, forcing his fingers around it with the supernatural strength he reminded Dean at every chance during this encounter. The pressure around his wrist sent sparks firing up his spine like fireworks. “It don’t matter,” he growled. “Luck is temporary. Good teeth are forever.”

His gums tingled with minty freshness, but it wasn’t too horrible. Better than the cavities, or the process it went to fill them.

“But that laughing gas…”

He propped himself up on the sink, remembering the insane choreography his mind dreamed up during that affected state. Inspired by some Ginger Rodgers-flick he must’ve caught late at night when he couldn’t sleep. And after flipping through channels, stumbling upon her spinning in Fred Astaire’s arms and marveling at the ease with which they both glided through the number made the late hours pass in a blink until Sam knocked on his door, inviting him for breakfast.

It looked supernatural, but Fred and Ginger weren’t blessed like Sam and Dean. Their talent came from hard work, and not a boost from God.

“But anyone can be a good dancer,” he mumbled, “I bet, with time, I could…”

Resolved, Dean tore the floss from his mouth and hurried to get changed. A simple hoodie and sweats, easy to move in. Hurried to his laptop left in the war room, frozen in ecstasy, and began the search.

The first few websites he tried were articles. They detailed what Dean needed to start and the different types of dancing he could try. A few looked rather impossible for a beginner like him, and others required two participants. An hour in, he found one written by a former tap dancer detailing the history of the style and their experience in the last twenty years. He sat, captivated, learning how it was more than just simple clickity-clacking. How tap mixed together a variety of cultural styles and grew in popularity. Transitioning from minstrel shows to vaudeville acts and jazz. Booming from the late Eighteen hundreds into its height of the twenties and thirties, slowly falling out of the spotlight after that.

“Each class I took I felt a little bit happier with myself,” the author wrote, “I didn’t really have much to be proud of… some days it was like I passed through the day. Existing, but doing nothing with my life. Watching myself dance in the mirror and complete a complicated routine and thinking ‘I did that’ it… it gave me the energy to make it into the next day.”

At the bottom of the article, a few links auto-populated to tap dancing videos. Dean clicked on the first and spiraled.

He’s hungry, skipping lunch and dinner to dance. It’s probably nighttime, except Dean won’t check his phone. All Dean knows is that there is a minute left of the video, his ankles hurt, and he has only a few more steps to go until putting it all together.

“Okay,” he says, dragging the button to the very start, “let’s give this a try.”

Dean waits for the music to play, nerves twisting together and strangling his heart. He ignores them in favor of focusing on the instructor counting him in. His foot slides to the side and lightly taps the floor. Gentle smack mixing with the jazzy piano and clack from the professional tap shoes. Repeats the process with the other foot.

And then he’s dancing.

It’s not the greatest, Dean stumbling a few times. But he powers through. Does as he read and keeps moving onto the next step.

Halfway through he finds the pain in the lower half of his body overpowered by the ache in his face from smiling too wide, for too long. Exhaustion fades as Dean allows the joy of dance to flood in. Stops thinking and blacks out, coming to when the video ends.

Silent save for the singular clapping from nearby.

Dean whirls around, startled. He trips over himself, snapping the laptop closed. Fire crawls up his shirt and tints his neck, Dean glad the hood hides most of it.

Castiel arches a brow at the display, hands paused on the downswing in a mock prayer. “That was wonderful Dean,” he says, “I didn’t know you could dance.”

Tongue heavy, he tries his best. “I don’t. I mean… not really. Not professionally and, usually, not at all. But I… I had the time, and I thought I could do it. Figured, while I was on my own, I’d see if I could do it.” Dean folds his arms over his chest, huffing a deep breath. Painfully aware of the sweat stains soaking his fists while they hide in his armpits. “Just started doing it a couple of minutes ago actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

He hums, drifting closer. Castiel drags his fingers across the map until he reaches the laptop. Hand hovering over Dean’s, almost touching it. Radiating heat and electricity that leaves him jumpy and frozen to the ground.

“You’re really talented,” he says, “and you never did this before?” Dean shakes his head, too afraid his voice would break if he were to use it. ��Amazing… do you think –“ Castiel chuckles, gaze darting to the side and away from Dean. “Do you think I could join you?”

“You… what?”

“I might not be any good,” he continues, “but you were enjoying yourself, and I could…”

His expression shifts, crinkles of delight smoothing around his eyes into a somber reflection. Dean frowns, “Hey. You could what?”

