CARRY ON WAYWARD ROAD

THE ROAD CONTINUES

CHAPTER 5

"I'll start" Dean said, sensing my uneasiness with my emotions, for the first time that I could remember.

He took another long drink, finishing off his bottle of whiskey and opening a new one.

"I don't regret a thing," he started, "I don't regret doing what I had to do. I don't regret taking care of you. I don't regret giving up my childhood for you. Sammy, I need you to understand that."

He made sure he drew my attention back to him. "Do you hear me?" he asked, "Do you really hear me?" he repeated as I slowly nodded my head yes. "I need you to understand what I'm saying, Sammy, I need you to understand. I have my own demons, my own skeletons I need to deal with. I know that. I know I've avoided them my whole life. But you, Sammy, you are not one of them! You are one of the only things I've managed to do half way right." He stopped to take another drink.

"Dean," I said quietly, in response to what he just said, "You've done a lot of things right. You sell yourself short way too much. That crap… that crap Dad said... the crap he told you about yourself your entire life, well since Mom died anyhow, none of it is true. If you want me to really hear what you're saying then I'm asking for you to really hear what I'm saying."

I was hoping he would listen with his heart this time and not just ignore what I said. "I've looked up to you my whole life. You, in my eyes, you're the tallest man I know. You're the strongest man I know. Even when you have moments of weakness, you still look strong to me. I never realized, until now, how much crap you took, and every day it seems I realize more and more that you had to endure. Dean, that only makes you seem that much stronger. I can really see it now, I can see the strength you have. The strength to push on, to continue in life, to do everything you need to do."

I stopped, to both dry my eyes and take another drink, this time I completed my bottle, as I reached for another I realized Dean was on his third bottle of whiskey. It was still daylight out, but I could tell the sun was beginning to go down. It wouldn't be long and darkness would fill the skies once again. The long drawn out silence almost became more than I could bare, until finally Dean spoke up,

"Sammy, I just… I just don't see it. I'm sorry but I don't. I don't see strength in myself the way you do." he cleared the lump in his throat as he continued, "When… when I look at myself, I see someone who is barely getting by. Someone who is a failure. Someone who holds so much weakness. A fake. I see a fake when I look in the mirror, Sammy. I'm not the person I try to make everyone believe I am. Dad was right."

His voice lowered, sadness filling his tone, "Everything Dad has ever said about me, he was right. He knew me better than anyone. He watched me grow. He saw my weaknesses and my strengths. He built me into who I needed to be, but even though he's gone, I'm still trying to become that person. And, Sammy, I've even failed at that."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. There's no way Dad was right. There's no way Dean was that big of a failure. "NO DEAN!" I almost shouted, without meaning to, I lowered my voice. "No, Dad was not right. He tried to build you into the person he wanted, yes, that I'll agree with. But, the person he wanted you to be isn't who you really are. And that's okay. It's okay not to be his perfect little soldier. It's okay to let yourself show through. Yeah, there's times we've had to be tough no matter what we were staring down. There's gonna be times in the future we will have to be strong, no matter what, that's how we stay alive, but when we aren't facing down the monsters of the night, it's okay to be yourself, to let go, to show your weakness, to have feelings, Dean. It's okay to have feelings. And, it's okay to show them. When something hurts, physical or emotional, it's okay!"

I was just rambling, spilling words out of my mouth, not even sure what my point was anymore. I'm sure I was sounding like a broken record, repeating myself over and over, but once the words started flowing it was hard to make them stop. I didn't want to make them stop.

"Dean, you have taken more physically than anyone should ever have to take. And, emotionally, well, just from what I know as of right now, you've taken one hell of an emotional beating too. It's not fair! It's just not fair! It's not fair that you raised ME, Dad's son. I'm not your son, I'm John Winchester's son, and he couldn't even raise me. He couldn't stick around long enough to watch me grow. He was only around enough to get drunk and torture you. It just wasn't fair to you. You deserved so much better. I am the man I am today because of you, not Dad, you, Dean. I wouldn't have had a chance in hell if you wouldn't have been there for me. And how does he repay you for taking care of his son? By belittling you? By beating on you? By forcing you to do everything he wanted, exactly the way he wanted it done. And if you didn't? You would be punished, or worse, you would be trained harder. Which I honestly don't see a difference in."

I stopped only to catch my breath and take another drink. Dean didn't try to interrupt. He sat in the chair, listening to me, or better yet, allowing me to vent, I'm not sure if he was listening, I didn't care if he was or not. I needed to get this off my chest and I'd be damned if I wasted the opportunity Dean gave me to do so.

"I hate him for that Dean" I continued. "I honestly hate him. I can't even begin to imagine everything that went on behind closed doors, things you kept hidden from me. You always made sure you were upbeat and positive around me, especially when I was little, I don't know how you did it. I, I honestly don't. I mean, yes, I know I was young, but Dean, so were you. You were just a little boy yourself. And you took the crap from Dad like a grown man! A 4-year-old should not be raising a baby, you shouldn't have to. A 5 or 6-year-old shouldn't have to take care of his drunken father AND raise a baby. You shouldn't have to fear your own father returning and taking his anger and frustration out on you. You shouldn't have to know how to make games, making hiding fun, so I didn't see what was really going on. A little boy shouldn't have to listen to how worthless he is."

