The Thorn Within

A Supernatural Fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I wish the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric Kripke and all associated. Those selfish bastards!

Summary: Dean's been cursed to become one of the very things he hunts and what's worse is that he doesn't yet know it. Meanwhile Sam's having crippling visions that seemingly have nothing to do with either demon or the children like him. And that's just the beginning.

Author's Note: My very first Supernatural fic ever, so take that into account when you're reviewing. Thank you so much to those of you who already have!

Also, this is an AU fic post 'Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things.

Rating: Let's just start with M to avoid any problems later. Language, sex, violence, it's all here.

I am the secret
I am the sin
I am the guilty
I am the thorn within

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

Chapter Five

"Do you think I should sue the hospital or something for wrongfully imprisoning me?" Dean asked wryly as he and Sam walked away through the busy hospital lobby, carefully avoiding patients and medical staff alike.

"Just be happy they didn't argue more over the AMA's and leave it be, Dean," Sam advised, walking with a little more care than usual, as if worried that his head would come tumbling off of his shoulders if he made any sudden movements. "As it is, we've got just enough time to go back to the motel, shower and change for the funeral."

"Don't forget about the cuffs," Dean muttered, looking down at the metal bracelets encircling his wrists. "I liked these too, damn it," he muttered, doing everything he could not to dwell on the word funeral. He didn't want to find out what happened when he couldn't wallow in denial any longer. Not that he wallowed. That was more of Sam's gig. He stopped in his tracks when Sam wasn't immediately answering him. "Sam? You still have the keys, right? You wouldn't have handcuffed me if you didn't have the keys, would you?"

"What?" Sam murmured, turning his attention away from the bustling lobby for a moment to focus on his brother. He hadn't meant to ignore him, but there was something about the woman walking ahead of them that stuck a chord. Sam had only seen her once or twice in profile as she smiled and acknowledged people as she passed, but still she seemed incredibly familiar. He was aware on some level that Dean was asking him another question or at the very least trying to get his attention, but Sam had to find out who this woman was.

Dean was a second away from grabbing his brother forcibly by the arm and marching his ass straight back into a hospital bed. "Dude, you aren't even listening to me. Sammy where's women's lingerie under his clothes," he mocked, loud enough for a few passer's by to overhear and turn their heads. Dean grinned at them briefly, but that was all the time Sam needed to make his move. "Sam? What the hell?" Dean muttered, seeing his brother move across the busy room as if being reeled in by some invisible line. Then Dean looked up and saw what, or who rather, his little brother was being reeled in by and couldn't fault his brother's actions.

"Excuse me, Miss?" Sam prompted, coming up to stand behind the petite blonde, his brain rushing to spit out words that wouldn't make it sound like he was stalking her.

The woman turned, all attention and smiles. "Yes? May I help you?" her voice was the soothing monotone of someone who has had to ask that question time and time again.

"Yeah, hi. Um, my name's Sam and I was just a patient here and I was wondering—"

"Is this man bothering you?" Dean interrupted with a laugh, having moved to Sam's side so silently and swiftly that Sam started. "Because he's been known to do that without outside intervention. I'm Dean," Dean said with a smile, not offering her his hand because while impolite, it prevented her from seeing the broken handcuff and getting the wrong impression. Man, she was smoking hot. Long wavy blonde hair, rich blue eyes that he could feel himself drowning in, full pouting lips that he just wanted to nibble right here and now… If she had been a little taller—she didn't even come up to Dean's chin—she could have made it as a supermodel without question.

The woman laughed and shook her head. "He wasn't bothering me, really. I'm Amanda. Amanda Nicholas. Is he your brother?" she asked, her voice syrupy and sweet and making Dean tingle in all the right places.

"How'd you guess?" Dean responded before Sam could, giving her one of his 1000 watt smiles. If Dean limited to himself to something as foolish as a type of woman, Miss Amanda Nicholas—he had surreptitiously checked her for a wedding ring—would definitely be his.

"Oh I don't know, you both have the same kind of rugged charm about you," she said with a grin, looking them both over and obviously liking what she saw. Although Dean liked to believe her eyes lingered just a bit longer on him.

