A/N: All characters and Supernatural do not belong to me. I am writing for my enjoyment and not for profit.
The setting takes places somewhere around the beginning of Season Three, before the dream episode (still not clear on titles, but I'm learning. You know what I'm talking about).
Warning: Thoughts of death/dying. If it is a possible trigger for you, please feel free to move on to another story that is trigger free. I promise I am not mad.
Rated T for mild language and theme.
Light from the muted TV flickered and made white splashes of white against the darkness of the musty motel room. The digital clock shifted from 2:23 AM to 2:24 AM, the red numbers glaring and blinking into the late night silence. Dean knew this silence. This was the silence that pressed in on all sides like the darkness in the room, threatening to encompass him entirely. It was completely quiet, other than the beating of his heart, his own breaths, his movements that shifted the bed in creaks and moans. Dean gazed at the TV, seeing the pictures and not seeing them at the same time. The light danced across his face and the darkness was all-encompassing, threatening to take him and the light with him. He glanced at the clock. 2:27AM. A frustrated sigh escaped his clenched jaw.
To describe the day as rough would have been an understatement. He and Sam found a case in Middle of Nowhere, Idaho and it was supposed to be just like any other case. This time, however, two kids didn't make it. Dean had tried his hardest, but he was too late to stop the spirit from claiming its last two victims. Sam took it pretty hard too. The night had ended in a moody silence, beer, and the never-ending tension that hung over the brothers since Dean had sold his soul to get Sam back from death. Sam had wanted to bring up the topic again, but Dean shut him down. He was alive and that's what mattered. Why'd Sam have to ruin the time they had together?
Dean grabbed the remote control and jabbed at the power button. The TV turned off with one last brilliant flash and let the darkness take over. Punching the pillow, Dean rolled over to his side, the lumpy bed creaking loudly under his weight. From the other side of the room, he heard his brother stirring. Dean stopped moving and lay still. He didn't want Sam to wake up. He didn't want Sam to ask questions. Why was Dean awake? Why can't he sleep? Is he okay? A corner of Dean's mouth twitched. His little brother always asked the tough questions. Dean always had an answer. Maybe not the truth, but it was an answer.
The truth…Dean flopped on his stomach, squashed the pillow against the headboard and buried his head into his arms. He never told Sammy the truth unless it was necessary. Until then, a fib now and again never hurt nobody. Eventually, he would tell the truth, but on his own time. His own time was usually never. Sam knew that and when he wanted Dean to talk straight, Sam had to practically rip it out of him. In the end, Sam got his way. Sam always got his way. Dean let out a silent breath through his nose, half amused, half scornful. Sam wasn't gonna get the truth from him this time. This truth was Dean's and no matter how much Sammy bitched at him, this truth would never see the light of day. Dean could feel the darkness around him, touching him, and holding him down. A knot formed in his chest, right above his stomach. Dean swallowed, pushing panic down into the knot, where it belonged.
Dean didn't even want to admit the truth in the safety of his own head. He felt his heart pounding, beating against the bed, almost as if it wanted to escape. If he was still enough, he could feel the pulse in his hands, the blood flowing through his body, keeping him alive. Alive...Dean's breath was ragged in the silence. All of this could end in a second. One little misfire, one little mistake and everything would end. Dean knew all too well that the certainty of the next moment, next second, was not guaranteed. He turned to his side. The clock read 2:43 AM. For a while, Dean stared at the glowing red numbers, letting them blur into his unseeing gaze. That was just it, wasn't it? His next moment wasn't guaranteed. He was living on borrowed time. Borrowed time was something that Dean didn't want to waste.
Dean could admit that he was being a little reckless. And when he said a little, he meant throw caution to the wind and forget the parachute, I'm going to Hell anyway reckless. Who could blame him? He wanted to enjoy the time that was left for him. Hell, if he wanted to spend it chasing chicks, monsters, booze, and double cheeseburgers with extra onions then that was the way he was gonna spend it. Danger didn't even seem to stop him. His life didn't really matter anymore; he was a dead man walking. As long as the job got done and Sammy was safe, he didn't care when he went. The knot just above his stomach tightened painfully, and spread into his throat. A lump formed there and Dean couldn't seem to swallow it away.
The clock blinked 3:00 AM. Dean threw himself onto his back and pressed his hands into his eyes. Dead man walking. If there was an expression that accurately described how Dean felt, then this was it. He knew he was already dead on the inside. That's why he didn't care if…if he died. He was useless. Sometimes, he thought that even his dad thought he was nothing besides a hunter to be used. Dad always preferred Sammy to him. Dean was just Daddy's good little soldier, the tool, the mindless goon. He didn't matter. In the bigger picture, he wasn't the best one to fight this war. Yeah, Dean had strength and agility and could drop a vamp without even batting an eye. But that wasn't essential. There were plenty of good hunters out there who were better fighters than him. Everybody would be better off without him. He was too broken. Hell, he wasn't even strong enough to be alone. He was a selfish bastard. He brought Sammy back because he was too damn scared to live without him and now...now Sammy had to live without Dean. Dean didn't do his job and left Sam unprotected. He failed and now his little brother was going to lose him. Self-hatred rose in his chest. It had to be this way. Dean felt responsible for creating this mess and he was gonna pay for it. He wasn't supposed to be alive anyway. Sammy was though, Sammy deserved to be, and now…now he could make it right. Sam was strong and could go on. Sam would win the war. Dean knew that Sam could. Everyone would be better off if he wasn't around. He was just baggage.
Sam shifted in his sleep and groaned softly. Dean scrubbed his face and raised his head to check on his little brother. Dean could just make out Sam's foot dangling off the end of the bed. Dean snorted softly into the dark. His Sasquatch of a brother could never fit on these crappy motel beds. He glanced at the clock. 3:13 AM. Dean huffed and let his head slam back into his pillow. Do you really think you're baggage? A small voice in his head that sounded too much like Sam tugged at his thoughts. Do you really hate yourself that much? Dean grabbed the spare pillow next to him and shoved it against his face. If Sam wasn't there, he'd probably have screamed. Honestly? Yes. But don't you care that you're going to die? Don't you care that you're going to Hell? No. Really? Dean pressed the pillow harder against his face. His heart pounded in his ears and he swallowed against the damn lump in his throat that just wouldn't go away. This was his truth. This was the one thing he didn't want to admit to himself. The one thing that Sam called him out on…Dean Winchester was afraid. Dean Winchester didn't really want to die. Dean Winchester was afraid to go to Hell. Dean Winchester was terrified of what would happen to Sammy when he died. And it was his entire fault. Dean threw the pillow across the room and choked back a sob that threatened to escape his control. The red light of the clock cast an eerie glow against the wall, blinking forlornly with the seconds ticking away. Dean could hear Sam's deep breathing, sleeping peacefully just five feet from him. Darkness pressed against his eyes and he shut them against the fear, the pain, and the hate. So what if he was afraid? Terrified? It didn't stop him from his fate. He still had it coming to him. He was still nothing. Dean deserved Hell. The clock blinked 3:47.
A/N: Welp! How was that? Feel free to let me know! I'm super late to hop on the Supernatural band wagon, but here I am! I absolutely LOVE the characters and the story and I don't even get scared (which was one of my main reasons why it took me so long to watch it)! I'm on my second marathon (in a row) through the series and I just HAD to let some Dean angst out. Love me some Dean angst.