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[iamdeansbrokenheart]

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[iamdeansbrokenheart]

Well, the good news is that Dad's alive, so that’s got to count for something, right? Dean does his best to ignore the hard-edged truth of their new reality. John undoubtedly knows exactly how desperate they’ve been. He just isn’t motivated enough to pick up his goddamn phone. As they pull away from the airport and head east, Sam seems to be doing okay, maybe even better than Dean, at least on the surface. They drive slowly, choosing scenic back roads instead of the highway. Dean blasts Zeppelin II with the windows rolled down and tries not to think about how much this hurts.

Gradually falling into an uncomfortable silence, Sam fidgets with the map while avoiding eye contact. Plotting out routes Dean has no intention of following, it only takes a day and a half before the growing tension between them becomes palpable. Increasingly aware of the anger building within Sam, Dean suspects his brother’s personification of an angst-ridden volcano might be funny under different circumstances.

His little brother has never been good at hiding his emotions. Dean knows it's only a matter of time before Sam’s frustration boils over, and he explodes. But it will probably work out eventually because it always does. They just need time to lick their wounds and remember they’re better on their own. Besides, John has a long-established history of pulling this kind of shit. His unexplainable absences have been commonplace since early childhood, most notably around their birthdays, all major holidays, and the entire month of November.

About a week after the whole demon plane thing, Sam loses his appetite, stops sleeping, and regresses back into a depressed teenager. Dean realizes just how much everything sucks while driving endless circles around rural Pennsylvania and living exclusively out of the car. His back hurts, his clothes need to be washed, and his self-confidence is at an all-time low. To make matters worse, Dean finds he cannot stop replaying John's new voicemail message over and over on a continuous loop.

Focusing solely on inflection and tone, Dean loses whole days obsessing over the hidden meaning behind the words. As though decrypting these subtle nuances might solve the mystery of where they should go next. When his denial gives way to apathy and despair, Dean spirals hard. Struggling to accept anything besides his perceived shortcomings, he knows John’s absence is probably somehow his fault.

The worst part is how frequently this kind of thing happens to Dean. Almost as though his entire life has been a revolving door of people pretending to care, then bailing when shit hits the fan. Whether it's teachers, girlfriends, or even other hunters who just weren't cut out for the life, everyone has a reason to give up on him and leave. The incessant pain of abandonment has become Dean’s constant in recent years. It looms over every relationship he’s ever tried to pursue. The lingering echoes of past betrayals impair even his simplest interactions, intensifying Dean's inability to trust anyone enough for genuine connection.

Dean feels overwhelmingly stuck, sitting on the hood of the Impala alone. He reevaluates all the choices that led him to this point. Staring into the amber depths of a half-empty bottle, marinating in depression and single-malt whiskey, Dean tries to imagine a future where he finally breaks free from this endless cycle of crap. 

“There’s always gonna be something to hunt,” Dean whispers to himself.

The cool night air wraps around him in an unwelcome embrace as he raises the bottle to his lips. After another long, bitter sip, Dean makes peace with needing a break. With newfound determination, he stands up, letting the empty bottle fall to the ground and break. Ambling toward the Impala, Dean fumbles with his car keys. He takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and slides into the driver's seat. Glancing over his shoulder in the back, Dean smiles at Sam as he sleeps, his heart already set on a long, overdue road trip to Atlantic City. 

The drive to New Jersey is only about four hours away, and Dean figures that will be more than enough time to stuff down all his touchy-feely emotional crap without anyone being the wiser. What's better still is that Sam has no objections about their sudden change of plans. Dean tries not to worry after a Biggersons lunch stop outside Philly when Sam’s still moody as hell. But when they hit Route 76, Dean is pleasantly surprised by how easy it is to ignore everything bad by focusing on all the booze, blackjack, and beach stuff waiting for them.

When they roll into town a couple of hours later, it's just after sunset. Dean finds a fantastic deal on a motel conveniently close to everything and is eager to unwind. After unpacking, Dean tosses his duffle on the bed closest to the door, already opting to skip a shower in favor of grabbing some food. Everything’s almost sunshine and strippers for the first time in months until Sam snaps, and Dean can’t seem to grasp his brother's resistance to fun.

"How about we hit the town, Sammy? I know a casino with free drinks and a buffet right around the corner if you're up for some high-stakes action."

