"What Hurts the Most"
Kripke owns Supernatural, no money made from this.
Set a few days after CSPWDT. More angst cause I feel the new season isn't giving me enough!!! Try to imagine Dean like he was at the Chicago Comicon, cradling the mike and looking yummy. Song lyrics are just for effect, please don't sue me. No wincest that just sick!!
Warm air and the pungent smell of alcohol sneaked out the heavy sound proofed double doors as they swished shut with a thump behind them. Glasses chinked and subdued chatter and laughter wafted across the darkened bar, muffled by the austere lighting and plush furnishings. "The Blue Room" was, well, blue in décor, but had a sophisticated vibe cultivated by an older clientele than the usual rabble. The glass topped bar stretching the length of the room matched the tables surrounding it, and tiny blue lights twinkled like stars in the centrepieces of each booth and alcove, giving almost a Christmassy feel to the place.
Its patrons conversed in low tones and only the odd burst of laughter from the hen party in the corner broke the cool ambience. Thirtysomething professionals enjoyed the bar's womb like blue hazed lighting which bathed the private booths from above. Cool swing style jazz crooned from the hidden speakers at a volume comfortable to chat over. A small raised stage off to the left of the bar housed a band setting up their gear, including a baby grand piano and a drum kit.
Dean spied the lack of pool table and darts board and sighed in frustration. The place was a little outside his comfort zone- no beer soaked floors or chipped table tops here, no chance. This was more Sam's style for sure.
It was the first bar they'd spied from their motel and Dean didn't care enough to comment. He just needed a drink, of anything. Anything to numb the pain inside. Dean had acquiesced silently, unwilling or unable to argue with his brother after his breakdown at the side of the road a few days ago. He's been mostly silent since, retreating behind his hooded eyes.
He was as numbed by his words as much as his brother was.
Unable to say anymore, or make Sam feel better'cos he'd nothing left inside. Nothing but hurt, nothing but pain. He felt like he was drowning it. Only his Dad's chilling last words echoed inside. Made it burn more than he could bear.
Couldn't meet Sam's eyes since, not really. Not since he'd spilled his soul at the side of the road, and Sam couldn't answer him back.
So here they were, driving onward with no place in mind, letting the Impala eat up the miles slowly to run in the new V8 engine he'd graced her with. Wished he could fix himself as easily.
Dean had grunted at Sam's suggestion of a quiet drink, - "someplace nice, for a change," but had followed his brother out across the street to the nearest bar anyway. Determined to drink away some of the pain at least while staying close to brother.
Sam had taken over since Dean's confession at the roadside. The fact that Dean let him said volumes about how broken his brother was inside. Sam had made all the conversation and decisions since.
Tried to lift the weight threatening to destroy his brother. Saw the toll it took on him just to be. To exist. To carry on without their Dad.
He'd had no words of consolation for him.
No words to explain his father's actions or the events that took place at the hospital. Nothing that would change the truth or ease his brother's pain.
So he'd let him be. Didn't ask him for any more. Didn't push him for anything or ask him to talk. He just let him be.
Sam talked instead. He always had. Talked about Jess, about Stanford, about music concerts and all-nighter essays while too hung over to see straight. He talked about his old friends, soccer games and rugby matches and Jess's love of shopping. He talked about baking cookies and burning out the oven, and he and Jess breaking their bed with their nighttime antics. Tiny wry smile leaked out of Dean at that one, eyes flicked over briefly from the road to his brother for just a second, before retreating again. Sam talked about everything and anything to try and lift the ache settling inside the Impala. Watched as his brother fisted his hands on the steering wheel, and clenched his jaw as he stared at the rolling blacktop again.
Sam wasn't used to this new Dean. This silent, shattered man with so much bubbling under the surface, ready to erupt at a moments notice. He looked ready to break if Sam pushed again. So he didn't. He just let him be.
Dean appreciated his brother's attempts. Actually enjoyed his brother's rambling and funny stories about the time they'd been apart. Saw a whole new side of him and it warmed him a little as his brother glowed whenever he mentioned Jess.
She had been a taboo subject for so long, this was new. Kinda nice, even.
The new taboo subject was Dad. Any mention of him brought the ramble to an abrupt stop. Tears were pushed back and lumps gulped down, before Sam could start again.
So Dean had released the reins for a bit: let Sam drive and decide the route, pick when and where to stay the night, get food in and laundry done, fill up the Impala and clean all the weapons.
Sam did it all and Dean let him.
Dean hooked the two beers in one hand as he slide smoothly into a corner booth. It gave him a full view of the whole bar as he unconsciously scoped it for danger. Found none and let himself sink a little lower in the chair as Sam snaked in beside him.
