FIC - NO ONE CARES THAT YOU'RE BROKEN

[jj1564]

Title: No One Cares That You're Broken
Author: JJ1564
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Rating: NC17
Word-count: 1978
Warnings: Character death but in a dream. This is the result of a very vivid dream I had of Dean dreaming over and over of stabbing Sam, I think the Mark Of Cain is starting to affect me as much as Dean! Not a happy fic.
Summary: Dean can't shake the dreams that haunt him, the voices inside his head or the need to kill. And he can't shake the awful knowledge that no one cares about him anymore.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean and Sam Winchester, this is purely fiction and not-for-profit. Thanks to big_heart_june for the title. Sam shook his shoulder and said 'C'mon Dean, rise and shine!’ Dean blinked open his eyes and felt the blade in his hand, part of him now. He moved swiftly, sitting up and taking Sam by surprise as he plunged the blade into Sam’s stomach. The hazel eyes widened in shock and pain as Dean twisted the knife, relishing the sensation of the blood running over his hand, warm and comforting. This, this is what you need. Sam’s eyes went blank and his lifeless body crumpled to the bedroom floor as Dean pulled out the knife.

Dean woke up sweating and shaking. Every time he went to sleep he had the same dream. It had started a few days ago and between this recurring dream, the insistent voices in his head and the overwhelming need to kill, Dean felt like he was drowning. Sam and Castiel had both started to ask if he was okay, but it was too little, too late. He was broken, this time beyond repair, he knew that now. He rolled out of bed, picked up the whiskey bottle and gulped down the couple of inches that remained from the night before. He stumbled through to the shower, still feeling disorientated from his dream. The water didn’t help, didn’t wash away his guilt or his emptiness, and didn’t take away the need for blood that seemed to run under his skin like an army of ants.

Dean climbed out of the shower, then dried and dressed himself on autopilot. He stared at his refection in the mirror. His face looked gaunt, his eyes blood-shot and weary, his mouth was in a grim line and he couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled. Or laughed. Or had sex. Or enjoyed food.  He looked like he had aged ten years in ten weeks. He barely recognised himself, just the colour of his eyes and the irritating freckles across his nose and cheeks were familiar.

‘Dean?’ Sam knocked on the door. ‘You done? We gotta go.’

‘Coming.’ Dean yelled in response. He wiped a towel over his still wet hair and pulled on his clothes.

‘You need to kill him. It’s the only way. You know you should have done it years ago.’ The voice was so real that Dean spun around in the small bathroom, alert and scared. He was still alone.

‘Crap.’ He murmured. ‘Here come the fucking voices again.’ He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.

‘You can’t ignore the truth forever, Dean. Sammy has to die and now you bear the Mark, it is you who must kill him. Plunge the blade into his chest, twist it, bury it, watch the blood….’

‘Stop! Stop it!’ Dean punched the mirror in frustration, slicing his hand open and shattering the glass. But the pain was good, the feeling of the blood seeping from the cut was even better. He took some deep breaths and found that the voice had stopped. For now. He rinsed the blood from his hand, watching it fade to pink and swirl down the plug hole.

Dean pulled off a wad of toilet tissue and pressed it to the wound. Sam was already outside waiting by the Impala, looking pissed off as usual.

‘What took you so long?’ Sam snapped as Dean emerged into the daylight. Sam eyed the wad of now red toilet tissue Dean was still holding against his hand. ‘What happened?’

‘Cut myself shaving.’ Dean had no reason he could give Sam, so fell back on his usual tools of avoidance and sarcasm. He could hardly say the voices tell me to kill you, so I punched the mirror.

‘Want me to drive?’ Sam said wearily.

‘Sure.’ Dean threw the keys with his good hand, letting the soiled tissue fall to the ground. The bleeding had almost stopped, but the pain was thankfully still there, a solid throb that matched his heart beat and kept him grounded.

‘You okay?’ Sam asked as the left the motel parking lot. He cast Dean a suspicious glance. ‘You look like shit.’

‘Gee, thanks.’ Dean muttered. ‘M’tired. How far to the next delightful hell-hole?’ They had been criss-crossing the country on a fruitless search for Gadreel. Or Abaddon. Or was it Metatron they were hunting now? Dean didn’t really care which fucking demon or angel it was, as long as he could kill something.  He was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate on anything, to give a crap about anything, except the kill.

‘It’s about 150 miles. Cas will meet us there.’ Sam drummed his fingers against the wheel. Here we go, Dean thought, interrogation time. ‘Do you even know where we’re going? Do you even remember why?’

‘Kill the latest big bad in some shit-hole town.’ Dean faked a yawn. ‘M’tired.’

‘It’s 8.30 in the morning. Didn’t you sleep? Again? And when did you last eat?’

‘Fucking hell, Sammy, give it a rest. You’ll grow boobs if you carry on nagging.’

‘I’m not nagging, Dean. I’m worried about you.’

‘Huh.’ Dean grunted. ‘You don’t need to be. It’s not as though we’re brothers or anything. I’m just here to help you hunt, do the job, remember?’

‘Dean, for fuck’s sake, I didn’t mean…’

‘Shut the fuck up!’ Dean yelled, punching the dashboard and making his injured hand bleed. ‘Fuck it!’

‘That’s it.’ Sam pulled the car into the side of the road. ‘What the hell is your problem?’

‘I need a bandage.’ Dean held up his bleeding hand, buying himself a moment to calm down.