“I could…” He breathes deeply, “I could use the distraction. Things haven’t been going my way the past couple of days…”

“The hunt?”

Castiel draws into himself, Dean following until his fingers hit the edge of the laptop. “I wasn’t all that needed,” he says, “When I got there, it was in time to group up with another pair of hunters who already taken down the shifter in its nest. Barely spent an hour in town…”

“Well,” he shrugs, “at least the monster was taken care of.”

“Still,” Castiel wryly smirks, “I can’t help the selfish feeling of wanting to be the one to solve the case. To come back home with some sort of accomplishment under my belt.”

Dean understands where his angel’s mind is. Replays their last conversation, where Castiel told Dean that none of the angels left in Heaven had an inkling of where Chuck might have gone. If he hung around their plane of existence or moseyed on to greener pastures. How disappointed he felt. “Another failure –“

“Don’t say that,” he mumbled, turning away from Sam so the other man couldn’t hear him. Wouldn’t if he kept his head buried in his book. “You got the Leviathan blossom, remember?”

“And look how well that went.”

There wasn’t any other option. So, when he opens the laptop and clicks on the next video, he guides Castiel to where he stood when practicing. “Let me know when you want me to pause it,” he says, “and don’t be afraid to ask me to play it back if you need to. Oh,” he tugs on the trench coat’s lapels, “You might want to lighten your wardrobe. Probably be more difficult dancing with all this on.”

Castiel nods, slipping free from his armor. Allows Dean to hang both coat and suit jacket on a nearby chair, tossing his tie after unwrapping it. He finishes rolling up his sleeves when the first video begins. “Thank you, Dean.”

“It’s literally nothing Cas. Now pay attention, it’s… dammit, she already started. Hold on let me go back.”

Dean tries his best. But dancing becomes increasingly difficult with the addition to his class. Every so often Castiel’s elbow knocks into his and the entire routine falls apart. Lucky that he didn’t own tap shoes to start with, so mistakes went unnoticed. Castiel’s heavy brow furrowed while he pieces together the steps.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it,” Castiel says, foot flapping on the floor like a dying fish. Laughing, hopping between left and right. “I like this.”

Dean giggles alongside him, dizzy from either the lack of food or air. His friend stealing all of it from his lungs. “Yeah. Dancing’s fun.”

“Why don’t we do this more often.”

“Well, uh…” Dean scratches his chin, “I mean, men aren’t… men don’t dance, all that much. At least we’re not supposed to.”

“Who said?”

“…Society?”

Castiel nods. He pauses the video, never breaking his stare with Dean. “I see… that’s why you were doing this when neither Sam nor I were here, then?” Dean shrugs his answer. “Society’s rules are stupid,” Castiel continues, smiling, “and you’re a lovely dancer. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”

“I’m not,” he rushes to defend. Wincing when Castiel’s brow arches at him. “I wouldn’t be… if I knew I was good. I hadn’t done all that much dancing before now.”

“And after?”

“After what?”

“After today,” Castiel asks, “Will you continue dancing?”

His face burns hotter. “I don’t know,” Dean says. Pouts and hides his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “It’s fun, but at my age… all this is kind of a killer on the body. I might not be able to kick for about a month.”

He hums again. “Well,” Castiel turns to the video, “what you chose to do can be… intense. Are there any other styles of dance you’re interested in exploring?”

Dean didn’t think he would agree so readily. And after explaining how it would work, figured Castiel would respectfully decline. Instead he asked Dean what song would best fit the style. Hung close while Dean typed into the search bar, hip pressed tight to his shoulder. Devil nowhere in sight because the presence of his angel shone too bright.

“So,” he says, soft music playing in the background, “we kind of… leave our hands like this.” Dean places one of Castiel’s on his shoulder, the other floating for a long beat until, taking too long, Castiel twines their fingers together. “What –“

“I’ve seen some people do this,” Castiel says, “Is that not right?”

“No, no you’re right. It’s just…” Very intimate. A loaded gesture. Not an act he ever would have pictured escaping his dreams and becoming reality. People like Garth and Bess could enjoy it… Sam and Eileen if they worked through their issues… but him and Cas? “It’s fine,” he says, “really.”

“You’re sure –“

“Dammit Cas, shut up and sway.” Dean ends their conversation, coaxing the other man into a rhythm so he wouldn’t have to talk any longer. Calmed when he joins and relinquishes the fight. He dives headfirst into the gentle waves of guitar strings. A soothing country melody the soundtrack to their first dance.

