Title: And It All Comes Crumbling Down
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Dean and Sam no pairings
Rating: PG-13 (Angst ahead)
Spoilers: Season one and two up till ELAC
Disclaimer: I wish, I don't own anything that pretty and broken.
Summary: "Touch up your car Dean before you get rust. I would never have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it"
Author's Note: When John made that offhand remark and Kripke just shrugged it off, it really bothered me. I think Dean would stew over what his dad said, remember it and punish himself with it later. I was tempted to rewrite it to include The Secret but then I thought I might cry from all the angst so I left it out. Please tell me what you think and if you think I should rewrite it with The Secret. P.S. This is my first fanfic so please be gentle. Thanks!

AngstAngstAngst

Dean felt disconnected, detached, it was the way he always felt nowadays, apart, not focused, not accepting their dads death, his sacrifice, his sacrifice for Dean. He saw the tire iron hit his beloved impala over and over again, felt the burn in his muscles and still-raw chest. But he felt nothing, no anger, no sadness, nothing. Suddenly he heard his dad's voice floating through the junkyard, whispering to him.

...Touch up your car Dean, before you get rust. I would never have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it...

The tire iron fell from nerveless fingers. Dean stepped back horror struck as he saw the damage he had inflicted on his beloved baby.

I would never have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it...

The words repeated over and over in his head. He sank down against the car, head in his hands and moaned quietly.

...thought you were going to ruin it...

Suddenly the wall he had worked to build, the fortress in his mind, shattered under the impact of his fathers words. The tidal wave of hurt and fear and anger and grief, crashed into the weakened walls and they crumbled, leaving him bare and vulnerable to the pain. He smashed his head into the car repeatedly trying to keep the tears at bay.

...I would never have given you the damn thing...

Dean pressed his face into the familiar leather interior that had been his home his entire life and cried for the first time in 23 years. He cried for his mother and the horror that happened that night, plunging his family into darkness and forfeiting his childhood. He cried for the fights between his brother and father, fights that always left him in the middle, trying to piece his family together again. He cried for Sam's betrayal and all the hurt and pain it had brought him after he had raised him and protected him. He cried for Cassie's rejection, for the breaking of the shattered heart that he had tentatively given to her. He cried for his dad's disappearance, his abandonment after everything Dean had given up for him. He cried for Pastor Jim and Caleb, the ones who had helped him, given him shelter when he couldn't take his dad and Sam's arguing anymore. He cried for his dad's death, for the big ever-deepening chasm in his heart that grew and grew and bled black poison, forcing him to distance himself from Sam in an attempt to protect his little brother from the dark thing he had become. Dean's tears continued, as he cried for everyone he hadn't been able to save, everyone the darkness had taken despite his efforts. Dean cried until he could cry no more and he leaned back against his baby once more. He felt empty and alone, his tears had changed nothing, only reminded him of the things he had lost and the people he had failed.

Spent, he got up self-loathing filling him for his moment of weakness. He retrieved his tools and slid back under his baby, vowing to return it to the condition his dad had given it to him in.

AngstAngstAngst

Sam had heard the window shatter, had been heading back to make sure his brother was okay when he heard the tire iron's assault on the Impala. He peered around the junk cars in Bobby's yard and paled at what he saw. Dean. His brother Dean. Hitting the Impala. Dean's face was a mask, no emotions coming through, the same mask he'd been wearing since the doctors had called their dad's death a week and a half ago. Sam turned, his words coming back to haunt him.

I don't care how you deal with this, but you have to deal with it man!

Dean was dealing with it, well he was trying. Sam knew his brother better than anyone. He knew that the attack on the Impala was a desperate cry for help, knew that while it might give his brother some kind of release now, he would be hit with guilt later and it would be one step forward, two steps back. Sam sighed as he sat on Bobby's porch. He knew his brother was trying to be strong for him but he wondered why a smart man like his Dean couldn't see that his "strong silent act" was hurting Sam more than if he had broken down in his arms. He leaned back, maybe Dean would come around on his own. He hoped he did soon.

AngstAngstAngst

Dean worked on the car. Like he had told Sam, it was all he could do. Working on the car allowed him to forget. It allowed him to build up his wall again, make it stronger, thicker, bigger. He worked on the car and built his wall, piece by piece he shoved the pain he had experienced into a box at the back of his mind. He padlocked the box and lined it with steel, placing it safely behind all his walls. Lying under his car was where he could build his wall. Unbidden, his father's words came back to him.

...I would never have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it...

The wall Dean had been carefully reconstructing came crumbling down, ripped apart by his father's words. Out of the few people in Dean's life only his father had ever been able to tear into his wall so completely. Before today though, there was always something left, he never allowed anyone, not his father, or brother, or anyone, to see the real him. He was unimportant, his life's purpose was to protect his brother, obey his father and mediate between the two people he loved while they tore him apart. Now though, only one was left. Half his life was gone, half his heart was empty. He survived only by focusing on Sam. Sam was his anchor. Sam was his means of survival. Only by protecting Sam could he himself survive.

...Take care of Sammy...

How many times had he heard those words? How many times had he repeated them to himself while he dove in front of some danger heading for his brother? The words were engraved in his heart. Along with "Suck it up soldier" and "Not following orders gets people killed." They were his personal commandments, his code of behaviors. When his father said the words though, words he hadn't heard from him in ages, they had a sense of finality and importance. Those words and the ones whispered to him afterwards focused his resolve, made Sam his purpose, his life. His dad was gone, Sammy was here, Sam needed him.

...I'm not all right, not at all. But neither are you, that much I know...

Dean remembered Sam's earlier words and sighed. Sam was right, he wasn't all right, probably never would be all right. But Sam wasn't all right either and it was Dean's job to take care of Sam. Dean knew that if he broke down, It would tear Sam apart. He knew he had to be strong for Sam, be the big brother. It was all he had left. He sighed as he gave up on his walls and turned his attention to the car above him. Maybe they would fix themselves. He reached up and got lost in his work.