Everyone I Love Is Dead

Fic title: Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful?
Author name: “vampireifurita”
Artist name: “mulanreflection”
Genre: Gen, Wincest
Pairing: Dean/Sam, some background Castiel/Sam, Castiel/Crowley
Rating: R
Word count: 26,732
Warnings: horror, disturbing imagery, violence
Summary: After Sam sacrificed himself to save the world; Dean had gone to Lisa just as he’d been asked. Things had been just fine until he started hearing music that no one else could hear and things just go downhill from there. With no one to turn to, bear witness to man lost at sea, in the throes of grief and unexplainable music that haunts him much like the memories of his brother.
Link to fic:
Link to art: Beautiful Art This way
---

~It seems three years, or maybe four

Someone drops dead whom I adore

You love someone there will be grief

The kiss of death, lips of a thief. ~

He could barely bear to be there, at this now empty house, the piles of cars stacked in the yard. This used to be a hub for hunters of all creeds, an information center in the middle of the country. He had practically grown up here at times, had spent the summers of his childhood chasing Sam around the yard, playing with the dogs that used to wander the yard. Now there was nothing here. The house was long empty, and it’s resident given a hunter’s funeral. His ashes had been spread over the place where he had lived.

He wandered the yard with a tire iron and a can of gasoline, careful to pick out only the most deserving of cars for his wrath. The music coursing through him wasn’t helping to improve his mood. Fucking God had brought back an angel, but not Bobby? What kind of god was he that he forsook his most precious children? And what the fuck had happened to his soul? Had that bastard Crowley given it back to him? Or was he now burning in hell along with him?

Seeing a pretentious looking Cadillac he walked towards it. Testing out the feel of the tire iron in his hand, he took a swing at the front window. Glass shattered and flew into the air, a sharp and beautiful display of force. He swung at the hood, the doors, and the trunk. When he could no longer swing his arms, he grabbed the gas can and doused the poor thing. Looking on in satisfaction, he struck a match and let it burn.

Turning his back to the flames, he made his way out of the yard and to his baby. It was time that he made his way to her house.




Chapter 20

Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful?

Fic title: Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful?

Author name: vampireifurita 

Artist name: mulanreflection 

Genre: Gen, Wincest

Pairing: Dean/Sam, some background Castiel/Sam, Castiel/Crowley

Rating: R

Word count: 26,732

Warnings: horror, disturbing imagery, violence

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. This is a work of fiction. The property of Supernatural and the various songs within this work of fiction belong to their respective owners.

Summary: After Sam sacrificed himself to save the world; Dean had gone to Lisa just as he’d been asked. Things had been just fine until he started hearing music that no one else could hear and things just go downhill from there. With no one to turn to, bear witness to man lost at sea, in the throes of grief and unexplainable music that haunts him much like the memories of his brother.

A/N:  First of all I would like to thank
the mods of the BIG BANG '11, you people are awesome. I can't even imagine doing your jobs. Insanity

             I send my greatest and most heartfelt thanks to my beta and real-life relative Ritawdstk@aol.com, who told me 1) I was insane trying to take this on, 2) that this was terribly mind-bendy, and for pointing out all my fun little flow errors. I don't know if this would have gotten done without her. Yay!

            Also, this fic is heavily based in music. You might want to have the soundtrack, which I've included. Its on my public Dropbox, so all you need to do is click the link and it should automatically ask if you wanna download the .zip file of the soundtrack, which is in the order the fic is in (or should be....). So... yeah. I hope you enjoy this hot mess. :)

Soundtrack: dl.dropbox.com/u/22178023/Do%20You%20Want%20the%20Truth%20or%20Something%20Beautiful.zip

PDF
Version of Fic: dl.dropbox.com/u/22178023/Do%20You%20Want%20the%20Truth%20or%20Something%20Beautiful.pdf

Link to Art: Beautiful Art This way



Chapters

IntruitChapter 1 | Chapter 2Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | | Chapter 7
  Intermission
Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15
Intermission
Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22   

Intruit

Fic title: Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful?

Author name: vampireifurita

Artist name: mulanreflection

Genre: Gen, Wincest

Pairing: Dean/Sam, some background Castiel/Sam, Castiel/Crowley

Rating: R

Word count: 26,732

Warnings: horror, disturbing imagery, violence

Summary: After Sam sacrificed himself to save the world; Dean had gone to Lisa just as he’d been asked. Things had been just fine until he started hearing music that no one else could hear and things just go downhill from there. With no one to turn to, bear witness to man lost at sea, in the throes of grief and unexplainable music that haunts him much like the memories of his brother.

------------

7 a.m., the alarm goes off. The bed creaks as she moves to get up. She reaches over to turn off the alarm before leaning over to kiss his forehead. Slipping out from under the covers, she stands beside the bed and slips on her slippers. Her feet thud softly on the carpet as she walks on the carpet and leaves the room. His eyes open.

8 a.m., he finally rolls onto his side, sick of staring at the ceiling. It’s only been four hours since he fell into fitful sleep. His eyes are starting to hurt from their lack of rest. He gazes at her side of the bed, and wonders, not for the first time, what he’s doing here.

