A/N: This came to me in bed and had to write it. I am hopeful that the season gives as much throught and feeling to Dean emotion fallout as I have. Because if he just shrugs his shoulders and say "oh well." I will not only be disappointed in the shows creators and writers, I may very well never watch it again.


He had no idea how long he'd been there. A second. A lifetime. He didn't really care. He just stared into his own eyes, wishing they weren't blood shot, a mix of green, brown and red. Glistening under the fluorescent lights. He could hear Sam moving around on the other side of the door but he couldn't bring himself to care.

A loss of faith and hope was nothing new to Dean Winchester. It wasn't like he'd been all that faithful before, but then warm gentle fingers had wrapped around his soul. Filling him up with it. Giving him more than he thought possible.

He hadn't had faith in God or religion. He had faith in Sammy – for the most part. – In Bobby and in Cass.

Despite what famine had said almost two years ago, he hadn't been completely empty. He'd had hope, though he hadn't known it. Now he was faithless again. Hopeless again.

Dean stared at his reflection, staring at the worn tired lines at the corners of his eyes. The permanent crease between his brows. He was thirty-three but he felt a hundred. His face didn't even look like his any longer. It was a stranger staring back at him.

Those hazel eyes drifted from his, down his face, down his neck, across to his shoulder. His heart tightened at the sight he saw there.

Or more practically the sight he did not. He'd become so used to seeing that permanent remind of his salvation. Of his friendship – of his profound bond with an angel of the lord who'd saved him in more ways than one.

Now the flesh was smooth once more. Not even a hint of the hand that had bound them together. It had begun to vanish the night he'd turned his back on its owner. By the time him, Sam and Bobby had escaped Cass fury it was gone completely.

Tears burned behind Dean's eyes. He hadn't allowed anyone to see just how much guilt and pain he carried. He couldn't help but blame himself for it all,

He'd allowed Castiel to get too close. He'd allowed the angel into that place that was reserved only for his kid brother.

His gaze rose once again to stare at the tear filled empty eyes. His heart shrinking painfully with disappointment when he didn't find bright blue over his shoulder.

A tear slide from the corner of his eyes. He pressed his lips together hoping to hold back more, along with the growing agony he was feeling.

His hands were shaking. His heart racing. He opened his mouth to speak. His guilt pulling two dangerous words from his throat in a whisper. He deserved punishment. He'd destroyed himself, his brother and his best friend. How many had died because he'd allowed an angel into his heart?

"Bloody Mary."

His heart raced. Tears stained his unshaven cheeks.

"Bloody Mary."

Two words and it would be over. He'd be punished for it all. – For his own foolishness. Two words and he would not have to face a future without faith or hope.

"Bloody M….."

"Dean!" an angry voice he tried not to recognize echoed through his mind, warning him to stop. Forcing him to stop.

Dean wanted to continued, he opened his mouth to finish, but his throat closed around the words. The two words that would bring him peace.

Angrily he slammed his foot backwards into the door with a furious force. So hard it reverberated up his leg.

He quickly repeated the action, accepting the thrill it gave him. Again and again until he heard the splintering of wood. He expected to hear Sam calling him or storming into see what was happening but there was nothing. His brother had clearly abandoned him to his grieve. Even though Sammy couldn't know that was what he felt.

He turned around and continued to kick at the door until it finally gave way under his rage. Breathlessly he turned back to the mirror. Opening his mouth determined to finish summoning vengeance.

But the words did not come. He simply looked at the glass blindly. It did not reflect his soul. It reflected his image. – What he wanted others to see. It would not show the truth of what lay beneath.

Without thought or reason Dean's fist collided with it. Over and Over until his knuckles bleed and his emotional pain was mirrored by the physical.

Breathing hard. Blood dripping from his split flesh, smeared across the glass before him, tears staining his cheeks and burning his eyes, he regarded the mirror and was glad that now it showed his true self. Reflecting his soul.

His hope.

His faith.

His friendship.

His heart.

Because they were all like this mirror.



A/N: Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think.