CHAPTER 44

He thought his head was clear when he walked out of the house. But, his head hasn't been clear for weeks, maybe even months. Life has thrown curve ball after curve ball and as hard as he swings he feels like he keeps striking out.

He tries. He concentrates hard on the pitcher and keeps his eye on the ball. He thinks its heading straight, then at the last minute, when he's ready to swing, the ball curves and he strikes out. Defeated by this game called life, he hangs his head and drags his bat behind him as he slowly, shamefully, makes his way back to the dugouts.

He made his way through the maze of cars. They usually brought him such comfort, there was nothing like seeing something old and broken come back to life. But, right now, he was the thing that was broken and wasn't sure if it would even be possible to renew the life that had been lost within himself.

His head was spinning, it was swirling around, like a Farris wheel, stuck on turbo, going way too fast, thoughts flinging off of it, bouncing around his head in screams of horror.

He fell to his knees in the middle of the wreckage that surrounded him. He reached up with his hands and held tight to the sides of his head. He just wanted to make it all go away. He needed a relief, somehow. But, every time he tried something new just got in his way. And, here he was again, facing the same thing he keeps facing. It was like life was playing a joke on him. He could hear it laughing at him if he listened close enough.

He could imagine what someone felt like when they were told they had cancer, or another terminal illness, because that's exactly the way he feels at this very moment. He feels like his life is over, like he has no way of escaping the inevitable. The problem is, the inevitable only causes pain, so much pain, so much physical pain and emotional pain mixed together.

The pain only brings sympathy and sorrow. He can see it in everyone's eyes. The way they look at him, the way they speak to him, the way they act around him, like he's fragile glass that's going to shatter if they move too fast or step too hard. They treat him like he's dying, like they know the truth but have the need to keep it from him, to imagine it isn't there.

He's always been the stone wall, impossible to tare down. When had he become so fragile, so easily broken? He let the tears slip down his cheeks. He was alone, it didn't really matter. But, he had cried too many tears in front of too many people lately, so it really didn't matter. That only increased his awareness of his own weakness, causing more sympathy from those around him.

He was empty inside. He thought things were getting better, he thought he was getting better. He had a ray of hope, as crazy and childish at that may sound. But, Sam's research gave him hope that maybe not only would he be able to understand himself but his dad would be able to understand him too.

He just wanted to feel normal. For once in his life, all he wanted was to be normal. He didn't want to be a freak anymore. He didn't want to be the one that was labeled crazy or possessed or anything along those lines. He would be fine with the normal he had grown to know, but, even that normal seemed so far from him right now. He was a freak even in his family's eyes.

The only thing he ever wanted in his life, the thing he strived for the most, was to show strength. He wanted to be strong in his dad's eyes. He wanted his dad to be proud of him, to see him as a man equal to him. But, now, all that had been lost. Now, he was just a broken empty shell full of nothing but tears and pain.

He wondered, if he was a freak, if he was possessed and his life was doomed anyhow, then what the hell did it matter? What did his life matter? Any job they worked that they came across someone like himself, they would kill them, kill the monster they had become, the monster that lived inside.

That monster was him. He was the monster this time, and he deserved the same treatment the others would get. He deserved to be destroyed. He wasn't any more important than anyone else, in fact he was less important. The other innocent people out there, trapped into becoming a monster or demon, at least they had a shot at a real life. They could make a difference in this world. They could become somebody. But, he would never have that chance. His chance died with his mom 22 years ago.

He had always been a man, a real man, tough and strong. He loved his women, maybe a little too much at times. He loved the way they looked, the way they felt and tasted. He loved everything about them. It didn't matter what body shape they had or the hair color. Sure, he had his preferences, but ultimately it didn't really matter to him, he loved them all. They all brought something different into his life, each one as unique as the last, as unique as the next.

But, now his life had been reduced to men. It wasn't his choosing, but it was his undoing. He hated it, everything about it. He hated the way they felt, and smelled, but mostly he hated the way they tasted. The thought of the foulness of another man caused bile to build in the back of his throat that landed in a pile on the ground in front of him.

He picked up a sharp, jagged piece of metal that sat beside one of the cars. His heart ached, all he wanted to do was get rid of the ache, cut out the pain. He pulled his shirt up to see the healing wounds he had caused himself and sliced a new line over the left side of his chest.

