Sooooo I broke down and bought Dean paid time because of the 100 user pics and really you can only tell Dean Winchester no so long.

However, his new paid account is dude_imbatman Friend that one if you want to read his prompts or any of the other sillyness he participates in because this one is going into retirement. I just like the username for the other account better. Right now all that's in that journal is some rp but prompts will be forthcoming for him soon there.

[Fix Something]

”Take care of Sammy.”

“Take care of Sammy.”

“Take care of Sammy.”

He’s gotta save Sammy. He’s gotta erase the way he feels in his arms, going cold and much too heavy. dead weight. He’s gotta get that kid back. He’s gotta take care of Sammy.

It’s more than that though. He was four years old when John gave him a reason to keep going. A reason and a job and a duty and a life but somewhere along the way, Sam became more than that. It nearly killed him when the kid went away to Stanford. The only way, the only reason, he could do it was because he knew that Sam deserved that. His baby brother deserved a chance for a normal life because there was sure no way in hell Dean was going to get one. He can’t stand this though. He can’t stand Sam dead on a stained mattress and he can’t stand the bloodstain on the back seat. He can’t deal with any of that, no if there’s a way to fix it and Dean knows exactly how to make this all go away.

He’s desperate and everyone knows it so he’s not surprised when he doesn’t get ten years and really, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to be left here alone but he’ll leave Sam here alone. Sammy is stronger, better, more stubborn. Sam’s got the one thing Dean lacks: faith. That alone will keep him running when he thinks he’s lost everything and maybe…maybe with all the Winchester’s gone, Sammy will just let the family business die. Maybe he’ll get that picket fence, pretty blonde, Volvo and two point five kids.

At least that’s what Dean’s hoping for when the demon presses cold lips against his.

Don’t let me down, Sammy. Don’t disappoint me this time.

[People I'd take a bullet for]

-Sammy

-The Impala

-Castiel

[People I'd like to put a bullet in]

-Bela Talbot

-Ruby

-Uriel

-Castiel half the time.

-Lilith


Funny thing, most the people I want to put a bullet in end up dead.

[Dare: Get rid of something you’ve been holding onto]

Dean isn’t the sentimental type. He never has been. There are certain talismans that a Winchester holds dear like John’s journal, pictures of Mary and a cassette tape of Stairway to Heaven that’s never been played. There are things he keeps outside of those talismans like Sam’s soccer trophy or the plaque commemorating Sam as valedictorian in high school. Those are kept in the trunk, shoved in a corner next to the rock salt and the crosses but in Dean’s duffel bag alongside his socks and his tee shirts he’s got something he doesn’t take out often. It’s stupid really and even if Sam knew, he wouldn’t get it. It’s an old El Sol beer ad that’s been folded and re-folded so many times the creases are worn thin.

The lighter works without fail, paper catching and burning in shades of blue, green, yellow, orange and pink. The flames creep up over her face and Dean holds his breath to keep from blowing it out. The time for dream worlds, what might have been and what ifs is long gone.

[Win or Lose]

“Poor Dean, he’s a broken baby doll,” Lilith cooed as she paced off the space in front of him. Her Mary Janes clipped sharply on the floor. “I can let you down. You could come play with me. We’d play so many games and you would hurt anymore. Not ever, ever again.”

“Sorry, Honey, I’m not really into dolls but you can run along and have a tea party all by yourself.”

“You are the tea party.”

Sometimes he refused out of spite, sometimes out of terror for what he’d become and sometimes he just did it because Dean Winchester liked seeing people pissed off. Most of the time he said no because of Sam. He’d told Sam to keep fighting and he hoped he knew he’d meant don’t go down that path. He couldn’t very well ask Sammy to do something he wasn’t willing to do himself. He had his own fight down here and maybe somewhere deep inside he hoped that Sam would find a way to get him out and when he did, he’d want his brother back, not some demon wearing his brother’s skin.

