“Out of the way!” Dean ran down the bunker stairs, holding the arm that wasn’t carrying six shopping bags out in front of him, “The feast has arrived!”
“And what hole-in-the-wall’s cold turkey entrée did you get this year?” Sam didn’t bother to look up from the book he was reading.
Dean silently mocked him, coming to a stop in front of the chair he was sitting in, “None.” He plopped the bag with the turkey in it on his lap, “I’m cooking.”
Sam raised an eyebrow as the turkey landed on him with a dull thud, “You’re gonna cook?”
“Yeah!” Dean beamed at him before continuing toward the kitchen, the giant on his heels, “Why does that surprise you?”
“Well…” Sam set the turkey down on the counter, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “You’re not exactly known for your cooking skills, Dean.”
“Pfft, so?” The blonde began putting the vegetables in the fridge, “You think just because I don’t do it often means I can’t?”
“No, of course not.” Sam slid himself down on one of the stools at the counter, “But I’ve seen you burn cereal, so…”
Dean jumped off the couch and surveyed the living room, what the hell…, he frowned as he confirmed he was alone, “H-hello?”
Why are you so jumpy?
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up at hearing the voice again and turned the T.V off, just in case. He listened for a moment and when he didn’t hear anything he let out a nervous chuckle and sat back down, don’t psyche yourself out, Winchester.
Don’t… don’t you remember?
He surveyed the room again, “Okay, this isn’t funny, alright?”
How don’t you remember?
Dean got up from the couch cautiously, “S-Sam?” Remember? What the hell am I supposed to remember?
He couldn’t help but tense as he was only greeted with silence. He rubbed at his temples, I must finally be losing it.
You’re not losing it, Dean.
“Where are you?” He crossed the room to check the kitchen.
Dean, relax. I’m not in the house.
Empty… shit. “How do you know my name?” Wait… Dean froze as the words sunk in, you’re not in the house? Then how the hell can I hear you? No, you know what? The blonde started toward the stairs, I don’t care. Guess this is what old age does.
You’re not that old, Dean.
He locked the bathroom door behind him and leaned against the sink, still doesn’t explain why I can hear some dude I don’t know talk to me who apparently isn’t here.
That’s… hard to explain.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror, is this really what I’m doing now? Conversing with the voices?
There’s only one of me.
Dean snorted and shook his head, of course, my mistake… he let out a breath and splashed some water on his face, why couldn’t I at least hear a chick? That woulda been way more entertaining.
I’m not just a random voice, Dean! Do you really not remember?
… and now I’ve offended him, great, the blonde sighed and exited the bathroom, heading over to his bedroom before flopping down on his bed.
I can explain, if you like. It’s just… hard. You’re gonna have to trust me.
Trust you? I don’t even know you!
Maybe you’ll remember if you see me in person.
You’re just a voice in my head, how am I supposed to-
You’re home, right?
Dean sat up and looked around the room, “Ugh… yeah.”
He heard a thud from downstairs and got up off the bed, before creeping over to the steps. He peered over the railing and saw a man standing in his living room. What the…? He pulled the gun out from the back of his pants and ran down the steps.
The man squinted his eyes as he spotted the gun and tilted his head to the side.
“Who are you? How’d you get in here?”
“Where did you get a gun from?”
Dean blinked absently, his hand faltering as he heard the voice that was in his head come from the man in front of him. What the hell? “H-how did you do that?”
The raven-haired man looked around the room in confusion, “Do what?”
The blonde let out a nervous chuckle and ran his free hand through his hair, “So… what? You’re some sort of ventriloquist?”
“That’s… that’s not what that is.”
“Okay, fine, whatever. You need to leave.”
“Dean-”
“Look,” he tucked his gun back into his pants and took a few steps forward, “I don’t know who you are, or how you got in here, but you’ve gotta leave.”
The man squinted his eyes again and bit his bottom lip, “You… you really don’t recognize me? … At all?”
Dean looked the man up and down and shook his head, “Trust me, I think I’d remember meeting some trench-coated-blue-tied-sex-haired dude.”