Sam turned his head slightly to the side while Amanda's focus was on his brother and all but gaped. What the hell was Dean doing? They had just gotten out of the hospital, strike that, they were stuck in the lobby of the hospital, on the way to Cassie's funeral and here Dean was talking some girl up. A girl Sam was talking to first! Not that he was interested in getting into her pants. No, that was all Dean. Sometimes he wondered if his older brother was even human.

"So what do you do, Amanda?" Dean went on, seemingly oblivious to Sam's look but Dean was trained to be far too observant of his surroundings at all times for Sam to believe that. Sam shook his head slightly, deciding that it didn't matter right now. Dean was asking all the questions Sam had wanted to. He had to know if the sinking feeling in his gut was right or not.

"I'm a nurse here at the hospital actually," she said with a smile. "But I'm off duty now if you'd like to grab a coffee or something. Your brother can come too," she said with a smile in Sam's direction and golly gee wiz didn't he feel special to be included.

"Actually, Dean and I have a funeral to attend to," Sam interjected, stressing the word. "But it was nice meeting you." He grabbed ahold of Dean's arm and pulled him out of the hospital before his brother could argue.

"Dude, what the hell? She was totally in to me!" Dean argued once they were through the automatic doors, straining to look back inside to see whether or not Amanda was still there waiting for them.

"She was the nurse in my vision, Dean!" Sam hissed, pulling Dean even further away from the building should anyone accidentally eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Wait, what?" Dean asked, the blood in his body working its way back up to his brain long enough for him to participate in the conversation.

"She was the nurse in my dream! The one who had been saved!" Sam continued in a harsh whisper. "And what the hell is wrong with you? We're going to Cassie's funeral in less than two hours and you're looking to get laid?"

Dean's eyes flashed in anger. "Shut up. You don't know anything about me and Cassie! You wouldn't have even met her if she hadn't called back then so just shut up!"

Sam wanted to argue back, his own gorge rising fast in response to his brother's utter stupidity but his eyes were suddenly drawn to the broken cuffs on Dean's hands and he remembered why they were there in the first place. "Dean, calm down right now." Ok, from the way Dean's jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists at his sides, making that sound like an order probably wasn't the best idea, but at least Dean was still listening to him. "I know you're upset but you can't get mad right now."

"If you want to keep me from getting upset then stop fucking pissing me off," Dean growled before closing his eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths.

Sam didn't answer, not wanting to thwart Dean's necessary efforts of doing what he did best; pushing everything to the side and concentrating on nothing but the moment. Knowing that Dean did it was one thing. To watch Dean actually construct the mental walls between him and his emotions was something entirely different.

Dean opened his eyes again and Sam was almost afraid of what he would see. Would his brother look different? Would he seem deader inside at having to block out his emotions? But when Dean looked right at him and Sam saw that there was no change in his brother's eyes whatsoever… That was so much worse. How long had it been since he had seen Dean? Really seen him? How long had it been since his brother had really laughed, not those forced dry chuckles Sam heard every day but real honest to God laughter? He had seen Dean cry on the road after leaving their mother's grave but Dean had recovered himself so quickly and went on with life as if nothing had happened so easily that Sam didn't half wonder if he hadn't imagined it all.

"I'll do my best," Sam blurted suddenly, realising he hadn't responded to Dean's growled comment. "I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to upset you. I was just trying to understand."

"Whatever," Dean murmured, no longer angry because he couldn't afford to be but not all puppies and sunshine either. "We'll talk about this later." There was nothing more to say as they walked side by side to the curb and flagged down a cab to take them back to their motel room.

WWW

The funeral service was a quiet affair, held in a small church filled to the roof with flowers of every kind, their scent clinging to hair and clothes, distracting away from the imagined smell of the young woman in the coffin up front. Dean didn't want to look at her. If he looked at her then the image of her too-still body would forever be superimposed over images of her laughing, of the moments of blissed silence after they had just made love, even of the moments when she was screaming at him. Now all he would remember was death. He didn't even have anything of hers. Not one keepsake of their time together. Hell he didn't even have any pictures. Because what had been the point, really? I mean she was Cassie. She would always be there. Cassie just was. Except now she wasn't. She was gone. Dead. And she wasn't ever going to be there for him again. Not ever. His one tie to the outside world besides Sam had been torn asunder; severed without hope or repair. All he had left on this earth was Sam. Only Sam.

