Fragile

Fragile XIX

"Your brother seems to look up to you."

"Still? You'd think by now he'd be over it," I snorted, ticking off my fingers as I spoke. "I'm a recovering alcoholic, on meds for my supposed depression, and I still work at Bobby's Garage. What's there to look up to?"

"How about the fact that you've been sober for six months? That you haven't picked up a razor unless it was to shave? Or that you've been recently promoted to assistant manager? Those things don't seem like nothing, Dean."

I shrugged, glancing off to the side at the new vase he had placed on the end table. It looked expensive, the type of vase I'd picture Sam one day owning. When I had asked about it, he said his wife made him super glue it down to the table. 'She says this one is too good to break' he had told me. I smiled slightly at the memory.

"It's okay to be happy for yourself, Dean," he said gently, my eyes flickering back towards his. "You're doing an amazing job."

"But Benny isn't," I muttered and he frowned in response, averting his gaze thoughtfully. Benny hadn't of gotten better like I had hoped. He had only gotten worse, and he lasted maybe two more weeks at Bobby's Garage before Bobby had to let him go. I had tried to fight it, but when Benny just shrugged and walked out the door, I knew that it was already too late. Benny had turned his back on us, for good this time.

"Not everyone walks the same path to recovery," Dr. Wilson finally said, his eyes going back over to mine. "Their failures are not your own, Dean."

"You weren't there, Doc. I could've prevented it."

"Are you going to make me repeat what I've told you before?" He asked and when I stared at him blankly, he sighed. "Dean, you're not in charge of the decisions people make. Your father chose to drink. He chose to keep drinking and he died because of it. You couldn't have stopped him. As for Benny, he chose to get back into drugs. He chose to let it ruin his life and that is not your fault. His demons are not yours to fight." I gritted my teeth, feeling my heart clench at the thought. "I want you to say it."

"His...his demons are not mine to fight," I repeated, letting my jaw relax.

He nodded in satisfaction. "Remember how long it took you to say it the first time?" I rolled my eyes, remembering all to well the three sessions we had to go through in order for me to finally admit that I wasn't in control of everything. He had been sure to keep me seated as far away from his brand new vase as possible for those three weeks.

"You have the patience of a saint, Doc. That's why I keep you around."

He raised a bushy gray brow. "I thought it was because Sam made you?"

"That too," I agreed and he chuckled, shaking his head as he tried to get back on topic. 

"Speaking of, Sam can't stop raving about you during his sessions. He told me you already got your six month chip from AA?"

I nodded, reaching into my pant pocket to pull the maroon chip from out of it. The golden number glistened from under the lights. "Pretty, isn't she?"

"The next one is gonna look even prettier," he agreed, smiling now. "You really should go celebrate."

"Kinda hard to when all my money is going to you."

"Dean."

I sighed, hating how much he reminded me of Sam when he did that. "Look, I know, Doc. I know. I'm a changed man. I should be out celebrating - downing apple cider and throwing dollars at strippers."

"So what's holding you back?" He asked and when I hesitated, he shrugged and leaned back into his seat. "That's fine. Take all the time you need. You're the one who's paying me by the hour here." He glanced meaningfully at the clock.