Too much time had passed and too much had slipped out from right under his nose. The walking, talking chick flick-waiting-to-happen wasn't pestering him for a heart-to-heart or asking questions. In fact, he hadn't been doing much as of late.
Not to imply that Geekboy hadn't been pulling his weight or anything. He was just being too damn compliant and quiet. The words Sam and quiet just sounded unnatural when used in the same sentence.
Sam ate healthy amounts of food and even did a passable job of faking sleeping. He was there, being all understanding and trying to make things easier to deal with. Trying to become someone he wasn't in order to make himself easier for Dean to be around.
He either ignored or was not aware of the concerned looks his older brother shot him. Whenever there was an irritated or angry gleam in Dean's eyes, however, Sam always seemed to catch those looks.
Even though he stopped trying to talk their feelings to death and stopped doing pretty much everything that bugged him, Dean found himself increasingly annoyed-and even a bit melancholy.
Despite the way Dean pushed his remaining family away, he found himself missing Sammy and wishing that this new-and-improved version of the grown-up Sam would just shove off to wherever the hell it came from.
For the 5th night in a row, Dean awoke to the sound of his little brother not sleeping-again. Damn it, he thought, I thought the nightmares had stopped. Probably an overload from bottling up all of those girly emotions in that freaky little brain of his.
Not eager to return to the land where the Sandman reigned, Dean resigned himself to stay awake and make sure that Sam got his trouble magnet ass back safe.
This time, though, he was going to try something new…
Creeping quietly behind the tall, lanky figure, Dean had to work hard to keep sleep-gritty eyes trained on the dark shape that threatened to meld with the dark. Shivering involuntarily at the path which those thoughts threatened to take him down upon, he pushed all emotions away. Now, all that was left was a hunter following unwitting prey.
Squinting suspiciously, Dean settled down as comfortably as he could in a dense forest and still be able to see Nature boy and find out what exactly he was doing here at 2 in the morning!
Annoyance was quickly pushed away by the knife that tore through his heart as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes.
Sam sat on the log in the middle of the tiny clearing. As suddenly as he sat down he was back on his feet. Pacing, he now looked like a caged tiger who was about to lash out at anyone who dared come near it.
Grabbing his head, Sam began to pound a fist slowly into the soft part of his temple. He kept hitting and hitting, putting more strength behind each blow before his hands fell to his sides and his knees hit the ground.
He couldn't speak. All he had wanted was for Dean to say something, to talk to him so that he could fix it. Or try to fix it. But no matter how hard he tried lately, nothing he did seemed to please Dean or ease the weight of the burden which kept threatening to drag them both down.
He felt such an ache in the hollow place his heart had previously occupied. The anger coursing through him kept threatening to break its tight hold and it was all he could do not to even go near the place in his head where everything that could break his control-his new image-lay.
It was all he could do not to smash his fist all the way into that stupid brain of his. All he could do not to plunge a dagger through his blackened heart. Whatever was left of it anyway.
Mom, Jess, Pastor Jim, Caleb, Dad… The list could only get bigger. And now the only person who stood between the Demon's plans for Sam was Dean.
Dean, who changed little Sammy's diapers and hugged his fears away. Dean, who stayed by his side and swallowed his pride to have the occasional chick flick moment for the brother he'd do anything for. The same Dean whose lively, mischievous green eyes lost their sparkle, turning hollow and just plain wrong. Dean, who lost his father and his will to live.
He doesn't want to be here anymore and the only reason he doesn't go to the family that is surely awaiting him at the pearly gates is me. How am I supposed to make him stay? What can I possibly do to convince him that he should stay?
For a brief moment, he thought about sharing his thoughts with his brother, but he pushed that insipid, little tidbit away.
"Shut up Sam. Just keep your stupid mouth shut. Like you haven't said enough!" he spat bitterly. "You've got no words to help him anymore," he whispered brokenly, unfeelingly.
Dean's eyes filled as he watched his seemingly together brother come apart at the seams. He watched as Sam fell to the ground and fought to bring his emotions back under the tightly-held control he seemed to wield.
And he kept watching as Sam took a small, but lethal, pocketknife and touched it lovingly-almost reverently. The pocketknife John Winchester had given Sam a couple of months before he left for college.
It was only then that Dean realized how self-absorbed he'd become. Yeah, Daddy Winchester had left him pretty much unprepared for the blow he'd delivered and yeah, he added to the rest of the world latched onto Dean's shoulders… But he'd also left him Sam.
Sam, who regardless of his own pain, loss, and uncertainty stayed by Dean's side unwavering. Sam, who took the verbal and physical abuse his hero threw at him. Sam, who was trying to make life bearable and worth living for Dean, so that he wouldn't lose the only family he'd ever really needed.
Only now did Dean realize that Sam had lost a father too. And he was still in the process of losing. He'd lost the only light out of this whole darkness with the Demon when Ava disappeared. He lost the ability to trust himself; he'd lost his confidence, his dreams. And he'd lose it all again and more to replace the whirlpool of despair Dean was moving towards with a well of light.
So frozen to the spot, rendered speechless, Dean Winchester sat paralyzed and watched as his now-stony-faced brother put his well-constructed mask back into place and stiffly walked out of the forest.
Two brothers whose love for one another blinds them both into oblivion. Two brothers riding side by side in a black '67 Chevy Impala, yet worlds apart.
And this time, not eve the classic '70s rock blaring through the speakers can shatter the silence which now stands as solid as a wall between two strangers finding one another and becoming whole again.