June 23rd, 2011

All of Me

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.  

 

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He wasn’t that hard to find, and part of him wasn’t that surprised. This doctor of questionable intent had done several years in a psychiatric hospital way back in the late 50s. Sure the old codger was well into his seventies now, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still practice his craft. Dean was sure that the old man had been servicing clients well for many years since his “retirement.” He was strangely at peace, the music looping through his head oddly soothing, regardless of what he was about to do. He had been singing under his breath all day.

All of me, why not take all of me? Can’t you see I’m no good without you?” he sang as he approached the sketchy looking building in the slum of some southern city. He would never be the same when he got out of here, and he had taken care of all his pressing business before setting up his appointment.

Three days ago he had visited a lawyer. He made sure that the Impala would end up legally in Lisa’s hands. He had called a trucking service after securing all the paperwork and arranged for the car to be picked up while he was in his appointment.

Take my arms, I’ll never use them. Take my lips, I wanna lose them,” he sang. The note in his pocket was pressing down on his heart, a painful reminder that he would be hurting someone that cared about him with this procedure. The door opened and he smiled at the suspicious looking woman standing in the doorway. “Your goodbyes, left me with eyes that cry, how can I get along without you?

Rolling her eyes, she opened the door wide for him. “You took the part that once was my heart, why not take all of me?” he sang as she led him up the stairs to the operating room. The doctor greeted him at the door.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person Mr. Winchester,” the old man told him, shaking his hand.

“The pleasure is all mine doc,” he replied, smile on his face starting to hurt. His brother hovered uncertainly next to him, eyes filling with tears.

“This is certainly the first time I’ve met a patient that was actually happy about getting the procedure,” the doctor told him. “Do come in, I’m sure we have a few things to discuss before we get started.”

“Just a few things doc,” he told the old man, stepping past him into the operating room. The place was absolutely filthy, and the tools would hardly be sterile, but none of that really mattered. Sam followed behind him, hovering mere inches away, clearly wishing he could reach out and touch him, wishing he could change his mind.

“Let’s get the formalities out of the way then,” the doctor said as he pulled up a chair. “I understand that you would like for someone to pick you up after the procedure.”

“Yeah, my friend Castiel,” he told the doctor. He pulled out his cell phone and handed it over. “I’ve deleted every contact except for him. There’s also a note in my pocket here for him.” He pulled the folded note out of his pocket and handed it to the doctor as well. “Please make sure he reads that before you tell him what we’ve done, and especially before you let him take me anywhere.”

“Of course, I will make sure to do that, Pricilla, did you get all that written down?” he asked as he turned towards his nurse. She nodded and showed him her notes. The doctor nodded that everything was in order.

“Before we get started, do you have any questions for me?” the doctor asked, getting up and guiding him to the operating table.

“This will get rid of both the hallucinations and the voices, right?” he asked as he laid back on the table, allowing the doctor and his nurse to start strapping him down.

“Most definitely. Frontal lobotomies are notorious for ceasing these types of brain functions. I do hope I remembered to tell you that this will be irreversible, and that you will end up in a very vegetable like state,” the doctor assured him.

“Yeah, you said that when I called you about this whole procedure,” he replied. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

“Well, I’ve certainly never heard that before,” Pricilla muttered.

“Well, trust me honey, if you saw or heard half the things I have in the past few months, you’d be just as eager to get yourself lobotomized,” he replied cheekily, feeling more like himself than he had since… well, since dad had died.

“I’ll take your word for it,” she said, strapping down his arm.

He looked over to Sam, who wasn’t really Sam, Sam was down in the cage and that was exactly why he was doing this. A lobotomy would destroy his mind, would make him forget all that he had lost, would keep him from suffering for all of eternity meant for two that was only occupied by one. He smiled at the crying figment of his imagination, almost sad for the poor thing, this would be the last time he would see him and remember who he was and what he meant to him.

“Hey doc, do you mind if I sing while you’re putting me under?” he asked, his eyes never leaving the shivering, crying mess that was his brother.

“Go for it son, it will probably be the last time you’ll do it.”

~All of me, why not take all of me?

Can’t you see I’m no good without you?

Take my arms, I’ll never use them.

Take my lips, I wanna lose them.

Your goodbyes left me with eyes that cry

How can I go on without you?

You took the part that once was my hear

Why not take all of me? ~




Master Post

If It Makes You Happy

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.


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A kiss woke him. Soft lips pressed against his own and he reveled in the simplicity of it. Opening his eyes as those lips pulled away, he smiled at her perfect face. She was everything he’d dreamed a woman could be, and nothing he’d ever planned for. He smiled at her and pulled her into him. She giggled as he pressed feather like kisses to her neck.

Coming down the stairs nearly forty five minutes later, he found Ben sitting at the table, pouring over a comic book.

“Mornin’ kiddo,” he said, ruffling the kid’s hair and moving to the fridge.

“’M not a kid,” he muttered, smoothing out his hair. Smiling to himself, he opened the refrigerator doors and started to pull out eggs, and milk.

“French toast sound good kid?” he asked as he pulled the bread out of the cupboard. Ben merely grunted in answer, too caught up in his comic to care.

Lisa came into the kitchen as he started to put the first slice on the griddle. She kissed the top of Ben’s head and came to stand next to him, ~I belong a long way from here~ wrapping her arms around his waist. He turned his head and gave her a kiss on the lips; Ben groaned and moved to sit in a chair facing away from them. He smiled, as did she, and then she moved away to get them all glasses and plates.

They sat together at the table in companionable silence, each of them eating there French toast. He had coated his in syrup, just like how he and Sammy had eaten it when they were young. Lisa had put blueberries on hers, and Ben was dunking his in a pile of powdered sugar. Lisa sipped at her orange juice, as did Ben and he drank his coffee, black.

He stood at the door and waved to them as they left, Lisa going to drop Ben off at school and then head into work herself. He smiled to himself and wondered when the world had gotten so good. He shut the door behind himself as he walked back into the house, making his way back to the kitchen to start cleaning up. Dishes were washed, countertops wiped down, and leftovers stored. Humming to himself, he made his way into the garage.

Flicking the switch to open the door, he navigated himself down the stairs, ~we were searching, through thrift store jungle~) through labeled boxes of memories (photo albums labeled Sammy, School trophies, miscellaneous school papers, and things from college), and around the covered boat of a car that had been sitting there ~found Geronimo’s rifle, Marilyn’s shampoo, and Benny Goodman’s corset and pen~ untouched since he had moved in. He grabbed his gardening supplies and placed them in his wheel barrel and headed out into the bright sunny summer day.

Sam greeted him on the driveway, smile on his face.

Together the brother’s Winchester made their way to the backyard. Same carried a shovel and Dean had a moment of déjà vu before coming to his senses. Shaking his head and laughing as Sam said something to him, they came upon his pride and joy: his garden. He waved at a spot on the left and indicated that Sam should start digging. The shovel tore through fertile earth, and black soil piled into the empty wheel barrel.

“You know something Sammy?” he asked, pushing his shovel into the ground to help his brother out. Sam merely hummed at him. “I never really believed that this would be something awesome.”

The soil was starting to get harder to dig out now; more clay was mixed into the brown dirt.

“I mean, you always talked about it sure, but I always thought you were off your rocker, because really, who would want a life outside of hunting?” he asked, laughter in his voice. It was starting to become hard to pierce his shovel into the earth. “I always thought you were off your rocker, totally batshit crazy.”

Sam didn’t reply to him, merely kept digging.

Once the hole was deep enough, they both climbed out, struggling to lift themselves out of the crater they’d created.

He stared down into the hole his brother had helped him out of, staring down at the man who was still down there. He crouched down and held out his hand to him, but Sam merely shook his head. He frowned and shook his hand, getting agitated with his brother. The sky darkened, a cloud passing in front of the sun.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing Sammy? I’m trying to help you out. I’m pretty sure Lisa will be pissed if it seems like I tried to bury you in the backyard.”

Sam only stared at him for a moment. “I don’t know why I’m here.” ~Well ok, I made this up~

“Because an idiot and won’t let me help you out of that hole.”

Sam frowned. “No, I don’t know why I’m here with you.”

That stopped him cold. He didn’t know what to say to that.

“I don’t belong here Dean. I told you to live this life, and that I wouldn’t be here to share it with you. Why am I here?”

“Because I don’t know how to do this without you. This is your wish Sam, not mine.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I can’t be like this Sam.”

“This is what I want for you; I want you to have this. This would make me happy.”

“Would it? It sure doesn’t look like that from here.”

“It would.”

He stared at his brother, realizing he would have to bury him in order to move on.

“Ok Sammy, if that’s what you want.” ~I promised you I’d never give up~

He sat at the table when it was done ~if it makes you happy it can’t be that bad~, staring at his dirt encrusted hands.

When Lisa and Ben came home, it was to a piping hot dinner, and meticulously set table. He smiled at them as they stared in awe and he glanced at the specter hovering in the door. Instead of a smile on his face, he merely looked sad ~if it makes you happy, then why the hell are you so sad?~, almost angry. Frowning he gestured for his new family to sit down. They smiled and laughed and discussed their days and he smiled at them in return.

They spent the evening watching TV after Ben finished his homework. They enjoyed their comedies and dramas. He hated procedural dramas, but Lisa loved them, so he suffered through one for her sake. Ben spent most of the crime drama asking questions about dead bodies. Lisa gave him a long suffering look, but Dean indulged him until he noticed that every descriptive word he uttered changed the appearance of the specter hovering just in his eye line.

After the kid went to bed, he and Lisa stayed up for a little while longer, enjoying each other’s company and talking about the events of her day. As they climbed the stairs together, her hand in his back pocket, he paid no attention to anyone other than her.

In the morning he woke up before Lisa and leaned over to wake her in a similar fashion as she had woken him the day before. When she climbed out of bed a few moments later, he watched her go, a small smile playing on his lips.

He stumbled down the steps into the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on. He grabbed a bowl and poured himself a bowl of cereal. When he opened the fridge to get the milk ~so why the hell is everything so wrong? ~ He spotted the French toast from yesterday. He pulled it out, popped it in the microwave and had in on the table all prepared for Ben as he came into the kitchen half asleep.

They ate together and then Lisa and Ben left. He wandered out the back door and stared at the mound of freshly dug soil mocking him in the middle of his garden. He turned his back on the yard and reentered the house. He made his way to the cabinet in the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of jack. The cabinets started to swing open and shut, glasses fell to the floor and cutlery was thrown across the room.