8:15 she returns to get dressed. She stops next to him and tentatively places her hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t react. She slips away and into her clothes for the day.

“I’ll see you later,” she tells him as she steps out for the day.

8:30 is when he finally exits the bed. He stumbles down the hall and into the bathroom. He takes care of business and turns on the shower. The water is scalding when he enters and he marvels at the feeling of seared skin. Life starts to return to his limbs. His head starts to clear of the early morning fog, and he almost feels alive when he steps out of the bathroom twenty minutes later.

At nine he eats his breakfast on the steps of the house, looking at the bustle of the neighbors. He marvels at their simple lives and wishes on some level that his life were as simple as theirs. It’s at this time that he realizes that his life is as simple as theirs now. It strikes him like a wrecking ball, as it does every morning since the day he arrived.

Shaking off the shell shocked feeling; he brings his dishes back into the house. It only takes a few minutes to clean them and then he is back outside.

He enters the code into the garage to open the door. For a moment he just stares at her, his baby. Covered, and slightly dusted, she sits like a statue, a memoriam to days gone by. She is the only thing that he can still look at without breaking down, the only thing that has truly been his that has never left him. He doesn’t go to her though; he makes his way around her to the shelves of gardening tools. He picks up a hoe and a shovel and exits the garage, leaving it open to breathe.

He makes his way to the backyard, careful to avoid the mud puddle he hasn’t gotten around to fixing yet. The flower beds have been his major concern as of late. The flowers had been overrun by weeds when he had first gotten here. The tulips had been smothered by tall grass, the roses swallowed by ground cover, and the rest had been dying. It was a strange thing for him to have gotten attached to, but the flower beds had been quite the refuge. The work was hard and the rewards were something worth reaping. The neighbors had already given him compliments on the job he had done, and it had only been a few weeks.

The rose bushes were thriving, the tulips were in full bloom, and everything else he had planted had

taken to the soil in ways he hadn’t even imagined. There were lilies, foxglove, daisies, sweet clover, orchids, pansies and impatiens. Every day he watered them and fertilized them and checked that there were no weeds growing through the mulch he had put down.

Today he was going to turn the soil in the bed at the back of the house, along the fence. Since he didn’t have a rote tiller of his own, he was going to take the time to turn the soil with a pitch fork. It would be hard work, loosening the soil, and tedious, but he had nothing better to do with his time. It would be mindlessly tiresome work, and he appreciated that kind of work nowadays. It was soothing to be able to just let his hands work and not have his brain think about what was going on. In a way it was like meditation. It soothed his frayed nerves.

By noon he had managed to loosen the soil all around the fence and had started to pull out the grass that had invaded the flower bed. He had had to get the wheel barrel for all the grass and weeds he had pulled. He dragged himself with his sore and muddy hands through the back door to the kitchen. It took ten minutes to get his hands to a suitable clean before he sat down for some lunch.

The sandwich he made had all the freshest ingredients that could be bought from a store: tomatoes, ham, turkey, lettuce, mayo, and salami. The chips were his favorite kind. Even the soda was top notch, but it all tasted like wood shavings. Every bite made him cringe and every swallow left the taste of death in his mouth. He finished his sandwich with a smile and set off to work again.

Four o’clock saw the entirety of the bed along the fence cleared of grasses and weeds. He sat on the edge of the patio, pleased with the progress he had made. Sweaty, dirty and tired, he laid back and looked up at the blue sky. Clouds rolled overhead and he could only imagine what the weather would bring. Slowly he got to his feet and made his way into the house.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor and into her bedroom. All the clothes he had in the world were contained in a single drawer. In the closet there were hanging clothes that were much too big for him. He made sure that they were kept in the best condition, even if he hadn’t washed them yet. He made his way to the closet and grabbed a shirt before doubling back to his lonely drawer to grab some pants. Slipping into the bathroom he turned on the shower. This time he kept the water at a soothing warm temperature. This shower was less about waking up and more about getting clean. He took his time scrubbing his dirty skin and cleaning out his hair. He took his time, content to while away the minutes under the soothing spray of water, in no hurry to step outside of this sanctuary.

The door on the first floor slammed open and moments later slammed shut. Sighing, knowing it was time to get out from under the soothing spray, he turned off the water. Stepping onto the bathmat he wrapped a towel around his waist. Wiping off the mirror with the hand towel next to the sink, he gazed at his reflection. There was nothing particularly special he saw in his reflection, no tell tale spark of insanity, no great fear or love, just an empty blankness stared back at him. Quickly he toweled off and pulled on his underwear and pants. He held the shirt in his hands for a moment, taking in the feel of worn flannel before bringing it up to his face to smell the left over scent. He slipped his arms in and buttoned it up.

As he exited the bathroom he deposited his dirty clothes in the hamper by the door. He walked down the hall and down the stairs. Making his way to the kitchen, he could hear her talking to her son.

“Why is he always sad?” the kid asked her and he paused outside of the kitchen, flattening himself against the wall to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“I’m not sure, but I think it has something to do with his brother Ben,” she told him in reply. Paper rustled and he heard the refrigerator open and shut.