Thirty years is a long time. Thirty years of flesh flayed from bone is even longer. And one day he says yes. For ten years he was the guy with the knife, the one doing the flaying. At first he apologized with every cut but there’s something human in everyone that tries to shield the mind and the soul from horror. They never let him forget that it once was him up there and he can’t help but feel grateful that it’s not anymore. Some nights when the day job is done he wonders what Sammy would think of him. He doesn’t have to wonder long. He knows that kid like he knows his own skin. Sam wouldn’t say anything, he’d just give him that look.

He’s not on the rack anymore and no one has caused him any physical pain in ten years. Most of his memories are fuzzy , a little waterlogged except for that look that Sam gives him when he’s disappointed, when his hero has stumbled and fallen. That’s how Dean knows he’s still in hell.

[Voicemails I’ve saved]

-Dean…it’s Sam. Everything’s fine. Stanford is…great. I just-so how are things there? Is Dad okay? I’ve got this job at a bar down the street. It’s to bar back which means I can study in the back room as long as the bar is stocked. Classes are…wow. There’s so many people and they all know so much. Anyway…I’ll let you go. Call me and let me know something hasn’t eaten you.

Three days later, Dean finds a job in Half Moon Bay. Just an hour from Stanford. Kid is lonely and he needs to see his big brother. Even if he’ll never say it. He’s not the only reticent and reluctant Winchester.

-Dean, its Dad. I heard about the job in Monticello. Nice one. I’ll catch up with you outside of Boston. I’m proud of you, Son.

Sometimes he plays that one over and over. He wonders if John would say the same thing but he doesn’t really want to know. He has a feeling, he wouldn’t.

-Hi. I’m looking for a Dean Van Halen…this is Gina. We-I met him in Dallas. I just-I thought maybe if he were in town.

She wasn’t that special. He can’t even remember what she looks like beyond her legs—Dude, you’d remember them too. They were miles and miles long--She’s the only one who ever tried to get in touch with him later. He never called her back. He never will. It’s better that way.

-Hey, Dean. It’s Jess. I’m sorry to bother you but Sam isn’t answering his phone and since he’s off with you looking for your dad…I thought maybe. Anyway, I’m worried. Have him give me a call.

Sam doesn’t know he has this one and sometimes he’s not even sure why he keeps it. In so many ways, Jess is symbolic of their mother; used and discarded the same way. If he were a psychologist, he’d say he was attempting to hold onto some piece of his mother but he’s Dean Winchester and he’d call bullshit on the psychologist.

-Dammit, Dean. Could you hurry up? It’s friggin’ cold in the car…just-answer your damn phone next time. At least I can bitch at you in person then.

Two weeks later, Sam begged him to never answer the phone while he was having sex again. Of course he didn’t listen. Freaking the giant yeti out was way too much fun.

[FUBAR]

Oh he was screwed. Completely and totally fucked.

And not in the good way.

But then that wasn’t anything new for him. Dean Winchester spent a good deal of his life completely screwed.

And why oh friggin’ God why couldn’t they send an angel that looked like Jenna Jameson? Instead he gets a pain in the ass.

“If this is a test of my friggin’ character it’s not funny!” Dean yelled up at the sky. “Great. Now I’m yelling at nothing,” he grumbled under his breath as he raked a hand through his hair.

He had a cranky angel, some kind of freakazoid, uber angel that was beyond cranky and a Yeti with some serious demon powers to worry about. Naturally Cranky and Freakazoid wanted to kill Yeti. Dean’s whole life he’d had one job:

Take care of Sammy.

And there was nothing that was going to stand in the way of that.

Not even angels. Not one. Not two and not a whole friggin’ host of them (and what the hell was a host of angels anyway?)

So he was back to being totally fucked.

[I came to realize that life lived to help others is the only one that matters and that it is my duty. >> Ben Stein]

“You brought me to an Olive Garden?”

Dean glanced around the restaurant and shrugged. “Hell yeah, never ending pasta bowl.”

Ruby rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair. “This isn’t a date.”

“Sweetheart…I don’t date demons,” Dean informed her, one corner of his lips tugging up in a grin.

“No, you just fuck them.”

