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 put him under long enough for Sam to haul his brother into the backseat.

The cup balanced on one leg, Sam turned the car back onto the highway. They had to drive most of the night if they wanted to meet up with Bobby on time, and Dean was in no shape to drive. Again. He switched the headlights on and accelerated, breathing in the warm smell of the coffee against the cool interior of the Impala.

He was trying not to let his frustration show, and the longer Dean insisted he was fine, the more frustrated Sam got. He wasn’t all right. He was coming apart at the seams, and he wasn’t letting anyone help him. Dean was back to that same self-destructive bent he had when he’d come back from Hell. Thinking he wasn’t worth saving and so wrapped up in self-hatred and guilt that he didn’t even see how much it was hurting the people that loved him.

He sipped at the coffee, letting the cup rest between his legs as he drove. Dawn was just starting to tint the sky a pale shade of blue. It was going to be one hell of a sunrise.

He’d told Dean the truth. He still saw Hell, still saw Lucifer, and there were still times when he had a hard time telling the difference between what was real and what wasn’t. But he was getting a handle on it. He felt better. He wasn’t laboring under any illusion – he’d never be all right. He’d always be a Grade A Freak, but at least he was managing. Sam.. couldn’t help but wonder if Dean resented him a little because somehow he’d made peace with his past, with everything that he’d done.

His mind amended bitterly that if the stubborn jackass would just talk to someone.. he’d probably feel better too.

But he wouldn’t. Because it was Dean and he didn’t know any other way.
So Sam drove on in silence. He drove, and he worried. He was losing his brother and he didn’t know how to save him this time.

Comments

[100deaths-a-day.livejournal.com]

He was sleeping fitfully. The nightmare he was trapped under, despite the scotch, had been the same as many others. Hell. The rack. This time, it was a little different.

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.

Re-thread

[100deaths-a-day.livejournal.com]

"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.

Re-thead

[100deaths-a-day.livejournal.com]

If there was one thing he could do? It was focus on and take care of Sam. He'd been watching Sam out of the corner of his eye for a little while now, growing increasingly more concerned.

It was when they pulled over that he finally said "Hey, you okay, Sam?"