Noting the range of clientele filling the crowded bar, Sam was glad of the new threads he'd bought for the two of them. Shut out by Dean while he battered and rebuilt the Impala at Bobby's, Sam had little else to do, and after a few days grieving around the house, Bobby had suggested he get out for a while. Retail therapy was a concept Jess had enjoyed immensely. Sam had always seen it as a necessary chore, but being in the giant Galleria reminded him of her, and he actually found it passed the time without making him think of his Dad for a little while. The usual frugal Winchester philosophy went out the window, and Sam shopped to excess. He burned through 3 fake credit cards and didn't feel guilty at all.
A new top of the range laptop, 2 new camera cell phones, 2 new ipods, a new watch for Dean and a whole new wardrobe for both of them were purchased to replace much of what had been broken or lost in the crash.
He'd paused over the clothes for Dean. Knew he'd lost too many to blood and sweat, gunshot holes, barbed wire fences, killer zombies and rawheads over the last few months. He picked some of Dean's usual fare- blue torn Levis, T-shirts and checked lumber shirts-for work wear with warmth in mind. But he lingered over some rock T-shirts, and couldn't resist a Led Zeppelin black number and a Ramones ones too. He also picked some polo necks and tailored sweaters – oatmeal and navy, Dean looked best in, and he got some slacks too- a size smaller than usual 'cos Dean had lost so much weight lately. Jess would have been proud of his shopping escapade, but Sam got little pleasure from replacing that which they'd lost.
Dean hadn't commented on the purchases at all. One eyebrow had only risen slightly as he rummaged through his duffle and pulled out an oatmeal chunky wool knit jersey and smart cut denims. Snapped the label off with brute force when one had poked him sharply.
He had only nodded his thanks as he accepted the new phone a few days previously. Sam had already loaded it with their meagre supply of family pictures, and his favourite tunes, as well as a list of all their contacts. Only Dad's number was omitted, eliciting a stab of pain and a flicker across Dean's face when he noticed its absence. He'd blinked back the tears again; muttered "Thanks, Sam," before stuffing it in a back pocket and walking back again to the ruined Impala.
Cradling his 6th beer by the neck, Dean didn't even notice the pretty barmaid giving him the eye as she cleared their table of empty shot glasses and bottles. His wandering attention was caught by the stage. Something was obviously amiss. The gear was all set up, mikes tested and sound checked and the silver longhaired drummer sat slaking a beer as he conversed tersely with a grungy young dude cradling a fender stratocaster. The piano player had a smart suit on, and he too joined the conversation but was shaking his head and looking agitated. They made a bit of a motley bunch, and Dean wondered what they would sound like. Probably some emo crap covers Sam will like, he thought. Aware he was already slightly drunk, but nowhere near drunk enough to go to bed and sleep, he settled in to start another bottle.
Sam felt like he'd had enough already. He didn't realise how tiring making decisions could be. Didn't realise how much he just floated along and let Dean take care of things. He was wrecked, but he still worried about leaving Dean on his own. Sensing Dean was settling in for the duration, and not seeing anyone he could really get in a fight with, Sam conceded to leave Dean alone for a few hours while he caught a little shuteye.
His brother didn't even seem to notice if he was there or not these days, he'd been shutting him out for so long. Dean barely stirred, just grunted and nodded as Sam told him he'd come back for him in a bit. He cast one last concerned glance back at his brother as he made his way across the jammed bar to the doors, but Dean just watched him go, sucked a long draw on his beer and made no move to follow.
It was obvious the band had a problem. Dean watched the guitarist make his way to the barman and the two conversed intently. Things were getting heated as the barman's face grew more animated. He poked the younger man in the chest and pointed to the stage, indicating for him to get on with it. Dean saw the guitarist's face flush and jaw clench as he strode back to the others, shaking his head in anger.
The bar was packed now with an expectant crowd. The blackboard outside proclaimed live music every Friday but the band hadn't played a note all night.
Dean's roving eye caught the pretty barmaid and she sauntered over to him, making out she was wiping his table, when she actually felt like wiping down the green eyed foxy devil for a bit. Dean summoned some of his reserves and used his usual charm. He even managed to grin rakishly at her. It hurt less than it had before.
"What the problem, sweetheart? Looks like the folks are expecting a show." Dean jutted his chin at the gathered crowd in front of the bar, tried to make out like he cared.
"They are, but the lead singer hasn't showed up and Ricky's getting mad," her southern drawl was sweet to Dean's ears. She tilted her head to indicate the burly man behind the bar.
"He's already paid the band for the gig, but none of the rest can sing worth a damn, and they know it. Charlie's probably banged up in the joint or passed out somewheres, who knows," she shrugged as she reconsidered the handsome guy with beautiful sad eyes who studied her intently. She saw such a deep hurt in them, it almost made her draw back. She wouldn't be bedding this guy tonight, that's for sure.
