Overwhelming nerves. Despite no signs of immediate danger, Dean couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. There was something about the whole situation that put him on edge. That was only amplified when the cashier completely ignored the sewing kit and reached into a black bookbag he had brought.
Cashier: So were you really planning on using that sewing kit to stitch that up?
Sweat dripped down his face as he nodded.
Cashier: Is it hot in here? Sorry. But yeah that's a terrible idea dude.
Dean: Huh? Why? Would that not work?
Cashier: Seriously? Do you want to die or something? Using something like this to stitch up a wound is only somewhat of a good idea if you're absolutely about to die and don't have anything else. Doesn't look like you're about to die though.
Dean: Wait what? Then what am I supposed to use?
Cashier: Well I do have sutures. I always got stuff like this on me just in case. If you want, I can refund you on this stuff so you can get some other stuff.
Dean: Really? That'd be awesome!
Cashier: Yeah well you'll probably need supplies. Especially since you're running from the cops and all.
Dean shuddered.
Dean (Inner): I knew it! He knows! Oh god! He's gonna kill me or something! What do I do!? What do I do!? What do I do!?
Dean: You… You knew?
He could barely get the words out of his mouth. He stared at the cashier with utter fear emanating off of his eyes.
Cashier: Dude. You're literally all over the news. Something like this hasn't happened in like forever. Usually when someone gets a power, they silently flee. Or they are just bullied until they leave. But to actually kill someone? Crazy. I assume it was an accident?
Dean: Yeah… It was. Are you gonna hurt me? Or report me? Or yell at me!? Or something!? What are you gonna do to me!?
The cashier held his hands up in surrender after pulling the suture out of his bag.
Cashier: Woah hey! Let's chill out! I'm not gonna do anything to you, okay!?
Dean: You're lying! How can I trust you!?
He jumps out of the chair and backs up, putting his hands up in an attempt to threaten the cashier. It doesn't work. Instead, the cashier puts the suture down and places his left hand up.
Cashier: Don't do anything. Just let me show you why you can trust me.
His hand begins to glow black. Utter panic fills Dean's whole body.
Dean: What are you gonna do to me!? Don't! Don't! Please don't!
Suddenly, Dean is unable to hear his own screams. He's certain that he's speaking, but he can't hear it. He can't hear a thing. He stops shouting and stares at the cashier in horror. A second later, the sounds of the world flow through his ears again. It takes him a few seconds of processing everything to speak.
Dean: I… You… What…
Cashier: Yeah. I got a power too. That's why I don't think you're dangerous. Especially because of how afraid you were.
Dean: B-but… Why?
Cashier: Why what?
Dean: Why are you living here? Why don't you live in the bad part?
The cashier bends down a little bit to be at Dean's level.
Cashier: Have you seriously never considered that there could be people living among you that have a power, but are just good at hiding it so you would never know?
Dean: Well… I mean… I guess not.
Cashier: Truth is, there's a ton of people living like that. People only go to the bad part if they're caught with a power, or are anxious and go on their own accord. That's probably not a majority though. Most powers are basic, harmless, or have minimal effect. Like mine. All mine does is make it so someone loses their hearing for three seconds. I can only use it on a person once. What I ended up doing was going around using my power on everyone within a few mile radius of where I live at night, so that I couldn't use it again on them.
Dean: That's… Actually pretty smart
Cashier: Yeah so as long as you know how to control your power, and are smart about it, no one can know. But that's only IF you can control it. If you don't, it'll go haywire and everyone will know.
Dean: Well lucky for me. I have no clue what I'm doing.
The cashier sighs before signaling for Dean to sit down in the spinning stool again. He does after a little bit of hesitation.
Cashier: That's fine though. You've already been caught. As long as you get to the bad part you'll be fine. Then you got all the time in the world to hone your ability.
Dean: Won't they still be coming after me though?
Cashier: They? No one's gonna be coming for you dude. They probably don't even care anymore. Take your hoodie off for me? It'll make stitching a whole lot easier.
Dean's eyebrows shoot up for a second before he looks down and pulls his hoodie over his head, placing it gently on the table next to him. He lifts up his short sleeve over his shoulder.
Dean: What do you mean though? They shot me. They're absolutely still coming for me. I killed someone.