Instead of answering, Sam sighs heavily and looks away as he reclines on his bed. An awkward silence blooms between them, threatening to ruin everything.

"Guess maybe I'll head out on my own then," Dean says loudly, attempting to sound far more confident than he actually feels.

Grabbing his jacket, Dean looks back at his brother, and even though he sees storm clouds hovering above them, the sting of disappointment becomes too much to bear.

"Come on, Sammy, life's too short to be so uptight about... everything."

"No, Dean. Life's too short to keep pretending like Dad is ever coming back," Sam says without bothering to meet his brother’s gaze.

Dean's banter falters momentarily as hints of pain flash across his face. One hand instinctively finds the back of his neck, trying to soothe his fraying nerves. Dean can't help but feel a twinge of vulnerability as he fails to articulate how badly he needs this right now. Sam may not fully understand the full extent of hunting burnout yet, but the reality is folks die bloody more often than not. Maintaining longevity in this lifestyle isn't possible if you don’t at least let yourself pull off the road to blow off some steam occasionally.

"Look, I'm just trying to make the most of what we've got going on right now. Seriously, Sammy, it’s not like we don’t work as hard as anyone else. Why can’t we take a break sometimes?"

Sam's frustration boils over instantly, propelling him off the bed and into Dean's space.

"You think I don't wanna relax sometimes, Dean? You have no idea how much I wish I could. But I can’t just fall into a bottle and drink my feelings the way you do whenever things get tough."

Anger simmers through Dean from his clenched jaw down his spine. This is not the scenario he anticipated, and his patience with Sam's emotional bullshit is wearing thin.

"Watch yourself, Sam. You don't understand the half of what—"

"Oh really, Dean? I might understand more than you think," Sam says firmly.

"I can accept that Dad’s an alcoholic and that it makes him unreliable at best, but it’s really sad to see you doing exactly the same thing!"

The room falls into an uneasy silence as tensions hang thick in the air. Their argument has taken an unexpectedly serious turn, leaving Dean speechless and unsure how to retaliate.

"Goddammit, Sam," Dean says, trying to ignore the pit of sadness opening inside his chest.

Sam falls silent, but his eyes stay locked on Dean’s like he’s waiting for a physical fight. Shit was not supposed to go down this way, and suddenly Dean’s so completely done with all of it. Without another word, he swipes his keys off the bedside table and storms out. 

Dean makes it half a block before needing to pull over and remember how to breathe. When he looks up, he's met with the shimmering lights of a bar just across the street. Although the irony isn't lost on him, Dean goes in anyway. Pushing through the front door, the ambiance of stale beer and lingering cigarette smoke leaves much to be desired, but Dean slides onto the nearest barstool anyway.

Before Dean realizes it, there’s a familiar burning sensation down the back of his throat, and all of Sammy’s hurtful words have finally started to fade. By shot number three, he’s become way more comfortable in his own skin. Numb is the closest to anything Dean’s been able to feel in a long time now. So when someone offers to buy another round, Dean just winks and flashes his signature smile. Despite unknowns and implications, he’s never been picky enough to turn down free booze from a stranger.

As the night unfolds, Dean becomes an equal-opportunity charmer, flirting with everyone regardless of gender. When a tall guy in his thirties casually throws an arm around him, Dean leans into the touch rather than pulling away. The shots keep flowing until the room spins, and there is a heavy curtain between himself and where his consciousness should be. Welcoming whatever comfort he can find, Dean gives himself over to lust and desire, readily accepting the first invitation he receives.

Dean awakens with a pounding headache and a sense of disorientation as sunlight filters through the window. His memories are a jumble of hazy fragments, like puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit. There's a person beside him, face down and wrapped in bedding. Their features are an unrecognizable blend of masculine and feminine traits. His stomach twists with apprehension when they begin to stir, and before Dean knows it, he's already halfway through his walk of shame.

Sam’s relief upon his return is apology enough, and Dean’s more than willing to forgive and forget. While his brother goes for coffee, Dean lets himself sink into the mattress, the weight of exhaustion settling in. Gravity’s already holding a personal grudge, and all he can do is bury himself beneath the pillows and hope not to puke. He’s not ready to admit it just yet, but there might be some validity to his brother’s concerns. Rather than dwelling on any of that, however, Dean tucks it away and surrenders to sleep instead.

