Chapter 8

A/N Thanks for the comments again peoples - you're all fab. This was originally quite a short chapter but it kind of got bigger and now it's not that short...

Wise Up

'You think, one drink, will shrink you 'til you're underground, and living down, but it's not going to stop... 'til you wise up.'

Lyrics taken from Wise Up by Aimee Mann

I own nothing yada yada yada

When Sam woke the next morning for a split second everything was fine. There was no pain, no despair, no fear, no crippling sense of loss, no sensation of falling quickly and slowly and terrifyingly into an abyss where only nightmares and demons existed, where there was no hope or light or love or peace.

Everything was fine.

And then it wasn't.

Then his stomach was sinking and his body shaking from the onslaught of memories which pounded him relentlessly. Anger and bitterness and loss and guilt and a devastating sense of hopelessness rushed him like a shock wave, leaving him gasping and his brain screaming, the darkness threatening to swallow him whole and suck out every part of him that made him who he was. That made him Sam.

He was alone. There was no one there to tell him what to do, no one to tell him that he would be ok, no one to save him and to keep on saving him and no one to promise him that nothing bad would happen while they were around. The one person who could tell him those things was gone. The one person who could save him, tell him what to do was the person that needed saving themselves and now it was left to him to do it.

He sat up rubbing his eyes which were still sore from the previous night. He didn't remember the tears stopping, they just kept coming and coming and he couldn't control the sobs which wracked his body painfully, refusing to allow him peace. He ached all over on the inside and out and it took every ounce of strength and energy to drag himself out of bed and into the shower. He didn't really care about making himself clean- he didn't really care about anything, but he knew if he didn't force himself then he too would sink to the depths below, following his brother and if that happened he may as well kiss goodbye to any hope of saving Dean.

Hope.

He wasn't even certain that he still had any. Last night he had given up. Lost the will to fight and given up on his brother. How could he do that? How could he even consider giving up while Dean still had breath in his lungs? It occurred to him how much Dean must hate him now, having allowed him to walk away from him and out of his life without even trying. But he had tried. He had tried yelling at his brother, tried being hard on him, tried being sympathetic and tried with everything within him to convince Dean of his own worth but somehow it wasn't enough. The right choice of words, the words that would have reached Dean simply hadn't come to him and now he was left with nothing.

If only he'd said something when it really mattered. When Dean had needed to hear the words - any words would've done. He had clammed up and failed to rise to his brother's hypothetical question. His question that had begged Sam to tell him what he could say to make it alright. Maybe it hadn't been hypothetical. Maybe Dean had really needed an answer. Something to cling to, just an inch of hope which would've saved him from this.

But now it was all too late. Nothing Sam had said had been able to make it alright and he was losing his brother fast and he just didn't know what to do. There was a time once when he had been able to reach Dean, but it had come at a price. Physically hurting Dean had cost Sam a great deal, but it had worked. He had literally been driven to knocking some sense into Dean and he had let his guard down, trusted him enough to allow himself to be comforted for once. But this was different. Their father - Dean's hero - was dead and it had left a huge gaping hole like an open wound in his older brother's soul and it was getting bigger and bigger. And then of course Dean's ever reliable guilt complex had jumped in with both feet, cruelly reminding him of all the mistakes he believed he had made, all the people he believed he had failed and the times when his best simply wasn't good enough.

Sam was dressed and planning his next move before mid morning. Checking the net on his lap top for the nearest bars and diners he was oddly relieved to find the nearest one was only a few miles away, which meant that hopefully Dean was also. Of course he had no idea how his brother had spent the night. It was possible Dean had kept walking or hitched a ride to who knew where or even slept by the road side. Sam felt sickened as he started to think up all the possible scenarios - all the things which could have happened to his brother while he slept in his bed.

He was such an idiot. Why hadn't he gone after him? He should've just followed and refused to leave him but then Dean probably would have punched him out. He thought to himself that he would have happily taken a hundred punches off him if it meant that he would let Sam help him. He would have allowed Dean to kick the living shit out of him if he thought that there was even the slimmest chance that Dean would come out the other side and give Sam his big brother back.

