A/N.
My second SPN fic.
It's about Dean and about how he says to everybody around him that he never really remembers, not hell, not before the fire, not anything, well, he remembers everything.
WARNING: There will be Destiel, feels and so much angst. I'm a sadistic asshole. The spoilers will end at s11 since I refuse to watch it unless out angel returns, I love Cas too much. (And I don't want to poison my PC with illegal streaming).
Updates will be weird since I need to finish my two major Teen Wolf fics before I leave that fandom to rejoin this awesome one.
Chapter one.
Remember everything.
Oh, dear mother, I love you
I'm sorry, I wasn't good enough
Dear father, forgive me
'Cause in your eyes, I just never added up
In my heart I know I failed you, but you left me here alone.
He knows what he told people. What he told Sam, Bobby and everyone else. He knows that lying to them isn't making things better but he can't stand the pitting glances they throw at him whenever they think he's not looking because damn it, he's not blind.
He remembers when he told his baby brother that he didn't remember much of hell, only the screams and the darkness. Well, it was not really a lie, but hell wasn't only that, it was everything else too. In a way it reminded him of Purgatory, in the way that it changed you.
He told him few things about Purgatory because he knew his brother wouldn't approve of the things he had done there, the things he had done to survive.
Hell made you a demon. Purgatory made you a survivor.
He doesn't remember for a long time after the hell hounds had ripped into his body, adding his own screams to Sam's as they tore his apart and took him to hell.
But after that… well, he wished he didn't remember a fucking thing.
He remembered his first day on the rack by one Alastair. He had never known just how much pressure the human body could endure before it broke, before he met the demon.
The demon had carved into his skin, slowly and carefully, almost like he was painting on a canvas, a huge grin on his ugly ass face - and in a morbid way he'd been doing just that. To him Dean had been nothing else than another soul, deeming himself to suffer for eternity just so someone else could live happy and carefree.
He remembered the way the wicked knife he had chosen from a metal table not too long from him, felt when it was lead around his chest and yanked down his stomach and then sinking deep into his body and he could feel his the life was draining from him and yet… Alastair was only getting started.
He remembered how the only thing in his head was his baby brother, his Sammy and not the knife carving into his skin, making his blood run like a river that never ended.
And in a way it didn't. Hell was never ending and it was something that had taken him way too long to realize. This was the place where the thing that had killed their mother came from, the stuff nightmares were made of came from here. Where every creature they had ever hunted had come from. And it made it so much worse, not because he was in hell, because he had known he was going to end up there sooner rather than later but the fact that at some point, if he broke, if he said the golden yes to Alastair instead of telling him to shove it where the sun didn't shine, then he would become the very things that they had spent their entire lives hunting and he just couldn't do that to Sam.
He hadn't forgotten the conversation he had had with Bobby after Ellen had settled in. he knew that if he hadn't been like a son to the old man, Bobby would have hit him a lot harder than he had done.
As it had been, Bobby had done nothing else than yell about how stupid he could have been, about had he even thought about how Sam would react to know that his older brother had sold his soul just so that he could liv?
He had, maybe a little too much when he thought back on it now. He had cared for little else than seeing his brother strong and standing again. It was when he had sealed the deal that the dread had set in, that he realized that he had just doomed himself to hell in less than a year.
But he couldn't change the past, not even if he had wanted to because something good had actually come out of it.
Cas came out of it. Stupid pretty boy angel in a trench coat and a soldier of heaven.
Now when he thought about it, there wasn't that big difference from himself and the angel. They had both been raised to be a soldier, growing up in a war. Had both been blind in their faith to their fathers until the moment when they discovered that the world didn't have to be black and white, painful and miserable.
No, what he remembered most of the angel was when he dragged him out of hell, the smell of burning feathers and high pitched screams, the darkness the had been all around them, reaching out for them and trying to halt their escape, along with the smell of too much sulfur had meant nothing to him, because for the first time since he was four years old, Dean Winchester had felt safe.
He also remembered the feeling of utter betrayal when he didn't wake up feeling the same way, but was instead trapped in a wooden coffin, six feet under and unable to breathe.
He tried to forget it, forget the feeling he got and how he had felt back at the store when the loud piercing sound had come, shattering all the windows and blowing up the TV. It had hurt sure, but just for a very short amount of time, he had felt safe again, like there was something with that sound that was just…right.
It was just that being near the angel reminded him of his mother, the feeling of safety and happiness, two things that he hadn't felt in what he knew and believed to be years.
And he hated it, hated that it reminded him of something that he would never regain. He would never get his mother back. He would never see her smile or hear her laughter again, never again would he feel the way her hand had stroked his half long hair just before she kissed his goodnight every night or how she made the best pie in the world, according to him. His father had in a way died in that fire too, cause the man that had carried him and Sammy out on the road had been different, from the look in his eyes to the way he had walked and talked.
John would never take him out to play baseball again or let him watch his fix the impala and tell him how the different parts worked.
He would never do any of those things again because for all things, John Winchester had died too.
But Cas, for all the stoic personal, cold soldier he had once been, saw right through him. When no one else was looking at them or one of the rare times where they had been alone with each other, the angel had sent him one of those glances, the kind that reminded him of better times, of not going to bed hungry, of having a home to come back to everyday and not just a random motel room.
The kind of glances that said the angel knew everything that could be known about him and he was still here, he had not left Dean to rot in hell and the most amazing thing was, he was still here, right by his side with a wicked smile on his face.
The angel never acted on the things that Dean saw in his eyes, he was merely there, like a rock in the ocean that was his life, the only steady thing.
But only for so long.
For what had started with hell, ended… ended so differently from what he had expected.
A/N.
Just a teaser, tell me if you want more. This chapter was chaos, sorry. If people want to read more, I'm planning on the next chapter being where he remember a time where he didn't speak, more organized than this, I promise.
Review, I'm like a addict with them.