Cashier: And why do you think they only hit your arm? You really think these highly trained officers don't know how to hit a moving target? No. They're just scaring you. That's what they do. Getting you to piss your pants so you run to the bad part without putting up a fight, or accidentally killing another person. This'll hurt by the way so prepare yourself.
He pours some peroxide on a piece of gauze and gently applies it to Dean's arm. Dean tightens his fists and squeezes his eyes closed. He screams with his mouth closed.
Cashier: Sorry sorry! It's only gonna get worse from here.
He tries to give a reassuring smile, but it doesn't make Dean feel any better.
Dean: I don't understand. It doesn't make any sense! I killed someone! And they're what, just letting me off with a warning!? Why wouldn't they just want to dispose of me while they have the chance!? OWW!
Dean's hand shoots up to cover his arm instinctively.
Cashier: Dude! Do you want something to squeeze for when you can't stand the pain. I probably should've asked that before I started. Sorry. I'll just go get you something.
He rushes off, returning later with a stress ball, offering it to Dean. He takes it and starts squeezing it. It's soothing in a way. It doesn't distract him from the pain, but it makes it better in a way he can't explain.
Cashier: But you had a fair point about why they wouldn't just kill you on the spot. One less person to worry about. It makes sense. And that's something I wouldn't know the answer to. I'm not Christina, so I don't know why they make the choices they do.
The cashier unzips his green hoodie and tosses it to the side before rolling up the sleeves on his long sleeve shirt. He puts a hat on to keep his hair from falling into his eyes.
Dean: What if someone walks in here while you're doing this?
Cashier: I actually locked the door and disabled the cameras when you walked in. I kinda wanted to talk to you about everything. Not everyday you see someone all over the news at your job when nothing has happened all day.
Dean: Oh. Thanks.
Dean winces and squeezes the ball as the cashier applies more peroxide to his wound.
Cashier: How on earth did this not get infected?
Dean: I don't know. It's not too deep of a cut, and I kept it covered a lot. I did let it breathe a few times though. And I tried not to move my arm around too much.
Cashier: Even still. Wow. It has healed a little, but you're definitely gonna need those bandages still.
A minute or two pass in silence. It's uncomfortable. Dean speaks up, trying to strike a conversation to distract himself from the pain.
Dean: So… Do you know anything about what the bad part is like?
Cashier: Not really. I know there is like some kind of organization that keeps things going.
Dean: What do you mean?
Cashier: Well it's not survival of the fittest over there. People want to live in comfort, how they've lived their whole lives. So a bunch of people came together to try and form some sort of society there. It's crude, but it gets the job done. That's about all I know. I'm sure you'll learn more while you're there though.
Dean tries to speak up, but he's quickly cut off.
Cashier: Alright no more talking. I'm gonna start stitching. I need to focus so I do it right.
Dean: Right. Sorry.
He looks away and sweats some more as the cashier prepares to stitch the wound in his arm shut. His leg bounces and he squeezes the stress ball not out of pain, but anxiety.
Cashier: Alright, you ready?
Dean: Mhm! Just hurry up please!
Dean squeezes the ball with all of his grip strength as the needle goes through his skin. It doesn't hurt too much. The warmth of the blood is what makes it uncomfortable. It made him nauseous. Bringing the image of Jack's lifeless body sleeping in a pool of his blood, and how Dean was laying in it.
He starts to calm down as the cashier continues. It's not that bad. Just a little stinging pain every few seconds. A few minutes pass before the cashier lets out a sigh of relief and backs away.
Cashier: Alright! That turned out a whole lot better than I expected. I'm gonna put the bandages on and then you can put your hoodie back on.
Dean: Okay. Awesome.
He fidgets uncomfortably as the cashier takes a minute to wrap bandages around his arm. Once he finishes, he grabs the blue hoodie off of the counter and hands it to Dean.
Cashier: Alright here you go. I'm gonna go wash my hands. You can get some other food to replace those medical supplies while I do that if you want.
The cashier turns around and begins heading towards the bathroom.
Dean: Oh wait!
Cashier: Hm? What's up?
Dean: Can I use the bathroom when you're done? I wanna brush my teeth and clean some dirt off my clothes.