“What the hell?!” he exclaimed and scrambled out of the kitchen. The television clicked on as he stumbled into the living room, the channels flicking and the stereo blared out some 90s pop. He opened his mouth to yell at Sam to just fucking stop it already! But that wasn’t what came out of his mouth.

If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad. If it makes you happy, why the hell are you so sad?

Bolting upright in his overly large single queen sized bed, his head throbbing in pain, he narrowed his eyes at the radio on his bedside table. That damned song playing at full blast. He reached out to slap it off, but it kept playing. Growing agitated, he pulled the chord out of the wall, but that didn’t stop the radio from playing.

“Son of a bitch!” he yelled. He changed his clothes as the volume increased and stuffed his things into his duffel before making a break for the door.

 

Chapter 22

Paint it Black

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.

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“Dean,” the angel had said. He had turned to look at him but he had kept the sight of his brother, his Sammy, in the corner of his eye. The angel surely noticed what he was doing, but didn’t say anything.

“What do you want Cas?” he asked a little testily. None of their visits has gone well, and to say that he was frustrated and at the end of his rope was an understatement. The angel frowned at him and sat in the seat opposite him, dispersing the Sam who had been sitting there. A scowl marred his face and he nearly growled at the clueless chump.

“I am concerned about your mental state, you are acting erratic and violent,” was the reply he got. Rolling his eyes he merely snorted in reply. “Dean, I know that you have been seeing Sam.”

That stopped him cold in his tracks. His whole body seized up, and his eyes narrowed at his companion. “You never answered my question the last time we met Cas.”

“You are changing the subject.”

“Of course I’m changing the subject you butt monkey. I’m not talking about this.”

“Dean, how are we supposed to help you if you don’t tell us what is going on?” the angel asked. His frown deepened, clearly the angel didn’t know of his slip up.

“We?” he questioned. The angel paled.

“I…” he started to explain.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses Cas, who the hell is we?” he demanded. Cas flinched away from him, recoiling from the acid in his voice.

“I have entered an agreement with another supernatural being,” the angel hedged. Narrowing his eyes further, he continued to stare, forcing the angel to confess his sins. “… Crowley. I am Crowley’s partner.”

“Crowley?!” he shouted, uncaring of the attention it drew from the other patrons at the diner. “The fucking King of the Crossroads Crowley?!”

“Yes,” Cas affirmed. He sneered at the so called angel.

“I can’t believe you made a deal with that rat bastard!” he seethed. Cas frowned at the insult.

“I made an agreement with him for Bobby’s soul, and so that this world could return to what it was before. You have no idea what is going on in heaven or in hell,” Cas accused him.

“Why the fuck would I care about that shit?” he retorted, ignoring the first part of Cas’ confession.

“Dean, I know that you are hurting right now, and I know that your defense is to lash out at anyone who confronts you, but please listen to me,” the angel pleaded, suddenly looking as young as a man fresh out of high school. He was taken aback by the sight. “I’m afraid that you are starting to lose touch with reality. Whenever I look in to check on you, you’re talking to someone who is not there. Every room you have stayed in has had two beds. Your eyes are constantly searching, or rolling into the back of your head. We were friends once, I would help you through this if you would let me.”

Anger built towards the well meaning angel. He wasn’t insane, he wasn’t losing touch with reality, and he certainly wasn’t looking for something that wasn’t there.

“Fuck you Cas,” was what he said. “I don’t want your damned sympathy. I’ve been doing just fine on my own.”

The angel looked terribly sad. He got up, dropping money on the table and started to walk away. A hand reached out and latched onto his arm.

“I loved Sam too Dean, he wouldn’t want you to suffer this way, he told you that,” the angel said softly. He was floored for a moment.

“Loved Sam? You? How… I don’t understand. What do you mean you loved Sam?” he asked, turning bewildered eyes to the seated angel. Castiel furrowed his brow and seemed to contemplate his words carefully.

“In my own way I have always been in love with your brother. He was never what I was told he was, and his faith in my father, you and I never faded, not even when we all had forsaken him,” the angel said, his eyes glued to the table. His heart broke a little for him then, this angel with the weight of many worlds on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry Cas, I know I’m losing it, and I know you’re only trying to help, but I just can’t do what he asked of me, I can’t just forget everything that I was, everything that I am,” he said. The angel looked at him sadly, piteously.

“I am merely trying to help Dean; we have an offer we would like you to think about.”

The anger resurged in Dean. “You mean a deal with that fucking demon?! Fuck you Cas! I don’t want the help of a demon, I’d think you would understand that, but apparently you’re bending over backwards for him!”

Cas flushed before his face went even more stony than anything Dean had ever seen from him before. “I do not appreciate the tone you’re taking with me Dean. I am more powerful than you can even imagine, and I think you might do well to remember what I am.”

“Clearly your some angel pawn in Crowley’s fucking scheme! I don’t know what the fuck he promised you, but it wasn’t worth it. You sold your soul to a demon Cas,” Dean hissed. He could feel the weight of all the eyes in the diner on them.

“I am not the one who did that Dean.” Dean flinched at the barb. “I know that Crowley is using me, and I am using him in return. Do not think me a fool.”

“You are one if you’re working with him. You know what? Fuck you Cas. I don’t care why you’re doing it, and I don’t give a crap about your pity. I’m doing just fine without you.” Were his final words to the angel who had pulled him out of hell and followed him through the apocalypse.

As he stormed outside of the diner, leaving Castiel behind, he was joined by his phantom brother.

“That wasn’t the nicest thing you’ve ever done,” he pointed out. Sighing he ignored the comment and continued walking to the car. “Don’t want to talk to me? Fine, then perhaps you would prefer the company of the music that tortures you so.”

Head snapping up, his brother was long gone. Through the window of the diner he could see Castiel. The angel was sitting under a florescent light, and it gave him an almost ethereal glow. As he watched, and as the music started to drum in his head, the suave demon dressed all in black sat beside the angel of the lord. Cas was sitting a little slouched, and as he watched Crowley gestured to the waitress for a drink and slid his arm around Cas’ shoulders. The angel was in league with a demon and he just didn’t care anymore.

~I see a red door and I want to paint it black

No colors anymore, I want them to turn black. ~

“You’re freaking ruining the Rolling Stones,” he complained to the open air before slipping into the Impala. He peeled out of the parking lot and off down the road, the colors of the day fading into the black of night. “Freaking poignant.”

People lined the side of the highway, familiar faces that he had never quite forgotten over the years. People who he hadn’t been able to save, people whose lives he had ended by not being quick enough, not being smart enough, not acting soon enough. At the edge of the road, before he was to enter the interstate all he saw were his family’s faces. His father, lost all those years ago to spare his own life, his mother who had burned for his brother, and Sam who was being torn to shreds so that the world could live.

“Let it burn,” he muttered, no longer swayed by the fates of billions. “We should have let it burn.”

Cars filled with happy people singing jovially to the radio, children playing in the back seats of cars, teenagers making out with the top down as they sped to the next party flew by him. He quickly turned off the interstate but didn’t realize his mistake until it was too late.

The busy metropolitan area screamed of busy, contented people. Mothers and their children walked hand in hand down the sidewalks, young couples had their hands in each other’s pockets, and an old couple was huddled together on a bench, waiting for a bus to pick them up.

~I look inside myself and see my heart is black. ~

He suddenly hated these people. He hated that everyone in the world was happy but him, he hated that the one person who had deserved this happiness the most was suffering for all of eternity, while the god he had unerringly believed in did nothing to save him. It didn’t matter anymore, none of this mattered anymore. Nothing mattered. Let it all burn, let it be painted black.
 

Chapter 21

Wasted

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.

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He was speeding down the interstate, weaving between cars on this road trip to hell. Mindless to the blaring horns, heedless of any cops, he was driving as far away as possible. He had left her days ago, and yet he was still adrift in this world that hurt too much to bear. She had been his anchor to the world, and even when he thought that he was starting to lose his mind she had kept him grounded. Sure, he had crossed a line, and he knew how horrible it had been, but without her and the kid he was adrift in a sea of pain.

A bottle sloshed in his hand. Whiskey was his drug of choice at this time.  It was sloshing over the rim, and for once he couldn’t bring himself to care that it was making his baby’s seats all sticky. He took a long drag, narrowly avoiding a Prius in the right hand lane, the smoky flavor coating his mouth. His thoughts were swirling around his head, his vision swimming and the music blaring so loud he was surprised no one else could hear it.

It would figure that the music would fit the mood. Not that he had expected it not to. After all, that was the reason he had been kicked out, right? The damn music had driven him crazy. So of course it fit his mood perfectly, there was no reason for it not to. Music was freaking haunting him. Was it haunting him? Had he gotten cursed? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He was on this road trip down the Highway to Hell, a one way trip with no chance for reprieve. He didn’t want a reprieve, most likely didn’t deserve one.

Wasted! Losing control!” he shouted out the window as he took an exit off the highway. He sped through a stop sign and off down the country road. Fields whizzed by, small farmhouses lit with warm lights, the occasional car, none of it really registering in his mind. Out of the corner of his eye he could almost see someone in the passenger side seat.

Wasted! I’m going insane!” he yelled with a smile. He brought the bottle back to his lips and took a deep drag, car swerving into the other lane. He tugged on the steering wheel, and ended up over-correcting. The wheels kicked up dirt from the side of the road as he slid off the road. He pressed down on the breaks and eased her to a stop, stroking the dash after putting her in park.

“Sorry baby,” he told her, his head thumping against the steering wheel. Really, no matter how much pain he was in, it was no excuse to abuse his baby. “I’m not myself lately. You would think I would treat you better, wouldn’t you? I bet Sammy took good care of you when I wasn’t around, didn’t you Sammy?”

He turned to look at his constant companion but the passenger side was empty. He panicked; sure he had seen his brother sitting there moments ago, his silent shadow occupying his normal seat. His hands reached out, running over liquor stained leather, to press against the cool passenger seat. No one had been sitting there; it had all been in his mind. His jaw tightened.

“Fuck!” he yelled, straightening and throwing open the driver’s side door, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. The metal walls of his baby were compressing in on him, the metal suffocating him with pressure. He scrambled out of the car and away from the empty place inside his home. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck!”

~Wasted! I wish I was dead. ~

The bottle of whiskey tumbled from his hand, as he skittered down the embankment. His stomach roiled and he barely had time to catch his breath before its contents were expelled from his body.


 

Chapter 19

Life Is A Lemon And I Want My Money Back

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.

