Chapter Text
When Dean is done, done with the stress, the pressure he feels and the weight that will always bear on his shoulders, he takes his baby and leaves.
He usually doesn't even know where he's going, but somehow, he'll always end up in the middle of a forest in the middle of nowhere, taking care to park the Impala before venturing into the dark depths of said forest, until he finds a tree with a branch hanging up just at the the right height for him. So he finds the branch and goes back to the car and drags out a punch bag. It's heavy, but Dean keeps it in the backseat, seeing as no one usually sits there. He hooks the bag up onto the branch with its chain and takes a deep breath and starts punching.
He punches for every little weakness he's shown, every little crack in his happy-go-lucky demeanor. He punches for the mistakes, thousands of them, that he's made. He punches for what they've caused, what they are still causing. He punches for everything he would have liked to have. He punches for all the losses he's pretended to not care about, or has locked away deep into his mind. He punches for all the people he's hurt, all the lives he has messed up.
Its funny how he subconsciously chooses forests to punch in. Something so quiet, so pure, and he comes and pollutes it. He's done that to a lot of things. He's taken that road, made that choice, corrupting the innocent, staining his hands. He leaves pain and destruction in his wake and for this, he punches. As his muscled arms swing and bead of sweat coat his skin, he feels his self loathing peak. Even now, as he relives every single mistake he's ever, he knows he's left Sammy sleeping, ignorant of where he is or where he could be. Sammy is the ultimate victim. Most of his mistakes involve Sam. He knows that when Sam lies to him its because he was lied to first. He knows that he should have left the damn boy at Stanford and just looked for John on his own. He likes to picture Sammy happy with Jess, Dean out of the picture completely.
The sharp morning air has stopped stinging his bare arms, numbness spreading through his whole body as he peels off his sodden shirt and drops it to the floor before attacking the bag with a flurry of jabs and kicks so fast his limbs are almost a blur. He doesn't seek redemption, he's too far gone for that, he seeks distraction. He craves exhaustion and welcomes sleep with shaking hands. Sam has taken to hiding the bottles Dean buys and watching him carefully. Dean sees the worry in his brother's eyes and knows this is just another thing to add to the list of times he has disappointing Sam.
He pauses for a second, waiting for his ragged breath to subside before breathing in the sounds and smells of the forest. He can hear a faint burble of water and a couple of birds starting to sing. The musky smell of the forest slows his breathing down and his heart stops thumping wildly in his chest. He can smell something familiar in the scent of the forest, something that brings memories back in floods. The punches resume as he pictures bright blue eyes a scratchy growl of a voice- another reason to get out, get away, keep punching.