Dean thought about that a moment and then shrugged, giving her the grin that still removed panties in the blink of an eye. “Sometimes I kill ‘em too.”

The waitress took that moment to interrupt and take their orders. Spaghetti, extra meat balls for Dean, which made Ruby roll her eyes.

“Where the hell are the French Fries?”

“We don’t-“ the waitress started.

“It’s potatoes fried in hot oil, slap on some salt and you’ve got French fries,” Dean said as he stuffed an entire breadstick in his mouth.

The waitress watched in amazement before recovering. “We don’t do…special orders.”

Dean finished his breadstick, took a swig of water and gave the waitress that smile. “Come on, Darlin’ surely you can talk the cook into it. I’d be awful grateful.”

Ruby rolled her eyes and leaned forward on the table, smiling a fairly benign smile at the waitress. “This isn’t a date…me and him.” She wanted her damn deep fried crack.

“Oh,” the waitress said as she glanced from Ruby and back to Dean, her eyes widening and a blush creeping over her cheeks. Dean winked at her for good measure. “Oh! I’ll see-I’ll see what I can do.” She turned and fled for the kitchen, almost tripping over another waitress when she did.

“You’re disgusting,” Ruby told him with a sneer.

“That’s why you love me, Ruby.”

[Wrath]

Dean was one with the magic fingers bed. Seriously one with it. If he’d ever wanted to marry someone in his entire life and have little Winchester babies, he wanted to marry that bed. There was nothing prying his ass out of that bed. And he was really friggin’ annoyed when Ruby bust in, the door slamming back against the wall. He knew who the hell it was before she ever came in. (Okay so he knew because she was the only one who had a key to his motel room, but he woulda known even without that clue. Swear it.) Nobody made an entrance quite like Ruby and usually when people say that, it’s a good thing. This wasn’t.

“Get your lazy, old ass out of bed. We have to clean up after Baby Brother.”

Okay, nothing except that.

“God dammit, Ruby.”

“No that would be God damn Sam Winchester. We’ve got about half an hour before the cops show up and a lot of wet work. Leaving now, Shortbus.”

Dean let out a growl of frustration and crawled out of bed, grabbing his pants off the floor as he did. He buttoned the pants up, sans underwear and grabbed a shirt, still buttoning it as he followed Ruby out the door.

“He’s snapping, Dean. I don’t know how much-“

“Ruby, shut up,” Dean snapped. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. He had the radio off and the silence ticked along. He glanced at Ruby out of the corner of his eye. She had her head against the window, her nails drumming on the armrest. There were subjects they didn’t touch and Sam was one of them. Oh they skated around Sam and they bitched and insulted but they never talked about Sam. They just followed around and cleaned up his messes.

And this, this one was a hellva a mess- more bodies and blood than Dean knew what to do with. In the end, they just burned everything to the ground and got back on the road.

Sam wasn’t finished yet.

[Sound]

This is a version of Dean who’s almost 40. Sam is evil and Dean is just trying to maintain the status quo. Most of the time he’s with Ruby ourslutty_yoda


The room is quiet and Dean can’t sleep. It’s nothing new but the room has been quiet for years now and he’s still not used to it. He crouches in front of the A/C in his boxers, grabbing his pocket knife off the cheap, crooked table next to the window. In five minutes, he’s got the cover on the A/C unit off and he’s fiddling with things inside of it. He turns it back on and there’s a rattling noise as it starts up. The rattling gets louder then levels off so that it sounds a little bit like a broken engine part. A stupid grin spreads across his face as he stands up and crawls back in bed, moving closer to the blonde lying there.

“God…you’re an idiot,” she says in a disgusted tone of voice as she rolls her eyes and lets him pull her closer.

“Too damn quiet. Can’t sleep. Why the fuck don’t you snore or something?” he bitches as he settles in, his arm across her waist.

“Because I don’t have to breathe? You really are a short bus.”

It’s easier to insult than to admit, she misses Sam too.