The taste, the sight, the horror. His body shook as he leaned forward onto his hands and knees. He finished emptying the contents of his stomach before he rocked himself back to a seat position. He couldn't even manage to stand. He couldn't manage to get his brain to function properly. This needed to stop.

Another slice across his heart, another slice down his side and to his stomach. It didn't take him long to realize the deeper the better.

His head spun and spun and spun. It wouldn't stop. All he wanted was for it to stop. Memories flashed through his eyes. Pictures, short videos, playing in his head.

Another slice, a line of blood flow followed the piece of metal he held in his hand.

He was on his knees, so young, just a boy, on his knees. The gravel dug into his tender flesh, leaving marks. The men, one by one, left their own marks, dripping into his body and over his face and chest.

Another physical mark left by his own hands across his chest.

Older, more experienced, but it still left its mark, they left their mark. The first time he had felt a finger go inside of him made his breath stop. His body tightened and trembled. They said it would be okay. They said it was good, that he would enjoy it. He didn't and nothing about it was okay, but he had to take care of his little brother. He had to make sure Sammy was fed, no matter what it did to him.

A new line trailed beside the one he had just cut into his skin.

That taste, the taste that had him vomiting the moment he returned home, or sooner, depending on how many men he had satisfied. The smell of sweaty bodies combined with their fluids that were released. The showers he would take, trying to scrub the filth from him, scratching and clawing at his own fluid covered body.

Another slice, deep into his tender skin, leaving smeared blood on his torso, trailing down his stomach. He stopped just below the waistband, at the top of his pelvic area. He sliced away but couldn't bring himself to go anywhere near the place that had been violated so severely.

His mind was back in the room, Sam chained to the wall. He was tied to a table, on his stomach. He wasn't even sure how he had gotten there, what was happening. The pain. The pain was so unbelievable. The pain. The smell. The… The pain.

Another fresh line, more blood dripped.

The pain hurt more than just physically. The pain was too much, too unbearable. He needed it to stop. It was past the point of being a want, it was a need!

He sliced another line across his torso, across the top of his heart. Why couldn't this just stop?

He was laying on a mattress, in a room with others. He felt funny, he couldn't stop anything from happening, couldn't move. He tried but got punished for trying to fight. The pain, it was there. It was too much, too, too incredibly too much. Some, hurt more than others, but it was still too much. He couldn't handle the feeling inside, the twisting and turning, like his insides were being rung, and the pain that filled his being.

Another slice tried to take the emotional pain away but didn't seem to replace it with any physical pain. Numbness. That's all he could physically feel, numbness.

He had, somehow, managed to stay a virgin, in that aspect, but not anymore. Now, he was more than not a virgin, he was destroyed. Shattered. No one, man or woman, would ever want him again. Destroyed. Damaged.

A deeper line tried to make its way through his heart.

He remembers feeling the thing, god it hurt worse than anything. He knew the liquid was his own blood. It felt like his insides were torn through his skin. The pain. Too much pain.

The lines continued to grow but he still couldn't feel them. His hands bloody from the grip he held on the jagged piece.

Then again, he felt it again. It wasn't the same as the others. This one felt different. It was there too much, the breaks between would be filled with normal men, but then it would be back, tearing at his insides until he was sure all his blood was drained.

Another line drawn across his arm and chest and heart and stomach. And, he just wanted it to stop. He wanted his head to stop. He wanted to lay down, to hide in darkness and never see light again.

It had stopped, it had stopped because it got what it wanted, it had turned him into the monster.

He was a monster. He was a monster. He sliced one more line into his heart and dropped the metal onto the ground. It landed in the pool of blood that had built at his knees.

Absentminded, Dean stumbled across the junkyard and into his own private spot he had created for himself several years ago. It was filled with so much, Dean didn't even remember everything he had put there, but he knew whatever he needed, that's where he'd find it.

He crawled into the back of the broken-down car, it was surrounded by vehicle death, much like the death he felt inside himself. He grabbed a few things and made his way out of the car and across the yard. He pressed his back against his beloved Baby and let his body slip to the ground.

He was a monster. The pain had turned him into one. He didn't understand it at the time, but he did now. He popped open the lid of a pill bottle. He poured a couple out into his hand and tossed them in his mouth, washing them down with the bottle of whiskey that sat at his side.

He was no better than the things they hunted. Another couple pills washed down with a gulp of whiskey.

His life was doomed but no one would do anything about it. If they wouldn't then he would. That was all there was too it. He felt so weak at this moment, he had lost all hope, all will to go on.

