On The Turning Away Chapter 6

A/N: So—I'm a chick and I wrote a moment…

Dean didn't even look up when the door flew open and banged into the wall. He just sat there, in the only chair left standing in the room. His head was down, and his hands were folded in front of him, resting on his knees. Everything in his room was destroyed. Once a source of pride, the only bedroom he ever had—everything in it was splintered. Hatchets were so embedded in the wall that when he tried to pull them out, he couldn't. The desk was lying in front of him in pieces. Glass from broken bottles of bourbon (in all his attempts to drink it, nothing would come out, as per the spell placed on them by Ezekiel—Dean thought he'd reached a special kind of Hell designed just for him) and wood littered the floor. The bed was toppled and the memory foam was ripped to shreds. The only other way more damage could've been done was if a nuclear bomb was dropped straight on it.

Sam's eyes teared up instantly.

"Dean…"

His brother looked up for a moment, and then looked back down. His eyes were swollen, from both vomiting and sorrow. Broken blood vessels surrounded his forehead like a tattooed halo, and it looked like he'd fell a few times in his drunken, angry stupor, probably against furniture, and each cheekbone was bruised. His clothes were dirty, and he'd cut himself somehow on the upper arm and dried blood ran down to his elbow. If he's this broken on the outside, Sam pondered, the inside's ten times worse. He sucks at letting shit like this out…

"You come back to tell me what a selfish bastard I am?"

"No."

Sam watched as Dean turned his head slightly towards him, then back down.

"You can't punish me any more than I have myself, Sam. You might as well leave again. Stay gone this time."

Unrebuffed, Sam took a few steps forward, looking at the floor and kicking debris out of the way. "We're gonna have to rebuild."

Dean swallowed hard. He too, like Kevin, didn't think he could cry any more than he already did. But, somehow, his body sold him out and the waterworks started again.

Sam crouched beside him, careful not to put his knees into the shards on the floor.

"There ain't no me if there ain't no you."

Dean inhaled sharply and held it. He looked into his brother's eyes and felt his muscles soften. Just as he began to reach for his brother, his Forgiver, Sam snatched him up in an embrace and cupped the back of his head and just stayed there. His once clenched fists were filled with the back of Sam's shirt, and his exhausted muscles shook as he tried to match his brother's grasp. He only let go when he felt Sam fumble around in his jacket pocket. When he looked down at his brother's hand, he held a small, circular embroidered piece of cloth. He stuck his forefinger and thumb in his eye sockets and swallowed again, then rubbed his face.

"You take up cross stitch while you were gone?"

"Read it, asshole."

Dean's forehead wrinkled again as the read the words, and he had to brush away the little salty betrayers one more time in order to finish it.

Sam watched as his brother read. His face took on an more serious tone. "I love you. I will no matter what. Shut up and accept it."

"Me too." Dean grabbed Sam by the back of the neck roughly and kissed him on the cheek. "If you ever tell anybody I just did that, Sam, so help me-." To be honest, he was surprised at his lack of inhibition himself. He looked down at his newly-acquired gift, studied it again, and looked up at his brother.

"I do all this."

Sam smiled and huffed, rolled his eyes, and started to walk out of the room.

"But I do!"

"Kev, get a broom, would ya?!"

FIN-BUT maybe subject to revisions... :)