A/N: Set at the beginning of season 4 so spoilers up until end of season 3. Yes I know, all my stories have suddenly become Dean angst...and I'm working on another one in the same category. Sue me. Or don't- I don't own anything


I wait as long as I can between shaves. I wait until the stubble on my chin turns from scruffy to just plain shaggy. I wait until Sam comments that I should buy a cabin in the mountains and adopt a blue ox named Babe. And then I wait longer.

The goal is to eventually forget what my face looks like. I can't stand to see the man staring back at me; the man with the empty eyes and the wasted soul. He sickens me, turns my stomach to acid. That's why I avoid the mirrors. That's why I make lame excuses and say things like "come on Sammy, girls love the scruffy look". My laugh sounds fake even to my own ears. And I know I'm not fooling Sam. Sam, my brother. The one who knows me completely, the one I've shared a room with since we were four years old.

He thinks he still knows me. He thinks I'm almost the same. A little ragged, a little worse for wear maybe, but still the same.

I wish he was right.

He sees who I was but not who I am. He can't understand the things I won't say, but I know he catches glimpses of the monster I've become. I know because even though I can avert my eyes from the bathroom mirror and blind myself with the splash of freezing sink water, I can't hide from my baby brother. Every day we spend together, Sam can see the cracks in my once impenetrable walls. He has a front row seat to the pain that tears at my chest and rips apart the person I was before I sacrificed my soul to the depths of Hell.

I still have no regrets. I would make that deal again in a heartbeat, but I wish Sammy didn't have to see what Hell has made me.

But of course he sees. He sees the way I duck from the reflection in the Impala's rearview mirror, how I blur my vision behind endless bottles of the strong stuff. I'm scared he knows why. He can probably sense that I'm no longer worthy of being his brother. Part of him might know that I'm a monster now, a demon as dark and twisted as the rest of them. And if that's true, if he knows...

Oh God I can't take it.

I can't do anything to stop his insistent questions and piercing stares. I can't always drop my eyes fast enough, before he sees the absolute nothingness behind them.

But still, maybe if I avoid my own reflection, maybe then I can keep avoiding the truth, just for a little while longer. If I just stop looking back at myself, staring at that same expression. God, I can't take that piercing gaze, devoid of all emotion. Dad always told me I had my mother's eyes. Hah. Maybe there was a time when they were as pure and soft as hers, but not anymore. Mine are hard and dead and hollow. Cut from graceless, colorless stone.

Those cold eyes, peering into the depths of my tattered heart. They miss nothing. I can't hide from them, can't hide from myself and the things I've done.



The glass explodes beneath my fist, showering the tiled floor with shimmering shards of light, a light that I can no longer find within my soul. It's satisfying only for a moment, and then I hear the pounding on the door. Sam's yelling, panicking, and I should say something, tell him I'm okay, but all I can do is stare at the way my bloody knuckles glisten red as the light dances off of them.

And then the last few shards of the mirror stop clattering and go still and all thats left is a broken mirror and a broken man with no way to fix either one.

Thanks for reading, reviews are always appreciated!