Trashed and Scattered

As the morning shook the dew from its leaves, Peyton awoke to find herself alone. The sofa had formed to her small frame overnight and her bones rattled as she struggled to pull herself upright. Her fingers instinctively found her temples as the hang over sank in with a hungry vengeance. She searched the room for signs of life and, as if he’d sensed their cosmic link had sparked into consciousness, Jimmy came darting into the room.
Despite his quick movements, Peyton couldn’t help but notice the arch his steps fell into. It was as if he was doing his best to be discrete, but Jimmy could do nothing silently. His steps thudded against the floorboards as he maneuvered from one end of the room to the other, taking no notice of Peyton's seated position.
He bent his spine unnaturally as he sank to the floor across the room, and reached for the black back laying sadly against the wall. He used only the tips of his fingers to slide the zipper open with care. Peyton’s head fell limply to its side as she watched the loudest man on earth try and fail to be quiet.
Jimmy meticulously pulled a sweater from his bag, setting it neatly onto the floor. As his fingertips picked up their routine of masked muffles, Peyton couldn’t help but laugh.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Jimmy yelped with surprise, tumbling straight onto his back. His limbs were electrified from the shock, sending them bolting out in every direction.
Peyton gasped, “Sorry!”
Jimmy groaned from his place on the floor.
“Seriously, though,” she chuckled. “What are you doing?”
He sighed, peeling himself from the floorboards and snatching the sweater from the floor, “I was trying to let you sleep. Given how fucking shitty I felt getting up, I thought I’d take mercy on you.”
She smiled, “That’s sweet.”
He raised his brows at her, “Yeah, won’t be making that mistake again. Giving me fucking heart palpitations and shit.”
“I’m sorry,” she laughed, hiding her lips behind her hand.
“It shows,” he huffed dramatically, speeding back down the hallway.
Peyton sank back down into the couch, letting the previous night's tequila wipe her of her will to live. Her brain pounded against its sheath, begging to be released. She purses her eyes shut to try and remedy the thudding, all to no avail.
A throat clear garnered her attention. She cracked an eye open to glance up at the sound.
“Here,” Jimmy grunted, forcing a glass of water and a closed fist toward her.
She hoisted herself up onto an elbow, thankfully accepting the cavalry.
“I have to go to the studio,” he told her flatly.
She nodded, “I’m skipping work like a good employee. But I’ll get out of here.”
He scrunched his face, “Why? Just play hooky here.”
“That’s weird,” Peyton objected strangely, downing the two tiny pills Jimmy had forced into her palm.
He cocked an eyebrow, “You used to hide out here all the time.”
“I was a kid then.”
“And?” he laughed. “Don’t make this a thing, Lex. I won’t be gone long anyway. Couple hours tops.”
She glanced around, searching for reasons to escape.
“You’d better be here when I get back,” he warned. “Maybe with a new drawing for my wall.”
“You don’t have a wall to put it on,” she noted with a grin.
Jimmy scowled, “Yeah, sure. Kick me when I’m down.”
“Sorry,” she laughed. “Maybe after tonight you’ll have yourself an apartment.”
He shrugged, “Do I have to go to that? I really don’t want to.”
“Do you have to be there to view a possible new place for you to live?” she challenged incredulously.
He stared at her.
“Yes,” she sighed. “You have to go. We have to be there by seven.”
“Fine,” he whined. “But I bet it sucks.”
She rolled her eyes, “Don’t you have to leave or something?”
He smirked, “Message received. I’ll be back.”
“Go make me proud,” she teased, waving as he disappeared toward the door.
She waited until the door had closed to let herself drop back down into the sofa cushions. Her eyes traced the seamless ceiling, searching for remnants of the past. The house was entirely too still; she was restless within seconds.
With a hefty grunt, Peyton climbed to her feet and shuffled her way down to the bathroom. Her reflection caught her eye as she passed the bathroom mirror. With a horrified gasp, she stood to face herself. She rubbed at the smudged mascara bleeding from her eyes, inwardly cursing herself for letting Jimmy see her in such disarray. But as her fingers graced the scar marking her childhood across her brow, she realized Jimmy had seen her in a far more compromised position. He’d seen her bruised, bloodied, and broken. And he’d never flinched away—not once.