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He barely remembered them coming home, had forgotten that they were even there when the music filtered into his head. It made him drink faster, try to block out the song with alcohol. Surely if he was drunk enough he would be able to ignore the sound flooding his mind.

A few minutes later found him standing on the couch, singing out the lyrics. It was a theme, a theme against the establishment, a call to arms. This song was speaking to him, and not breaking his mind. To him, in that moment, that was all that mattered. Whatever the hell was playing with his mind was giving him a break, giving a moment to vent his frustrations.

~There’s always something, something going wrong

That’s the only guarantee,

That’s what this is all about

It’s a never ending attack

Everything’s a lie and that’s a fact

Life is a lemon and I want my money back! ~

He jumped from chair to chair; singing to his heart’s content, completely oblivious to his surroundings. He never noticed her coming down the stairs, never knew that she stood there watching him. He just continued to sing to the music blaring in his head, venting his frustrations to the world.

His feet carried him out of the living room, and down the hall. Out the door he went, singing to the world at large. The music swelled up in him. His eyes fluttered shut and when he opened them again he could swear there was a chorus of singers around him. He looked over all of them, cautiously approaching each in turn, while never stopping his ceaseless singing.

What about love?” he sang.

It’s defective!” the chorus replied.

It’s always breaking in half!” he sang.

What about sex?” asked one of the male chorus members.

It’s defective!” the chorus replied.

It’s never built to really last,” he sang.

Each member in turn asked a question, and every answer was “It’s defective!” His lines were ever changing, and by the time he had reached the climax of the song, he was starting to get out of breath. This song was starting to suck the life out of him. The emotions the music was pulling from him were exhausting. He felt his enthusiasm waver. The chorus started to close in on him, forcing him to take some steps back. Their faces were no longer human, contorted as they were into masks of monsters. Grotesquely exaggerated features stood out on their faces, fangs protruded from between lips. Eyes bulged in their sockets as ears elongated into a parody of an elfin point. Claws extended from fingernails, and hair started to fall out.

He backed up until his back his the side of the house, horror coursing through his veins, lyrics pouring out of his mouth and the ever approaching chorus gaining ground. He fumbled behind himself until he found the sliding door, pulling it open and slamming it behind himself.

Back, back, BACK!” he practically screamed. He rushed into the kitchen and was startled to find her there, staring open mouthed at him. He ran over to the cabinet next to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of liquor and stumbled into the garage.


 

Chapter 18

One

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.

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He wasn’t positive, but it seemed like this was a dream. He was driving down an endless road, his baby purring beneath him and Sam at his side. There was a smile on his face, Metallica on the stereo and the open road ahead of him. He turned to look at Sam and found his brother gazing out the window at the passing scenery. Their eyes caught in his reflection and Sam smiled at him.

“Perfect day for driving, eh Sammy?” he asked as he turned his eyes back to the road.

“Sure is Dean,” Sam replied. “The only thing that would make it better would be if you would turn down the damn music.”

“Aww… are poor Samantha’s tender ears hurting? He teased. Something flickered in the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look at Sam he merely saw his brother scowling.

“Jerk,” Sam told him. He grinned.

“Bitch,” he replied instantly. Together the brother’s shared a grin before Dean focused his eyes back on the road.

Something was bothering him though. Something just wasn’t right. There was something upsetting his calm, something unsettling in this moment. It wasn’t the car, it wasn’t the endless tarmac stretching out before him, and it certainly wasn’t Sam unsettling him so. So what was wrong?

Heat assaulted his right side, building hotter and hotter. His eyebrows knitted together, he hadn’t turned up the heat in the Impala and even if he had there was no way that it would just blow on one side of the car. Something was flickering in the corner of his eye, catching his attention, but when he turned to investigate what it was, only the sight of Sam greeted him.

“So where’re we headed Sammy?” he asked, instantly forgetting the weird sensation that had just occurred. “Got something interesting planned for our next hunt?” He was trying to get his brother to talk to him, it seemed like forever ago that he had had a conversation with him, instead of mere hours.

“We’re not going anywhere Dean,” was Sam’s reply. Eyes wide he turned to face his brother. Sam grinned at him, smile splitting his face. “We don’t have a job right now. You just couldn’t bear to stay in that last town any longer. We had been there for two extra days and you were starting to lose it, so we left.”

“Oh, right, of course,” he breathed, letting out the air he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“God, your mind isn’t here. What are you thinking about that has you so distracted? You thinking about that hot waitress from breakfast?” Sam asked. He frowned. Something was off, not only was that question suspicious, but there was something off in Sam’s demeanor. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Sam: the sight caused him to swerve in the road and swear.

Sam was literally on fire. Flames were licking at his skin, blackening it and peeling it away. Blood red muscle shined in the flickering flames, exposed in places where the flames had eaten away the skin. Sam’s face was peeling away.

His head snapped fully to the side as he frantically pulled over to the side of the road. Sam sat there, the same as he always was. Skin intact, body free of flames. He reached out, straining to make sure this was real and not some illusion.

“Stop,” Sam commanded him. His hand froze inches from Sam’s face. “You really don’t want to do that. Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone Dean?”

“Sammy…” he breathed out, bringing his hand to rest on Sam’s cheek. It wasn’t skin that his hand connected with though; it was sinewy muscle, blood and bone. Recoiling at the feeling of his brother’s torn face, Dean blinked away the illusion of normalcy.

Chains attached to hooks, buried in the tender skin of Sam’s flesh pulled at his arms. Flames licked at his brother’s torso and his face started to melt away, Hazel eyes were boiling in their sockets.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed and scrambled away from the gruesome sight, bringing up his arm to cover his eyes.

“Dean,” Sam’s wrecked voice called to him. “Open your eyes Dean.” He shook his head, refusing to answer. “You need to see Dean, you need to see what is happening to me, what you’re letting happen to me.”

Letting out a soft, desperate cry he tried in vain to cover his ears. Eyes slammed shut, hands over his ears, he did not anticipate the burning wet caress of familiar fingers on his cheek. Of their own accord his eyes snapped open.

“Dean, how could you let this happen to me?” Sam asked as flames devoured him and chains pulled him apart. His mouth went dry. “Why do you get everything? All I wanted was normal. I didn’t want to be part of this life. I didn’t want to be an abomination. What did I do to deserve this?”

Dean choked on a sob and lowered his eyes, unable to meet his brothers pleading, boiling gaze. His eyes fell to the bucket seat, where Sam’s legs should have been. A whimper passed through his lips as he took in the mangled stubs that once were Sam’s lanky legs.

“Why?” Sam asked, hands stretching out towards him. “Why Dean?”

“Jesus fuck!” Dean exclaimed, trying to avoid the hands reaching from him. A strong arm wrapped around his throat from the backseat, the smell of rotting flesh invading his senses.

“Aren’t I taking such good care of your brother?” purred that infuriatingly calm voice that occasionally haunted his dreams.

“Go to hell,” he retorted.

“But I’m already there, along with both of you brothers, or had you forgotten?”

“Fuck! Fuck Sammy, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so sorry Sammy…”

“Dean,” Sam strained to reach him once more but before he could reach him, the arm that had been cutting off his air reached out and snapped Sam’s wrist.

“Sorry boys, but there will be no tear filled reunion. Sam and I have a date with Michael and Adam in the pit,” Lucifer purred, releasing Dean.

“Sam!” Dean called as he leaped forward to grasp onto his brother. Lucifer only laughed.

“Do you really think he wants to save you Sam?” he purred in Sam’s ear. “He has everything you ever wanted now: the girl, the kid, the house… normality. Why would he want to give all that up for you? You, who have destroyed so much of his life. You, whose love poisoned him, prevented him from loving anyone else. Ignore him Sam, he’s just like all the others, he doesn’t care about you, he’s only trying to fool you. These chains? This fire burning away at your soul? He put them there, not me.”

“Sammy no, I wouldn’t…” but his pleas fell on nothing but open air, confessing his feelings to the ceiling of an empty motel room on some no-name stretch of highway.

The radio clicked on.

~I can’t remember everything, can’t tell if this is true or dream

Deep down inside I can feel the scream

This terrible silence stops me.

Now that the war is through with me

I’m waking up I cannot see

That there is not much left of me

Nothing is real but pain now

Hold my breath as I wish for death

Oh please, God, wake me.  ~


 

Chapter 17

Intermission

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.

--------

Intermission

Dean was clearly slipping into a debilitating insanity. It was confusing to find him driving down the highways and byways of America, and not at home with Lisa and Ben. He didn’t understand what had prompted his charge to leave that environment.  The woman and her son had been good for Dean. Their influence had started to rehabilitate his broken soul, but as suddenly as he had seemed to improve, he had just as quickly plummeted into disrepair.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to interfere, didn’t want to set his human friend back on the right track, but Dean hadn’t wanted him to be part of his new life. He had been unwelcome in the world of normality. So naturally he went to find his own solace elsewhere.

The loss of his friends was devastating. He had not had friends before, and their loss stung his very core. Bobby Singer had been a good man, practically raising the Winchesters in the absence of their father. He had been kind and knowing, unconcerned by the brother’s relationship. He had never gotten the chance to ask if Bobby had known what was going on, but he suspected that the man had known more than he had let on. Bobby had been a good hunter and a good man, and while he was sure that he was in a better place now, it hurt him to know the man was gone. He would have been invaluable to Dean in his time of need, a confidant that would have helped him work through Sam’s death.

Sam, the boy with the demon blood, vessel of Lucifer, and savior to the world. He wasn’t sure what he felt about the other Winchester. To him, Sam had been many things. He had started as an obstacle, some abomination that had latched onto Dean. But when he had met the man, when he had seen his awe at the sight of angels, his faith in his father, he couldn’t help but think that Sam wasn’t the abomination he had been made out to be.

Sam had stretched his faith, had pushed his boundaries. While Dean had made him step out of his shell, made him think for the first time in millennia, Sam had shown him true faith. No matter what fate had thrown in his way he had never, not once doubted in his father. Sam’s faith had never wavered, even when his brother had given up on him, even when he had gone to be Lucifer’s vessel.

Sam had helped him through his own crisis of faith. He had been there when his father abandoned him, and when Dean had forsaken them both. Sam had gently held his hand, stroking his feverish, drunken head and whispered sweet nothings in his ear. He had loved Sam for that. There had been no reason to do it; there had been no thought behind it, just this tortured man holding a fallen angel together.

