Takes place after CSPWDT. Sam had wanted to help Dean with his grief but this time he couldn't. He simply couldn't find the words that would make it alright and now Dean had hit self destruct and Sam was powerless to stop it.
A/N So yeah just for a change Dean's copping for it and Sam's trying his hardest to help- as usual- but sucking at it big time - what's a little brother to do?
I know I'm torturing Dean AGAIN but my next fic which I'm working on alongside this will be more Sam whumpage, I just did this one first for chronological reasons.
Some minor references to first fic "Fall to Pieces" because you know I like things to carry on, but it's not essential for you to have read it. And yes you can expect lots of angst. Lots. Did I mention lots? T rated for language and a little violence in coming chapters.
"Dad's dead because of me...I was dead- and I shoulda stayed dead...So tell me; what can you possibly say to make that alright?"
Two men who were little more than boys stood side by side leaning on the car that was the next best thing to a home. Death had played a huge part in their short lives and now death was threatening to destroy them. The eldest who should've left the earth for certain on two occasions was facing the possibility of living the remainder of his life with the knowledge his father had sold his soul to allow him to live and continue the journey that he had set him on as a small boy. Having this information forced upon him had been taking an unbearable toll and cracks were beginning to show in the usually stoic and unshakeable hunter. The youngest who had witnessed his father's death after an exchange of words he knew he would never be able to retract had made various attempts at drawing out the eldest's guilt and grief but now when faced with the words his brother had finally been able to voice he had been unable to find anything of help or comfort.
To say Sam was shocked was an understatement. He knew Dean was struggling with their father's recent death but to finally hear that he believed he should have died instead shook his foundations leaving him speechless and at a total loss. Sam had been cajoling his brother to talk to him about what was going on his messed up head and Dean predictably had resisted. But now his hardened, "no chick flick moments" older brother had broken in front of his very eyes confessing the darkness he felt within him. Sam thought it ironic that the moment Dean had finally been able to trust him with the shadows that haunted him was the moment he froze and could find no words of consolation. Nothing that could make it alright. Desperately and hopelessly searching for words he knew he would never find he simply remained at his brother's side offering merely his presence and what he hoped was a comforting silence and praying that that would be enough.
But it wasn't.
It wasn't enough because the grief and guilt that Dean was feeling could not be put into words and couldn't be erased by a good night's sleep and an understanding look. He'd instantly regretted opening up to his younger brother, it had helped no one, not him nor Sam. See I told you it was pointless. Caring and sharing wasn't his gig and evidently he was right to shy away from talking about the horrors that disturbed his dreams as there was no cure or answer only silence. A never ending silence which only fuelled the conviction that he had been spared because his father had made an unspeakable arrangement with something so evil, no human should ever have to lay eyes on it. He knew there was nothing Sam could say, but a small part of him had hoped that Sam's usually sharp brain would come up with something that would let him know he wasn't losing his mind. Something that would make all this go away and make everything alright. But there was nothing. It wasn't Sam's fault it was just how it was. But what scared him the most was how empty he felt. Hate and anger and pain he could deal with but this emptiness that he couldn't shake: it left him void and numb and full of nothing. That was it. He was void. Null. He shouldn't exist - he was a non person. His existence was now meaningless because he simply shouldn't be.
And there was nothing Sam or anyone could say that would change that fact.
When they arrived at the motel Sam was not surprised that after checking in, Dean headed straight for the nearby bar. Sam followed of course and sat with him in silence as his brother knocked back shot after shot. He watched as the light slowly left his eyes and was replaced by an emptiness and darkness that terrified him. They said nothing but Dean continued to drink until his head could no longer hold its own weight and Sam had to half carry, half drag him back to their room.
The next morning Dean was quiet and moody. Not irritating or snarky just - empty. Sam couldn't bear what could only be described as the complete lack of anything resembling his brother in Dean's eyes and the growing feeling of helplessness that was threatening to crush him. Dean spent the rest of the day hitting on as many women as he could. Sam hung out with him in the bar pretending to be busy with the lap top while Dean chatted to the latest beauty that had walked in. The amount of drinks he had consumed were affecting his memory resulting in a mix up of names and forgetting that the tall blonde who was called Sherry not Lizzy and had been informed that she was "the most wonderful creature he had ever laid eyes on" had just paid a visit to the ladies room and was now stood behind him while he used the same line on a pretty brunette with green eyes named Carla not Bridget. This earned him a slap in the face from the blonde and a martini in the face from the brunette and he still couldn't remember their names.
Sam had looked up giving him the narrow eyed You're Being a Jerk look and Dean had simply pasted on his Give-a Shit? look and swaggered off back to the room to change his shirt before returning with the sole intention of getting laid before bedtime. Which of course he achieved with very little effort.
The third day Dean spent propping up the bar. Sam had attempted to cajole him into helping him with his research but Dean had simply looked at him with dark soulless eyes and Sam had walked away defeated. When Dean returned to the room it was well into the early hours and his knuckles were bloodied and his face bruised. Sam cleaned him up without saying a word and put him to bed to sleep off the effects of the alcohol that was slowly poisoning his brother and slowly destroying Sam.
The fourth day they received a phone call.
To be continued. Thanks for reading- please be patient this could take a while...