Just Listening

Summary: After John's death, Sam needed to see Dean's pain more than ever. Oneshot.


A/N: Just recently someone in my family died and I guess I was inspired. I'm dedicating this story to that person.

I know that Dean cried when they burned John's body and then at the end of Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things, and I know that Dean had shown his emotions on more than one occasion during season two, but hey, I wrote this anyway.

I've been pretty busy with everything going on lately, and I've been ignoring some of my WIP stories (Especially Going Back), and I'm trying to get myself back into the swing of things. So if anyone is reading any of my WIP, I'm definitely continuing them, I'm just unsure of when I'll get to it.

Written in Sam's POV. I hope you like it, and let me know what you think!


I can hear him sometimes. He's been hiding it from me. Always has tried to hide everything from me. As if seeing his emotions would somehow ruin me, hurt me. But the denial, the lies, the hidden, wary pain that is locked behind his eyes day in and day out hurts me even more than any tear on his cheek could ever.

Not even the hard pangs of water against tile while he showers can hide his sobs. Dean is great at hiding it. Believe me, I've questioned his ability to bounce back enough times. No matter the situation, it never affected Dean. Outwardly. I'd never seen him cry, never seen him upset; worried, but never upset, not until I started looking harder.

There may never have been a time when Dean needed to cry, but I needed to see him cry more than ever. I really have no idea why, but I just needed to know that he was hurting as much as I was, that he was upset, that he didn't just let it go like it was nothing. I needed to know that I wasn't alone. That's why I started listening.

Most of the motel rooms didn't have locks that were hard to pick or some didn't even have locks to their bathrooms. That made it much easier to listen.

His sobs seemed to echo through the steam of the shower and as I stood in the doorway, I couldn't picture his shoulders shaking like I knew mine had. His breath hitched as he took in a shaky breath, trying to calm himself. I wanted to see him wipe the tears from his eyes, but I could only listen.


We said our goodnights, never goodbyes. You don't say goodbye until you know there is no more time. I just wish that Dean had said it to Dad.

I forced my eyes awake. I'd been trained to stay awake for days with minimal sleep, plus I've been pre-law, sleep isn't required. I turned away from him just in case, though I knew that Dean wouldn't look towards me.

The sound came out quiet at first, barely above a whisper. I wasn't even sure if it wasn't a whisper. But it steadily grew louder. I could distinctly tell that Dean was sobbing, sucking in uneasy air while blowing up tearful sobs. I felt the tears roll down my own cheeks, but I couldn't see his.

I choked back a sob myself. I missed him. I missed Dad, and I wanted him back. He wasn't always there, but I knew he was there—somewhere. I knew that he was out there, waiting for the one call. Or ten. But Dad was only a few miles, a few states away. Now, he was gone, forever. He wasn't coming back. I wasn't going to hear his rough voice yelling at me or feel his hand against my back or shoulder when he was worried about me. I wouldn't get the gut-wrenching worry that came with every time Dad left. I'd never see his smile, no matter how rare it was. I don't know if he died thinking I was angry with him. He'd died thinking I've hated him all these years, when I've just hated what the world handed me, not him. If I had just been nicer, more obedient, less rebellious...If I had been there or called while I was gone, maybe he would have died knowing that I was always a Winchester and that I loved him.

"Dean?" I asked, my voice shaky and hitched. I could barely get the word out between my sobs and choked cries of pain. How could I have done that to my own father?

"Yeah?" Dean asked after a pause. I rolled over, noticing how his elbow was in the air, most likely rubbing the tears that I let fall freely down my face.

"I really miss him Dean."

"Yeah." I could see him looking up at the ceiling and I clicked on the lamp next to me. His face was dry, but there was a small red tint to his eyes. "Me too," he added.

"I never hated him," I began, needing to talk. I sat up, facing Dean, fighting the urge to go sit next to him. When we were kids I used to climb into his bed whenever I was afraid or upset, but now I didn't know where we stood on these issues. "I loved him. I just wish he knew that."

"I'm sure he does," he answered, glancing over at me. His face fell as he saw me and he sat himself up immediately. "Sam?"

"Yeah Dean," I choked on the words again and I found that the tears weren't ending.

He didn't say anything, but he watched me with a concerned look upon his face.

"I don't want him to be gone," I said childishly, rubbing violently at my eyes. My words came out hollow and loud, the tears seemed to clog my throat, forcing the words out. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak, and I couldn't figure out how to function anymore.

"Sammy," Dean cooed and suddenly he was sitting next to me, his hand on my back. I leaned into him, continuing to cry. "What's done is done." His hand moved from my back to my head and I couldn't help but look up at him expectantly. I wanted the tears I had, to be running down his face, but they weren't even sitting in his eyes.

"No. We're...I can't..."

"Sammy," he spoke, silencing me. I continued to stare at me.

"Don't you miss him! Don't you...oh God, I can't do this alone."

"Sam!" he almost screamed at me. "You're not alone." He started to run his fingers through my hair. He stared at me in confusion and pain, and I could have sworn I saw the shimmer of watery liquid in his eyes.

"Yes I am!" I yelled, still laced with tears and pain. "You don't feel the same way. I'm alone. I have to deal with this on my own. But..." I stared straight into his eyes, locking in on them. "I need you. I always have. I need you to let me see; to let me know what you feel. I need to not be alone. I need you to be there for me and let me be there for you!"

Dean smiled at me as a lone tear seemed to run down his cheek out of his left eye. He stared a moment before the tears really started to come. "I'm here Sammy, I'm here."

The End.