A/N: alright i want to make something perfectly clear. the sentiments towards the higher being in this story are not my personal feelings toward which ever deity you personally believe in. this is written as Dean having a conversation with God after the Madison incident. if this is not your cup of tea then please stop right here. but please do not press that review button only so that you can yell at me for the theoretical conversation that is in this story. like i said, this does not portray my personal feelings.
with that being said, this is something that has been nagging at me since i saw the episode Heart, and it all sprung from that single tear that we see Dean shed at the end. so please read and enjoy, and maybe take it with a grain of salt. but please review!!
Disclaimor: i do not own supernatural or any of the perks that come along with it.
There are times when this job really gets to me. It happens more often than you would think. But most of the time I don't let anybody know. Sam always says that he can read me as easily as I can read him, and most of the time he's right. But not about this; this is a burden that I keep to myself. He looks to me to be strong when he feels weak, to lift him up when he falls. Not the other way around. Its not suppose to be the other way around. Sam doesn't get to share my pain.
Or I guess he does, in a way. Because his pain is my pain. There are very few times when I let all of the pain and grief that I have welled up inside me push through the cracks in my usually rock solid façade. And it's during those times when I just need to get away for a couple of hours, be by myself. Nobody needs to see me lose it.
There have been 3 times in my life. 3 times that I have gone into the middle of the freakin' woods and really just lost it. I get me a bottle of Jack and then I just go. The first time it happened was when Sam left for college. That night, well that night I didn't come home. I stayed in those woods for hours, kicking the shit out of every tree, bush, and rock that I could find. And when I was so drunk that I couldn't stand up without falling right back down, I sat against a tree and threw whatever I could get my hands on.
I thought that would be the only time. Turned out that it wasn't.
The night that Jessica died I took the half empty bottle that was in the trunk of the car and just walked behind the motel that we were staying at. I could still smell the smoke, it was everywhere. The look that I saw in Sam's eyes that night, it scared the shit out of me. There was no grieving. But there was pain, so much pain. He wanted to leave that night, to try and go and find dad. But he let me lead him to a nearby motel and push him into the shower. He didn't yell. He didn't cry. He just didn't. He had shut down, completely and totally. He was in the shower forever, and when he came out he just got into bed, with his back to me, and just stared at the wall. He was still in the same position when I stepped out of the bathroom more than an hour later. His expression was vacant. And that was what scared me. I mean, Sam is passionate about everything. He has never gone down without a fight. He didn't even move when I told him that I needed some air. So I just walked into the woods behind the motel, walked until I couldn't even see the lights of the parking lot. And that's when I lost it. I cried and yelled and threw things, all of the things that I wanted Sam to do, to be able to have a vent for what he must be trying to keep bottled up inside. It was late by the time that I headed back. In the case that Sammy actually fell asleep I didn't want him to have to wake up alone. So I walked back, hoping that I never had to do this again.
Again I was wrong. It happened again after dad died. I don't even really remember that night. But there was a lot of alcohol involved, so I can only surmise what happened. My voice was raw and scratchy, probably from screaming. My arms and legs were covered in bruises, and my knuckles were scraped up, probably from battling some helpless tree. And I had the mother of all hangovers. When I came stumbling back to the room that next morning, I told Sam that I had gotten into a bar fight and then went home with the hot little brunette that the fight was over. He didn't question it, which was good because I really wasn't in the sharing and caring kind of mood just then.
I lied before, when I said that there have only been 3 times in my life that it has happened. I wasn't counting today. Today makes 4.
Is Sam's life some kind of sick joke for you? Do you get your kicks tearing him apart so to see if he is going to be able to put himself back together again? Because honestly? There is going to come a time when he's not going to be able to do it. I mean, I didn't get it when he told me, and I really don't get it now. Sam prays every night. He prays to whom I can only assume is who's listening right now. He thinks that you are a source of what is good and right in this world. And this is what you do for him? He could have loved her, hell I think he already did. The first person he really lets himself have feelings for since Jess. How could you let this happen? Do you have any compassion at all? If you really are the all knowing being that people take you for then why couldn't you stop this? I tried to believe in what Sam was saying. He believes so much that there is someone or something out there that is looking out for all of us little people. Well then why weren't you looking out for him?!? HUH?!? ANSWER ME!!
It, it wasn't supposed to be like this. Not like this. Sam was supposed to find love again. All I want is for him to be happy. And he could have been happy with Madison. But you took that all away. I didn't really believe in you before. But I think that I do now. And all you are is a vindictive, self serving bastard if this is how you treat my brother. Like he hadn't already lost enough. You just had to keep taking more. Well you know what? Screw you.
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