Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hasperkynipples) wrote2009-01-25 11:14 pm
hasperkynipples) wrote2009-01-25 11:14 pm
Entry tags:
[MWR] Conspiracy Theory quote
[Ruby = ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ilove_atallman, Uriel = a_specialist, Castiel is an NPC. Set after THIS.]
“Have you ever been in a place where hope was gone? Where all that's left is patience?”
He couldn’t win.
“You’re not my brother.”
Sam’s words resonated in the back of his mind as dry wall cracked and shattered in front of him, his fists pounding into the wall of the motel room searching for some kind of rhythm, the sound hoping to drown out his brother’s words that echoed in the back of his head over and over again.
“You’re not my brother.”
“You’re not my brother.”
“You’re not my brother.”
He just hit harder as the words got louder, and soon there was nothing left to punch on the wall. He gasped in pain as his hand went through and hit brick, before his body collapsed against what was left of the wall face first.
The wall hadn’t been his first victim. He’d started with the television and the lamps and the tables, before he’d made his way around to the walls, his motions not exact or precise—just to looking to cause as much damage as he could for as long as he could. He wanted to make the anger stop, the roaring behind his ears that threatened to take over completely. Destroying the wall still wasn’t enough. He wanted blood between his fingers. He wanted someone to hurt. He wanted to go find a demon he could tear apart with his bare hands and fight for some kind of control in a world that was slipping out from under him.
He had been fine so long as Sam had been oblivious. He could have held on to the memories of his how his brother loved him, unconditionally. Maybe that was the underlying reason why he hid from Sam for so long—because he didn’t want his brother to see the monster he’d become, the monster he’d let himself become, because he knew that Sam would never be able to accept him as he was. Not now—not anymore.
“Jesus Christ, Dean.”
Ruby had barely finished the sentence before a fist was in her face. The pain shot through his arm, and some sane part of his brain realized that it was probably broken, but he didn’t really care. The physical pain was nothing compared to the way Dean was breaking and he would take that over the fact that Sam didn’t want him any more any day.
The punch caught her off guard, and she stumbled back, but Ruby, bless her demonic little heart, never let him beat her. She always fought back just as hard without even blinking, and given the situation—he had been tearing into things for well over an hour, and he was only human—it wasn’t long before she had him on his back, hand to his throat to keep him in place.
“What the fuck?” she demanded, looking at him intently for an answer, and Dean just stared back at her, cold, uncaring, unfeeling. He couldn’t feel anything. He didn’t have anything left. Her face went from pissed to confused, and then worried. Very, very worried. “Is it Sam? Did something happen? Did Alastair—”
“Alastair’s dead.” The words came simply as he shoved her off him, pushing her to the side none-to-gently and starting to get to his feet. The momentum of having something actually beat him—to stop what seemed unstoppable, killed any further urge he had to completely destroy things, and he just made his way back over to one of the beds, dropping himself onto it and looking over at her.
“So Sam’s fine?”
“Oh, Sam’s just peachy,” Dean replied. “Dropped him off at the hospital not too far from the warehouse.”
There was a series of flutters, faint and doubled behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to see who it was—there was only one thing he knew that made a sound like that, and he didn’t want them anywhere near him right now. This was their damn fault to begin with. Because Sam was right—he belonged in Hell. He was a monster. And Sam should have just killed him when he had the chance.
“Dean, we need to talk.”
His hand slipped behind his back, and grabbed the gun that was sitting there before firing once in the direction of the sound, not caring what he hit, but hoping he hit something. The feeling of righteous rage rolled under him and he turned to actually see what he had shot at. Uriel had a hole in his chest and Dean was starting to feel a little better, a slow smirk stretching across his face.
“Shouldn’t sneak up on people like that, Chuckles. Someone could get hurt.”
Castiel just gave him a look, before sighing heavily. “Dean—we do need to talk.”
“You should have never brought me back,” Dean said turning his attention back to the nothingness in front of him. “I belong in Hell.”
“No one belongs in Hell, Dean,” Ruby replied from where she was sitting. “Not even you.” She paused for a moment, before moving closer to him, trying to get him to look at her. “Dean, what did Sam say?”
“What his brother said is irrelevant,” Uriel spoke clearly, looking at Dean critically. “His brother is not a element in the equation, and if he’s causing a problem, I can always eliminate that.”