Dean peeks at Castiel’s profile and tamps down the awed sigh exploding in his chest. Only a glimpse needed to see the whole picture. Fills in the blank canvas with an unviable future. Maybe Dean wears something fancier than the hoodie with holes in random places from countless moth bites. A sleek black tuxedo tailored to show every curve and angle. Or pure white, so radiant and shining he personifies Heaven. Shiny wingtips that would capture the reflection of the happiest day his life could produce.

All the fancy window dressing for him wouldn’t fit Castiel. He would wear his armor like always, Dean holding tight to the trench coat as they circled the floor. Dean stares at it where it rests now. Hides his smile in Castiel’s shoulder, giving nothing away.

“Dean?”

Humming, Dean squeezes and grips Castiel’s shirt tight in his fist. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think this is appropriate…” Wings clipped, Dean hurdles to Earth. His feet stumble over each other in his rush to stop, and suddenly his angel’s touch turns cloying. Before he can say anything, though, Castiel continues. “Aren’t we supposed to go fast when the music picks up?”

“What?”

“The song’s over,” Castiel says, lips quirking at the ends. Dean tunes into his surroundings to find the music changed to a mid-tempo rock song that, while not too speedy, definitely put their earlier moves out of place. He blushes, stepping away from Castiel. “Wait,” he says, closing in around Dean’s wrist. Keeping him close. “are we done dancing?”

Hope glitters in Castiel’s eyes, blinding Dean from escape. “No,” Dean tells him, “We can still dance.”

“How does one dance to a song like this?”

“…Watch.”

Dean spins on his heel, startling Castiel. Wastes no time in shedding the sludge of his overreaction, shaking it off with each wild bounce of his limbs. Hops from left to right, grinning like he was sixteen again. Slammed between punks in the middle of a crowded room while a band blasted his eardrums deaf.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asks, laughing.

Dean bounds close and snags Castiel’s hand, dragging him forward. “I’m dancing!”

“This is dancing?”

“Yeah!” He won’t release him until the other man joins him. Holding Castiel hostage, demanding a ransom of stupidity and silliness. His angel reluctantly allows his shoulders to shrug in time. From how horribly he schools his features, though, Dean knows not an ounce of disdain lives within. “Come on, Cas. You wanted to dance? It’s not all sweeping ballrooms or planned directions. Sometimes it’s frantic. It’s crazy. It’s the first thing that comes to mind!”

“The first thing that comes to mind?”

Dean reigns in his excitement at the deviousness peppering Castiel’s grin. Lessens his jumps to tiny hops. “What are you -?”

Castiel spins him off. Sends Dean flying with a strength that nearly has him kissing the floor. Instead he slides to a stop and spends a beat regaining his balance. Confident in his ability to stand straight, Dean whirls to face Castiel. The comment locked into the barrel of his mouth misfires and leaves his jaw hanging.

His angel mirrored him, slightly. Jumps tinged with caution, hesitation etched into the lines of his smile. Arms arcing to and from, fists raised high above his head until slamming down. “Like this?” he asks.

Nodding, Dean hisses a low whistle. “Beautiful.”

“...Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to watch me or are you going to dance?”

He chuckles, “What I do Cas… you can’t just call dancing.”

When listening to music, Dean always paid attention to when it began and ended. Learned how to tell when one song bled into another. Differentiate between the minutia, varying chords played or notes sung in the arrangement. Could identify a song in the first few seconds of air time.

However, with Castiel, Dean cannot believe one song can last into eternity. Loses himself in the moment and lets everything else fade into static. Nothing more important than seeing how wide Castiel’s lips can stretch until they rip in half. Dean goads his good humor with ridiculousness after ridiculousness. He shimmies hips and drags his fingers across his eyes, Castiel smirks. Kicking a chair, collapsing into it and pretending to drop a bucket of water over his body makes his angel chuckle. Laughter erupts when Dean tries to teach Castiel how to do the macarena.

They’ve devolved in their movements. Exhaustion cutting the wires above Dean’s elbows and wrists. His panting overpowers the music.

Dean shuffles backwards to sit on the edge of the war table. Castiel joins, bracketing him in on either side with his arms. Accidentally closing the laptop with a drunken slap from his hand. “Oops.”

“Cas,” Dean sighs, lightly shoving his chest, “serious party foul.”