Cashier: Yeah? It's a public restroom so I can't really stop you.
Dean: Oh. Right. Yeah sorry.
The cashier turns around again. Dean hops off the chair and looks around for some food. It takes a few minutes after the cashier has finished in the bathroom for Dean to make an actual decision on what he wants to get. He settles on two cans of food, and a can opener so that he can actually eat it. He puts it in his bag and pulls out the toothbrush and toothpaste.
Cashier: Alright so these are the same price as those other things you bought, which is nice. I'll just cancel your order from earlier and scan these things up for you while you're in the bathroom.
Dean: Okay cool thanks. Do I gotta give you the stuff I got here?
Cashier: Yes please.
Dean hands him the toothbrush and toothpaste and waits for him to cancel the previous order, and scan the new items. His hands are placed behind his back as he rocks himself back and forth with his heels and toes, trying to keep his body occupied as he waits.
Dean (Inner): The small cuts and bruises don't hurt much anymore. The friction burn in my knees isn't great, but I'll be fine. Overall I feel so much better! That stitching really helped out a lot.
Dean: Hey, is there any way I can pay you back for stitching my arm up like this? I really appreciate it and I wanna return the favor somehow.
Cashier: Hm? Oh yeah don't worry about it. The experience was my reward.
Dean: Are you sure?
Cashier: Yep! Seriously, don't worry about it. Not like you got anything to give me anyways.
Dean: Right.
Cashier: Alright well I finished scanning these two, so go ahead to the bathroom. I'll definitely be done by the time you get back.
He holds out his hand with the items in it. Dean takes them and forces a little smile before heading towards the bathroom to brush his teeth and clean up.
The store isn't particularly big, as most dollar stores are. It only takes around fifteen seconds to walk from the counters at the front, to the bathroom towards the back. Dean turns the handle and steps inside. It's not the cleanest, but it is well maintained by public bathroom standards.
He rips open the packages and tosses them in the trash can next to him before twisting off the top of the toothpaste tube. He gently adds a good amount of toothpaste onto the brush before twisting the cap back on and putting it in his pocket. He begins to brush, making sure to get everywhere. Really taking his time to clean his mouth. In a way, he's trying to wash away everything that's happened. Aggressively brushing until his gums bleed. The image of himself in the mirror only fills him with emotions he can't describe. Like hate mixed with empathy.
After spitting out all the negativity, he gives a smile into the mirror, checking that he got everywhere, before running the brush under some water, and wiping his mouth with a paper towel.
He pulls a few more paper towels out of the dispenser and holds them under the faucet. Once they're wet, he adds a little soap and smears it around, creating a makeshift wash cloth. He gently rubs it across his clothes and skin, once again trying to wash all the bad stuff that's happened in the past few days. After a few minutes of this, the paper towels are tossed in the trash, and Dean grabs a few more to dry himself off with.
He lets out a small sigh as he stares into the mirror again, noticing how his eyes look different.
Dean (Inner): I'm starting to get some bags under my eyes. And it's like there's less light in them. I'm sure it'll get better.
He takes a better look at himself, tilting his body down a little to inspect his hair.
Dean (Inner): Gross. It's so greasy and clumped together. I guess I could use soap as a makeshift conditioner, but I don't know if that's the best idea. I'll just rinse it.
He rustles his hair around and turns the faucet on again, placing his hands underneath and collecting water. He quickly dumps the water over his head and mixes it around in his hair. He continues this cycle a few times before he really starts brushing all the grease and dirt out with hands. He's aggressive again. His nails dig into his head as he scratches. His scalp starts to hurt, but he continues anyway, unfazed by it all.
He quickly turns the faucet off when he finishes and stares down in the sink. The only sound is the water drizzling off of his hair and bouncing off the porcelain sink. Continuing to stare down, he reaches out to the paper towel dispenser and grabs at least ten. He violently dries his hair out with the paper towels, causing his hair to knot and look very messy. He tosses the paper towels out.
Dean: I'm all clean. But I still feel disgusting.
His fingers gently run through his hair, trying to get the knots out. At first he does it lightly, but slowly starts to be more rough, like he's forcing his hair to be straight and nice. The whole time, his reflection in the mirror stares at him.
