"Goodnight Dean."
Dean had turned away from his brother, trying to ignore the hurt in Sam's voice. He knew that Sam was only trying to help, to lessen the burden that Dean carried. But no one could do that. No one could even begin to know how the memories burned, and left an unmistakable scar on Dean's mind. He could never leave them alone. The memories were always there. Always threatening to overwhelm him. Just when he thought that he might be able to get a reprieve, the memories flooded back. And anything could trigger them. Dean recalled last week when a woman laughing in the street nearly floored him. He had spent 10 minutes with his head between his knees trying to maintain his cool. He knew Sam was concerned then, and he was concerned now.
Dean screwed his eyes shut and willed the evil thoughts away, pushing them back with happier thoughts. But this never worked, he always had trouble maintaining the happy memories, as even these were used against him. To trick him, to give him hope and then for it be dashed at the end. Alastair always got more of kick out of that.
Alastair. Dean had no words to describe how much he hated this…. thing. The things that Alistair did… Dean swallowed hard. He knew he could never tell Sam what happened. It would break him. Dean had already resolved never to tell him, he would die rather than let Sam know the horrors of what Dean's existence was in that place.
Dean felt his stomach begin to churn and knowing instantly what was about to follow, ran towards the 70s style green bathroom. He dropped to his knees and vomited into the toilet.
"Dean?" came Sam's voice.
Dean instantly reached up and shut the door, leaning his body against it as he wiped the corners of his mouth. He knew Sam was standing on the other side of the door.
"It's nothing. You know what they say about gas station food…" said Dean, weakly.
"You know it's "nothing", Dean. But.." Dean heard Sam sigh. "We can talk about it tomorrow. I don't really want to get into it now. You're ok though?"
"Sure, Sam. I'm fine." said Dean, feeling his stomach turn over again. He barely made the toilet this time. The bile stang Dean's already raw throat. He heard the door open just a crack, and saw Sam's hand place a glass of water just inside the door. Sam closed the door, saying "I'll be right outside if you need anything."
Sam's concern hurt Dean. He didn't deserve it. The glass of water standing as an innocent reminder of Sam's love for him. Dean picked it up and emptied it down the sink, feeling spent. He rinsed his mouth out, and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. Eyes red and puffy, dirt that seemed to never truly leave, no matter how often he washed. His fingers absentmindedly touched the imprint of a hand on his right shoulder, as Dean brushed his teeth. He seemed to be unaware that he was almost hugging himself.
He sat in the bathroom for almost an hour, wanting to ensure that Sam was asleep when he emerged. He opened the door a crack, and heard Sam's light snoring. The first light of dawn was sneaking in through the window as Dean got back into bed. He shut his eyes, and the visions of torment again began to flood his mind. This time, however, he felt himself bolstered, a white light standing between him and evil.
"Dean. Sleep now."
Dean heard Castiel deep inside his mind. Knowing that, at least now, he was safe, Dean pulled the blankets tighter around him, and immediately fell asleep.