In his own way, he had loved Sam Winchester. Everything he could ever be was wrapped up in Sam, and everything he could never hope to achieve was what shone brightest in the man. That night, before they confronted Dean, he had let Sam in. He had given himself fully to the human, even knowing that he would never return his affections. When they brought back Dean the next evening, he knew that it would be over. Sam would forever hold his brother first in his heart, but he was glad to have even this small glimpse into the man that would save the world.

So it wasn’t as if he didn’t understand Dean’s pain, as he watched him struggle to build a life with Lisa and her son Ben, it was just that he would never feel it as deeply as the human. He had wandered the world for a while, aimlessly searching for something he didn’t know he needed.

In the highlands he found the demon Crowley. For all his bluster, the pretentious King of the Crossroads was holed up in an old, decaying castle. The demon had his faithful hellhounds with him, who surrounded him the moment he entered the castle. Crowley sauntered down the hall and had seemed surprised to see him.

“And here I had thought you were dead,” he had said, snapping his fingers. The hellhounds bounded away. He had cocked his head to the side, curious as to the source of the demon’s information.

“Where did you hear that?” he asked, stepping towards the smarmy demon.

“A little birdie told me,” the demon had quipped. “Where do you think I heard it?” He pulled out a shiny soul from his breast pocket. He had gasped; Bobby’s soul was with the demon, how could he have possibly forgotten?

“You were supposed to return that,” he had said. The demon shrugged and put the soul back in his pocket.

“Now where am I supposed to return it? His body’s dead,” the demon Crowley had said. “You might as well come in, if we’re going to have this chat.” The demon turned and started to walk out of the hall, leaving him powerless but to follow.

“Fancy a drink angel?” Crowley had offered. “Craig, aged forty years. It doesn’t get much better than this.” He had shaken his head, declining the offer. “Your loss.”

“Why are you keeping Bobby’s soul?” he demanded. Crowley had given him a frustrated look.

“Right to the point, aren’t you?” he asked. “What else was I to do with it? You never know when a soul will come in handy after all. I might need this someday.” He took a sip of his drink. “At least I didn’t send him to the pit, which has to count for something.”

“It counts for very little considering who you are,” he had replied.

“Well then feathers, let’s make a deal,” the demon had smirked, placing his glass on the molding table beside him. “I’ll give you Bobby Singer’s soul, what will you give me in return?”

“I won’t kill you,” he had said, steel in his voice. The demon laughed at him.

“Darling, you’ll have to do better than that,” he said. “Let me propose something to you, both of us have been cast out. I can’t go back down there right now, and you’ve been ousted from up there, am I correct?” He didn’t say anything. “I propose a sort of truce. You help me, I help you. A partnership if you will.”

He had frowned at the preposterousness of it all. “Why would I help you?”

“Because I can help alleviate the pain of lover boy’s death, and if we play our cards right, we can make it so that this world runs exactly as it had before, my kind doing what they do best, and yours becoming one big feathery family again, minus some real pricks,” the demon suggested.

“What exactly do you mean ‘alleviate the pain’ of Sam’s death?” he asked, completely ignoring the mirth in the demon’s gaze.

“Well, now I would think that would be painfully obvious,” the demon told him, hand sliding up the angel’s arm.

“And you will let go of Bobby’s soul?” he asked, trembling under the demon’s touch.

Crowley smirked at him. “Definitely. You’re much more useful than him at this juncture, plus I’ll get the side benefit of claiming you all to myself.”

He frowned. “You are suggesting…”

“Oh definitely feathers, it’s a deal breaker if you don’t accept this single stipulation.”

“Fine.”

A fine brow raised on the demon’s face. “Alright then. Let’s seal the deal.”

As he had found, Crowley was actually a good companion to have. His demonic nature may have been repulsive at times, but he was able to help soothe his aching wounds. He had thought that Lisa and Ben had done the same for Dean.

When Dean had gone off on his own again, he had been spurred into action. His first meeting with the human had gone nowhere. Dean had completely deflected his concern. He hadn’t felt rebuffed, but only concern, especially when he caught Dean staring at the seat beside him.

Their second meeting hadn’t gone any better. Dean had been confrontational from the start, lashing out at him the entire time. When his blaspheming went too far, he had lashed out. He regretted his actions on some level, ashamed that he had lowered himself to striking out at the man who had freed him, but he could not bear for anyone to speak thusly against his father. When Dean had confronted him about who he had been confiding in, fear chased him back into the waiting arms of the Crossroad King. Rejection was a powerful thing, and while he was very concerned about Dean’s mental state, his numerous look-ins having confirmed his belief that Dean was slowly going insane with grief, he knew he wouldn’t be able to deal with the rejection his choices might bring. For all his faults, Crowley was an ally, and even though his motivations were a mystery, he had made a deal and sealed it with a kiss.

His last visit to Dean had been disastrous. He had expressed his concern for Dean’s mental state and Dean had lashed out at him. He knew that Dean was seeing Sam, and he knew that Dean was starting to slip further and further away from reality. It seemed that Dean didn’t want to be free from the web of denial he was weaving and he wasn’t sure he wanted to cut him loose.

When he had confessed to partnering with Crowley, Dean had laughed. He had been so cruel, asking him to save a place in hell for him. He hadn’t wanted to, but he had asked Dean the only question that had mattered in that moment.

“Do you want the truth or something beautiful?”

Dean had blinked, pushed himself away from the angel and scrambled out of the room, giving Castiel his answer. He was back with Crowley within seconds, waiting for Dean’s time to end, and to make sure he didn’t end up doing anything too stupid.

~Do you want the truth or something beautiful?

Just close your eyes and make believe.

Do you want the truth or something beautiful?

I am happy to deceive you. ~



Chapter 16

Haunted

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.

--------

~Come here, pretty please, can you tell me where I am?

 You, won’t you say something, I need to get my bearings.

 I’m lost and my shadows keep on changing.

And I’m haunted. ~

The crowded boulevard bothered him, but he pushed through the people. His eyes were set on a distant figure, striving to catch up to that distant, hulking figure. People bumped into him, cut him off but he kept pushing forward, determined to reach his goal. Music was echoing in his head, but he was trying his best to ignore it.

It had started about five blocks back. He wasn’t quite sure what had made him come to the city, but he had. Looking at all the grand architecture had done nothing for him, so after a few turns round downtown, he was ready to leave. That was, of course, until he caught sight of familiar shoulders a head above the crowd. He had pulled into what was probably the only open parking space in all of downtown, shoved some money in the meter and chased after what was probably a figment of his imagination.

Turn after turn, block after block he ran, hoping against all hope to catch up to that which he could never seize. Turning down an alley, he realized he had lost whoever he had been chasing. Sliding down the grimy brick wall, he buried his head in his hands, a small sob escaping his lips.

~I’m haunted by the promises I’ve made

And others I have broken

I’m haunted

By the lives that wove the web

Inside my haunted head. ~

“Hey buddy, you okay?” someone asked. Lifting his head, he turned to look at the speaker. Nodding his head, he slowly got back on his feet.

“Yeah, thanks, just a little lost is all,” he replied.

“Best not get lost down that way, for that way lies madness,” the stranger said before walking away. Frowning, he left the alley and tried to get his bearings. He wasn’t sure where he had left his baby, and while that made his insides twist within him, the fact that he had chased after someone who didn’t exist in this plane of existence bothered him more.

Navigating the downtown area was easier when he didn’t have to keep his eyes on some distant figure. It was easy to maneuver through the crowded sidewalks when he could look at exactly where he was going. He found his baby at the corner of Monroe and State, floored by the perfect positioning. If ever there were a perfect parking place, surely he had found it.

He slipped in the car and turned to look at his passenger.

“Dude, don’t do that. I was freaking out, trying to chase you down the streets. Next time you need to get out let me know, I’ll pull over and we can both go on whatever wild goose chase you have in mind,” he told the grinning man in the passenger seat. “Don’t give me that cheesy smile Sammy, I’m not so easily swayed.”

The giant in the seat beside him reached out and stroked a hand down his cheek. His touch was scalding but it felt like he could breathe for the first time in two months at the touch. He leaned into the light touch and those fingers burned him.

~I’ll always love you

I’ll always need you

I’ll always want you

And I will always miss you. ~

Blinking back to himself, he sees people staring at him from the sidewalk. Setting his jaw, he started the car. Screw them. They didn’t know anything. He wasn’t crazy, his brother was right… he looked at the empty passenger seat, and it dawned on him that it had all been in his head. His brother wasn’t with him; his Sammy was being torn apart by the devil himself, locked in a cage of bone and flame.

Quickly pulling out of his parking spot, he navigated his baby out of the city limits. Only when he had reached farm land did he slow down. Gently pulling her off to the side of the road, he placed her in park. His hand ran lovingly over her sleek insides, pausing as he reached the passenger seat. Phantom fingers wrapped around his, and a sob wracked his body. He bit his tongue, trying to keep the grief inside.

~You think I’ll cry?

I won’t cry.

My heart will break before I cry.

I will go mad. ~

Laughing as burning hands caressed his skin, he let his head thud onto the back of the seat. Strong fingers gripped his jaw, turning his face to look at that which haunted his every waking moment. Hazel eyes bored into his soul and soundless words passed through wide lips. He merely watched as those eyes started to glow, their color starting to burn away. Flashing blue lights interrupted his fantasy, taking him back to the side of the road, on a highway leading out of the city. There was no passenger beside him, and only the sound of the radio blasting filled his ears.


Intermission

Modern Day Prayer

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.

---------

He was sitting in a diner the first time he came. He had been pushing around his food like it was his job. Suddenly he had company, the angel sitting across from him. He could only lift his eyes to stare at him, not exactly surprised, but not expecting the sudden visit.

“Cas,” he said, the name rolling off his tongue like a prayer. The angel’s head tilted to the side, seemingly curious by his reaction. His brows knitted in a mockery of a frown, face still so unused to expression.

“Dean,” he replied in that monotonous voice of his. His food was quickly getting cold, so he looked away from those dead blue eyes to concentrate on trying to eat.

They didn’t say anything more, sitting in silence in some ramshackle diner on some highway in the boondocks of the country. He tried to eat, but found that any appetite he had had was gone the second the angel appeared. He hadn’t seen the wayward angel since it had happened. And while he was glad that he was still around, he couldn’t help but wonder what brought him here. Their last meeting hadn’t been pleasant.

The angel had told him, the last time they had talked, that he had asked for this life. He didn’t remember asking to go on alone in the world, emotionally damaged. The angel had also told him that there was nothing he could do to help Bobby.