Six pills filled his palm and flooded down his throat with the force of the burning whiskey.

He had failed. Plain and simple. He had failed in life. He had failed Sam. He had failed Bobby. But, worse of all, he had failed his dad.

Another handful of pills flushed down his throat, and the bottle he held was empty. He dropped it to his side and picked up the second bottle. He popped the lid off the bottle and poured them into his hand. He didn't waste time, not with this bottle, he poured all the contents into his hand and tossed them into his mouth. He washed them down with the remainder of his whiskey.

Sam, he had failed Sam. He needed to make things right. Dad, he needed to make things right with Dad too. God, he was starting to feel… funny… the same way he did when he was tied to the mattress in that room. He needed to make it quick, before his act was complete. He pushed himself up, leaving smeared bloody hand prints across his Baby. He popped the trunk and grabbed a hoodie to cover the blood on his shirt.

He wiped his hands down his pants to clean the blood and stumbled into the house. By the time he made it to the front door, all he wanted to do was collapse on the couch and allow himself to fall into the darkness. He wanted it to be done, finished, he wanted the monster dead.

But, when he entered the room, his dad sat on the couch. He was there. Worried about Dean. He tried not to act like he was, but Dean could tell, it was like basic instinct knowing what his family was thinking and feeling. That's how he kept himself safe. That's how he kept them safe and taken care of.

Dean leaned against the wall. The pain had started flooding in. Somehow, what was once numb, was coming in like a vengeance. He struggled to breath around the pain and the floating feeling in his head. He tried to stay upright, using the wall for support.

His dad was talking to him. He tried to concentrate. Tried to carry on a conversation. How the hell could he tell him? If he told him then he would do everything in his power to stop it. It was already too late, but that didn't mean his dad wouldn't try. And, Dean did not want Dad trying to save him. The monster needed to die, and he knew it. They all should know it, but for some reason they seemed to be blinded by the fact the monster was Dean.

He fought to stand but failed at that too. His dad was there. His gentle, loving touch. The concern in his voice. The passion in his touch. What the hell did he do? How could he destroy his family like this? How could he have done this without even telling his dad?

His mind spun and his body became numb again. He couldn't make sense of anything. He heard something, something loud. Like a yell, a short scream.

Bobby, was that Bobby? He wasn't completely sure, but he thought it was. His shirt was gone. He could tell by the coldness that filled his chest. Or, maybe he was just dying, the coldness filling him before he took his last breath.

Oh god, it was Sammy. He always knew Sam, no matter how lost he was, Sam was the one thing he could always seem to find. 'I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry.' Dean said in his head, unable to speak. Unable to move.

There was a sharp, unbearable pain in his chest forcing him to roll on his side, but he needed Sam. He kept his head touching him. Somehow it had ended up in his lap, he wasn't sure how, but he was thankful for the touch of his brother.

He couldn't keep his eyes straight, even with them closed, he could feel them pulling to the back of his head with more force than he could ever imagine. His body ached. It felt so tight. He wasn't completely sure, but he thought maybe he was shaking. Everything seemed blurred and he wasn't sure what was going on anymore, even his own body was betraying him.

Sammy. Sammy kept talking to him, telling him to open his eyes, he tried but couldn't anymore. Suddenly, he couldn't seem to take another breath. His heart hurt, his chest tight. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. No matter how many times he tried, he failed, no air would come in and no air would go out.

The edges of his vision grayed then completely blackened out, covering his vision until it was gone. The voices and movement around him had stopped a while ago. He couldn't feel his brother anymore. Couldn't sense anyone in the room with him. But, then again, it wasn't exactly like he could sense his own body either. He was floating. Floating on a cloud, in darkness, in silence. Just him and this cloud, floating to who knows where.

Then there was a force of air filling his lungs. He gasped with the breath, but couldn't seem to draw another one in. Again, a force of air filled his lungs, causing him to gasp and try to cough, but coughing seemed too hard, too much effort that he didn't have.

There was a pressure on his chest, it felt like it was pressing in, like a pulse, trying to crack every rib, or maybe it was just trying to shatter his sternum?

Everything started to fade in his mind. Everything was turning into a blissful peace, a darkness like he had never experienced before. He wanted so badly to stay here, but he knew with the way his life has been going, he wouldn't have such luck.

Another forced breath brought some clarity back to the darkness. It brought life back to what Dean wanted to die.

Darkness flooded in and he lost all control of his mind. It went blank… just like the rest of his body.