10

The Courage to Cry

Courage is fear that has said its prayers

-Dorothy Bernard

Dean and Spencer sat up at the same time. Tears on their faces that were wiped away quickly at the knowledge of other presence in the room. They turned and looked at each other, at the other's reaction that mirrored their own.

"You gettin' 'em too?" Dean asked, his voice shaking. He watched his own head nod as Spencer gave his response.

"What have you seen?" He whispered. Dean bowed his head. He didn't want to talk about this. He hadn't told anyone this was going on, either. But it was just him and Spencer in this room.

The BAU team thought it only best that they stay at Quantico for the time being. And that they had to stay in this vacant office, using blankets and pillows that were kept for emergencies. They weren't sure which of the agents were still here, if any, and Dean had told Sam to go ahead to a motel, that he would be fine here without him. Sam bitched about it for about ten minutes before he gave in to Dean's requests.

So it made Dean feel a little better to think that he and Spencer were alone and had privacy. And that no one would hear this besides them.

"The first time I, uh…I saw you, I assume, and you were running at this park. Ran through the swings and by these monkey bars. These guys were chasing you. You tried to run, but you hit your head. They beat the shit out of you and broke your glasses. This time…" He swallowed. "This time, these kids tied you to this goal post. They beat you up. One kid cut you up pretty good. And…And these others spit in your face. And you went home. Your mom…your mom wasn't right. She didn't even know you were home. You patched yourself up and went to bed. And you-"

"Enough!" Spencer snapped. But it wasn't because he was angry. It was almost like he was begging. His head was bent, eyes on his hands. Dean couldn't see his face in dim light, not fully, but he heard him sniff.

"Did…Did that really happen to you?" He asked. Spencer nodded and wiped his eyes. "Alright, your turn." Dean said softly.

"Um…You, you were in your house. Your mom…She was on the ceiling. Your dad gave you your brother and you ran outside with him. You waited for your dad and your mom to come out of the house. Only your dad did. And you didn't understand why. Then I saw you…you put your brother to bed. Your dad was drunk. You told him that you and Sam went to the gas station down the street. And he hit you. You cried yourself to sleep." Spencer looked up at him.

"You truly think he hit you because he hated you, don't you?"

Dean threw his walls up quicker than anything, locking up his emotions tight, shutting himself down from the situation. Too bad it wasn't with the body he was used to. It wasn't the heart he was used to.

"Yes," He said flatly. "I used to." Spencer shook his head.

"You're lying," He said. "I know my voice when it lies, even if I'm not using it." Dean flexed his jaw.

"So what if I did? So what if I thought the only way to make my dad happy was to talk less and listen more? So what if my dad beat it into my head that the only way to get his approval was to be the best 'soldier' I could be? So what if I stepped out of line he didn't speak to me for God knows how long? So what if the last thing he told me before he died was I might have to kill my little brother? So what if the only time he told me he was proud of me was when he was about to die?! SO WHAT IF HE DIED FOR ME AND LEFT ME TO FEEL LIKE I HAD KILLED HIM MYSELF?! SO WHAT IF I FELT LIKE I DIDN'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO LIVE?!"

"Did you ever talk to Sam about this?" Spencer asked.

Dean grabbed Spencer's shirt out of reflex, bringing his face close to his.

"Don't you tell him about any of this," He threatened. "I swear to God if you do…"

"I won't, I wasn't going to, calm down." Spencer said. Dean dropped Spencer's shirt as if it had burned him. He ran his hand over his face.

"I'm sorry," He said. "I didn't mean to do that. I just…"

"You don't like talking about these things," Spencer said. "I understand. I don't like it either." There was a lapse of silence between the two men that had so little in common but were so greatly connected. They were lost in their own thoughts, wondering about the mystery of each other. They may have been in the other's body, but they didn't understand the other. They didn't understand their way of thinking, or their reasoning behind their decisions. But Dean was going to try and understand the young genius beside him.

"You seriously never told your mom about what happened?" He asked. Spencer shook his head.

"It wouldn't have done any good. She would have freaked out and acted irrationally. I kept it to myself." He said.

"You never told anybody?" Dean asked. Spencer shook his head.

"No. I…I thought one day I'd forget, if I didn't think about it. But, I feel like it happened yesterday."

"You think about it a lot?" Dean asked quietly.

"I try not to but…" He took in a shaky breath. "I do think about it. I have every day since it happened." Spencer bowed his head.

"I'm sorry." Dean said.

"About what?" Spencer asked, confused.

"That that happened to you when you were just a kid."

"You were hunting monsters when that was happening to me, and you're the one apologizing?" He asked.

"Yeah, but we knew what we were doing. And nothing like that has ever happened to me, or Sam either, for that matter." He said.

"But you were dealing with things I never thought existed, things that scare most kids half to death. And you didn't even flinch."

"Don't make me sound like a hero, I'm not." Dean said, then chuckled lightly.

"What?" Spencer asked.

"We could sit here and feel sorry for ourselves all night." He said. Spencer laughed too.

"Yeah, we could."

"I don't wanna do that, do you?" He asked. Spencer shook his head.

"I'd rather not, actually." Dean sighed, glancing at his watch, well, Spencer's watch. His didn't fit him at the moment.

"I'm going back to bed." He said, lying down. Spencer nodded and followed suit.

"Let's keep this conversation just between you and me." He said. Dean nodded.

"I promise." He said.

He tried to keep slow his breathing to give the impression he was asleep.

He lay there for a long time, not knowing if the man about ten feet away was asleep or not.

Things had changed since Dean was eight years old. He no longer thought his father hated him, at least after he had decided to be better. He no longer thought his mother could fix everything. And he had perfected the art of crying silently.

And Spencer was an expert in this field as well. They were so good at it, in fact, that the other didn't notice.

--Aww, sad. : ( Feedback please : )--