“He has a brother?” the kid asked, chair scraping on the floor as he sat down.

“Don’t you remember? That really tall guy with the long hair that helped him save you that time?” she prompted another chair grumbling as she sat down.

“Oh yeah, where is he?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, but I’m sure he’s the reason Dean’s so out of it.”

“What was his name again?”

“Hey,” he said as he interrupted their conversation, unable to bear if someone mentioned that name in his presence ever again. She gave the kid a look before smiling at him.

“Hey! How’d it go today? You get everything you wanted to get done, done?” she inquired.

“Yeah, pulled out everything around the fence. Gonna put in the cinderblocks tomorrow and fold in the fertilizer,” he said, opening up the fridge. “Chicken okay for dinner?”

“Chicken would be fine Dean,” she told him, standing to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m just going to take a quick shower. Ben, get started on your homework.”

“Whatever,” the kid replied.

“Don’t sass your mother, she’s just looking out for you,” Dean said as he pulled out a cutting board.

“Dude, you’re not my dad,” was all the kid said in return.

“Of course I’m not, but I’m the next best thing. Besides, I’m totally cooler than whatever guy helped your mom conceive you,” he winked at the kid, pulling the chicken out of its wrapping and grabbing his knife.

“I guess, though you’d be a lot cooler if you acted like this all the time, or at least worked a normal job, you know, like normal people.”

Carefully cutting off the fat and slicing the chicken in half, he considered what to say next. “Yeah, well, I’m not quite there yet. At least I’m getting out of the house now, right? I ain’t that creepy guy just staring out the window anymore.”

“Heh, yeah. I suppose you turning into some housewife obsessed with her garden is better than that,” the kid said with a smile. Smiling back, he bent to get a skillet out of the cabinet.

“I’m the best looking housewife on the block, let me tell you kiddo. None of those other ladies have anything on me. I’m hot. I cook, clean and I even keep the yard at Pleasantville perfectness,” he joked. The kid chuckled.

“I wouldn’t say you’re hot, I’d say you’re pretty ugly. At least those other ladies have the figure of a housewife.”

“Ha! I’ve got the body of a freaking god kid. A freaking god.”

The conversation lulled as he fired up the stove and put olive oil in the skillet resting on the burner. Chicken was sautéed, vegetables fried, and rice steamed. The kid finished his homework, she came back down stairs and set the table, and they all sat down to eat together.

The evening was spent on the couch, watching various low-grade shows. She suggested Dr. Sexy, but he said no, he had stopped watching after. She nodded in understanding, though he didn’t think she really understood, and changed the channel.

The kid went to bed at nine, and she followed him up to tuck him in. He lay sprawled across the couch and closed his eyes. Something truly terrible surfaced from his sub-conscious and he blinked awake with a start. Shivering from a non-existent wind, and fearful of an endless hole, he started when she laid her hand on his shoulder. His smile was flat when he turned it on her, and she just frowned and settled in beside him.

“Dean… I wish you would tell me what happened,” she coaxed.

“I can’t. I can’t even think about it. Can we change the subject?” he said, scooting away from her on the couch.

“Sure Dean,” she replied.

It was 10:30 when she finally ascended the stairs. He sat on the couch, unseeing of the program on the television, mindless to everything around him, numb on the inside. Blinking back to reality he frowned at the screen of the television. He wasn’t particularly fond of Nicholas Cage, and he really hated everything with Meg Ryan, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen. By the end of the movie he was shuddering with barely contained grief and tears were threatening to fall from his eyes. Quickly turning off the TV, he rushed upstairs and crawled into bed fully clothed. He moved to spoon up behind her and was relieved that she didn’t push him away. He was fast asleep moments later.


Chapter 1

I Grieve

Fic title: Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful?

Author name: vampireifurita

Artist name: mulanreflection

Genre: Gen, Wincest

Pairing: Dean/Sam, some background Castiel/Sam, Castiel/Crowley

Rating: R

Word count: 26,732

Warnings: horror, disturbing imagery, violence

Summary: After Sam sacrificed himself to save the world; Dean had gone to Lisa just as he’d been asked. Things had been just fine until he started hearing music that no one else could hear and things just go downhill from there. With no one to turn to, bear witness to man lost at sea, in the throes of grief and unexplainable music that haunts him much like the memories of his brother.

-----------

The alarm goes off at seven. She stirs and he can’t help but awaken. She kisses his forehead before getting out of bed, slippered feet barely making a sound on the carpeted floor. By eight fifteen he’s been lying on his side waiting for her to return and get dressed. She comes back to slip into her clothes and leaves him alone again. Eight thirty he’s in the shower and by nine he’s sitting on the front porch eating his breakfast. A tune he’s never heard before drifts through the air, catching his attention. It isn’t something that he would listen to, a world away from the hair metal that would fill his baby when he was on the road, but something about this song grabbed hold of him. Ears straining to catch the lyrics, he doesn’t even realize he’s leaning forward until he loses his balance. Quickly looking to make sure no one saw his slip, he goes back to eating his breakfast and listening for the mysterious music.

