Author: Magicsunbeam
Rated: T for language
Genre: Angst, angst and errr….angst.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything remotely to do with Supernatural. It all belongs to WB.
A/N: Tag for the pilot episode. I can't believe that Sam would leave without saying goodbye to Jess, so this is my take on what happened after the episode finished.
Summary: But Dean Winchester was nothing if not a realist. He knew that the best he could do was to stand beside Sam, offer him his shoulder to lean on and to hold him up if necessary.
xxxx
Watching him from across the room, he didn't have to think too hard to know he'd never seen Sam hurting so much as he was right now. While it impressed him to see the younger man holding it together, all Dean Winchester really wanted to do was wrap his arms around his kid brother and make that hurt go away. To reassure him everything would be all right, and that what he had witnessed was nothing but a bad dream.
But Dean Winchester was nothing if not a realist. He knew that the best he could do was to stand beside Sam, offer him his shoulder to lean on and to hold him up if necessary.
Jess's death had been a real punch in the gut for Sam. A punch Dean was fairly sure he'd never truly recover from. He had seen first hand what grief does to a man in love, and if he was honest, he was scared shitless. Despite the tough façade, Dean Winchester possessed a soft centre for a small handful of things, and one of those things was his brother. It scared Dean to think that even if they did find the demon son of a bitch that was now responsible for bringing two Winchester men to their knees, it wasn't going to be enough.
Sam was going to blame himself; he knew that. As irritating as it was to Dean at times, it was Sam's nature to dissect a situation and then to suck up guilt over things that were so obviously not his fault.
He knew he did the same thing sometimes. He also knew his dad did too. Dean smiled to himself; it must be a Winchester gene thing. Thinking about their father, the smile fled. He had rung John Winchester right after Jess died. Of course, all he got was his voice mail, but Dean had left a message to tell him what had happened. He was careful to explain that Jess was Sam's girlfriend, and that she had died in the same way as their mom. Dean was so sure he would contact them, if for no other reason than to offer comfort to Sam.
Dean had been so pissed off when the call didn't come. Despite their constant fighting, despite his moving to California in an attempt to find a normal life, Sam loved his dad; that was never an issue. His dad should know that if ever there was a time Sam needed to hear his voice, to feel his comfort - his UNDERSTANDING, that time was now.
Maybe that was the problem right there? Dean knew Sam didn't understand their father either. Sam had no idea why his father would willingly drag two children into his fight, to put them through twenty plus years of constant danger, to mould them into his personal two-man army. He just didn't understand the obsession.
Perhaps until now.
As he saw it now, Dean's main mission was to be Sam's rock. To try to stop him falling in on himself. To prevent him from becoming the obsessed; or at least in the way his father had. Sam had already made it clear that he no longer intended to stay at Stanford – hell, he didn't even want to stay in Cali. The younger man had a new focus, and that was to track down and kill what ever it was that had killed Jess.
Dean looked around. Judging by the amount of people who were jammed into the big house, Jess had been a popular girl. He had met her only once, and then he was trying to lure Sam away to help find their father. She hadn't fought or made a fuss when Sam left that night; she just trusted his decision to go, seeing it as something Sam had to do. He had promised to be back in time for his interview at Stanford on Monday, and that was good enough for her.
Since then, Monday had come and gone, and instead of sitting an interview with high hopes of laying out a good future for himself, Sam had helped Jess's distraught parents arrange their only daughter's funeral. Dean knew nothing about Scott and Michelle Marney, but watching the couple over the past few days, it was evident they liked Sam a lot. Despite their own grief, they were aware of Sam's suffering enough to ask his opinion on what Jess would have liked.
Dean in the meantime had sat quietly in the background. He was astutely aware of the time they were losing trailing their father, but although Sam had offered to leave immediately, Dean had talked him into staying' recognising this as something Sam had to do properly. Trying to rush it would only bring more guilt down on him.
So when the police were done with him, and Sam had seen Jess's parents, Dean had driven to a motel in Palo Alto and booked a room for the duration. That night he sat with his brother as everything finally hit him and he went into shock. Behind the privacy of a closed door, Dean had held him – just like he used to hold six year old Sammy when he had awakened from a nightmare. As long hours passed, Dean held him again as he wept, puked, raged and wept some more. Finally exhausted, Sam fell asleep just before dawn. Only then, and with no one to witness it, did Dean allow some tears of his own.
xxx
Dean watched from his corner as people grouped together. Sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, they all spoke of Jess, and what a tragedy it was, and what her poor parents must be going through, and what Sam would do now.
On hearing his brother's name, Dean glanced at Sam, only to find him looking right back at him. Dean threw him a supportive smile and was relieved when he saw a ghost of a smile in return. Sam excused himself from the people he was talking to and crossed the room to join his brother.
"Hey."
"Hey, Sammy. How're you doing?"
"I'm okay." Sam lied.
Dean nodded. "Why don't you have a seat for a while?" he suggested, patting the dining chair beside him.
"Nah. Jess's parents really aren't up to having all these people here. I should circulate."
"Sam, no one is going to think bad of you for taking a little time out." Dean said, patting the chair firmly. "Circulate your ass here and give yourself a minute kiddo."
Sam deliberated before sighing and collapsing onto the chair. Sam leaned forward, elbows on knees and dropped his head into his hands. Sitting in such close proximity, Dean could feel despair and exhaustion rolling off his brother in waves. Once again, he found himself desperately wanting to tell Sam it would be okay. That in time things would become easier and that the pain he was in now would fade, if not go away altogether. Instead, he casually pressed his shoulder against Sam's, offering unspoken comfort.
Sam caught the gesture and turned to eye his brother.
"You know we can go anytime you say? I know we've spent more time here than we should have. Dad's trail will be getting cold."
"A couple more hours aren't going to make much difference Sam. Of course it's important that we get moving, but I don't want you leaving here before you're ready. This is a big thing, Sammy. You don't get to come back and do it again."
Sam shook his head and laughed darkly. "I sure as hell hope not."
"What I mean is you have to be sure you're ready to go. That you are sure there is nothing left undone here. You don't want to be a hundred miles up the road and start feeling guilty because you didn't take enough time saying goodbye."
Sam nodded his understanding.
"I just want you to be sure, Sammy. I'm here for you; I always will be little brother. I'm ready only when you are."
Sam smiled through new tears. "Thanks, Dean." He said, offering a subtle, low key high five. Dean took it and the two locked hands intensely. After a moment Sam got to his feet.
"I need to…"
"Circulate. I know." Dean grinned. "Go."
Sam looked at his brother and returned the grin before moving off toward a crowd of college kids. And as Dean watched him go, he knew.
It might take a while, and it probably wouldn't ever be completely, but Sam was going to be okay. Dean would make sure of it, and if it was to be without the help of his dad, then screw him. For the time being, all the Winchester boys needed were each other.
End