[iamdeansbrokenheart]

“This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son Dean, (866) 907-3235. He can help.”

– John’s voicemail, 1.04 Phantom Traveler

[iamdeansbrokenheart]

They’re just outside of Cleavland, Ohio, when Sam takes it upon himself to get Dean talking about whatever's clearly bothering him. Although his brother’s sudden moodiness is by no means unfamiliar, Dean’s been acting uncharacteristically quiet since they ganked the lake monster, saved the hot girl and rescued her kid. The whole job had felt like a win for everyone, making Dean’s sudden shift in behavior that much more worrisome to understand.

While Sam had learned early enough on in their childhood to just leave his brother be during these depressive bouts of silent suffering- Left to his own devices, Dean would undoubtedly drink himself back to normal eventually after having successfully pushed down all the uncomfortable feelings he couldn't otherwise process. Unfortunately for Sam, he’s unable to ignore things right now. Jess was dead, dad was gone and Dean was all he had at the moment. So, even though every bone in his body knew better, Sam found himself unable to afford Dean any more patient brotherly avoidance for the time being.

“Hey, so uh, I read this thing in dad’s journal about how you went completely mute after mom’s death-” Sam said, looking over at his brother.

“I guess it really stood out to me because it seemed like dad was actually getting pretty worried about your lack of coping skills or whatever.”

Dean flinched under his brother's gaze, he’d hoped his little brother hadn't noticed how shitty his mood had been lately. He’d put so much energy that he didn't even have into keeping himself together. Praying that maybe just one more day of him and Sammy out on the open road, cranking up the tunes as the scenery flew by- Only a couple more hours before he’d snap out and the gaping hole inside his chest would just patch itself shut independently.

“And?” Dean asked, instinctively hiding under a thin layer of anger.

“I dunno, Dean, but I had to take a psychology class my freshman year, as a graduation requirement, and traumatic mutism is kind of a big deal. Plus, you still go quiet and shut yourself down when you’re freaking out- Like when we were kids and dad went off grid too long on a hunt without checking in.”

Dean sighed, he’d almost forgotten how intuitive Sam was about all his emotional crap. 

“Just ask your questions already Sammy, you know I hate being head shrunk and besides, psych 101 or not- you’re kinda doing a terrible job right now!”

An awkward silence followed the brothers until they’d pulled off the highway and parked. Still gripping the wheel, every muscle in Dean’s upper back flexed uncomfortably as he looked straight ahead, waiting for his brother to speak.

“Hey, do you, uh, want a beer or something?” Sam asked, drumming his fingers along the top of the green cooler he’d just hefted into his lap.

Although leaving the car was like shedding a protective skin, Dean obliged his younger brother. Leaning back against the impala, Dean struggled to push down his mounting vulnerabilities.

He’d always managed to fake his way through the hard things in life, he was a pro at shielding himself from pretty much everyone. Well, everyone except of course Sam.

“Listen Dean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to- It’s just, I know something’s been bothering you since we left Lake Manitoc and I just wanted you to know I’m here for you, okay?” 

Looking up from his beer, Dean was almost tempted to tell Sam everything. Tell him about how lost he felt without the physical presence of their dad or how overwhelmed he was getting from the almost constant nightmares he’d been having about mom’s death. While discussing his most traumatic childhood losses with Lucas had not been an intentional choice, it had proven to be the right thing to comfort the kid in that moment- But once his brain had gotten hold of those intrusive memories again, mom on the ceiling and- It was all just too much to deal with and not even a lifetime built around trying to forget was helping to save him now from the massive burden of his own grief.

“Uh, thanks Sammy. That’s good to know.”

Finishing his beer, Dean contemplated chasing it down with something stronger. He needed to hurry up and get over himself and his chick flick bullshit already. Because they had work to do and dad surely wasn't going to go on without them and rescue himself.

[iamdeansbrokenheart]

Although their reunion tour starts off great, with Sammy driving and miles of open road before them- Dean can’t manage to calm himself down enough to get his four hours of shut eye. Even though it’s been several days without rest, his body’s so completely wired with adrenaline after those goddamned Wendigos that Dean can’t seem to sit still much less sleep any longer than fifteen minutes at a time. For all his brothers whining about his so-called “Mullet Rock‘’ Sam doesn’t seem to mind when Dean chooses Zeppelin IV as their northbound soundtrack. Settling back down on the passenger’s side, Dean closes his eyes and tries again, finally giving himself over to the soothing acoustic undertones of  Stairway to Heaven.

