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Chapter 2:
After staring at Bobby's door for almost an hour, Dean finally worked up the courage to open it and walk in, eyebrows drawing together when he found Bobby standing near the table, beer in hand. Sam was nowhere in sight.
"Hey."
Bobby looked at him then, an appraising look that left Dean squirming in his shoes.
"Hey."
"Where's Sam?"
"In his room, I guess. After you ripped him a new one, I don't think he's hopping around in Disneyland, what say?"
Dean felt like he was ten inches tall, all his bravado shrinking with him. Everything that he had said, every word that spilled out of his mouth, had just come back to slap him in the face. That was definitely not what he thought of his baby brother. Hell, Sam was more than strong, he was a beautiful soul, a man who would do anything to see others happy, even if he gave too much of himself. And he had given up too much, striving to please a father who was never happy with him, a mother who he had not even seen, a brother who was so intent on following his dad that he had left the kid in the shadows, and the only girl he had loved taken away from him in cruel flames.
Yes, Sam had never had it easy, but he still turned out to be the kindest man ever, even with all the crap the world threw at him.
Dean sighed, plopping himself on the couch and staring at his feet, berating himself for being so hard on his little brother. Every word out of his mouth had broken an already wounded man. He was supposed to be protecting his brother, not being the one he needed protection from.
The look on Sam's face after the punch came rushing back to his memory, chopping of a few more inches from his virtual size. How could he have hurt him like that, ripped a hole in his chest, and left him bleeding?
He felt the sofa cushion next to him dip, and a warm hand was placed on his shoulder. Bobby was looking at him now, with a different expression in his face - one of concern. Without realising it, Dean pushed his shoulder slightly into Bobby's hand, reveling in the comforting touch of another human. God, he missed his father like he missed his right arm. It hurt, too much to make sense out of it.
Bobby was rubbing little circles on his back now and it took him a while to realise that his vision was distorted because of the tears welling up in his eyes. He would always have nightmares about those words that had changed his entire life: Time of death, 10:41 AM. It had damn near killed him too.
Suddenly he was sobbing like a little child, the pain centering at the pit of his stomach till he was bent double, desperately trying to breathe through the horrifying sobs ripping out of him. He felt arms come around him and he clutched at Bobby's jacket desperately, trying to slow down his shudders, his shoulders shaking with barely repressed grief. His dad, oh god, his dad was dead. He had no parents now, maybe lost what little chance he had of a home. His father was his hero, his superman. He could feel his heart breaking into a million pieces, shattering what little composure he had until he was a quivering mess in Bobby's arms.
Bobby was whispering nonsense now, offering all the comfort he could to Dean, holding him tightly and tucking his head under his chin. And then slowly, Dean stopped shaking, tired and spent. He just let Bobby hold him, sprawled loosely on the floor now, his legs tucked in under him.
And funnily, he could feel the shattered shards of his heart piecing back together. He would never be okay with losing his father, but suddenly he knew that he would survive. The pain would be ever present, but he would continue to live, continue to save people from deadly evil, and continue to protect Sam.
Sam. The thought made him push slightly at Bobby, and he got to his feet shakily, with the aim to going to check on his brother.
Bobby gently stopped him, pressing his hand firmly to his chest, stopping any further steps he could take.
"No, Dean. Not yet. I want to talk to you first. This thing between you and your brother has gone too far. And whatever you are feeling right now, you need to know more about Sam's thoughts when you and your father were laid up in the hospital."
And then Dean heard the most painful speech from Bobby that he had ever known. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I had almost given up on the Impala, Dean. Your brother, however, was stubborn enough to insist that even if one part was working, we could salvage it. I suppose, in his own way, he was holding on to what little was left of you too. He would never give up on you, Dean. Ever. The boy was here everyday, trying to piece together little parts, hoping against hope that you would wake up."
Every word Bobby spoke ripped Dean's heart to shreds. He could imagine the pain his Sammy had gone through, lost and alone, and blaming himself for everything that had happened.
