A/N: The title is borrowed from the song by Muse. The song was used in the Season 2 episode "Hunted". This is actually a fic I wrote a long time ago for another fandom, but I decided to rework it and make it about Dean.
Disclaimer: I claim nothing.
Supermassive Black Hole
Dean was alone, in the most fundamental sense; he was part of a larger society, but if that society was wiped clean to leave him as the sole living human, he would actually be less alone than he was at the current time. And actually, that idea was pretty probable at this point. Dean actually wished something would come, wipe it all out, even himself, because then he'd be dead and would be no worse off than he was now. Dean had every reason to kill himself. Something told him, though, if he were to try, his efforts would be thwarted somehow. Just to take the piss.
Of course there had been Sam, his Sammy. And there had been all the girls, whatever their names had been, whatever their stories had been. Most of the time he wasn't interested. They had been chicks who could be cute if Dean drank enough, and fortunately they always seemed to catch him when he had been drinking a lot. They let him do whatever he wanted or needed. Dean had enjoyed them in the same way he enjoyed food, or a hot shower, or Metallica, and they never had a personalities that Dean was able to identify with; however, if Dean was drunk enough, he would do tthings he'd regret. Some of them would say things that implied he had to make fundamental life changes just to kiss them; Dean took that as an extended speech about how they didn't like him for who he was. But he wasn't sure he wanted them to anyway.
Dean had been downright smitten by women who wouldn't make the cover of a fashion mag; however, they were people he had gotten to know for who they were. Some of them had been stupid for acting like they were worth burning bridges. Even perfect tits and a perfect ass don't keep the monsters at bay.
Dean thought about Lisa. Lisa was fucking beautiful. Lisa had the beauty to make up for a defective brain, and her brain was not defective, far from it. Of course, Lisa also had to be possibly the most understanding woman on the planet and that only made Dean's life more painful.
Dean wondered what was the point. Dean had a "job" that he hated. He had a life that he hated. Dean wished that the fucking stupid x-ian culture belief hadn't made suicide taboo; but then again, taboo was his fucking middle name. It was stupid. If killing one's self under torture wasn't blasphemous, then why would it be under other circumstances? Dean cursed the world; it didn't care - maybe it did, but if it did, it hated him.
Dean thought about going to a strip club. The greatest thing the dancers did was look into his eyes. For fifteen dollars, he could actually feel like a real human being for three minutes. That meant that feeling like a real human being would cost Dean $300 an hour.
Dean tried to remember the last time he felt comfortable looking into Lisa's eyes. He missed looking into Sam's eyes. Sam. Goddamnit, Sammy.
Dean thought about his .45. Dean wished he had been raised in an x-ian family. Dean would never know love. But Dean wished he could look into Sam's eyes. Dean wished he could pretend.
Dean thought about Everclear. He could chug a bottle of Everclear. That would solve his problems.
Dean wondered if his oven was a gas oven.