Deciding that worrying and fretting were getting him no where fast he grabbed his wallet and keys and headed off to find his brother.

His well planned and much thought out search and rescue mission lasted all of five minutes and came to an end shortly after he pulled into the parking lot of Joe's Diner. Sam spotted his brother immediately slouched at a table nursing a large mug of coffee. A waitress came over to him smiling sweetly and offered him a re fill which he accepted without comment and continued to stare downwards into the dark, brown, comforting liquid. Sam wasn't sure if he heard him approach as there was no response or reaction when he joined him at the table.

Sam stared at his brother, almost overcome with relief that nothing bad had happened to him and thanked the heavens that he hadn't gone far.

Sam kept his tone casual, acting as if the previous night hadn't happened; pretending that his brother hadn't tried to kill himself with his own gun, in his own car, with his own baby brother sleeping only a few feet away in his bed.

Taking a seat he casually picked up a newspaper which had been discarded on the adjacent seat, flicking through it absently not really seeing the articles or the photographs, just trying his hardest to hold on to some semblance of normality, some small sense of control and order, so that maybe, he could get through this conversation without breaking down.

"You been here all night dude?"

Dean just looked up at him his eyes numb.

"I thought I told you to stay away from me."

Sam shrugged cheerfully.

"Yeah you did, but I kind of decided to ignore you." Sam beckoned the waitress over and smiling charmingly at her, he ordered himself a coffee along with two large cooked breakfasts with extra bacon and sausage. Dean looked up in disgust.

"I'm not hungry."

Sam was undeterred.

"Whatever - listen dude, I was thinking that maybe we could take a drive somewhere, maybe see some sights or something."

Dean looked at him as if he had grown an extra head.

"That's funny, you know 'cos I was thinking that maybe you could stay out of my face."

Sam once again ignored his brother's comment and pressed on pleasantly, trying his best to hide the fear and the anguish and the pain from his brother.

"I thought a break would do us good. Just a quick vacation before we head back to Minnesota and finish off that job."

Dean glared ferociously at his younger brother trying his hardest to sound cold, dispassionate and as if the brother that Sam knew, was now dead and gone.

"I thought I'd made myself clear Sam but obviously I was wrong. I'm done with hunting; I'm done with the job and most of all I'm done with you!"

Sam maintained eye contact for a second trying to pretend the harshness of Dean's words hadn't hurt him but it was futile. Looking away he was unable to stop the tears which sprung into his eyes and he was furious with himself for not being able to keep up the act and remain stoic. How did Dean do that? How did Dean always manage to act like nothing fazed him, like nothing was hurting him even when he was going through hell he still managed to keep up a front? Why couldn't he be like that? More like his big brother. When had he become so pathetic and so vulnerable? He felt so raw these days - everything seem to cut so deep and even his brother who he knew made a habit of saying things he didn't mean had managed to further damage his now weary and frail psyche.

Blinking away his tears he took in a shuddering breath and once more faced his brother, his voice low and thick.

"You know Dean, I wish you would just tell me what to do man. Tell me how I can help you."

Dean ignored the obvious pain in his little brother's voice and continued his attempt to get rid of him, to make him leave and never come back.

"You wanna know how you can help?" he looked at Sam his voice light and eyebrows raised but Sam knew he was about to receive yet more abuse so he just stared back and waited the response without comment as Dean leaned forward and raised his voice to an uncomfortable level growling viciously at his baby brother.

"Stay... the hell... away from me!"

There was a long, agonising pause before Sam finally nodded giving in and wiping at his eyes.

"Fine, if that's what you want I'll leave you. You hate me that much I'll go."

He searched his brother's eyes hoping to find something, some regret some sign that he wanted Sam to stay, some silent plea from Dean that Sam couldn't hear but that was screaming at him to help him, to stay and to please not give up on him, but if there was, Sam didn't see it. All he saw was emptiness. A void, a black despair which had poisoned his brother's soul and left behind nothing but hate, and self loathing and destruction.

Sam looked away refusing to let the darkness in his brother's eyes consume him and whispered brokenheartedly:

"I guess I'm just gonna have to live with the fact that I let you down."