"Are you going to go up?" Sam asked, interrupting his brother's silence. Dean didn't have to turn his head and look to know that Sam's brows would be creased in worry, his mouth slightly down turned in a frown. Dean tried to smile but he felt his face would crack into a thousand pieces at the utter wrongness of it here. This wasn't a place of smiles. Cassie would never smile again. Why should he? So he didn't.

"In a minute, Sam," he answered, wanting to shift uncomfortably in his dark suit; wanting Cassie to smooth her hands over the lapels and tell him how wrong it looked on him even more. She had said as much the last time he was in town, telling him that he looked like a man about to head to his own funeral. The words threatened to claw at his sanity now. He should have worn his favourite t-shirt and most comfortable pair of broken-in jeans for her. He shouldn't have worn this…this costume. He had told her the truth and the whole truth almost from the beginning and now here he was at her end sitting in a lie made up of fabric and thread. He wanted to rip the suit off of his body and stride up to her side naked as the day he came screaming; laid bare and honest before her as he should be. He had the presence of mind not to try but God how he wished he hadn't.

It was all lies; all a façade. Dean Winchester no longer existed. Perhaps he never had. He was all smoky glass and mirrors, reflecting whoever and whatever the world wanted to see, never revealing that there was nothing within. How could a man who lied about his identity as easily as breathing ever truly claim to have a place in this world? He had no address, nothing to call his own except for a few meager possessions and the Impala. He could drop dead here on the spot and the only one who would even mark his passing was Sam. And even Sam would cope. He would live his life. He would go back to school. He would do whatever it was he wanted to do before his older brother came in from the cold and tied him to this life once more.

He had a death certificate and yet still he lived while Cassie was about to be put into the ground. He was legally dead and yet here he sat and breathed while Cassie was an embalmed shell of who she had once been. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair and it was life. Life was cruel and dark and there was nothing waiting for you at the end of it all but more cruelty and darkness. Dean didn't believe in Heaven. What was the point? He didn't believe in a God who would let the world go on like this without caring. If there were a God up there somewhere he must not be paying attention because humanity should have been wiped out long, long ago. There was nothing worth saving anymore. Nothing at all.

"Dean? Are you ok?" Sam whispered, hating to ask but unable to read what his brother was thinking. He had been sitting in utter silence for so long now that Sam half wondered if he was even still awake or worse yet, still breathing.

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean murmured without thinking; an instinctual reaction. He was so far from fine that fine didn't even exist in his world any longer. But to Sam he was fine. He was always fine. He didn't know how to be anything else.

"No you're not," Sam whispered back. Why did he always have to argue? Why couldn't he ever just leave him be? Couldn't he see that he was barely holding it together right now without being questioned about how he was feeling every five minutes?

"Fine. Since arguing with you might lead to trying to kill you, I'll just agree. But since there's nothing you can do about it, just leave it be Sammy. Please."

That certainly put an end to Sam's upcoming tirade, something which Dean thought he should be grateful for, but it was hard to feel anything but loss right now so he wasn't entirely sure. "Do you want me to come up with you?"

No. He didn't want to go up there at all. He wanted to run screaming from this place; he wanted to give in to all the fears and terrors that the hunter in him never allowed him to feel. He wanted to pinch himself and wake up in the cheapest of motel rooms and have this all be a nightmare. He wanted his father sitting here with him telling him that everything was going to be alright. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted. But he wasn't going to get; not any of it. Not ever again. Cassie was dad. His dad was dead. What else was there to think about? It didn't really matter, anyway. It was all moot. He'd never expected to see the age of thirty. Not when he had truly understood what his life was. No matter how quick or skilled he was, there would always be something out there quicker and more skilled than he was. And all it would take was one mistake, one slip-up and he'd be dead. It didn't worry him. It never had. It was just his lot in life. But why did it have to be Cassie's? What had she done to deserve this? Any of this?

"Dean?" Sam repeated, even going so far as to lay a hand of sympathy on Dean's shoulder to get his full attention. He frowned when his brother flinched away under his touch.

