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The Death of Humane Love

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It has been unknown as to why the human nature is so individually unique but yet universally primitive. Humans are stubborn, controlling, animalistic at times, but also so kind, innocent, and pure. Some more than others.

There are theories, of course, followed by decades of research and study...but no answers are truly found. Every person is different. Some people are born to be saints, other monsters.

In this regard, nature versus nurture is irrelevant...some people cannot even be touched by the fruit of salvation grown from either others or their environment. And that is how the world works.

Here is the story of someone who was damned from the beginning and who became their willing but unknowing victim.

 

It started the moment Dean could walk and talk. A quiet child with bright eyes of intelligence and charm, he was like his darling mother Mary but unlike his average father John. Dean would smile when he needed to in politeness and care but otherwise did not make a habit of it. The only thing that made him smile purely was taking control of something and being a leader or owner. He enjoyed the reliance towards him, as it made him feel like an adult and important.

Sunny days were spent reading books that were far above the reading level of his mere age of three years old. He read basic biology and anatomy books from the local library. Mary was so proud of her nearly genius child, encouraging to pursue his dreams. She said he could become a doctor, and Dean had a dual interest in medicine and also the boyish affinity to cars. But medicine dominated it at the moment and became a hobby.

The child secretly enjoyed seeing things at their most vulnerable and keeping them alive in his hands. The control and dominance were unmovable and irresistible. But he was not ever cruel.

He would remain alone in his room despite Mary’s protests that he still socialize and make friends. He had stacks of books beside his little desk, along with stashes of toothpicks and needles from his mother’s sewing kit. He practiced on his action figures and small animals found in the fields around his home, taking them apart and putting them back together again.

He always took care of what he was using, bringing the meager corpses to where he found them. Thinking he was a curious child, no one knew of his secret.

It was one evening during dinner that Dean found out two things.

“Mommy, I wanna doll,” Dean requested, looking up from his plate of spaghetti and dryly twirling it around with his fork.

Mary parted her pink lips before John interrupted, “You’re not getting a doll. Maybe we can get you another action figure. The last one was all beat up from you playin’ too rough...didn’t have any arms.” Of course, the man was oblivious as to why.

Their son frowned and his green eyes shown in defiance as he looked towards his mother, “Mommy, please?”

Smiling in mild pity and kindness, Mary suggested, “Maybe if you’re a really good boy before Christmas. me and Daddy have something special to tell you.” John’s own expression softened immediately at his wife, holding her hand on the kitchen table as they both looked towards their son. “...You’re going to have a baby brother.”

Dean pondered over that before smiling softly, “Okay. What’s his name gonna be?”

“Samuel,” she answered.

For the rest of the meal, Dean happily asked questions about his new baby brother, wondering what he was going to look like and what he would act like. The neighborhood kids talked about having younger siblings, and while Dean was wary of them being gross or annoying...he felt something in his heart declare otherwise.

Over the next several months, Dean pushed away his morbid hobby and opted for eagerly awaiting the days for Sam’s birth. He watched as Mary’s stomach swelled and rounded, talking to the petit being inside. His parents both marveled at their son growing from quiet and somber to charming and even brighter.

Soon May 2nd arrived, and Dean was in the waiting room with John. He could not stay still, pacing back and forth and babbling to his father. “When’s Sammy gonna come?” he would ask, emerald eyes pleading for answers.

Each time, John would just reply, “Soon.”

And finally, after eight hours of labor, Samuel Winchester arrived in this world. Dean gripped John’s hand as they entered the room, the mild smell of leftover blood and cleaner climbing into the child’s nose. The hospital room was a bright white with mauve curtains draped over the single window to the left, and Mary’s eyes were exhausted but overjoyed.

“Hey, Dean...do you want to see your baby brother?” she cooed, voice soft from the screaming her son could hear not too far away.

Seeing his baby brother in Mary’s arms, Dean couldn’t believe his eyes. Sam was so little, a mere seven pounds and quietly mewling in his blanket. To Dean, he looked like those delicate porcelain dolls in antique shops along the streets of the nearest city with perfectly manicured hair and shining eyes. And this one had feathery strands of brown hair and hazel eyes.

Perhaps Sam was a living, breathing doll that Dean could own someday. Maybe Mary was lying in front of John and this was Dean’s early Christmas present...his mother sometimes did that; as she even knew of her husband's stubborn and harsh nature.

But he loved Sam too much to poke and prod like he did with the animals and toys. He wanted to wait until they were both older, and he would do anything in his power to make sure Sam was never hurt or bothered by anything Dean ever did.

After begging Mary to let him hold little Sammy, the child’s love grew and grew once he saw those hazel eyes filled with innocence and childlike adoration. It also grew obsessive and dark in turn with the purity.

Dean wanted to preserve Sam’s beautiful fragility and see it every minute of his lifetime.