A/N: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the reviews, favourites and alerts, I am beyond surprised at the response. I had intended to post this chapter much sooner but I had sooooo many ideas running in my head that I started and stopped this chapter numerous times. I still think it could be better but hope you will still enjoy.
Not sure if there will be more, let me know if you have an opinion about a continuation. Thanks again! :)
The first thing he notices is Sam standing at the ready; poised to come to his aid as Cas looks on.
They need to stay away from him and the poison he knows is still flowing through his veins; courtesy once again of the choices he alone has made.
Desperate to keep them back, to hold them off from helping him because the thought of that churns his gut into a pretzel, he slowly deepens the amount of air he pulls into his lungs to show some semblance of control.
"Just...just gimme a sec, I got this."
He manages a pointed stare across the room and feels more than a modicum of relief as he catches Sam's slightly impatient, almost imperceptible nod. Satisfied he's bought himself maybe a few minutes he tries to gain his bearings and pull his emotions back in.
But of course it's a losing battle, every thought spinning him towards the one glaring truth; that he has screwed up again, royally. The words he spat at his brother fill the surface of his brain; words filled with hate and contempt, chosen with such cold, calculated purpose and malice that he shivers unconsciously.
The blame that spewed outwards from him had just one goal; cause Sam maximum emotional damage while he sat back and gleefully watched, the clench of Sam's jaw and sadness oozing out of every pore evidence that his vile statements hit home; the fact their mother was dead because of him was followed up by the most brutal revelation of all; they were never brothers.
Bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them he narrows his eyes back on the bloodied implement, everything around it shifting out of focus until without warning or conscious thought he is propelled to yet another sickening scene; the church.
His eyes open wide at the phantom vision on display; Sam stands weakened and frail, one injection away from curing Crowley at the cost of his own life.
There is a rumble in his chest as the full impact of the trials become more and more clear. His brother; gentle, glass is always half full Sam, is no longer able to see that damn light at the end of the tunnel he was always going on about. Instead, he tosses him an incredulous look and his utterance of a single word reeks of annoyance and despair, the gravity of it shaking him to the core. 'So?'
The vibration in his throat breaks free from the emotional impact of that word to enter the present tense as a shuddering sob, as the realization that his entire life's work, his unwavering pledge to protect his brother at all costs was one plunge of a needle away from crumbling into dust and floating away in the breeze as if it never existed.
"No. S'mmy? M'sorry."
"Come back to us, Dean. Nothing to be sorry for, man."
His breath hitches and he wavers where his sits, all his brother has gone through slamming into him with the force of a hurricane as he reaches out to grab the syringe.
He swallows repeatedly in a last ditch effort to stave off the acidic burn that winds its way up his throat and threatens to expel its taint into the world. Objects blur around him as rapid breaths that border the brink of hyperventilation fill the otherwise eerily quiet space.
The room has taken on the aura of a tilt-a-whirl and he shuts his eyes against the motion, tries to ride out the waves of unsteadiness that ebb, flow and reverberate through his frame. Sweat forms quick and steady to pool in his pores and the crevasses of his skin, his shirt engulfing him in a wash of fire before adhering snugly to his burning flesh.
"Dean, come on, man. Cas?" The voice is soft but the edge woven through the words is palpable. He should scream out, should yell with all he has that they need to get away and stay away from him, leave his no good for nothing ass where it is to wither away, but he also knows that voice, and knows it is not ready to let him go.
There are footsteps around him but they sound strange, floating somewhere far off in the distance. His head is starting to ache so he doesn't bother to figure it out, his laser focus remaining on the object in his hand; the one his brother used to cure the latest demon threat in their midst; him.
He was a damn demon; evil and cold and heartless.
He can't stand it, what he has done to Sam.
He hates himself more than he ever has.
He hates what he put his brother through.
He hates the syringe in his palm and the mark burned into his flesh; the one he asked for.
Wiping a hand across his face he feels the moisture, remnants of tears slick against his skin and wonders if the thread he's been holding on to for what seems like years has finally unravelled to gather around his feet.
There is a hand on his shoulder now, it starts to squeeze tighter as he does the same, the crunch of glass reaching his ears just as a sigh exits his brother. It's a surprise to him, that he can feel each sliver of the broken vial easily embed themselves into his palm; surprised that the blood starts to flow and is not instantly healed cuz that's the way evil sons of bitches roll, why they always keep on coming.
"Jesus, Dean. Cas, grab me something to wrap this up."
He snaps back instantly, his inner monologue evaporating like mist that gets caught and is enveloped in the downpour as Sam's voice filters in. He is taken back by just how young his brother sounds; like he did when he was a shaggy haired kid who would seek comfort in his big brother's illusion of strength.
Lifting his head slowly he makes direct, penetrating eye contact with his sibling who he now realizes is crouched in front of him, slowly working to pry his fingers from their vice grip and wrapping a hand gently around his bloodied wrist when he succeeds.
He watches with a look of detachment as Sam carefully relieves his hand of the remnants of the syringe before wrapping it loosely in a cloth.
"Hey man. What was that all about? You need to talk to me." Sam looks up to the other man in the room before directing his attention back to him.
"Cas and I are worried about you. We just want to help with whatever is going on, but we need you to tell us what's happening."
He doesn't know where to start. It hurts, the memories that keep flooding in. Lowering his head in shame he can practically feel two sets off eyes bore into the top of his head.
"I.. I can't...too much...so much..."
Sam clears his throat and is working to keep his own emotions in check, but his words are calm and steady.
"I know, Dean, and I get it, I do. You've been through a lot so talking isn't really on top of the list, right? Fair enough. All things considered, can you just tell us if you're doing okay?"
He can't stop the snort that vibrates along the back of his throat. His usual comeback line stands at the ready on his lips but he just can't play the stubborn, smartass brother card he has always used to deflect the inner turmoil that is always busy ripping his insides to threads.
Not this time. He can't sugarcoat it; can't make a joke about it; can't hide the guilt and disgust, the pain and sheer magnitude of all he has done; it constantly drips, a leaky faucet in his head that never shuts off.
Looking upward he sees the tilt of the angels head, powerful deep blue eyes seeming to pierce directly into what is left of his tattered soul before the features turn soft and emit emotions he does not deserve. He takes in the deepening lines that crinkle above his brother's brow before meeting Sam's gaze straight on and trying to say everything running in his head and bruising his heart through his eyes alone.
This time he owes Sam more than just another lie.
"No."
It comes out shaky, hoarse and strained, that one syllable, but the underlying meaning interwoven within it speaks volumes and carries the subtly of a fast approaching freight train.
In just one small word he has told Sam more than an entire novel ever could.
Dean Winchester is not fine.
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