TW: Violence, substance use mentioned
Dean sat rocking back and forth slowly on the swing. He wished Camille was right here next to him. He hated fighting with her.
There was one time from before when they were younger. Camille had gotten unbelievably angry at Dean for making a joke in front of his friends which embarrassed her.
She had told Dean that they should take a break. He didn't want to compare the feeling he had then to what he felt when he had lost her, but to lose someone over death, to not be able to reach them, and to have someone be there in front of you, but not want anything to do with you were two different kinds of pain. He couldn't decide which was worse.
He sat with a stick in his hand drawing in the dirt as he thought about back then.
He had basically only been broken up with her for a day, because going home and her ignoring his messages, and then not speaking to him at school the next day was torture. He remembered going to the store, buying her favorite flowers and showing up at her door in the freezing cold with flowers in hand and a letter in the other.
By the next day, they were back together.
So to the present Dean, having all these one-sided memories sometimes made his relationship with Camille now frustrating.
He felt guilty sometimes for feeling upset with her when she got irritated by trivial things, because if only she knew everything he'd been through. But hell, he knew she'd been through quite a lot too. And it wasn't her fault she didn't know.
About twenty minutes had passed while he was zoned out. When he realized this he threw the stick aside and heaved himself up off of the ground.
When he returned he found a note stating that his mother and sister had come back to grab us, but since it was only Camille they took her to go get ice cream and promised they'd bring him some back.
Dean laughed at the little note. He took off his shoes and then flopped onto the couch. It was quite boring now that they were gone.
Just as he was about to doze off he heard the sound of grunting and stumbling come through the door. When he got up he could feel the nerves in his body begin to prick. He could also smell the strong stench of alcohol.
Dean felt the tension rise immediately. He recognized this kind of drunk as the dangerous drunk. The one that had nearly beat him to death. It was too bad in this life his father was still the same.
Dean was immediately on high alert. "Why are you here?" He said roughly.
His father looked at him, his green eyes bloodshot clearly showing he hadn't been sleeping. Instead he'd been self-medicating with alcohol.
" Weelll" his father said slowly. "If it isn't the little mother fucker who thinks he can put his hands on his old man." He slurred.
Dean closed his eyes and pinched the space between his eyes. "Listen, you no longer have the right to step through this door like it's your home. You haven't been here in months and in case you forgot mom is in the process of divorcing you."
As soon as those words left Deans mouth his father picked up the lamp from the end table and threw it across the room smashing it against the wall.
"What the hell! What is wrong with you! Get out!" Dean yelled.
He watched as his father started for him across the living room. He recognized that look in his eyes. This was the worst part of his alcoholic self. He must be really messed up right now.
Dean felt rooted to the spot he stood in. All of the sudden he was back to being that young boy who couldn't save his mom, who lay on the floor bleeding and aching all over his body.
His father grabbed his collar and shook him which snapped Dean out of his reviere and caused him to push his father away which obviously only angered him more because then he was meant with a blow to the head.
Dean fell over from the force of it. He father hit him again kicking him in the stomach and causing him to dry-heave.
Dean cursed under his breath and stood up taking a swing on his father. He was satisfied when he felt his knuckles connect with his fathers jaw. However he also felt the skin on his knuckles split.
He got on top of his father as if trying to hold him down, but his father threw him off and hit him again.
Dean was again knocked away by the force. He once again stood up and spit. Out came blood and his self restraint.
"You piece of shit! I already told you not to come back here, you know what happened last time remember?"
His father chuckled a long and low chuckle nearly shocking Dean into silence.
"Do you think I give a shit Bout what you do or say."
Dean smirked. "This is exactly why you are alone." He spit blood out of his mouth again.
That comment seemed to anger his father as he lunged at him again and threw his fist against his face. Backing Dean up onto a wall.
Before he could hit him again Dean threw his arms up catching his father off guard and hit him square in the nose, the contact making a sickening crunch.
Just as he did so. He heard the car pull up.
His father got back up trying to go after him again. He said something that broke Dean.
"I fucking hate you, your mom, and any of you fuckers. You made me this way. You're the reason I drink."
Dean looked at him with the eyes of a wounded animal and felt his anger rise.
