First fanfic! Good? Bad? Keep going? Let me know! :3
WHERE THERE'S A WILL
The sun filtered in bleakly through the faded curtains of yet another run down motel room. Dean was lying on his back staring dejectedly at the ceiling. His head felt heavy on the lumpy pillow as he rubbed his temples absent mindedly. There hadn't been any leads in weeks and no school due to summer vacation. It was strange not having to get up before the sun, going after God knows what and he took advantage of this opportunity to sit and wallow in self pity without his father's stern face staring back at him.
Years of traveling across the country killing every evil thing in sight to feed his father's sick obsession had taken an emotional toll on the fair-haired teen. And now with no hunts or school to keep him busy, Dean had too much free time to reflect on his life.
Dean loved his father. Truly, he did. He did his best to please him, to follow his orders without question, to be a son his father could be proud of. But he could never be good enough. Now with this extra time to reflect, the all too vivid memories of black eyes, bruised ribs, and broken bones wouldn't let him forget this fact. A tear slid unchecked down his face.
Rustling from the bed next to his warned Dean that he didn't have much time left to do what he had to do, what he needed to do to get through another day. He quickly darted his eyes from his duffle bag on the floor to his father's sleeping form. It was rare that his father, John, would sleep in and Dean was going to take full advantage of that.
Dean's back was still painfully tender from the last time he needed to be "taught a lesson", and he tried to sit up as quietly as he could, biting down on his fist to keep from groaning at the sharp pain radiating down his spine. Once he was sitting up, he stood from the bed slowly and shuffled over to his duffle bag, hands trembling slightly at the prospect of being able to do what he had been dying to do for the past several days. As soon as his hand found what he was looking for he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Grabbing a few other things he spared one last glance at his father before quietly slipping inside the dingy bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.
He wasted no time as he slid down the now closed door, simultaneously rolling up the sleeve to his sleep shirt. As he stared down at the blade he saw all of his failures, all of the hate that his father not only had toward him, but the hate Dean felt toward himself. He saw the fire, that terrible fire, ripping away his only chance at a normal life. He saw his mother's warm smile as she read to him, telling Dean that she loved him. He saw his baby brother's soulful eyes.
His head was pounding as he finally lowered the sharp edge to his skin. The air in the bathroom was thick and suffocating, pressing down on him, crushing him as the blade bit at his skin. Deeper, just a bit deeper… just. A stream of dark crimson fled from the blade, a striking contrast against the delicate cream of his skin. The pounding in his head finally was gone and he felt almost weightless as he sat there dazed. Hearing noise coming from the room, Dean quickly shot up, much to the disapproval of his back, as he turned the shower on.
Stripping out of his clothes he took a second to stare at himself with a practiced clinical detachment in the slowly fogging mirror. Dean hadn't been the only one with extra time on his hands. Yellowing bruises from a few weeks ago peppered across his ribs and turning, he could see the deep purple of the most recent addition cutting across his back. As part of his latest punishment, the 16 year old hadn't eaten in days. Being slim to begin with, the food ban in conjunction with intense training sessions caused his hip bones to protrude sharply. He rubbed a hand down his flat stomach as it growled savagely. Suddenly noticing the blood still running down his arm, he stepped into the shower and let the steamy spray wash away his transgression.
Loud banging on the bathroom door quickened his pace as he worked up a frothy lather all over his body, relishing the stinging coming from the fresh cut. After he had rinsed and dried himself off, he put on his clothes and quickly surveyed the bathroom to ensure he was leaving nothing behind.
When he opened the door he was startled to see his father's face looking down darkly at him.
"Move," was the deep command rumbling from John's chest.
Not complying quickly enough for his taste, John forcefully grabbed Dean's arm and threw the frightened teen into the room before stomping into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him. Not long after that, the sound of the shower running cut through the suddenly tense silence of the motel room.
Dean, shaking, slowly rose from the ground and sat on the edge of his bed. Scooting himself back until he was leaning against the headboard, he clutched his knees tightly to his chest as he silently rocked back and forth.
Today would be a long day.