[Memory]

When Sam was six he spilled grape juice in the back seat of the Impala. Dean took the swats for it because he lied to John and told him that he has spilled the juice. He remembers how the rim of the Impala’s back fender bit into the palms of his hands. He watched Sam cry through the back window and gritted his teeth. He hadn’t needed to cry even though John’s Winchester’s swats had hurt like Hell. Sam had done all the crying for him.

The sharp scritch of a claw bumps down his spine, illiciting a cringe from Dean every time it hits a nerve. He’s not tied down but he can’t move regardless of how much he wants to get the fuck out of there. The demon-spider-bitch scrabbles up his back, claws on four legs digging into his skin for purchase. He feels another claw dig deep into the base of his skull and the sound that hisses past his clenched teeth is all that he can manage of a scream.

Sam was pissy and Dean had been ribbing him for it for the last hundred miles.

“Come on, Sammy. I did you a favor. She was a slut and not half good enough for you. All I had to do was smile and she couldn’t get her panties off fas-“

“SHUT UP DEAN!” Sam’s bellow reverberated through the Impala. “I don’t need to hear about your sexual conquest of my prom date.”

“Conquest implies there was some effort put in and trust me, Sammy there was no-“

“SHUT UP DEAN!”

“Yeah, whatever. Seriously, get over it, Yeti. She wasn’t even that goo-“

“SHUT. UP. DEAN.”

The claw retracts, pulling a shining thread of silver with it. The leg extends over Dean’s shoulder so that he can watch the thread unwind and puddle to the floor. The floor is turning silver with the memories the creature is pulling out of his brain. The click of a woman’s high heels adverts his attention for the moment as he watches a gorgeous brunette walk toward him. She tilts her head and a sly smile curves her lips.

“Don’t remember me, do you?” Her English accent is clipped and smug. “I see they’ve already gotten to those memories. A shame. I was looking forward to irritating you for a little while longer.”

“I’d love to catch up, Sweetheart but I’m a little busy right now.” His back arches and he grits his teeth again as a claw digs into the base of his skull again.

”Dean…”

“What is it, Sammy?” Dean rubbed his eyes and yawned then scrubbed his hands over his face. “S’late, you oughta be asleep.”

“Can’t sleep, there’s somethin’ under my bed,” Sam whispered, scooting closer to the edge of Dean’s bed.
Dean’s maternal instincts had taken over then and he’d nearly thrown Sam into his bed. “Stay there,” he barked as he shoved a pillow into Sam’s chest. “I got this.” His chest hurt a little his heart was hammering so hard inside of it. He swallowed hard and forced himself to control his breathing. He had to take care of Sammy. One job in the whole world.

“Failed,” the words rip themselves out of his throat, his voice hoarse from screams he doesn’t remember letting loose. “I failed.” He can’t remember what he failed or why. He can’t remember who but he knows it was important.

“Not yet, Short bus, but you’re going to if you don’t grow a pair and stand up to that demon bitch on your back.” It’s a different pair of heels clicking across a floor swarming with silver threads. The accent is American and the woman is blonde.

“Ruby.”

“Got it in one. Glad they haven’t jerked me out of your pitiful, feeble brain. Sam’s counting on you to still be you when he gets off his gigantic, lazy ass and saves you. Don’t. Fail. Him. Again.” She’s inches from his face, the words hitting his skin with little puffs of air.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and his stomach hurt from all the cookies Pastor Jim had stuffed inside of him. He was tired and fidgety but he didn’t want to go to sleep.

“How much longer?” he asked Pastor Jim as he fought back a yawn. Even at four, Dean Winchester was stubborn as a mule.

“Dunno, Dean. Babies take time. They get here on their own schedule.”

Dean sighed and nodded. A second later he heard a door and looked up to see his Dad strolling down the hall with a grin on his face and a bundle of blankets in his arms. Dean wiggled to his feet and ran to meet his Dad halfway.

“Daddy!”

“Slow down, Dean,” John cautioned as he crouched down to Dean’s level. “Say hello to your baby brother.”