God had seemingly brought back his angel, but it was out of both of their powers to bring back his father figure. God didn’t care, he had made that much clear, but Cas didn’t have the kind of power needed to resurrect someone. It had hurt more than he’d cared to acknowledge, the fact that he would be practically alone in the world, all the people that he had loved were dead. Sure he cared about Cas, the frumpy angel had grown on him in the two years they’d known each other, but it wasn’t the same. He couldn’t talk to Cas like he could to Bobby, and he would never share the connection that had been between him and Sammy with the angel of the lord.

Wincing at the pain that just that name brought to him, he put his money on the Formica table and got up to leave, angel trailing behind.

“Why the sudden visit Cas?” he asked, turning to face the angel once they were at his car. Cas took a deep breath.

“I am concerned about your well being,” was the reply he got. Rolling his eyes, he got in his car. With a flap of wings the angel was in the passenger seat beside him.

“Don’t sit there,” he said, turning on the car. Cas blinked at him before reappearing in the back. “Thanks.”

“Why are you not with Lisa and Ben? I thought that was what you wanted?” ever blunt the angel was. Pursing his lips he didn’t even think about his answer, long days by himself making his mouth loose.

“Yeah, it really wasn’t. I promised I’d go to them, and when she wanted me gone, I left,” he replied, turning onto the highway.

~God if you can hear, can you help me and my friends?

We’ve been driving all night headed into dead ends. ~

Sighing as the music started up, he knew that he hadn’t turned on the radio. Looking back at the angel occupying his back seat, he knew that he was the only one hearing it. From the corner of his eye he could see the ghostly figure in the passenger seat, every time it appeared it became more solid, more real and more frightening. He didn’t want to know what would happen when it became whole.

“Dean,” the angel repeated, snapping him out of his daze.

“What?” he asked, glad for the interruption, his thoughts scaring him.

“I do not think that it is wise for you to be driving in this condition,” the angel replied. His face drew back in a sneer.

“Since when do you care about what’s good for me? You abandoned me, you ass,” he snapped.

“I apologize, but I truly thought it was for the best,” the angel told him.

“Yeah… fuck you too Cas,” he retorted.

“Perhaps I shall come back when you are in a better mood,” the angel said and flapped away.

“Yeah, you do that.”

Chapter 15

My Alcoholic Friends

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.

--------

~I’m counting back the number of the steps it took for me to get back on the wagon of the weekend. ~

Gin was a good place to be. So was whiskey for that matter. Traditionally, missing these two drinks would make him sick to the point of puking, but lately it didn’t seem to matter much. Mixing his alcohol was like mixing pop and grenadine, a non-issue. In all actuality, nothing really mattered anymore.

Hiccupping, he made his way down the hallway and into the living room, taking the gin with him. Smiling to himself since the room was empty, he plopped down onto the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table. Bringing the bottle to his lips, he took a swig of the gin, the taste burning down his throat as some of the liquid dribbled down his chin.

He was lucky, she understood… mostly. She knew something was very wrong with him, something broken deep within himself, and she didn’t fault him for drowning himself in booze to get over it. If he was luckier (was that even a word? Did it really matter if it wasn’t? Was there even anyone listening to his inner monologue? Could he get some much needed input if there was? I mean, what’s the good of having an audience if not for feedback?) he would remember her name when she came back this afternoon. ~I’m trying hard not to be ashamed, not to know the name of who is waking up beside me, or the date, the season or the city. ~ Boy was that embarrassing, not knowing her name. He wasn’t as suave as he usually was, but give him a break, he had would probably still be smashed when she got back. Besides, there wasn’t much he wanted to remember right now, hence the drinking. Drinking dulled the senses, and the memories.

Oh god, the memories.

Laughter flooded his mind, loud boisterous laughter and smiles so wide they dimpled the rosy cheeks they belonged to. It wasn’t fair how he could be so blinded by such simple things. Sparkling eyes he could get lost in for days, those gentle touches that had been so casual between them…

A kick to his shin woke him from too vivid dreams of large hands holding onto him, and broad shoulders obstructing the view. Powerful arms wrapped around him tight, holding him safe. He bolted upright, spine ridged, eyes scanning the room, but not taking anything in.

~Love is never falling over ~

Frowning, he squinted at whoever woke him up. The boy just shook his head and walked away, clearly disappointed in his reaction. She looked at him from the doorway as she turned to follow the boy out of the room, but it didn’t affect him the way it used to.

~Should I choose a noble occupation?

If I did, I’d only show up late and sick

And they would stare at me with hatred. ~

Scowling at the radio, which had clearly turned on by itself, since there was no way this was happening in his head, he fumbled to stand. What a wholly apt song. He really should be cleaning up his act, not falling farther into the bottle. He hadn’t attended to the garden in days, and couldn’t find the will to go out there now. Every time he got close to being sober he would remember why he was here trying to pull off the con of the century and the next thing he would know he would be knee deep in booze.

Time healed all wounds, wasn’t that what they always said? That would mean he’d be able to kick the booze eventually, right? Some day the pain would recede to a dull throb in the very center of his being, something that he could ignore most of the time, but he would wallow in it once out of the eyes of the public. In the future, some far off distant time, he would be able to love her the way that he always should have. He would treat the kid like he was his own, and they would be a family. He wouldn’t have dreams about the boy with soulful eyes that had captured his heart long ago. He wouldn’t think about how that boy was burning in the fiery pits of hell for all of eternity.

Looking down at the half-empty bottle clutched in his hand, he brought it to his lips to stem the tide of haunting memories.


Chapter 14

Hope Leaves

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.

----------

Time doesn’t really matter anymore. It passes and that’s all that he knows. He doesn’t know how much has passed since last he saw him, or how long he’s been on the road, or even when he checked into this empty room. All that matters to him in this moment is the blessed silence.

Under normal circumstances he would be trying to fill the silence with music or television or even the company of someone, but he’s had so little silence that he treasures what he gets.

Sitting on worn, yellowed sheets in this rundown, no name place, he lets his mind wander. His thoughts slow and nearly stop altogether, leaving him peaceful and calm for the first time in so long that he can’t even remember the last time he felt like this. His eyes wander the water stained walls, the worn down carpet and the threadbare sheets. The tacky theme is of no consequence, he rarely notices these things anymore.

He is walking down an empty highway. Eight lanes empty of traffic. There are no cars on this interstate to nowhere. His feet drag across dented pavement, poorly fixed holes filled with burning asphalt. He steps around the cracks and the fissures, avoiding the minute obstacles in his path. There is nothing remarkable about the scenery. No buildings, no trees. All he can see are the signs to turn offs and ramps leading to nowhere.

On the horizon lies a crumbling city: skyscrapers that once stretched towards the sky in brilliant colors from the sun reflecting off their glass, now dull and decaying. As he gazes at this monolith of the world, sheets of glass and beams of steal break away from one of the towering buildings and tumble towards the earth. Without even having seen this vestige of human ego up close, he knows that the debris has crashed into the mountains of garbage and bloated bodies filling the streets.

The pain in his chest grows stronger the longer he walks. The exits off this highway seem more appealing, there is color to his right: bright greens, fluorescent purples, and neon oranges. The dull gray of the highway is unappealing and he wishes that he could take the turnoff to that brighter world, but he knows deep inside that the moment he gets on that off ramp that the world over there will darken.

Up ahead he sees a sign that causes his heart to stutter. He pulls his sticky shirt away from his body to let in some air to his overheated skin and gazes at the sign, crossing to the far right lane of traffic.  Enbisaland the sign reads. His feet carry him to the exit and he takes a step onto the pristine pavement of the turnoff. The road starts to crumble beneath his feet with every step he takes. His heart is thundering in his ribcage, eyes watering as he watches the scenery die. With every step this world starts to fade. The flowers start to wither and die, the water goes from a sapphire blue to a muddy brown, and the little town starts to smoke as fire starts to catch at the roofs. 

Eyes watering and lungs gasping for air he turns and runs back towards the highway. Once his feet hit the tarmac the world of Enbisaland starts to heal. He presses his hand to his aching heart to stem the aching hurt as he turns his back on Enbisaland and returns to the interstate.

The sun sets as the moon rises and it is dark before he takes his hand away from his chest, his fingers stained with moisture.

The city has no lights, and the interstate does not have lamps. Each exit is brightly lit though, as he passes them by. He never sees another soul on the road.

When he reaches the city he takes a winding exit under other exits, weaving through the chaos of this unprecedented crossroads. His turn takes him to the very bottom of the city, the seedy ground covered with the refuse of life.

He passes by crumbling apartment buildings and leaning factory buildings, his feet taking him wherever. He steps over bloated corpses, eyes bulging out of sockets and bellies burst open, putrid guts spilling on the ground. There are no living people here. The city is dead.

In the center of this behemoth mortuary is a small run down motel; out of place in its unassuming appearance, among the opulence of the skyscrapers. He approaches it with trepidation, knowing that nothing good resided therein.

Pushing open the door to a random room, he peered inside. It was just another run down room in another nameless place. Something caught his eye though, perched on the bedside table was a tarnished picture frame. His heart thundered in his chest and he clasped his hand over it, feeling it beat. Shakily he walked towards the frame, the picture within facing the wall. His hands trembled, his knees threatened to give out with every step, and his eyes started to take on tunnel vision. Reaching out with numb fingers he picked up the frame and turned it around.

Hazel eyes bored into his soul and nerveless fingers dropped the stained frame as his knees gave out.

~There is a wound that’s always bleeding,

 There is a road I’m always walking

 And I know you’ll never return to this place.~

His chest was on fire, and his shirt was starting to be soaked with perspiration. Looking down his eyes widened as they fell upon the gaping hole in his chest. His heart had been torn from his chest and he hadn’t even noticed.

As if it had been waiting for this moment of realization, the wound started gushing blood, soaking his jean clad thighs and spilling onto the worn carpet. Lightheaded and struggling to breathe, he forced himself to his feet and ran from the room, hand clutched over his chest to stem the flow of blood.

The city around him was burning. Acrid smoke filled his lungs and the stench of burning flesh stung his sinuses. Once I’m done, there’s only smoke, burning in my eyes to blind. To cover up what really happened, force the darkness unto me. Steel garters and panes of glass crashed down around him as he struggled through the cluttered streets. Fire licked at his skin, glass shards dug into his muscles and smoke burned his lungs.

He had to get out. He had to escape this land of sorrow and death, had to find his heart and stitch up the hole in his self. He needed to stem the tide of blood flowing from his veins. The road opened before him, the soaring crossroads of this reality, causing him to pause in his dash for freedom.