“My bad,” he says, tilting his head in the familiar way that causes Dean’s hear to beat double-time. “Although… I doubt this party would have lasted any longer.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The fact you can barely keep your eyes open for less than a minute…” Castiel’s hand traces Dean’s arm, crawling up it and leaving fire in its wake. It settles on his cheek, thumb brushing against the stubble there. “Dean…”

He fights against the molasses slowly pouring down his face and covering his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Dean, I –“

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

Castiel slaps his face. He doesn’t, but the speed with which his hand tears itself away from Dean stings like a slap. Both turn and stare above at Sam, the taller man clapping from the balcony.

“Wow,” he says, stomping down the nearby staircase, “you two were good. I didn’t know either of you had the skills… but I guess that’s on me, isn’t it?”

“Sam,” Castiel says, pouting, “How long have you been…”

“Not long.” He shrugs off his duffle, dumping the bag at his feet. “I caught the grand finale… a nice welcome home. Although you didn’t have to. I could’ve enjoyed it at breakfast instead of three in the morning.”

“Three in the morning?” Dean asks, fumbling for his phone. Blinking on, the curved number mocks him. “That long…”

A throat clears from nearby. He looks from his phone to Castiel, his angel fiddling with his hands. “I didn’t realize,” Castiel says, gathering his jackets, “it’s late… I should probably let you two rest. Sam. Dean…” One meaningful gaze that leaves Dean feeling exposed and raw later, Castiel exits.

Something rocks into his side, knocking him to the left. Sam smirks, sitting too close to him on the table. Eyebrow cocked in brotherly mischief. Dean scowls, “Seriously?”

“What?”

“You’re a jerk, you know that.”

Sam laughs, “I think I was within my rights.”

“I could’ve been so much worse to you, y’know,” Dean says, “I almost cut holes in all your underwear.”

“Glad to hear you didn’t.” He claps Dean’s leg, pushing off the table and snatching his duffle. “Cas is right. We need our rest…” Sam walks as far as the doorjamb, stopping underneath to round on him. “By the way… remember what I was talking about? About Cas’s staring? That’s what I meant.”

Dean fumes in his wake. “Oh yeah? Well… at least he stares at me!” His brother’s obnoxious laughter was the worst music he heard that night. Too wired to follow the others to their respective bases, Dean instead opens his laptop again and hits play.

It’s not the same, but it’s a reminder. A possibility. Hope.

#Supernatural #Spn #Spn15 #15x10 #the Heroes' Journey #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Sam Winchester #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #spn fanfic

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I Bought A Hat Online And It Came In A Bag Of Air To Prevent It From Getting Creased

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This Hot Sauce Bottle Allows You To Adjust The Spice Level

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In Rwanda The Stoplights Have The Seconds Until The Light Changes On Them

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I Bought A Pack Of Cigarettes And They Came With A Postage Paid Recycling Pouch

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My Library Tells Me How Much I Save By Borrowing Books Instead Of Buying

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This Restaurant Labels Their Brownies Based On What Part Of The Pan It Was Baked On

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This Pharmacy Has A Magnifying Glass So People Can Read Medicine Labels And Details More Easily

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This Immigration Office In Korea Has Glasses You Can Borrow For Filling Out Forms

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This Cupboard Drip Drys Into The Sink

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This Carpentry Tool With Pins To Outline A Shape

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An Item We Had Delivered At Work At An Indicator Telling Us If It Had Been Tipped Or Not. This One Had Been

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This Bathroom Door Handle Has A Built-In Hand Sanitizer Dispenser

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My Colleague Has A Micro-Fibre Cloth To Clean His Glasses Stitched Under His Shirt

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This Cemetery Has A Gravesite Locator

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This Coin Laundry Has A Washer And A Dryer Machine Just For Pet Clothes

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This Japanese Gum I Have Came With Little Pieces Of Paper Inside For You To Spit Your Gum In To When You’re Finished With It

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My University Library Has Cell Phone Booths So People Can Talk In Private

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This Pasta Box Helps Approximate How Much Pasta To Make

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This Sandwich Shop Has A Wrapping Station By The Door So You Can Take Your Leftovers Home

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This Dressing Room Has Their Clothing Hooks Labeled

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My Backpack Has A Bottle Opener

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This Juice Carton Tells You How Many Glasses You Have Left

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Two Story Target In Minneapolis Has An Escalator Just For Carts

