Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones and Words Can Hurt Me Too
I was waiting for some more detail and angst in the show about this episode, but it still hasn't come, so I wrote my own. It doesn't completely follow the order and plot of series 9, but it is related.
Lots and lots of Dean angst, depression, alcohol consumption and a warning for kidnap and torture later.
You have been warned, this is really quite emotionally brutal…well, I think so anyway. Lets just say I was venting out my frustrations and emotions on the boys…
"All right, you want to be honest? If the situation were reversed and I was dying, you'd do the same thing."
"No, Dean. I wouldn't."
Dean felt his entire world crumble around him, and it showed. His face seemed to fall slack – stroke-like, and all expression in his eyes disappeared. He looked broken and lifeless, he could have passed as a rag doll, or a puppet whose owner cut his strings.
He deflated.
But these expressions disappeared in an instant, and Sam didn't see his brother crumble apart as he had turned his back on Dean.
He was already striding out of the room.
Sam didn't need this anymore.
Dean was left standing in the centre of the room, his hands clenched into tight fists, which he bought down on the wall with a resounding thud.
His knuckles throbbed painfully, but he didn't notice, continuing to pummel the wall until all emotion seemed to drain out of him, leaving him slumped on the ground with his head in his hands.
Dean couldn't take this anymore.
A chocked sob ricocheted through his body, tremors threatened to tear Dean apart. But they didn't, because Dean would not be broken.
He bit back his tears, wiping his eyes fiercely.
He was a hunter, a Winchester and he had a job to do. No matter what, his priority was saving Sammy, even if his baby brother did not feel the same way about him.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
Dean awoke on his bed in an alcohol-induced fog. He was still fully dressed in the previous day's clothes, as if he couldn't shake the past events from his body.
He was lying on top of his covers, surrounded by two empty bottles of whiskey and his head was pounding like a drum. As soon as Dean tried to shift positions, nausea rolled over him and he vomited all over himself, the harsh stench of alcohol and stomach acid hitting his nostrils, intensifying the nausea. He didn't have the energy to move, his limbs wouldn't co-operate and Dean continued to vomit on his chest and bed for a further five minutes, choking occasionally and causing pain to lance up his raw throat.
Once it was all over, Dean lay back in a pool of his vomit and rolled onto his side, where he fell asleep again, completely boneless.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
The next time Dean woke, there was a pummeling sound on his locked door.
"Get the fuck up Dean, Cas is here."
Dean groaned and tried to stand, collapsing to the floor and grimacing. His head had finally cleared and he felt less sick, but he was soaked with vomit and the trembling hadn't ceased.
"C-coming." His throat was sill raw and Dean's voice was nothing more than a muffled croak, but Sam either didn't notice, or didn't care. Probably the latter, Dean thought grimly.
Forcing himself into action, Dean wandered into his en-suite shower and washed, briefly allowing his tense muscles to relax as hot water pounded down on him.
It failed to wash away the pain.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
When Dean entered the reception area of the bunker, he saw Castiel standing awkwardly behind Sam, a concerned expression on his face, which was tilted to the side – as per usual.
"Hey, Sparkles. Finally decided to make an appearance, huh?"
"Yes Dean, I have restored my grace – well, I took another angel's, but it will suffice."
"Well congratulations Robin Hood, robbing the rich to feed the poor and all that." Dean laughed dryly; the sound was chalk on a black board. Painful to listen to. It was humorless and so un-Dean like, but Sam simply ignored this and Castiel, with his lack of people skills, didn't see this as good time to have a chick flick moment.
"Dean, I came because Metatron is advancing, we are all in danger."
"Newsflash, Cas, our life is nothing but danger. So if you haven't got anything useful to say, fuck off."
Castiel flinched at this, concern flitting across his usually stoic face.
"Dean, are you feeling emotionally compromised?"
"I'm freakin peachy, now lay off." Dean felt bad, taking his anger out on the angel, but that didn't stop him from storming back to his room, where he changed his bed sheets and shoved the sick-soaked ones into a pile in the corner of the room.
He didn't come out for the rest of the day, not even for dinner.
That was fine by Sam.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
The next morning, Dean forcefully told himself to stop moping and got dressed quickly, going to the kitchen to make a breakfast comprising of five pancakes – a rare treat these days.
He then scooped two onto his plate, leaving the other three for Sam out of habit.
Then, he pulled out Sam's laptop and began to research any unusual sightings that could be angel-related.
Sam entered the kitchen a while lair and scowled at Dean, who still hadn't touched his now-cold breakfast.
"Dean! What have I told you about taking my stuff, god dammit. I swear if you freeze it on cartoon porn I will kick your ass." This wasn't said with the usual mirth; Sam meant his comment this time.
