Fear Itself

Not too long after, it was dark, and Dean was collapsing beside me, both of us left breathless for the moment, sticky and hot (which wasn’t unusual for us at this point). Dean laid half on his stomach with his arm draped over me. We stayed there like that, quiet except the sound of our breathing, for just a bit, and I kept my eyes on the ceiling, not on purpose, but dazed. This didn’t feel right, didn’t feel the same as last time. Physically, I felt just as good as I always did, but mentally, I was still fixed on what my father told me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before I squirmed out from under his arm and slid under the sheets, covering up and glancing away.

“Blondie,” Dean addressed me with subtle concern, lifting his head from the pillow. “Is something wrong?”

The silence was long, and it was heavy. I left my hands above the blankets, clutching the fabric in my hands and holding it tightly to my collarbones. “Are you just using me?” I asked him, quietly demanding answers.

“What?” Dean replied in confusion. He leaned closer to me. “Blondie, what?”

“Are you just using me for sex?” I repeated bluntly, turning my head to face him. I saw how confused he looked, but I had seen plenty of people look confused when they didn’t mean it, so I waited. I stared at him, gaze unwavering, waiting for an answer. The confusion never left his face.

“Blondie,” he murmured. “Why would you ever think that?”

“My dad says you’re gonna fuck me over, Muscles,” I confessed quietly, trying my hardest not to feel shaken. Clearly, Dean had no idea what I meant… I didn’t see any malicious intention behind those blue eyes, not now and certainly not ever before. It felt foolish to think my father’s opinion of Dean held any clout, but somehow, it still consumed me.

He furrowed his eyebrows, looking like he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what I was saying, but I knew he understood nonetheless. “When did you even talk to your dad?” he asked me.

“Last night,” I confessed, closing my eyes and sighing, frowning. “He saw me leaving your house with Mumbles, I’m sorry, he just—“ I choked on my words, had to stop to breathe. “I’m sorry, he just said some really awful things.”

“Like that I’m using you for sex,” Dean said slowly. I nodded. “Did he have anything else to say?”

“Um,” I murmured, rubbing fiercely at my eyes, hoping that I wouldn’t lose my coherence right now. “He… he said that there’s no way anybody like you would ever find me attractive, that I’m too childish for someone your age, and he said that you’re not who I think you are, that you’re not somebody I should want to be around.” I glanced to him with sad eyes, hoping Dean wouldn’t be angry with me about what my father said.

“And you believed him?” he asked. I shook my head fiercely. A small smile tugged at his lips. “Good,” Dean told me, leaning over to kiss me. “Because I am attracted to you, and I don’t think any of that about you at all. And I’m not going to hurt you, Blondie,” he explained, brushing away the hair loose across my forehead. “I don’t know why you listen to what he thinks anyway,” Dean sighed. “He doesn’t seem like a very nice man.”

“He’s not,” I agreed, eyes falling downward for a moment. “I don’t think people really understand.”

“Understand what?”

“How awful he can be,” I explained quietly.

“You can tell me,” Dean offered, smiling gently, sliding his arm over me. I just shook my head head. “C’mon,” he added, leaning over the kiss the side of my forehead. “Try me.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” I laughed half-heartedly. “I guess… it’s just that my whole life he’s… he raised me to be so dependent on him that even trying to live is frightening. I think that’s why I latch on to people now, I mean… not that I have much experience, I never really knew any until a few months ago,” I sighed. “He just had me trained like… like a dog, I don’t know how else to explain it. Left me alone for hours and hours every day… and I still rushed down the stairs to hug him when he came home from work eight hours later.” I chewed my bottom lip, shrugging.

“Eight hours?” Dean asked softly, settling into the mattress. I could feel his head resting against mine. “What did you do all day while he was gone?”

“Whatever he bought me,” I told him. “At first, it wasn’t much, but when I was little, he didn’t work a lot, and he used to come home on his breaks. I had books. A lot of books. I’ve read almost every book I own at least twice; I have to re-read them a lot because sometimes my father doesn’t bring me new ones. When I got older, he bought me paints, so I would do that, or I would play my guitar. I usually spent a good chunk of the day cleaning everything until it was spotless… anything.” I paused. “At least when I was appreciative of what I had.”