Sensing that the solitude might make for an opportune time to start weighing her life, she dragged herself to the kitchen to fuel her introspective fire. No good thinking could be done without coffee. She fell a bit harder for the lanky man as she rounded the corner and spotted the full pot of coffee, it’s scent filling the air with deliciousness. As she ascended upon its majesty, her fingers found a scribbled note hanging around on the counter.
I’ve downed three pots. This one is all yours. Don’t leave.
She ran the tips of her fingers over those two troubled words. While she was sure he’d meant it contextually, she couldn’t help but wonder if that resentment he’d harbored still lingered along his shores. Although things had felt simpler over the past week, there was no denying that the pair still had thirteen years of conflict to sort through. And they hadn’t even gotten started yet.
Peyton sighed to herself, wondering how it was that her life could be so cursed. And then her mind floated back to the blonde in the crowd and those nagging words she’d thrown at Jimmy.
Did you finally track her down?
Peyton mulled over it as she poured the piping hot liquid into a black mug. Had Jimmy talked about finding her? Had he tried? Where had he thought to start? How far did he get?
What would she have done if he’d succeeded?
She thought she’d spotted him once, coming out of a corner store in Connecticut. She was seventeen at the time and had done well to push her past away by then. But as the lanky boy emerged from the building with a bag of chips in hand, her heart had stopped. She’d stood frozen in place, panicking and rejoicing all at once. But once he’d turned and she’d caught a glimpse of his brown eyes, her excited terror was put to rest.
But her aching for Wiley had resurrected that day, and standing in the kitchen of the Sullivan house, she wasn’t really sure it had ever truly gone away.
She’d looked for him in other people, the way one might search a stranger for familiarity or an old building for nostalgia. She’d searched souls for his passion, she’d explored eyes for the deepest blues. She’d sampled laughs and tried on height for size. No one ever quite compared to the boy who’d held her secrets. As she thought back to Jared, a far cry from Jimmy’s personality type, she couldn’t help but notice the resemblance for the first time.
His eyes were bright blue and his nose arced subtly, just as Jimmy’s did. Jared was nowhere near as tall as Jimmy, but he’d towered over Peyton nonetheless. On the verge of an existential crisis, Peyton pushed the revelation aside.
Life, she decided, was insane. Somehow, despite her struggled hesitation, she’d ended up in the very place she’d begun.
She walked slowly to the window, pulling at the ends of her cardigan as the morning breeze floated in through the open window. She wanted to see what hell looked like from the other side—alone.
But as her green eyes settled on the haunted house next door, she watched as a figure moved along the front until it disappeared. Curious as ever, Peyton set her coffee down atop the table and pushed the window open. She leaned her body out into the morning, straining to see through walls.
“Oh, fuck this,” she groaned, retreating indoors only to quickly saunter down the hall and out the door.
She stepped onto the sidewalk, feeling suddenly nervous as her steps instinctively slowed. As she neared her own walkway, the figure appeared from the other side of her home.
Peyton’s breath caught in her throat as a pair of emerald eyes settled on her.
The women stared at each other helplessly, each overwhelmed with strange familiarity.
“C-Can I help you?” Peyton called out.
“You seen Dan Winchester?” the woman called back.
The voice crushed against Peyton’s skull, exploding with a cruel dysphoria. Every bone of every skeleton came tumbling from their closets.
For reasons unbeknownst to Peyton, her feet carried her up the walkway and within a few feet of the woman. Maybe she wanted to see the demon up close or maybe she felt she needed to prove its existence, but when she arrived at her breaking point, Peyton wasn’t sure what to do.
“Oh my god,” the woman grunted, fear and grotesque hostility rushing over her weathered face.
Peyton could hardly breathe, “M-Mom?”
“It is you,” she gasped, a flicker of glee overcoming the turmoil.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Peyton snapped, the affection scrawled across her mothers face stabbing into her skin.
Her mother scowled, “After thirteen years, that’s the greeting I get?”
“What the fuck,” Peyton reiterated through grit teeth, “are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” she countered, her skin crawling with sores.
Peyton planted her feet into the cement, decidedly grown and entirely unafraid.
Her mother sighed, “I thought your dad was here. I, uh, needed a favor.”