A couple days later, they’re just outside Sioux Falls, North Dakota, but still nowhere near closer to finding their dad. Dean’s almost tempted to drop in on an old friend and ask for help until Sam gets cut off at a three-way intersection and totally loses his shit. Sam’s probably just Hangry, Dean figures- since they’ve been living off gas station junk for going on two days now. Dean is already well aware that it’s the kind of crap food his little brother hates most of all, not that Sam’s really been eating that much of anything lately. So Dean takes the hit and sucks it up when Sam goes off on yet another rant about dad’s long-term agenda of gaslighting them, before stealing back the wheel and making a beeline for Minneapolis. 

Dean pulls off the road in Eau Claire, MN, where he insists on them getting a room and both taking showers. They stay in town for a bit, eating all the “real food” Sam can stomach even though it’s mostly cooked out of cans and boxes in their small kitchenette. Maybe changing up the scenery just by staying in one place and waiting out whatever dad has planned could be a good thing for them? Dean even tries to do Thanksgiving but ends up having to keep their celebration to a minimum on account of concerns over maxing out their only remaining fake credit card. Sam's mood remains consistently terrible throughout their stay which does little to help ease any of Dean's ever growing anxiety.

The full devastation of their situation doesn’t fully hit Dean until he’s four beers into a six-pack and craving something much stronger. He’s always had a guilt thing about drinking too much around Sam, but right now he’s willing to make an exception. And Since they’re not actively hunting anything at the moment, Dean thinks to himself, what’s the harm? But when Dean grabs two shot glasses and brings out the whiskey he’d left stashed in the trunk, Sam instinctively bails on the whole scene. Choosing instead an armful of flannel and the twenty-four-hour laundromat across the street over his brother's company. All in all it's the easiest choice Sam has made in days, because he’s already seen how the Winchester vs Whiskey show plays out so many, many times before. Sam doesn't feel like he knows much of anything these days, except apparently, that he would rather do damn near anything than rewatching yet another episode of this particular family tradition.

The following day finds one brother profoundly hung over while the other is chomping at the bit, ready to get a move on. But it’s okay, Dean convinces himself, since Sammy seems excited to keep going again and besides, a little hair of the dog never hurt anyone, right? Either way, Sam insists on being the one behind the wheel, and before Dean knows it, they’re well on their way towards the great state of Wisconsin.

[iamdeansbrokenheart]

So they gank the ghost but they don’t find dad, just his jacket, his journal and some vague references to a place called Blackwater Ridge. But hey, it’s still kind of a win, right? Because at least, it means dad’s still alive wherever he is, instead of-

Dean doesn’t really want to think too hard about any of that, actually. If it were up to him, he would head east with Sam and splurge on a fancier motel somewhere near Nevada. Some place swanky with magic fingers, pay-per-view and maybe even a continental breakfast. Sure, he would have to shove down the weight of everything squirming around inside of him eventually, but a couple of shots usually clears that up real fast. As soon as he’s got a good enough buzz going to chill the fuck out, he’ll be able to focus on other things, like catching up with Sam.

Not that any of Dean’s imaginary plans matter in the slightest, however, because Sam’s already made it perfectly clear he’s “one and done” and now his part in this is over. Sure, it stings a little bit, but ultimately his brother ditching him again is just more of the same, so what’s the point in getting all worked up about it?

The drive back from Jericho is pretty smooth sailing once they’ve hit the fluorescent gleam of highway lights along the Silverado Trail. While the increasingly awkward tensions inside the car leave something to be desired, Dean is happy enough for any remaining time with Sam. His mind wanders back to when they were kids and spent all their time together doing this sort of thing. It was never an easy life, sure, but it could’ve been all that bad, right? At the end of the day, they still had each other and that had to count for something.

Miles fades into minutes, and before Dean knows it, they’re parked in front of Sam’s place, and he’s already getting out of the car.

“Maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?” Sam asks politely, knowing full well the unlikelihood of this ever happening.

“Yeah, all right.” Dean nods, and he’s ready to accept his brother’s goodbye for what it is.

Until all of a sudden he can’t because something is breaking apart inside him. Maybe it’s his unwillingness to give in to the strange new pain fanning out beneath his ribs. Or maybe it’s the realization that he won’t even try to cope this time around. Either way, he’s compelled to try again before admitting his incomparable failure.

