Want
Posted originally on 12/02/06
Want
Sam huffed and threw up his hands, “Dean, what do you want?”
“What do I want? I want to hunt down the demon that killed mom, I want my family back and I want to keep killing every evil son-of-a-bitch I can find. That’s what I want.” What Dean would never say was that in the middle of the night when the thoughts and painful knowledge of not good enough, never good enough, not wanted and left again, always left behind grew too much, he wanted to die.
~~~~~
Sam used to scoff at the list of names and pictures of girls stored in Dean’s phone. What he never knew and would never understand was that they weren’t just notches on some non-existent bedpost. To Dean, they were proof that for brief moments, he’d had a connection to someone. Even if it was just an orgasm or two, it was still some reminder that he was worth something to someone out there. He once thought he was worth more to Cassie, but even she left. Oh it was under the pretense of not being able to handle his life, but deep down, the broken little boy that was buried in the darkest corner of his mind knew the real reason. Not good enough, never good enough, not wanted, left always, left again.
~~~~~
Sam was driving through a middle-class suburb somewhere and nattering on about how “normal” and nice everything looked and didn’t Dean ever want to live in a place like that? Dean slouched down farther in his seat and scowled. He wanted to yell at his brother, “What’s so great about this?! You think that just because people live in matching boxes with perfect lawns that there are no monsters here?! What are you, fucking NUTS? How many kids are beaten and raped in houses just like this, huh Sammy? HOW MANY? How many kids like Max do you think live here? Normal doesn’t mean safe.” Instead he just grunted and muttered, “No, it would freak me out.”
He sometimes wonders how he’s managed not to choke on all the words locked behind his teeth.
~~~~~
Sam always talked about “normal”. How he wanted to be “safe”. It was something Dean never understood. Safe in Sam’s “normal” world meant being blind and deaf to reality, being nothing more than prey for so many nasties. Sometimes, in the middle of the night when the world was quiet for once - or at least, his corner of it - he’d wonder if Sam had managed that while at Stanford. If the little brother he’d helped raise to be a warrior had turned a deaf ear and blind eye to the cries and pleas of innocent people, if he’d simply ignored the evil things that hunted out there in the dark.
He sincerely hoped not. The one thing Dean never wanted to feel about Sam was shame.
~~~~~
Dean knew what would happen if someone you depended on suddenly left. He often wondered if his dad and brother would notice if he simply disappeared one day - a constant fixture, like a favorite weapon, suddenly missing. Some days he thought they’d notice right off; a lost limb instead of a missing gun. Other days, like today, he wondered if they’d care. For all his talk about staying together, being a family, he thought of just saying “fuck it” to their righteous quest for the Demon and running on his own. He wasn’t even sure his mother would care. After all, even she’d walked right by him back in Kansas.
Shaking his head, Dean finished his beer and went back to the motel room. He knew he wouldn’t leave. Leaving was running. It made you a coward and he was proud of the fact that no one could call him that. Besides, without his dad and brother, what would he be? Who would he be? This was all he had, his universe, his life.
Hunter, Brother, Son. Not good enough, never good enough, not wanted, always left behind, but never the one to leave.
~~~~~
Dean never cried. Not really. It didn’t have jack to do with being a man, macho, a tough guy, or even being afraid of chick flick moments. He just knew that if he started, he’d shatter and splinter like the mirrors they broke when they’d fought Bloody Mary; so many endless shards, too small to piece back together. So he swallowed his tears, just like he bit back so many of his words, sometimes until he felt full up. Like a fat man who’s eaten everything in sight at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
There were times when he was alone in the dark where he’d laugh cynically and make a personal bet on whether he’d choke on words or drown in tears first.
~~~~~
The first time John took off after Sam had left, Dean tried to convince himself that being abandoned by everyone he loved didn’t hurt. He swallowed the hurt and held back the scream of anguish trying to claw its way out. He donned his armor of “hard-ass-bad-boy” with the same ease he showed tossing on his leather jacket, and with his usual mask of a sarcastic smirk and hard eyes, he tossed his bag into the trunk of the Impala and headed out. He’d learned full well how to channel his rage and pain into his work and Hell help the Black Dog he was after. That SOB was in for a world of hurt.
~~~~~
Sam always looked at Dean disapprovingly when he came back to their motel rooms drunk, hung over or fucked out. Dean knew that he’d even scowl at him while he was sleeping off a bout of too much fun in the passenger seat of the car. What Sam never realized and Dean never pointed out was that those times were the first times in four years when Dean did cut loose and have too much fun. He could do that now. Now that he had someone he trusted to watch his back, and now that he wasn’t wrapped up in caring for a father who had needed far more looking after some times than his little brother did.
Nope, those truths would never be revealed. He was willing to let Sammy believe what he wanted. At least he was still there to disapprove of Dean’s actions.
~~~~~
Whenever John and Sam would fight, Dean would get a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t identify. He knew what anger, frustration and even fear felt like. None of those were the dark sensation twisting in his gut and making him wonder if he was going to go mad. Then one day, while lying in a motel room, he caught a nature special on the television and heard the narrator explain how some animals would go so far as to chew off their own legs to get out of traps. He sat up suddenly, realizing that he now understood the feeling he got when his dad and brother battled each other.
It was the feeling of being trapped with no sane means of escape.
~~~~~
Dean poked at the cut on his arm, making it bleed more, and wondered how broken a person had to be before everyone else noticed. Then he wondered if the desire to die for your family so you’d never be deserted again could be considered proof.
Shaking his head, he snorted and muttered a comment about the pain turning him girlie. Then he wiped the moisture from the corner of his eyes and hollered for Sam to come sew his arm up.
