Title: Confessions Of A Broken Heart
Summary: One-shot! A day in the life of Dean Winchester wasn't hard; it was brutal. Angsty!Dean
Genre: Angst, Tragedy
Rating: T
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Silent Knight: I only own this oneshot and the idea for it. Everything else belongs to the genius Eric Kripke. :)
Sooo...hope you guys enjoy this little oneshot I made. I felt like writing a Dean-centric/Angsty!Dean piece today, and so, here it is. IT'S ALIVE. lol
Silent Knight over and out!
Confessions Of A Broken Heart
Oneshot
A day in the life of Dean Winchester was brutal.
Even when he was kid it was brutal. He had no time to goof around. If even one thing went wrong, then his dad, John Winchester, would make sure that life would be Hell for him. And so Dean tried his best to be perfect – not only so he didn't get degraded by his dad, but so he could make his dad happy. Hell – proud, even. That was all Dean needed. It was all Dean wanted. Nothing else could make him happy as a praise coming from his dad's mouth.
But he rarely got any. Though Dean was happy with the light in his dad's eyes when he'd look at him after a hunt gone right. There was so much happiness, and all the sadness seemed to just – vanish, as if there had never been such a thing in their life before. And that's why he loved hunting so much. Because it made him feel so close to his dad; and that made him happy, it made him content.
Though there were times Dean hated hunting with a passion – kind of like Sammy. Whenever John would walk into the motel room, wounds wherever – sometimes everywhere you could see – and Dean would curse hunting with all the fibre of his being. Because that's how much he cared for his dad. Because his dad was always there for him, always there for Sammy...and he had also been there for mom, too.
The thing Dean most remembered, though, would have to be the beatings. The verbal ones, the physical ones, the emotional ones; all of them. He didn't remember them all, but some – the worst ones – he remembered. He remembered them clear as day, as if they happened not years back, but just yesterday. They were that fresh in his mind, that laid out; like in order. Like soldiers in a line.
The anger dad would always compress inside of him until he would snap. The way he'd tell him all about his mom until he would begin assaulting him; physically, verbally, emotionally. He even had the scars to prove the physical beatings, to this day. But the verbal and emotional scars...those ones he'd keep deep inside of himself, locked up tight so no one would be able to reach them; not even those demons that liked to screw with his family so much.
He was jagged, he was jaded, just like his dad. But...somehow, Sam was always the one closer to him. The one who was most like him. Dean could wear dad's old leather jacket, drive around in his dad's beloved Impala, listen to the music dad would listen to...but that could only bring him so close. Sam? Sam was like, dad's essence; it was like he had bits and pieces of dad's soul trapped within him. And Dean envied him for that – because, no matter what he did, no matter what he thought, he'd never be as close as Sam was to dad. Never; and it seemed like he'd never be able to understand either of them.
And that hurt, it hurt like a bitch. But did Dean ever complain? No. Did he ever cry? No. Though, when Sam was out doing God knows what, Dean let that indifferent, casual mask crack; he let it break into millions of pieces and didn't bother to pick up them up. He just let all that anguish come out; all his troubles, all his worries, all his insecurities. All of it. Until there that was left was just a small, feeble little boy; a boy who got deprived of his childhood, who just wanted to be a kid but was pushed to be an adult when he wasn't ready for it. But then, after all that was done, a new mask would replace the one before it. And it never stopped. The masks just kept on coming, the second more worse, more chipped than the first.
But Dean's inner turmoil never changed. How was it that Sam was closer to dad than Dean would ever be? How was it that he was closer to him and didn't even realize it? Everything Dean tried to do to feel closer to dad than he was, failed. Yet Sam seemed to manage to pull it off so easily. Without a hitch; and that was what got Dean the most. That Sam was able to be closer to dad than he'd ever be able to, and he was the one that left them to go fulfill his apple pie dream. Dean was happy for him, he really was. Who wouldn't be proud of his own brother, managing to get a full ride to Stanford? But somewhere in the back on his mind, he always thought, That could've been me...why hadn't it been me? And that was one thing he'd never forgive himself for. No matter how much he wanted to go to Stanford and drag Sam's ass back to the motel where dad and Dean were previously in – whether it be because of jealousy or because he missed that geek so much, he'd never know – he always managed to stop himself. He managed to take a deep breath and close the motel door when he would swing it open, keys to the Impala in his hands.
After all, Sam deserved this. Out of the two of them, he was always the brainiac, the one who was the most normal one. Dean? He was just a freak. And that was all he'd ever manage to be, in the end. But...he always wondered how it'd be like if he'd gone to college – sometimes, in his mind, he'd go with Sam, other times he'd be the one who left, not Sam. But he always stopped himself from thinking like that. He couldn't just leave his father like that! He needed him. No matter how much he'd sometimes say he didn't want him around, that he was better off without Dean. No matter how many times he'd hit him.
In the end of it all, they never said anything about the beatings. All the emotional ones, the verbal ones – and even the physical ones. But dad was always around to get the first aid kit later on, as Dean would just sit there in pain; he was inwardly punishing himself, and somehow, Dean knew that dad knew that. How? He didn't know, but he just knew that he knew.
Life was hard; it was terribly hard, especially when Sam left. And even worse when dad himself would leave at various times, sometimes not even telling Dean where he was going and he'd leave for a couple of days before returning, battered and bruised. And then Dean would curse hunting with every fibre of his being as he'd help his dad patch up.
Though, what could he say?
The day in the life of Dean Winchester was brutal.
Even when he was a kid it was brutal.