How I feel
by RoweenaC
And everything I can't remember
As fucked up as it all may seem
The consequences that I've rendered
I've stretched myself beyond my means
Why must I feel this way?
Just make this go away!
The silence was deafening.
Not even his struggling breaths pushing out of a suddenly too tight ribcage could effectively block out the words still reverberating through his skull. His own words, a finally shared confession about his deepest secrets. Shared with his brother, who would never be capable of comprehending a mere fraction of the terrors Hell held in store for each soul, had held for Dean, condemned for eternity.
He winced and gagged against the graphic onslaught of screaming, pleading faces as he watched them morph into each other, becoming blissfully indistinct, then melding again into a bloody, marred blur oozing sticky torrents of torn flesh, bone and liquids.
Dean knew Sam would readily support him. Would want to share the load. Only Sam could never even begin to understand and he would not be able to truly lighten the weight coiling in Dean's heart.
'I wish I couldn't feel anything.'
The horrors he had induced vying for attention with his own hoarse yells to "Stop, please. Stop!" still echoing in his wounded, guilt-ridden soul.
As he had been screaming for seemingly an eternity, his voice had finally broken on each word, abused and strained beyond capacity by unimaginable torture. Physical and mental torture. Ripped to pieces, skin being torn from his body in slim, ragged strips.
And always taking time. Agonizingly slow.
Tendons and nerves rebounded back into place with a sickening twinge as they had finally released the soft tissue covering them. He could still feel his blood gushing down like waterfalls along his overstretched, immovable body, mixing with tears that never seemed to cease as they rinsed blood spatter from his pallid, haggard cheeks.
'How could you ever understand, Sammy?'
The atrocities he had willingly committed to end his eternal struggle would remain with him for the rest of his life. Haunting him, mocking him, tormenting him even beyond the pit.
No deliverance, no redemption.
God had saved him yet not cared to heal him. His soul was a sore, mangled mess and it cost him dearly to hold up pretense, to simply carry on through the day.
Dean found himself wondering what had been worse, being the victim or the assailant. Ripping or ripped. Was there a difference? Both perspectives had damaged him beyond sanity.
The hardest task had been to numb himself. Against the agony coursing through him every second of his existence. Then later against the sight of real and basic terror screaming back at him as his bare hands had buried deep into warm bellies ripping out organs. Or wallowing in various body fluids as he tore at feebly resisting muscle tissue and carved demented patterns into bones.
It had changed him, turned him into someone else. Not on the outside but in his soul. Dean was eager to evade the piecing stare the mirror reflected every morning. His blazing, yet icy eyes charged him with cruelty and murder. At other times he would see his own agony and pain, the endless self-pity, despair and hopelessness screaming back at him in the windows to his soul. Was there a difference?
'Aw, Sammy. Why the hell did I tell you?'
Judging by the current, tense silence and the secretive, guilt-stricken glances shot at him from below brown strands, Anna had been terribly wrong. Dean didn't feel the slightest bit better. The guilt etched into his sibling's expression, the sudden pallor and the tears welling up as he had confided his worst secrets; Dean had felt those reactions rather than seen them. He had picked up on the pain and sorrow reflected in Sam's eyes. If anyone, he knew what true agony and sorrow looked like. He had seen these harbingers of broken hearts and minds a million times over. Different expressions, different faces but always similar in their basic nature. Hell, he had been the one causing those emotions!
The guilt lashing back at him from compassionate hazel eyes had destroyed Dean, there and then; and he had turned away from Sam's wild emotions barely held in control. Seeing his baby brother suffer from his confession, Dean regretted he had ever started the whole conversation in the first place. He was supposed to protect Sam. But all he had achieved was adding to the guilt by his selfish need to spill his heart out, to ease his conscience.
The pity Sam had been incapable of hiding in time had reached out and slashed across Dean's heart. It deepened the scars he hid there, silently and unspoken, a pile of emotional injuries sustained over more than 25 years.
'How am I supposed to feel any better now? Making Sammy sick with guilt? How is that gonna change anything?'
He wasn't supposed to be pitied or understood! He was supposed to be punished and discarded. Yet there were angels pulling him from Hell. And there was Sam. Pitying and loving him. Feeling guilty and distanced.
'How the hell am I supposed to carry on with this eating at my soul?'
He winced as he remembered the epitome of embarrassment. Tears, hiccuping sobs, like a self-pitying fool. For crying out loud, he didn't have the right to cry after all he had done to those poor souls!
Feeling ashamed and diminished, he had turned away from his brother's searching gaze, jaws, chin and lips working hard to stop the sobs from spilling out. Dean couldn't bear to look into Sam's soft, understanding and encouraging eyes. Not now, not any more. Not ever.
