Broken (AFF's first SPN RR!) Join in!

Broken...


Now that it's all said and done
I can't believe you were the one
To build me up, then tear me down
Like an old, abandoned house

What you said when you left
Just left me cold and out of breath
I fell too far, was in way too deep
Guess I let you get the best of me.

I Got Over You by Daughtry


(*Set after S4 EP18, The Monster At The End Of This Book*)


Cold and out of breath.

The finality of that last moment hung in the dead silence for what sounded like eternity. The last moment he would probably ever see what little was left of his own brother. The same kid he practically raised from an infant. Fed, clothed, and even bathed him. Tucked him in at night. Changed the kid's diapers, for Christ's sake. Taught him everything he knew. Begged him to stop asking questions. Sat on his bed silently, listening to the tears. The brother he sacrificed his own life for. And in the end?

Dean Winchester stood cold and out of breath at the last words Sam would probably ever say to him. The sight of his younger brother turning his back, walking away from him, was an image forever engraved in his heart. Dark, emerald eyes pooled with unshed tears. "Sam..." came the whisper unheard in the distance and Dean lowered his head in defeat. Sam had won this one, in the end. All those wasted years spent fighting for his little brother's life, only to watch him turn away was more than the older Winchester sibling could bear.

"I'm done."

His limbs and voice were frozen; he couldn't stop him. Sammy was his breath, his whole life. Dean would have stolen the moon for his kid brother but now, he couldn't even steal back his own breath. And as his brother's tall, dark figure disappeared around the corner, the rain mingled with the tears that coursed silently down his face. It was in that same rain pooling at his feet that he fell to his knees, too stunned to feel the pain. There, in the darkness save for the lone streetlight. Alone.

For weeks, those two little words haunted his every waking moment. It stifled his dreams, enhanced the vivid, horrific nightmares. The ones where Dean watched Sammy leaving him in every possibly way. And always, in the end, Dean heard those damned words leaving his little brother's lips. It was his last thought when he fell exhausted into bed after days without sleep, it was his first waking thought when he looked out the cold, empty motel room window and cursed the sun.

Nothing left. He had nothing left to live for. Not anymore. So what kept Dean Winchester breathing still? The small sliver of hope, of a possibility that Sam would return. It was faint, distant but it was there and had remained alive all this time. It was all that kept his tainted soul trapped in the body. Because if he gave up, lost that hope and his body gave out moments before Sam realized his mistake, an eternal seperation from Sammy was Dean's worst kind of hellfire and damnation.

So, he did what he did best; hunting things, saving people. But no matter how many souls Dean saved, it would never erase the look of those blue-green eyes he saw looming over him every night, just before he surrendered and closed his eyes. That same look he stared into that stormy night so many weeks ago. He lost count now, though in the far back recesses of his mind, he knew Sam had been gone for a month, maybe more. And still, he saw those eyes staring back at him with so much anger, so much defiance and strength that for a split second, Dean wondered if Sammy hated him for what was happening now. Hated him for coming to Stanford that night. Maybe he blamed Dean somehow for Jessica's death. If Sam fought and stayed behind, wouldn't she still be alive? If Dean had left well enough alone and found Dad on his own, wouldn't his baby brother be living that perfectly normal, white-picket fence life?

Maybe Sam did hate him, Dean didn't care. Because to hate, it meant that he still felt something and if Sam did feel something, then it was just a matter of time before it took hold again. To hate meant once to love and if love could become hate, that meant it could somehow be turned back. Nothing was forever and time was nothing but grueling, impatient eternity.

The days came and went, one after another. Dean Winchester existed solely on automatic. If he thought it, he did it. He was hungry, he ate. Tired, he slept. Showered. Drank. Cried. Slept. And then the next day would start all over again, bringing the same automatic responses.

Sex was non-existent. Oh, Dean tried it but he soon realized that anything supposedly pleasurable only brought him pain.

Castiel was the only constant in his life now and though Dean wanted absolutely nothing to do with this Big Plan, there wasn't much choice. Before, years ago, when he lost Sammy, he didn't care whether he lived or died or if this damn world stopped spinning. But all that changed. Back then, Sam was dead...now, he was alive. Six billion people and the only one Dean cared about was a brother who had probably forgotten him by now. Still, Sammy was his responsibility even now and if he sacrificed his own life, again, to keep him alive, Dean wouldn't think twice.

(What? No Supernatural Round Robin in here? What a revolting development! This is End of Chapter One....are you up for the challenge of writing Chapter Two? Let the games begin!)