“Noooooooo!” Dean bucks against the spider bitch on his back. “You son of a bastard! You’re not taking that one!” He struggles, flailing against the invisible bonds, breaking free and reaches back to grab the spider on his back. He throws it against the wall, every muscle in his body screaming. “You are not taking any more of my friggin’ memories. Son of a whore! RUBY!!!!”

The blonde appears out of nowhere. She’s leaning against the wall, a smirk slipping across her face. “You called, Special Ed?”

“Tell Sam to hurry his lazy ass up.”

[How self sufficient are you?]

I’m pretty fucking self sufficient. Dad wasn’t home a lot, even when I was little. He was out hunting the thing that killed Mom, saving a bunch of people and killing a shitload of things in the process. You know…family business. It left me and Sammy alone a lot. I remember there was this one house we stayed in. The lady next door checked on us a lot and she smelled like cat piss. Think she got offended when I told her that ‘cause she didn’t come check on us much afterwards. I took care of myself and Sammy because he was just this snot nosed kid that literally couldn’t wipe his own nose. We did alright too. Ate a lot of spaghetti-o’s, Lucky Charms and shit out of vending machines. I taught Sammy to read by the time he was like friggin’ two. He doesn’t look like it but he’s a genius.

You claim to be self sufficient and yet you seem to fare less than well without your brother. You’ve spent a great deal of your time here trying to get out so that you could get to Sam

Dude, have you looked the fuck around here? It’s not the fucking Sandals or whatever the hell those resort places are called.

Fine. Fucking fine. The truth is Yeti Boy has problems tying his own shoes. I didn’t want to say anything because you guys have some stupid ass ideas about what Sam is. Some fucking Anti-Christ. Whatever. I think the Anti- Christ could tie his own damn shoes. His fucking survival rate without me is like an armadillo. You know you see all those damn things dead on the side of the road. I’ve never seen a live one. So hell yeah, I need to get out of here. I figure Sam’s just standing in the middle of the road waiting for some big ass truck to come along and hit him. It’s not like he hasn’t done it already. Totaled my baby in the process. And that’s another thing. He’s got sole possession of the Impala. Her survival rate in his hands is worse than a damn armadillo. Fuck yes I want to get out of here. It hasn’t a got a god damn thing to do with my self sufficiency. It’s all about Sam’s.

You’re incredibly defensive about this topic, Dean

Oh fuck you. This isn’t about defensive this is about Sam out there…all alone. He doesn’t-you’d have to know Samwich to get it.

FINE. So what if I don’t function without Sam? It’s not a big fucking deal. It’s not like anyone would even fucking understand if I tried to explain it. He’s…he was little when Dad gave him to me. I mean…it’s hard to believe it right now because he’s this giant but he was little. Thing is, when Dad gave him to me he was crying. Screaming his lungs out, tears rolling down his cheeks…he still does that sometimes. Usually when he watches chick flicks—but Dad put him in my arms and the whole fucking world was burning around us. Sammy…he just stopped crying. He stopped screaming for no damn good reason. And see, I guess I didn’t think much about it at the time but later—he had these lungs and he could scream…he did for like two days. Dad wasn’t getting any sleep and I’m lying in bed in this ratty motel room watching Dad walk back and forth with Sammy in his arms and he’s patting his back and singing and doing all the shit that you’re supposed to do with babies but Sam’s not having any of it. He won’t stop crying. Finally I think Dad just gives up and he lays Sam in bed with me. Damn kid just shuts up and goes to sleep. Swear to fucking God.

Somehow after that it became me who needed Sam as much as he needed me. I’m the most self sufficient guy you’ll ever meet. Zombies attack and I’ll be standing right next to that Milla Jonovich chick when the smoke clears but Sam, he’ll be standing right behind me. Chickless. And for some fucking reason I haven't figured out yet, Ruby is standing next to Sam.