"No, it's fine. I'll go by myself." He didn't know what the hell he was supposed to say once he got up there, but he knew he wouldn't be able to say anything at all with Sam hovering at his shoulder like he expected him to crack and bleed all over the church marble at any second. "You can go up if you want to before or after me though, you knew her too."

Sam nodded. "Alright. I'll wait here for now, ok?" he prompted, trying to get his brother to get up and go to Cassie's coffin while trying to be as subtle as he could about it. From the complete lack of expression on Dean's face throughout the entire service, Sam didn't think that it had really sunk in for Dean yet. Although with Dean, it was never easy to tell.

Dean inclined his head in a non-response, clearly not listening to Sam any longer. His eyes were fixed at the front of the church, where Cassie lay trapped in a wooden box surrounded by flowers so people here wouldn't notice that she wasn't breathing. He just wanted this all to be a dream. He wanted Cassie to sit up in the coffin with an 'Aha, I got you!' and a smile bright enough to power a city for a year. But it didn't matter what Dean wanted. It never did.

Taking a breath, he rose to his feet and made his way to the aisle, self-consciously smoothing his suit as he walked. It still felt like a lie, but if he had to endure it then at least he could look presentable. He hoped Cassie would appreciate that. His steps were slow and measured as he grew closer and closer to the coffin and more and more Dean just wanted to turn tail and run from this place, never looking back. But while Dean Winchester was many things, a coward didn't rank among them.

Finally seeing Cassie up close nearly sent him to his knees. He had seen death and corpses before, more times than he could count, but seeing someone you actually knew after the morticians were through with them was something entirely different. He hadn't let the bastards have his dad. No, he and Sam had wrapped, salted and burned their father's body before any death profiteer even had a chance to find out that there was a new corpse in town to profit from. No attempts had been made by anyone to make their dad look anything different than what he was: a corpse. Not so with Cassie. Her face was done up in more makeup than she ever would have worn in life, attempting to bring life back to the lifeless. Her skin, which had been so rich and beautiful in life was now grey and washed out, as if someone had taken a brush and de-saturated her while leaving the rest of the world alone. Not that Dean saw the world in colour anymore. No, his world was just as dull and grey as Cassie's was now.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you, Cassie," he whispered, conscious of the other mourners surrounding him. He wasn't going to be overheard and he wasn't going to make a scene. Mrs. Robinson had surely seen him come up, but giving her a quick glance only showed Dean that she was too lost in her own grief to worry about anything else right now. Dean would leave her to it, not knowing what he'd say to explain himself anyway even if he tried. "I don't understand why you didn't call me; why you didn't tell me that you were sick, but I don't blame you for it. You didn't think we'd work out and it seems as if you were right. But I would have tried, Cassie. But you didn't even ask." He let out a soft bitter laugh. "Maybe you just knew something I didn't. Maybe you saw what Sam refuses to: that I'm just not meant to settle down and have the picket fence life. But that doesn't matter now, does it? Because you're gone and I'm left alone. Again. But I don't blame you. I don't blame you for anything." He turned to leave, having said all he cared to, before hesitating and turning to address her corpse once more. "If you ever decide to come back, to haunt this world for whatever reason, know that I won't let anyone else that does what I do touch you. I'll salt and burn your body myself, Cassie. Because I know you wouldn't want that. I know that you would want to be at rest. Be at peace, Cassie."

Sam watched his brother return, his face utterly free of expression or grief, and he desperately wanted to sit Dean down and force him to talk about what he was going through right now but Sam couldn't. Doing something like that would be akin to poking a wounded adult grizzly with a stick. There were some things you just left alone. Dean certainly fell under that category for the time being.

"Let's go," Dean announced, coming to stand at Sam's side and making no move to reclaim his seat in the pew. "We've got to go back to Colorado, right? Well there's no better time than the present."

Sam wanted to cry foul, citing his extreme need for sleep and rest after spending a night in the hospital, but he didn't. How could he argue that he was tired and wanted to stay in town one more night when there was a woman in danger? They had gotten lucky with the nurse—something he and Dean still hadn't talked about—but Sam wasn't naïve enough to believe that if they just buried their heads under the sand everything would be ok. "Alright," he agreed instead, following his brother's lead for the time being because he honestly didn't know what else to do.