As he finishes his food, he realizes that he wouldn’t be hearing that music again, so he got up and went inside. When he gets to the kitchen, he turns on the radio, hoping to hear something that would catch his attention. All he gets is static. Sighing, he reaches up to turn off the radio when the static clears and that almost familiar tune he heard outside comes on loud and clear.

~It was only one hour ago, it was all so different then.

Nothing yet has really sunk in; it looks like it always did.

This flesh and bone, it’s just the way that we are tied in.

Now there’s no one home.

I grieve for you.

You leave me.

So hard to move on.

Still loving what’s gone.

They say life carries on, carries on and on and on and on…~

The dishes drop from his numb fingers, shattering on the floor. His hands tremble and his feet start backing him away from the counter. He bumps into the table, bruising his hip before turning and fleeing from the room. His feet carry him down the hall and out of the house, but the music follows him. It follows him out into the open air of the backyard, haunting him.

~The news that truly shocks is the empty, empty page.

While the final rattle rocks, its empty, empty cage.

And I can’t handle this.

I grieve for you.

You leave me.

Let it out and move on.

Missing what’s gone.

They say life carries on.

They say life carries on and on and on. ~

Stumbling over the lip of the porch he falls to the ground. The damp grass barley cushions his fall, staining his pants and shirt. He groans and curls up on his side. Surely he must be going insane if he’s hearing music without a radio or stereo. Maybe everything had finally caught up with him, all the repression finally torn his mind asunder. He clutches at his shirt, bringing the collar to his nose, taking in the scent that is even now starting to fade.

He looks at the sky, the clouds rolling overhead. The open air suffocating as he tries to breathe through the pain. His heart feeling like it will explode, the hammering in his head, and the clench of his hands.

His eyes slam shut as he focuses on breathing, not noticing that the music has stopped. In and out, he repeats in his head, counting the seconds between breaths.  Fingers uncurl from fabric and legs relax to a more natural position. His body uncurls from itself and flattens on the ground. Back flat on the grass, legs stretched out on the lawn, and he feels almost peaceful. Breathing comes naturally now, hardly the forced thing it was before, the panic dying down as the moments of silence stretch out longer.

Turning his head to the side he gazes unseeingly at the fence. His vision blurs and for a moment he could swear that someone was there, but when he blinks there is nothing to be seen, just the fence and his unfinished work. Rolling to his side he pauses before pushing to his feet, unsure if the music will start again and hoping it would not. When he gets to his feet, and no sound is to be heard, he sighs in relief. Perhaps he wasn’t insane just yet. It was all probably a figment of his imagination.

Smiling to himself, he reenters the house. He opens the hallway closet and pulls out the broom and dustpan. He walks to the kitchen and sets about cleaning up the mess he made in a fit of panic. He won’t tell her just what happened, it would make him seem unstable. He will just tell her that the dishes slipped when he saw something unbelievable through the window.

Sweeping up the debris, he empties the pan in the trash. Forsaking the garden for a bit longer, he decides to go on a walk as he puts away the broom and dustpan. Picking up the spare key from the bowl by the door, he heads outside, careful to lock the door behind himself.

The mid-morning sun is bright, and the birds are singing in the trees. It’s a beautiful day. It’s almost perfect. For a split second he forgets that he’s missing half of himself, and he feels guilty for even letting that moment occur. His neighbors wave to him as he passes by. Normal people were mowing normal lawns, walking their normal dogs, totally unaware of what had happened scarcely a month ago, unknowing of the terrible price that he had paid.

~Life carries on in the people I meet

In everyone that’s out on the street

In the dogs and cats

In the flies and rats

In the rod and the rust

In the ashes and the dust

Life carries on and on and on

Life carries on and on and on. ~

He began to run, trying in vain to escape the haunting melody in his mind. He turned around and went to the only shelter he had had for over thirty years.

Running into the open garage he pulled the tarp off of her. The keys were always in his pocket, as if waiting for some excuse to be put in the engine. Unlocking the door he slipped into the driver’s seat and started her up. Hastily looking in the rearview mirror, he backed out of the driveway. He put her in drive and started away from the house.

~It’s just the car that we drive in~

“Please just stop,” he whispered as he turned out of the residential area and into the countryside.

~A home we reside in.

The face that we hide in

The way we are tied in

And life carries on and on and on

Life carries on and on and on. ~

“Why is this happening to me?” he cried out as he pulled off to the side of the road. “What have I done? Why now?”

The door swung open and he stepped outside, eyes blown wide and hands shaking. “Why?” he asked as he slid down her slick black metal to the ground, burying his head in his hands. “I’m only doing what you asked me too…”

~Did I dream this belief?

Or did I believe this dream?

Now I can find relief

I grieve. ~

“You asked me to do this, didn’t you? I’m trying. It’s so hard without you…”


Chapter 2

Too Much Time On My Hands

Fic title: Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful?

Author name: vampireifurita

Artist name: mulanreflection

Genre: Gen, Wincest

Pairing: Dean/Sam, some background Castiel/Sam, Castiel/Crowley

Rating: R

Word count: 26,732

Warnings: horror, disturbing imagery, violence

Summary: After Sam sacrificed himself to save the world; Dean had gone to Lisa just as he’d been asked. Things had been just fine until he started hearing music that no one else could hear and things just go downhill from there. With no one to turn to, bear witness to man lost at sea, in the throes of grief and unexplainable music that haunts him much like the memories of his brother.

