A/N: I'm nervous writing in this fandom, because I watched the first season, but for whatever reason (life happened) I lost track. Three episodes ago I started watching again, as well as intermittently before that. So I may be fuzzy on some things, and just plain wrong on others. Forgive me this, as it's been a while.
Summary: You decided early on that you can't unknow something, even if you really really want to.
Warning: SPOILERS for All Hell Breaks Loose: Part One.
Simple
Even back when you and Sam were younger, things were never simple. Things were never ordinary. You always knew things that 'normal' people didn't. Other little boys played with G.I. Joe, you and Sammy practiced throwing knives. You took to it more than Sam. He hadn't seen, in as vivid detail, the things you had. To you, this was life. This was how it was and always would be. You decided early on that you can't unknow something, even if you really really want to.
Sammy has nightmares about your mom. Had nightmares. Visions of the past where he could feel the flame licking at his skin, consuming her and the rest of his life with it. Loss. Damage. And you dream about it too. That breeze that carried with it the scent of burning flesh, and tumbling dreams that rose with the smoke into the night sky.
And you can feel that same sick, sad wind dancing around you both now. It's unfair. It's wrong. These thoughts burn through your skull as you hold your brother close. You can't let go; your fingers won't unclench, because if they do then you'll have to see his face again. Have to stare into those vacant eyes that don't belong to Sammy anymore. You can't handle the emptiness. You never could.
You were never as serious as Sam. You took the pain that he channeled into rising above, and you tucked it under bravado and humor and maybe even a slight and lingering death wish. And you smiled. Even in the darkest of times, even when it wasn't always sincere, you found a way to smile about something. You hold your little brother closer and feel insanely bad for pissing him off so much.
But the thing you feel worst about, the thing you're not even sure you can comprehend right now because it might kill you too... is that you didn't protect him. You promised, and you didn't- couldn't- follow through. He might have died bleeding from a stab wound, but it was your failure and inadequacy that killed him. And you know that now.
And you don't know anything else as you sit in the mud with his body clenched tight in your arms, the wind ripping his name from your throat.