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Fic. I Know Nothing of Your Hell

author's note: apparently, I wrote a sorta fic again.

Our little town was slow to realize one Dean Winchester was gone. It was like the stray cat you saw a few times every week, and one day you realized you hadn't seen it for a long time, then you said to yourself 'huh, I haven't seen the cat for a while, I wonder where it went.' That was exactly what my dad said one day at dinner, he reached out for the bread loaf, and out of the blue, he said: 'huh, I haven't seen that Dean Winchester guy for a while, is he still in town? ', looking over at mom with one hand hovering over the bread, and the other on the table besides his plate. Mom was only mildly interested in the topic, replied ever so practically: 'I don't know, want me to call Lisa to find out?' I kept my mouth shut. Dad just shrugged and grabbed the bread, our dinner table conversation returned to its usual topics of how everybody's day was (fine, fine, boring).

Of course Dean Winchester was gone, his car was no longer parked where it used to, where I first met him in person. I knew about him and his car a lot longer before I actually met him. We were a small town, everybody knew that Lisa took in a stray. Rumor had it that he was Ben's father and that was why Lisa would let a complete stranger live with them. Mom had said that was probably not true, Lisa was a good woman with a big heart. And that's why she took in Dean, as an old friend; that guy was clearly suffering, Lisa would never turn him away like that. Dad snorted something about a sweet ride, mom turned on dad, hands on hips, eyes narrowed glaring daggers. Dad managed to look contrite and sheepish, with only a hint of utter lack of any real remorse. Mom rolled her eyes in exasperation, and muttered something questioning her sanity when she chose to marry dad, dad supplied that she married him for his good looks. Mom threw balled up paper towel at him. They were a cute couple, when they were not doing the grossly affectionate thing toward each other. My dad and mom.

Anyway, I saw the car a lot earlier than I met the guy in person. The car was really pretty, and shiny. It looked lonely where it was parked, in an alley, all by itself. Although I was pretty sure somebody washed it at least a few times every week, because it was just spotless every time I saw it, which was pretty much everyday. I usually went home by this long route, because I usually hung out with Rachel and a couple of her friends at her house after school. Rachel was a popular girl at school, we were also best friends since pre-K years, so we hang out despite her popularity and my nerd status. There was this day I left early when the giggles of her other friends over a boy got too irritating for me. Rachel literally begged me to stay to dilute the stupidity of it all, but I was in too mean a mood to comply and could not help but thinking served her right for being too nice to not invite those girls in. So that day when I walked past the Impala, the sun was just getting ready to set. The day was nice, the air was summer bright and promising something grand in the future. I was feeling light when I heard music blasting out from the car, Led Zeppelins by the sound of it. I actually liked dad's classic Rock collection a lot better than the current pop songs, I had always thought I was born in the wrong era and I should have been born in the 60s and grew up with Rock 'n Roll. They made so much more sense. That was how I was drawn to the car like a fly drawn to honey, and that was when I saw there was a guy sitting in the driver's seat, playing with a gun.

The gun was really pretty too, mother of pearl handle and shiny like the car. The guy, Dean, looked at it as if it held the secrete passageway to paradise, then put the muzzle into his own mouth, then he squeezed the trigger just like that. I must have shrieked or blacked out for a moment or both because the next thing I knew, Dean was by my side, steadying and sitting me in the passenger seat, murmuring something like easy easy, it's ok, ok. I screamed at him 'how can it be ok?! You just ate your gun!' Dean gave me a small smile that was sadder than the saddest tear I have ever seen and said 'It is ok, there is no bullet, which, you know, is required for it to work.' I blurted out 'Then what's the point?!' and felt like the biggest idiot ever. Basically I was asking him why he did not just kill himself, who ask a guy that? I blamed the adrenaline in my system for the lack of brain to mouth barrier to my dying day. To my surprise, Dean considered the question for a long moment, and said quietly 'Because I made someone a promise to make a life, here.' There was something in his tone that made me happy about the fact that I am a 17 year old girl living a boring life in a boring small town, for once. I said: 'Oh. uhm, where is this someone?.... if you don't mind me asking?' He did not say anything for so long that I thought I'd never got an answer, then he said even more quietly 'Not here.' I rolled my eyes at this non-answer, and listened to Led Zeppelin.

