[Dean lets his eyes fall shut, feeling the weight of all of his emotions he tries so hard to keep shoved down deep inside of himself, packed away into the darkest corners of himself where he'll never have to actually deal with them, let alone acknowledge them in any practical, healthy way.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, takes in a deep breath. He remembers that motel room, the young woman he met with Sam when he and Bobby went to seek Sam out. He remembers Sam going out at night for 'burgers' and deciding to tackle the Castiel problem with Bobby, explaining it away as grabbing some beers to Sam in response. He had his suspicions then, but nothing like Sam drinking actual demon blood.
This is too much, he thinks. Too goddamn much.
Especially when Sam starts talking about John, about Dad. About him knowing before anyone, about not handling it soon enough.]
Shit, Sam. I don't even know where to start. It's all bad. Ruby? And demon blood? Sam, Jesus.
[He rubs a hand across his mouth, unsure how to unpack everything Sam's just told him. He doesn't know if he can even unpack half of that, frankly.
He lets out a long, low sigh.]
Dad made a lot of mistakes, Sam. But it wasn't his job to handle you. You're his son. He should have tried to help you; to save you.
[And so should I, he thinks to himself. As the older brother, it's always been his job to look out for Sammy. And he can't even do that right, twenty odd years later.]
Look, I'm not saying I'm not pissed. 'Cause you're goddamn right I'm angry. Not only a demon, but Ruby?
[He sighs again, reluctantly brings himself to look at Sam. He remembers John saying he might need to kill his own brother, right before John died. He remembers that instruction, and he hates it just as much now as when he heard it the first time.]
But I'll be damned again if I try following what Dad wanted me to do. I don't know how I can help you with the Devil, but I'm not going to lose you to that bastard, not if I can help it.
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He pinches the bridge of his nose, takes in a deep breath. He remembers that motel room, the young woman he met with Sam when he and Bobby went to seek Sam out. He remembers Sam going out at night for 'burgers' and deciding to tackle the Castiel problem with Bobby, explaining it away as grabbing some beers to Sam in response. He had his suspicions then, but nothing like Sam drinking actual demon blood.
This is too much, he thinks. Too goddamn much.
Especially when Sam starts talking about John, about Dad. About him knowing before anyone, about not handling it soon enough.]
Shit, Sam. I don't even know where to start. It's all bad. Ruby? And demon blood? Sam, Jesus.
[He rubs a hand across his mouth, unsure how to unpack everything Sam's just told him. He doesn't know if he can even unpack half of that, frankly.
He lets out a long, low sigh.]
Dad made a lot of mistakes, Sam. But it wasn't his job to handle you. You're his son. He should have tried to help you; to save you.
[And so should I, he thinks to himself. As the older brother, it's always been his job to look out for Sammy. And he can't even do that right, twenty odd years later.]
Look, I'm not saying I'm not pissed. 'Cause you're goddamn right I'm angry. Not only a demon, but Ruby?
[He sighs again, reluctantly brings himself to look at Sam. He remembers John saying he might need to kill his own brother, right before John died. He remembers that instruction, and he hates it just as much now as when he heard it the first time.]
But I'll be damned again if I try following what Dad wanted me to do. I don't know how I can help you with the Devil, but I'm not going to lose you to that bastard, not if I can help it.