“You sound pretty appreciative,” Dean chuckled, but I shook my head.

“No,” I said immediately. “I wanted to go outside. That was bad. That was very bad.” I paused. “I used to try and sneak out. Four times, I tried, actually. I was so desperate that I used to pack a bag and try to jump out the window, but I always ended up making excuses and coming back. Sometimes, my dad caught me. It was always worse when he caught me.” I had to stop and swallow the lump in my throat if I wanted to continue. “He, um. I guess it started when I was thirteen or fourteen. Just threatening to take some of my books just wasn’t enough anymore, so he would start taking everything out of my room, and I mean everything. He left it barren, save for clothes and my bed, really. He used to take my bobby pins so I couldn’t… he used to lock my in my room for hours with no way to get out I just—“ I had to stop and close my eyes, shake my head.

“Sh,” Dean hushed me immediately, kissing my forehead. “It’s alright,” he assured me. “That’s why you’re out of there now. You’re done with him.”

I sputtered out a muffled sob. “But I’m not, Muscles,” I said. “I never will be. He’s never going to leave me alone.”

“He will,” Dean told me, looking at me very seriously. I managed to smile and nod a little.

“I just… he’s my dad,” I continued, eyes watering up. “I’m all he has, and we were always so close, but… but all he ever did was lie. He lied about my mum, lied about my aunt, lied about the world, lied about everything, even me, he… my aunt came over, and he spewed this nonsense about me being sick.”

Dean gave me a solemn nod. “Everyone thought you died eighteen years ago, Blondie,” he explained gently.

“See?” I sputtered a disheartened laugh through my tears. “It’s… it’s shit like that—I just don’t understand!” I sobbed. “But he’s all I have.”

“No,” Dean interjected, shaking his head. “No, he’s not. You’ve got plenty of people, Blondie. You’ve got Mumbles, and even Sam wants to talk to you. Hell, I think Eyebrows likes you a little bit. Chandler won’t stop raving about how much he adores you.” He smiled a little. “And, I mean, I’m not going anywhere. At least I don’t plan on it.” A smile fought it’s way back onto my face, and I laughed under my breath.

“Thank you,” I told him. Dean brushed away a few stray tears with his thumb and leaned down to kiss me, but just as our lips met, a car engine approached, and Winston perked up from his bed on the floor, rushing immediately for the front door, barking.

“What the—“ Dean muttered, lifting his gaze to the door. Suddenly, a knock sounded. “I better get that,” he relented. “Hang tight, Blondie.” He quickly pulled on his pants, closed the door enough so that I couldn’t see what was going on. Well, that was no fun. My curiosity was pouring out of me, so I quickly pulled my pants back on as well and grabbed Dean’s shirt from the floor to cover myself. I heard muffled speaking from near the front door, so I discreetly tried to peek out the crack in the door currently blocking my path, but it wasn’t enough; I opened just a little wider, but then…

“Thalia?” Oh god no, not my father. I tried to jump back, tried to hide, but he saw me. “Thalia, I’m not kidding around. It’s time to go home.”

“Mr. Giroux—“ Dean tried to interject, but my father wasn’t having it.

“Excuse me, Cassidy,” my father snapped. “That’s my daughter, and I’ll be taking her with me now.”

“I’m going to ask you nicely to leave my home,” Dean told him sternly, blocking his path in the doorway. “If I have to ask again, I’m not going to be nice, Nathan.”

My father laughed, “You’re awfully big for your britches considering plebeian blood still courses through your veins, Cassidy.”

“Get out of my house,” Dean snapped. “Either you can leave, or I can beat the shit out of you, and then you’ll still have to leave. Am I clear?”

“I will leave when I can take Thalia with me,” my father sneered.

“That’s not gonna happen.” My father made the mistake of trying to get past him anyway. “Giroux,” Dean chuckled as he grabbed my father by the back of his shirt. “I already asked you once to leave, so I’m going to have to make you. And heed my words, if you ever come back here again, you’ll be missing your daughter and some of your teeth.” I didn’t hear if anything was said after that. I just saw Dean toss my father outside and come back in. “Wow, it’s cold out there,” he joked, but the grin fell off of his face when he saw the horrified look on mine.