Want
Sam huffed and threw up his hands, “Dean, what do you want?”
“What do I want? I want to hunt down the demon that killed mom, I want my family back and I want to keep killing every evil son-of-a-bitch I can find. That’s what I want.” What Dean would never say was that in the middle of the night when the thoughts and painful knowledge of not good enough, never good enough, not wanted and left again, always left behind grew too much, he wanted to die.
~~~~~
Sam used to scoff at the list of names and pictures of girls stored in Dean’s phone. What he never knew and would never understand was that they weren’t just notches on some non-existent bedpost. To Dean, they were proof that for brief moments, he’d had a connection to someone. Even if it was just an orgasm or two, it was still some reminder that he was worth something to someone out there. He once thought he was worth more to Cassie, but even she left. Oh it was under the pretense of not being able to handle his life, but deep down, the broken little boy that was buried in the darkest corner of his mind knew the real reason. Not good enough, never good enough, not wanted, left always, left again.
~~~~~
Sam was driving through a middle-class suburb somewhere and nattering on about how “normal” and nice everything looked and didn’t Dean ever want to live in a place like that? Dean slouched down farther in his seat and scowled. He wanted to yell at his brother, “What’s so great about this?! You think that just because people live in matching boxes with perfect lawns that there are no monsters here?! What are you, fucking NUTS? How many kids are beaten and raped in houses just like this, huh Sammy? HOW MANY? How many kids like Max do you think live here? Normal doesn’t mean safe.” Instead he just grunted and muttered, “No, it would freak me out.”
He sometimes wonders how he’s managed not to choke on all the words locked behind his teeth.
~~~~~
Sam always talked about “normal”. How he wanted to be “safe”. It was something Dean never understood. Safe in Sam’s “normal” world meant being blind and deaf to reality, being nothing more than prey for so many nasties. Sometimes, in the middle of the night when the world was quiet for once - or at least, his corner of it - he’d wonder if Sam had managed that while at Stanford. If the little brother he’d helped raise to be a warrior had turned a deaf ear and blind eye to the cries and pleas of innocent people, if he’d simply ignored the evil things that hunted out there in the dark.
He sincerely hoped not. The one thing Dean never wanted to feel about Sam was shame.
~~~~~
Dean knew what would happen if someone you depended on suddenly left. He often wondered if his dad and brother would notice if he simply disappeared one day - a constant fixture, like a favorite weapon, suddenly missing. Some days he thought they’d notice right off; a lost limb instead of a missing gun. Other days, like today, he wondered if they’d care. For all his talk about staying together, being a family, he thought of just saying “fuck it” to their righteous quest for the Demon and running on his own. He wasn’t even sure his mother would care. After all, even she’d walked right by him back in Kansas.
Shaking his head, Dean finished his beer and went back to the motel room. He knew he wouldn’t leave. Leaving was running. It made you a coward and he was proud of the fact that no one could call him that. Besides, without his dad and brother, what would he be? Who would he be? This was all he had, his universe, his life.
Hunter, Brother, Son. Not good enough, never good enough, not wanted, always left behind, but never the one to leave.
~~~~~
Dean never cried. Not really. It didn’t have jack to do with being a man, macho, a tough guy, or even being afraid of chick flick moments. He just knew that if he started, he’d shatter and splinter like the mirrors they broke when they’d fought Bloody Mary; so many endless shards, too small to piece back together. So he swallowed his tears, just like he bit back so many of his words, sometimes until he felt full up. Like a fat man who’s eaten everything in sight at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
There were times when he was alone in the dark where he’d laugh cynically and make a personal bet on whether he’d choke on words or drown in tears first.
~~~~~
The first time John took off after Sam had left, Dean tried to convince himself that being abandoned by everyone he loved didn’t hurt. He swallowed the hurt and held back the scream of anguish trying to claw its way out. He donned his armor of “hard-ass-bad-boy” with the same ease he showed tossing on his leather jacket, and with his usual mask of a sarcastic smirk and hard eyes, he tossed his bag into the trunk of the Impala and headed out. He’d learned full well how to channel his rage and pain into his work and Hell help the Black Dog he was after. That SOB was in for a world of hurt.
~~~~~
Sam always looked at Dean disapprovingly when he came back to their motel rooms drunk, hung over or fucked out. Dean knew that he’d even scowl at him while he was sleeping off a bout of too much fun in the passenger seat of the car. What Sam never realized and Dean never pointed out was that those times were the first times in four years when Dean did cut loose and have too much fun. He could do that now. Now that he had someone he trusted to watch his back, and now that he wasn’t wrapped up in caring for a father who had needed far more looking after some times than his little brother did.
Nope, those truths would never be revealed. He was willing to let Sammy believe what he wanted. At least he was still there to disapprove of Dean’s actions.
~~~~~
Whenever John and Sam would fight, Dean would get a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t identify. He knew what anger, frustration and even fear felt like. None of those were the dark sensation twisting in his gut and making him wonder if he was going to go mad. Then one day, while lying in a motel room, he caught a nature special on the television and heard the narrator explain how some animals would go so far as to chew off their own legs to get out of traps. He sat up suddenly, realizing that he now understood the feeling he got when his dad and brother battled each other.
It was the feeling of being trapped with no sane means of escape.
~~~~~
Dean poked at the cut on his arm, making it bleed more, and wondered how broken a person had to be before everyone else noticed. Then he wondered if the desire to die for your family so you’d never be deserted again could be considered proof.
Shaking his head, he snorted and muttered a comment about the pain turning him girlie. Then he wiped the moisture from the corner of his eyes and hollered for Sam to come sew his arm up.