I stopped again, to catch my breath, my anger was starting to get the best of me. I couldn't sit still anymore. I stood from the bed and began pacing back and forth across the room. Dean still sitting, calmly, in the chair, allowing me to continue, not trying to stop me or even interrupt what I had to say.

"Damn it Dean!" I could feel my blood starting to boil. "How? How could you let him do that to you? How could you accept everything he said, everything he did, and not stop him? I don't get it! I just don't!" I didn't mean to get mad at Dean, but he was the only one there, and I had to let my rage out somehow, on someone. "Do you really not see how much better you are than that? I mean seriously, Dean, you must see it. You can't be dumb enough to believe everything that crazy man has said to you! If you do, if you believe him, then you're dumber than I thought!"

I didn't really mean to call him dumb, God knows he's heard that enough in his life. But I didn't notice him even flinch when I said it. If he did, I didn't notice. I took another drink, still pacing the room, stopping at moments, in front of Dean, to accuse him, to his face, of being a failure for allowing himself to experience pain. The very thing I was upset about, I was also causing, but I was so angry I didn't stop to realize this, not until later, until after I calmed down. I continued,

"I mean what kind of man allows someone to, not just someone, not just anyone, but his own dad, to make him strip naked and dress like a girl? I mean seriously, how the hell could you allow that? How could you just do whatever he wanted? Did you like it?"

I asked him that question, as I stopped pacing, leaned down inches from his face, rage filling me. He just sat there. Didn't answer my question. He just sat there, he raised his bottle to his mouth and took another drink. That just enraged me even more! I didn't mean to, God knows I didn't. I was so angry. When he took a drink instead of answering me, I slapped the bottle out of his hand, hard enough it flew to the wall beside Dean and shattered. I didn't even care to notice if there was any reaction out of him. I'm sure there wasn't. His dumb ass just sat there, not even responding. My blood boiling red hot by this point. I heard him rustle the bag and open another bottle.

"DID YOU?" I repeated, yelling, screaming at him this time. I wasn't sure when my body had started shaking, but I noticed that it was by this point. "Did you enjoy being Daddy's little girl? Did you enjoy being mommy? I bet you did, I mean you didn't seem to want to stop it, did you? Damn it Dean! Answer me! I want to know did you fucking enjoy it?" I screamed inches from his face again. This time he didn't try to take a drink, he sat his bottle on the table beside him instead.

"I did what I had to." was all he said, in a calm, even tone.

I didn't even let him finish, I finished the sentence for him, mocking him "to take care of you, to make sure you were safe. Yeah yeah yeah, I know Dean, that's what the fuck you always say! Was I that much of a burden? That you had to allow all the shit that happened happen? Just to take care of me? Was I really that bad?"

When did I start blaming myself? When did I start thinking of myself as a burden? I knew that wasn't true. I knew Dean didn't have a choice in the life he was handed. But, for some reason, at this moment in time, I felt like he did. All I felt was anger. For everything. From everything. Everything I had ever kept bottled up was coming out at this moment. And my brother just sat there, allowing it, just like he did with Dad.

"Are you that sorry of a person that you can't even defend yourself?" I asked as more rage built. "I mean you sure as hell couldn't defend yourself against Dad, but now you can't defend yourself against your little brother either? You're pathetic! Pathetic little Dean! Don't give a shit about yourself. Maybe you should just blow your fucking brains out, I mean, wasn't it just a couple nights ago that you wanted to? I know your sorry ass hasn't grown a set of balls since then. Oh, that's right, girls don't have balls."

Where was this coming from? I was sounding just like Dad. Had I always sounded like him? I'm guessing Dean was finding it hard to hold his composure, or maybe he just had to pee, he was on his fourth or fifth bottle of whiskey, but he stood up and started heading to the bathroom. When I felt like he was walking away from me I could feel the anger rise even more.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" I yelled at him.

"To take a piss, Sammy"

"Like hell you are, get your ass back in here." I yelled as I followed him to the bathroom.

The fact I was having to follow him and he wasn't stopping like I had commanded him to do infuriated me! I didn't mean to, God knows I didn't. I was filled with so much rage I couldn't think straight, not until I saw my brother's blood streaked down the side of the tub, pooling on the floor around his head, had I realized what I had done. In a fit of rage, as he walked in the bathroom, with me hot on his heels, I had come at him with a fist full of rage, right in the side of his face, causing him to fall to the floor, striking his head on the edge of the tub. He laid unconscious on the floor. I'm not even sure how long he had laid there before I was able to gather myself enough to realize what had happened, and to realize my brother needed help. Judging by the amount of blood pooled around his head, I'd say it was longer than just a few minutes.