------------

It was noon. He couldn’t bear to go outside. It was too hot. He was just sitting on the couch, beer in his hand, staring into space.

After his freak out and subsequent drive to the middle of nowhere, she had suggested that he take a day off from the garden and just try and take it easy. It had sounded as if she was saying that it was the garden that had pushed him over the edge of the precipice he had been straddling and not anything supernatural. He had only nodded and curled up tighter around her in the bed. Surely it was only an isolated incident, temporary insanity. He wasn’t hearing things, and he certainly wasn’t imagining things, like the figure standing just outside the second floor window.

So here he was, sitting on the couch, his second beer of the day in his hand flipping through the channels on the TV.

~Yeah, I’m sitting on this bar stool talking like a damn fool

Got the twelve o’clock news blues

And I’ve given up hope for afternoon soaps

And a bottle of cold brew

Is it any wonder I’m not crazy?

Is it any wonder I’m sane at all? ~

Twitching, he changed the channel. It was probably some commercial, not a mysterious radio DJ in his head. After all, why would anyone want to be a DJ in his head? Surely there were better gigs than that.

Bringing the cool bottle to his lips he took a sip. It just didn’t taste like anything. Sighing, he put the bottle on the coaster on the coffee table. Grabbing his sunglasses he went back to the garden, using the remote to turn off the TV and tossing it on the couch.

Pushing open the door he surveyed the yard. It looked the same as it had yesterday. The fertilizer was where she had said she would put it if he felt like working in the yard. Moving towards the wheel barrel full of fertilizer, he grabbed the handles and started to roll it towards the fence. When it was where he wanted it, he put it down and doubled back to get his pitchfork from the garage. Circling the house, he took note of the actions of his neighbors. No one looked like they were watching him, concerned for his well being, but they seemed almost to be avoiding looking at him altogether. Scoffing, he punched in the code to the garage, grabbed his pitchfork and headed back to the back yard.

Digging out fertilizer, he spread it over his flower bed and turned it into the soil. It only took him an hour to do the whole bed.

Wiping a hand across his brow, he grabbed both wheel barrel and pitchfork and brought them back to the garage. He paused to look at his baby; she was still uncovered from his little excursion the other day. Bringing a hand to his pocket he felt the keys weighing heavy there. He pulled them out and looked at them. Perhaps he would take a drive, go where he could, see the open road, and find some easy marks to make money off of, try working a small job…

~I’m so tired of losing; I’ve got nothing to do and all day to do it.

So, I go out cruising but I’ve nowhere to go and all night to get there.

Is it any wonder I’m not a criminal?

Is it any wonder I’m not in jail? ~

“Fuck!” he shouted and dropped the keys, backing away from the impala. It was happening again, wasn’t it? But this wasn’t some random song, he knew this song. This was Styx. This was Too Much Time on My Hands. It wasn’t like this song was stuck in his head; hell, he hadn’t listened to any of his tapes since he got here. It was too hard to listen to the music that he had shared all his life with…

“Son of a bitch!” he yelled and made a break for the house. He dashed through the door, throwing the lock behind him and diving for the couch. He gulped down his warm beer in one go, cursing the fact that he didn’t have anything more alcoholic. If this kept up he would have to visit a freaking liqueur store.

~Is it any wonder I have too much time on my hands?

Ticking away with my sanity

I’ve got too much time on my hands

It’s hard to believe such a calamity

I’ve got too much time on my hands

And it’s ticking away – ticking away from me. ~


Chapter 3

Junebug

Fic title: Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful?

Author name: vampireifurita

Artist name: mulanreflection

Genre: Gen, Wincest

Pairing: Dean/Sam, some background Castiel/Sam, Castiel/Crowley

Rating: R

Word count: 26,732

Warnings: horror, disturbing imagery, violence

Summary: After Sam sacrificed himself to save the world; Dean had gone to Lisa just as he’d been asked. Things had been just fine until he started hearing music that no one else could hear and things just go downhill from there. With no one to turn to, bear witness to man lost at sea, in the throes of grief and unexplainable music that haunts him much like the memories of his brother.

-------------

A free download she had said. Just a random song that she had thought she would try, unthinking, unknowing of the consequences. There were no consequences to downloading a song after all. What could some music hurt? He chuffed out a laugh at that.

She’d been listening to it on a loop for four days now, addicted to this new song. It had only taken one play through for him to take refuge in the garage with his car.

Locked in the garage, sequestered away in his own little corner of the world, he tried to forget everything. He took in the shiny black chrome of her body, the silky leather of her seats, and the shine on her windows. She truly was a beauty, a modern marvel, a work of art. He lamented that he had spent so much time away from her, hiding as he had in the garden, trying not to let himself be reminded of things that he would rather keep locked away. So he polished her rims, vacuumed her seats and wiped down her windows. Even though he was sprucing her up, he made sure to leave her the way she had been that final day, with all the clutter she had accumulated inside of herself. The work was soothing and could almost block out the lyrics echoing throughout the house.

