Dean's every muscle was tense, knuckles whitened by his grip on the steering wheel, and finally his calm, well relative calm, broke. After years of keeping quiet, holding back, and holding in, Dean felt like he was going to explode.
There was very little of the color-wheel called emotion that Dean hadn't experienced. Scarlet Rage. Cobalt Sadness. Lemony Yellow Happiness. Royal Purple Doubt. Burning Golden Faith. Spring Green Loyalty. Deep Lavender Contentment. Sunrise Orange Bravery. Not to mention the various instances of Hot Pink Lust over the years, and the brief shoots of Forest Green Envy.
Years of some sadistic, all-powerful, douchebag playing "How Can We Fuck Dean Winchester Over Now?" were starting to wear. On everything. The colors were muddied as the world itself became less and less black and white, more and more grey.
So as the world around him turned greyer, and greyer, and his colors got muddier and muddier, Dean Winchester did his damnedest to hold on to the few pure emotions that he still had; Rage, Sadness, Doubt, Lust.
Lust was the most pure, but even that was tainted now, tainted with Rage. Dean's Lust was no longer purely toward women, no. It was a Bloodlust. The blade had awoken it, the blade had magnified it, solidified it, made it into a weapon, even against Dean. Bloodlust had taken the sweet boy, who loved when his mother cut the crusts off his PB&J, who had smiled at the successes and cried for the losses, and turned him into a monster. Not like the fuglies he fought on a daily basis, but a new monster, one that had turned on everything that was good in the world. He was cold now, and precise.
Even Death couldn't change it. And if he couldn't help Dean, there was nothing, and no one,that could.
"But maybe the first death doesn't take because it's the transformation step," cried the little voice inside Dean that still dared to hope. That voice was fading quickly, replaced by a woman's voice that moaned, that screamed "MOREMOREMORE!", and whimpered an orgasm with every drop of blood that Dean spilled. That voice made him crave, made him want, urged him to kill again, and again, and again.
In a way his Lust was still towards women, but now, instead of any woman that walked past him with nice legs and a killer rack, it was only one. That's right, folks. Dean Winchester was monogamous, and the sad part was she didn't exist. She was in his head, but even so, Dean had a primal necessity to satisfy any woman that came back, or still lay there in the morning. She was always there in the morning, always wanting, always needing, and Dean was only happy to oblige. He was almost married to her, and she knew it. She twisted his balls and held him captive, whispering "I'll make you happy if you give me what I want, what you want,".
Dean called her Brandi, for his alcohol, and his first lay. Dean almost chuckled to himself when he decided that was her name, he and Sam had been discussing old names in a time gone by, Brandt meant "sword" or "blade". It worked. Brandi was a part of him now, the thought of removing her on par with the thought of taking a knife to his own penis; unimaginable. Sam couldn't understand, if anything Sam hated Brandi.
"He tried to keep us apart, she crooned, "He knew I would make you happy, so he took me away! Your brother has always tried to keep you miserable, the ungrateful brat! He never saw how hard you worked to make him happy, how you suffered for him!"
Dean often found himself agreeing with her, after all Sam hadn't had to watch his mother die, he had only heard stories. Sam had never had to be a "perfect son" to their father, and learn all the tricks and navigation of the Hunt to the point where he did the motions in his sleep. Sam was the sweet innocent, the baaby, the one who left them to lead a "normal life". That him in the ass, though, didn't it? Beautiful Jessica burned on the ceiling, law school down the toilet, and friends that were really demons. Poor, poor Sammy. And while Sammy was away being "Mr. Norman Normal", where was Dean? Being beaten and berated and looked down upon because he just. Wasn't. Good enough.
So yes, Dean agreed wholeheartedly with Brandi most days. Was he damned for it, probably. Did he give one flying fuck, hell no.
A.N. Weeeeell, this one was rattling around in my head for quite some time, finally got it up, hope y'all enjoyed it. Reviews are the utmost in love for an author.