Dean looked away but his face betrayed no emotion. Sam brought out the car keys and held them out to his brother.

"You may as well take these. It's your car after all."

"Keep it. I don't need it where I'm going."

Sam breathed heavily. "And where would that be Dean?" he already knew the answer.

Dean took a gulp of his coffee.

"Bar; nice ten minute stroll that way." Dean gestured with his head.

Sam eyed him harshly, "You're gonna drink yourself to death, you know that?"

Dean shrugged and grinned humourlessly.

"It's a plan."

Sam snorted shaking his head in disgust and anger before throwing enough money on the table to cover the bill.

"Make sure you eat something."

Then he stood taking one last look before walking away, leaving his brother alone to drown in his own sea of nothingness.

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Watching Sam walk away was so much harder than he'd ever imagined. He hated what he was doing to Sam but firmly believed it was in the entire universe's best interest. Especially Sam's. It hurt more than he could articulate, and he knew the pain he was inflicting on his baby brother was indescribable. This only fuelled the hatred he felt for himself and his sorry excuse for an existence, making him all the more determined to bring it to a swift end. Maybe not as swift as a bullet but this way was certainly more fun. This way was less painful and not as final and it gave him time to prepare. Although what he was preparing for he wasn't sure.

He had sworn to himself that he would never again put a gun to his head but that didn't mean that there weren't other ways to achieve his goals. Besides if the cosmos had decided that Dean Winchester wasn't going to escape his torturous, miserable life then there was very little he could do about it. This however he could control. He could control exactly how much alcohol he consumed, control the level of intoxication and control whether he passed out, vomited or simply drifted into a blissfully dull sleep where no demons could find him and no evil could reach him until the morning when he could simply start over.

He didn't care whether he lived or died just so long as he stayed out of humanity's way and didn't cause any more needless, innocent deaths. Sam was his main concern. Sam was the one he needed to avoid the most because he knew that whatever he did or however hard he tried he would eventually end up destroying him and that would mean the end of anything meaningful in his life. It had always been about Sam ever since he was a kid. Sam had always come first and he wouldn't have it any differently. If Sam was able to get away from him and live out his life the way he should have then all this might just be worth it. Dean's resolve was sure. He had no doubts in his mind that this was the course he should be taking. If he had any doubts then he might have returned with his brother to the motel and made some pointless, pitiful attempt to get his life back but he wouldn't because there was no doubt. There could never be any doubt.

Unfortunately for Dean, what he didn't realise was that there was doubt. Doubt in bucket loads in fact, but Dean's mind was so shut off from reality, clouded by the constant drinking and abuse of his body, smothered and suffocated by the cloud that hung over him that he was unable to see any good or truth or peace in anything. The depression had grown like a cancer, gradually transforming him hideously into something unrecognisable to the one person who loved and trusted and needed him more than anyone.

And Sam knew.

Sam knew that what he had witnessed wasn't his brother. That this person who refused to see who he really was, refused to accept his worth, his place in an ungrateful world wasn't the true, pure form of his big brother Dean Winchester, but some twisted, unnaturally altered version, corrupted by alcohol and despair and if he could just get him to sober up for one day, then maybe, just maybe, he could see that.

Dean truly believed that the darkness within him and the hate that consumed him, the feelings of worthlessness were based on truth and fact, when in fact they were simply all that he could see from the position that he had fallen to. From where he had fallen he couldn't see light, he couldn't see hope and from down here there was no love, or peace, or safety.

Sam was reminded of a time when they were kids and they were playing hide and seek. Dean had counted to one hundred and Sam had found a corner of the garden in which to hide and had covered his eyes truly believing that if he couldn't see Dean then Dean wouldn't be able to see him. Dean had laughed so hard at his little brother's endearing attempt at stealth and had teased him mercilessly for days.

Just because you can't see the light doesn't mean it can't see you.

Sam could see him. Sam would always be able to see him and Sam had decided that if Dean was lost then he would find him and pull him out of the hole that he had dug for himself.