~Junebug, I remember everything ~

He caught sight of the soldier stuck in the door, the memories lodged within this solid beast of a car. This lumbering giant could suffocate him with memories of death. Nights he had spent on the hood stargazing, nights spent sleeping in her seats, the countless wounds that had bled all over the upholstery, the arsenal in her trunk. So many memories wrapped up in one single car, such an important piece of his life that he had been avoiding. There was so much that this car meant that he did not want to remember, the wounds still too fresh in his mind.

It wasn’t as if he weren’t trying to move on. He was trying so hard to love her, to be a father to her son, just as he had promised. He was trying to build a life with them, trying to replace what had always been his life with something that had never been his dream. It wasn’t getting easier, if anything it was getting harder. This life was suffocating him, always reminding him of what he had lost.

~And that was when I loved you best

We were kids then, we shouldn’t think about the rest. ~

He paused in his ministrations. This was killing him. The affection overpowering his senses. Memories of days spent in the backseat of this car, messing around, playing childish games, anything to while away the time. Nights spent curled up together in the back seat or in a hotel bed. Wide smiles and trusting eyes flooded his vision. Happy laughter echoing in wide open spaces on the sides of the highways and byways that split this country into pieces, a life that had been separate from the rest of the world. Happier times. The car had been a constant even as they had changed. He had never been more in love with someone until he was all alone.

~I was the home you once tried to escape, the dark in which you live. ~

When he had left all those years ago, it broke something deep inside himself. He had stepped into the light of his potential and had left him behind in the dark without a backwards glance. But this time was different. There would be no opportunity to watch him from afar, no chance to drag him on a quick case, no way to ever see him again. There was nothing. No way to save him, no way to see him, no way to talk to him… nothing. There was nothing. No life together, no meeting in the life after. There would be no rest, there would be no reuniting. He would eventually die, after getting everything he had never wanted and spend eternity travelling down a back roads highway in an empty car, searching for something he would never find. For the first time he would have to deal with the knowledge that his brother, his everything, would suffer in the fiery pits of hell at the hands of Lucifer himself until time itself ended, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

The knowledge that this revelation brought to him knocked him off his feet, his knees giving out as he collapsed to the floor beside the only thing he had left.

~I remember everything. ~

“Dean? Dinner’s ready!”


Chapter 4

Come Back Song

Fic title: Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful?

Author name: vampireifurita

Artist name: mulanreflection

Genre: Gen, Wincest

Pairing: Dean/Sam, some background Castiel/Sam, Castiel/Crowley

Rating: R

Word count: 26,732

Warnings: horror, disturbing imagery, violence

Summary: After Sam sacrificed himself to save the world; Dean had gone to Lisa just as he’d been asked. Things had been just fine until he started hearing music that no one else could hear and things just go downhill from there. With no one to turn to, bear witness to man lost at sea, in the throes of grief and unexplainable music that haunts him much like the memories of his brother.

-----------

She suggested trying to take a break from the routine. She said that perhaps it would change his mental state, like his routine was what was messing up his mind. Rolling his eyes he agreed to at least try it. And really, what could changing up his routine hurt? Routines were boring. He never used to have a routine. He used to go where he wanted, did what he wanted, did who he wanted… not that that was no longer the case. He still did that, just here, in the same place, with the same woman… not that that was a problem, because it wasn’t.

So here he was, in the kitchen at 6:45 in the freaking morning, praying the coffee pot would hurry up. It was gray outside and the sound of the rain pouring down on the roof was soothing.  He might not be fully awake to entirely appreciate the beauty of the early morning rain, but he was never one to do that anyway. Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement, but when he turned his head there was nothing there. Frowning at the dimly lit table, he turned his attention back to the coffee pot, but not before grabbing a silver knife from the drawer.

The smell of fresh coffee filled the air and he took in a deep breath. His stomach growled at him and he opened a cabinet to get out his mug. While he hated being awake at such an ungodly hour, it was actually nice to take a break from the routine. He reached over to the radio and flicked it on, hoping to catch the morning talk and catch up on the goings on in the world.

~I woke up again this morning and wouldn’t you know it? Pouring rain.

I went and burnt a pot of coffee, and laughed as I poured it down the drain.

‘Cause I didn’t know I needed you so

And letting you go was wrong

And baby I know you got your radio on

So this is my ‘my bad, come back’ song. ~

Flinching, he pressed the button to turn the radio off, but the music kept playing. Eye twitching, and hands starting to shake, he set down his mug of coffee. His pressing became panicked. Turning it off, off, off! But the music merely got louder and louder, drowning out the din of the rain. It was crowding into his head, pushing out everything else. Memories were rising unbidden.

~I know I said I wouldn’t miss you, now I’m saying I’m a fool. ~

“Fucking stop it!” he yelled and punched the radio, effectively killing the music.

“Dean? Dean what happened? What’s going on?” She asked, rushing to his side. His hand was a bit singed and cut up from the now destroyed radio. He frowned down at his hand. “Why were you turning the radio on and off? Why did you punch it? I don’t understand what’s going on Dean!”