[Humility]

Dean doesn’t have a humble bone in his body. Or at least it would appear that way on the surface. It’s a front really, a wall he puts between himself and the world because it’s easier to be a cocky bastard than it is to be Dean Winchester. Humility opens all his cracks and lets the world inside. That is something that Dean can’t allow because once the cracks are open, he’s liable to spill right out. So he’ll crack jokes and give that smile. He’ll wink and drop pick up lines like they’re pennies. And the girls coming running. He likes to think it’s because of that smile or the charm that pours off him in waves but if Dean were afraid, which he’s not. Ever…but if he were, he would be afraid it’s because underneath the mask he’s built so well, they can see the broken boy he is. Humility is for losers that can’t pull off the Dean Winchester charm anyway.

A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies. >> Oscar Wilde


“You’re never going to get him back. Not the way he was before.”

The comment is completely out of context and she says it while they’re lying in bed watching TV.

“Ruby…don’t.” His tone is dangerous and hard, capable of stopping most monsters in a single breath but Ruby doesn’t pause.

“It’s been what….like five years? You’re not going to get him back.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls and pushes himself out of the bed to pace the room. He grabs his pants and put them on then continued his pacing.

“Yeah. When has that ever worked with me?” Ruby rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. “I haven’t lied to you in a long time, Dean. I’m tired of letting you lie to yourself about this. You can’t save him and magically resurrect him back to the person you knew growing up. He’s never going to be Sammy again.”

He hits her hard, fist balled up and right in the mouth. She looks at him all big eyes and then before he realizes what’s happening, she hits back and he’s on the floor, looking up at her.

“You son of a bitch.”

His leg sweep is flawless and she hits the ground gracelessly then Dean is on top of her, hand circling her wrists, his body holding her down. “Sweetheart, no one talks about my mother like that.”

They’re both bleeding and really when Dean kisses her it’s just to shut her up. He doesn’t want to hear how he can’t save Sam anymore and while trading insults with Ruby is fun, she’s naked on the floor. He can think of other things that are more fun. Besides, they can trade insults while fucking. Thanks very much.

[Justify your actions]

This week, therapy was like actual therapy. Novel concept, Dean thought as he sat down on the couch. He stretched his feet out, propping them on the far arm and putting his hands behind his head. This was actually sort of a sweet deal, a break from the blinding torment and speechless rage they’d been leveling against him lately.

“Mr. Winchester.”

“That’d be me.” His eyes are fixed on the shrink’s legs. She’s got a pair of gams that go up to her neck and it’s always the hot women down here. Hot women that aren’t women and will turn nasty, face-eating demon the second a poor guy lays a hand on them.

“Mr. Winchester, you seem awfully reticent today.”

“Yeah well, sorta waiting for the blinding torment,” Dean said with a smirk. His eyes finally left the woman’s legs and moved up to her breasts. “Fuck yeah I know what reticent means. I’m not stupid. Looks and brains, the whole Dean Winchester package.”

If rolling eyes made a sound, the shrink would have made that sound. Momentarily a clipboard got in Dean’s line of vision then she laid the clipboard in her lap and his view was unobstructed. It was a damn good view too.

“You sold your soul for your brother. We thought perhaps you might like a chance to justify your actions.”

“And there’s the blinding torment,” Dean growled and stared up at the ceiling. “I’ll take hot pokers through the eyes for $200, Alex.”

The shrink sighed and gave him that look that John used to get. The one that said ‘I can wait all day, Boy’. And he could too. Out in the fucking hot Arizona sun he could wait until Dean made his confessions.

“A good lashing for $500?” he asked hopefully, casting a little boy’s grin at the woman. It made human women swoon but this old bag just glared at him.

“Oh al-fucking-right. What the fuck am I supposed to say? I was four friggin’ years old when I carried him out of that burning house. From that moment on, that was my job. Take care of Sammy. I can’t very fucking well take care of him if he’s dead. I had one job and I failed. I had to fix it. No matter what it cost.”

He paused and shook his head, pursing his lips as he thought. “’Sides, Sammy is the strong one. Kid’s got more strength…I couldn’t do it without him. I tried. Maybe it wasn’t much of a fucking try but forty eight hours can be a whole friggin’ lot longer than you ever imagined. Sam’ll be okay without me. I couldn’t make it.”

“You travelled for four years without him. You went two years without speaking to him. The evidence begs to differ.”