Sam made it all the way to the door of the motel before he realized he didn't have the key to get in. He'd slipped it into Dean's jacket earlier without thinking. Cursing his stupidity he considered for one second going to the manager to let him in, but niggling guilt at leaving Dean to drink alone drove him striding back along the street towards The Blue Room. It was only a 15-minute walk but Sam didn't relish having to carry a catatonic Dean back all the way by himself.
Sam was surprised at the change in the bar as he entered it for a second time that night. It was packed and the once subdued crowd was now hollering and clapping at the stage, and he found he had to slide sideways in to make his way through them. Sam focused on the booth at the back of the room where he'd left his brother, but was surprised, and then worry spiked when he didn't spot him. The band was playing its own version of "Home" by Michael Buble, in keeping with the sophisticated vibe of the bar, and all the patrons appeared entranced by the performance.
He looked round, scoping the room quickly and efficiently scanning the faces, but despite the number of folk filling the bar; Dean was nowhere to be seen.
Sam ignored the noise as he focused, tried to think were Dean might have sloped off to, hoping he hadn't been arrested. Suddenly the crowd hushed as a single acoustic guitar started the opening riffs of Damien Rice's "Cannonball". Recognising it, Sam turned to the stage and froze at the sight in front of him.
Dean sat on a high stool cradling the mike stand to him like a beautiful woman. His cowboy boots were hooked on the footrest of the stool and his left hand rested lightly on the vertical mike stand in front of him. His right hand gently cupped the mike, tipping it forward to him, silver ring sparkling in the spot light, and he leaned forward and closed his eyes as he started to sing the opening lines.
"There's still a little bit of your taste, in my mouth.
Still a little bit of you laced, with my doubt,
Still a little hard to say, what's going on …"Sam couldn't believe his eyes or his ears. Couldn't believe his brother had got up to sing in front of people. Real people.
He hated karaoke, refused point blank to even sing carols as a child in school. He usually only sang badly in the shower to annoy Sam or nicely in the car when they were really bored.
But this?
This was incomprehensible.
Had Dean taken all leave of his senses?
They couldn't risk exposure like this, what if there was a cop in the bar; they'd be busted for sure. He panicked and studied the crowd; able to spot a cop anywhere, relieved only slightly when he didn't spot anything suspicious.
He didn't even know Dean could sing like that. Jesus, he was good for Christ's sake! That had been him singing "Home" with a jazz twist which sounded incredible.
Sam ducked back into one of the dark alcoves as he studied the stranger on the stage in awe. Dean obviously hadn't wanted Sam to see him like this.
Dean had put on the navy wool beanie hat Sam had bought him.
It made him look very different than normal, which Sam supposed he had been hoping for. He looked completely at ease on the tiny stage. Head tilted to one side as he continued the second verse. Green eyes almost brimmed with tears as he languidly opened them and looked at the crowd. The words came out of him with such emotion, such intensity, that everyone in the bar was mesmerised by the solitary figure on the stage. The rest of the band was in darkness behind him, and the haunting riffs of the acoustic guitar cut across the bar with a poignant edge.
The crowd was silent.
No glasses chinked.
No one moved as the man on the stage held them transfixed with the emotion he conveyed in the song.
"Stones taught me to fly. Love taught me to lie.
Life taught me to die. So it's not hard to fall
When you flow like a cannonball…"
The crowd erupted as he finished, head dropping as if exhausted by the release the song had evoked, seemingly unaware of the whooping and cheering crowd calling for more.
Sam gulped back his own tears as he watched his brother's grief unfurl on the stage under the guise of performance.
He watched as Dean tilted his head back to the band, saw him agree with whatever was said, and tapped his foot to the count in and the start of the piano.
Sam recognised the opening bars immediately of Simple Plan's "How could this happen to me?" and tried to choke down the immediate pain the song elicited in him.
The band seemed to be choosing many of Sam's "emo songs" – ones they listened to when it was Sam's choice of tunes – emo music that Dean purported to hate with a vengeance and bitched incessantly about until they were switched off.
Didn't seem to stop him knowing all the words though, and singing them so evocatively, so painfully it took Sam's breath away.
The band were playing to the house, and the house loved it.
"…And I can't stand the pain. I can't make it go away,
No I can't stand the pain.
How could this happen to me?
I've made my mistakes….."
Dean's voice almost cracked with emotion as he continued through the ballad. The guitar cutting in half way to back up the piano gave him time to pause and compose himself a little before he stood up, gripping the mike tightly in both hands to give the closing verse some real volume.
Sam didn't know the depths of his brother's pain. His confession at the roadside had barely scratched the surface, Sam realised.
