Saved (A Supernatural AU Destiel)

Dean

     I stick my face under the bathroom faucet, the cold water waking up my skin as I struggle to focus. I feel out of it. As I pull my face away I watch the water that runs off my face hit the sink and find its way to the drain. On the counter, half-smoked cigarettes are pushed into the laminate, and I knock one into the sink, letting it soak up the cold water. For some reason, I can't look away. This piece of paper and tobacco drowning, worthless. I shut the water off and leave it there. 

     I walk out of the bathroom into the main part of the hotel room, and there sitting on my bed is Benny- wooden drumsticks in one hand, a beer in the other. 

    "Didn't think to bring me a drink, too?" I ask as I walk to my suitcase.

    "Sorry, this was my last one. Figured you'd still be asleep anyways, it's only noon," he says. 

    I reach into the bag and grab the first shirt my hand lands on, "I didn't sleep very well last night."

    "I can tell," Benny says, pointing at his own under-eyes and then mine, "I think I got some oxy left in my room, now that shit will knock you out. You should take some tonight after the show."

     The show. We still have two more nights playing in this god awful town. This boring town full of people who don't appreciate the classics. Last night some kid requested a Justin Bieber song and I had to restrain myself from punching his face in. 

     Since Jo left the band we've had to reinvent ourselves. A band doesn't really need a bass player but it made us an even four. She could play any song you gave her too, on almost any instrument. And her voice, god that voice could make me forget everything and fall to my knees.  

     But she's not coming back. And now we're on a cross country tour consisting of only five states, playing in old bars, trying to rebuild or rebrand or whatever name you wanted to give it. She was so good at planning these things. We had to put Ketch in charge, he's our most responsible member now, and that's not saying much. He can barely remember to bring his own guitar with him. Thanks to him these long nights taking turns driving and living off fast food which we can only afford to eat once a day has made this a memorable and hopefully one time experience. 

     "We're hiring someone to be our manager next time," I say, yanking the shirt over my head and forcing my arms through.

     "No shit. We're almost done though. This is our last gig and then it's home bound," He takes a long swallow of his beer before crushing the can and throwing it to the corner of the room. 

     The thought of home isn't much more appealing than being here, but at least it's not on four wheels or a cheap motel. 

     I stumble around the bed looking for my discarded jeans but can't find them. I stop and stare at the floor trying to remember what I was going to say.

     Benny is staring at me, I can feel his eyes on me. I can tell he's concerned about my lack of sleep, and I know he wants to say something. But he won't. He knows it will only upset me and I'm thankful he doesn't. My lack of sleep concerns me, too. Though no matter what I do sleep escapes me still. Sometimes I get so close, laying in bed exhausted, so tired I can't move, and it's right there, hanging over my head taunting me. I reach out my hand, fingers stretched towards the ceiling yet it slips past me and I remain wide awake. 

     "What time do we need to get there tonight?" I ask. I could feel the awkwardness in the silence as I stood there and couldn't take it anymore. 

     "Ketch said something about getting there around four to eat first. That's the one good thing about this place, they feed us good. Oh man just thinking about that pie they had last night."

     "Hey now, you better not eat it all this time. I only got one slice."

     He gave me a sly smile, "No promises," he stood and headed towards the door, "Be ready by four. Lie down for a little. I'm just down the hall if ya need me."

     The door creaks closed behind him and then it's just me again. I take his advice and fall onto the bed, face first. There is a hard smack when my head hits the pillow and it hurts. I reach up and grab my phone. No new messages. I'm not sure what I expected. No I know what I expected. A text from Jo. 

     I throw the phone to the foot of the bed and close my eyes. Maybe I should count sheep. I let out a low laugh at my sad attempt at a joke, amused. It doesn't last long though and I soon turn over onto my back with a frown. Maybe I should count all the ways I failed her. That's a long enough list to keep me occupied until I die, or at the very least until i get exhausted from talking it puts me to sleep.  

     I only have one thought that replays in my head as I stare at the ceiling. Jo, I'm sorry.