Dean didn't bother stating that it was anime, not cartoon porn.
He simply muttered that he had found a case and was going to check it over.
"Fine."
Sam stalked back out of the room with the laptop tucked under his arm. There was no be careful, or don't get yourself killed Dean. He didn't care that Dean was going, in fact, he was pleased with the prospect of having some time to himself.
"Sam, you left your breakfast."
Sam turned and with his best-bitch face said, "I'm not hungry. Besides, I hate pancakes. I just eat them to please you – they're full of fat. Have you ever heard of a fruit salad?"
With that he turned and stalked out of the door, leaving Dean to scoop five untouched, cold pancakes off of the two plates and into the bin.
They slid of the ceramic with a heavy, resounding thud.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
Later that morning, Dean stared at his fully packed duffel and slid it over his shoulder, trying to banish the cold feeling inside his chest.
His stomach felt heavy despite having not eaten dinner the night before, or breakfast.
"Sam, I'm going. Uh-seya."
Sam didn't so much as look up from the book he was reading.
Dean skulked out of the bunker like a shadow, unnoticed and un-cared for.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
Everything had gone wrong.
There were more angels – Metatron's herd - than Dean had predicted, and alone, without back-up, there was no way he could have fought them off.
His one hope was that Sam would spring out from behind a tree and save him.
But of course, that didn't happen and Dean was left alone surrounded by a circle of angels, who, with one touch, sent him crashing into darkness.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
When Dean woke, he found himself tied to a chair with thick metal chains. No matter how much he squirmed and wriggled, there was no way he was getting out.
Every muscle in his body ached and Dean could feel the panic rising, his spine was prickling and his palms were sweaty despite the bitter temperature of the room he was in.
"Dean, you're awake." Dean peeled his eyelids open and looked up at Metatron, who was smiling at him sympathetically.
"You!"
"The one and only. I am sorry about this, but if you co-operate, we can sort this out simply and without any…pain."
"Fuck off."
"Now, now, that's not the sort of language I want to be hearing." Metatron strolled forwards and gagged Dean, "I'll come back when you have something nice to say – such as where our dear Castiel is."
Dean scowled and sank into his chair.
There was no way he was talking.
Not now, not ever.
Dean Winchester did not betray his friends, or family.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
Sam sat at the desk quietly, contemplating some men of letters files. Dean had been gone for two weeks now, and it was the most peace he'd had in months.
It was nice.
Sam stood, grabbed another file, and sank into a cushioned armchair.
Dean was pulled up from his wooden chair by a bearded angel who was as broad as he was tall.
"Just tell the boss what he wants, or this will get nasty."
Dean snarled. "Bite me."
The angel did, sinking his teeth into Dean's shoulder and causing the hunter to pale.
"You could do with a little tenderizing, I'm afraid. Your really rather tough."
Dean bit his lip when the angel began throwing punches, refusing to let out a single noise, even when he felt his ribs snapping one by one.
Only when the angel left did he whimper and allow a single tear to run down his cheek.
Where are you Sammy?
Sam sipped at his cup of coffee before deciding to go out and hustle some pool.
Soon, he was standing at a bar with a beautiful brunette. Without Dean stealing all of the women's attention like usual, Sam turned out to be a real womanizer.
Soon he had the woman, Jo-Josie-Janie-Janice – pinned underneath him.
He savagely tore off her pretty pink blouse and lace bra, ravishing her pert nipples with licks and soft bites. When she was panting and ready, Sam ran his fingernails down her lean frame, leaving behind soft red lines and eliciting a gasp of excitement from the girl.
Dean screamed in agony as the angel ripped off his shirt and tore her fingernails down his flesh, ripping apart his chest and leaving ten crimson rivers.
"Just tell me where Castiel is."
"N-no."
"Fine, I can carry on all night." The angel grinned.
Sam gasped as a second orgasm was pulled out of his oversensitive cock. The young woman Jane-Jasmine-Jade-Jackie was bouncing up and down on him, panting and pulling on his long hair desperately.
He was ready and willing to carry on all night.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
Dean was lying on the floor, sobbing in pain as the angel – no, demon, landed another kick on his broken ribs.
God, it hurt so much.
He threw up on the floor, nothing but bile and water.
He hadn't been fed in five days and any attempts of escape were futile, even though he was no longer bound and restrained.
The chains were no longer necessary.
There was no way Dean was going anywhere.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
Sam was taking a break, strolling through the woods when suddenly a hand was placed on a shoulder.
He whipped around; tense with a hand on his knife, when he realized that it was Castiel.
"Jesus Cas, you nearly gave me a heart attack."
"Sam, I need your full attention and cooperation. Your brother is in trouble."
"I don't have a brother, not any more."
