Fragile

Fragile XVI

"She thinks you don't love her anymore."

John stiffened, his movements pausing for a second before he went back to scrubbing at the dishes. "Well, that's stupid." He said, but he staring out the window now, his back turned towards me.

"Is it? Because ever since she's been in the hospital, you haven't visited once." He didn't answer. "Dad, she doesn't have that much time left. She just wants to see you before..."

"I'm not talking to you about this, Dean."

"Then talk to her! I don't care! Just...just stop being such a coward!"

Something shattered and it took me a second to realize that John had thrown the plate he'd been washing across the room. It was the first time I had ever seen him lose control. The first time I was ever truly frightened of him. 

"Do you want to know why I don't see her?" He asked, but he kept his back towards me. His hands gripping the edges of the sink now. "It's because I'm weak," he spat when I didn't answer.  "Your mother needs someone strong to help her through this, Dean. She needs someone who will hold her hand and make her feel less afraid about dying, and I...I'm not strong enough for that." He turned, his eyes finally meeting mine and the pain that I saw in them, the hatred that he had for himself, made my heart clench. "But you, Dean? You're strong."

"But I'm not though," I admitted softly, "I just pretend that I am."

"And that's what makes you so strong, Dean. You don't need someone to hold your hand, you're the person who holds their hands. You can hide your pain; you can hide your fears, because you know showing them will only make people worry, and you don't want anybody to worry about you, right?" I shook my head, feeling tears well up in my eyes, but it was like John said, I didn't want people to worry about me when there were other things to worry about. I didn't deserve to cry when Mom was the one that was dying here, not me. When Sam had just barely had her in his life, and I had known her longer. It wasn't fair to everyone else.

"Dean, this is what men do. We push forward, even when we feel like we're dying on the inside. I'm sorry I failed as a man, but I promise you that I won't let you end up like me." He was in front of me now, his dark eyes flickering between my own. "Don't ever show weakness, Dean. Don't ever show you're in pain, because you're stronger than that."

"But... what about Mom?"

"Tell her I'm working overtime. Tell her I'm doing fine. She doesn't need to know anything more than that." He grabbed the broom and started towards the glass he had thrown before he suddenly paused. "I trust you won't mention this?"

I shook my head, forcing a smile onto my face. "It slipped. It was an accident."

"Good boy."

My phone was ringing again. 

It had been ringing nonstop for about an hour now and a part of me knew that I should answer it, that I should let whoever was calling me know that everything was okay, but I couldn't find it in myself to do that. I couldn't find it in myself right now to lie, not when Benny was staring up at me with blown out eyes.

Eyes that I had only seen once before. 

I had met Benny at the beginning stages of his recovery.  He had been the person to train me. The one who convinced Bobby to hire me that day they were short staffed. He was the reason I had a job, and he didn't let me forget it. Every time I messed up, he pointed it out. Every time I got behind or showed up late, he was on my ass about it. Benny was grouchy, irritable, sarcastic, and rude, yet there was something about him that made me like him. I liked that he was honest. I liked that he didn't sugar coat anything, because that's what I needed in my life. I needed someone to call me out on my bullshit. I needed someone to remind me that there was nothing wrong with struggling. That there was nothing wrong with fighting so long as you were trying.