Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters.
Major angst ahoy!
Yes, I'm skipping an episode. When is that new? :P
This isn't my best work. Just warning you.
Chapter title borrowed from Lynn Anderson.
Lyrics borrowed from Skeeter Davis.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed!
Review, my lovelies!
Why does the sun go on shining?
Why does the sea rush to shore?
Don't they know it's the end of the world?
'Cause you don't love me anymore.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN- BIG GIRLS DON'T CRY
The nightmares never stop.
But maybe that's the wrong word.
It's real. It's happened. It's going to happen.
And that's the most terrifying thing of all, perhaps.
Even in sleep, I strain to wake up, but as always, it's futile.
I will have to endure the agony.
All over again.
Tonight.
Tomorrow night.
Every night.
"Don't. Don't do this," I begged. "You're all I've got left."
I was hideously, painfully aware of how pathetic I sounded.
But I could see the steel in his eyes.
He'd made his decision.
"Please," I whispered. "Don't. Please, Castiel."
The tears spilled over onto my cheek, leaving a cold, slick trail.
Cas' eyes bored into mine, cold and indifferent, every inch the severe, stern angel he was.
He spoke slowly, deliberately, letting every word sink in.
"Odette. I don't want to stay. I don't want to be here with you. I don't care."
The hole in my chest ripped itself wide open, and the tears did not stop falling.
My voice was almost inaudible.
"Don't I matter to you, Cas?"
But I could see, staring at his face, that I didn't.
I never had.
The scene changed, shifting in hues of roiling red and distant gray.
Hell.
Alistair carries shards of broken glass.
And then he forces open my mouth.
I understand only too well now.
I scream, but there is no way out.
I am strapped to the rack, arms and legs immobile.
Alistair rams the glass down my throat.
The pain is impossibly blinding.
I have no chance to shriek, because Alistair shoves more of it down, whistling cheerily as he strips away the skin inside my throat.
Again, my dream changes, and I relive another part of hell.
Lucifer begins taunting me, and I close my eyes.
This is more than I can take.
"It's animal, livin' in a human zoo,"Lucifer drawls.
"Feeling like a Christian, locked in a cage,"
I press my lips together, keeping my eyes shut.
I do not want to see the mockery I have become.
"Thrown to the lions, on the second page."
I find my voice again.
It comes out in a scream.
Lucifer dips his finger in my blood.
"If you want blood, you got it,
Blood on the streets, blood on the rocks,
Blood in the gutter, every last drop."
I stare at the red liquid pooling between my arms.
And then, perhaps the worst.
My darkest hour in hell.
I pick up the scalpel and move forward.
The soul's screams reverberate through the room.
The last few dregs of my humanity slip away.
My eyes fly open, and I vault off the bed, breathing in short, hard gasps.
The image burns in my brain.
Me.
Bloody hands.
Blank eyes.
Empty expression.
Monster.
Monster, murderer, torturer, my mind hisses viciously.
I fight to suppress the memories, grimacing in pain.
Instantly, my fingers scrabble around for a cigarette.
The lighter is already at my side.
I take a long, greedy pull, shuddering violently.
"Please stop," A voice says.
I turn around without flinching.
"Castiel. What do you want?"
I am proud that my voice doesn't waver.
It's cold.
Disinterested.
For once, Castiel flounders for words.
"I..." He crouches down next to me, his face an inch away from mine.
I wait.
"I am so, so sorry," Castiel's voice breaks on the word. "For hell. For sentencing you to...to Alistair."
He drops his gaze,
"For leaving you."
Pain shoots through my chest.
It's crippling.
Everything else I can suppress.
Not this.
I keep staring at the wall of my room.
"Sorry doesn't change anything, Castiel."
"I know. I don't expect you to forgive me, but please. Let me help you. You can't live like this. Please."
I see red, springing out of my armchair.
"Let you help me?"
Castiel flinches back from the venom in my voice.
"You help me?" I start laughing.
Horrible, mirthless laughs which sound dangerously close to sobbing.
"Just leave, Castiel." I whisper.
I look at his face.
It's pleading, expressive, more human than I've ever seen him before.
I want to believe him.
Every cell in my body aches to believe him.
And it's killing me that I can't.
"There's nothing you can do. Leave." I say again.
Castiel looks... I flinch inwardly as I think the word.
Heartbroken.
There's really no other way to say it.
But my heart's been ripped and mangled apart too much.
I can't ruin whatever's left of it.
I don't look back to check, but I know.
Castiel is gone.
Again.
And this time I sent him away.
The pain hits me with the force of a wrecking ball, and I pitch forward, out of my chair.
A peculiar choked sound comes out of my mouth as I try to stop sobbing.
It's just a weakness.
But, it seems, even after everything, I'm still so weak.
Still so helpless.
Still in love with an angel named Castiel.
My knees buckle, the tears leaving salty, bitter trails on my cheek.
I do the only thing I can.
I weep.
~Supernatural~
Dawn sees me downing my fourth glass of whiskey, the ashtray overflowing next to my shaking hand.
The alcohol burns in my throat, and I concentrate on that and nothing else.
Plumes of cigarette smoke swirl around me.
The door creaks open.
"Bambi."
It's Dean.
"What?"
My voice is hoarse.
It cracks.
Dean narrows his eyes at the glass in my hand, at the tendrils of smoke curling around the room.
He clears his throat, sitting down on my bed.
"Look.." Dean swallows. "I get it. About hell... and everything."
He has the sense not to mention Castiel.
The words tumble out of Dean's mouth, almost as if he's speaking against his will.
"But you've got to stop this," Dean waves a hand at the bottles lining my room. At the ashtray.
"It's... it isn't like you. You're scaring Sam. You're scaring me. Stop this."
"Please," He adds, when I stay silent.
"Don't shut us out," Dean continues. "Talk to us. Talk to us about hell."
I freeze.
It's not an option.
"Do you talk about hell, Dean?" I reply blankly.
Dean winces.
"That's different. I don't...I don't remember it."
I scoff.
"Yeah, right."
But I can see, looking at his stubborn face, that Dean is not going to let this go.
I get to my feet in one fluid motion.
"Okay, have it your way, Dean. You want me to tell you about hell? Fine."
"It's hell." I laugh at my pathetic joke.
"It's hot. It's cold. It's your worst nightmare. It's the sound of your blood dropping to the floor."
"Drip, drop. Drip, drop," I say, a little nonsensically.
I realize I've had more whiskey than I thought.
"Drip, drop," I repeat.
Dean begins to look unsettled.
"It's the sound of you screaming until you don't sound human anymore. It's the smell of your own flesh burning and rotting."
"It's the chipping away of your sanity, piece by bloody piece. It's your throat shredding because you've shrieked and yelled away your voice."
"It's knowing you can't escape."
My eyes darken, and the room begins shaking.
"I may have left hell, Dean," I whisper. "But hell hasn't left me."
And then the anger sets in.
"So, yeah," I hiss. "This is how I cope. And I don't fucking care what damage it does to me. How much more can I be destroyed?"
I am literally nose-to-nose with Dean, who is speechless.
He looks...frightened, almost.
"Do you understand me, Dean?" My eyes don't leave his face.
"I don't fucking care."
And I push my brother out the door.
I sink to the floor again, hiding my face in my hands.
No one hears me cry.