Dean: What? Stop mocking me. Stop looking at me. I know I'm gross right now, but that's not my fault. So just leave me alone.
He glances down with a concerned expression.
Dean (Inner): I'm talking to my reflection.
His hands continue to work in tandem on fixing his hair as he continues to look down to his feet, too embarrassed to look at himself. He winces in pain a lot as his fingers pull on the knots, but after about five minutes, his hair is straight enough to look passable. It's not great, but it looks nice to him. He's forced to look at his reflection to see how his hair looks.
Dean: I could've just used a comb in one of the aisles and not paid for it. He can't really stop me from doing that. I'm pretty sure that's legal.
He lets out a nervous chuckle.
Dean: Legal.
The faucet is suddenly turned back on, and his hands are cupped underneath, catching the water as it falls. It's cold. Dean only ever turned on the cold water. The warm water reminded him of blood. He splashes the water in his face a few times, slapping himself as he does so.
Dean: I killed someone. And I think I can just move on from this? Run away to my happy place? They're not going to just let me go. I don't care what he says. I deserve to die.
He stares at his reflection for a few minutes, blurring his vision and watching as his face morphs to look inhuman. The whole world fades away except for his deformed face.
Time has been lost in the background as he stares into his own repulsive soul. By the time he blinks himself back to reality, he doesn't have a clue how long he's been gone. His head shakes as he steps towards the door and walks through after it's opened.
Cashier: You were in there for a while dude. Like fifteen minutes. I had to reopen the store so you should probably get out before anyone sees you.
Dean: Oh. Sorry. Thank you again.
Cashier: Of course of course. See you around hopefully.
Dean: Probably not. But it was nice knowing you.
The cashier smiles and waves at Dean as he walks towards the door, bag in hand. Dean lifts his hand up for a brief moment as a half wave, but ultimately leaves without saying goodbye.
The sun hits Dean like a truck as he steps out of the store into the light. It's blinding to the point that he's forced to close his eyes.
Dean (Inner): I guess it was pretty dark in there. Gotta wait for my eyes to adjust.
He pulls his hood over his head and holds his hand horizontally above his eyes as he squints to block out as much sun as possible. It doesn't take long for his eyes to adjust, but he continues to keep his hood up to keep from being noticed.
Dean (Inner): It's probably around noon. I should find somewhere where I can eat some food in peace. I'm gonna starve to death. I could look for another alley I guess, but those are pretty dirty. Probably my only choice though.
There aren't too many people around. He starts to walk a little less stiff upon noticing this. His body and mind relaxes the moment he realizes that he most likely won't get caught. But the words of the cashier continue to linger in the back of his mind.
Dean (Inner): Does it even matter if I get caught? He said that they weren't actually trying to hurt me, and instead just wanted to scare me so I'd run away. I still don't get it, but whatever.
He stares at the floor for a few seconds as he walks before looking back up.
Dean (Inner): Does it even matter if I get caught or not? There's only two things that can really happen. I get away unscathed or hurt or whatever. But I still get away. Or they do kill me. I still don't want to die but… Maybe that wouldn't be too bad. Cause like seriously, what do I have left to live for? I wouldn't even have to worry about anything.
His jaw drops a little and his eyes look scared or concerned.
Dean (Inner): I do have stuff to live for though. Like seeing Ashley's concert. I don't even remember when that is… But I'm determined to be there! What else? Oh! I still have to get a girlfriend. That's a big one.
The image of his dad appears in his head.
Dean's dad (Flashback): You will never be loved.
He stops in the middle of the sidewalk. His fists clench as he stares at the floor in sadness/ anger. He mutters something to himself.
Dean: Shut up. You don't know anything. You'll never be loved, you asshole.
He begins walking again with somewhat of a pained expression, but overall it appears as if he's zoned out. His fists clench tighter as his eyes widen very slightly.
Dean (Inner): Never? So you never loved me? That makes sense! I don't know if I can describe hating your own son and kicking him out like he's some kind of monster as love! Why were they so scared of me!? They've always supported me! Were they just faking it all!? Acting like they loved me!? Did they know something like this would happen!?
His eyes close as he lets out a sigh. The neutrally pained expression returns soon after, like it's some sort of mask to hide the turmoil in his head.
