Let me heal you, let me help you || Destiel Soulmates || High School AU ||

Chapter 3: Sleep - Unfinished

Notes:

This is unfinished. I haven't published in months, I figured it's about time I do.

Do you like the POV or should I switch back to deans POV?

I'm sorry if it gets confusing, it wasn't copied on properly, so parts that should be bold or italics aren't there and I'm just not bothered to add them on to all this writing shit, yeah? Cool.

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

Another day, another nightmare.

God, he can't fucking sleep. He's exhausted, lord fucking knows it, but he can't sleep. John and his buddies haunt are what's on the menu tonight, and hell bet you tomorrow it'll be his soulmate flashback accompanied by a panic attack. Guess we'll just have to see.

And so, as he twists and turns, as he whimpers so quietly, a skill he's mastered so to not wake his younger brother up when sharing a room, as he shakes, as he can barely breathe, he dies. He drowns. In his own pitiless, dark mind, with no destination in sight, never ending black all around.

And he wakes. Of course, it's not very pleasant, and it never is. It's usually between staying frozen in whatever spot his eyes opened, or sitting up with shaky breathing, freezing cold, pale and about to throw up everything, which is, more often than not, coffee. Or a slice of toast. Or maybe a candy bar. He eats next to nothing, one thing a day is all he can afford. His stomach just can't handle any bigger portion of food; it ends up in a shitty, moldy, fucking disgusting toilet the very next morning. He's gotten used to the hunger. If it wasn't for all the muscle he's acquired over training and hunting, he'd look even more dead than average.

Dean Winchester doesn't smile. Genuinely, at least. He doesn't laugh. He tells stupid dirty jokes, while berating himself for even drawing attention to himself, for even opening his fucking mouth. His voice is most always hoarse, from disuse. Speak less, draw less attention. God, he hates it. As a kid, he loved it when his mom gave him her attention, but now? Now, he'd give fucking everything he owns (barely anything) to be invisible. He likes making people laugh, because it makes him feel good. But then, that good feeling is overridden by the guilt of not deserving anything good. It's a useless, looped, cycle of hell. His whole life has been that way.

Anyway, he's awake, is all that matters. He fucking cannot go back to the land of slumber, for he doesn't even get a full fucking hour.

So, he'll tinker. He'll draw. He'll get out some scrap paper, and he'll draw whatever comes to mind. Cars, nature, food, planets, fire, etc. The list goes on. Everything's in gray, maybe some blue shitty pen if he's if he's lucky, because they can't afford colored pencils. Or, well, they can, but only for Sam. And last time dean used something that belonged to Sam, John didn't like it so much. Correction: he didn't like it at fucking all.

So, when dean can't sleep, he'll draw whatever he thinks of (eyes and wings, mostly), and whatever he can make out from the dim light of the moon.

When it hits 5:30 am, he'll go downstairs and make breakfast for Sam. John said he has to make sure Sam is well fed, or there will be consequences. And Dean, pale, terrified, vulnerable, sweet hearted Dean, remembers all too well the way he shuddered, the shiver that crawled up his spine when John aggressively whispered those words in his ear. He remembers when John shoved him aside on the floor not a second afterwards. He remembers feeling the bruises on his side and not being able to even get in bed, or get settled on the floor properly, because it was that bad. His hip bones jutted out; he could barely find comfort on anything at this point.

He makes eggs and bacon for Sam, shitty coffee for himself. He practically lives on the stuff. Correction: he technically does. There's never enough money to spare, so everything has to go to Sam to make sure he's well-fed. Everything. And while Dean measures in at about 5"7, 5"8 on a good day, Sam's already passed him, and he's still 4 years younger than Dean.
It's a miracle he's even alive.