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Italic is flashback
There had been less than a dozen times that Dean has appeared vulnerable in my presence. And I remember every single one of them. It didn't happen often, so when it did, it was always committed to my memory.
The first time was when I first met the Winchester family. Dean had just lost his mother and was one of the most inanimate five year olds I'd seen in my life. He didn't talk much. Only when responding to orders given by his father. And even those were never more than five words at a time.
But he broke out of his shell in time. A lot of time. Months. Not that anyone was going to rush the kid. He spoke, but not as much as a normal five year old. But then again, when had anything in the kid's life ever been normal.
He met Caleb shortly after. Then the unspoken kid became one of the smartest mouths I'd ever heard.
Another time was when he was twelve when Sam and his father had gotten into an accident. Dean was terrified, but also guilt-ridden that he wasn't able to keep them safe and because he wasn't in the car with him. He was sick that day, so he stayed at home while John took Sam to school. Then a driver collided with the back of the car, spinning it into oncoming traffic. John and Sam were in the hospital for about a week, and Dean worried about them every day. They were his entire life and to see them lying there motionless and unable to do a thing about it was killing him. He didn't eat or sleep until he knew that his family was all right.
Caleb helped Dean through it, making sure the kid didn't kill himself. The only thing that worked for the first few days was some sedatives. That was the first times that I'd seen Caleb scared and it didn't have to do with anything supernatural.
The most recent time was two years ago. And it was the hardest one to watch.
John, Caleb and Dean were on a hunt. Sam was left in my care for that weekend while they were gone. What they were hunting seemed so trivial compared to what it did to Dean. The three of them came barreling into my house on a Tuesday night, bloodied, and bruised. Dean was supporting Caleb's weight, but he didn't look to well off himself.
He put Caleb down next to his father on the couch and I walked over to check on them. Dean stayed standing and turned to walk toward his own room. "Dean, sit," I said.
He did so without a word, which should've been the first sign that something was wrong. I attributed it to being tired from the hunt, and I left it at that until I got to inspect him further. Caleb was the most injured so I wrapped his ankle that he sprained and cleaned all of his wounds. John's injures weren't that bad either. Nothing a few painkillers couldn't fix. The two were patched up and went to their rooms to clean up.
Dean was another story. I looked at him, breathing completely calm, just sitting and waiting. "Dean, where are you injured?" I asked.
His demeanor was telling me that there was nothing wrong with him, but I knew better. He was already that good at pushing pain aside and hiding his injuries at that age. History told me that I was going to have to search for the injuries before he showed them to me himself.
History didn't repeat itself that day. He slid off his jacket and lifted up his shirt without protest. Three long gashes ran from his chest down to wrap around his back. He should've been in a lot more pain than he was showing. That should've been sign two. I grabbed his chin and tipped it to be able to see his eyes.
They never were able to hide his true feelings.
This time was no exception. Staring back at me was the broken five-year-old and trapped in a fifteen year old body. His eyes screamed 'Help me!' but no one else saw it but me. His eyes were pleading with me, and they were showing how much pain he really was in. And it was more than just physical. I was one of the few that he allowed himself to be vulnerable around. "It's okay, Dean," I whispered. I didn't know what happened to him to make him that way, but I was going to fix it.
I helped him stand from the couch, his body already stiff. I led him to his room, and laid him down. As soon as I did, a single tear fell from is eye. He laid there, frozen. Not even moving to wipe it away. He was locking himself in. "Go to sleep, Dean. I have to stitch you up. I'll be right back." He nodded mutely. I watched him close his eyes and sat with him for a few minutes until I knew he was resting.
I stomped out of Dean's room and saw Caleb and John sitting on the couch, cleaner than they were minutes ago. Sam was sitting next to his father with a book in his hand trying to do some homework. "Sammy, go and grab the meds in upstairs bathroom." Sam nodded, knowing that it was something I wanted him to do because there was going to be some yelling going on, and ran upstairs. "What the hell happened tonight, John?" I yelled as soon as the young one was out of earshot.
"What do you mean?" he asked, completely oblivious to what I was saying. But what else was new.
"Your son is breaking in there and I want to know what the hell went on so I can fix it."
"Fix what?" John asked.
"What's wrong with Blaze?"
"He's hurting. But it isn't just physical pain. There is something broken inside of him and I want to know what it is."
Caleb ran his hands up and down his face and groaned. "He didn't save him," Caleb whispered. "That's what happened, Bobby. He didn't save him."
"Who didn't he save?"
"A kid. He was just a kid. Younger than Sammy, but still. Dean watched the kid get thrown into a tree. When we got to him, we were too late. The kid didn't stand a chance. Dean sat there for minutes with the kid in his arms, not saying a word. I thought that he was praying for the kid. We called for help, and had to leave before they came, against his will. I guess that he had it somewhere in his head that he was the kid's watcher. It's his first loss like this. He must be devastated."
