Chapter Nineteen

97 6 0
                                    

"You're not indestructible Dean

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

"You're not indestructible Dean."

Toweling out my hair I toss the cotton towel onto the floor

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

Toweling out my hair I toss the cotton towel onto the floor. After Sam managed to pull the shards from my back I booked another motel room to take a shower. Not because I'm shy but because I knew it was going to be painful and I want to reserve some of my dignity. Some shards were deeper than others. Mixed with water it fell like someone digging in razors. Checking the bandages are properly tapped on under my black long-sleeved I tug on my jeans before wandering back into my room. Noticing Dean sat on the end of my bed my feet pad to a stop. He's not doing anything. Not watching anything other than the blue wall. Dropping my hands from my wet hair, I carefully wonder "Dean?" It's when Dean swallows hard that I understand something's on his mind. Padding over I sinks into the place beside Dean. Reaching into his lap I take his fingers and entwine them with mine. His fingers tightening around mine Dean doesn't move them from his lap. The way his grip tightens and his stare remains stuck on the wall I find my worry creeping up. My hand curling up to trail around Dean's hand I hold, I quietly pry "Dean. What's going on?"

Another quiet moment ticking by and I see the cogs turning in Dean's head. But with every second my worry and concern only continue creeping up. Dean's brows furrowing, he struggles "I just..." His hand tightening with mine, Dean's hands engulf my own as if socking up their warmth "I just want to remember us now. Before I make you think I'm..."

My heart picking up its pace I feel my mind going into overdrive with what's floating around Dean's head. What could have him so tied up in knots and the only conclusion I can draw is Hell. My hand tightening in Dean's clasped hands, I grasp to explain "Dean I'm not pushing you to tell me about Hell. I just didn't want you to lie to me about it."

"It's more complicated than just lying to you about it El", Dean tilts his head heavily from side to side, "I'm not... it's more complicated than I think you realize." His gaze dropped from the blue peeling paint, Dean watches his thumb grazing over my hand. Like he's trying to remember every curve, touch, and crease. I think that's the part that worries me the most. "In Hell... I don't know...times different", Dean's voice drops to almost a whisper. So low I strain to hear it "For you it was four months but for me in Hell... it was more like forty years." While Dean can't dislodge his gaze from my hand clasped in his, my stare remains transfixed on Dean. Gut twisting in horror listening to Dean explain "They uh... they sliced... and carved... and tore at me in ways that you...until there was nothing left." His jaw clenching my hands tighten in his as if I can hold back his tears. "Then suddenly I'd be whole again. Like magic. Just so they could start in all over again. And Alistair...at the end of every day- everyone- he would come over and he would make me an offer to take me off the rack." Swallowing hard, I listen to Dean disdainfully murmur "Only if I put souls on. If I started the torture." Suddenly becoming aware of where this is going my brows begin to furrow. "Every day I told him to stick it where the sun shines and in array of colours that would've made you proud." Despite the meek chuckle, I can see right through it as Dean shakes his head "For thirty years. I held out for thirty years..." his voice shaking, Dean finally breaks "But I couldn't do it anymore El. I couldn't. And I got off that rack- God help me I got right off it... and I started ripping them apart." I can only stare wordlessly at Dean. My tight grip on his hands the only thing I can manage since I could barely make a word. I'm utterly transfixed hanging on Dean's every broken word. In the light of the dull yellow bedside lamps, I see the tears shining on his hard and set features. Jaw clenched with nothing less than disdain and regret. "I lost count of how many souls. The..." shaking his head, Dean hesitates "The things I did to them..."

SidereusWhere stories live. Discover now