A Worried Brother (s7)

[hunter_returns]

Sam pulled away from the drivethrough window, stopping long enough to push back the little plastic lid and take a sip of the hot, bitter coffee. He glanced in the rear view mirror, checking on his fitfully sleeping brother in the back. He was pushing himself too hard, asking too much, and as usual, trying to do it all alone. The scotch had finally

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Re-thread

[100deaths_a_day]

"And that is where you are dead wrong, Sammy." Remember the advice he gave you after he got your soul back? 'Keep it all in and let it out in bursts of violence and alcoholism'?

He's taking his own advice.

No, he'd said what he needed to and gave his cry for help. But help definitely didn't include this amateur Dr. Phil crap.

<3

[hunter_returns]

Sam hadn't forgotten. In fact, that's what had him so concerned. It hadn't helped then, it wasn't going to help Dean now. Frustrated, he snatched the bottle out of Dean's hand and held it at his side. He'd heard his brother's cry for help. The problem was the stubborn son of a bitch wasn't letting anyone do anything about it, least of all him.

"Stop, Dean. If you're not going to talk to me, then give the freaking bottle a break for a day. You're getting as bad as Dad used to be."

<33

[100deaths_a_day]

You did not just go there.

If he was bringing Dad up? He was leaving. He didn't need old wounds that still bled - even more so after Osiris - being raked at.

"Sam, shut up." And give him the goddamned bottle back. But he's not desperate enough to reach for it. He's not.

[hunter_returns]

He threw up his hands. "Fine. Then if you're so fine, you can give the scotch a break for a damned day. When we hit town, we need to break out the Fed suits and no one's going to take Agent Geddy Lee serious when you smell like a goddamn distillery."

"You need help, Dean. You need to talk to someone. It's fine if it's not me. But talk, get laid, get into a fight, just stop bottling all of this up. Please."

[100deaths_a_day]

"It hasn't affected the job, or my ability to do it, so what's the goddamned point?" No, he was really starting to get pissed off with this. The last thing he signed up for as a goddamned intervention.

"And just so you know, Sam." He let his irritation stress his his brother's name. "Last time I talked? I ended up on trial for my goddamned life. And lost!" He thought back to after Jo had disappeared. He'd picked up the lighter... and yeah, he'd contemplated just flicking it. But no, he'd slipped it back in his pocket, and carried on with the shit-storm he called his life. Because Sam needed him to.

[hunter_returns]

"What's the point?" Incredulous, he stared at his brother.

"The point is you lost that trial because you didn't think you were worth saving. You still don't. Never mind the people around you who give a good goddamn what happen to you. Never mind the fact that I'm watching you come the fuck apart and you won't let me help."

Sam shoved the bottle back in his hands, his voice quiet and hurt. "Here."

[100deaths_a_day]

"No, the point is that I lost the trial because everything is on me." He took the bottle back, but didn't swig from it. Instead, he replaced the cap, and held it between his legs.

"Talk. That's what you want to do, Sam. Talking doesn't it. It won't change anything." It won't stop him coming apart, it won't do anything.

[hunter_returns]

Sam barely suppressed the violent urge to grab Dean and shake him until his teeth rattled. "Did you hear a goddamn thing I said in there? It's not on you. Yeah, you called me when Dad went missing, but it was my decision to stay. Mine."

"You've done that since we were kids. Stop. It's not all on you. Stop paying for my mistakes."

[100deaths_a_day]

It's not like you had much choice there, was it, Sammy? Me dragging you back in took that damned choice away.

And while he knew deep down that staying with him was a mistake... It still kinda hurt to hear Sam say it aloud. Like a damned shot through the heart.

"...fine, whatever." He went back to looking out the window and trying to fix the gaps in his damned emotional dam, making himself unreadable.

[hunter_returns]

Punching him won't solve anything.
Punching him won't solve anything.

"Ass." Sam clenched the wheel and shoved the key back into the ignition, jamming the car into drive. There were only so many times he could extend his hand and get it bitten before he was going to seriously reconsider doing it again.

Would he ever stop completely? No. But there were times when he very seriously wondered.

[100deaths_a_day]

"Be careful with the damned car." He snapped, before going back to looking out of the window.

While most of his trouble lay in the fact that he didn't want to talk about his issues, firmly set in the belief that it wouldn't and couldn't change anything so what was the point in burdening others with his problems when he can suck it up and deal with it on his own... the other problem lay in that he'd been sucking it up and dealing alone for so long, he didn't know how to let others help.

It's times like these he almost wished Sam would punch him. He knew how to deal with that better; and it'd also not only let Sam vent some of the irritation he was feeling, but Dean knew it was less than he deserved.

[hunter_returns]

The longer they drove, the more irritated and upset Sam got. He needed to help Dean and his dumbass brother couldn't or wouldn't let him.

Sam had been doing better since the reservoir. Not great, but better. Until he lost control of his emotions. When he got pissed off, frightened or hurt, the flames licked a little closer to his field of vision and Lucifer became that much clearer.

He tried to ride it out, white knuckling the steering wheel for miles until he finally pulled off, pale and sweating. "Drive. Just fucking drive."