The Silence Is Easier
AN: I do not own Supernatural, as I have previously stated. I wish I did…but you know how that goes… This idea is mine, however, so I'm borrowing the boys and their emotional and psychological issues.
Sam just wished Dean would open up sometimes. It isn't healthy to keep that much emotion bottled up inside. Ever since Dad's death, the emotional time bomb that was Dean Winchester had become increasingly unstable. And Sam was praying for the release. Not a blow up. He had witnessed Dean in agony only a very few times and it was something he never wanted to see again. It was heart wrenching and excruciatingly terrifying, all at once.
The silence was all Sam had sometimes. It wasn't like he and Dean never spoke; they did. They had many a conversation. They talked about ghosts, and werewolves, and wendigos. They planned upcoming jobs and plotted clever cover stories. The brothers discussed which cheap motel room to stay in and which cheap diner to eat at. They even laughed at the antics of the locals occasionally. If they were both in a good mood, they talked about girls, alcohol, and sex. It was particularly painful when Sam had to listen to Dean tell some of his more memorable sexual encounters. But, he obliged him and laughed it off with a joke about Dean being a man-whore.
That was what they did. They joked with each other; wise-cracking through the silence. Or, they pranked each other, which was worse.
They talked and laughed, but they never really talked about anything. Nothing that mattered. They never talked about Mary. She was Dean's saint and Sam's martyr and all together a much too touchy subject. They certainly never talked about John. That was almost worse than any conversation about their mother had been. If Mary was Dean's saint, John was his hero. But, to Sam, he was nothing more than a flawed father, a general in combat. And, they never talked about the sacrifice both their parents had made for them. That was just asking for an emotional, angst-filled moment that Dean wanted no part of; never mind the fact he was about to explode with pent-up emotion.
They never talked about Jess unless it related to a nightmare, which occurred less and less. They never talked about regret, remorse, or revenge. They never talked about their loyalty to one another. It was understood. Responsibility was never mentioned. The big brother-little brother dynamic was tried and true. They were Winchesters. Death was an acceptable sacrifice to make for someone. Letting down the walls that caged you in, being honest, saying those three dreaded words, well, that was another matter entirely.
So, it wasn't like Sam was unused to hearing Dean's deep, rich voice. In fact, sometimes Sam thought he heard too much from Dean. But, despite it all, Dean was the Winchester who actually said the least even though he usually spoke the most.
Sam knew it was pathetic, but in the silence he could imagine a real conversation between Dean and himself. He could imagine conversations that didn't begin with "That killer truck…" or "Let's burn some bones, Sammy…" or "I think I may need some stitches…" Was that a selfish thing to do? Sam didn't think so. He imagined Dean opening up, being honest. Sam imagined having a real brotherly relationship, being a real family. Of course, deep down he knew it was all imaginary. Sam imagined what it would be like to know Dean, to really know what was going on in that thick skull. To see what was behind the miles-thick façade. He dreamed about it, but did he ever really want it?
Because one day, Dean broke down.
He couldn't go any more and Sam knew that day would come. Sam had known and he was waiting to pick up the pieces. That was the day Sam realized Dean hadn't broken, he'd shattered. And the pieces weren't scattered, several were missing. Sam realized Dean was a puzzle that would always be jumbled and incomplete. And that frightened Sam more than any vampire, hell hound, or big, freakin' demon could. Sam realized that he depended on Dean. If Dean was strong, Sam believed everything would be alright.
On the day Sam found out Dean wasn't superhuman, he felt a little less safe and a little more lost. It was selfish, but suddenly, Sam wanted Dean to keep lying to him. That's what happens when you put all your faith in one person. When that person falls, so do you. Sam knows this, but he doesn't care. He knows Dean will get back up. Dean will get off his knees, shoot off some smart-a remark, and plaster that fake, megawatt smile right back in place.