He blinked at her. “It wouldn’t turn off.”

Her eyes rose from his hand to look at him. Tilting her head, as if carefully considering her next move, she opened her mouth to speak to him slowly. “You were turning it on and off Dean.”

“No I wasn’t. It wouldn’t turn off. It was playing some damned country song and it wouldn’t turn off!” he retorted, getting agitated by the situation. Her jaw tightened.

“Alright Dean, why don’t we go get some bandages for your hand?” she asked, completely sidestepping his statement. Hanging his head, all he could do was nod his head and follow after her.


Chapter 5

Alcohol

Fic title: Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful?

Author name: vampireifurita

Artist name: mulanreflection

Genre: Gen, Wincest

Pairing: Dean/Sam, some background Castiel/Sam, Castiel/Crowley

Rating: R

Word count: 26,732

Warnings: horror, disturbing imagery, violence

Summary: After Sam sacrificed himself to save the world; Dean had gone to Lisa just as he’d been asked. Things had been just fine until he started hearing music that no one else could hear and things just go downhill from there. With no one to turn to, bear witness to man lost at sea, in the throes of grief and unexplainable music that haunts him much like the memories of his brother.

------------
Alcohol
 

It was like slipping into a familiar rut, picking up the bottle again. How he had resisted so long was mind-blowing. In fact, everything was mind-blowing.

Alcoholics Anonymous would have called it a relapse. He called it sanctuary. If there was anything that had comforted him when he was feeling down, it had been alcohol. Dad told him to kill him? Alcohol. That time that faith healer made someone else die so that he could live? Alcohol. The time he died? Alcohol. Going to hell in a year? Alcohol. Jump start the freaking apocalypse? Alcohol. He wasn’t saying it made him have the best decisions ever, usually quite the opposite, but at least it helped him get through the pain. Though he had told him that alcohol was a depressive it didn’t really make sense that he felt better while drinking.

This was his third beer. He had gone out and raided the local liquor store after that incident with the radio. Really, he didn’t know why he hadn’t done so before the incident with the radio, but then again he hadn’t felt the need to be drunk before.

He had bent his promise by looking into supernatural things that had powers linked to music. So far he hadn’t found anything that was even close to what he had experienced. It would seem that it had all been in his head, but he wasn’t really sure. He hadn’t even known some of those songs, and yet… but it didn’t matter. His search had yielded no results, which had resulted in him drinking himself to sleep the past few nights. Though he really wasn’t sure how many nights it had been. He had been drinking pretty much all day, every day for a while now. He could feel the concept of time slipping through his fingers. After all, time was meaningless to someone who had no need for it.

He wasn’t a belligerent drunk, he was a functioning drunk. He could see the disapproval in her eyes, and the confusion in the kid’s, but he was starting not to care. What did it really matter, what they thought of him? The only people whose opinions had mattered were dead, with the exception of one asshat of an angel. Seriously, couldn’t that flying monkey understand that he really needed a friend right now? Preferably one who knew what was going on, and who could tell him he was totally not going insane? But no, the angel was busy doing whatever it is that angels’ do, leaving him here to deal with the mess.

And what a mess it was. It was getting harder to hide the bottles, and he was starting to get so drunk that he would just pass out, but it was totally justifiable. Seriously, if he couldn’t get drunk because his brother was dead, for fuck’s sake, and because he kept hearing this creepy music, then he didn’t know when to get drunk. Not that he had told her the reasons why he was drinking. Oh no, he was tight lipped to her. She would just think he was going nuts and send him off to a shrink. He didn’t like shrinks. His one, and only, experience with them made his… brother (Jesus he needed another drink) try to kill him.

So yeah, he was downing the booze like a sailor, but really, who could blame him?

Chapter 6

Lucifer's Angel

Fic title: Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful?

Author name: vampireifurita

Artist name: mulanreflection

Genre: Gen, Wincest

Pairing: Dean/Sam, some background Castiel/Sam, Castiel/Crowley

Rating: R

Word count: 26,732

Warnings: horror, disturbing imagery, violence

Summary: After Sam sacrificed himself to save the world; Dean had gone to Lisa just as he’d been asked. Things had been just fine until he started hearing music that no one else could hear and things just go downhill from there. With no one to turn to, bear witness to man lost at sea, in the throes of grief and unexplainable music that haunts him much like the memories of his brother.

----------

It wasn’t as if he hated the kid, quite the contrary. There had been a time when he had thought the kid was his. He was smart, had great taste in music, and was a hit with the ladies. So it was easy to see why he had thought that the kid was his, aside from the fact that he was as old as his tryst with his mom. So it wasn’t that he hated the kid. In fact, under different circumstances, he would have been the perfect father figure for the kid. He would have loved the kid like his own, and would have raised him to the best of his abilities. So he didn’t hate the kid, it was just the damn music that had been coming from his room that night that had seriously fucked him up.

He was two tequila’s into the night, after an afternoon of gin and vodka, when that noise had drifted down to him. At first he had thought it was another one of his hallucinated songs, it had certainly seemed like it was, after all who would willingly listen to that crap? But unfortunately for him, it hadn’t been one of his waking nightmares, which made it so much worse.

