Fighting Through It All [Dean Winchester fanfic] #Wattys2015

Chapter Eighteen

(A.N. I know I only updated yesterday, but I couldn't help myself. This is a big chapter, you guys)

I go up and down the Salmon Ladder, over and over and over again, my entire body screaming in protest. I just go up and down, up and down, pull up after pull up, a repetitive cycle. Eventually, after an hour of this, I jump down and begin punching and kicking one of the dummies. I let out all of my fury, anger, pain, guilt, frustration, and sadness with every blow I make. Eventually, my eyes are blurred with tears, and I'm crying, screaming, and punching all at once.

Today is Cory's funeral. I'm still debating as to whether or not I should go. The sensible part of me knows I should go for the family, but the other guilty part of me is screaming for me to stay back. Unfortunately my guilt is overriding my sense right now. Lately I've been a big ball of rage and fury, and I've been taking it out on anyone I cross paths with. Poor Sam and Dean are in rough shape; I've been beating them to a pulp lately. They probably have a permanent headache, everything sets me off into a fit of screams and angry shouts, followed by destruction. I've flown off the handle and I know it.

I've called mom and dad. They tried to give me some advice, but it just flew right over my head. I am trying to distance myself from others as best as I can. I don't want any more casualties on my account, and if I continue to stick around with the people I love, or people at all, I'm going to end up with a lot more deaths hanging over my head. I'd like to just get away to some island or something, away from society, away from people who I can hurt. Monsters can either be put down, or kept in a cage, and an island could act as my cage.

I plan on leaving in a couple of days. I'll break the news to Dean, and then I'll go visit my parents, visit Mark and Lily, and then head off. Mom and dad took in Chess for me, because of my job I don't really have time for a pet. Plus, I don't plan on bringing a dog with me to the island. I've already gathered a lot of my gear that I might need, including a couple tools for building myself a shelter. I don't know what island I'll choose, I'll probably get Azeriel to choose for me.

The door to the training room opens, and in the doorway stands Dean. He's all dressed up in a dark dress shirt and dress pants, his hair gelled in the front. I punch the dummy one last time before walking over to him, grabbing a towel off of a rack by the door, and wiping my body down with it. He gives me a concerned look, and I raise my eyebrows.
"What?" I snap, tossing the towel over my shoulders.
He sighs, closing his eyes. "Are you going to the funeral?" He asks softly, giving me a sincere look. I sigh and shrug.
"I don't know," I reply simply. He gives me a pointed yet still sincere look, putting a hand to my cheek. I freeze under his touch, but I don't push him away.
"You should go," He whispers, and I huff.
"Whatever, I'll be ready in an hour."

I storm past him and down the hall to my bedroom. I rip open my drawers, and stare at the dress I've known I was going to wear since the day it happened. It just so happens to be black, but it's the dress that Cory and I wore out on our very first date. It comes down to abut mid-thigh, has tank top straps, and is tight through the torso yet loose around the legs. I lift it out of the drawer, eyeing it up and now, another pang of realization slamming me in the chest. I squeeze my eyes shut and purse my lips, trying desperately not to cry, focusing on breathing.

I lay the dress and a black cardigan out on my bed, with a pair of black heels on the floor beneath it. I leave the room to shower, and for a long time, I just sit in the stream of water, letting it burn my back. When I get out, I blow dry and curl my hair, twisting it up into a messy side bun. I do a neutral smokey eye and nude pink lips, staring at myself in the mirror for a long time.

My eyes are beginning to sink in. I haven't eaten hardly anything for the past three days, and it's starting to show in my face. My entire face is drawn down in an almost permanent state of sadness and sorrow, my shoulders slumped and my hands appearing small and fragile. I take in a deep breath, stand up straight and pull back my shoulders, trying to bring my face up as well. I look more healthy, stronger, but it doesn't nearly match how I feel inside.