Title: The Girl You Hate
Characters: Dean Winchester/Bela Talbot
50prompts Prompt: 18. Heartbreak
Content Warning: AU, no clear spoilers past Lazarus Rising.
Summary: He hated her, that was no secret.
Author’s Note: Written for the Lyric Meme over at monthlymeme (which needs more participation! Go play!). Trying to get myself back on the writing horse.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by Eric Kripke and the CW. I’m just playing. Please don’t sue.
He hated her, that was no secret.
It had always been that way. He had never looked at her with anything but hate and contempt, distrust and disdain, and when it got to the point where death threats were starting to be old hat. There were times when she wished that there would be something else there, maybe something softer—understanding, sympathy, what have you—but she knew that that wasn’t her place in their world. She was an enemy to band together against, not a victim to pity or save. She didn’t want their pity, anyway.
That situation seemed to be a bit of a double-edged sword, just as everything in her life seemed to be. There was no relief from one blow, without having to take another, no happiness without a cost. It wasn’t until after he came back that she actually saw something other than contempt whenever Dean managed to swing her way. The hate was still there, no doubt about it. She could feel it in the way that he touched her. He hadn’t touched her like this before, in fact, he rebuffed whatever advances she had made. Now, however, something had changed. There was something that he was searching for, and she wasn’t sure how he was going to find it in her, but if it was what he thought he needed—at least it was better than him trying to shoot her.
This, right here, with her between him and the wall was a familiar. It was a bit reminiscent of the last time they saw each other, however instead of holding a gun to her head, he was kissing her. He was kissing her but there was something about the taste of it that was bitter—his heart wasn’t in it, and she could tell. Her hand landed on his chest after a moment, coming between him and her and pushing him away gently, just so that she could look at him and what she saw there surprised her.
Hate for her, yet more importantly, hate for himself. Disgust and despair drowning a man who’s sense of self-worth had been low enough already before Hell even came into the picture. There was enough self-loathing in his eyes to break her heart, and Bela had never been one to been moved to heartbreak that easily, only when it came to herself, and here—all she wanted to do was try and make it go away. Replace the hate directed at himself with something, anything, directed at her, and she didn’t know how.
“Dean.” There was a long pause as she tried to reason with him, tried to find the thing that made sense. “This isn’t what you want.”
“No.” His tone was even and unflinching, and apparently what she said was only making his feelings worse. “But it’s what I deserve.”
Bela watched him quietly for a moment, before pulling him back in again and biting at his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and he was slamming her back against the wall again, anger under his fingers, pulling at her clothes like they were just rags in his way. It wasn’t perfect, wasn’t anything meant for things of memories, but it was better than hate and loathing.
And for the moment, she would take it.