On the Outside
I don't own Dean or Sam – Mores the pity. If I did Supernatural would be the first nudist show on TV.
On the outside he's a successful lawyer. An office in Beverley Hills brought with his own money and very swish – thank you very much. There's leather sofas for the clients to sit on whilst they wait for him, tea and coffee served by attractive but intelligent secretaries, exotic plants in the hallway and gold name plaques on every wall.
On the inside he hates it. He wants to help the poor and needy, defend those who, in the eyes of society at least, have done the indefensible. His partners shake their heads and purse their lips. "Suicide for the business" they say in hushed voices and he smiles at them, wondering why an earth he does this. 'Because it was all that was left' his inner voice says 'all you had left was your brain'. So he had to use it.
On the outside he is an eligible bachelor, not yet thirty, tall, well muscled, well dressed. A lot of his clients are women. The younger ones think that he has dangerous eyes and kissable lips, the older ones see sadness and the longing for a maternal figure in his life. They flirt and they touch fingers on his bare arm, gentle hands on his back. The braver ones sometimes pinch his butt and he smiles at them, dimples deepening. This is often the smile that seals the deal.
On the inside he isn't interested. He needs the physical comfort but nothing else. He doesn't want a girlfriend and he certainly doesn't want a wife. He wanted a family once, but that was then. There isn't any room for family in his life now or ever.
On the outside he has an executive apartment on the best side of town. Double glazed windows, a concierge in the lobby, two pools and a maintenance man on call day and night.
On the inside though, it's an empty shell. There's sofa, a TV, a computer and a bed. No personal touches. The white walls are bare of pictures, no photo albums on the coffee table, no well worn ornaments, not even a stuffed bear from childhood. Sometimes, when the maid comes, she questions anyone even lives there, but she cleans it all the same.
On the outside he's living the high life. Trips to the opera, ballet and the finest restaurants that the city has to offer. Smart suits, crisp shirts and silk ties. He's got his own seat at the baseball and owns two cars. Other men glare in him in envy; they want his looks, his money, and his world.
On the inside he just exists, there's no joy, no excitement, no drive. On the inside he's rotting away, a little piece of him fades every day and there is no getting it back. On the inside he's disappearing and has been all these years since his brother died in his arms, his lips forming one word with his last breath. "Sammy"
On the outside he's living, but inside he's dying and he knows it won't be long now till he's inside out.