[He shakes his head with a sigh, knowing just where Dean's head is at.]
... It's not your fault, Dean. You did what you could with what you had. It's not like anyone expects their siblings to end up that far off the reservation. Or even before that — it's not like I told you how I felt every day. Our lives growing up, and afterward — it wasn't exactly Dr. Phil, remember?
[They were all fucked up. He knows. He's always known that, even when things were bad. Dean had just gotten out of Hell, and Sam couldn't possibly comprehend that kind of trauma, even after burying his brother twice. Even after — everything. It's not exactly the goddamn pain olympics, but... he gets it.
He would've done anything, to take that from Dean. To trade places. He'd almost done just that. Would have, if the demons didn't know about some higher plan he wasn't allowed to screw with.]
Don't feel like any of this is on you.
[It was on me, is the unspoken, equally hypocritical thought that goes unspoken. But as he looks at the phone gripped in his hand, he looks... a little unsure.]
... I held onto this for so long, I...
[He trails off.
Every day here is a lot. Good and bad, but a lot. So much to learn, so many mistakes to comprehend. So many tricks pulled, lives fucked up. It's easier and easier to see the carefully laid trail that the brothers had been put on, like a gameboard with only one destination.
After sitting for a moment, he flips the phone back open. Punches some buttons with his thumb until the automated system's voice plays; feels like some of the nights he'd spent sitting in his newest motel room, revisiting. Reliving that feeling he'd felt when he put the phone away and walked into that church.
He goes still for a moment, before selecting delete.
The little voice says with some finality, Saved message, deleted. End of saved messages.]
no subject
... It's not your fault, Dean. You did what you could with what you had. It's not like anyone expects their siblings to end up that far off the reservation. Or even before that — it's not like I told you how I felt every day. Our lives growing up, and afterward — it wasn't exactly Dr. Phil, remember?
[They were all fucked up. He knows. He's always known that, even when things were bad. Dean had just gotten out of Hell, and Sam couldn't possibly comprehend that kind of trauma, even after burying his brother twice. Even after — everything. It's not exactly the goddamn pain olympics, but... he gets it.
He would've done anything, to take that from Dean. To trade places. He'd almost done just that. Would have, if the demons didn't know about some higher plan he wasn't allowed to screw with.]
Don't feel like any of this is on you.
[It was on me, is the unspoken, equally hypocritical thought that goes unspoken. But as he looks at the phone gripped in his hand, he looks... a little unsure.]
... I held onto this for so long, I...
[He trails off.
Every day here is a lot. Good and bad, but a lot. So much to learn, so many mistakes to comprehend. So many tricks pulled, lives fucked up. It's easier and easier to see the carefully laid trail that the brothers had been put on, like a gameboard with only one destination.
After sitting for a moment, he flips the phone back open. Punches some buttons with his thumb until the automated system's voice plays; feels like some of the nights he'd spent sitting in his newest motel room, revisiting. Reliving that feeling he'd felt when he put the phone away and walked into that church.
He goes still for a moment, before selecting delete.
The little voice says with some finality, Saved message, deleted. End of saved messages.]