I know it's kind of short but it's about the past so no complaining! Love you!
Dean knew he was going to die, he could feel it with every painful beat of his heart, in every painful throb of the wound in his right shoulder, and in every breath he dragged into his burning lungs. He knew he would die here, in this meadow surrounded by massive oaks that towered all around him, he would die here in a puddle of his own crimson colored blood and no one would care. Regret was tangible in the spring scented air, it filled his mind with painful images of his errant father who had left him here, his brother who had walked away from Dean when he had needed Sam the most, the mother he barely knew and the faceless family he would never have. Flashes of memory flickered behind his eyes like a candle in the darkness, they blinded him with faces, places and eyes…. Cold yellow eyes that haunted his dreams. Laughing yellow eyes that seemed to tell him what he already knew 'You lost, it's over'.
So staring at a black sky that shimmered with pale stars he couldn't help but realize all the things he wanted, the things he needed and the things he would now never have. He couldn't help but hate his father who had trained him to kill the things that went bump in the night, to slay dragons that were never his own, and to remember constantly that things were never as they seem. He hated the brother who had left him to find a life for himself, self desires Dean knew were better left unsaid, he hated the demon who had killed his mother and all those defenseless mothers. But mostly the hate he was feeling was for himself, because he had fallen so quickly into the life his father had chosen, heeling to the needs of his family before himself, forgetting himself.
So who was he? Dean Winchester? Or someone new? Did the real Dean Winchester, the carefree child from all those years ago, did he die along with the life that John had built? Who was this person who lie dying in an abandoned field?
'Just like your father.' A voice taunted. 'You don't really care about all those people, you just want to kill. But who are you when you realize that you're the monster you've been fighting for so long?'
Monster. That's how he felt he realized, like a monster. "No." he denied.
'Yes, a monster.'
No. Dean thought. I'm a person, I've got feelings and needs. I want a family of my own, I want my brother, I want to be loved and be in love. I want a son. I want to be normal.
'What's normal? What about all those demons? What about all those people? You can never be normal, Dean, never.'
Pain burned in his chest, spreading through his body making him numb. What do I do? Questions filled his head and pounded a harsh tattoo against his skull but no answers came, only denials and excuses that plagued and stained his precious memories. Too wrapped up in his own grief he barely noticed the sound of tires crunching over gravel when a car pulled into the field. Darkness was beginning to fringe the edges of his vision making it difficult to keep his eyes open, a horrid howl reserved for the most painful of situations tore from his throat as darkness clouded his vision and stole what consciousness he had left.
"Hello?" came the sound of a woman's voice. "Is someone out there?"
Dean remained silent, his face peaceful as his eyes slid shut and his breath grew shallow, his heart slowing nearly to a halt.
"Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed.
Never before had Althea seen a dead body but she was damn sure that this man lying so still and quiet on the ground was dead or close to it, she couldn't tell if he was breathing, the dark was so thick and dense. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she watched him. Do something! A voice cried in her head but what was she to do? Carefully she walked around to the other side of his body and with two fingers pressed to the low part of his throat where his pulse was, she could just barely discern the feeling of his heart pumping vital blood through his system, it was steady but fading slowly which meant she had to work fast. Tearing off her outer jacket she had put on to ward off the chill, she pressed it to a wound that streamed blood from his chest, it soaked the jacket almost instantly with crimson.
Fear streaked through her. Too much blood! It stained her hands, the scent curling around her, stifling and thick making her almost sick. What do I do? What am I going to do?
"C'mon." she whispered. "Please, just let him live."
Reaching into her faded, bleached Levi's she pulled out her cell-phone, almost crying with joy when she saw that there was one bar of service blinking in the corner.
"Thank god." She cried.
She punched in 911 and waited, hearing it ring.
"911, what is your emergency?" a woman dispatcher came on the line.
"Gunshot wound! Or Knife wound! Right shoulder of man. Help!"
"Ma'am? You need to tell us where you are."
"I turned onto Meadow Street a little while ago, I'm in clearing of some sort, and there's a black Chevy sitting in front of the entrance."
"Are you close to the car?"
"No, not really."
"Can you move the man somewhere?"
"I don't think so, the wound…. It's gushing blood…. I tried to stem the bleeding but it soaked through."
"Is there a pulse?"
"I checked, and yes there is a pulse."
"I sent an ambulance and a police dispatch to your location, hold on ma'am."
The hot taste of adrenaline was in her mouth, it tasted of iron and silver, like blood and sweat mixed in her mouth, sweat rolled off her brow, down her back and rolled in the valley between her breasts. Who was this man?