A Step Away | Destiel AU

Chapter 1

Devilish hands gripped him tight, tugging and pulling and making Dean cry out in pain. He clawed at the cold wood floors beneath him, his fingertips digging at the grain, struggling to get purchase to escape this wretched hell.

He could his father's laughter echoing in his head, the walls of the room beginning to glow red, leaving Dean in a panic as he struggled. He was sliding back, his grip on the floor doing nothing against his father's strength.

Pain erupted along his leg, the heel of his father's boot grinding down on the calf. Dean bit his lip, forcing back a cry as he thrashed, struggling to get away. Harsh fingers dug into his hair, jerking his head back and forcing him to look up into his father's glowing yellow eyes.

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Dean jerked from his sleep, a gasp rushing from his lips as his eyes snapped open. He found himself staring at the ceiling, his heart racing in his chest. With a shiver, he rolled over, staring at his arm hanging off the bed before pushing himself up.

Chills ran through his spine as he pulled back the covers, staring at the faded scars that crossed over the skin. With a sigh, he looked away, running his hand through his greasy hair with a wrinkled nose before making his way to the bathroom.

The shower soothers his nightmare panic, allowing him to slowly relax in the steamy heat of the water. He washed himself, his fingers gently probing his skin, cleaning every inch of himself until he felt all the sweat from the night wash away.

Ten minutes later, and Dean stepped out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy towel around his wast. He wiped away the steam from the mirror, frowning at what he saw.

He didn't even recognize himself. Gaunt cheeks, a beard on his face, dead green eyes surrounded by dark blue circles. There was a permanent frown etched on his features, his lips pressed together into a thin line.

He sighed, and looked away from the image, running his fingers over the hairs on his chin. He stared at his razor, trying to force himself to get the motivation to actually shave. Finally, he forced himself to pick it up and began the tedious task.

He had to admit, he felt better after shaving and brushing his teeth. The mintiness in his mouth refreshed him as he patter the towel over his face. There was stubble, but he preferred that as he walked out of the bathroom to get dressed for today's events.

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"Good morning, Dean." Mrs. Hill greeted as Dean took a seat, plush red cloth softening it and allowing him to sink in comfortable. He cast his gaze around the room, seeing the normal bookshelf perched behind a worn desk. The therapist sat in a chair behind it, a blank page on a clipboard in front of her.

"I'd hardly call it good." Dean mumbled, rubbing at his chin with a sigh. His therapist, a woman with long brown hair wrapped into a wild bun, looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.