“You have a choice.” Whirling to face the only other living creature he had encountered in this barren wasteland, his eyes grew wide at the sight of the Crossroads King. “We could make a deal.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but with a wave of his hand, Crowley rendered him mute. “Or not, I’m only offering this once Winchester, and it’s a good deal, if I were you I’d take it.”

Eyes narrowing at the smarmy bastard and keeping a wary eye on the crumbling crossroads, he nodded for Crowley to continue. “You can go on as you are, half a person, wallowing in sadness and unbearable grief, or I could take it away from you. I could make the pain disappear.”

Frowning, he narrowed his eyes as chunks of concrete started to fall from the towering turnpike. “I could take the pain away, and you would get ten blissful years. All I want is your soul.”

Rolling his eyes, he gestured to his throat, indicating he had a question. The King of the Crossroads waved his hand in a gesture indicating he should just get on with it. “What exactly would you do?”

“I’d stitch up that hole in your soul, for one.”

“How?”

The King of the Crossroads paused, eyes narrowed in on the destitute figure in front of him. “By taking him away of course.”

If he had had a heart it would have stopped. “Take him away?”

“It will be like he had never existed, or if you prefer that he is out there somewhere living the life you know he had always wanted: wife, kids, lawyer job…”

“No.”

Brow furrowing, the King of the Crossroads tilted his head. “Are you sure? You won’t last long as you are. I’m offering you the Taj Mahal of all deals here, are you sure you want to pass this by? I won’t offer this to you again.”

“No.”

Face darkening with displeasure the King of the Crossroads turned away from him. “Suit yourself.”

The crossroads came down around him the moment that the demon disappeared, having only been held up by his presence.

He screamed, only to realize he was still sitting on the end of his threadbare bed in his innocuous room.

Chapter 13

Afterimage

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.

-----------

Another empty motel room. He set his bag on the floor and gently placed the other on the bed. He unzipped the bag and carefully withdrew an old hoodie. He walked to the other bed and arranged it on the bed. He walked back to his own bed and took out a pair of pants, arranging them as well. Tilting his head he marveled at his handiwork. He sat on his own bed and flopped onto his side.

~Suddenly you were gone from all the lives you left your mark upon. ~

Cursing, he tried burying his head under the pillow to muffle the music. It was bad enough when he didn’t know the song, but when he knew it, it was that much worse. Freaking Rush. He would never be able to listen to this again. Not that he was going to be able to listen to much of anything at this rate. Every kind of music had been invading his head for who knows how long now. His random visits from Casper the friendly Angel, certainly weren’t helping either.

Looking at the other bed he could swear that something, or someone was filling out the clothes he’d put there. Surely Cas would know better than to mess with him this way. Nothing else would dare to invade his space like this. He watched as the ghostly figure filled out into something he never thought he’d see again.

“Sammy?” he asked tentatively. His hand reached out to touch, but all he felt were cold sheets and even colder clothes. Curses unbidden fell from his lips. Sitting up he reached for his bag, only to pull out the half-empty bottle of whiskey from within. He drank until he could drink no more.

~I remember

I feel the way you were

I feel the way you were ~

Arms wrapped around his middle, fingers stroking the skin of his arms. Warm breath pulsed against his ear, as a solid weight settled across his back. Groaning he turned under the oppressive touch. Warmth seeped into his skin, scorching him. He could feel the flames of heat licking at his skin. A burning hand pressed against his eyes, preventing him from opening them.

“Shhh…” a deep voice soothed him. He ached at the sound. All the longing that had built up over the weeks, all the pain that had consumed his life burned away at the touch.

“Sammy,” he breathed. Lips brushed along his cheek, searing his skin, causing it to bubble, crack and peel.

His eyes snapped open suddenly. The room was dark, the air was cold and he shivered at the lack of heat. He felt so cold. He felt so dead inside. He wanted to go back to sleep, but feared what would become of him in the morning. What would he become if he lived in his dreams?

Turning he gazed at the empty clothes on the empty bed beside him.

Chapter 12

Break Even

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 a bar like any other. Just another place to hustle poor schmucks out of their hard earned cash. Sure it was flooded with college students, it was a college bar after all, but nothing had made him feel better.

“This will not help you,” that annoyingly calm voice told him as the trench coated angel pulled up a stool beside his own.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m here to earn some cash off these gullible young people,” he retorted, taking a sip from his beer.

“You act as if I do not understand what you are doing,” the angel replied, ordering a beer from the friendly waitress as she sauntered by, shamelessly flirting with the blue eyed menace. “I understand very well what it feels like to have lost…”

“Don’t even think of finishing that sentence,” he interrupted. “I don’t want to hear it. You don’t know shit Cas.”

“You act as if their loss means nothing to me; Bobby was my friend and Sam…” Castiel started to say. He covered the angel’s mouth with his hand, glaring blackest death at him.

“Don’t say his name,” he growled. “Don’t you dare say his fucking name! You don’t know two shits about what I’m feeling, and you will never understand!”

Cas pushed the hand off his mouth. “How do you think I felt when I found out my father had abandoned us? Do you think I felt nothing? Sam was my friend, he was special.”

“Fuck, I’m not doing this with you,” he said, slamming down his beer on the table. He almost knocked over his chair in his haste to stand. He pushed his way through the crowd towards the door.

It took him mere minutes to get to his car, but the angel was already there, waiting for him. Cursing up a storm, he unlocked the door and got in. He ignored the piteous look he was getting from the angel in the back seat and just kept his eyes on the road. Freaking angel didn’t know anything.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a familiar figure sitting in the passenger seat. Head leaning against the glass but tilted towards him, legs splayed wide, taking up every bit of space possible. Taking a deep breath, he made sure to keep his eyes on the road, and didn’t turn to look at neither his phantom passenger nor the angel in the back seat.

“I know this is hard for you,” Cas said softly, breaking the silence. “But it really does help to have someone to confide in.”

He scoffed. “Is that what you did Cas? Who’d you talk to, huh? God?”

Cas’ brow furrowed. “God does not speak to anyone Dean.”

“Damn right he doesn’t. Son of a bitch was willing to let the world burn,” he growled. A hand on his neck stopped him from saying anything else.

“I know that you have never believed in my father, and that he has given you no reason to, but I will not tolerate blasphemy.”

“Jesus Cas, seriously? After everything he’s not done, you’re still willing to defend him?” he adjusted his neck so that it was easier for him to breathe.

“He is still my father,” was the angel’s answer. His face contorted into something distasteful for a moment, knowing that he had once had that kind of faith in his father. It made him wonder where his own faith had gone.

“So who the hell have you been talking to?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him as they pulled up in front of his motel. The hand eased off his neck and when he turned to look, the angel was gone. “Fine, don’t answer my question. Fuck you very much Cas.”

He clambered out of the car, pulling the key to his room out of his pocket, mindful of the shadow that followed him. This was his life now, empty rooms with no hope of reprieve. Nights spent alone, drunken days and the occasional nagging of a high and mighty angel, what a farce.

~I’m still alive but I’m barely breathing,

Just praying to a God I don’t believe in. ~

“Fucking God,” he muttered, flopping down on his bed, turning to look at the empty double. “What kind of god lets these kinds of things happen, huh? What kind of god would allow it to come to this? Why would you let him do this? Why did it have to be him?”

Movement out the corner of his eye caught his attention and the sweetest sight greeted him. That face, that body, that stupid hair, all right within his reach, and yet so far away. Shaking his head to free his head of such a beautiful, torturous sight, he rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

~What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you.

What am I supposed to say when I’m all choked up and you’re okay?

I’m falling to pieces. I’m falling to pieces. ~

“Fuck, I miss you,” he confessed to the ceiling. “I don’t know how to do this without you; I’ve never known how to do this without you.”

He turned to look at the phantom Sam, lying there, propped up on an elbow listening as intently as ever. He dragged a hand across his face. Everything he had ever wanted was within reaching distance but he knew the second he tried to reach for it, it would disappear. His hopes and dreams were insubstantial at best. Everything he had ever wanted was unreachable.

“I’m starting to see you everywhere, right out of the corner of my eye. In the crowded areas, in cars I pass by, the shitty motels that I stay in. God, I’m starting to see you everywhere,” he confessed to the empty room. “Its unbearable, living without you. And this goddamn music, this music is going to drive me insane. I swear, I’m the only one who hears it Sammy. Every time I curse or swear or do something completely fucked up because of it, people just stare at me like I’m crazy. I’m not crazy, am I?”

The faux Sam on the bed merely blinked at him. “Heh, why am I asking you? After all, you’re probably just a figment of my damned imagination.”

“I don’t know what to do here Sammy… what do you want me to do?”


Chapter 11

Hurt

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.

-----------

~I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel

I focus on the pain, the only thing that’s real. ~

The door to the motel room smashed into the wall. He couldn’t bring himself to care. The wall ended up smeared with blood as he supported himself against it. He kicked the door shut and flicked on the light.

Perhaps that case hadn’t been his smartest idea, not that he was acting all that smart lately. He had felt the overwhelming need to go out, to do something with himself. He had thought that perhaps if he had gone back to what he had always done, that he would feel more like himself, instead he ended up feeling pain. Hazel eyes glared at him from the second bed as he passed, dripping blood on the carpet.

The bathroom was an obnoxiously bright white. Of course it was, the one time he paid for a good room, at a decent hotel, he ended up being unable to deal with the cleanliness. He instantly missed the filthy confines of every shithole motel he had ever had the unfortunate pleasure of staying in. This sanitized whiteness was doing nothing to soothe his raging nerves.

A figure stood in the doorway, hulking form blocking out the light from the main room. The deep seated disappointment radiating from the giant in the doorway washed over him, causing him to buckle over, grabbing onto the sink for support. Blood gushed from between his lips, splattering the sink with red. Droplets fell onto the linoleum covered floor; his fingers pushed the sticky red of his life over the counter. Lifting his eyes to the mirror to survey the damage to his face, his eyes caught on the torn and bloody figure standing behind him.

In comparison to the wounds on his brother’s body, he was perfectly healthy. His brother’s skin was torn and frayed, barely hanging on to his body in some places. Blood was pooling beneath his feet, spreading onto the linoleum floor of the bathroom. The life of his most precious person was oozing out of him at an alarming rate.

He whirled around to grab onto him, but there was nothing there. The swiftness of his movement disoriented him, and he collapsed on the floor. His ankle got wrenched in the fall, and the wound to his stomach stretched to new lengths.

~What have I become, my sweetest friend?