WWW

The drive back to Colorado had been uneventful; the miles stretched out behind them like broken dreams and scattered memories. Dean was silent, his eyes focused on the unending stretch of highway, never once saying what he was thinking or how he was feeling and Sam never asking.

The car was silent for perhaps the first time in recent memory, Dean willingly embracing the lack of music of any kind. The lightning guitars and the throbbing base notes would have sounded garish and out of place to his ears so there was nothing but quiet. Never before had Sam missed his brother's instant sing-along at the top of his lungs with some pulsing Metallica song, never before had he missed his brother incessant jokes and insults. The Dean who was sitting beside him was not his brother. He was an approximation; a collection of all the obvious parts of who Dean was without anything that lay underneath the surface. When Dean had spoke, and it had been hours ago now, his voice was bright and shiny and lacking any depth to it whatsoever. Sam just wanted to grab his brother by the shoulders and shake him until he came back again, like trying to right a broken figure in the middle of a snow globe. It was a futile effort.

"Would you have told me about Cassie if you had gotten the call first instead of me?" Sam asked suddenly, shattering the silence beyond recognition. He winced as Dean startled and reflexively swerved the car over the median just far enough for images of their beaten and broken bodies splayed out on the hood of the Impala after a head-on collision with a semi truck to pass before his eyes. But Dean righted the car in seconds and glared at him while not actually turning his head to look.

Dean didn't pretend not to know what Sam was getting at. He just didn't answer, desperately clinging to the silence. He didn't want to talk about this. He didn't even want to think about this. He just wanted to keep driving and never ever stop.

But once the question was past his brother's lips and floating around in the confines of the car like a trapped spirit, it had to be answered. Sam wouldn't just let it go. It wasn't in his nature.

"I don't know and I don't want to talk about it so just leave it be, Sam," Dean growled, his voice sounding strange and wrong to his own ears after so many hours of quiet.

But Sam wouldn't leave it be. He would pick and pick and pick until Dean was covered in blood and screaming just to be left alone; that he didn't want to talk about his feelings or worries or fears. But Sam couldn't see that. He could only see that his big brother in pain and that talking about it would make everything better. Dean didn't know where Sam had gotten this notion from. Jess, maybe. Because the Winchester men certainly weren't ones to share and care. When their dad had ever spoken of what had happened to their mother, it was always the facts and never ever what he had been feeling at the time. Not that Dean had thought their dad was uncaring, he simply knew how to shut up about things he didn't want to talk about. Sam had learned that lesson too, and well, but the same rules obviously didn't apply to Dean. And he hated his brother a little for that. And the hate in turn shamed him and forced him to answer Sam's question truthfully, everything else be damned.

"No. I wouldn't have told you. Alright? I wouldn't have even gone back to Cape Giradeau," Dean admitted, his words coming hot through gritted teeth as he fought the killing anger down. God, he needed a drink. He needed a bar full of drinks and lungs full of the scent of stale sweat, alcohol and cigarettes. He needed to hit something or someone but that was verboten. Getting angry meant doing a lot more than simply busting a few heads in a friendly bar fight. Getting angry meant losing control and possibly caving someone's skull in. Dean could see it right now. The blood, red and hot and thick covering his hands as he watched the life fade out of someone's eyes. God, he wanted it—

Sam flew forward in his seat; one hand braced instinctively against the dash as Dean slammed on the breaks and pulled over to the side of the road. "Dean, what the—" before the question could be asked, Dean unbuckled his seat belt and pushed open the car door, getting out and walking with forced calm around the car to the side of the road where he braced his hands on his knees and hunched over, gagging and spitting on the pathetic grass that lined the highway. Sam's heart beat a frantic staccato in his chest as he rushed to follow, needing to know what the hell was going on and if his brother was alright.