"Yes you do Sam, Dean has been captured by angels, he's being tortured. We need to save him."
Sam's blood went cold…torture…he didn't love his brother, not any more, but still…
No one deserved to go through torture.
"I am going to retrieve Dean; I need you to stay at the bunker. Gather your medical supplies, I will do my best to heal Dean, but my grace is not as strong as before."
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
Dean screamed as the whip was bought down on the sole of his left, foot. The pain was indescribable and despite everything, he was wailing and frantically trying to get away.
"PLEASE!" Dean was reduced to a begging, writhing mess. Rivulets of blood were dripping from his already beaten right foot, and now from his left as well.
"Just tell me where he is."
"Aghhhhh." Dean bit his arm hard to try and keep in the pain, but it did nothing to distract him from his burning feet.
The angel let out a dramatic sigh and pulled a lighter from its pocket.
"I see I'm going to have to be more persuasive."
Dean yowled when a naked flame was bought down onto the sole of his feet, he was screaming and jerking wildly, tears, snot and drool running down his face.
He could smell his feet, he could smell his feet burning and roasting.
Everything went black.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
There was a blinding white light and all of the angels in Dean's room fell to the ground with a thud. None of them had seen their brother coming, and if they had, they would not have been able to stop him.
The man they were so desperately trying to find was standing in the doorway, and they were dead and unable to do anything about it.
Pure fury was burning in Castiel's eyes and when he looked down at Dean's limp, naked and broken body, the angel felt sick.
He scooped the man up and with a flutter of wings, he disappeared with Dean in his arms.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
Sam blanched at the sight of the mangled body set down on his desk.
The man wasn't recognizable as Dean any more.
He was skin and bone, hip bones and broken ribs jutting out from black and blue flesh.
"Oh, Dean…" Sam felt sick as he watched Castiel press two fingers to Dean's head, repairing the broken bones, but nothing else.
"That is all I can do for him, my powers have been drained. I trust that you will repair your brother, even if you no longer care for him."
Sam nodded, willing the tears in his eyes not to fall.
With a resigned sigh, he pulled out a needle and some dental floss and set about stitching the first of the ten lacerations on Dean's chest.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
When Sam reached the seventh laceration, Dean began to stir, letting out a guttural moan and squirming away from his touch.
"Hey, Dean, its me. Sam, you're safe now. Hold still."
Dean didn't hold sill, he wriggled and panted and frantically tried to get away from the pain, his breaths coming in gasps as he tried to reign in some oxygen.
"Dean, please…let me help you."
Dean looked up at that, a twisted smile forming on his chapped lips.
"You, help me? I didn't think you were up to that Sammy, go on, and just walk away like you want to. You don't need me, just let me die in peace." With that, Dean shuffled off the table, gasping in pain as he grabbed the medial kit and lowered his battered feet to the ground.
It took all of his willpower not to scream as pressure was placed on his burnt and ripped soles.
"Dean…"
"Drop it."
With that, Dean hobbled away, making a quick detour to grab two bottles of whiskey before shutting himself away in his room.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
Sam knocked on Dean's door an hour later with a homemade burger and fries.
When he realized it wasn't locked, he let himself in to find Dean staring blankly at the ceiling, his feet now wrapped with gauze and bandages.
There was a heavy scent of antiseptic creams and alcohol in the room.
"I made you some food."
Dean ignored him.
"Please Dean, you have to eat. You'll starve!"
"Why do you care. I'm nothing to you, remember?"
Suddenly, Dean's eyes filled with tears and he curled up, sobs ripping through his body. He was so tense that it took a while for Sam to uncurl him, but when he did he wrapped his arm around Dean and hugged him close.
Realization about the impact of what he had said hit him and Sam realized just how badly he had broken his brother.
He regretted his words now.
Dean would always be his brother, and Sam was a fool not to realize this.
Sam could feel Dean's heartbeat pounding irregularly and Dean's sweat was beginning to permeate his own shirt. The older hunter was trembling so violently that the whole bed shook, but Sam didn't let go. He continued to rub his frail brother's back soothingly, hands bouncing over his spine.
After a while, exhaustion won out and Dean fell into a restless sleep in Sam's arms.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
Sam spent the next day trying to coax food into his brother, but Dean had completely shut down. He wouldn't move and it seemed as if he didn't plan on doing so anytime soon.
Tears trickled down his gaunt face, but he wouldn't let Sam near him after a while, shoving him away feebly and hobbling out of his room when Sam refused to leave.
His feet screamed in protest, but Dean couldn't bear to spend any more time with Sam hovering over him.
He knew his baby brother didn't really care, what was the point in making him pretend?