Everyone I know goes away in the end. ~

He chuckled, the music unbidden coming to him. Of course the music was coming to him. There was no way that the music would ever stop. He would be hearing these damned songs until the end of his days, and if he was lucky they wouldn’t follow him into the hereafter. It was inescapable, these vicious lyrics. No matter how far he went, no matter what he did, these songs continued to haunt him.

~And you can have it all, my empire of dirt

I will let you down, I will make you hurt. ~

She crossed his mind this time, the only time since he had left. He would leave it all to her, everything that he was. All his worldly possessions would be hers when he finally died. Knowing his luck, his mental state, and his general lack of self preservation, it wouldn’t be long before his baby was once again in her driveway, taking up space in her life. He had broken his promise (of course he had, a vicious part of himself snapped, if Sammy had really known him, he never would have suggested it) and had broken her heart. He had probably crushed her spirit, in his complete neglect, and he didn’t want to think about what he had done to the boy. That was all he was worth now, the pain of knowing him and the car he drove. His soul was in hell after all, nothing of his spirit remained in this empty world.

~If I could start again, a million miles away

I would keep myself, I would find a way. ~

Perhaps he could have found another way. Maybe there had been another option. If he had done something different, perhaps Sam would be here with him. If he had kept in touch when Sam had gone to Stanford, or if he had gone with his brother, then he would have never met Jessica, and she would have never burned on the ceiling of their apartment. If he hadn’t let his brother get brainwashed by that demonic bitch, if he hadn’t thrown away the amulet… there were just so many things he could have done differently. If he had made different choices, reacted differently to things, perhaps Sam would still be here.

His head thudded against the porcelain of the sink, focusing him on what was happening right that moment. He really couldn’t keep going like this. The memories alone would kill him, but the music was like pouring salt in his wounds. He couldn’t die, because then he would be in the same situation, the same pain for all of eternity. Then he had an epiphany and a plan was made.


Chapter 10

I, Manface

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 almost like before, a motel room with two twin beds, and sitting at the little table eating breakfast with his brother. The laptop was open and Sam was pouring over whatever case he had found for them. He sat across from the giant in the rickety wooden chair, sipping his black coffee and shoving a doughnut into his mouth.

“What’ve you got Sam?” he asked after he had swallowed both doughnut and a drought of coffee. Sam didn’t even acknowledge his question. Frowning, he pushed the screen of the laptop down a little to look his brother in the eye, only to stare into empty bleeding sockets. Startled out of his chair, he backed away from the table, horrified.

“What’s your problem Dean?” Sam asked, brow furrowed, hazel eyes staring at him. Blinking, Dean cautiously approached the table. Reaching out, he tried to touch Sam’s eye, but got eyelid instead, but an eye was definitely underneath that lid. “What the hell dude?”

“Sorry …” he trailed off, righting his chair and sitting down again.

“Whatever. I found us a hunt a couple states over. Looks like a simple haunting, but get this…” Sam droned on and Dean only half listened to the various reasons they were going to rush over there and fix this problem. He was trying to reconcile what he had just seen with what was actually going on.

~ Before you know, I’m swept away

Watching my shadow eat off my plate ~

“Son of a bitch!” he yelled. Sam’s startled eyes bore into his wide, frightened eyes.

“Dean? Dean, ignore it,” Sam was saying, his cheeks steadily hallowing out as his body started to shrivel up. He backed away in fear until his back hit the wall and he was falling.

He woke up on the floor of his motel room.

~And I went to sleep the shell of a man,

I woke up the same to I slept in again. ~

“Son of a bitch!” he cursed, his throat as dry and raw as a piece of sandpaper. He stumbled into the bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. Clutching at the porcelain he tried to reconcile reality. Just a dream, it was just a horrible dream.

A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at his concerned brother.

“Dude what the hell? Did you drink too much last night? I thought that was impossible for you,” he said and moved to help him up. Holding on to his brother for support, he brushed his teeth and rinsed the taste of bile out of his mouth. “Come on big guy; let’s get you back in bed.”

~These eyes went bad trying to see lies

Got him drunk and I fell on the knife. ~

Squinting at his brother he tried to discern reality from delusion. Sam merely looked at him in return, tugging him over to his bed. As he was shoved down to sit on the lumpy mattress he noticed Sam’s hands, his white sickly hands. One of those hands ran across his cheek, the gesture meaning to be soothing but ending up making him feel sick. He tried to lean away from those hands, but they followed him, freezing his skin, feeling like the pricks of hundreds of pins. His side ached, the injury from the other night flaring up.

~Before you know these days are gone

A roman candle fired at dawn. ~

Sam coaxed him into lying down and it was all he could do to comply. He kept one eye on the window to the parking lot, watching vigilantly for a roman candle being set off. This song… this insane music was thrumming in his head, and it was nowhere near calming. This was starting to sound just as insane as…

“Dean?” Sam asked. Turning towards his brother, he noticed that the late night news was on. Snapping his head to the side to look out the window, the sky had turned almost black. The lights from cars on the highway zipped by, tiny fireflies zooming past one another trying to speed up the journey home. “Dude you alright?”

Nodding his head, but afraid to open his mouth to reply, he turned back to the television. A procedural cop drama was on. There was a dead body on the street. Those cops were the only people who could bring the killer to justice.

Squirming down the bed, and ignoring the way Sam’s side of the room had started to raise in temperature, light flickering against the wall, he resolutely closed his eyes to try to sleep. A burning hand brushed against his temple and sticky lips pressed against his cheek. “Night Dean.” The lingering feel of sticky wetness stuck with him all night long.

An explosion woke him in the morning. Darting from the bed, he rushed over to the window. Some kid was setting off fireworks. Disregarding his appearance, he stormed outside to confront him. Grabbing the kid’s shoulder, he turned him around, and came face to face with Sam. Eyes wide, he backed away from the crooked smile on that face, something in his brother’s appearance disturbing and skewed.

“How did you like that wake up call, inventive right?” Same asked, stalking after him as he backed into the open motel room. He was herded back to bed and fell on it when pushed.

~It was accidently discovered

You had cold blood running through your veins. ~

Hazel eyes bled into yellow and he tried not to shrink away from the hands pressing into his bed. The temperature in the room skyrocketed and he tried to gasp in a breath, valiantly trying not to hyperventilate. One enormous hand slid across the bedspread and up his side. It slid up his torso to rest at his collarbone. He could feel the searing hot flesh through his shirt and gasped at the feeling.

“I’m burning for you.” His eyes snapped to the flickering yellow above his. He wanted to reach out, wanted to touch, to reassure, but he could not as those eyes continued to shift. Those hands ran over his body, forcing him to arch away from their burning touch, which only served to upset the man above him. Hands fisted in his shirt and pulled him upright.

He was hauled out of the bed and tossed around the room. He bumped into the table, knocked over a chair and connected with the wall. A searing hot body was pressed against his back. Scorching hands pinned him in place while feet kicked his legs apart.

“Now who’s the bitch?” He struggled against the hold on him, assessing the situation. He snapped his head back without a thought, crashing into the taller man’s face, stunning him. Twisting in the hold on him, he turned around and pushed at the bigger man. When he gained some space he made a break for the door.

“I don’t think so Dean. Don’t think a simple head butt will keep you out of my grasp,” Sam’s cold, impersonal voice said. Hands grabbed him and swung him around towards the window. Barely catching the cocking of his brother’s fist, he ducked out of the way as Sam swung towards his face.

Glass shattered, blood flew, and the room instantly chilled. Frost covered the windowpane, and the blood pooling on the sill was starting to ice. Breathing ragged, his breathe fogged in the air.

~When you cut your punch on a broken window

And the blood froze like frost on the shattered pane

And you had a hunger growing inside you

That only bloodlust could ever fulfill~

“I told you that I didn’t burn hot, didn’t I?”

Eyes widening, knees giving out, he could only stare at the monster before him.

“Lucifer.”

“Indeed Dean. I hope you know that I’ve been waiting for this for a while now. It’s not that I have strong feelings against you; it’s just that it’s the principal of the thing. You helped lock me up again. You must understand that I cannot let that pass without recompense.”

Shuddering as that hulking figure approached him menacingly, he shrank away from his brother for what seemed like the first time. But this steely, unfeeling creature was not his brother, this was the root of all evil: Lucifer himself.

“Sam, please Sam…” was all that came out of his mouth as he was bodily picked up from the ground. He couldn’t find it in him to fight back as the devil moved him back to the bed. He was dropped limply onto the mattress, well aware that there was nothing he could do to save himself. All he could do at this moment was hope that Sam could regain control.

Frozen hazel eyes flickered as Sam’s hulking figure climbed on top of him. Massive hands trembled, breath shuddered, and teeth grit. Just looking at the devil made him realized that his brother was in there somewhere, trying to fight his way to the surface once more.

“Come on Sammy, come back to me,” reaching up a shivering hand, he touched freezing skin. He let his hand cup his brother’s cheek, caressing his jaw. His thumb ran over purple lips, smoothing over the silky flesh. His other hand wrapped around the back of his brother’s neck, spurred on by the lack of retaliation. Pulling his brother down, he pressed his lips to his brother’s.

Green eyes bore into hazel, hoping against hope that he would be able to recognize the change, or at least know there was no hope before it was crushed by the reality of the situation. Ever so slightly, so lightly that he wasn’t sure that it was actually occurring, the lips pressed against his returned the pressure. Eyes sliding shut in bliss; he tangled his hands in long chocolate hair and let his lips slide against Sam’s.

It took a few moments, but soon his brother was opening his mouth, and kissing him just as passionately as he was kissing him. Tongues glided against one another and ran over teeth. Taste buds flared with the familiar taste of brother and his head started to swim. It had been so long….

The sudden lack of his brother’s presence popped his eyes open. Sam stood before the mirror, staring at himself, unblinking.

“Sam?”

“I’m a monster Dean,” was all Sam said.

“No you’re not. All that? That was Lucifer, not you Sam,” he sat up straight and moved to his brother’s side, placing a hand on the small of his back.

“Lucifer burns cold Dean; half the things I did to you were when I was burning hot. Those things were all me.”

“No they weren’t Sam. You couldn’t control it. It wasn’t you, your eyes were yellow.”

“That just proves it Dean.”

“It doesn’t prove anything!” he shouted, desperate to deny any lie that fell from Sam’s mouth.

“We both know that I have demon blood in me Dean, blood that came from the Yellow Eyed Demon.”

“But you couldn’t help that! It happened when you were still a baby!”

