Share Your Pain With Me

Summary: Dean doesn't remain as stoic as one would think after their father's death. Set in early S2, tag to episode 2.

Pairing/s: None.

Warnings: A bit of angst.

Disclaimers: I don't own Supernatural.


Sam heard the first bang not long after he had left his brother, and he broke at the sound. He turned back, steps quiet, resolved to remain unnoticed if Dean was not up to be seeing anyone. He caught sight of the older man and Sam's fists clenched in shared pain.

Dean hit the trunk of the Impala time after time with a crowbar, face impassive yet filled with pain and sorrow. When he was done he threw the crowbar away and stood silent. His lips quivered and Sam nearly walked out then. Then the older man sank to his knees, hands gripping the car as if it was the only thing holding him above the ground and his head bent down, shoulders starting to shake. Sam took a step closer when Dean looked up at the sky. Tears trickled down his cheeks and he called out brokenly:

"Dad…" His head sank back down and he hit the car with his fist with such strength Sam was scared he would break his hand. "Fuck!" Dean screamed to the ground. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" With each scream, he hit the car and Sam acted.

He got to his big brother and pulled the man to him, Dean's head in the crook of his arm, resting there and the other arm around his brother's back. Dean fought, kicking and hitting until Sam shouted to him:

"Dean, it's me, it's Sammy!" He didn't care he just called himself Sammy. It worked. Dean grew slack instantly and lay panting in Sam's arms for a bit. Then a whisper that almost had Sam crying:


Sam choked on his breath, tears burning behind his eyes and unconsciously he began rocking, holding Dean up and buried his face in Dean's short hair. The hair smelt shampoo, the one Dean had always used ever since eleven-year old Sam had said he liked it.

"Mom," Dean whispered again. He got up on his knees but didn't move away to shut off, instead he clung steadily to his little brother. "Sammy…"

"It's okay," Sam whispered. "It's okay, Dean, it's gonna be all okay."

Dean let himself be held, sniffing quietly and felt the quietness around them. After several minutes of stillness Sam moved.

"Let me take a look on your hand," he said quietly.

Dean still sat leaned against him but Sam felt a bit uncomfortable. He turned so that he could lean against the Impala, Dean's back nestled to his chest. Sam drew his knees up on either side of his big brother and took Dean's hand, wincing when he saw the bloodied knuckles. The older man watched as Sam prodded on the hand, hissing once in a while when the big thumb pushed too hard.

"Bruised but nothing broken," Sam concluded. "But you really did a number on yourself… and the car."

"Yeah," Dean said thickly. He closed his eyes and let his head rest on Sam's shoulder. Sam leaned his chin on Dean's head and looked down. Tears were drying on the older man's cheeks but Sam wiped them away, almost angrily. Dean shouldn't cry. Didn't fit him. Didn't make him Dean.

The older man moved to his side, rested his forehead to Sam's neck and the younger one smiled a bit at that.

"I miss mom and dad," Dean said suddenly. "I miss them so much…"

"I know… me too," Sam whispered. "I miss them too. But we got each other."

He tightened his hold on his big brother and Dean wiped his eyes, away with the lingering wetness before sitting up straighter. He didn't move away from Sam's arms though. He sighed and lifted his head, resting his forehead to Sam's. Sam closed his eyes, one hand up to cradle Dean's skull.

"Giant hands," Dean mumbled.


Dean chuckled and gently took his baby brother's head in his hands, and Sam felt the long-lost feeling of Dean kissing his forehead. He held the tears at bay, willing them away. He shouldn't cry because of this. Then Dean's arms around his torso again, like always but this time around, Sam acted. He returned the gesture, holding Dean's head as gently as his big brother had done to him.

"You big girl," Dean said, voice a bit rough.

"Right back at ya," Sam said with a chuckle. "Come on, let's get inside and take care of that hand of yours."


Bobby heard the two brothers enter and frowned. How had Sam managed to lure Dean from the Impala? He rose up just in time to see the two boys come into the kitchen.

Sam lowered Dean down on one of the kitchen-chairs, whispered something to his brother to which Dean answered with a grunt, and then came into the living room to get their first-aid kit.

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked as Sam got it up.

"Um, you need to find a new trunk to the car," Sam said. "Or at least fix the current one."

"What's wrong with the current one?" the older man asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Dean trashed it… with a crowbar. And then tried to bash it in even more with his fist. Last one didn't work out so well."

"That idjit," Bobby muttered.

"He's been through a lot," Sam said.

"So have you," the man replied.

"Okay, both of us," the younger hunter said. "It's just instead of sorrow he shows anger. Today I got a bit of both."

He walked back to Dean, leaving Bobby to watch them. And watch them he did.

"It's fine," Dean said, rubbing his face with his good hand.

"Dean, it's starting to swell. If you say it's fine one more time, I'll hit you."

"Yeah, like you can do that, Samantha," Dean said with a snort.

"I won't let you drive the Impala when's it's fixed up."

"I got the keys."

"I'll hide your tapes," Sam declared.

"What? Dude, that's just cruel!"

"Are you going to let me tend to your hand or not then?"

Dean glared at him for a minute, then put his hand on the table. Bobby saw the blood and winced; that gotta hurt. The older man's eyes looked red too, like he had been crying. He rubbed at them again, until Sam swatted the hand away.

"Stop it."

"It itches."

"You trying to rub your eyes out of your skull isn't really helping."