“My dad,” Peyton repeated. “Bullshit.”
Her mother raised a brow.
“Were you the one that broke in here?” Peyton demanded.
“Well it wasn’t me,” Allison shrugged. “But I was here, yeah.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Her mother growled, “Oh, don’t be such a fucking victim, Peyton. I didn’t know no one was here.”
Apparently years of drug abuse had severely hindered her mothers use of the English language. Peyton cringed.
“And yet, here you are, looking for my dad,” Peyton challenged.
Allison groaned, realizing that the only way she was going to get what she needed was to come clean. Not that her daughter appeared to be the most receptive of audiences. After more than a decade apart, Allison couldn’t believe her daughter wasn’t at all happy to see her.
“He was ‘sposed to leave me some cash,” Allison explained lazily. “But I got here and the door was locked.”
“Yeah,” Peyton growled. “Because I’m here. Cleaning up your fucking mess.”
She stared blankly down at her daughter, “I didn’t fuckin’ ask you to. Dan didn’t say you’d be here.”
“You can’t be here, Mom. You need to go.”
She sighed, “Peyton—“
“You need to go!” the artist shrieked.
Her mother tilted her head, “Or what, Peyton? What are you going to do?”
Peyton took a step toward her, lowering her voice until it was dreary and deranged, “I am not a fucking kid anymore. I will break your fucking neck, I don’t give a shit.”
Allison laughed, “Empty threats? You really are my daughter.”
“I’m not your anything,” Peyton snarled.
“Oh yeah, ya are, baby girl. You’ll always be my daughter,” Allison smirked, getting a real kick out of her child’s torment. “And I bet every fuckin’ time you look in the mirror, you see me looking back.”
Peyton shook her head.
“Your eyes are my eyes, Peyton,” she reminded her. “And I fucking see you.”
Peyton shook her finger, caging up all homicidal thoughts, “You need to fucking go.”
As Peyton turned on her heel, eager to abandon the situation and retreat into the Sullivan property like the good old days, her mother snaked her fingers around Peyton’s arm. Peyton whipped around, her hands landing against Allison’s chest as she shoved her with all her might.
“Don’t you dare fucking touch me,” Peyton warned.
Her mother laughed, “Jumpy!”
“Are you shitting me?” Peyton asked, emotions rising and falling like the tide. “Where the fuck do you think I inherited that from?”
Allison rolled her eyes into her skull, “You’ve always been so damn dramatic.”
Peyton was at a loss. As she stared into the soul of the devil herself, she found nothing but vile evil staring back at her. There was no remorse for the things she’d forced upon her child, there was no apology or change. It was the same demon Peyton had always known.
“Go fuck yourself,” Peyton spit. “You’re a god damn psychopath.”
“Maybe,” she shrugged. “But we’re blood, baby. So what’s that make you?”
Peyton scoffed, “A fucking martyr to have a mother life you.”
“Oh, right, I forgot, your dad’s a fucking saint,” Allison sneered. “And yet, it’s you here cleaning up my mess as it were. Where is your dad, huh? Still hiding away in Connecticut? Or did he finally move to New York with you?”
Peyton bones ran brittle as the words slipped between her mothers fangs.
“Your dad told me all about it,” Allison grinned. “Yale, Joanna, your tattoo shop. What’s it called? Omen?”
Peyton’s jaw slipped ajar.
“I know you think I’m evil,” Allison shrugged. “And maybe I am. But your dad is the one that kept you with me. Let's not forget that. He’s the one that watched. And he did fucking nothing to save you.”
Peyton was weakened, drowning in her trauma, “He took me away.”
“Yeah, when you were fucking eleven,” Allison laughed. “If I was so bad, what took so long? Why’s he forgiven and I’m not?”
“Because he didn’t beat the shit out of me,” Peyton growled. “Or offer me up to drug addicts or take my shit to pawn. He didn’t throw me down a flight of fucking stairs.”
“I never threw you—“
Peyton pushed herself into her mothers space, letting her index finger fall across her scar, “You fucking did this! The blood is still on the god damn stair, Mom! I’m scarred forever and it’s your fucking fault!”
“It’s a scar, Peyton,” her mother groaned. “Big deal.”