“You said it yourself Dean, that you would kill me if I wasn’t your brother, that I am a monster.”

Stunned speechless he could only stare open mouthed at his brother.

“I tried so hard to make it right, to fix the world I’ve broken, but I haven’t fixed anything, have I?”

~You extricated yourself from the jungle

To try and temper that instinct to kill~

Sam’s hands came up from hanging at his sides and wrapped loosely around his neck.

“This is the only way.”

“Sam!” He shouted to the empty room. Frantic eyes searched the room for his brother. He wasn’t behind him, he wasn’t in the bathroom, and looking out of the pristine window, he could tell that he wasn’t outside of the hotel room. The second twin bed was still made and there was no sign that his brother had ever been here with him. He was alone.

Standing in front of the mirror, looking back at himself through the glass, he could see the hopeless despair in his eyes. The black circles under his eyes belied how little sleep he had been getting and his haggard appearance gave away how little he cared about himself now. He rubbed his hands over his face, letting them slide down to his neck, massaging the skin there.

The music started up again.

~Buried deep in the hot, hot sand

A portrait of your mother

Take those hands and kill that man

Standing in the mirror~

His hands tightened around his throat and he didn’t let go until he dropped unconscious to the floor.


Chapter 9

Intermission

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.

----------

Intermission

She didn’t know what she had expected when he had shown up at her door over a month ago, but it certainly wasn’t what she was dealing with now. There was something very wrong with him. Something had been broken deep down in his soul, and she was starting to realize she couldn’t ever think of fixing it.

In the beginning it had seemed that whatever was plaguing him might let him be free eventually, he had made great strides of improvement from the shell of a man on the foot of her steps to the man who had been living with her for two weeks. He had set his bag down by the door and had stepped over the threshold, heaving a great sigh. She had wrapped him in her arms, and had held him tight as silent sobs wracked his body. She hadn’t had the faintest clue as to what was wrong with him, but it was clear to her that he would be staying for a while.

She had picked up his bag and taken him to her bedroom, and laid him in her bed. She had sent her son to his room and made sure that he was asleep before rejoining the broken man in her bed. He had looked at her, and she had only seen how shattered he was in that moment, how much like a little boy he was inside. She had wrapped him in her arms and stayed up with him all night, listening to him apologize to someone who wasn’t even there.

When morning had broken, it was as if it had never happened. He deflected all her questions and closed himself off from her emotionally. A part of her knew that this was what would happen, but part of her was sad that he wouldn’t confide in her. But the small smile he had forced on his face when she made him breakfast was worth the slight setback.

That night, he had given her exactly what she hadn’t known she needed. His hands were gentle but firm, and while he didn’t say her name, she knew that she was the one to hold him after it was done. It seemed to sooth him, to settle some part of him that had been unsure. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, so long as he stayed with her, she didn’t quite care what made him decide to do it. She didn’t learn how wrong she was until it ended.

In the morning she cleared out two drawers in her dresser for him. He put all of his clothes into one. He had frowned then and turned to look at her before lowering his gaze. He asked for some space in the closet instead, hoping to treat his other clothes the best that he could. She had told him it was a perfectly reasonable request and that she wouldn’t mind giving him a few hangers and a little space. He had given her a small smile and told her he was going to grab his other bag from the Impala. She smiled and said she’d be waiting for him right here with open closet space and hangers to spare.

The second set of clothing was much too big for him and she instantly realized what had happened. It hit her like a ton of bricks, the knowledge weighing her down, smothering any happiness she had felt at his arrival. Something terrible indeed had made him flee to her open, waiting arms. Something had broken this man’s spirit and she knew exactly what it was. She wanted to reach out and fold him into her arms, wanted to comfort him in the way that only a woman could, but she knew that he would only deny that he was in pain. He was a stubborn man, and she would be lucky if some day, years into the future, if he finally admitted what drove him into her arms.

She surreptitiously snuck out of the room as he reverently took the clothes out of the worn old duffle bag. She leaned against the wall outside of her room and looked in as he started to meticulously fold the overly large clothes. He took extra care with a blue shirt than he had with the rest, and she thought that perhaps it had a special meaning to him. He took his clothes laden hangers, the blue shirt resting on her bed, and hung them in the closet.

He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the shirt he had left there. He brought it up to his face and inhaled. Her heart broke for him in that moment, distraught that this was all he had left of the brother who had been at his side for a lifetime. Placing the shirt back on the bed, he had pulled off his own shirt and slipped the blue shirt on. Balling up his own shirt, he tossed it in the direction of the hamper. She quickly slid out of the hallway and down the stairs, not wanting to be caught having witnessed him at his weakest moment.

In the following days she introduced him to the rest of her household, hoping to familiarize him with his new surroundings, but more often than not he would sit by the window and watch as the world passed him by.

It took her over a week to lure him outside. Once outside though, after moving his baby into the garage and covering her, he didn’t want to come back inside. He mowed her lawn and took it upon himself to make her yard the envy of the neighborhood. He pulled out the weeds in her garden, he mulched around her trees, and he even repainted her birdhouse one day. The tedious, exhausting yard work seemed to be doing him good. He had opened up to her, both emotionally and physically, and he had taken a real shine to Ben. The two of them spent evenings out in the backyard tossing a ball, or just sitting looking at the stars or talking about girls in the living room. She had truly started to believe that he would get over the death of his brother, and then the strange behavior started.

It started one day, just over three weeks in to his joining her family. He just wasn’t home when she and Ben returned from their daily toils. The car had been gone, and she had panicked. Thinking that he had left her, or had gone off in a terrible fit of sorrow to end his existence, she had a slight panic attack. She grabbed her phone to call him, only to realize she didn’t have his number. She went to the neighbors to see if they had seen him, but they all told her the same thing: he took the car out in the afternoon. When he showed up at her door at nearly midnight she had grabbed onto him and had never wanted to let go.

He had been nothing short of passionate with her that night.

Then there had been the incident with the radio. For the life of her she couldn’t figure out what had possessed him to destroy her radio. She didn’t understand why he thought it hadn’t been turning off, when that had been what had woken her before her alarm that morning.

That afternoon he had gone for a drive and in a seeming fit of rage had tossed his phone into the trees. It had taken him over an hour to find it in the trees, and then it was only to discover that he had pretty much destroyed it. He hadn’t made it home until one in the morning, refusing to tell her what had happened or where he had gone. All she could do was frown and offer him the only consolation he would accept.

It was after that incident that he had started to drink. It hadn’t been bad at first, but it seemed like something just pushed him over the edge and then suddenly he was drinking whiskey in broad daylight and chasing it down with gin. She had been lenient about it, understanding that he had needed something to dull the pain, but it didn’t take long for him to step over the line.

She had come back early one day since Ben had a half day and she didn’t want him to be alone with him since he was drinking. Departing work at 11:15 got her home just as Ben did, and together they had entered the house. And there he had been, sprawled out on the couch, an empty bottle in his hand. Ben had gone over to him before she could stop him, and kicked his leg. He had shot straight up, bewildered about what was going on. Ben had just frowned at him, clearly disappointed by this reaction. She sent him up to his room, telling him she would try to sober him up.

Fifteen minutes later she decided to just let him stay in the living room. He just wouldn’t leave. So she went upstairs to take a shower. When she came back downstairs ten minutes later she could only stare. The radio was off, the TV as well, and yet there he was, dancing around and singing to a song that was only in his head. It scared her to think that he might have gone over the edge. If he was starting to hallucinate music, it couldn’t be long before he would think he saw other things that weren’t there. How long would it be before he started to see the creatures he used to hunt? What would happen if his delusions made him think that they were creatures as well? Would he hunt them down?

She had gone upstairs and told her son to go out for the day, find his friends and spend time together. He had merely rolled his eyes and told her that he probably wasn’t going to sober up any time soon.

That evening he had gone too far. She had spent the remainder of the day helping him sober up, but apparently hadn’t done a very good job of it. He had gone up to tell Ben to turn down the music, and suddenly he was bursting through the door and throwing things at her son’s wall. It frightened her to think of what he could do, what kind of threat he would be posing if he could do these sorts of things without batting an eye. She may love him, but she did not want to be putting herself and more importantly her son at risk just for a man.

She had spent so much of her life waiting for this man. This man who had come into her life so suddenly, who had left just as quick. She hadn’t expected to feel this way for a man who had been just a one night stand. But as the years had passed, and she had settled down into her life as a mother, the idea of this man had become her favorite fantasy. Maybe that was all he had really been: a fantasy. She had never really talked to him, hadn’t really known him outside of bed, but she had known she wanted him.

Over the eight years they had been apart she had developed quite the fantasy. He would appear just as suddenly as he had before, he would sweep her off her feet with that debonair charm he had worked on her before, and the two of them would settle down into the life she had always hoped for.

Their next meeting didn’t go as planned, some crazy, impossible stuff came between them, but he had proven to her that her fantasies weren’t unfounded. He had indeed swept her off her feet with charm and had even saved her precious son. And then he was gone. Just as soon as he was back into her life, he was out of it.

It was only two years between their next visit, but even then it was enough for her to worry about him. This man who had saved them, who had saved countless others was planning something reckless and there was nothing she could say to stop him. She could only hope that whatever he was thinking of doing would not come to pass.

Shortly after, a broken man had come to her door. He had seemed so hollow, so empty of life, and she couldn’t help but take him in.

She had said her final goodbyes that morning, telling him she couldn’t allow him to stay here unless he got some help, but he wouldn’t agree to her terms. So he packed up his things, a mere two duffle bags worth of clothing. He looked so sad when he got to the door, so upset that it had come to this. “I’m sorry,” was all he said before he shut the door on their brief life together.

Tears flooded her vision, and her heart clenched as she heard the Impala roar to life. She made her way into the living room to watch him go.

The garden he had worked so hard on in the beginning had started to wilt, the ground hardening and the flowers drying out; she wasn’t sure she could fix it on her own. There was almost too much work for one person, and she wondered how he had managed to do as much as he had in the time he was here.

The stereo clicked on and she inserted a CD. Just for today she would feel sorry for herself, this would be the only time that she would mourn that which never was, and what never would be. Billy Holiday flooded the speakers, drawing out her inner pain. She sat heavily on the couch, letting the sound wash over her.

~All that I’ve know about happiness

I’ve found just being with you

Then I would find myself losing my mind

Over some careless thing you would do

Oh I cannot forget you

I know so well what is in store

A moment or two up in the clouds with you

Then back where I was before

No I don’t want to cry anymore. ~


Chapter 8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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   

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