TRIGGER WARNING: DONT READ THIS FIC IF YOU GET TRIGGERED AT ALL
-Dean POV-
I stopped feeling a while ago... Well, I still feel pain. Pain is the only thing that keeps me alive. It might sound stupid but... Feeling nothing hurts a lot more than being sad.
I started hurting myself when mom left.
She left when I was 15... Said she couldn't take John's abuse anymore... didn't even think twice before packing up her bags and leaving, leaving Sammy and I here with an abusive, homophobic asshole.
I haven't forgiven her, nor do I want to... I'm 18 now, just finished high school but still living at home.
Which dad isn't happy about.
I started working part time at my uncle Bobby's shop to try to save up to rent an apartment or something but I barely make enough to live. Dad stopped paying for my food and giving me rides places when I turned 18...
He also hates that I prefer playing piano over sports. He tried to force me to play football in high school but I convinced him I was gonna focus on working at Bobby's shop and my academics.
In reality, I fucking hate sports. I can barely get out of bed, let alone run around a field with a fucking ball.
He calls me a 'sissy faggot' for preferring singing and making music, an art, over running around with (sometimes) attractive men and tackling them to play with a ball.
It makes it worse because I'm gay.
Super duper fucking gay.
Which doesn't matter because I'll never find love. I'm ugly and fat. Nobody would ever want me. I don't even shower most of the time because I can't get out of bed.
I don't sleep, the bags under my eyes prove that. I overeat because its the only thing that makes me feel better.
No man in their right mind would ever want someone like me. Someone struggling. Someone hopeless.
One guy- Azazel demonè, proved that to me when I was a junior in high school. He made a bet with his friends that he could get me to kiss him before the end of the year.
I- of course- didn't know that and bought into it, I thought he actually liked me. The way his brown eyes ran over my (now fat) hips, his smirk when he'd talk dirty to me.
After a few weeks of thinking he actually liked me we kissed and he then proceed to tell the entire school I was gay and to stay away from me.
He took my first kiss from me for a bet, I'm just glad he didn't make a bet to sleep with me or may have attempted a long time ago..
I lost my only friend and someone I thought cared for me.
People would write faggot on my locker in permanent marker, push me onto the ground, bump into me when walking by on purpose, and do whatever else their tiny minds could think of to torment me.
At one point Azazel and his friends beat me black and blue and I couldn't tell anymore in risk of my dad finding out I was gay...
I told him I got in a fight over a girl I had a crush on from my fifth period English class.
He bought it at the time.
After high school I thought I finally escaped the torment, but apparently people just don't grow up.
Living in a small town in Kansas is rough, especially when everyone is homophobic and you're gay as hell.
Sometime they still throw eggs at my house and scream 'faggot!' before driving away... Usually my dad's at work during the day so he doesn't hear it but I know if he ever does it'll be all over for me.
At first he didn't hit me when mom left, only drank his life away even more than usual.
Then I told him of my interest in playing piano, he took this as my 'coming out' and got in my face, it didn't end in a fist fight but it did lead to him being more aggressive towards me.
He finally snapped when I didn't make dinner one night before he came home from work.
He wasn't totally drunk when this happened, he marched right into my room, my head was under the blanket, I was taking, as the kids say, a 'depression nap'.
He yanked the blankets off of me and shouted in my face, calling me many homophobic slurs and making fun of my body.
He threw me off the bed and kicked me as hard as he could I'm still surprised to this day he didn't break one of my ribs.
He threw punches, continued to scream for what seemed like hours and ended it all by spitting harshly onto my bloody face before walking out of my room.
He'd obviously been holding back for a while and let it loose on that night.
It continued through out the years since then, not always as bad as that night but generally just as violent and harsh.
These are some of the things that lead up to my attempt...
Well, I haven't attempted yet but as soon as dad leaves to take Sammy to baseball practice I'm gonna write my note, clean up my room, grab my favorite razor, and-
"Hey, Dean... We're leaving soon, can I have a hug?" A voice interrupts my inner dialogue.
"Sure, Sammy." I say, glancing over at the young boy.
Sam has abandonment issues because of mom and always insists on giving me a hug and saying 'I love you,' before going anywhere without me...
