A/N: A glimpse of Dean's desperate mindset through his attempts to talk Sam out of strolling down the memory lane and picking at the Wall.
Set through ep. 6.13 Unforgiven, mentions of events in ep. 6.11Appointment in Samarra.
Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot-points, inherent to the show, belong to me.
in circuit lies*
The things he won't tell Sam, throwing all of his fright's worth into semi-coherent arguments. Grasping at straws to make Sam reconsider, back away from this hunt, pull out of the memory lane, back away from the friggin' Wall before it's too late. The things he knows not how to tell Sam to make him hear, for there are no words to spell them out. That he died to try and bully Death. That it was every bit as stupid an idea as it sounds. That he's never been so terrified of actually dying for real, not even before Hell, since if he had, it wouldn't make a damn difference to anyone that time. Wouldn't make a difference to the Sam his brother is hell-bent on remembering now. To the Sam Dean would give anything to forget.
He won't tell that Death made him chose between Sam and Adam. A brother he lost and a brother he never really had. He won't tell that it was hardly a matter of choice. He won't tell that he needs to hate himself for there being none, yet would never have chosen otherwise. Not ever.
He won't tell that he was Death. That he blew it. That nurse Jolene had to die. That her husband didn't want to live. That Hilary's Dad would never hope again. That Dean despises himself for issuing them hope in the first place more than for taking it away. That more chaos and sadness were unleashed onto the world by Dean's hand than it's usually soaked into, to make sure Sam would be saved from damnation. So that Dean could be saved too.
He won't tell that the simple math keeps him awake at night. Every night since. One life appeared a fair trade for six billion back in the day, kill him as it did. One life is no match for any other one, though. For any other two. Sam met his end so that Jolene and Hilary could live another year, and now they are gone so that his brother could live again, a human. He won't tell that it doesn't add up in his head. That it hurts to add up with every breath he takes. The only life he's ever deemed an instant substitute for that of Sam's, with nary a second thought or reservation, is his own. But it was not in the cards this time around. He was Death, not dying. He won't tell that it would all be for naught, if Sam keeps scratching.
All the things he can't tell Sam for those are not his brother's burdens to haul for the rest of his days. These are on Dean and Dean alone. The things he won't tell Sam, waxing desperate on playing Russian roulette with memory, instead. But the truth is – Sam never asks…
*Cf. 'Tell all the truth but tell it slant' by Emily Dickinson.