“You just threw my father,” I muttered in shock. There was pause.

“Yeah, I should um…” Dean cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his neck. “I probably have some explaining to do, don’t I?”

“Just a little,” I told him with a half-hearted smile.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “C’mon, Blondie. Sit.” He plopped down on the sofa, motioning for me to join him, and regardless of whether or not the fact that he threw my father kind of freaked me out, I didn’t hesitate to snuggle right up to Dean when I sat down, resting my head on his shoulder.

“My dad says you’ve killed people,” I said softly, glancing toward him. “I don’t mind,” I added. “So has Mumbles.” Dean chuckled under his breath. He wrapped his arms around me and tugged me into his lap.

“Sometimes, I don’t know if I can handle you,” he laughed softly. I just smiled up at him.

And then he told me everything. He told me about how he enlisted in League Militia when he was fifteen, and he told me that he had to go to Russia to attend a place called Pyramid Combat Academy, PCA for short. He said that they learned everything there: how to jump out of planes, how to shoot guns, how to do naval combat things, and even how to be a combat medic. The premise was interesting enough, I supposed, and I was getting more information than I did from Sam. Sam hadn’t told me this much. He certainly didn’t tell me about the fact that Dean had to spend the winter in a forest, fending for himself with little supplies. That was considered part of his “training.”

“That’s awful,” I told him sadly, my head now settled in the crook of his neck.

“No, just cold,” Dean explained. “Very cold. I thought I might die out there. But I didn’t.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” I interjected, smiling a little. Dean tilted his head to kiss my cheek, then settled me back against him. I smiled wider, listening to his heartbeat and feeling his warmth. “You know, Sam said that the militia isn’t a good thing. He said that they kill people for no reason, just because the League says,” I explained. “Personally, I think that’s a terrible reason to take a man’s life. I don’t really like to think about killing others, though, so I’m biased… but I’m interested. Why did you enlist?”

“To get out, mostly,” Dean confessed, moving one of his hands to play with my hair. “I was tired of being poor, tired of being known as a Cassidy.”

“Why is that such a bad thing?” I asked. “Being a Cassidy? Sam said that your father was a great man, and a lot of people respected him.”

Dean scoffed, “How great of a man can one be when he walks out on his family to save his own ass?” He paused, and I glanced up at him. “Sam needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. Never knows when to quit talking.”

“You don’t seem to like your brother very much,” I murmured.

“No,” Dean sighed, voice full of slight disappointment, perhaps at the fact that I misconstrued his meaning. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s… complicated,” he confessed. “It’s a very long story, and it’s late—“

I took his face in my hands and tilted his head down to kiss him. “I’ve got all the time in the world, Muscles,” I encouraged him, smiling. “I’ll listen as long you let me.”

He nodded a little. “Well,” Dean began, sighing again. “Sam and I always disagreed on… well, a lot. Sam has been hellbent on living up to Dad’s legacy since day one, including his nonviolent approach to revolution, but I never shared that sentiment. When I enlisted, Sam was not pleased with me. We’ll put it that way, and… things in my home were always a little chaotic. To make matters worse, the League gives their recruits growth hormones—to speed everything up. Since, you know, I wasn’t fully grown at fifteen.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “We fought. A lot. When I left for Russia, we didn’t speak for five years, but after those five years, he approached me with his initial idea for the Brotherhood, told me he needed my help.”

“Why did you help him if you were so successful with the League?” I inquired.

“Well, he’s my brother,” he told me.

“No,” I giggled quietly. “Muscles, I mean… why are you here? What are you fighting for?” He didn’t answer. He was thinking. “That’s okay,” I told him, nuzzling my face into his neck a little. “I don’t quite have a reason myself.”

We stayed like that for awhile, just sat and talked. We talked about everything. We talked about our futures, and we talked about food. We talked about our favorite things and where we used to imagine ourselves being (I lied; I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I imagined myself rotting away in my bedroom). We talked and laughed like nothing was wrong until the sun came up, and Avery took me back to the base.