Here Dean was laying it out, for all to see, as long as it wasn't his brother. Sam hurriedly wiped the tears from eyes at the thought. Hurt that Dean felt he had to hide so much of himself all the time.
The cheering crowd dragged his attention back to the stage. Dean was sitting again and the lights came up a little on the band as the familiar opening guitar and deep bass of Rascal Flatt's "What hurt's the most" cut through the murmuring crowd. Smart piano guy had produced a violin and was delicately playing the haunting draws of the opening.
Dean appeared to shake his head, almost in disbelief at the band's song choice, but it didn't stop him reaching forward for the mike again, eyeing the violinist for his cue, and singing like his life depended on it.
"… what hurts the most,
Was bein so close.
And having so much to say, and watching you walk away.
And never knowin,
What could've been.
And now I've seen that lovin you,
Was what I was trying to do…"Dean's voice was soft, but the tone was strong. Sam detected his Texan lilt creeping in just enough to keep the song in its country roots as the guitar and strings weeper rose to a crescendo in the hushed bar.
The irony of the words weren't lost on Sam, and he knew this was Dean's way of dealing, of existing without John, when so much had been left unsaid. If Dean couldn't find the words himself, he would make do with other people's, for now.
When what had been said was so wrong. So hurtful. Back in that cabin in the woods. Twisted half-truths and lies entwined by evil, wearing his father's face. Tearing Dean's soul out with words while his hands clawed into his heart. Sam gasped back a sob as the memory and horror threatened to overwhelm him.
The pain was almost too much to bear.
Sam scrubbed at his face to compose himself. His suffering was only a fraction of his brothers, he thought. The least he could do was keep it together, long enough for Dean to weld himself back together like he had the Impala. Long enough for them to get on and deal with whatever it would take to finish this. To kill that evil sonavabitch.
Sam dragged himself from his inner torment to view his brother's again. The crowd had fallen silent again and the band had started a song that Sam didn't know. The acoustic guitar was back, leading into a powerful ballad, beautiful, haunting and passionate and the words appeared to sear Dean's soul wide open.
"When I see your smile, I will never let you fall,
Tears roll down my face, I can't replace
And now that I'm strong I have figured out
How this world turns cold and it breaks through my soul,
And I know I'll find, deep inside me, I can be the one
I'll stand up with you forever.
I'll be there for you through it all,
Even if saving you sends me to heaven."
But Dean was acting like a pro. Sam saw the shoulders straighten, the hands relaxed around the mike and he casually got to his feet for the closing finale. Mask firmly back in place like always.
Sam actually jumped as the crashing electric guitar cut in unexpectedly and huge bass and drums pulsed and exploded through the huge speakers. Dean leaned forward cradling the mike in both hands as he belted out the closing verse. Eyes closed, veins bulging sweat dripping down the side of his face.
But the voice was sure.
Was steady and strong.
And the notes were held. Pure until the very end.
Just like Dean.
The crowd were silent for a beat, blown away by the intensity and volume of the performance. Dean paused, seemed lost for a bit, before coming back. To the room, to the crowd and those around him. He smiled a little wry watery grin, and the spell was broken.
The bar erupted then into cheering and hollering as the band members came forward and took their dues. Slapped Dean on the back like an old friend and shook his hand, giving him hi fives as the crowd roared for more.
Sam dived out the door before Dean could see him in the crowd.
He didn't want him to know he'd seen him. Didn't want to break the spell Dean had spun with his pain.
He ran back to the motel, legs pumping, lungs burning, heart clenching with the sorrow he had just witnessed. He stripped and jumped straight into the shower. Tried to digest what he'd just experienced while the water pummelled his back. Tried to calm his breathing and get it together before Dean got back. Was just about there 20 minutes later when the door clicked open and shut.
"Hey"
"Hey yourself," Dean managed not to grunt for a change. Even congratulated himself for it.
"J'is wasn't expecting you back so soon, that's all," Sam lied.
"Got tired's all," Dean must have been shattered. It was the only time his Texas drawl was really pronounced. He turned his back to Sam as he crawled into bed, fully clothed, too wrecked to even take them off.
Sam paused as he glanced at his brother, then sighed and pulled the boots off for him. Dean didn't stir, deep breathing signifying an alcohol induced catatonia.
The shutters were down.
Walls firmly back in place.
Sam was back where he started.
On the outside. But maybe his brother would be better, after tonight, he thought. Maybe.
And Sam could wait. Would wait a long time if that's what Dean needed.
Until he could take the reins back, Sam would carry him along. Catch him when he falls. Be there to stand up for him, and keep him safe. Just like Dean had always done for him.
The end
The final song was "Your Guardian Angel" by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. Check out all the songs mentioned by searching You tube and Supernatural for some truly fantastic and awe inspiring videos made by various fans. Enjoy an dplease review!!!