“Sam-”

Sam stops mid step, and for a split second Dean cons himself into believing that he might actually have a chance here.

“You know, we made a hell of a team back there.”

Although the statement is true enough all on its own, it just hangs there between them, sucking up all the air and hiding everything Dean wishes he had the words to say.

“Yeah,” Sam says, he’s biting his lip but also looking away.

Dean revs up the Impala’s engine and takes off before Sam can see what he’s done to him. Hot tears cloud his vision before he gets too far down the block and has to pull over. But he’ll take crying like a wuss any day rather than risk the safety of the car dad had entrusted him with. It’s almost kind of funny Dean thinks for a moment just how much more he cares about this damn car than he does for himself on a good day. How Dean’s always been there for everyone else but never himself, and so maybe-

Scrubbing his face with the back of one hand, Dean checks himself out in the rearview. He’s not sure what he’s gonna tell Sam or how he’ll make him understand. He only knows that if he leaves like this right now, he’ll end up blacked out in a bar or at the bottom of a ditch somewhere because hunters don’t get to retire.

Dean smells the smoke before he sees the flames, and then he’s out of the car, inside Sam’s place so fast he can’t even recall how he did it.

“Sam! Sam!” Dean yells.

He stifles his need to cough as the surrounding air incinerates itself, and when he locates Sam, the place is almost fully engulfed in flame. Heat licks at his skin and it’s all so eerily familiar of that thing that he can’t forget, no matter how hard he tries.

“Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don’t look back, Dean!”

The memory of dad’s words break Dean’s trance and jolt him into action. Grabbing Sam around the shoulders, Dean’s surprised by how much he has to wrestle his little brother just to get him out safely.

When all is said and done, there are no survivors, and whatever’s left of Jess is long gone, along with any semblance of Sam’s perfect life. They stand together outside, but Dean still feels terribly alone, and it’s as though someone somewhere just flipped a magic reset button on the rest of their lives.

[iamdeansbrokenheart]

[iamdeansbrokenheart]

Sure, Dean’s life can be complete shit sometimes, but that’s why he’s got a series of systems in place just in case he starts going over the edge. Say what you will about John Winchester, but somehow the man always knows when Dean needs to be pulled back or get himself under control. Whether it’s booze, sex, or too many painkillers after a hunt gone bad, John knows what’s best for his son. He makes it his job to keep Dean in line, even if that means both of them drying out enough that he can lead by example. 

Dean doesn’t even realize dad’s gone gone until he's been on a bender for just over two weeks straight without anyone trying to stop him. Reality hits him harder than anything else and it proves to be the most successful sobering up tactic he’s ever encountered. When his hangover recedes, Dean’s kind of shaky, scared shitless and way too overwhelmed to function. What’s worse, he realizes is that he’s now completely alone with everything. He already knows there's no other person in the whole world who could possibly begin to understand the situation, much less give a crap about it. Well, no one else nearby at least, besides-

Dean drives like a man possessed all the way to Palo Alto, California, only to emotionally stall out right in front of his little brother’s off-campus housing. So he treats it just like any other case by parking around the corner and staking the place out all day. Sam doesn’t make an appearance until late afternoon, he is with some pretty blond chick and even Dean has to admit that he does look happier than back when they were kids.

Usually after a “slip-up” involving alcohol, John’s words not his, Dean knows to lay off the stuff for a little while. Unfortunately for him and his already fried nerves, Dean hasn’t seen his kid brother in over three years. Plus like, they weren't exactly on the best of terms, all the way back, when they first parted ways either.

Dean promises himself that just a little nip of whiskey will help to get him through this. Some liquid courage from his trusty flask can’t possibly hurt more than the continuously growing burden of guilt he already feels, right? But then, just as his finger brushes over the doorbell, all the lights inside Sam's tiny apartment click off suddenly, just like magic.

Dean figures reconciling with his little brother will undoubtedly go better tomorrow, in broad daylight. But he also knows that if he leaves right now, he won’t get any further than that college bar he saw a few blocks away. Taking a second sip from his flask before packing it away, Dean resolves to pick the door lock and spare the niceties. Besides, when it really comes down to it and his relationship with Sam- It's always been way easier to screw up first and apologize later.