A Moment with My Brother

Sam's Mad.

Sam's mad.

No...no, that's not right. Strike that thought before it turns all over-bright screen-saver-ish and burns into your giant-brain-y-cortex. He's not mad, he just looks like he is.

Oh don't get me wrong, it's a darn fine impression of being mad and he's very commanding, being tall as all fuck, so even quasi/not-really/but-Sammy-sorta, mad is pretty intimidating.

No, it is. Really it is. It's intimidated Kevin clear outta the library with it's flaring nostrils and flowing locks and dramatic, stomping about.

But for all that, you and I know (cause I just told ya, so even if you weren't bright enough to work it out for yaself, you know it now) he's not actually mad.

It's a good enough attempt at it though that Cas isn't really sure...but then Cas's often unsure.

Well, about some things he is.

Human things especially. It's endearing as stink but does sometimes lead to angelic awkwardness. He's funniest with Dean. Man, I could write a book...series of novels...epic GoT saga about how misunderstood those two manage to get themselves.

But that's for another time.

Just now I'm explaining about Sam being mad, (Not actually.)

So here's the deal. I'll be short cause I know you don't have all day...groceries to be shopped/ ironing to be done/ things to be salted and burned.

So, movin' on, lickerty-split...

Dean's hurt.

It's not shit-med-evac-to-the-emergency-room-stat!, hurt but it's certainly 'Get-off-me-I-can-walk-Oops-let-me-carry-ya-twenty -stitches-and four-bandages' sorta hurt and all the anxiety and painful empathy and guilt cause I wasn't there to watch your back, that comes with that, for Sam.

And, to be honest, Dean's been pretty grown up about it...well, for Dean, he's been grown up...and for the most part has bitten down his embarrassment at needing even a modicum of help and acquiesced to our combined fussing over him.

So we got him cleaned up and sutured and bandaged and it was all going really well until Sam tried to get him into his PJ's and 'put him to bed'. Yeah, literally, hands-on, put Dean to bed.

And see, Dean didn't want to go. Not unless he was going under his own steam and by that stage he was tired and sore but didn't want to admit that he couldn't get there under his own steam.

You're getting the picture, huh?

And so then they...had words...big, shouty, I don't love you at all and I never have, words and it all went...pear...nope, it went whole-fruit-freaking-cocktail, shaped.

So now Sam's banging and muttering round the kitchen, slamming the cupboard doors and declaring how irrational, unreasonable and down-right annoying his big brother is.

Un-huh...

Time for a sibling intervention I feel.

I meander to the counter and plop myself down on one of the breakfast bar stools. I don't say anything. I just follow Sam with my eyes and exude waves of sisterly solace.

It takes nineteen seconds (not my best but pretty close) and Sam quietens, stills and sighs.

"How you doing, Sam?"

I ask softly, lacing each word with the love I absolutely feel for this, so-young but old for his years, giant of a man.

All the fight goes out of him instantly...I've not lost my magic, and he parks his impressive frame opposite me and smiles, sorta sheepishly.

"I'm sorry..."

He apologizes and I pat his hand where it lies on the counter top but leave the silence for him to fill. And he does.

"It's just..."

He sighs again and tilts his head toward Dean's room.

"He makes me so mad sometimes, Charlie."

I nod my 'feel free to get it all out' nod and back it up with my lake-of-empathy eyes. He knows I know the truth so he 'fesses up' and carries on.

"I just wanna help him sometimes like he helps me. He's always there for me. For Cas, for you...For anyone who needs it..."

I smile warmly cause he's right. Dean gives of himself all the time. I worry one day he'll have given so much there'll be nothing left for himself and I know that thought terrorizes Sam too.

"But he won't...just damn well let me be there for him."

His voice has softened and his hazel eyes are gentle with frustrated affection and I'm drawn to take his hand in mine.

"Won't?"

I question back and he looks momentarily puzzled before a wry, soft, sad smile lifts the corner of his mouth.

"Can't..."

He whispers and I nod...we both nod cause we know the truth of it. It's not that Dean won't...he can't let people help him. It's not willful defiance that stops him but a lifetime of genetic programming that tells every fibre of his being that he doesn't matter but others do.

Especially Sam. To Dean, no one really matters as much as Sam. And Sam knows that.

He glances over towards his brother's room again and now his deep hazel eyes are warm as a summers day. Alive with his love for the man who, more or less raised him.

"I left him struggling to try and put his t-shirt on. He just would not let me help him."

I tilt my head, sympathetic to the remorse that oozes from him.

"He can't even lift his arm but the stubborn bastard was all 'I can manage, Sammy' and I got mad and told him he was an annoying shit and he could damn well struggle then."

I laugh a little then. I don't mean to be cruel but I can't help it cause I can see both of their stubborn, mad at each other cause they were both scared, faces and I want to shake them, shake some sense into them but I'd be bucking against...well against what their whole life has taught them. So I forget that as a plan.

Sam goes to rise as if to head towards Dean's room.

"I should go..."

He starts but I stop him with a meaningful shake of my head...it tousles my shiny red locks to maximum effect and suggest instead.

"Let me go, Sam."

He holds my gaze for what seems like minutes and I find an amount of trust reflected back to me that is humbling.

"Okay."

He smiles out that one word that means so much more and I stand to head for Dean's room only to be seized in a hug that's so warm that I feel tears prickle in my eyes and I hug him back, happy that my little, 'big-brother' is in my life.

Ends