Title: I'd Rather Have The Pain…
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Only get pleasure, no money. Welcome to the world thru my eyes.
A/N: I'm just a bad penny, what can I say…or maybe like that chewing gum you step on in a parking lot you can never quite get off your shoe. The kind that leaves long sticky tendris when you lift your foot. Just when you think it's all gone, you're stuck to the floor again.
Summary: Sam and sorta Dean POV. Lost in the dark nothingness. Angst. Dean's thoughts, Sam's thoughts. Little this…..little that….I promised a second part but the site was screwed up for so long I lost interest. But, I added more anyway.
Sam watched as Dean destroyed the vampire, driving the metal rod through it's heart with a fury that Sam found disturbing. The grind of the saw as Dean pulled it down over the creature's throat, severing the head from its shoulders in a hail of bloody spray. The look in Dean's eyes as he turned to Sam, face splattered with scarlet, was awful to behold. In that instant, Dean had been taken by madness and Sam was afraid. For him and of him.
The moment passed and Sam watched again in appalled disgust as Dean and his new friend Gordon reveled in the evening's spill of blood and conquest. Dean was always high after a kill as long as there were no serious injuries or fuck ups but this, this was different. It was as if Dean were mentally rolling in the memory, covering himself with it. Getting drunker with each passing moment and sounding more stupid with every word that stumbled from his mouth as he and Gordon laughed and bonded in an imagined sense of sameness.
He had finally had enough and abandoned them to it so his "buzzkill" as Dean had put it wouldn't put a damper on their fun.
Had he stayed within listening distance he would probably have been hurt and mystified by the fact that Dean found it so easy to spill his guts to a complete stranger rather than someone who cared about him. In time Sam might have even understood why that was.
The actual pain of the blow Dean had landed on Sam's cheekbone later that night was nothing compared to the pain of knowing Dean considered this stranger's words to be worth more than Sam's.
The fact that Sam had turned out to be right was small comfort. Being right had turned Dean's already twisted world upside down. Doubt about their actions had never been a consideration and if the easy distinctions were no longer there to hold onto, how could they know the difference?
It had all come to a head very suddenly. A young girl had died and been reanimated by a very misguided young man. Dean had been wound so tightly through the whole ordeal he had quivered like an overstrung bow, barely in control of his temper or actions. Sam had tried to get him to calm down but Dean was beyond that. Sam should have realized what was wrong when Dean had spat the words, "Dead things should stay dead!" with such vehemence into Neil's face.
The girl had been put back to rest, Dean had slammed the knife into her chest himself, nailing her to the coffin. Ending that part of the problem with a an angry flourish. It was on the empty drive away from their home and all that remained of their life there that Dean had suddenly pulled the car to the side of the road and gotten out without a word, obviously agitated.
Moving awkwardly, favoring his probably broken wrist, Sam had climbed from the car, pausing at Dean's terse "I'm sorry." and then had slowly settled on the hood next to Dean as the faltering words finally forced their way out.
"I know you've been thinking it. So have I. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Back at the hospital, I had a full recovery. It was a miracle. And five minutes later, dad's dead and the Colt's gone." Dean gestured angrily. "You can't tell me there's not a connection there. I don't know how the demon was involved, I don't know how the whole thing went down exactly, but Dad's dead because of me. And that much I do know."
"We don't know that, not for sure." Sam tried but he knew Dean wasn't hearing it.
"Sam. You and dad – you're the most important people in my life." Dean struggled to get the words out. "And now –" He paused, lost for what to say. " I never should have come back, Sam. It wasn't natural, and now look what's come of it. I was dead. And I should have stayed dead. You wanted to know how I was feeling. Well, that's it." He looked away, throat working, jaw clenched.
And there it was, the guilt, the anger, everything he had had bottled up inside condensed into a few choked words.
"So tell me." Dean said thickly, looking back at Sam, the tear that spilled from his eye leaving a burn like acid down his face. "What could you possibly say to make that all right?"
The abject misery rolling off of Dean as he turned stricken eyes on Sam was almost a physical blow. The trickle of the tear down Dean's cheek, the effort Dean was putting in trying to keep himself under control, just another twist of the knife.
Even in admitting the truth about the agony that haunted him, he still couldn't let go of his emotions. Give himself release.
Be careful what you wish for…. Sam couldn't help thinking, 'cause now that he had it, he wasn't sure he wanted it after all.
But there it was, none the less. Dean had given him as much as he could. One more life wasted on his behalf, another unwanted notch on his soul.
Another gift he didn't want.
Sorry it's kind of choppy. Kiss, Kiss