Sam climbed out of the car, slamming the door in temper. Dean knew he should feel pissed at Sam for damaging his Baby, but he didn’t care about the stupid fucking car anymore. It was a means to get from A to B and that was all. Sam fished around in the trunk, sliding back into the driver’s seat with the first aid kit. ‘Did you punch the mirror, again?’ He said testily.

‘I don’t make a habit of it.’ Dean held out his hand and Sam wiped the blood away with some alcohol wipes and bandaged it, swiftly and efficiently as always.

‘It’s the Mark, isn’t it?’ Sam asked, his voice softer and calmer. ‘I get it Dean. I understand. It’s changing you, like the demon blood….’

‘Don’t you dare compare this with your fucking addiction! You chose to drink that bitch’s blood, you chose her over me Sammy, you could’ve stopped….’ Dean was shaking now, his breathing laboured, his voice gruff. He couldn’t look at Sam, he couldn’t be this close to him. He fumbled for the car handle and got out, taking deep breaths.

Sam joined him, not speaking, just leaning against the Impala.

‘Sammy, I need some time. Alone. I can’t do this, not with you. It’s not your fault; what’s inside me, it’s making me feel so fucking angry all the time. I don’t wanna hurt you.’ Dean said, his back to Sam.

‘Okay.’ Sam said flatly and Dean felt relieved, but he also felt disappointed, almost betrayed. He had expected Sam to refuse to split up. To want to be with him. To help him. To have his fucking back, for God’s sake. ‘You go and meet Cas, you’re the one who can kill the bitch.’ Sam said quietly. Ah, so it was Abaddon they were hunting today. That helped. ‘I’ll follow up some leads on Gadreel. He’s mine.’

‘Right.’ Dean glanced at Sam, who looked sad but resigned. ‘You want the Impala?’

‘Nah. Drop me at the next used car place and I’ll pick something up.’

‘Okay.’ Dean got back in the car and Sam followed him. They didn’t speak until they spotted ‘Uncle Dan’s Auto Heaven’ and Dean parked up the Impala. ‘Be careful, Sammy.’

‘Yeah. You too. Avoid mirrors.’ Sam tried to crack a smile but it was more like a grimace.

Dean drove off and could see Sam watching from the rear-view mirror. Dean switched on the cassette player and sang along as loud as he could to ‘Back In Black’, trying to convince himself that this was the right decision, that he was okay, just him and his Baby, back in back, glad to be back, nine lives…..

Dean couldn’t see, his eyesight was blurred and he realised he was crying. He wiped his eyes and huffed a wry laugh. ‘Fucking hell, Winchester, grow a pair.’ He told himself. The first fifty miles passed by smoothly after that. He sang along to his music and pretended everything was fine.

‘You should have killed him, not run away like the scared little boy you are.’ The voice said. ‘He doesn’t eve love you, he doesn’t care that you’re broken, he hasn’t lifted a finger to help you, to ease your burden. He hates you, he wants to die.’

Sometimes it sounded like his dad, sometimes like Alistair and sometimes like Sammy. The unholy trinity inside his head.

‘Fuck you!’ Dean yelled. ‘Fuck off!’

The music was as loud as he could get it, Motorhead screaming ‘The Ace Of Spades’ but the voice was louder.

‘It’s never going to end, this hunger, this thirst for blood. You can kill as many creatures as you like, it will never leave you. It has to be Sam and you know it. There's no choice, there's never been a choice.’

Dean’s vision swam and he pulled the car into a deserted parking lot by the side of the road. He just needed to rest, to get some sleep, recharge his batteries, and shut the fucking voice up.  He folded his arms on the steering wheel and rested his head against his arms.

Sam shook his shoulder ‘Dean, c’mon, rise and shine!’ Dean felt the blade in his hand and he moved swiftly, taking Sam by surprise. The blade plunged into his brother’s stomach, hazel eyes widened in shock and pain as Dean twisted the knife, relishing the sensation of the blood running over his hand warm and comforting. Sam’s eyes went blank and Dean pulled out the knife.

‘Fuck!’ Dean startled awake as someone thumped on the roof of the car. Sam was there, grinning at him as he looked through the car window. ‘Sam? What the hell?’

‘I was worried about you.’ Sam opened the door and Dean climbed out to join him.

‘But I only left you a couple of hours ago.’ Dean rubbed his pounding head with his hand.

‘Dude, you’ve been gone for days! You didn’t answer my calls. I tracked you.’

‘No.’ Dean shook his head. ‘It’s not possible.’

‘You look like you’re gonna puke. You alright?’ Sam looked at him in concern.

‘Bad dream. Fuck, Sammy, I think I’m losing it.’

‘And what makes you think this isn’t a dream?’ Sam said, his voice sounded far away. Dean frowned in confusion and watched in horror as blood seeped through Sam’s shirt, exactly where Dean had stabbed him in the dream. ‘Is it a dream, Dean? Or have you really killed me?’

‘No! No!’ Dean screamed. ‘It’s a dream, I didn’t, I wouldn’t…’

‘No, you wouldn’t. Even though you should. Even though every fucked up thing that has happened to us has been because of your insane need to save me.’ Sam's voice was cold and angry. 'You're pathetic need to not be alone.'

‘Stop it. Stop, please Sammy.’ Dean sobbed, falling to his knees.

‘You’re so pathetic, so weak. Daddy’s little girl. God, you make me sick. I wish you would kill me so I don’t have to look at your fucking miserable face anymore. Listen to you mutter ‘I’m fine’ when it’s so fucking obvious you’re broken.’

‘Sammy….’ Dean woke up with his heart hammering and his face wet with tears. He sat up and ran his hands over his face. ‘Holy crap. I really am losing it.