~HIF~
It's been awhile
since I could hold my head up high
It's been awhile
Since I could say I loved myself as well
And it's been awhile
Since I could look at myself straight
And it's been awhile
Since I said I'm sorry
Dean steered the Impala towards the side of the deserted road and turned the roaring engine off, opened the creaking driver's door and fled from the ringing silence of the car's interior. He leaned against his baby's comfortably warm hood, subconsciously mimicking his earlier stance and listened in silence, listened to the ticking sound coming from the Impala's heart. The sound of the engine cooling down seemed to count the seconds until the sun would finally lift her head above the rosy horizon to chase away the nightmares and fill the new day with brightness and warmth.
But Dean couldn't care less for the sunrise. The beauty of the fresh morning was completely lost on him. All he saw were his brother's eyes looking at him. Lovingly. Compassionate. Pitying. And scared. Scared of how his snarky, good-humored brother leaning next to him against the hood of their "home" had turned into a creature only inches from a demon. Evil.
Honestly, Dean was scared himself. He had lost himself in hell, irretrievably. And a new person had risen from fear, weakness, agony, hatred and torture. Sweat, tears, blood and screams the midwives to the rebirth. A man impossible to love or even just to like.
Sammy, with sorrow and love clearly visible in his eyes, had been waiting for Dean to find the courage to open up so Sam could help him. As if there would be any way of making him better! Dean suspected that Sam had still hoped to find the familiar Dean in his scar-less body, buried underneath the gore and hatred piling up high on his conscience. But Dean wasn't sure that person still existed anymore. And looking at Sam from beneath his long lashes, he could see doubt and fear in his brother's half-averted face. The fear in the younger man's soulful eyes had not vanished since Dean had come clean. The doubtful frown furrowing his forehead was a very recent development. But Dean understood.
How could Sam ever trust in his big brother again, especially if Dean didn't even trust himself anymore? The angst radiating from Sam had erased the older hunter's last line of defense, vanquished his will to try and look himself in the eyes. To survive and maybe someday to just make peace with himself. To carry on.
His sole purpose in life thus far had been to look out for Sam. To make Sam feel alright. Hell had not only torn him to shreds literally, turned him into an insane, sadistic mass murderer. Hell had stolen his last and most treasured secret. His brother's love and respect. Twisted it, perverted it excruciatingly. Replaced it with estrangement, pity and fear.
Staring blindly into the flaming red ball of light slowly climbing the morning sky, Dean was lost in his thoughts. Despair shrouding him in a veil that hid beauty, love and understanding from him.
~HIF~
"Dean? Hey man? Are you gonna get back in here anytime soon?"
Sam watched aghast as his brother's back shook from silent, barely visible sobs. Convulsions rippling through Dean's whole body. Sam's heart broke for the second time in less than 24 hours.
And he made a choice.
He chose to love his brother disregarding whatever bad things Dean might have done. Loving his brother meant accepting the graphic atrocities. And accepting the new man who had risen from hell's torture chambers.
Deep in thought and with determination, Sam opened the passenger side's door and stepped out. Slowly approaching his brother, he leaned next to him against the still warm hood. Not too close to respect Dean's personal space but close enough to gently brush against a hunched, shivering shoulder, letting him know he was there.
Sam felt the tension stiffening his brother's body instantly. Mentally berating himself for yet again messing up in aiding his complicated sibling, he cleared his throat and turned his head so his eyes locked on Dean's.
Fear screamed at Sam out of unguarded, deep green eyes, multiplied by the reflections in the tears brimming there. Fear of being let down and despised, of being hated and discarded. And fear of being pitied.
Swallowing against the bitter lump in his throat, Sam fought to regain control over his treacherously moist eyes.
'I can do this! I have to. He'll lose it completely if I mess up again! Awh, Dean....'
He reached out with his right hand and rested it gently on his brother's shoulder.
"Come on, man. We got work to do!"
His effort at normality was noted and Sam internally cheered in relief as Dean rose the back of his hand to his once again over-spilling eyes to wipe them dry. The older hunter nodded, the silent affirmation speaking volumes.
To help Dean wall up, to return to normal was the only gift his younger brother could offer.
Sam couldn't prevent a satisfied smile spreading on his face when he sank into the black, smooth leather of the passenger's seat.
"What's so funny, Sam?"
Sam took the sentence for what it was. A silent plea to not talk about the previous events. For now. And he complied.
"Man, you screwed an angel chick! I didn't take you for the fluffy-sex type."
"Bite me, Sammy! You're just jealous, Mr. I-believe-in-God. Guess, now I know what you been prayin' for all those night..."
Sam noted the slight quiver underneath the quipping banter. His heart overflowed with compassion but he pressed the feeling down and closed a mental lid on it.
"Yeah, right. Like I'm the one who needs to make out with every skirt I meet."
"Bitch." Relief laced the familiar, affectionate nickname.
"Jerk."
...Just one more peaceful day...
Lyrics taken from Staind's It's Been Awhile