“You lay one hand on my brother, and I swear I’ll find some way to kill you,” Dean growled, pushing himself to his feet. “This isn’t his fault. And you should just send me back where I came from, because I’m obviously not doing you any good.”
“Dean!”
“Aww, c’mon Chuckles,” Dean said, meeting Uriel’s eyes. “You’ve been waiting to send me back for two years now, and I’m not gonna fight you anymore.”
“Dean,” Castiel began calmly. “We need to understand. What did your brother say?”
Dean’s head tilted to the side slightly, looking over the angels warily. “What, you guys weren’t watching on your crystal balls? You don’t know.” Then his voice dropped again. “Sam didn’t have to say anything. I already knew I was a monster, he just confirmed it.”
“Fuck,” was the hiss of a whisper from Ruby, and Dean turned back and shot her a look, before looking back at the angels again. The adrenaline was fading, his hand was throbbing, and Dean just didn’t care anymore. Uriel could take him out for all he cared. At least with him it would be quick.
“I’m not going to eliminate you, Dean,” Uriel replied evenly.
“Why—too counterproductive for you?” Dean said with a glare, before looking down at the gun in his hand again. “Maybe I should just do it myself. I already know I’m going back to Hell anyway—what’s one more mortal sin on the list?”
Ruby had moved before Dean could even finish the sentence, taking the gun from him and shoving him back onto the bed. “Dumbass. I’ve been keeping you alive for too long for you to kill yourself now.”
Dean looked up at her with a glare, before his eyes wandered past her, to Castiel who—wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were elsewhere, almost as though he was listening to something else, beyond Dean’s range of hearing, and Dean frowned for a moment, wondering if maybe that was the order coming down to bring him sweet relief, when the angel turned back to him.
“I’ll be back. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Define stupid,” Dean snapped, before hissing as Ruby made a grab for his hand, looking to make sure it wasn’t too badly damaged.
“Where are you going?” she demanded of the angel.
“To find hope.”
Dean and Ruby looked at each other for a minute, confused, before turning back to Castiel. “Well, that wasn’t vague at all,” Dean snorted. Castiel just gave Dean a look before disappearing as easily as he’d appeared. Dean just flopped back against the bed, feeling more of the adrenaline drain suddenly feeling more tired and in pain than anything else. He looked over at Ruby, who was still looking over his hand, and smirked.
“Still regretting taking this job now?”
“Shut up, short bus.”
1350 words
ilove_atallman, Uriel = a_specialist, Castiel is an NPC. Set after THIS.]“Have you ever been in a place where hope was gone? Where all that's left is patience?”
He couldn’t win.
“You’re not my brother.”
Sam’s words resonated in the back of his mind as dry wall cracked and shattered in front of him, his fists pounding into the wall of the motel room searching for some kind of rhythm, the sound hoping to drown out his brother’s words that echoed in the back of his head over and over again.
“You’re not my brother.”
“You’re not my brother.”
“You’re not my brother.”
He just hit harder as the words got louder, and soon there was nothing left to punch on the wall. He gasped in pain as his hand went through and hit brick, before his body collapsed against what was left of the wall face first.
The wall hadn’t been his first victim. He’d started with the television and the lamps and the tables, before he’d made his way around to the walls, his motions not exact or precise—just to looking to cause as much damage as he could for as long as he could. He wanted to make the anger stop, the roaring behind his ears that threatened to take over completely. Destroying the wall still wasn’t enough. He wanted blood between his fingers. He wanted someone to hurt. He wanted to go find a demon he could tear apart with his bare hands and fight for some kind of control in a world that was slipping out from under him.
He had been fine so long as Sam had been oblivious. He could have held on to the memories of his how his brother loved him, unconditionally. Maybe that was the underlying reason why he hid from Sam for so long—because he didn’t want his brother to see the monster he’d become, the monster he’d let himself become, because he knew that Sam would never be able to accept him as he was. Not now—not anymore.
“Jesus Christ, Dean.”
Ruby had barely finished the sentence before a fist was in her face. The pain shot through his arm, and some sane part of his brain realized that it was probably broken, but he didn’t really care. The physical pain was nothing compared to the way Dean was breaking and he would take that over the fact that Sam didn’t want him any more any day.
The punch caught her off guard, and she stumbled back, but Ruby, bless her demonic little heart, never let him beat her. She always fought back just as hard without even blinking, and given the situation—he had been tearing into things for well over an hour, and he was only human—it wasn’t long before she had him on his back, hand to his throat to keep him in place.
