Chapter Text
The thing with Sam though...he could hold a grudge. I mean, Dean could hold a grudge forever, he wasn't disputing that. He could hold on to it, chew on it, turn it over, churn with bitterness over it...but he pushed that shit down. He stowed it with all the other crap that was wrong with his life and he let it out in little spurts of alcoholism and whenever some monster hexed him into expressing himself. Otherwise, he just tried his best to keep the peace. It was ingrained in him from years of dealing with Dad and Sam.
But Sam...
Sam felt free to indulge his feelings.
He felt free to express himself.
Especially when he felt aggrieved.
Dean kind of envied him the ability to do that if he was being honest.
"And are you? Being honest?"
Dean looked up at the therapist in whose office he was currently sitting. He had no idea how he'd gotten here. Dean Winchester didn't do therapy. He didn't delve into his feelings.
But here he was.
This was the passe that this war with Sam had brought him to.
He was laid low. He needed help and he had no one to turn to.
So, therapist, it was.
Dean sighed, "course I'm bein honest," he said, letting the fact that he was insulted that she would even ask bleed through his words.
"So would you rather Sam be like you? Hold all his feelings inside maybe?"
"No, that's..." Dean sighed with frustration, "That's not what I'm sayin'!"
"Okay...so what are you saying?"
"I'm sayin that I get it. I hurt him. I apologized. There's nothing else I can do. But he wants me to stay in this like...holding pattern. Just waiting. Until when? When does my double secret probation end?"
The therapist inclined her head, "You say that like it's some sort of inside joke?"
Dean looked up at her again. He'd almost forgotten she was there in the midst of the passion of his rant, "Well, let's just say that Sam has done his share of fucked up things."
"And you put him on double secret probation?"
Dean shrugged, "According to him..."
"So are you looking to break the cycle or simply have this particular cycle end?"
Dean stared at her, "Break the....? How do I do that?" he asked leaning forward.
"Well...I would suggest that you start by talking to your brother."
"You don't get it. All we do is either fight, fu-, or er...be silent. There's no room for talking."
"There WAS no room for talking. In your old cycle. We're trying new things right?"
"Right," Dean replied after a short silence.
"Well...our hour is over..."
Dean walked into the bunker, ears pricked for any sign of Sam. He placed his duffel near the emergency switches and crept into the library, peering in cautiously first to see if his brother was there. Then he realized what he was doing and snorted derisively at himself for acting like Sam was dad or something. He stopped short at the thought, thinking how similar this Sam and Dad were. No wonder the kid had him on tenterhooks.
He needed to remember he was Dean Winchester, and Sam was his little brother.
"Sam?" he called softly walking quietly into the library.
"Deeeaaan, you're here." a voice said from over to his right, and nearer the floor than he was expecting Sam's voice to come from. He peered over the chairs and table to see Sam slumped to the floor, an almost empty bottle of whiskey in his left hand.
"Yeah, I'm er...I'm back. You alright over there?"
"I'm grrreeat. How about you? Where you been?"
"Uh, I uh, figured you might need some space after uh..."
"After we fucked?" Sam said then laughed sadly, "After we fucked and I ran and you didn't follow me?"
"Er...yeah."
"Cool," Sam said into his chest as his head slumped forward.
"Sam?" Dean said very softly, taking a step toward him.
"Le' me 'lone," Sam murmured lifting a hand to keep Dean away. Dean stopped short, watching him with concern.
"Okay well, I'm gonna go make you some soup and a sandwich okay? You need something to absorb all that alcohol."
"DON'T! look after me damn it. I'm an adult. Can look after mysel'"
"I know you can Sammy-"
"Don't call me Sammy," Sammy interrupted.
"Okay, Sam. I'm gonna make some food. You can eat some if you want."
"Don' do me any favors," Sam murmured sulkily to his chest.
Dean walked away, eyes taking in the mess that was library books flung carelessly about, Sam's clothes that were the same ones he was wearing three days ago when he stormed off, the lack of dirty plates or dishes in the kitchen or take out containers in the trash. Had Sam even eaten since they parted ways?
He made a stack of sandwiches using the slightly stale bread in the fridge and opened a can of soup. That would have to do for now. This breaking the cycle thing might take a bit longer than Dean hoped, but he was gonna make sure it got done.