Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine (Season 7 spoilers)

[100deaths_a_day]

Dean's close to breaking point. this is just my interpretation of how it might go.

27/10/2011: knightcons Drew a lovely fanart linked to this. <3

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[hunter_returns]

Sam, as usual, was sleeping terribly. It was always fitful, tainted with dreams that left him in a cold sweat and shaking when he woke. He tried to keep most of this to himself; Dean and Bobby had enough to worry about. And he was coping. He wasn't fine, he was about as far from fine as someone could get.

But he was trying.

Which was why he was shocked awake with worry when he saw Dean's bed empty. Sam flexed his hand, pressing idly on the scar, trying to see if this was another hallucinaton. He swung his jacket on and headed towards the door, looking for Dean.

"Dean! Dude, where the.."

His heart stopped as he saw him huddled next to the car in the rain, a familiar piece of battered brown cloth held in his hands. Sam knelt beside Dean, hauling him to his feet. "Come on. Back inside."

[100deaths_a_day]

"Sammy, just... leave me alone a while." He tried pulling back from Sam. Sam didn't need to see this, didn't need to see this at all. He was struggling as it was, without seeing dean being a frigging girl about this whole damned thing.

Satan may not be his co-pilot, and he may not have gulped a few thousand souls, but recently he felt like he's been losing his damned mind.

He didn't notice, either, that as Sam had hauled him to his feet, his hand had gripped into the coat so hard that his knuckles turned white. Some part of him didn't want to drop it. He knew it was stupid, and that Cas wasn't going to be brought back by it, but at this point in time, it just...... seemed wrong.

[hunter_returns]

There were times that it helped being taller and a bit bigger than Dean. This.. was not one of them. Sam struggled to get Dean's arm up and around his shoulders to try and help him back to the house. He shook his head at the insistent visions dancing around his peripheral vision. Not now. Dean needed him

[100deaths_a_day]

He made himself let go of the coat, putting it over the back of the chair. He wasn't feeling the cold; in fact, he just felt numb. He must have been cold, he was shivering, but... he just couldn't feel it. He'd been feeling that nothing since he came back from hell, but it had never seemed this empty.

Empty. Like the coat. Like the impala had after Dad had first gone. Like their lives were a little more after they lost another damned friend or family member. The trouble with finally allowing himself to mourn? It opened the doors to his grief for the others which he had tried to keep firmly shut to keep himself going. or at least try to keep themselves going.

He opened his mouth to say he was fine. To get Sam the hell away from this train-wreck Dean currently had going on, but instead what came out was: "It seems so still." and his eyes flicked in the direction of the coat before dropping back down to his hands.

Well, Shit. that wasn't what he intended to say at all.

[hunter_returns]

Sam felt his chest tighten in alarm. He had to stay calm. It was the only way he was going to get Dean through this. After all the times that Dean held them together, Sam could do this for his brother. He had to.

He wrapped the blanket around Dean's shoulders, setting another log on the fire. As it crackled, he turned back at his brother's comment, settling himself on the footstool directly in front of him.

"I know. It was always moving, even when he's stand there like a statue."

Yes, and now he's fish food. You two have the worst track record with friends.

....You STFU Hallucifer. (hehe >3<)

[100deaths_a_day]

Dean shifted off the couch, the blankets dropping as he did, moving under his own steam for the first time since he had slipped down the car. And moved... straight for the nearest stash of whiskey. It probably said something that he knew where the more private of Bobby's stashes were - the better stuff - and normally he respected that they were hidden for a reason. But right now, he needed this and doubted he could make it into the kitchen without breaking into a million frigging pieces right now. Maybe it would shut some of the damned emotions buzzing in his head up.

He sat back down, and returned to his still state after opening the bottle. He was wrong, he couldn't do this. He tried to emotionally recoil from the topic, and when he couldn't do it, he drank a generous measure straight from the bottle. "it's empty. I couldn't stop them, and now it's empty." That's the coat and the leviathans. He still hadn't spoken about Cas directly since that day .

Hallucifer : "neener neener neener!"

[hunter_returns]

Sam watched him move. He had never felt so goddamn useless. If Dean would just talk to him.

But he won't, will he? All this time and Dean still doesn't trust you.

He rubbed at the scar on his palm, forcing his mind to what was real. Dean was right. He could tell the difference if he tried. And right now, Dean needed him. Sam took the bottle, taking a small pull from it.

"We tried, Dean. He was coming back." Sam knew that somehow, Cas was still inside, which is what drove him to the yard outside Bobby's before dawn to call for him. Cas was family. He always had faith in family.

FU *shakes fist*

[100deaths_a_day]

No, no, no no no. He can't talk about that yet. That fact that he'd been so damned close was what had made this harder. The fact he'd been there at the end.

He took back the bottle in his hands and took another long pull as an excuse not to answer, and just simply "I can't, Sam." Hopefully Sam'd know what he meant. That he wouldn't push, but he knew better than that.

[hunter_returns]

Getting Dean to talk about something when he wasn't ready was an exercise in futility. Or it wound up with him getting punched.

Sam, despite everything, still had some vague sense of hope. That Castiel was still alive, that they could get him back somehow. It was probably a vain hope, but it was one he had to hang on to in order to keep going.

He picked up the discarded blanket and draped it around Dean again before shaking off his own wet jacket and taking up his seat again.

"You have to. You have to, Dean or you're gonna implode. So, c'mon." Sam's hands dropped to his knees, fully prepared to get punched. "Let me have it then. Do something."

[100deaths_a_day]

The room started getting that claustrophobic feeling again. He needed to get out. Move. Do something, anything, to stop his mind thinking over this. This time when he stood, the coat shifted slightly, and slid off of the back of the sofa. "You want me to do something? I'm going for a drive

[hunter_returns]

Sam had picked up the coat an instant after it slipped to the floor and folded it on the table with more reverence than a discarded piece of clothing probably deserved. But it was all they had left of Cas. Something heavy fell out, bouncing off his foot. A leather wallet.

He picked it up and was about to open it when he glanced at his brother and saw the ribbon of blood down the front of his chin. His eyes wide, Sam shoved the wallet into his own pocket and was at his brother's side in a moment. "Jesus, Dean!"

Fire and blood and pain, they all danced in his periperhal vision, Hell trying to break through into his world again. Not now. Not now. Dean. Focus.

It could have been a minute, it could have been ten, it was hard for him to tell sometimes.

[100deaths_a_day]

Dean was all too pleased to have the focus taken off of him, to have something to focus on other than his own feelings. He took Sam's hand in his, ready to dig his thumb in if he needed to