“I don’t give a flying monkey fuck. The evidence lies,” Dean snapped at her. He was still staring up at the ceiling, his jaw tight and square. Behind his head, his fingers were laced so tight his knuckles were white. “Sam was FINE in Stanford. He was getting out of this life, making Dad proud. He was going his own way. When he hit the mud in that God forsaken ghost town, he wasn’t FINE. He was dead and there’s a damn difference. Don’t even tell me you don’t see it, Bitch.”

“Verbally abusing me won’t get you out of this session. You’re here for an hour, regardless of what you say or don’t say.”

“Fine. I think I’ll take a friggin’ nap.” Maybe they’d come along and stick hot pokers in him or something.

[How are you?]

“Lemme guess, I’m being upgraded to the penthouse suite?” he cracks the joke as he follows the scantily clad demon bitch into something that looks a lot like he always imagined the champagne room at some freakin’ high end strip club might. Dean’s seen a lot of strip clubs and a lot of champagne rooms but none of them were high end anything.

The woman doesn’t say anything to him, just gives him that thoroughly disgusted look that makes him grin like a kid at Christmas. She leaves, locks the door behind her and for the first time since he got here-days, months, weeks, years ago- he’s alone and it’s quiet. And he’s in a fucking champagne room. So Dean does what anyone would do; snooping. Only his snooping has a purpose and a goal. He needs a way out, something to defend himself and something, anything to get to Sammy on the other side. He knows the great big yeti idiot is probably watching Chick Flicks and listening to the Steel Magnolias soundtrack.

That’s when the creepy shit starts and he knew there was going to be creepy shit. He might have been upgraded to the penthouse suite in Hell but it was still Hell. The seventies porn music he can handle. In fact, he kinda likes the seventies porn music, he thinks as he sits back in one of those deep club chairs they reserve just for friggin’ strip clubs. The lights start to go down and Dean leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“Oh thank sweet Jesus,” he mutters but he’s still on alert even when he sees one long, shapely leg emerge from the curtain, followed by an arm that matches the leg. He leans his head back, settling into the seat and that’s when, pardon the pun, it all goes to Hell. Bands whip around his ankles, his wrists and his forehead, binding him to the chair. He’s struggling and screaming and cursing but none of it makes any difference. He tries to take deep breath because he knows how this works. They win when he freaks out.

Then they shove Him out on stage. He stumbles and he’s covered in blood, great big hazel puppy eyes. Dean lunges forward in his seat, pulling at the restraints without any effect.

“NO! You fucking son of a bitches! Let him go!”

And Sammy’s just standing there, begging him with those eyes to save him. Only that’s the one thing they won’t let Dean do. He watches helplessly as meat hooks sink into Sam’s shoulders and he’s screaming and Dean’s screaming and it’s all one big fucking mess. He watches as they pull Sam in pieces, little at a time and those eyes never stop begging and Dean never stops wanting to save him. They finally get what they want and he can’t help it Sammy is lying dead and Dean’s crying.

Everything breaks.

Mommy issues, Daddy issues, Dean’s a whole warehouse full of issues. But today, he's focusing on the mommy issues because even Hell only tortures him so much in one day. There’s a cassette tape in the glove box of the Impala that’s never been played and it never will be as far as Dean is concerned. Of course one of the first things they did when he arrived was play that song over and over and over again. Stairway to Heaven. It was Mary’s song and the bastards knew it. She’s a friggin’ saint in the Winchester mythology and they’ve tried to use that against him down here but there are a few things Dean is sure of. One of them is Mary Winchester. He’s seen her take on nasty evil and evict it with just an order. Over the years, he’s put together some theories and one of them is that she could have taken the yellow eyed bastard but her death was some sort of sacrifice to protect Sammy. Sorta like that Harry Potter bullshit. Only it’s not bullshit because his Mom is cooler than Harry Potter’s mom could ever be.

He’s been here many times before for one reason or another. The ritual is something he’s used to and he can do it without thinking, without breathing and through this pain that’s made him numb. She shows up with a laugh and he wants so bad to fucking strangle her that it makes him clench his fists until his knuckles turn white. He focuses on the way he can feel his nails biting into his palms and not on all the ways he could torture the demon in front of him.

