Work Text:
“This last song goes out to a certain person in my life who has hurt me recently. I hope you hear this, because this is me sticking up my middle finger and finally saying ‘fuck you’” I say to applause as I stand behind the keyboard. I nod at the band, who take my lead on this song. Music had always allowed me to express my feelings, which is why I loved being a hunter behind the cover of a bandleader. Whenever we got news of something that needed taking care of, I just booked a gig nearby, and nobody at home wondered where I was going. Plus, there were just those nights where I felt like I needed to vent to someone, and an audience is always the perfect ear.
I hit the first chord.
“Don’t cry to me. If you loved me, you would be here with me.”
I think back to the hotel room. It had been a typical fight: a couple of pagan gods. Nothing we hadn’t dealt with before. So, for some reason, Dean thought it would be ok to go grab a couple of beers beforehand. A couple of beers turned into a couple of shots, which, in turn, led to one very drunk hunter. When he met Sam and I at the designated place, the younger Winchester and I shot each other concerned looks. How was he supposed to fight a god when he was fighting to stay upright?
“You want me, come find me. Make up your mind.”
This wasn’t the first time it’s happened. He would get cocky and think that he was the best hunter in the world and that his abilities wouldn’t be affected by the alcohol. I had told him numerous times that, not only was it dangerous to enter a fight like that, but it wasn’t healthy. He always played it off as me being the stereotypical “concerned girlfriend,” but Sam and I were both worried. He was going to get himself hurt, or worse, killed again.
The band comes in. I begin to scream.
“Should I let you fall? Lose it all? So maybe you can remember yourself.”
Last night, after we managed to get out of the fight in one piece, Sam and I confronted him about his drinking. Yet again, I told him how worried I was and, yet again, he dismissed me. I had had enough, and I stormed off to my motel room in a huff of anger so I could shower and call it a night.
“Can’t keep believing, we’re only deceiving ourselves. And I’m sick of the lie, and you’re too late.”
I don’t even know why I thought it was a good idea to begin dating him in the first place. Stories floated around the hunter circles of the infamous Winchester brothers and how danger followed them around like a sad puppy. Maybe it was because Dean made me feel loved, something I hadn’t felt in a long time since my fiancé died in a fight a few years ago. He always told me he cared about me, and that he never wanted me to get hurt. I can’t understand how he can say that and then proceed to do something that he knows affects me so much.
I go through the chorus again, channeling the anger I have at him into the microphone, before continuing the song:
“Couldn’t take the blame. Sick with shame. Must be exhausting to lose your own game. Selfishly hated, no wonder you’re jaded. You can’t play the victim this time, and you’re too late.”
In the past, he always apologized to me, saying that it’ll never happen again and that he’ll stop. I don’t know why I always believed him because, no matter what he said, it always happened again. Maybe I had hope that it would always be the last time, but now, I know the vicious cycle.
Another chorus before I begin to fight back anger-filled tears as I reach the part of the song that made me add it to the set list at the last minute.
“You never call me when you’re sober. You only want it cause it’s over, it’s over.”
That was his pattern. He’d drink, we’d survive the fight with a monster, I’d confront him, he’d promise me he’d stop, I storm off, he’d call me and tell me to come back to his room so he could apologize. Last night was the first time I stayed away, even though I knew that the only times he actually called my phone instead of texting it was when he was still partially drunk and was trying to apologize. Last night was the first time I stayed in my room instead of crawling back to him.
“How could I have burned paradise? How could I-you were never mine.”
Sam did come over and try to apologize on behalf of Dean, but he and I knew that his words were meaningless. I vented my frustrations to him for a little, and he said that he wouldn’t blame me if I wanted to go my own way for a little. I told him that was my plan. I knew that I couldn’t keep my sanity dealing with this type of relationship and that, after my show, I was leaving them. He gave me one last hug, and told me to keep in touch. I promised, and he went back to his room to pass the news on to Dean. I find that I’m legitimately crying now as I end the song.
“So don’t cry to me.”
Dean had come knocking on my door less than 5 minutes later. I didn’t answer. He didn’t leave for over an hour.
“If you loved me, you would be here with me.”
I see he and Sam in the wings out of the corner of my eye. I took this moment to rip the necklace he gave me months ago off.
“Don’t lie to me,”
I give him direct eye contact.
“Just get your things.”
I throw the necklace off stage at him, leading the audience to applaud (I think they know I see him). He looks hurt. He deserves it. He deserves to know how I felt, how I still feel.
“I’ve made up your mind.”
The song ends. I thank the audience, and then storm off the stage, past the brothers, past the rest of the band (who know what I’m doing right now). I walk out of the club, ignoring his calls for me to stop. I reach my car and, as I’m reaching in my purse for my keys, a strong hand grips my upper arm and spins me around. Dean asks what I am doing, and, as I get into my car, I simply reply, “I’ve made up my mind” before pulling out of the parking lot.