A Worried Brother (s7)
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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This time, in place of nameless, faceless souls, the rack was full of people that had fallen into or was a part of the family - with Dean - and paid with their lives.
Jo. Ellen. Pamela. Dad. Ashe. and many others.
He didn't mean to, didn't want to, but in the end, Dean ended up cutting through them all. Osiris's trial had just confirmed what he already knew.
No, Dean wasn't alright. He wasn't fine. During their most recent talk, he'd said as much to Sam, he'd given his cry for help, it was just up to Sam to hear it...
He snapped awake silently, and there was confusion written on his face for a minute, before Impala, Back Seat sunk in.
Wait a minute.
"S'm? Why'm I in the backseat?" Voice muzzy with sleep and impending hangover.
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Problem was, Sam didn't know what was going to help.
"Because you were tired, Dean. You needed to sleep and we're still meeting Bobby tomorrow."
The scotch hadn't helped matters either.
Sam had heard the cry loud and clear. He just didn't know what to do about it. "Here." He passed back his coffee without taking his eyes off the road. "Probably need this more than I do."
They drove along in silence for a few more miles before Sam spied a sign. 'Scenic overlook ahead, 5 mi'.
That was as good a place as any.
Sam pulled into the stop, threw the car into park and pocketed the keys. They weren't going anywhere until Dean talked. Sam looked down at his hands on the steering wheel, rubbing the scar across his palm.
"You can't keep going like this, Dean. We need you, but we need you together. And don't.. don't tell me you're fine. You're not."
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"You have me. I'm together. I'm dealing. You're saying it like I've already flown the cuckoo's nest."
Well, this looked like it was going to need a 'hair of the dog'.
"stay there." And with a small groan where his head protested against his movements, he opened the car door, and got himself out. He stretched, feeling his spine crack after sleeping in the back as he did, and popped the trunk. He grabbed the small bottle, and climbed into the front after secreting it in his jacket inside pocket.
"Come on then Dr. Phil. Let's do this."
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"No, Dean. You're not. You were ready to let Osiris gank you when none of it was your fault. Hell, you looked pissed at me when I told you that I didn't feel that guilty anymore."
"You drink until you pass out. And even then you're still having nightmares."
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None of it was his fault? Who the hell does Sam think he;'s kidding?
He sighed heavily. "Not pissed at you for it." Well.... he'd admitted a lot before he'd drunk to pass out last night. Maybe he could just set this little thing straight. "A little jealous, I guess."
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"Dean.. it's not your fault. The life we lead.. it's not safe, it's not safe and people get hurt. But that doesn't mean you have to hold yourself responsible for all of it. You're not omnipotent, you can't see everything coming."
"Stop trying to do it alone. Please. Let us help you."
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"Everyone's got enough to worry about without me adding to it."That, and he didn't know what he could do to even start to make up for a lot of his guilt.
"No, I can't - as you said back in that damned room: I'm not the one with the psychic gig. But I should be able to do a better damned job of doing something when it does come."
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Not going to be able to do what? Save the world again? Find Cas? Save or avenge him?
"You keep carrying it around like this and it's gonna break you apart. Me and Bobby.. we need you Dean. We need you together. Talk to us. Talk to him. Punch me out, kick the car, do something!"
Sam had learned to handle a lot of things. Watching his brother self-destruct was not one of them.
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No. Dean was going to keep on internalizing, and he was going to have to watch his brother come apart at the seams because he was too damned stubborn to reach out for help.
A haze danced along just outside his field of vision. Reflexively, Sam rubbed at his palm. The stitches were long gone, it didn't even hurt anymore, but there was something about the gesture that reinforced what was real and what wasn't.
"Dean, it's okay. Look, you can't keep holding this in."
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