Starting to Break

Disclaimer: I own nothing from the show or the song used and I'm making no money.
Song used: "Last Resort" by Papa Roach
Summary: Pre-series; Dean isn't getting along too well with his dad now that it's just the two of them. BTW, some of these will be pretty short.
Warnings: This whole series is a crapload of angst. :-) It is a story about Wincest aka slash relationships. Talk of suicide in this one and also self injury.

NOTE: I'm trying to make all of these fics stand alones. However they do make one story when put all together. :-)

Dedication: This is for my daughter who was listening to a song one day and told me that I should 'write' about it. Of course, I'm not telling her she inspired me to do this. LOL

John just glared at Dean. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Dean sighed, knowing he was in for yet another lecture. The hunt had gone well. The creepy ghost librarian was destroyed and all was well in the land of make believe in the children's section at the local library again. But all was not okay in the Winchester family. Sam had been gone for a year and things had gotten progressively worse between John and Dean.

"Don't start, Dean. I told you to stay put and you went off and burned that bitch's bones without telling me a damn thing. I thought you had my back!"

"I did. That's why I killed her instead of sticking around watching you fire rock salt at her."

John just shook his head. "Way to leave me when I need you, Dean."

Dean felt his chest constrict as John walked out of the room. He'd given up so much to stay with his father and the bastard had the nerve to criticize him. Dean thought he'd throw up.

He walked into the bathroom and sat there for a moment on the toilet, just trying to catch his breath. Then he pulled out his knife, thinking about going to sleep and never waking up.

Cut my life into pieces, this is my last resort
Suffocation, no breathing
Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding

Dean shed his jacket and held the blade to his wrist. He dragged the tip up his arm and heard the scratching of metal against flesh, not breaking it, but just caressing. He shivered with the pleasure of it.

This is my last resort

Dean dragged the knife the other way, tracing the same path. This time the white line turned a bit pink and more soft flakes of skin fell like snow. He began thinking of of his father and how everytime he met his eyes he felt the blame coming from his father to drench Dean in guilt. He hadn't had anything to do with Sam's decision to leave. Not really. He just supported him.

Then again, Sam hadn't written or called at all. Not even over the holidays. He began to wonder if anyone in his family really cared about him except to have him around to walk over.

Cut my life into pieces, I've reached my last resort
Suffocation, no breathing
Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding
Do you even care if I die bleeding?

Dean moved the knife so it was straight up and down, adding more weight to the tip that was resting on his skin and pulled it back and forth a few more times. The pink became darker and small spots of red began to show through.

The thought of cutting himself had been haunting him for awhile. He didn't know why he wanted to do it, but usually he got this far and then stopped. Now he began to think that cutting his flesh wasn't what he wanted at all. He wanted to watch his blood flow and feel the cold seep into his body as the warmth of the blood drained out. He wanted his soul to be replaced by cold darkness and his pain to be caught in the crossfire.

Would it be wrong? Would it be right?
If I took my life tonight? Chances are that I might
Mutilation out of sight, and I'm contemplating suicide

Dean dropped the knife on the floor, listening to the dull thud as it hit the bath mat. He let his head fall forward and into his hands. The tears wanted to come. They wanted to wash his pain and fear away, but he denied them their purpose. He rocked back and forth and thought of his brother and father again. If he died....if he killed himself....what would happen?

Who would pay for his burial? And if they did pay for his burial, where would it be? Would be get to be next to his mother? Would he be cremated just to make sure he didn't come back, trapped in between worlds like so many of the bitter bastards they fought?

He wanted to be okay. He wanted to be normal. He thought he could give Sam that type of life, but in the process threw away his own chance at ever having a sane thought again.

Even seemingly sane thoughts had roots in the insanity of the life he was leading. He was there for John and Sam when they needed him. He had always cleaned up after Sammy as he grew up. He calmed his fears. He hugged him tight when he needed to be protected.

Now he was cleaning up after John. The drinking had gotten worse. John would begin muttering things about Sam's seduction that left Dean feeling like he was totally lost. John would say that Sam had escaped the demon residing amongst them, but that he couldn't. Dean just tucked him in and sat by his side. Whatever demon his dad was trying to fight wasn't something Dean could see.

Cause I'm losing my sight, losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
Losing my sight, losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine

One night, Dean had woken up to John's soft caresses against his cheek. He'd whispered something and his dad seemed to startle as if he never thought Dean would wake up. He jerked his hand away as if he'd been burned and began to ramble about the demon tricking him with soft sounds and heavy breathing. Dean just sighed and figured the alcohol was the culprit for his father's delusions. He just turned over and listened as John stumbled back to his bed.

Dean tried so hard to be a good son, a good brother, and a good hunter and partner. The worst part of all of it was that none of the jobs he'd taken on had the same qualifications. Being a good son meant joining in his father's rage against Sam and he couldn't do that and be proud of Sam for doing what he needed to do, like a good brother should.

He couldn't be his father's partner and stand by him when he kept doing stupid things to get himself hurt. Being a good hunter meant going after the thing they were hunting, not using himself as bait or allowing his father to do the same. So he left John alone a lot so that one of them could get the job done. It's how he protected his father, being the good son. It's how he kept his father alive to forgive Sam one day, being the good brother. It's how he kept his partner alive, being the good partner. And it was how he rid the world of another dark entity, being the good hunter.

It was killing him. He was only trying to get the wounds on the outside to match the ones on the inside.

I never realized I was spread too thin
Till it was too late and I was empty within
Hungry, feeding on my chaos and living in sin
Downward spiral, where do I begin?