Sam probably had something more useful to do with his time anyway.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
Dean was bent over the kitchen work surface, scrubbing at his hard with a scouring pad that was cutting into his skin, rather than the cool marble.
The antibacterial spray on the cloth didn't help to make him feel cleaner though.
His feet were still stinging constantly, but the pain seemed distant now.
Everything seemed unreal, vacant. He was vaguely aware of Sam talking to someone worriedly, but he didn't look up to see who it was.
He didn't care.
When Dean accidentally sent a glass to the floor, he felt as if all oxygen had left the room. He couldn't breathe and suddenly found himself choking on nothing. His heart began to pound and he doubled up, falling to the ground and clutching his chest amongst the broken glass.
He was going mad; it was just a glass, just a glass.
It didn't matter…yet Dean couldn't draw breath. Panic was sweeping over him like a black cloud.
It was suffocating him.
He knew there was air in the room, but he couldn't draw it in.
He was a failure.
He couldn't even freakin breathe right.
He was going to die.
Tears cascaded down his cheeks and Dean was so out of it that he didn't feel two sets of hands lifting him up and carrying him to his room.
He only noticed that he had moved when he came back to reality half an hour later, wrapped in blankets and resting on two fluffy pillows.
Dean looked up to see Cas' piercing blue eyes and Sam's hazel ones looking down at him concernedly, but he couldn't bring himself to care or reassure them that he was alright.
What was the point?
They never listened to him anyway and they didn't care if he was ok. Not anymore.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
A week had passed and Dean was finally eating, or at least, he stopped struggling when Sam spooned food into his mouth.
Everything tasted like sand to him now, but there was no point in fighting it.
"Dean, just take the tablet for me. C'mon, it'll make you feel better."
Sam coaxed. It had taken him two days to forge a prescription and to get a hold of the anti-depressants, but it was worth it if they made Dean feel any better.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
It had been a month and Dean was finally back on his feet, he and Sam were on a simple hunt, a wendigo, just like old times.
Dean was still weak and prone to panic attacks, but he was functional.
Just about.
Sam had taken to hugging him now and again or cooking his favorite meals to show Dean that he still cared, but Dean wasn't really buying any of it. Sam's cruel words still echoed around his brain and he knew Sam was just humoring him.
"No, Dean. I wouldn't."
But Sam wasn't lying or pretending, he felt dreadful, knowing than he had single-handedly pushed Dean into a nervous breakdown, or whatever you wanted to call it. He didn't mean what he had said, not any more, all he had to do was convince Dean that they were still brothers.
…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…
The wendigo approached Dean from behind and he didn't hear it coming. His heart was pounding and anxiety was sweeping over him.
It was ridiculous, this was a simple hunt, yet Dean couldn't shake the fear in his chest.
He knew he was having another panic attack and tried to remember the management strategies that Sam had told him about, but he couldn't.
He was going to die, alone with the man that used to be his brother, but was now a stranger.
Suddenly, a shout of pain cut through Dean's haze of fear and he whipped around, seeing Sam crumple to the ground behind him.
The wendigo.
If Dean hadn't known better, he'd have said that Sam had jumped in front of his brother to protect him.
But Sam wouldn't do that.
He said as much.
"All right, you want to be honest? If the situation were reversed and I was dying, you'd do the same thing."
"No, Dean. I wouldn't."
Sam wouldn't save his life…would he?
Dean banished these thoughts and pulled out his flamethrower, killing the wendigo in one swift movement. It was too easy, really.
"Sam?"
"D-Dean…" Sam gasped, clutching his chest.
"You're ok." Dean muttered, checking over the wound and seeing that it wasn't too deep.
"Yeah, I'm good."
Sam got to his feet, allowing Dean to wrap a supportive arm around him.
They got back to the Impala in silence, Dean driving with his jaw set.
"Dean?"
"What?"
"Nothing."
They elapsed into silence.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you jump in front of that wendigo?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"To save you."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because you're my brother, and I love you."
Dean let the words sink in before pulling into a layby and throwing his arms around his brother, hugging him close.
They both cried into each others arms for ten minutes before pulling away and wiping their faces.
"I think we've had enough of the chick flick moment, yeah?" Sam gave a weary smile.
Dean nodded, a smile of his own crossing his lips.
He switched on the radio.
"There'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more."
Dean and Sam exchanged looks and smirked, turning up the volume and beginning to sing.
Together.
Although things weren't perfect, Dean found himself remembering an old phrase.
Stick and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.
It was a lie, Sam's words had hurt, but they hadn't broken him.
Dean knew he could carry on.
The End
Wow, that was angsty…please let me know what you think. I was really letting go with this one…lots of pent up crap going on IRL and it was nice to vent.
Please leave a review, but please don't flame me for being cruel to Dean…I did fix him in the end! xxx