"No! You drink because your not happy with yourself, and if you hate anyone it's you, it's always been you. You ruined this family. You are the reason Dante left. You are the reason my mom had to work so hard because you didn't do shit to help provide for this family."
His father still stood staring him in the eyes. Dean hated that he shared the same color eyes.
His mother, Camille, and Daniella all came through the door.
Samantha had stopped and gasped saying, "Drew?" And then she took in his bloody nose. The sweat that seemed to mat his hair together. The anger burning in his eyes. She could smell the booze coming off of him in waves from across the living room.
Then she saw Dean. Her heart broke when it became clear what had happened.
She spoke angrily. "Drew how did you even get in here?"
"I got a fucking key that's how, up until a few months ago I lived here. This bastard had corrupted your mind."
Samantha shook her head. "Drew you need to go now. You are drunk. Out of your mind drunk, and you are going to get the police called on you."
He let out an exasperated laugh, and then grabbed a vase from the bookshelf and dropped it onto the floor.
"Fuck all of you." He pointed at Dean, then at Samantha who looked at the ground with defeated eyes, and then at Daniella. He hadn't even registered Camille.
He stormed out of the house slamming the door so hard it made them jump.
As soon as he was out Samantha rushed over to Dean. "Oh honey" but he pushed her hands away.
He mouth was bloody, he had a cut on his forehead and blood had run down the side of his forehead. His knuckles were also bloody.
"Why does he still have a key?"
Samantha searched for words she couldn't find. "I… I don't know."
"Everytime mom, everytime you let him walk over you like you are nothing."
She tried to grab him arm as he turned away. But he pulled it away rather roughly.
"No, this, this is why Dante left. Because he couldn't watch you do the same thing I had to watch you do for years."
"He didn't just leave, he ran away.. Dean, you know that."
He nearly exploded. "Why the hell do you think!! You did nothing to stop it, nothing. Nothing to stop him from hitting you, from hitting Dante, from hitting me!"
Samantha was hurt by his words. He could see it in her face.
Dean then heard Camille. "Dean don't talk to her like that, there are more sides of the story and you know it."
He shook his head and moved to make his way past them.
Camille grabbed his shirt. Dean lifted his arms and sighed.
"Please, please not right now." He said looking at her.
Camille could have sworn she saw the destruction left over in his eyes.
She let him go.
But when she heard the shaky breath and the near whimper he let out as he went out the door, she went after him.
"Dean!"
He stopped walking but didn't turn around.
She came in front of him, putting her hands on either side of his face.
"Dean?"
She witnessed the first crack in the dam. A silent tear slipping out of his eye.
She felt her own eyes fill with tears.
But he fell into her and his body began to shake under her arms. She rubbed his hair and put her chin on his shoulder.
"I'm not mad about earlier anymore, I know you love me, and I know you care. I'm sorry for even thinking for a second that you don't. I'm sorry baby." Camille choked out.
Dean still wept onto her shoulder.
"But when you are going through something, like with whatever has been on your mind, I need you to tell me. We are together, we are a team, and now more than ever, that's what this ring means. Please don't push me away and deal with things on your own. I love you, I want to help you too."
She stood with him like that for a few more minutes, when he finally stopped shaking and his breathing began to slow. It was only then did he pull away. He was horrified to see the smear of blood he'd gotten on her clothes.
When he pointed it out Camille laughed. "It can be washed Dean."
He was still a bit embarrassed. "I know, I'm still sorry though."
Camille grabbed his hand and led him in the house. His mother must've been in the kitchen, he didn't know where Daniella was. Camille took him upstairs and left him sitting on his bed when she returned with a small bowl of warm water and a rag.
She sat on the edge of his bed and began to wipe away the smeared blood around his mouth, and what had dried on the side of his head. He winced a bit when she did. She then wiped carefully around his knuckles and then put an antibiotic cream on them and wrapped his hand in a bandage.
...
Camille lay next to him watching him sleep. She had brought their food upstairs. He was too exhausted to go downstairs for the night and act like the entire day hadn't happened.
She traced the lines of his face and wondered just exactly how much he'd been through and hadn't told her. He saved her… the lowest point in her life he threw down a rope, and instead of expecting her to climb it he came down and got her… he climbed up with her.
She knew no matter what, she wasn't going to let him slip under the way she had.