"Get back in the car, right now, Sammy!" Dean shouted in a hoarse voice, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth and taking a few deep breaths to push the remaining contents of his stomach back down where they belonged. Never before had he felt such a powerfully upwelling of bloodlust. He wanted to hurt, to kill, to maim and destroy and he wanted it now. And he didn't care if the victims were human or not. He just wanted blood and by the gallons. Get a fucking hold of yourself before you kill someone, Dean. Just push it all away. It doesn't exist. It doesn't exist…

Sam watched in wide-eyed horror as Dean seemed to fight with himself, having done just what he said by returning to the car without question. He had initially wanted to argue, but something in the hunch of Dean's shoulders and the desperateness of his voice had him jumping to as if he were the good little soldier he always accused Dean of being. But that didn't mean he wasn't worried. Hell yes, he was worried. In less than two days he had been forced to knock his brother out, tie him up and trap him in a salt circle—something that shouldn't have been able to hold him, not now and not ever. And they still had no clue whatsoever as to what was wrong. Dean claimed that it was something that had affected him, without a ghost or demon possessing him, but how could Sam know that Dean wasn't being forced to say that? But the holy water and the Christo didn't work, so maybe Dean was telling the truth? One way or another, he had to find a way to fix this. And soon.

Dean straightened after a few more deep breaths, feeling able finally to go back to the car without wanting to reach over and tear out his brother's throat. That he'd felt any such inclinations still bothered him, but there didn't seem to be anything he could do about it and they couldn't just stay parked on the side of the road forever.

"You ok?" Sam ventured carefully as Dean settled himself back behind the wheel and buckled his seatbelt.

Dean nodded. "I'm the Zen master, remember?" The pathetic attempt at humour fell like a lead weight dropped from an airplane.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sam asked, hating to but needing further reassurance that his brother was alright. They were all either of them had left now.

"I'm alright, Sam. Stop asking. It's all lollypops and candy canes from here on out." The Impala's throaty roar drowned anything else that might have been said.

WWW

The motel was just as cheap and grimy as it had been two days ago when they had stayed in it last, smelling of piss, sex and alcohol, but beggars couldn't be choosers and they had stayed in far worse rooms than this. The manager didn't even blink to see them back again after so short a period, leaving Dean to believe that he didn't remember them. Normally, this might have pissed him off—he didn't want to think of himself as the forgettable type—but right now it was a blessing. He didn't want to be noticed or remarked upon. He just wanted to be left alone.

"You said this Anne worked the night shift?" Sam asked needlessly as Dean had already told him twice. Sam was probably just searching for something to say.

"Yeah," Dean murmured, saying nothing further but looking up to the garish light of day with tired eyes. He had been driving all night and now it was a new day that didn't look any more promising than the last one had. He had wanted to beat the clock; wanted to get back here to Bolder with time enough to beat the information out of the monster that called herself Anne if necessary, but wanted more just to be able to get really good and angry without having to worry about killing someone in the process.

"Well the University of Colorado student in my vision wasn't killed until after dark so we might as well catch a few hours' rest while we don't have anything else to do," Sam offered with a shrug, wondering if his brother would accept. Whatever energy he had gained since leaving Colorado the first time seemed to have been forcibly yanked out of him on the drive back. Dean looked drawn and pale and Sam was getting tired of the monotone answers he received whenever he asked a question.

"Do you know anything more about the second victim yet?" Dean asked, surprising Sam as he showed the first hint of real interest in the case since they had left Cape Girardeau.

Sam shook his head, wishing he had more answers. "No. Nothing. Just that she was ripped to pieces, Dean. I don't even know her name or what did it."

"Werewolf?"

"Maybe," Sam allowed, frowning as he tried to draw more information out of the jumbled collection of images he had received in the two-for-one visions. "I don't know. But what I really don't understand is why I'm having visions of them in the first place. I mean, as far as I can tell none of them have any…abilities like mine, they don't live in our old house, nothing. It doesn't make any sense."

"You'll figure it out, Sam. You always do," Dean murmured as they entered the motel room—different only in location from the last one, not decoration—and dropped their bags as they went. The ease in which Dean believed that, as if there could be no question, filled Sam with a reassurance that he should have been giving Dean right now, not accepting. "I'm going to take a shower." Dean didn't wait around for a response; he simply disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind him leaving Sam alone with his thoughts.

TBC

A/N: I hope everyone's still enjoying this. I know the drama has pretty much overtaken any action thus far, but believe me, that will most certainly change in the next chapter as we find out more on what's affecting Dean and the cause of Sam's visions. Until then, thanks so much for reading and please, please a million times please, review.