Broken
A hunter driven beyond endurance is ready to give up. What does he have left to live for? Everyone he ever loved is gone.
(Ha, I bet you think this is death fic – it's not, I promise – it just seems like one)
This story is set early in Season 3
Usual disclaimer: Don't own them – But if I ever win the lottery I will!!
Thanks to my Beta - Raptor for pointing me in the right direction and fixing all my boo boo's
Huggers all, I hope you enjoy this story
Broken1 The awakening
Time had no meaning; it could have been days, weeks or even months, he didn't know, he didn't care. He'd awakened to a world that held nothing he cared about. The doctors had been more than surprised with his miraculous rise to consciousness. His head wound had been grievous, a cracked skull they had warned.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Hazel green eyes fluttered open to stare at the ceiling. Everything was hazy, but he knew immediately he was in a hospital.
Slowly he turned his head, groaning as he did.
Bobby sat by the side of his bed a cold cup of coffee in his hands. His head nodded forward on the verge of troubled slumber.
Pushing himself up he looked around the room calling his brother's name. "Sammy," he croaked hoarsely.
The familiar voice started Bobby awake. The styrofoam cup dropped to the floor spilling its meager contents onto the linoleum. "Dean," he whispered sharply, when he saw the kid's movements.
"Take it easy Dean," he whispered placing a restraining hand in the center of Dean's chest.
"Where is he Bobby," his voice filled with a panicky note when he didn't see his brother. "Tell me where he is," he nearly screamed.
"Take it easy," Bobby repeated. "Just let me call the doc in here first."
"No Bobby, no doctor, I just want you to tell me where he is."
Bobby's hands shook as he raised them and slid his fingers through his hair. His ever present ball cap sat on the floor next to his cup of spilt coffee where it had fallen when he'd jumped to his feet.
He didn't know what to say or how to break the news to the kid. No matter what he said Dean was going to take it badly. Very badly!
Heaving a sigh he laid his hand on Dean's arm and squeezed gently. Before he could say a word Dean spoke. Slowly at first, the words coming out in a hoarse whisper as his eyes took on a glassy defeated look. "He's dead, isn't he?" Dean cried.
"Yeah," was all the older hunter could muster. He wanted to cry at the broken look on his friend's face. He wanted to rage when he saw the shutters fall into place. "Dammit idjit kid," he whispered as all emotions were quickly wiped from Dean's face.
His voice shakier than he liked, Dean asked, "Where is he Bobby?"
Bobby sighed again knowing more bad news waited. "We buried him three weeks ago Dean. You've been in a coma for weeks. We couldn't wait. You have to know that."
Pain like nothing he'd ever known slashed through him. Something inside him broke – shattering his mind and heart into a thousand pieces. Shutting his eyes tight he turned away not willing to let his old friend see his weakness. One shiny tear rolled down his cheek. It was all they would ever see of his sorrow.
The agony of his loss tore through him. Sam was dead, and he hadn't even been there for the funeral. Sucking back the tears, he didn't open his eyes. He was dead inside now. His next words were void of all emotion. Quietly - tonelessly he asked. "You burn the body?"
"Yeah Dean, we gave him quite a send off," the old hunter replied quietly.
"Thanks Bobby," Dean whispered through clenched teeth.
Bobby didn't know what to say or how to console the kid. There wasn't anything he could say that would make it better or change what had happened. Maybe knowing there were others ready to help would do the trick. "Ellen and Jo are here Dean. They'll be in to see you later. When you get quit of this joint you can come stay with me or go to Ellen's, she'll be glad of your company now that Jo's got a place of her own."
Dean heard the words, but they meant nothing to him at the moment. The pain went too deep. He was alone now, bereft of all family. Bobby and Ellen were friends, but they weren't family. The more he ran the thought of Sam's death through his mind the more he thought about revenge. He felt the anger welling up inside him. He lashed out at the only person within reach. "Get out," he hissed. Turning quickly his eyes flashing with pain and hatred he raged at the only person who might have understood. "Get out Bobby and don't come back."
"Dean," Bobby choked out. He knew what the kid was feeling but he didn't know how to help him. Knowing he was hurting eased the sting of his harsh words. Understanding went deep, Bobby knew in time the pain would ease, the hurt would fade - slowly. When Dean was ready to talk or needed a shoulder to cry on he would be there.
"I'm going Dean, but I'll be back in the morning."
"Don't bother," the hunter hissed, "I don't want you here. Tell Ellen and Jo the same thing. I don't need them, I don't need any of you," he shouted."
Dean snarled angrily, "Don't come back Bobby, I'm warning you."
The old hunter wanted to cry. Physically the kid was a mess, but mentally he was ten times worse. He didn't want to whisper the word but he'd thought it. The kid was broken. "I'm going son, but you have only to pick up the phone if you need me."
Dean slumped back to the bed and turned his head away refusing to speak. Silently he told himself he didn't need anyone. He would never unlock that side of him again, it hurt too much.