Dean glared, or tried to, but Sam had already turned back to the hand he was now cleaning. The older man looked on as his brother worked, much to Bobby's surprise. It was not often Dean let anyone tend to him, much less his little brother.

"Alright," Sam said. "Once the swelling's done you should be just fine but until then… can you please not try breaking your knuckles on the car?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

"And can you please not take it out on the trunk anymore? I think it has suffered more than enough already."

Dean coloured a bit and looked away as Sam wrapped his knuckles in bandages.

"All done," the man said and rose up. "You want something to eat? You haven't had anything in a while."

"Dunno," Dean said and shrugged. "Can't feel if I'm hungry or not."

"Well, I'm making some lunch so you can eat a bit of it anyway."


Sam put away the first aid-kit and began to make lunch, already having gotten permission from Bobby days ago to use the kitchen as his own. Dean turned around on his chair and leaned his chin onto the chair's back to watch his little brother while Bobby came into the kitchen.

"You two boys alright?" he asked.

"Peachy," Dean muttered, looked at his bandaged hand. Bobby raised an eyebrow at that and said:

"Really? What does your hand say?"

"Less than peachy."

"You're not peachy," Sam said, not even turning around. "Neither is the car. You're both wreck."

"Hey, don't call my baby a wreck!"

"Piece of junk?"


Bobby rolled his eyes; peachy or not for the moment, those two would be just fine.


That night, long after Bobby had fallen asleep, Sam woke up to the feeling that something was not right. He got up from his bed and sure enough, Dean's bed was empty. The man got up, pulled on some jeans and tugged a shirt on before walking down to the first floor. He took a chance and pulled open the front door, stepping out into the night. It was a bit cold and he regretted not taking anything more on.

But seeing his brother leaning against the Impala the same way Sam had done earlier that day made him continue walking. As far as he could tell Dean did not nurse a beer bottle, or anything alcoholic. Instead he just sat there. Barefoot, in jeans and a T-shirt. Sam's T-shirt of all things and Sam said:

"You're stealing my T-shirts now?"

Dean looked up at him, saw him grin and shrugged. He had been pretty quiet after their meal, and it made Sam's heart twist. It was not normal for his brother to be this silent.

Sam sat down next to him and nudged his shoulder.

"Come on, say something."

"Like what?"

"Why my T-shirt?"

"Closest," Dean said with a new shrug. "Did I wake you?"

"Nah. You're pretty good at being silent. Too silent."

Dean looked over at Sam, sighed a bit and said: "Is there something you want to say out loud instead of jumping around the subject?"

Sam wondered why he even bothered trying to hide it. "Do you have anything you want to say? 'Cause if you have, you could've just woken me up, dude."

The older man was silent for a bit.

"I didn't have it when I woke up," he said. "Just wanted to have some fresh air, clear my thoughts." Sam waited patiently while Dean stared down at his naked feet, not caring that he was freezing and Dean must be even colder. "I don't know, man. I'm not used to talk… like this." He gestured with his hand towards them.

"Tell me about it," Sam said and Dean looked offended. "It's true; can't argue with that."

Dean chuckled a bit, knowing it was indeed true. Sam had looked near tears, or a fit, when Dean shut down on him. Maybe he should start becoming a better brother.

"I haven't been that nice to you, have I?"

The question startled Sam. "How do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean, with all the not talking, the pushing around, the pushing away. Kept telling you I didn't need it."

"It's just your way," Sam said with a shrug. "Although it bugged the hell out of me, I knew why you did it."

"You're not angry with me?"

"Is there a reason why I should be?" Sam looked over at Dean. The man stubbornly looked right ahead. "Dean, it's gonna take some time before you want to talk… I don't mind. I just don't want to see you in pain like earlier today. I don't want to see your tear yourself to pieces just because you don't want to talk."

"How else am I supposed to do it?"

"I dunno, man. Scream, just take a deep breath and scream all you can. Take a round with an axe on a tree or something. Stuff like that. It helps."

"You've tried it?" Dean looked a bit amused.

"Once or twice. I just screamed though. That was kinda refreshing."

Dean nodded, remained silent. After a bit his cold foot knocked into Sam's cold foot.

"It's fucking freezing, let's go back inside."

"Best idea you've got all night, Dean."

They made it inside without incident, both feeling pretty chilled and got back into their room. Dean sat down on the bed, and rubbed his slightly blue toes, wincing at the coldness. Sam settled in beside him but the older man did not comment.

Once their feet somewhat resembled like they used to Dean fell back on the bed, tugging at the covers.

"Go back to bed, geekboy," he said. Sam hesitated for a moment, then fell back as well. "What are you doing?"

"Making the bed smaller."

Dean looked at him for a minute, eyes unreadable. "Huh," he breathed out. "Just don't hog all the covers, alright?"

"Got it."

With that Dean turned to his side, closed his eyes and nodded off almost immediately. Sam stayed awake though, staring at his brother's back. His big brother. His stubborn yet wonderful big brother.

Dean hated talking. Hated chick-flick. Hated anything that might force him to show a tiny emotion. Yet he had tried tonight. It had been stuttering at best, but it was the first time Sam had heard him talk like that. Had heard him trying to talk through a problem instead of just brushing it off, cutting Sam's worries off with a growl.

He was nowhere close to talk about things with ease. But he was getting there. Sam smiled and gently, very gently, leaned his forehead against Dean's neck.

They would both get to the point they could share each other's pain.


So. I started with this a while ago. Finished it today.

Until another time,