At least, Sam wants to believe this. He isn't sure what will happen if Dean doesn't pull through. And Sam knows this is why Dean is the way he is, years of being strong for Sam. Sam feels guilty for being most of the reason his brother is in pieces at his feet. He also feels lucky to be so loved, even though Dean would never say that. Most of all, he just wants that naïveté back. Sam just wants to believe everything is okay.
He realizes the reason Dean never tells him these things. There's just too much. There's the love, loyalty, and protectiveness that he feels toward Sam, slightly out of obligation, most of it's authentic. Warring against that is hatred toward the little brother he always had to sacrifice for, the brother he gave up his life for. But, at the same time, Dean hates John and Mary. For leaving. For screwing him over. For screwing Sam over. For making Dean into the monster he is today. Even though John was Dean's general, Mary was the cause for the war. And, Dean worshipped them, but he hated them as well, almost more passionately.
Underneath it all was Dean's hatred for himself. That was what Sam was unprepared for. Due credit where credit is due. John, Mary, Sam, and a lot of other things are responsible for Dean's demise, but none more so than Dean himself. Sam doesn't believe this, but Dean does. Dean sees himself as too weak to walk away because he cares too much. Too weak to be selfish because he's just too good at heart. Too weak to stand up for himself because that just makes things more difficult for everyone. Too weak to ever expect anything for himself because he's too busy taking care of everyone else. Too weak to tell anyone the way he feels because they need him to be strong more than he needs to feel real and whole. Too weak to turn that gun on himself and pull the trigger because he's pretty sure he'd never be forgiven, even if he does deserve a release. Dean knows no one can make him into something he doesn't want to be, and he hates himself for wanting this. For wanting to be everyone's rock.
Sam realizes for the first time that Dean has real feelings, can cry. Sam has never seen Dean cry. Dean teared up once when he was eleven and had his first set of stitches done by Dad in a motel room. Sam had been barely old enough to remember it. Dean's eyes had watered a couple times over the years on cases when some great injustice was just too much for his big heart to take. He hadn't even cried when Dad died – just shut down and shut up. Now, he was all out sobbing. Sam was too. In fact, he wasn't sure who was crying harder and he knew Dean would crack some jokes about this later.
It never occurred to Sam there might not be a later. As Sam fought to find the right words, he realized there were none. Everything Dean felt was justified. Nothing could make it right, there were just too many injustices to call a fair trial. For the first time, Sam was playing the big brother, searching for a way to make it right. To stop these thoughts that sounded distinctly suicidal coming from Dean's mouth. To stop the rush of words coming out of Dean's mouth, in general.
And for the first time, Sam believed the old adage. Be careful what you wish for. Those dang words haunted him.
Be careful what you wish for. Be careful- Be careful- What you wish for- Be careful.
And, also for first time in his life, Sam wished that Dean really would just shut up. It wasn't like when they were kids and Sam thought it was funny how Dean prattled on, even when it did get a little annoying. This was completely unnerving. Sam felt less safe, and sane, than he ever had before. And he prayed that Dean would shut up.
What you don't know can't hurt you. Usually that was a big lie, but this once, Sam agreed whole-heartedly. He suddenly didn't want to hear any of this cold, pure truth Dean was spouting. It was so much easier to ignore the tiny pieces of shattered glass scattered about when you didn't really know that your mirror had been crushed. It was a completely different ballgame when you knew your most beloved artifact had been shattered into innumerable, microscopic pieces. You felt obliged, compelled, to pick up the pieces, even if it was only for show. Because, deep down, you know that no amount of super glue is going to fix the damage that has been done.
And so, Sam's praying for silence. Praying with fiber in his body for that blessed, ambiguous silence, even as he tries to scoop up those shards of Dean. And, for the first time in his life, Sam really wishes Dean would just shut up. Because, after Dean starts talking, Sam realizes that the silence is easier.
A/N: I wrote this fic so long ago. Right after IMTOD. SO this is really outdated, I'm sure. I just wanted to get around to posting it anyway. Let me know what you think.