“I don’t just mean this one,” she burst, her voice shaking. “You ruined my fucking life. You’re the reason I had to leave. You’re the reason I don’t trust people. You’re the fucking reason I can’t stay in one place for too long.”
“So dramatic,” her mother groaned. “If you’re looking for an apology, Peyton, you’ve got the wrong girl.”
The artist shook her head, blinking rapidly as she pulled her sweater around her torso to shield herself from the truth.
“You know,” her mother thought aloud. “Maybe I didn’t go about it in the right way...but in my own way, you know I loved—“
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Peyton warned. “Unless the end of that sentence is to hurt you, don’t you fucking dare finish it.”
Her mother pursed her lips together, sensing her daughter was on the verge of making good on her previous threat.
“You need to go,” Peyton repeated for the fortieth time. “And you need to never come back.”
“I can’t do that, Peyton,” her mother informed her. “Not without the money your dad left.”
“There’s no fucking money here!” Peyton growled, throwing her arms up with exhaustion. “Didn't you figure that out when you fucking robbed me?”
Her mother eyed her strangely, “I didn’t find no money...but I did find something interesting.”
“I don’t care,” Peyton declared.
“Oh, yes you do,” her mother lamented. “Of course you do. I know you hate to admit it, Peyton. But you love your mama. You’ve always loved me.”
“I feel nothing for you,” Peyton assured her.
She nodded, “You do. You can’t help yourself. You’re your father’s daughter in that way. It’s weak, but it’s you.”
“I’m not weak,” Peyton managed.
“I need money,” her mother said, moving on from the feeling fest her daughter seemed to be inspiring. “And you’re going to give it to me.”
Peyton scoffed, “I can assure you that I am not.”
“You’re my kid,” her mother informed her. “Which means we share some things. I found a book upstairs,” she said, gesturing to the house with her head, “and I am guessing now that it’s yours.”
Peyton fell silent.
“You’re good,” her mother smirked, giving her head an awkward nod. “Just another thing you got from me.”
Peyton shook her head, “You’re not an artist.”
Her mother laughed, “Sure, Peyton. Whatever you want to believe. But you are just like me. That’s the truth.”
“I’m nothing like you,” she hissed.
“When you stop being a fucking coward, you go up into the attic. You’ll see. Your dad stored all my stuff away ages ago. It’s probably still there.”
“I want my sketchbook back,” Peyton said flatly, refusing to give her mother any curious satisfaction.
“We’ll trade,” Allison smirked. “My money for your book. If you don’t want anyone breaking down that door, you’ll just do what I say. Just cut the dramatic shit, Peyton. Do things the easy way. Mothers know best, remember?"
Peyton looked her mother over once more, reading the wrinkles and lines that wrapped around her eyes. The same shade of green, the same shape. It was like looking into a corrupted version of herself, filled with addictions and afflictions instead of curiosity and appreciation.
Peyton grunted. "I don’t know where it is.”
“Call Saint Dan,” Allison smirked, taking a step backward toward the road. “I’ll be back this afternoon.”
“I’m not fucking waiting around for you,” Peyton snarled.
“Sure you are,” her mother smiled. “Like I said, you love me. You always have.”
Peyton’s heart was heavy as her mother took her leave. She climbed into a rusted old car and tore down the street. Peyton stood dumbfounded, unable to cope and unable to move. As reality set in, she thought of a million venomous things she could have said. Things she should have said. But things are always simpler once the dust settled against the soil.
She barreled into the Sullivan house, snatching her keys and her phone from the coffee table before hurrying back across the property line. With a turn of the key, Peyton burst into her past. She flew up the stairs and grabbed at the drawstring to the attic with one determined pull. She climbed into the space, immediately overwhelmed with the copious amounts of baggage packed up into boxes.
Unsure where to start, Peyton began tearing at the cardboard. On a rampage, blinded by denial and a desire to prove to herself the disconnect between her and her mother, Peyton didn’t stop until she found what she was looking for.
And her throat released an unnatural cry when she found it.
Tucked away into a brown box were mountains of sketchbooks and loose papers. Peyton pulled out a stack, cracking the spine as her eyes fell over the unmistakable markings of talent.
A talent she knew then that she’d inherited from the one being on this earth she was revolted to share anything with.