Mary Winchester would have helped Dean through this pain. Dean thought of her so often now. He knew his father did. Soft moans and cries of, 'Just like that...you feel so good....' were common in John's sleep lately. Dean learned to keep his eyes averted when John woke up with another stain in his pants.

The worst part was that John seemed to be angrier and angrier at Dean every time it happened. Dean knew it was because he wasn't able to be everything to his father obviously. Nobody could take his mother's place with his father and no matter how much Dean loved John, it would never be enough to transcend what John and Mary had. A son's love was in a completely different dimension than a woman's love.

Dean hated himself for not knowing how to complete all of the broken puzzle of his father's heart. He learned to stop caring in that past year or at least act like he didn't care. He began following more and more women home to feel for a split second what his father must be missing every day from his mother.

But he didn't understand. It never seemed worth the pain his father had been in. It was usually dirty and empty. It felt good, but it never made that spark that he imagined. He told himself it was because he couldn't get anything close to that with the women he socialized with.

And when he came home from his nights out, he faced hell at home with his father. John would belittle him and call him the Winchester whore and then he'd lecture him about females and the demons that used the feminine form to lure stupid hunters into their traps.

It all started when I lost my mother
No love for myself and no love for another
Searching to find a love upon a higher level
Finding nothing but questions and devils

It was the latest argument, right before they went out on the trip that had Dean sitting in the bathroom alone, that brought the younger man to his knees emotionally. The words 'slut' and 'whore' were common, but John had thrown out another one. 'Tease' echoed in Dean's head. He'd never done anything to tease the women he came across. He always let them know he was not in town for long and that he just wanted to have a good time. They never seemed to mind and the ones that did, he still ended up relaxing with them and having fun, just not sexually.

Dean finally shrugged and just told John that maybe if women were so dangerous he'd start going home with men instead. The slap that followed snapped his head back hard enough to cause a dull pain to spread through his neck. John had grabbed him roughly and told him not to make promises he couldn't keep. Dean started to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but shook the image from his mind. It couldn't be what he had seen in his father's eyes for that small moment in time.

But then the phone rang and they were off after an angry ghost and he'd left his father in order to save him. Now he wanted someone to save him instead.

Cause I'm losing my sight, losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
Losing my sight, losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine

The thought of his father's words hit him again and he stood up and ripped off his jeans as fast as he could. He picked up the knife and just starting slashing at his right thigh, falling back to sit on the toilet again. White turned to pink and then to red as his thrusts became harder and more frantic. His tears mixed with his blood as he fought to see the damage he was inflicting on himself.

Nothing's alright, nothing is fine
I'm running and I'm crying
I'm crying, I'm crying
I'm crying, I'm crying

He stopped as his vision blurred further. He leaned his head back against the cool tile and stared at the water damage on the ceiling. He tried to take deep breaths, but only managed to pant frantically.

I ... can't ... go ... on ... living ... this ... way

He pulled off his shirt and softly stabbed at his left shoulder, thinking of the comments about his broad shoulders. He refused to be attractive. He wouldn't do it. He had turned on his thighs and now his arms. What would be next?

Cut my life into pieces, this is my last resort
Suffocation, no breathing
Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding

He looked down again at his stomach. Six-pack he'd heard it called. His blade traced down his chest and around his belly button. He whimpered as he pressed in, leaving a ribbon of red about an inch long on the left side of his abdomen. He added another next to it until he had what looked like four tally marks. The thought of plunging the knife in all the way choked a sob from his broken spirit.

Would it be wrong? Would it be right?
If I took my life tonight? Chances are that I might
Mutilation out of sight, and I'm contemplating suicide

He blinked a few times and felt something tickle the inside of his elbow. Blood was trickling down his arm and the wounds on his stomach were already inflamed and red.

The wounds on his leg were dripping regularly. None of the cuts were bad enough to need stitches, but he knew they'd leave a light scarring. He dropped the knife and started rocking back and forth allowing the truth to consume him.

Not his father. His father would never feel that way about him. His father was a good man. He held on tight to bedtime stories and trips to the park. He felt the darkness rise up in him to force him to face the truth.

Cause I'm losing my sight, losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
Losing my sight, losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine

"No...no no no no no...." The moan came up from his chest to fill his throat. It became a keening sound that filled the room. He barely registered hearing the door to the room open.

Nothing's alright, nothing is fine
I'm running and I'm crying

He heard the screaming. Dean couldn't deny it. It filled his ears and his heart and his head. He felt the hands pulling his hair, not knowing they were his own. His screams called to the instincts of the man in the next room. His screams called to his own instincts to keep screaming until there was nothing left.

I ... CAN'T ... GO ... ON ... LIVING ... THIS ... WAY

He didn't look up or stop screaming when John burst into the bathroom. He didn't hear the muttered prayers of a father seeing his son covered with blood. He didn't hear the cries of a man who discovered that his son had done this to himself. He couldn't have contemplated the thoughts of a father thinking that all of it was over guilt. Guilt for letting his father down. If Dean had known any of it, he would have set him straight. He would have told his father it was guilt over allowing whatever evil was inside of him to make a man as good as his father lust after his own son.

It was all clear to Dean Winchester now. He was the greatest danger to his own hero.

As John cradled Dean in his arms and rocked him, Dean cursed himself once again. John was right. Dean was a tease and a coward. He knew that the only way out for both of them was for him to take the knife and plunge it deep into his own heart. But he wouldn't. He'd just make his soul fade away. It was well worth it to be the perfect son.

Can't go on ... living this way
Nothing's alright!

The End