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A Bus Stop Nearby Offers A Small Library Of Books To Read

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This Pizza Place Tells You The Area Of All Their Pizza Sizes And How Large They Are Compared To Each Other

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My Local Supermarket Has Tags That You Can Put On Broken Trolleys

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Café Doesn’t Take Pennies Or Dimes

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This Pen Tells You How Many Pages Worth Of Ink You Have Left

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This State Park Is Using Social To Track Fire Recovery

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My Local Zoo Has A System To Prevent Little Kids From Pressing The Button And Disturbing The Keepers

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The Small Circles On These Lids Are Tiny Lids For Smaller Containers

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I Went To A Convenience Store In Colombia And They Sold A Pack Of 4 Slices Of Bread

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My Receipt Came With A Nutritional Breakdown

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Local Chinese Restaurant Explains Their Definition Of Different Spice Levels And How Often They’re Ordered

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This Bathroom Has A Built In Timer For The Fan That You Can Set Differently Depending On How Smelly The Visit Was

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My Beef Jerky Came With A Toothpick/Floss Inside The Package

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This Pho Restaurant Has The Bathroom Options To Brush Your Teeth, Use Mouthwash And Even Moisturize Your Skin

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This Refrigerator Has An Automatic Water Pitcher Built Into It

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Button To Save People From Crossing The Desert From Mexico

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The Adhesive Side Of This Wrist Band Tapers In So It Doesn’t Accidentally Stick To Your Skin

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Different Shaped Slots For Different Tubes In The Hospital To Make It Impossible To Mix Them

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The Shelves In The Boston Public Library’s Children Section Have Gaps For Children To Walk Through

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from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2D9i4PI via Viral News HQ

#IFTTT #Viral News HQ

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wellmeaningshutin · 8 years ago

Text

Short Story #31: Selfish.

Written: 1/28/2017

Curled up at the bottom of the shower, she let the warm water wash over her, extending her time in the shower so she would have a couple extra minutes to not face real life. In the shower she could think about whatever she wanted, it was like it existed outside of time and reality, her real problems melted away. Eventually, though, she had to turn off the water, grab a towel and dry herself off, and step out into the bathroom to start her day. Life wasn’t hard for her, there were no significant problems she had to escape, she wasn’t depressed, and nothing of importance was even happening that day, but that was the problem. Everything had become boring.

Brushing her teeth, like always, up down, left right, over under, up down, left right, blah blah blah, spit, rinse, clean the tongue, rinse, floss the teeth, one two three, one two three, one two three, until almost every tooth was cleaned out. Her eyes met with that of her reflection, but neither of them really saw into each other, their eye’s glazed, even in a reversed world she was still dead inside with boredom. The routine marched onwards, she had to sit and dry her hair, then take the same steps to make sure it was presentable, she had to put all of her clothes on, everything blurred, next thing she knows she’s driving to work, then entering data like always, then she’s driving home, eating a little bit then going to sleep, and then she’s back in the shower, then cleaning her teeth, then driving to work, then doing her job, and on and on and on and on, some point hoping that she’ll die so that she can have a way of stopping all of it, but she doesn’t, her car doesn’t crash, she doesn’t choke alone, her house isn’t broken into or burnt down while she sleeps, everything keeps happening with the exception that she slowly gets older as time passes, and people start to care less and less about her, the same amount that she stops caring about herself, until one morning she decides not to get out of bed.

The alarm keeps wailing but she doesn’t get up, doesn’t bother to even put pillows over her head to drown the noise out, she just lies there and stares at her ceiling fan, which is spinning like always, but she never really noticed. Beep beep beep. The fan isn’t particularly interesting, but its weird that she never really paid attention to it before, to the type of wood the fan was made out of, the way it looks when it spins, the amount of dust stuck onto the blades. Beep beep beep. Did she always sleep with the fan on? She never questioned that before, and wasn’t sure if she turned it on before sleeping, or just never bothered to turn it off. Beep beep beep. Immediately sitting up, she turned and hit her alarm clock so it would shut off. How old was she? She had to focus, she wasn’t sure. Every birthday the same thing happened, the same family members with the same shitty cake, dry and yellow with stiff, chocolate frosting slabbed on like mortar waiting for bricks. Some shitty, numbered candles put on each time, what were last years numbers? She couldn’t remember. What year is it? Here, she also drew a blank, so she checked her phone, subtracted the year with her birthday, and apparently she was… 23? That couldn’t be right, that was around the age she started her office job at.