Her hand wrapped around her mouth as a muffled cry escaped. With each turn of the page, Peyton could see her life reflected in her mothers line work. Peyton had built an entire life around her talent—and her mother had given it to her.
Shoving the books to the floor, Peyton dialed the phone. Her hand shook as she held it against her ear.
“Hey, Pey!” Dan smiled into the phone. “You’re up early—“
“Where is it?”
Dan was confused, “Where is what?”
“The money. For your wife. Where is it?”
Dan fell silent.
“Where is it?” Peyton demanded.
“In a box in the basement...inside the black amp.”
Peyton shook her head, glancing around the attic as her thoughts consumed her.
“Is everything okay?” Dan asked hurriedly. “Did someone come looking?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Peyton broke.
Her father hesitated, “What? Tell you what? Is everything okay?”
“My mother can draw?” Peyton sobbed. “She’s a fucking artist?”
Dan hesitated, “Pey, that doesn’t matter—“
“Don’t fucking Pey me,” Peyton growled. “She’s out in the fucking world? Just walking around, living her life?”
Dan gasped, “Was she there? Did she come to the house?”
“You told her about me!” Peyton continued angrily. “You told her all about my life! The one fucking thing you swore you wouldn’t do!”
He sighed, “Peyton, she’s your mother. She wanted to know—“
“I don’t give a fuck about what she wanted!” Peyton argued. “What about what I want? What I wanted? You think I wanted to be abused for half my life? You think I wanted to leave California? You think I wanted to fucking forget my life? Leave everything behind?”
“Peyton—“
“It’s always been what you wanted! What she wanted! You made me fucking stay with her! You knew what she was doing and you did nothing! You did fucking nothing!”
Dan had waited thirteen long years for this exact conversation. Despite the anticipation, he couldn’t help the tears that brimmed his eyes as his daughter’s mind snapped in half.
“All you wanted was your fucking wife! You didn’t care if she hit me—fuck, you probably wouldn’t have cared if she’d god damn killed me!”
Dan cut in, “You know that isn’t true.”
“Do I?” she challenged. “You let me build a life around this fucking bullshit. You made me into this horrible guarded shell of a human. You fucking let me fall in love with art. You knew it would kill me. You knew I got it from her. You fucking knew!”
“Peyton, your talent has nothing to do with your mother,” Dan tried to assure her. "It shouldn't matter that--"
“You turned a blind eye,” Peyton sobbed. “Just like you always did...She’s a monster, Dad. But you’re so much worse. You are.”
“Peyton!” he snapped, the words slapping him across his face.
“You sent me here. You knew she’d gotten out and you didn’t say a fucking word. I told you the house was robbed and you said fucking nothing!”
He sighed, “I was trying to take care of it. I thought—“
“You thought of yourself and nothing else,” Peyton finished for him. “And now, Dad...now I can’t fucking trust you. As far as I’m concerned, you and your wife are the same evil. I want no part of it.”
“Peyton, please,” Dan tried.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” she growled. “I’ll finish what I started. I keep my word. Something I obviously did not inherit from you.”
"Peyton!"
She swiftly ended the call, powering her phone down with purpose. She tossed it to the floor beside her as she allowed herself to be consumed by the worst ten minutes of her life. It felt somehow like an eternity.
Fancying herself a masochist, Peyton rifled through her mother's work. She inspected every single scratch of graphite with diligence until she’d worked herself catatonic.
She sat with the markings of the devil, feeling hopelessly soulless.
“Lex?” Jimmy’s voice echoed against the walls. “Lex? Are you in here?”
Peyton couldn’t bring herself to speak. She stared lifelessly at the exposed structure of the building, wishing she could burn it to the ground. She wanted to see everything her mother had touched up in flames. She’d die in that attic if it meant never having to face the truth again.
Jimmy climbed the stairs slowly, the atmosphere heavy as he searched for his friend. The steps to the attic flowed from the ceiling to the floor, a rare sight for the Winchester household. With a deep breath, Jimmy mustered the courage to climb.
As he made his way up into the attic, he was startled to find Peyton sitting silently. She didn’t acknowledge his existence in the slightest.
“Lexi?” he called out softly, his eyes traveling along the scattered books.
She was unblinking, staring through him.
“Peyton?” he snapped, worry overriding his hesitation.
