Fandom - "Supernatural"
Title: 'All Alone'
Author: mands_angelfox
Author's Contact Info: miranda.adelsberg@gmail.com
Rating: PG (For Dean's swearing)
Genre : General/Angst
Characters: Dean POV
Pairing: None
Word Count: 896
Feedback: Constructive criticism is appreciated
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, I am merely borrowing them for my own twisted means and I am making no money out of this. Please don't sue me!
Spoilers: None, takes place pre-series.
Author's Note: This was actually written in response to a theatrical_muse challenge that posed the question: "What is the one thing about yourself that you don't want anyone ever to know?"
Summary: What happened when Sam left for college.
-----------------------------
'All Alone'
Dean is what’s known as a strong silent type, never one for talking about how he’s feeling or showing even the slightest inkling that’s something is wrong. He doesn’t get that privilege, maybe when he was younger but not when he’s older.
When Sam talks to their dad about leaving and shows him the acceptance letter, Dean feels like someone’s taken something heavy and blunt to his stomach. He does and says nothing, just watches as Sam and dad clash and dad speaks the words that all children dread to hear.
Then Sam, he’s looking at Dean, and Dean he can’t even look at him.
His baby brother, the one person that Dean’s loved and protected all of his life is leaving, leaving him to be more exact. He’s robotic in a fashion, focuses on the gun he holds in his hands instead of that look on Sam’s face. It hurts too much.
For all their differences the Winchester men are all the same, when they’re hurt they use anger to mask it, to hold their head up high and Sam does just that. Snaps something out sharp and acidic, it makes Dean’s stomach churn.
There are all these words, words he knows he should say but he can’t bring himself to vocalize them. This just hurts too much, Sam’s leaving and he won’t ever look back. He’s never wanted this life, never wanted to hunt and kill, Dean knows this, knows it in his soul but he can’t help himself. Is it wrong to want your brother at your side? Maybe it is but Dean’s never claimed to be right.
So he keeps cleaning the gun, dismantling it methodically and ignoring the hurt burning in his brother’s big eyes as he packs his things. If he doesn’t look, he won’t be tempted to beg Sam to stay. It’s not fair and Dean knows that, so he says nothing, what can he say? Good luck? Fuck that, he doesn’t know the first thing about College or about normal so he just glances up as Sam pauses on the threshold of the door and looks at him.
Fuck man, that look, it’s burned into the back of his mind and it haunts him in his dreams.
Still Dean looks away; he doesn’t bother with saying goodbye. He doesn’t do goodbyes and he doesn’t do this, he doesn’t let people see him hurting. Sam’s gone, the slam of the door echoes off the walls, he must have been angry to slam it so hard.
It’s the familiar clink of ice cubes against glass that tells him that his father’s going to deal with this the only way he knows how. Dean falters, his grip shakes and the gun clatters to the table and it’s almost as if he shatters quietly. It starts slow, in his eyes and then works its way across his face until he’s as close to broken as he’s ever been.
Only he doesn’t allow himself this moment, he rises to his feet, snatches up his wallet and leaves the family home. He’s not got women on his mind tonight, all he wants to do is forget, try to block out the fact that Sammy’s gone and he’s never coming back.
So he finds himself a bar, knocks back a couple drinks and then picks a fight with the biggest guy in there and he doesn’t even fight back when the guy all but pummels his head into the ground.
The guy gets bored after giving Dean a split lip, one black eye, a couple bruised ribs and multiple lacerations not to mention a concussion and that hasn’t even began to dull the pain, the constant dull pressure in his chest, Sam’s gone.
He wants nothing to do with you, he’s ashamed of you. Nothing you’ve done means anything, he’s gone and you’re left all alone, he doesn’t need you, not anymore. The words run on repeat, torturing Dean until he can do nothing but scream, loud and raw.
Dean’s not sure how long he’s been screaming for but his throat feels like it’s been stretched as far as it can be stretched so he picks himself up and makes for the latest motel room that passes for home.
Dad’s passed out in a chair, glass dangling from his fingertips and Dean, being the good son that he is, plucks it free and drapes a blanket over him. He doesn’t pass judgment; he just accepts that this is how it is.
He shrugs out of his jacket, slow and easy, drapes it over a nearby bed and collects his phone and walks through to the bathroom. Locks the door, flips open his phone and Sam’s number is there, only one touch away and yet Dean can’t bring himself to move his thumb.
What’s he going to say? That he understands and he doesn’t hate him? Yeah that would be a great start but Winchester men have never been good for saying what it is they really feel unless too pissed off to care.
Instead he closes it, sinks down to the ground and curls his legs up towards his chest and muffles his sobs against the fabric of his jeans and the palm of his hand. It isn’t the physical pain making him cry, it’s everything else, Sam’s gone and Dean, he’s left all alone.