Sweeping his hat up off the floor the old hunter slowly shuffled toward the door. He stopped, looking back over his shoulder at the man he would have been elated to call son. He told himself the kid needed time. Sighing, Bobby would bide his time, when the first ache of loss was done he'd give Dean a call. If he'd only known what the young hunter was thinking he never would have left.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
In the dead of night Dean rolled out of the hospital bed. His keys and backpack were stashed in the closet on the far side of the room. His mind was numb with shock. He never felt the sting of his injuries or the pounding ache in his head. He was moving slowly, his vision hazy, his mind foggy. He only knew he had to leave, before he burst into flame and took half the hospital with him.
He didn't have a plan or even know where he was going. The only thing he knew was that there was a raging hatred for all things supernatural burning in his heart. It ate at his soul, tearing him up. The one grounding force in his life was gone – Sam was gone, dead and buried and it was all his fault. He should have listened to him, taken more time to understand what they were dealing with, but he'd rushed in headlong and gotten his brother killed.
A red haze of vengeance filled his mind. His focus became the destruction of every fugly he could find. They had done this to Sam and they would forfeit their miserable existence to pay for it.
The Demon's had talked about her, she who will not be named. He had to find her, it would be hard, the others protected her above all else. It wouldn't do them any good; he would find the demon bitch that had killed his Sam!
Standing in the parking lot he stared at the black Impala his eyes immediately going to the passenger side where Sam should have been. This night it was empty, would forever remain empty now that his brother was gone. No one would ever sit in that seat again.
Sliding behind the wheel he slowly inserted the key, a lump of pain hung in his throat. He choked back the tears letting the fury that seared through him take over. Screaming with rage he pounded his fists on the steering wheel until he was exhausted and his hands were black and blue.
Leaning forward he rested his head against the hard plastic, letting the misery consume him. Loosing Sam was an aching wound that time would never heal!!
Need for revenge took over. He needed information. Sam's computer sat on the floor a few feet away. A plan began to form. Destruction was the name of the game and he poured himself into the task.
Most of his wounds had healed, they'd had three weeks while he'd been unconscious, but he was tired, his body weak and numb. For two days he stayed hold up in a sleazy hotel room, the walls a putrid shade of orange. The color only fueled the burning hatred growing inside him.
He was like a puppet on a string, emotionless and focused. Something inside him jerked, yanking him into motion. The list he held in his hand was shorter than he'd have liked, but his route was mapped out. Anyone who got in his way would move quickly or pay the price. Nothing mattered anymore except killing the fuglies that had killed his brother.
His first stop was in a little town in southwest Texas. He couldn't even remember the name. It didn't matter; a pack of werewolves had come down from the mountains when the full moon rose high in the sky.
Striding into the moonlight he snarled to capture their attention.
Startled they sprang to attack and so did he. The red haze of destruction gave him strength. Pain fueled his anger. He moved with lightening speed, faster than he'd ever moved. His finger caresses the trigger of the rifle he held. Silver nitrate filled the bullets and the casings were made of pure silver. The gleaming silver blade of his Dad's machete drank deeply that night.
It only took a matter of minutes and the ground was littered with blood and the bodies of four werewolves.
He gathered them together and poured gas over them. With a flick of his wrist he tossed a lit match into the center of the pyre. A mocking sneer tilted his lips as he smelled their burning flesh. It was a smell he would become familiar with over the next several weeks.
Dean had become a lethal killing machine, a hunter like no other seen on this earth. He buried everything he felt, everything he remembered behind a thick impenetrable wall. Even a crying child who had lost her mother to a poltergeist didn't break through the wall. He told himself the cops were on the way, they would take care of the kid.
Day after day he sought them out and killed them all one by one. Some managed to mark him, but he never felt the pain. He felt nothing. Woodenly he cared for his wounds but he didn't stop.
He kept on, until everything on his list was dead except her. The trail had had gone cold days ago. She knew he was coming and had run to ground. He smiled to think that she would hide from him. The most powerful Demon-Bitch the world had ever seen and she was hiding, afraid of a puny human.
His heart twisted in his chest. He was giving up the search; his body would no longer answer his demands. The Demon-Bitch would go free for now. Every note he jotted down, every picture he'd taken, every clue he'd uncovered was on the way to some of the greatest hunters in the world. Sooner or later she would be history; he only wished he could have ripped the bitch's heart out with his own hands.
Sitting behind the wheel of the Impala he stared at the list for the last time. He was tired, tired of everything. He had driven himself too hard, his body was failing him. In his darkest hour he had nothing left to give. A spike of pain tore through his heart at the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to kill the bitch. He didn't know her name, but he knew what she was.
The demon child - the next coming of darkness.
A faint glimmer of hope flashed through his mind, the sound whispered in his mind calling his name. Bright and shining he heard Sam's voice calling him home.
He growled low and harsh, Demons lie! His bargain was coming due.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Well here it is, I hope you like it, and there is enough angst in there for ya. Next chapter is coming soon. The story is finished and I'm hoping to post a chapter a day (except for weekends).