She snapped from her daze, her jade eyes falling on her lifeline with relief.
“Wiley,” she cracked, her face contorting with exhausted emotion.
“What are you doing up here?” he asked her sheepishly.
She broke apart, barely squeaking out her words, “Help me.”
“What?” he quizzed cautiously, taking a step toward her.
“I fucking need you,” she sobbed, throwing the book in her lap to the floor as she leaped up and crashed into him.
He caught her without a second of thought, squeezing her tightly as she sobbed into his chest. He was entirely confused.
“I’m my mother’s daughter,” she cried. “I’m just like her.”
“What?” Jimmy gasped, pulling her further into his body until they were one soul united. “What the fuck is happening?”
Peyton shook her head, digging her fingers into his back as she desperately clung to the only safety she’d ever known.
“I don’t know who I am,” she wailed. “I don’t want to be like her! I can’t—I can’t—“
“Hey,” he said lowly, pulling away to cup her face in his hands. “Look at me.”
She shook her head again.
“Look at me,” he insisted. “We’re ten years old and I’m here. You’re with me. I’m right here.”
Her green eyes slowly drifted up to meet his blues.
“I don’t know who I am,” she said, sorrow beating her existence to a pulp.
“You’re Lexi,” he half-smiled.
Her face fell, “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means you’re not her daughter,” he reminded her. “It’s means that you’re a part of me. And not an inch of my soul is anything that happened to you, Lexi. Not one fucking inch of it.”
He bore into her heart, searching for answers. Looking for a way to pull her back.
“I saw her,” Peyton managed weakly. “I talked to her. And now I’m...I was supposed to be strong.”
“You are strong,” he told her sternly.
Her lips fell, “I’m not in control. I’ve never been in control. Everything I am...it’s her.”
“No it isn’t,” Jimmy stated firmly.
“She’s an artist,” Peyton croaked. “She has my fucking eyes. I’m built from her DNA. I’m a product of who she is. I’m broken because she fucking broke me.”
Jimmy released her hold, pulling the shaken woman back into his arms, “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Peyton argued.
“We’ll make it okay,” he assured her. “I swear we will.”
Peyton leaned into him, willing herself to regain composure and let Jimmy fix her. Even if only for the moment. His touch and his touch alone had always had a way of bringing her back to life.
Like true love’s kiss.
“How do you know?” she asked quietly, sniffling back the tears.
He sighed, resting his chin against her head, “Because I fucking need you too.”
Peyton dug her fingers into his back.
“And I can’t breathe until you’re okay,” he said softly.
“I’m broken,” she whimpered.
He exhaled deeply, “Me too. We’ll be broken together.”
Peyton closed her eyes and breathed him in.
“We’re whole when we're together, Lexi. So...we’re just going to have to stay like this until we die if we have to.”
She half-laughed, nodding gently.
“And when you’re ready,” he continued, a light smile tracing his lips. “You’re going to tell me what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Peyton nearly laughed. Instead, she melted into Jimmy’s being and willed herself to be whole. She willed herself to place herself into the confines of the past and pretend nothing had ever changed.
If she pushed herself hard enough, she thought she might be able to hear Jimmy’s love beating inside his chest. It was a rhythm she’d known once and desperately found herself longing to hear again.
“You’re always saving me,” she sighed into him.
He smiled, “You’re a part of me. And you’ve gotta save yourself, right?”
She hummed something of an indecisive reply.
Jimmy whispered into her hair, “I will always save you, Lex. Always.”
Her eyes burst open as that one, loud, distinct thud beat against his chest and into her ear. It echoed against the chambers of her heart, daring her to let her shattered bones fuse together.
Peyton let the past claw at her limbs, sinking it's teeth into her calves and ripping at her flesh with a thirst for her blood. It poured its venom into her veins, daring her to overdose on reality. It dared her to acknowledge everything that had happened. The choices she'd made. The choices that had been made for her. As it wormed it's way into her system with a burning viciousness, Peyton knew the time had finally come to let her world's collide.
Wrapped up in Jimmy’s arms, trashed and entirely scattered, Peyton welcomed the violence.

Notes

Long. Even by my standards.
But there was no natural break! I swear!

Feelings.

That is all.

xx