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23 November 2008 @ 10:46 pm
killing what I don't shove [I don't have time to be what I really am,]  
[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.
 
 
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