After that, I sat with him in his car once in a while, not talking, just listening to his cassette tape collection. For an old guy, he should be cooler than my dad, and even my dad's car sported audio systems that no longer played cassette tapes. So one day I asked him what was up with all the tapes? hadn't he heard something by the name of technology? That pulled a smile that was more like a smile out of him. I found that he was more communicative when he smelt like alcohol, so I usually timed my questions when he smelt like he was sweating whiskey. That day, he reeked something fierce, he even had a little flask out that he drank from, so he was more talkative than usual, which meant I would get multiple syllable words for my questions. If I was very very patient and waited him out. Half a song later, he said, rather nostalgically, 'He hooked up an i-something on my baby once' Dean took another swig from his flask, huffed a little laughter or a small sob, continued wistfully, 'cann't have that, now, can we?' It took me a few to puzzle out that the baby was the car, then this 'he' must be the someone he made the promise to. I let this piece of information sunk in and thought mom was right, Lisa did take him in just as a friend, seeing that the great love in Dean's life was a guy, which definitely made him.... gay.

Dean never took his gun out on the days when he was drinking though, for fear of he'd actually do it. I figured this one out a bit later. He did not put the gun into his mouth again when I sat with him on days when he did not drink either. He puzzled me, he looked normal when I saw him out and about around town. He did grocery shopping, drove Ben to places in Lisa's car, attended our school things and ball games. He even socialized with dad at a school function, beers in hand commiserating about something, he even laughed at my dad's joke at one point to be polite I was sure. Overall, he definitely did not look like someone who'd sit in the car and try his best not to put a bullet into his brain, to be 'not here'. One of those days when the flask was out, which was more often than not these days, I asked:' Did he pass away?' Dean stared out at space as if he had not heard my question at all. Two songs later, came the non-answer: 'You could say that.' I wondered whether the guy died of cancer or an accident or... the thought that occurred to me was horrible, I couldn't believe I might be sitting in the car with a guy who lost his love of life to the so-called hate crime. It was so Brokeback Mountain, this whole thing. I did not know what to say, I had never been to a funeral, so I repeated what I heard from TV and movies, 'I am sorry, he is in a better place.' The response was immediate and ferocious, 'No, he is not! He went down to Hell!' He referred to Hell as if it was a real place, 'I am stuck in here, living a normal, apple fucking pie life because I made him a fucking promise! And I am NOT going to let him down. I. Am. Fucking. Not!'

I had only thought my life was painfully boring, not downright excruciatingly painful. Dean was living this painful life for the love of his life. It should be romantic, but in reality, it was cruel. Love can be so cruel.

That was more or less the last time that I sat with him. A week or so later, I was on my way home. Dusk was closing, the street lamp was out, and for some reason it was foggy all a sudden. I walked past the alley, loud music was pulsing from the car, headlights was on, and for all the time I had seen her, the engine was purring. If it was possible for an inanimate object to look happy, the car looked happy. It rolled out of the alley slowly, there was this guy shaped.... being on the passenger side. I'd say it was a guy, except there seemed to be a personal fog shrouding him, which made it hard for me to make out even the basics of his feature. Dean was behind the wheel, profile razor sharp in the dim lights, I had never seen his eyes being so brightly green that they literally sparkled, he looked so alive. The car slowed at the main road, then turned right on it, then sped away. That, I imagine, would probably the last time I'd ever see Dean Winchester.

The end
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borgmama1of5 May 31st, 2010
Intriguing third person view of Dean.

fourtenpm May 31st, 2010
thanks for reading and commenting.

labseraph May 31st, 2010
Ooh ... nice. I really like how Dean is viewed from this OC's perspective and I think that the outline of Dean's relationship with Lisa and Ben here is very true to character.

Would you mind sharing this at the spn outsidepov community? Just to share the love.

fourtenpm May 31st, 2010
oh thanks. I think I posted at outsidepov community already though.

dime_for_12 June 1st, 2010
What a lovely perspective piece! You really get the sense of seeing Dean through someone else's eyes. Nice :D

fourtenpm June 2nd, 2010
Beaming, I really had fun writing this piece, especially the Brokeback Mountain line. I don't really have either of the brother's voice, which is a lame way of saying that I just cannot write them.

That, and I always like it when they are not the focal point of other people's life. Just like the stray cat one grows attached to, sorta, but not really, they'd be missed and cause a pause in a movement, but that is the extent of their existence on other people's conscious life.

It is actually pretty sad.

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