Part 2: The Demons
And at most,/I'm sleeping all these demons away
It was demons.
Of course. It was always demons, in the end. Whatever other crap came up, whatever else they had to deal with, somehow it always came back to demons.
Not that Dean minded. He could use a little ass-kicking for a change. The Leviathans…well, he had no clue what to do about them. They were damn near invincible as far as he knew, and until he knew any differently he wasn't going to worry about it.
They wrapped up the case pretty easily. The meat-suits ("Don't call them that, Dean—they're people!" Sam admonished him as they burned the bodies) the demons were wearing didn't make it. They rarely did, but it still bothered Dean. Then again, almost everything bothered Dean lately. His moody silence as they got into the Impala to head towards the next pile of crap waiting for them had become the norm.
Not that that stopped Sam from trying to coax him into speaking, which only further irritated Dean.
"So…do you wanna say it, or should I?" Sam asked quietly from the passenger seat, quietly because Dean hadn't bothered to turn on the music.
"Say what?" he grumbled, glaring at the road illuminated by baby's headlights..
Sam sighed heavily. "You can't save everyone, Dean," he said gently. Dean bristled, hating that tone. He didn't need Sam to take care of him, damn it. He was Dean freaking Winchester—he didn't need anyone to take care of him, he took care of himself just fine. He was fine, and just wished everyone would leave him alone and quit poking at him trying to make him talk.
"I know that, Sam," he snapped, teeth gritted. A quick glare in his direction made it clear that further discussion was not at all welcome, so Sam just sighed and reached to turn on the radio. Dean didn't care for once, because at the moment anything sounded better than listening to his baby brother trying to console him.
That changed fairly quickly when he realized what song the station Sam had chosen was playing.
All Outta Love. Air Supply.
You have gotto be kidding me, Dean groaned internally, going rigid all over.
"I'm all out of love,/I'm so lost without you/I know you were right, believing for so long/I'm all out of love/What am I without you?/I can't be too late to say/That I was so wrong…" The lyrics were practically crooned. Dean could only hope the pain tearing through him wasn't visible on his face. Judging by Sam's swift apology and the pitying look in his eyes as he reached for the radio, Dean wasn't as stoic as he'd like to be.
He smacked Sam's hand away before it reached the off button, ignoring the incredulous look on his brother's face as he growled, "Just leave it. There's probably nothing else on anyways."
"…alright, man. Whatever you say." He knew Sam was watching him, something unreadable in his hazel eyes. When Dean glared at him again, the younger hunter sighed and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.
Moments later, he was snoring, and Dean was lip-syncing with the voice on the radio because he dared not voice the words that were causing such turmoil in him. With Sam safely asleep, however, Dean relaxed enough to let the sadness fill him. For only five seconds, that was his rule—feel it for five seconds, just feel and accept the pain and sadness and loss, and no longer because otherwise it will consume him and drive him crazy. Dean counted to himself as he silently mouthed the words along with the radio.
One…I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you…
Two…I know you were right, believing for so long…
Three…I'm all out of love…
Four…What am I without you?...I can't be too late…
Five…To know I was so wrong.
"Five seconds are up, Dean," he mumbled to himself. And just like that, the wall was back in place. The wall that kept him separate from the emotions that would kill him if he allowed them to. He drove on into the night, numb and refusing to feel the pain.
There was work to be done, and no one else could do it. So Dean pulled himself together and put his foot on the gas, racing towards the next case while simultaneously trying to outrun the grief constantly chasing after him.
Dean knew he couldn't outrun it forever. But he could sure as hell try.
[A/N: So, a quick note about this chapter: I know the lyrics at the beginning implies that it was supposed to be about demons, and while you were probably expecting literal demons—which I did have a little bit in the beginning—I chose to go a different route, and focus on the metaphorical demons plaguing Dean. Depression, anger, lashing out, etc., because that just made more sense to me and I think it works fairly well with the theme of this story. I don't particularly like the ending of this chapter, but I couldn't think of a better way to stop.]
[Also, I'm going to try and update MTB today as well, so hopefully I'll have a new chapter up there for you to enjoy, too. Sorry I've been slacking lately and thanks to everyone who's been supporting me with reviews, follows, and favorites! Your patience and support means a lot to me.]
—Makky