Sam wasn't giving up this time. Sam was pissed and had had enough. He had walked away from his brother and allowed him to believe he was finally leaving him alone but the truth was far different. Sam was not leaving his brother, not ever, and he wasn't giving in or giving up. Now was the time to open his eyes and accept that he had failed. He couldn't reach Dean but that didn't mean that Dean couldn't be reached. It was time to wise up and face facts. Sometimes you couldn't win the war without help with the battle and sometimes your own defences and armour weren't enough. Sometimes people were just too close to help and sometimes you needed to take a step back, take a breath and accept that you are but a human and can't fix the world.

He couldn't fix Dean, he was just a boy and he was scared and lonely and in pain just like Dean and he missed his dad so much and sometimes he thought the grief would overwhelm him. But that was ok because the answer had finally come to him, as if it had always been there but had finally stepped boldy out of the shadows, slapping him in the face and yelling at him to wake up. It wasn't just about him and his brother. It didn't have to always come down to that and sometimes you just had to humbly accept the fact that you needed a little help.

Sam was lost but not broken and while believing that his last chance was about to be used he drew on his last reserves of hope and strength to prepare himself for the only thing he had left to try. The only thing he could think of to do.

And then he picked up the phone.

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"What are you two doing out there?"

"Not much. There aren't any hunts. He doesn't wasn't to hunt. He just wants to drink."

"I can understand that,"

"He's out of control. I don't know what to do. He's just so pissed at me."

"Have you tried smacking him upside the head?"

"No; the way he is I think he would probably punch me out. Besides I tried that once and I only just got away with it."

The voice on the other line chuckled:

"Yeah I can imagine."

A brief silence.

"So, you want me to come and knock some sense into him?"

"I'm probably gonna regret it but I don't know what else to do. I know I'm asking a lot but I don't know who else to turn to. I think you're the only person he'd listen to."

"Just you hang on in there, Sam; I'll be there as soon as I can."

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The room was quiet allowing Dean pretty much the full attention of the well endowed older woman serving drinks behind the bar. Sadly she wasn't his type and he wasn't really in the mood anyway. He was drinking a little slower than usual giving himself the luxury of enjoying the slow burn of liquid easing its way comfortingly down his throat and into his blood stream, gradually and delicately intoxicating him melting away the pain and the guilt and the loss, massaging him with it's finger tips and offering him the only peace he could find in this dark world of which he had now become a part.

He wasn't sure what time it was when everything changed.

And when everything changed he couldn't remember how much he'd drunk or how high his tab was.

And when everything changed and he heard the door open and then close, he could have sworn that he knew.

Somehow he just knew almost as if he had been here before like an odd sense of déjà vu and he wasn't sure if the sensation he felt was fear or relief but one thing he was sure of was that he wasn't anywhere near drunk enough.

He wasn't drunk enough or prepared enough or sober enough to deal with what he heard just then. The heavy footsteps approaching him from behind and the silence that followed and he wished for more time, more whisky and more space so that he could run and never look back.

But there was nowhere to run - he was cornered, trapped and it scared him more than anything had scared him before.

Knocking back another shot of whisky his stomach dropped when he heard the familiar voice, the voice that he had already predicted he would eventually hear.

"Working hard, I see, Dean. Well your Dad would be proud."

"Hey I learned from the best," Dean smirked and raised an eyebrow to no one in particular, turning the shot glass in his hand, trying his hardest to act casual but shit he was gonna kick Sammy's ass.

"Look at me when I address you boy."

The voice was low and threatening and he wasn't about to admit it but it scared the crap out of him to the extent that he felt like he had no choice but to obey the order with only minimal hesitation. Taking a deep breath he set his jaw and closed his eyes.

This was just about the very last thing he needed, but even he knew better than to mess with the pair of boots that were stood behind him.

That particular pair of boots which he knew were more than likely going to be kicking his sorry ass sometime in the not too distant future.

Straightening his shoulders and pasting on his best don't-give-a-fuck expression he slowly and deliberately twisted himself on the bar stool

and wasn't at all surprised but more than a little riled and a tad more

nervous to be looking up into the terrifyingly pissed off glare of one Bobby Singer.

TBC

Bleatingly obvious or pleasant surprise? let me know, if you like, ta.