Author: mands_angelfox
Author's Contact Info: miranda.adelsberg@gmail.com
Rating: PG (For Dean's swearing)
Genre : General/Angst
Characters: Dean POV
Pairing: None
Word Count: 896
Feedback: Constructive criticism is appreciated
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, I am merely borrowing them for my own twisted means and I am making no money out of this. Please don't sue me!
Spoilers: None, takes place pre-series.
Author's Note: This was actually written in response to a theatrical_muse challenge that posed the question: "What is the one thing about yourself that you don't want anyone ever to know?"
Summary: What happened when Sam left for college.
-----------------------------
'All Alone'
Dean is what’s known as a strong silent type, never one for talking about how he’s feeling or showing even the slightest inkling that’s something is wrong. He doesn’t get that privilege, maybe when he was younger but not when he’s older.
When Sam talks to their dad about leaving and shows him the acceptance letter, Dean feels like someone’s taken something heavy and blunt to his stomach. He does and says nothing, just watches as Sam and dad clash and dad speaks the words that all children dread to hear.
Then Sam, he’s looking at Dean, and Dean he can’t even look at him.
His baby brother, the one person that Dean’s loved and protected all of his life is leaving, leaving him to be more exact. He’s robotic in a fashion, focuses on the gun he holds in his hands instead of that look on Sam’s face. It hurts too much.
For all their differences the Winchester men are all the same, when they’re hurt they use anger to mask it, to hold their head up high and Sam does just that. Snaps something out sharp and acidic, it makes Dean’s stomach churn.
There are all these words, words he knows he should say but he can’t bring himself to vocalize them. This just hurts too much, Sam’s leaving and he won’t ever look back. He’s never wanted this life, never wanted to hunt and kill, Dean knows this, knows it in his soul but he can’t help himself. Is it wrong to want your brother at your side? Maybe it is but Dean’s never claimed to be right.
So he keeps cleaning the gun, dismantling it methodically and ignoring the hurt burning in his brother’s big eyes as he packs his things. If he doesn’t look, he won’t be tempted to beg Sam to stay. It’s not fair and Dean knows that, so he says nothing, what can he say? Good luck? Fuck that, he doesn’t know the first thing about College or about normal so he just glances up as Sam pauses on the threshold of the door and looks at him.
Fuck man, that look, it’s burned into the back of his mind and it haunts him in his dreams.
Still Dean looks away; he doesn’t bother with saying goodbye. He doesn’t do goodbyes and he doesn’t do this, he doesn’t let people see him hurting. Sam’s gone, the slam of the door echoes off the walls, he must have been angry to slam it so hard.
It’s the familiar clink of ice cubes against glass that tells him that his father’s going to deal with this the only way he knows how. Dean falters, his grip shakes and the gun clatters to the table and it’s almost as if he shatters quietly. It starts slow, in his eyes and then works its way across his face until he’s as close to broken as he’s ever been.
Only he doesn’t allow himself this moment, he rises to his feet, snatches up his wallet and leaves the family home. He’s not got women on his mind tonight, all he wants to do is forget, try to block out the fact that Sammy’s gone and he’s never coming back.
So he finds himself a bar, knocks back a couple drinks and then picks a fight with the biggest guy in there and he doesn’t even fight back when the guy all but pummels his head into the ground.
The guy gets bored after giving Dean a split lip, one black eye, a couple bruised ribs and multiple lacerations not to mention a concussion and that hasn’t even began to dull the pain, the constant dull pressure in his chest, Sam’s gone.
He wants nothing to do with you, he’s ashamed of you. Nothing you’ve done means anything, he’s gone and you’re left all alone, he doesn’t need you, not anymore. The words run on repeat, torturing Dean until he can do nothing but scream, loud and raw.
Dean’s not sure how long he’s been screaming for but his throat feels like it’s been stretched as far as it can be stretched so he picks himself up and makes for the latest motel room that passes for home.
Dad’s passed out in a chair, glass dangling from his fingertips and Dean, being the good son that he is, plucks it free and drapes a blanket over him. He doesn’t pass judgment; he just accepts that this is how it is.
He shrugs out of his jacket, slow and easy, drapes it over a nearby bed and collects his phone and walks through to the bathroom. Locks the door, flips open his phone and Sam’s number is there, only one touch away and yet Dean can’t bring himself to move his thumb.
What’s he going to say? That he understands and he doesn’t hate him? Yeah that would be a great start but Winchester men have never been good for saying what it is they really feel unless too pissed off to care.
Instead he closes it, sinks down to the ground and curls his legs up towards his chest and muffles his sobs against the fabric of his jeans and the palm of his hand. It isn’t the physical pain making him cry, it’s everything else, Sam’s gone and Dean, he’s left all alone.