A/N: Dalton-verse; this is from Todd Hendricks' point of view. I'm planning this story to be about three chapters. The next two chapters will have dialogue in them and Dwight and possibly Laura Bancroft will be involved. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, Dalton, Supernatural, etc.
It's extremely -excuse me for being ironic- haunting to be possessed by a demon. The memories never fade. You feel like they're still controlling you even after the exorcism has been performed. I keep wondering if it will come back; if those suicidal thoughts will return and I have no idea what to do about my notebook. I suppose I should begin from the beginning…I apologize if I bore you with the fucked up nature of my life but I need to get it out somewhere. I can tell Dwight pretty much everything now, but I still like having my own privacy in the safe haven of my writing.
It all started when I went home for a few weeks. No warning, no notes, no nothing. Dwight didn't even know where I was and that was the way I wanted it. He would've come after me. He would've packed every damn thing in our room into his impala and driven off to get me. But then again, he was completely oblivious to the state I was in. Everything was painful, emotionless and numb. I simply existed with no purpose; everything was eating away at me and I didn't do anything to stop it. I didn't want to. I didn't want to pretend things were okay because they weren't. I couldn't tell him that of course; he would've worried more than usual. I tend to keep my personal feelings close. I don't tell many people, if any. If I get too close to people, I lose them. They disappear or they're taken from me and I lose that trust. I couldn't bare losing Dwight but I almost did…almost…
I write…a lot. I'm on the newspaper so I usually tell anyone who asks that I'm doing articles and whatnot, but the truth is, I basically pour myself out into journals, notebooks, anything you can find. I'm a huge introvert and it took me so long to fully trust Dwight, as my roommate, my friend and now, he's like my brother. He's saved my life countless times and I wouldn't be here without him. I honestly wouldn't. I said some really awful things to him when I was possessed and I'm scared he took it to heart. I mean, who wouldn't? We watch Supernatural marathons together, you can't lie and say that the Winchester brothers don't physically pain over the sight of each other struggling with demonic thoughts. I always wonder what goes through Dwight's mind when he's hunting, when he's driving, when he returns…how do you block that out? How do you move past it? I worry about him; I worry he won't come back one of these times and that I'll lose the one person who keeps me stable.
My parents are fairly strict; they have expectations on me and our family reputation is crucial. I hate it. I sometimes think I must've been adopted or something since we're from opposite sides of the spectrum. I've got so used to living in my own head and keeping to myself, so it's been difficult to let people in. Maybe it was easier with Dwight because we had tragedy in our past; that's sort of what made me trust him. I found out about Alan, I mean, who doesn't know? It's the worst feeling in the world to lose someone you depended on and constantly blame yourself. I lost my cousin, Andrew, to suicide. I watched it happen; I saw the last cut dig into his paled, blood-stained flesh; saw his eyes close; saw his head smash against the cold porcelain bathtub in that no-longer vacant washroom upstairs. I witnessed his last moments and I couldn't stop it. I just stood there and let him bleed to death. My family likes to pretend it didn't happen. They like to ignore that part of our lives; it's as if they buried the truth with Andrew. There was no headstone, no funeral, no nothing. His death was simply shoved to the side and I was never allowed to talk about it. Andrew Mitchell Hendricks never existed in the eyes of my family and I refuse to accept that fact.
I don't really remember how it slipped out, but I managed to tell Dwight. It felt so much better knowing that someone else, knew; someone else cared; someone else noticed. I usually play the role of the wallflower; hermit away in my room and pretend I don't exist; Uncle Vernon would like me. Sometimes I wish I could be a part of the Vernon family; it's more exciting than mine at least. Anyways, I'm boring you. Sorry. I'll get to the actual story. So, like I said previously, I write down everything. I wrote about Andrew and dramatics at Dalton and Dwight's hunts, etc. I was an idiot and left my notebook at home one day and Dad found it. There was a confrontation, mainly because Andrew was mentioned and Dad got angry. I was 'dragging our family's name through the mud' with the mention of our little black spot on the Hendricks family tree. He was mad at me for keeping secrets and immersing myself in a fantasy world of the supernatural that did not exist. He was mad at me for writing everything down and spending too much time at the newspaper office and not on my studies. The list went on and on until he finally burnt the evidence. He burnt my notebook and you wouldn't believe how fast that paper singed. My whole life, all the confessions and time I poured into expressing my inner thoughts so that they wouldn't choke me up inside were gone. Maybe it seems silly to you but that was my way of survival and I was never going to get it back.
I didn't bring any protections with me when I went home. I forgot them, purposefully. I didn't want Dwight looking after me all the time and saving me from everything. I needed to learn to protect myself so I left my amulet in my dorm. Not the best decision in the world since now my notebook was gone and I had lost a part of myself. I was upset, I was scared, I was vulnerable and the demons knew that. They knew how to get to me and they were successful. I bought a new notebook in town but I felt different while writing. I was fidgety, panicked and desperate. I wrote about escape; my escape; my way out and how exactly I was going to succeed. I planned my various preferred deaths. My whole notebook was filled with dark, sinister thoughts of suicide and I felt powerful while writing them; like suicide was what I really needed and the thought of hurting people through my death was enticing. I knew it was the work of a demon, yet I didn't bother to resist it.
I returned to Dalton and faked my personality; faked my thoughts; faked my actions; faked my smiles. Everything was a lie and I was going to allow the demon to take over everything within me. I was going to use it to my advantage and skilfully plan my death, just to impact even more people and ruin their lives along with mine; almost dragging them down with me. It was the demon's idea and I was listening to it. Dwight knew something was wrong but I had gotten good at perfecting my demonic existence. No one knew something possessed me; they just figured I was upset and I was perfectly fine with that way of thinking. Dwight and I were alone in my room, reflecting over my return and my mindset when the demon came to the surface. Part of me felt bad for leading Dwight on but the other side of me was possessed, it didn't care. It wanted to hurt him. It wanted to see him cringe.
The demon pushed Dwight over the edge and how couldn't it? It had possessed his best friend and jabbing him with truthful statements that cut deep. The demon knew exactly how to get to Dwight's core and attack him with my words. I had no protection against it, I wasn't being careful and I was letting it take me over. My eyes had clouded over with darkness; my voice had adjusted to fit the demon's, raspy and bitter; my grip on my roommate was firm, powerful and determined. Part of me wanted to take advantage of Dwight's fear and use it against him and part of it was working. I could smell the fear on him, so could the demon. It was making us stronger, but Dwight tried to fight it. Incantations stung my insides, salt lines taunted my existence and holy water was pointed right at me but the demon's words prevented Dwight from continuing. The demon was slowly killing Dwight emotionally; it had told Dwight the truth that he wasn't paying much attention to me and he didn't know the full story. The demon told him about my suicidal tendencies and thoughts, the demon teased Dwight, reminding him that I still existed in this body and if he hurt him, I might not survive the exorcism. He knew exactly how to blackmail my best friend and I could hear everything. I had let the demon in too far and it was beyond control. I was losing myself and I was losing Dwight.
Pain seeped through my veins as Dwight's Latin became stronger. I can't imagine how he must've been feeling to watch me like this, to muster up the strength to fight this demon that possessed me and not let his worst fears take over. Somehow, he managed it. Somehow, he fought off the evil inside of me. Somehow, he saved me.