Walking quickly into the bathroom she looked into the mirror and, to her surprise, she was still young. She could’ve sworn she was much older, but she couldn’t remember paying attention to herself in the mirror before. She could definitely remember at least ten birthdays being celebrated at her office, all hers, even if they were all the same, but how come she was never promoted in this time? She slumped to the floor, staring at the towel rack across from her, one towel striped green and brown, the other solid black, both clean. How? She never washed them, her routine never changed, so how could they be clean after years and years of daily use? Looking around the bathroom, it all seemed reasonably clean too, the only thing that was slightly messy was the waste bin, but it was only half way full. There were no memories of her ever emptying it.

After sitting on the floor for quite some time, questioning why her house was so clean, why she was so young, how come she never had to change her clothes for the weather, why nobody at her work ever seemed to be promoted, the same songs always played on the radio, her phone started to buzz. She looked at the caller ID and it was her boss, probably upset because she wasn’t at work, so she answered, “Hello?” It would’ve been reasonable for him to give her an earful, and she braced herself.

“Its ten o’clock, why aren’t you at work yet?” The voice was calmer than she had expected, “Is something wrong? You’ve worked here for twenty years and have never been late.” That couldn’t be right. While waiting for her to answer, heavy breathing filled the other end.

“Sir, that, that can’t be right. I checked the calendar and-”

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Why did you do that?” He sounded pretty annoyed, and it was clear that he was holding in some anger. “Just.. Never mind, just come back into work.”His voice wavered as he said this. “We’ll sort this all out when you get here.”

“I think I should stay home,” not understanding why she was filled with a sense of dread, the same way she felt as a kid before she opened her bedroom door to find her dog, dead, after it choked on one of her stuffed animals it attempted to swallow.

“No you don’t, that’s not what you think, you want to come back into work, like always, don’t you?” Silence on her part. “Don’t you?”

Instinctively, she took the battery out of her phone, and threw both the phone and the battery into her toilet. Oddly, she did want to go to work, because maybe he could clear something up, but she trusted her gut. What was she supposed to do now? It was surprising to realize that she didn’t know what to do with her free time, she wasn’t sure if she had any before. What did she do during weekends? Nothing recent came up, her memories were just a blur of work days, she wasn’t sure what she did in her down time. Did she have any friends? Did she have any hobbies? She wasn’t sure. Remembering what she used to do in college, she decided to sit on her couch and watch television.

Fiddling with the remote, ass planted firmly in the couch, she couldn’t figure out how to turn the damn thing on. There were batteries, she checked. The television was also plugged in, and the power wasn’t out because she could switch the living room light on and off. No matter how often she pressed the buttons on the television itself, it wouldn’t come on, and she was in a terrible mood, not knowing how to pass the time, until she finally found a phone number, on the back of the television, that she could call if it was experiencing any technical problems. However, she was quickly disappointed again when she realized that her phone was in the toilet, and she wasn’t sure if she had a land line, but after some searching it turned out that there indeed was one in the kitchen. How come she didn’t instinctively know if there was one or not? How come she had a nice television but never tried to use it before? She punched in the number and it didn’t have time to ring before somebody picked up, immediately saying, “Hello, how may I help you today?”

“Hey, uh, I can’t seem to turn my television on. Its plugged in and everything but nothing seems to work.”

“Hm… that is a problem. We’ll send some people out there real quick to help you out. What’s your name and address?”

“My name is Caroline Sherwood, I live at…” where did she live? “One second.” She had to put the phone onto the counter and walked towards her front door, so she could check the address, but right as she touched the doorknob she heard a knock at the door. Something told her not to answer. Impatient grunting could be heard outside, the shuffling of feet, more than one person was out there. Quietly stepping backwards, she planned on talking to the customer service rep in case anything bad was going to happen.

“Caroline?” It was her boss. He rang the doorbell three times. Ring ring ring. “Are you okay, I just want to check on you.” Muffled sounds could be heard of him talking to somebody outside.

She grabbed the phone, put it up to her ear, and before she could talk she heard the representative say, “We sent somebody to your address, answer the door.”

A different voice, “Television repair, open up.” Ring ring ring.

“Don’t you want it fixed, wasn’t that why you called? Answer the door.”

“I’m worried that you might be sick, you’ve never missed a day of work before, what’s gotten into you?”

