Son of a Bitch -- More SPN Imagines

Dean / Inside Your Head

It had been four. Fucking. Days.

Four days since Crowley weaseled his way into your head. He would make snide remarks about you, constantly bugging the hell out of you. He would bring up old emotional wounds and painful repressed memories. Sometimes you'd lock yourself in your room and bawl your eyes out. You couldn't believe he would dig up these horrible memories after you had worked so, so long to get rid of them.

When he brought up your damned abusive dad, you could still feel the punches.

When he brought up your loving older sister, you could still remember yourself dropping to your knees and screaming at the top of your lungs when you found out she was dead.

When he brought up your years of being homeless and alone, you could still hear the never-ending sounds of the city life.

When he brought up your old hunting partner, you could still taste the blood running down your lips as he tortured you while being possessed by a demon.

To say you had a rough past would be a huge understatement.

But here you were, still standing strong and hunting with the Winchesters. The two boys had become your family. And you had never been happier. That is, until Crowley came into the picture.

What games shall we play today, darling? Crowley's voice echoed in your head.

Your jaw tightened. You had finally gotten a few moments of peace away from the stupid son of a bitch, and now he was back. Swallowing back a snappy remark, you kept quiet and continued reading on your computer. You knew that he wanted you to say something back, to acknowledge him and banter with him. You sure as hell weren't going to give him that satisfaction.

Come now, (Y/N). Talk to me. I thought we were besties.

You ignored him once again, but wanted to punch him in the goddamn throat.

Crowley hummed. My, my, (Y/N). It is such a mess up here. How do you even survive with all these dark memories?

You mentally braced yourself for the pain you were about to endure, wondering which chapter of your life he wanted to torture you with next. Yesterday was dead sister, so maybe today is abusive father.

Oh, (Y/N), don't act like you don't like this.

You shifted in your spot on the bed, wondering what the hell he was talking about.

Crowley laughed. You like this pain. I know you do. Want to know why?

Your heart began to beat faster.

You like the pain, because you'd rather feel pain than nothing at all. Feeling pain is how you know you're still surviving, and not an empty, pathetic carcass of endless suffering.

Your heart dropped. "Don't say that, you goddamn prick."

You could practically hear Crowley smiling at his accomplishment, ecstatic to have struck a nerve in you. When you're in pain, you actually feel something. When was the last time you felt something other than pain? Hmm?

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing would come out. One tear rolled down your cheek, followed by another one on the other. When was the last time you felt something other than pain?

That's all you've known your entire life. People turning on you. Letting you down. Forcing you to survive alone. You care so much for the people who hurt you, don't you, (Y/N)? Always giving them a chance, and always getting hurt in return. You cling to those people. It's probably something messed up in your hardwiring. A malfunction, if you would. Maybe that explains why you live in your own personal hell everyday. You know, it must be agonizing to know that no one actually cares about you, or how you feel, or what you've been through. You care so much about other people, but really, my dear, who gives a damn about you?

You felt all of your strength drain out of you. Your emotional barrier collapsed, sending you into a full-on break down. You brought your knees to your chest, hugging them close to you as your endless stream of tears strolled down your cheeks and neck. You were so broken. All the memories, all the self-hatred, all the times you told yourself, "You're okay, you're okay. Stop crying. You're fine. Push through one more day. Be strong."

You guessed you were crying loudly, because a few minutes later, Dean was standing in your doorway. He rushed by your side, exclaiming, "(Y/N), what's wrong? Talk to me, (Y/N)!" One of his hands touched your back, the other resting ontop of your knee. It was then that you realized the whole front of your body was drenched in tears. You didn't know you had been crying that much.

"I hate myself, Dean. I hate myself. Why am I so weak? Why can't I be strong? Why can't I be strong?" You had to choke out the last line before you started sobbing again.

"(Y/N), you're not weak. Come here." He sat next to you on the bed and pulled you into his lap. Your back was against his chest, and his arms were wrapped around you so tightly, as if he were trying to mesh together all of your broken pieces. His hand pushed all of your wet hair out of your face, then he began to pet your hair soothingly. He didn't say another word, just let you cry and fall apart.

The next thing you know, you were waking up to glaringly bright sunlight. Your eyes were heavy and dry, and you remembered what had happened last night. Before you could feel any sense of shame, you realized you were resting on top of someone. You sat up a little and looked behind you. You were greeted by Dean's face, slanted to the side and sound asleep. His mouth was opened partially, and he was snoring lightly.

A smile crossed your lips. You two had fallen asleep in that same position. Your heart warmed at the thought. However, it was quickly replaced by another, more protrusive thought: Did someone actually care for me?

(AN: Soooo, part 2 or nah?)

(AN #2: I really enjoyed writing this one, and I'm so excited about how it turned out. Please let me know if you enjoyed this one, and if you have any ideas for a preference or imagine. Thanks!)