WARNING: Re-edit. Also, general spoilers for most of season 4, and the first half of season 5.
Author's Note: This takes place sometime mid-season 5.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
It was about three in the morning, and the bench behind the old motel was deserted except for a young man. Although the bench was designated for smoking, the man was there on entirely different business.
He just needed a quiet place to break down for a moment.
His shoulders were slumped and his head rested in his hands; he was on the verge of tears.
It seemed like everything was crumbling around him, and he could do nothing more than try and catch the falling pieces.
Dean Winchester hadn't asked for any of this.
He hadn't asked to be some angel's "sword". He never wanted his younger brother to be chased around by the devil. He never meant for the world to starting rolling down a steep, treacherous slope.
He'd never asked for any of this, but he'd started it.
As Dean sat there cradling his head, he couldn't help but remember how it was all his fault.
Sure, Sammy had broken the final seal on Lucifer's cage, but he himself was responsible for the first seal's demise.
He had cracked in Hell. He had tortured a soul. Although he had no way of knowing what his actions would lead to at the time, he had known they weren't good.
Dean tried to blink away the moisture forming in his eyes.
He had screwed up big time, and now the whole freaking world was going to pay. His friends were suffering. Sam was suffering. It was all too much, and Dean was certain he couldn't hold out much longer.
A shuffling noise made Dean look up.
Sam stood in front of the bench wearing a concerned expression.
"Dean?" Sam said.
With that one word, he asked all the questions on his mind.
Why are you sitting behind a dumpy motel looking like you're about to burst into tears? Has something else bad happened that I should know about? Is there anything I can do to help you?
Dean met his brother's gaze, meaning to give some lighthearted excuse for why he was out on some rickety motel bench in the middle of the night. But no words came.
Instead, a single tear fell from Dean's eyes, and he quickly looked away.
Sam seemed to understand.
He sat down next to his brother, and looked up at the stars, giving Dean the time he needed to regain his composure.
"It's a nice night." Sam remarked, staring at the sky. "I wouldn't mind sitting out here a while."
Leaning back into the bench, Sam finally looked again at his brother, and Dean knew what Sam was trying to say.
Sam wouldn't leave, and he wouldn't judge. He would stay right there with his brother, not just through this moment, but through the whole apocalypse if it came down to it.
For the first time in a long time, it was Dean's turn to let Sam help him.
Dean finally leaned back, too, staring up at the distant specks of light.
"It is a nice night, isn't it?" he finally said.
They both knew that Dean was saying thank you.
Secondary Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated. :)