He looks at you sometimes, sad and miserable, and all you want to do is shake some life back into him. Sammy never responded well to orders or commands, so you can't make him be ok. You sigh, wondering if he'll ever be the same again, and knowing that, no, sadly he won't.
Jess was special, you can tell. She was confident, standing before you in nothing but a t-shirt, and skimpy little shorts. She was accepting, seeing you there next to Sam and not saying a word about your little break and enter. She had long blonde hair and you wonder about that and if Sam was looking for it. She wasn't swayed by your charms. You think that's what you liked most about her.
The Impala's engine cuts out as you stop at the rundown motel. You look across at Sammy who still has tears streaked on his cheeks. "I'll be right back," you say hesitantly. You don't want to leave him alone, not now. He looks so lost, sitting there leaning his head against the window. You get a room and get him into it as fast as you can. He doesn't need the pressures of the world right now. You lock the door and you know you'll be here for a week, closed in with Sam, away from his other life.
He's sitting on the bed at the foot, and you can't tell if he's crying or not. You move about, unpacking, keeping one eye on him at all times. "Dean," he says quietly. It's one word, the only word that Sam ever really needed, and it's the word that pulls you to him. You sit with him, knowing he doesn't want you to do anything else.
Grief is strange to you. You never got to have it as a child, never learned the five stages, and never went through them. As a four year old, grief was "when is mommy coming back?" and the sudden appearance of beer bottles at night, and sleeping restlessly on a lumpy bed with baby Sammy beside you. Grief is foreign and strange and you don't know how to handle it when it invades your little brother.
You hear his breath hitch and you know what's about to come. It wouldn't be the first time you've held him while he cried. You know the way he likes to be held, one hand in his hair, one rubbing his back. You know the right words to say, "it's gonna be ok," or "I'm right here," but they don't seem to be working this time. He cries for Jess, and you ignore the pang of disappointment in your heart that it's not your name on his lips. You tell him you're here, that you'll always be here, and that starts to soothe him. He's shaking, and the tears are still coming. "I want her back," he says brokenly, and you feel for him. You feel the loss, you don't know how, but you understand him completely. Your hand never stills on his back and soon the sobs die out, and the shaking subsides. You can smell the smoke and fire on him, and you want to suggest a shower, but he's finally asleep.
Taking care of Sam is second nature. You pull off his shoes and ruffle his hair and cover him up. You even go so far as to kiss his forehead because you know he needs it and won't hold it against you later. You stand beside his bed for a long while. You never wanted to get him back this way, it wasn't supposed to be like this. Guilt seeps into you out of nowhere as you think of the perky blonde who loved your brother. She'll never see him again, never be with him like you can. Jess left this world, and with it a very broken Winchester. You run a hand through your hair and think absently 'sorry Sammy'.
Nightmares were a given. You knew that and fully expected them to appear once you fell asleep. Sammy is tossing and turning in the bed next to yours and you wait until he calls for you. "Jess!" you hear and another twinge of disappointment startles you. He's whimpering now, and you know you have to wake him carefully. You shake him gently, trying to ease him out of it, but he wakes with a scream.
A scream for you.
You're there beside him in an instant. He shivers and clings to the front of your t-shirt and your hands find his hair and back and you start the motions that come so easily. "Dean," he whimpers and you hold him just a bit tighter as you reply, "I know Sammy."
You can feel him breaking.
You didn't think it was possible but you can actually see him cracking at the edges. It's been about two days and already you're losing him. He won't eat, he can't sleep, and now he says nothing but your name. It's a plea, a statement, a question, and you never thought your own name could sound so annoying.
You know how hard the funeral will be, how far it will push Sam. He insists on going, even though you don't think it's a good idea. He doesn't listen and puts on the rented suit and waits for you. You nod and go along with it, knowing that this will only add another crack in the glass.
It was a very bad idea.
Of course you blame yourself, you knew this would happen. It was the broken puppy dog eyes that did it. They reeled you in and broke through your defenses. Now you curse yourself for not listening to your instincts. Seeing Jess's coffin lowered into the deep dark ground had sent Sam to the ground. He had nearly lost it, and you know that you should have prevented this. You look over at him now, and the tears come.
One night you think it's actually gonna end. You find him in the small bathroom of the motel room, and you freeze. "Dean," he says, and it's not a question or a statement, but a plea. You go to him and take the gun from his hands. "Sammy, what the hell," you say, and you know you're not helping but he is really starting to scare you now.
"Do you know what breaking feels like? What it's like to really be broken?" he asks and you have to sigh. He's never sounded so depressed and you hate that this had to happen to someone so innocent. "First you crack, and the crack forms a web like pattern from its center. The breaks spiral outward, covering every inch of you. You can't fix it now, because if you try, all the little cracks will shatter completely. Once that happens Dean, the pieces fall and you can't find all of them to put yourself back together."
Dean knows how to fix things. From cars to scars, Dean can fix it, but now you're not sure that you can fix your Sam. You want to believe that there's enough time to find every piece of Sam and restore him, but you just don't know. There are so many pieces and they're scattered everywhere.
But then you look at him, at your Sammy, and you know. You can do this, for him. His eyes have no spark, but you can put it back. His expression holds no joy, but you can give him some. He yells for you, cries at night for you, it's you that he wants right now, and because he is still yours, because Jess gave him back to you, you're gonna make sure that he is fixed and never broken again.