That thought fucking hurt because I am never gonna see him again... A year ago I wouldn't have left him in this world alone but now.. I can't handle living like this anymore.
"I love you, de." He says quietly, grinning at me as he pulls away.
"I love you too, Sammy." I say back, giving him a weak smile.
I know he's noticed my depression... my emptiness.
He mentioned it briefly saying sometime he felt the same, I told him to never keep it in and to talk to me anytime. I never- never want him to feel how I feel today.
He throws me another sympathetic grin as he walks through my bedroom door, leaving the room excruciatingly silent.
'I should really invest in a fan...' I think to myself, immediately pausing to cring. 'oh, wait... I'm about to die, why would I need a fan?'
I sigh at myself, waiting until I heard the front door close and the car doors open to prepare everything I needed to... well y'know...
I feel anxiety creep through my stomach, I know the longer I wait the more it would crawl up my chest and into my veins.
I take a shaky breath, my hands starting to shake as I sit at my desk and pull out a blank piece of paper and a pen.
I hear the trunk of the car close outside and the engine start. This is the last time I'll hear baby, the last time I'll sit at this desk, the last time I'll ever write anything.
I wait until I hear baby start down the street to write the note.
It's to Sammy, I'd leave a sentence or two at the end for dad but he doesn't deserve to be my last thought.
"Dear Sammy,"
I start, writing in sloppy, curly letters.
"This wasn't your fault, don't ever think that. You're the reason I lived for so long... The reason I kept on keeping on. Don't Blame yourself, please. I tried to stay strong, I did. I can't do it, buddy. I told myself it was selfish to leave you with that monster, but I can't do this anymore. My hands shake and I hear my heart beating in my chest. I can't breathe anymore. I'm so, so tired. I feel to much, or I don't feel at all. I don't wanna get help, I don't wanna try to help dad either... I just wanna go, just wanna be at peace. I feel like I'll never be normal after the life I've had.
I'm sorry, I'm so, so, so, sorry." I write, fears forming in my eyes, I really didn't want this to be dramatic but I'm about to die.
I'm about to die.
"You won't be alone in this world forever. You're the smartest kid I've ever meant. You have a bright, happy future ahead of you, and I'm sad to say, I don't... I love you, Sammy. Don't let dad steal your brightness from you like he stole mine from me.
I'm sorry, Sam.
Love, your big brother,
Dean. <3"
I have tears falling down my face by the time I finished writing my name. I try to avoid the paper as much as possible, folding it in half and writing 'Sam' on the front.
I put the pen back in my desk before standing up and pushing my chair in.
I pick up the clothes on the floor quickly, putting them in my closet and shutting the door. I make my bed and change into my favorite pajamas.
The shirt is soft and blue, the pants are red and black plaid,
I go into the bathroom and brush my teeth, looking at myself in the mirror one last time afterwards.
I frown at my reflection, combing my fingers through my knotted, short hair and splash water on my face before using a towel to wipe it off gently.
I try to smile at myself, this is a good thing. What I've always wanted.
Why does it feel so bad?
I frown, dropping my attempt at a smile and walk back into my bedroom, deciding to leave the door open.
I walk over to my desk, opening the drawer and pulling out a little box that has a couple razors in it.
I opted for the good ol' fashioned down the wrist suicide.
It's gonna be messy but at least I know I'll be dead... Right?
I close the drawer after taking out my favorite blade, it's sharp, it'll be quick.
I sit on my bed again, breathing deeply and trying to dislodge the anxiety from my throat.
I take a shaky breath as the tears come back,
The shirt I'm wearing is thankfully short sleeved, so all I gotta do is...
I hold out my most scarred wrist. Looking at the jagged lines littering it.
I take a deep breath, holding the blade up, and looking up at the ceiling.
I let out a sob and press the blade into my veins, dragging it down roughly.
It makes me cry out loudly, the pain sharp, blood already pooling around it.
My shaking right hand switches the blade into my left hand, giving the same treatment to the other side.
I flop back onto my bed, still looking at the ceiling as my vision blurs. My breathing is uneven but the only thing I can hear is muffled silence. I let my lips part so I can breath better, closing my eyes and trying to let myself die.
I hear a muffled voice yell,
"DEAN!"
Before everything goes black.