“What the fuck?” she demanded, looking at him intently for an answer, and Dean just stared back at her, cold, uncaring, unfeeling. He couldn’t feel anything. He didn’t have anything left. Her face went from pissed to confused, and then worried. Very, very worried. “Is it Sam? Did something happen? Did Alastair—”
“Alastair’s dead.” The words came simply as he shoved her off him, pushing her to the side none-to-gently and starting to get to his feet. The momentum of having something actually beat him—to stop what seemed unstoppable, killed any further urge he had to completely destroy things, and he just made his way back over to one of the beds, dropping himself onto it and looking over at her.
“So Sam’s fine?”
“Oh, Sam’s just peachy,” Dean replied. “Dropped him off at the hospital not too far from the warehouse.”
There was a series of flutters, faint and doubled behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to see who it was—there was only one thing he knew that made a sound like that, and he didn’t want them anywhere near him right now. This was their damn fault to begin with. Because Sam was right—he belonged in Hell. He was a monster. And Sam should have just killed him when he had the chance.
“Dean, we need to talk.”
His hand slipped behind his back, and grabbed the gun that was sitting there before firing once in the direction of the sound, not caring what he hit, but hoping he hit something. The feeling of righteous rage rolled under him and he turned to actually see what he had shot at. Uriel had a hole in his chest and Dean was starting to feel a little better, a slow smirk stretching across his face.
“Shouldn’t sneak up on people like that, Chuckles. Someone could get hurt.”
Castiel just gave him a look, before sighing heavily. “Dean—we do need to talk.”
“You should have never brought me back,” Dean said turning his attention back to the nothingness in front of him. “I belong in Hell.”
“No one belongs in Hell, Dean,” Ruby replied from where she was sitting. “Not even you.” She paused for a moment, before moving closer to him, trying to get him to look at her. “Dean, what did Sam say?”
“What his brother said is irrelevant,” Uriel spoke clearly, looking at Dean critically. “His brother is not a element in the equation, and if he’s causing a problem, I can always eliminate that.”
“You lay one hand on my brother, and I swear I’ll find some way to kill you,” Dean growled, pushing himself to his feet. “This isn’t his fault. And you should just send me back where I came from, because I’m obviously not doing you any good.”
“Dean!”
“Aww, c’mon Chuckles,” Dean said, meeting Uriel’s eyes. “You’ve been waiting to send me back for two years now, and I’m not gonna fight you anymore.”
“Dean,” Castiel began calmly. “We need to understand. What did your brother say?”
Dean’s head tilted to the side slightly, looking over the angels warily. “What, you guys weren’t watching on your crystal balls? You don’t know.” Then his voice dropped again. “Sam didn’t have to say anything. I already knew I was a monster, he just confirmed it.”
“Fuck,” was the hiss of a whisper from Ruby, and Dean turned back and shot her a look, before looking back at the angels again. The adrenaline was fading, his hand was throbbing, and Dean just didn’t care anymore. Uriel could take him out for all he cared. At least with him it would be quick.
“I’m not going to eliminate you, Dean,” Uriel replied evenly.
“Why—too counterproductive for you?” Dean said with a glare, before looking down at the gun in his hand again. “Maybe I should just do it myself. I already know I’m going back to Hell anyway—what’s one more mortal sin on the list?”
Ruby had moved before Dean could even finish the sentence, taking the gun from him and shoving him back onto the bed. “Dumbass. I’ve been keeping you alive for too long for you to kill yourself now.”
Dean looked up at her with a glare, before his eyes wandered past her, to Castiel who—wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were elsewhere, almost as though he was listening to something else, beyond Dean’s range of hearing, and Dean frowned for a moment, wondering if maybe that was the order coming down to bring him sweet relief, when the angel turned back to him.
“I’ll be back. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Define stupid,” Dean snapped, before hissing as Ruby made a grab for his hand, looking to make sure it wasn’t too badly damaged.
“Where are you going?” she demanded of the angel.
“To find hope.”
Dean and Ruby looked at each other for a minute, confused, before turning back to Castiel. “Well, that wasn’t vague at all,” Dean snorted. Castiel just gave Dean a look before disappearing as easily as he’d appeared. Dean just flopped back against the bed, feeling more of the adrenaline drain suddenly feeling more tired and in pain than anything else. He looked over at Ruby, who was still looking over his hand, and smirked.
“Still regretting taking this job now?”
“Shut up, short bus.”
1350 words