Broken, a Destiel Story

Part 20

Sam sat at the kitchen table, a bottle of beer in his hand. He'd tried to eat, but once again he couldn't. He had barely slept the last few weeks, and he'd completely given up on shaving. He didn't know what to do now that his mom was gone, again. The fight against Michael had been the most intense, heartbreaking experience he'd been through since Dean had been dragged to hell all those years ago.

They had killed Michael. Jack had killed Michael. Obliterated him, in fact. But at a terrible cost. Because in the process, Mary had gotten killed too, simply because she was standing too close when Michael had been vaporized. And there had been nothing left of her to even try and bring her back. It was one of those things that never should have happened, that didn't make sense and never would make sense. And yet it was. It simply was. And he had to deal with it.

Jack had been mortified. And Sam knew he felt tremendous guilt. But that didn't take away the pain. And yet, the fact that Dean had ordered Jack and Castiel to leave had only made things harder. He could barely look at his brother now, and had no one to lean on, to grieve with. He felt so alone, so angry with Dean. So betrayed and so hurt. Dean had spent almost every waking hour in his room or out on a hunt. When he wasn't doing either of those he was passed out drunk somewhere in the bunker.

He took another swig of his beer and sighed, a single tear falling down his cheek. He sniffled, and wiped it away, just as Dean entered the kitchen. He looked even shittier than Sam felt. He pulled a beer out of the fridge and walked away, not even acknowledging Sam's presence.

Sam grew even more hurt and angry now. He got up from the table and followed Dean into the main room of the bunker. He found him sitting at one of the rectangular tables, laptop out, sipping his beer. He was still wearing his robe and pajamas even though it was three in the afternoon.

Sam slowly pulled out a chair and sat across from his brother. He couldn't do this anymore. This whole ignoring each other thing. His grief and anger were overwhelming. "Dean, we need to talk," he said softly. He was so exhausted his eyes were burning, and he had a terrible headache, but this conversation had to happen. 

"About what?" Dean said, taking another swig of beer and looking at his computer screen.

Dean's feigned ignorance lit a fire in Sam. "About Mom!" he yelled. "About the fact that you have been completely walled off for the past three weeks! About the fact that you never, once asked me how I was doing with all of this! About the fact that Cas and Jack are gone because you made them leave, and I never even got a say in that! So now I'm not only dealing with Mom's death, but I'm dealing with it alone, because you took away the rest of our family when I needed them the most!"

"Jack killed Mom, Sam!" Dean yelled back, finally looking at his brother.  "Don't tell me you don't have a problem with that?!"

"It sucks, Dean. It hurts like hell. But it was an accident," Sam said, more softly now, his fatigue overtaking his anger. "Jack did the best he could in an impossible situation. He killed Michael, and saved a lot of people's lives doing so. I hate what happened to Mom. I miss her, every day. Every minute. But I don't blame Jack for it. And neither should you. If either of us were the ones who had the ability to take down Michael, and it had been us who had accidentally killed Mom, we would forgive each other. You know we would. So why can't we do the same for Jack?"

Dean looked down, clenching his jaw. "I just can't, Sam" he said. "I just . . . I can't."

"And what about Cas?" Sam asked. "How long are you going to go without talking with him? Are you going to let him stay gone forever?"

"Hey, Cas didn't have to go," Dean said angrily, looking his brother in the face and pointing a finger at him. "That was his choice."

"And what about my choice?" Sam asked, growing frustrated again. "I didn't get a choice in that. And I am not okay, Dean. I'm not. And what it's doing to you, not having Cas here . . . Dean you're so withdrawn, I feel like I don't even have my brother anymore." He looked at Dean, his blood shot eyes begging, pleading for his brother to see him.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said, halfheartedly. He was too stubborn to admit how wrong he was, how wrong he'd been. "I'm sorry they had to go."

"They didn't have to go, Dean," Sam corrected sternly. "And they certainly don't have to stay gone."

"What do you want from me, huh?" Dean asked. "You want me to go groveling back to Cas and Jack, tell them how sorry I am and how wrong I was kicking them out? Beg them to come home?"

"Yes!" Sam said, upset enough now that he stood up. "That's exactly what I want, Dean! I want our family back!"

Dean looked down again and bit his lip. He shook his head. "I can't," he said, looking up again. His eyes were brimming with tears. "I'm sorry, Sammy, but I can't do that." He grabbed his beer and left the table, once again leaving Sam alone.