Dean Starts Facing the Past
“I've gathered that. Well, I'm nothing if not aggressive, and if I accidentally show something else, Sam wants to know who I am and what did I do with his brother. I do know Sam pretty well, but there are sides of him coming out that I don't know. I can guarantee you that he doesn't know all of me. That's how it should be, I guess. We all hide things, but we need to be able to talk to someone sometime. I think Mello's time is here.”
He gave him a smile. "As Sam's is here. L and I will help him, I promise you that. He may not like us when we're done but he will be on the path to better health."
Watari looked at Dean at that moment and caught a raw look on his face, and realized that there might just be a lot more than toughness to the hunter.
“God, I hope so, “ came out in a whisper, and the older man thought he had heard a slight sob, but wasn't sure.
Dean Winchester had a lot more to him then being a kick ass hunter who befriended kids who needed help. He was just as afraid to show it as Mello was.
The old man looked at him. "Dean, you need to realize that Sam's choices are not your fault."
Dean laughed harshly, “Well, watching your brother get torn apart by hell hounds and you can't stop it can do strange things to you. Sam blames himself because he died in my arms and I couldn't live without him. I was supposed to protect him, Watari. It was my job and I let him die. I sold my soul to bring him back. Hell, how was I supposed to know that was what they had hoped for? You see, it is my fault. Sam saw what happened to me and knew I was in hell and he couldn't get me out. Can you imagine? Damn it, I knew what it felt like. My Dad did the same thing to me.”
Watari held up his hand. "First of all, family looks out for each other yes, but none is responsible for the other. Sam is an adult; his choices are his own. If you hold his hand every step of the way, Dean, how is he to grow and learn?"
“Oh, I know that, Watari. I really do, but it's so ingrained in me, that I don't know how to let go. I was four years old when I looked into that nursery and watched my Mama inch up that damn wall to the ceiling and her belly rip apart. She burst into flames. I think I was in shock when Dad put six month old Sammy in my arms and told me to take care of him and get him out of the house. After that, Dad would be gone all the time. I had to take care of him. I raised him by myself, except when Dad would take us to Pastor Jim or Bobby. That's the only time I got to halfway be a kid. How do you get that out of your head and heart? How do you reach the shell shocked four year old who is still in there and tell him 'Dad was wrong. It's not your responsibility?' Tell me that, because I would love to know.”
Hands weathered by time cupped the young man's face, making him look into caring eyes. "Son, it's time to let go. Your father was wrong. Sam was his responsibility, not yours. It's time to let that little boy mourn his losses and heal."
There were tears in the hazel eyes that stared back into Watari's. Dean shook a little and was trying to hold the tears back. “Tell me how?”
"Don't hold the tears back. It's just you and I. Let me play the grandfather right now and lean on my strength." He'd dealt with enough traumatized orphans to fall into that role easily. With Dean, it was even easier because he reached out to so many with his caring attitude hidden beneath the gruff exterior.
“I've been angry and I've cried, because Sammy pushed and pushed, damn him. He wanted me to mourn Dad. He wanted to know what it was like in hell. If I cry, I'm weak. That's what Sam thinks now. I'm broken and he thinks I can't do anything. He told me so. The pain is so damn deep that I'm afraid to let it out. I hide it with getting drunk and having sex. If I let go, I won't be able to stop it. That scares me. What if I can't stop it?”
The voice was soft and caring. "You will be able to when your heart and body realize you've done enough. Trust it, Dean. You should not have to destroy yourself to hide what you feel. Not when you have people you trust."
“My Dad sold his soul to save my life, but not for the reasons you would think a father would have. Before he died, he told me my brother might be evil. Damn him, he told me I might have to kill him. He's all I got and I might have to kill him? And Sammy is acting just like him. Vengeance all the time.”
Dean fell to the ground on his hands and knees, trying to stifle the sobs, and his body began to shake uncontrollably and the sobs began to be ripped from his body. Several times he screamed out in anger and pain. He curled up into a fetal position as agony went through him. “He started crying in a loud voice, “Oh God!”
Watari sat on the ground beside him, gently pulling him into a warm hug and letting him vent. From what he could tell, this was a long time in coming.
It took a while for the harsh cries and shouts to stop, and a gentle weeping to begin as the shaking turned to slight trembling. Watari felt the younger mans arms reach to go around him, holding on for dear life and seeking comfort for the first time in his life.
He stayed quiet, holding him and gently stroking his back to help calm him down. Over the years, he had been in this situation with many an orphan and he never once regretted it. Every child was special..and there was an injured child within this man's psyche that needed him.
Slowly the weeping and the trembling stopped. A light, steady breathing took its place as Dean's vice like grip loosened, but he still held on. Hugs were mainly from Sam, and usually involved some hurt. Finally having some release brought a sense of peace inside that he had never experienced before. He did not want to leave the comfort of the older man's arms and gentle touch on his back. It reminded him of his mom, and he took comfort from it, instead of pain.
The older man didn't stop, simply kept on with the soothing touch.
The hunter did not want to leave the hold but knew they couldn't stay there forever. He struggled to sit up. A red splotched face stared at Watari. His body was covered with gravel and dirt from the trail and some of it was slightly embedded into the skin of his face, from when he went down on his hands and knees and buried his head into his hands. His lips trembled slightly, looking pitiful. He sniffed rubbed his arm across his face to clear the tears and the runoff from his nose. Finally, gaining some self control, he tried talking, but his throat was hoarse from the screaming and shouting he'd done.
A slight, tremulous sigh escaped his lips and he whispered, from a raw throat, “Thank you. Oh, God, thank you for being here.”
A clean handkerchief was pressed into his hand. "You are most welcome, Dean."
“This will take a little time, won't it?” he asked as he blew his nose, wiped his face, and scrubbed rocks and dirt from his skin, knowing that it had to be streaked like mud. How the hell was he going to explain this when they went back down the mountain and everyone saw him. He was gun shy of anyone saying anything, because he father had said it wasn't manly to cry. It had been a great release to him and he was grateful and glad the worse of the pain had lessened.
"It will," he answered. "And you have to be willing to use positive behaviors instead of negative to control the issues and emotions. Alcohol is a horrible way to handle it. Worse comes to worse, call me and I can arrange a doctor to help you with the sleeping issues."
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