“I want him back.”

She laughs again and shakes her head. “We’ve been expecting you to show up. What I want to know is why it took forty eight hours for you to decide you wanted to save your brother.”

“Bitch.” The word slips through clenched teeth before he can stop it and he squares his jaw to keep anything else from slipping. He looks up at her, eyes catching and holding her gaze. He could swear for a single moment she swallowed and fear flitted through her eyes. She banishes it and a smirk slides across her face.

“Now didn’t your mother teach you about flies and honey? Oh…that’s right. She died. Oops.” She bites her bottom lip and giggles as she steps a little closer. She knows he’ll tolerate this and so much more if he thinks she can help him. She slides her fingers down the lapel of his coat and leans in to lick his earlobe. “Oh sugar, the things I would do to you.”

Dean grabs her by the shoulders and shoves her back. “How ‘bout you start with telling how we go about trading my soul for his.”

She wiggles out of his grasp and takes a step backward. He supposes that should have been his first warning sign. Once she’s back a few steps she laughs, head tilting back and exposing her neck. She meet his gaze again, laughter still fizzing in her eyes like champagne bubbles.

“Baby, your soul is so dirty that no one wants it. We all know it’s a matter of time before we all get to play with you anyway. Why would I trade for something I’m going to get with just a little bit of patience. And patience…I’ve got that in spades. A girl has to develop that virtue when she’s got time to spend in Hell.”
She almost feels sorry for him and the expression on his face. He looks like someone ran over his puppy, brought it back and then sat it on fire. A giggle makes its way up her throat and she ducks her head. No he looks like someone yanked his puppy’s soul out and it’s appropriate because that’s exactly what happened.

She never sees it coming but he’s looking down the barrel of the colt and he watches as she falls dead.

“Nice…idiot. You might have at least asked her a question or two. Like…oh…maybe how the hell we can get your great big idiot brother’s soul back? That would have been nice.”

Dean looks up to see a blonde standing with her arms crossed, all her weight on one hip. The look on her face is pure disgust. “As you can see…I’m really not in the mood. You wanna end up like her, Goldilocks, that can be arranged.”

“No. I want to help you save your brother.”

I don't believe in perfection. I don't think there is such a thing. But the energy of wanting things to be great is a perfectionist energy. >> Reese Witherspoon

Reese Witherspoon, that a chick? Hold on a sec.

Okay, so I told Rita she needed to get dressed and get out. Also asked who the fuck Reese Witherspoon is. Apparently she does chick flicks? According to Rita, who’s thank fucking God bisexual, she’s a hot blonde. So I’m thinking a trip to Hollywood might be necessary. Not like the chick is gonna believe perfection incarnate ‘less she sees it for herself. Haven’t been up there in a damn long while but I seem to remember a lot of really fucking perfect tits.

Hey! Ruby! Wanna go see the damn Hollywood sign? I need to screw Reese Witherspoon. Let's just lay it out there, nobody else is gonna put up with me on a road trip all the way to California.

Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something. >> Isabella Swan (Stephanie Meyer's Twilight)

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go down. I was supposed to die in a friggin’ blaze of glory. Instead, I lived, Sammy went evil anyway and now we’re all stuck in this hellhole called Earth. Most people you talk to can’t pinpoint when it got so bad because it was progressive. Little by little it became too much for me to hunt, too much for me to fix. It all became too fucking much.

And then Sammy quit and I couldn’t. I was supposed to die. For Sam. It was gonna be my noble fucking deed or whatever. Thing is, it wasn’t noble. It was selfish. I know it and Sam knows it. Hell fuck even Ruby knows it. I was supposed to die and Sam would do his grieving shit then he’d get on with his life. Maybe go back to law school, meet another blonde and have a stupid picket fence life. Seriously? Can you see Sammy driving a mini van. Friggin’ hysterical. I’d laugh all the way from Hell.

Wayward sons verse