Dean (Inner): And what about the brother thing? Why did they never tell me? I can't imagine he's worse than I am. Like he probably hasn't killed anyone. They'll probably act like I never existed too huh? They should die. No… No they shouldn't. I can't say things like that. I don't want anyone to die. Not after…
His face looks more pained as he glances to his left.
Dean (Inner): They shouldn't die. I don't want to see any more death. I'm sure they were just scared. I'm sure they're trying to reach me and apologize for everything. They still love me. Actually… If they did that, then why wouldn't they have done that for my brother? Did he die or something? Or did he actually do something unforgivable?
He lets out a small laugh through his nose.
Dean (Inner): I did something unforgivable.
His direction changes as he finds an alley that isn't too dirty. He walks about half way into it before sitting down. The bag rustles as he looks for his food.
Dean (Inner): What should I eat? Everything sounds so good. To be honest, I could probably eat all of this stuff. I'm literally starving.
The first thing that he grabs is a can of ravioli.
Dean (Inner): Never had cold ravioli before. Hope they're good. Where's that can opener?
His hand rustles around in the bag for a second before pulling out the can opener.
Dean (Inner): I've never used one of these things either. It shouldn't be too difficult.
He struggles with the can opener for a little bit before figuring it out. The can spins as the top slowly comes off. A smile spreads across Dean's face as he smells the ravioli. The can opener is dropped and the top is tossed to the side. Dean instantly sticks his fingers into the can and pulls a ravioli out of the lukewarm sauce. He marvels at it for a second before eating it. His eyes close and his head lifts up as he makes a noise of content. The soft shell is crushed under his teeth. The meat trapped inside hits his tongue along with the sauce.
Dean (Inner): IT'S SO GOOD!
He swallows and wastes no time grabbing another one. He eats them one by one in rapid succession, not caring about savoring the flavor any more. After all of them have been devoured, he licks his fingers and drinks the rest of the sauce in the can. It wasn't very good, considering it's canned food from a dollar store, but it tasted like nothing else to Dean after he hadn't eaten anything for a day and a half.
Dean: That was so good. I want more.
He leans up and reaches into the bag, but quickly stops himself when he hears something. Two people stand at the end of the alley, muttering things to each other.
Dean (Inner): Can they see me!? Did they hear me!? Did they recognize me!?
His worries are amplified into terror as they start walking into the alley. Dean glances over at them. One of them is taller than Dean by at least five inches. Overall, he looks like a lackey to the other guy. He's bald. His eyes are huge, making his pupils seem small. He doesn't have eyebrows, like he shaved them. He has a large, sharp nose. His ears are big, and his cheekbones are defined, but it doesn't make him look any better.
Dean (Inner): This guy looks like a goblin.
Dean jumps and looks up with concern as the goblin man speaks.
Goblin Man: Hey. You're that kid right?
Dean looks away, trying desperately to ignore them.
Goblin Man: Look at me. I know you can hear me. You jumped at my voice like a little bitch. Now look at me.
Dean closes his eyes and points his head down. He can hear one of their footsteps get louder and quicker. Suddenly he feels a sharp pain in his face. A punch. Before he can step out of the way, his hoodie is grabbed by two hands. He opens his eyes and sees the goblin man staring at him with a devilish smile. How wide his eyes are, and the absence of his eyebrows makes him terrifying. Dean stares at him, intimidated by his presence.
Goblin Man: I know who you are. Dean Jeeves. Now listen to me.
Blood drips down Dean's nose. His stomach twists as he feels the warm liquid on his lips. He can taste it. It only serves to make him more uncomfortable about everything. He continues to silently stare anxiously into the vast eyes of the goblin man.
Goblin Man: Are you listening?
Dean remains still. The other person in the alley walks up and punches him in the gut. Dean coughs and spits as he bends over in pain.
Goblin Lackey: He asked you a question!
The goblin man lifts him up again. Drool hangs out of Dean's mouth. It falls once he nods. It's a soft nod. Dean just continues to stare at him, too frozen with fear to speak.
Goblin Man: Good. Then listen to this.
He pulls Dean closer, until he can whisper in his ear. The man's breath on Dean's ear makes him shudder and groan silently in discomfort.
Goblin Man: I'm going to end your life, Dean Jeeves.