Some whiny band with awful instrumentation (seriously, it sounded like a synthesizer) had been blaring through the speakers. He hadn’t really cared, had only intended to tell the kid to turn it down, when the lyrics slapped him in the face.

~Fly away from the torch of blame,

They harmed you Lucifer’s Angel.

Never live, never die, your life has been denied,

They called you Lucifer’s Angel. ~

He had kicked the door in, in his anger. The poor kid had pretty much screamed, frightened out of his skin. He had stalked to the stereo, calmly pushed the eject button for the CD player and took out the CD. Then he threw the disk at the wall, shattering it.

“Don’t play that shit again,” he had calmly told the freaked out kid, and stalked out of the room. She had rushed in after his departure, and he knew on some level that this would be the end of it, that he had finally gone too far, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The music was still playing in his head, picking right up where he had stopped it, haunting him with cryptic lyrics. Circling his brain, pushing buttons he didn’t know he had, sending him into a downward spiral of hate. Rage coursed through his veins as he stomped down the stairs to the ground floor. Rage at everything. Rage at fate, at those damned flying monkeys and the soul-sucking fiends from below. He even raged against himself, mad at all he had done and failed to do. He stalked into the kitchen and pulled open a cabinet, snagging the first bottle he could find before heading out the back.

Sitting in the dark, perched on the edge of the property line, under the large tree that crowded the fence, he contemplated the nature of the universe at the bottom of a bottle. Inside he could see her pacing in front of the window, either worried for him, or worried what he might do on his own. The day had been too much for her, he wasn’t sure she could take much more, especially after tonight. Silently he brought the bottle up to his lips as that song still echoed in his head.

~They harmed you Lucifer’s Angel

Never live, never die

Your life has been denied, Lucifer’s Angel. ~

Cringing he brought the bottle to his lips again, taking a deep swill, grimacing as the liquid burned his throat. He eventually drank himself to unconsciousness.


Chapter 7

Life After You

Fic title: Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful?

Author name: vampireifurita

Artist name: mulanreflection

Genre: Gen, Wincest

Pairing: Dean/Sam, some background Castiel/Sam, Castiel/Crowley

Rating: R

Word count: 26,732

Warnings: horror, disturbing imagery, violence

Summary: After Sam sacrificed himself to save the world; Dean had gone to Lisa just as he’d been asked. Things had been just fine until he started hearing music that no one else could hear and things just go downhill from there. With no one to turn to, bear witness to man lost at sea, in the throes of grief and unexplainable music that haunts him much like the memories of his brother.

-----------

~Ten miles from town and I just broke down

Spittin’ out smoke on the side of the road. ~

Gravel flew as the car pulled off onto the shoulder of the no-name road in some back water town. Cursing, he threw open the door and left the car that had been his home. The music surged from the radio, seeming to know that he had left the car and making up for the distance, the freakishly emo song following him as he stalked down the road.

He had thought leaving the house would keep him from being tortured by mysterious music. His phone was out of his pocket and the speed dial was already cued before he remembered: Bobby was dead; he couldn’t call him to ask for help. Scowling, he threw the phone into the trees to the side of the road.

The God forsaken radio was torturing him. He hadn’t even been listening to the damned thing when he had set off on his quest to get out of the house and the smell of burnt coffee. He hadn’t been able to listen to his tapes since it had happened, memories swirling around him the second he heard the power chords of Rush, the gypsy strings of Zeppelin or the raw power of AC/DC. It hurt too much to remember all the things that had passed in this car, listening to his music. Besides, there was always the off chance that this exact situation would happen.

~All that I’m after is a life filled with laughter,

As long as I’m laughing with you. ~

“Fucking music!” he cursed to the sky, kicking up the gravel. “Fuck you! Fucking son of a bitch!”

Whirling, he stomped back to the car. He slid into the driver’s side and hit the dash with his fist. He was instantly unhappy with his rash decision (poor baby, she hadn’t done anything to him) when the radio stuttered and skipped.

~Cause I know there’s no life without you. ~

“Fuck!” he yelled. He pushed out of the car and made his way around to the other side before his knees gave out. It was just too much of an effort to keep standing. Everything hurt, his hands, his legs, his eyes, his chest… everything was in as much pain as his heart from those damned lyrics. He slid down the side of the car, trying to get his erratic breathing steady. His breath was catching in his throat, stuck on the lump that resided there. His lungs were straining for air, but his throat was constricted. Every gulp of air stung and every exhale shook.

~Without you, God knows what I’d do. ~

“Clearly I’d go insane,” he was able to mutter between breaths. Slowly he started to count down from fifty, trying to calm down and his fists clenched and unclenched rhythmically at his sides. He tilted his head back when he felt his breathing calm, staring at the clouds pass over head. They hadn’t received the rain he had seen this morning yet. He took a second to ponder how far he had actually driven, to have avoided the rain, and if she was worried about him. Setting his jaw, he frowned and his fingers absently rubbed at his chest, over his heart. “Just a few more minutes, I promise, and then I’ll go back. I promised you I’d try.”


Intermission