That made all the sense in the world. Dean always made it personal when kids were involved in hunts. In my head, I theorized that every time a kid was involved, he thought of his brother. So now, the thought of losing Sam, as metaphoric as it was, must have been crushing.
Sam came running down the stairs with three bottles of pills in his hands. "Headaches, muscle pains, and mild sedative pills."
"Thanks, Sam," I said.
"Bobby, is Dean going to be okay?"
I knew that the question was going to get asked eventually. Sam and Dean shared a connection that no one could understand, and with that connection he was able to know something was wrong with his brother as soon as Dean stepped into the room. "Yeah. He's just tired, that's all." It wasn't a complete lie. He really was sleeping.
"Can I go see him?" he asked, knowing that he could provide his brother some form of comfort.
"Later on, buddy," John answered. "Why don't you and I go upstairs and finish your homework together. Maybe by then, Dean will be awake."
Sam and John slowly walked up the stairs to the study while I made my way back to Dean's room. "You need any help?" Caleb asked.
"Yeah." I walked toward Dean's room after gathering a few supplies and Caleb limped after me.
It took Dean almost a month to get back to his normal self. It brought me back to when I first met the middle Winchester. He was so locked in himself and traumatized by the experience that he didn't talk for almost four weeks. Not even to Sam, who wanted to do anything and everything to help his brother heal.
But Sam helped him heal without having to say a word. In the middle of every night, he'd sneak into Dean's room and just lie on his lap. His brother would then just stroke his hair, like he used to do when they were younger, until they both fell asleep. And every morning, either Caleb or me would find them like that, Dean with his hand protectively on Sam, with trails of dried tears streaked down his cheeks, and Sam relaxing under the protection of his brother. Then he'd wake up and navigate through his day. And he did navigate because he just existed for that month.
John and I kept Dean under a microscope for that month, trying to find a way to break him out of himself. Caleb was there the entire month too, refusing to go on a hunt until he knew that Dean was all right. He would've waited years for him if he needed to.
We all were willing to do the same.
When his father walked into Dean's room followed by the three of us on the twenty-seventh day, he fell into his father's arms and began apologizing over and over again about not being able to protect his little brother in a low monotone voice.
Caleb and I left the Winchester family to their business. When they walked out of the room, Dean had a little spark in his eyes again. Not the same fighting fire, but it would grow to that again.
"What are you thinking about?" I heard and fell back into the present time.
I looked up and saw Caleb standing in front of me. I must have been gaping like an idjit. "Every time I've seen that boy's mask crumble away," I replied.
"Any time in particular," he asked. As much as Dean tried to hide it from the man he looked at as an older brother, Caleb saw Dean's emotions almost as often as I did. He was able to help Dean out when he was out of my reach.
"Two years ago."
"Oh." He knew. A quiet spell fell over the living room. They never lasted long, both of us unable to take it. "You don't know how happy I was to actually hear his voice after that month."
"Me too."
"It wasn't right for him to be not talking. But I understood what he was going through. I mean, Blaze would take on the pain of the universe if he could. Not that John hasn't already put the weight of the world on his shoulders," he said. Caleb may have said that about John, but he admired and respected the eldest Winchester. He just didn't approve of the amount of pressure he put on Dean. None of us approved. But Dean carried it, not knowing why. He just did.
The sound of Dean's door creaking open interrupted our conversation. "I thought that you slammed the door shut."
"I didn't mean to," Caleb said.
I grabbed Holy Water and a shotgun at my desk while Caleb grabbed his gun and pulled a knife out of his boot. When we got to the door, we saw Dean standing, or more like leaning, against the doorway. He looked as if he was about to pass out on the floor. I set down the shotgun and Holy Water. I had to be ready to catch him if he did pass out. "Bobby?" he asked.
I was about to answer, but was interrupted by the other person in the house. He had relieved himself of his weapons too. "What the hell are you doing out of bed?" Caleb yelled.
"Caleb?" Dean asked, not sure if he heard the voice. He saw Caleb standing behind me, fuming. The three of us remained standing in the room, waiting for someone to make the first move.
Damn, I'm just posting these chapters like crazy, aren't I? I just really want to get this out before my other story and before the new episodes come out. And because I've been getting so many amazing reviews. I honestly did not expect you guys to enjoy this story so much. And also, thanks for all the help with Caleb's last name. I decided to go with Harrison. My reasoning? I got a look at the original script of the pilot episode and saw that the Winchesters were actually supposed to be the Harrisons. Weird, right? I apologize for this chapter being so short. Hope that this turned out all right. Well, thanks to everyone for reading. Please review.