Ring ring ring.

“Hey, lady, I just need to fix the television. If this is a prank call I’ll have to charge you for coming out, so let me in!”

“He’s waiting outside, miss. Why won’t you answer the door? Why are you being so difficult?”

Promptly, she hung up the phone. At least that was one less voice making demands of her. Somebody at the front was shaking the door knob, there was a thud, as if somebody hit it with their shoulder. Grabbing a chair, she moved to put it under the door knob, an attempt to keep the door shut, but a knock on her glass back door made the hair on her neck go straight up, and she froze, not knowing weather to turn around and look at the person outside, or to finish blocking the door. “Caroline,” a voice all to familiar, “Caroline. Its your father, turn around and look at me girl.” Standing with her chair held to her chest, she slowly bent her knees down and crouched to the floor.

“If you don’t open this door you’re fired! This is a busy work day and we need all hands on deck here, and you’re being awfully selfish taking a day off right now!”

“I just need to fix the television lady, why are you making this so hard?”

“Its your mother, she’s sick, open up, let me in, I need to talk to you about your mother now.” Of course mom was sick, hadn’t she been sick for… years now?

The phone started ringing again, just another noise shouting at her. Shakily, she stood up and, moved, clumsily, to put the chair under the door knob. The door shook a couple times more, the knocking on the glass door resumed, but she didn’t bother to turn around, the yelling never stopped, the voice mail clicked, and she could hear a new voice start to talk, “Hey Caroline, its me, Trish, from college, remember? Remember the crazy times we used to have? Hahaha, that was so long ago, wasn’t it?”

“You’re being selfish by locking me out, you’re mothers really sick! How many years did she spend supporting you? Is this how you’re going to act when she needs your help? Ungrateful!”

“Look, miss, if you don’t answer the door I’m going to have to call the police. I have grounds to believe that you might be in danger in there, since you called but won’t answer.”

Ring ring ring. Thud thud thud. Tap tap tap.

She slumped down against the chair, watching the front door shake, refusing to turn around and look out the back door. She could feel somebody out there, watching her. Shakily she put her hands over her head, and started to quietly cry.

“My boss is coming today, so its not just your ass on the line, but mine too! I was ready to give you a promotion! Wouldn’t you want that, huh? But you won’t get that if you won’t open the fucking door!”

“I was just in town for a little while and I was hoping we could get together, hang out, you know like the old days. I just got divorced and I was hoping that we could have some fun, I’m at the coffee shop that’s not too far from your place, the one on your way to work-”

“They say she might not last long, why wont you go and say something to her before she dies?”

“I’m going to count to three, if you don’t come out you’re fired!”

“Okay lady, you forced my hand, I called the cops, they’re on their way.”

Tears began to stream down her face, she didn’t understand what was happening.

“One.”

“-so come out and meet me now, don’t be selfish! Don’t throw me away now that you have some fancy job, like what makes you think you’re better than me?”

“After everything your mother did for you”

“Two.”

She turned to run deeper into her house, she wanted to hide but she didn’t know where. When she was standing up she locked eyes with the man outside, and his face made her freeze in her tracks. That wasn’t her father, was it? Whoever he was, when she saw him he began to open the sliding glass door and walk into the house. Stepping backwards towards the front door, she could hear somebody yell “Police!” and the door was kicked in, the chair shattering from the impact of the blow, and people flooded into the house, all feeling familiar but off, all grabbing for her, pulling her hair, arms, clothes, legs, mouth, dragging her outside as she tried to scream and fight it.

A crowd had amassed outside, all of her neighbors, coworkers, old friends, relatives, all out there yelling and jeering at her. “Why wont you visit your mother, how selfish of you!” “Why can’t you go to work, and instead you want to watch television and rot, how selfish!” “You think you’re better than everyone because you have a job” “Selfish!” “Ungrateful!” “Selfish!” “Bitch!” The mob pulled her into the middle of the street and for a second she thought she could get free, or at leave move around, but they were just letting the people outside have a go at her. They screamed in her face as they all clawed at her, pulling her in different directions until her limbs came off, blood spurting into the faces of her attackers, they cheered, she came apart into many pieces, her intestines slumped onto the asphalt and her other organs followed, people hoisted up limbs, others crowded around her insides, devouring them, all knowing now that she’d be grateful for everything they did for her.

#Well Meaning Shut In #Free Write #Short Story #Writers on Tumblr #Getting Better

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