"He said that the wrong person walked off unhurt from the car wreck. I tried to probe that thought further, but the kid just shut down. But I guess we all know what he means by that, eh?"
Dean's head came up so fast that he was surprised he didn't get whiplash. Sam was blaming himself for not getting hurt in the car crash? Goodness, the things that kid came up with to feel guilty about. If it were not a serious problem, Dean would have laughed at him for being so innovative. He was a 'I can imagine six impossible things before breakfast' kinda kid, even when he was very young.
"Dean, Sam blames himself for his father's death more than you know. He's just trying to cope with it the way he knows how, by suddenly paying attention to your father's wishes. I know that's not the best way to cope, but that's his best. I know you didn't mean any of the things you told him when you, err, talked to him about it, but the kid took it hard. He's trying so hard, Dean. Which brings us to the subject of the sandwich."
Bobby paused to take a deep breath here, his fingers tapping out a stattaco rythm on the table.
"He's been trying to get you to eat with the desperation of a drowning man. I think I know where it's coming from, if he's willing to be punched by you to just make you eat a sandwich."
Dean flinched at that, his shoulders drooping a little more.
"Dean, listen. I know you were just mad and hurting, and Sam pushed when he should have pulled. But that's in the past, and what's done is done. Now, it's all about how to make things right. The kid is so scared of losing you that he would take a million punches if it means that you look after yourself. The best way to help your brother right now is to be there for yourself and be there for him."
Dean's voice was hoarse when it came out, a little whisper that Bobby would not have heard if he wasn't paying lots of attention.
"He's all I have, Bobby. I don't want to ever lose him."
Bobby swallowed hard, the lump in his throat just growing bigger.
"And I'm sure that's exactly what Sam's thinking. You boys need each other, Dean. Just be brothers. Just brothers."
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It was late in the evening when Dean climbed the stairs to the room both boys shared. He expected Sam to be asleep, but he was sitting near the window, staring up at the greying sky. Initially, Dean hesitated, but then he moved toward his brother, laying a hand on his shoulder. Sam flinched slightly, and it nearly broke Dean again, but he didn't say anything. He just sat down next to Sam and stared out at the sky too.
After a few minutes, a soft voice pierced the silence.
"I'm sorry. I just wanted you to eat. You can hate me all you want, just, please eat."
Dean nearly fell off the couch near the window with Sam's sudden words. The look on his face reminded him of the five year old who had just scraped his knees and had come running to his big brother who could make it all better.
Only Sam wasn't a child now, and this was not something he could stick bandages on and kiss away. He was a man now, a wounded and broken man, waiting for someone to put him together. He had accumulated scars, internal and external, every one of them reminding him of a life that he felt was a failure, a failure to protect those he loved the most.
Slowly, he brought his hand up to Sam's face and pressed gently against the blossoming bruise, causing him to hiss slightly. The hazel eyes teared up, one single tear breaking loose and meandering down his cheek. Dean brushed it away with his thumb.
"I don't hate you Sammy. I love you. You're all I have. I'm so sorry, I should not have said and done what I did. I'll do whatever you want to make it up to you. Just don't lock yourself away. You deserve so much better than this, man. Believe me, Sammy, I know."
And suddenly, Sam was hugging him tight, his arms nearly crushing Dean in a choke hold. Tears were streaming down his face and he buried his face in Dean's chest, wetting the tshirt with his silent crying.
And Dean just held him, offering all the strength and support he could give his little brother, his Sammy. He heard Sam sniffle slightly and just tighted his arms around the kid, hearing the thump of his heartbeat. Boy, was he glad that Sam was alive and warm in his arms. He would make Sam see that. Sam was far from okay, he still had to work through a lot of problems and guilt to be okay now. But Dean would make damn sure of it. He would be damned if he let Sam be lost, wandering through a maze of pain and loneliness.
Because in the end, they were brothers. And that's what brothers do.
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