Fragments of Tomorrow (Supernatural Fanfiction Book 5)

Unspoken Burdens

Bobby's Point of View

It had been several days since Dean woke up, but the tension around the house was still thick. Everyone could see that Dean wasn't himself. He hadn't been trying to regain his mobility, which wasn't like him at all. It wasn't that he'd given up, not entirely. I could see it in his eyes—he was just tired. More tired than I'd ever seen him, like he'd finally allowed himself to relax after carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for so long. Birch, Sam, and the rest of us had been keeping a close eye on him, making sure he was eating and wasn't sneaking off after meals. We all knew the signs, knew what he had been doing to himself before, and none of us were willing to let him slip back into old habits.

Today, we were all gathered around the table for dinner. It had become routine—a time to sit, eat, and pretend that things were normal, even though we all knew better. Dean sat at the head of the table, Birch on his left, Sam on his right. He hadn't said much all day, but I could tell something was weighing on him. He pushed his food around on his plate, his gaze distant.

Everyone was making small talk, trying to lighten the mood. But there was a cloud hanging over us, and I could feel the storm coming.

Then, just like that, Dean started talking, his voice soft at first, barely audible.

"You know, after Sammy and Dad got into that fight, when Sam left for college..." Dean trailed off for a moment, his eyes flickering toward Sam before looking away. "I felt like my best friend and brother just up and walked out of my life."

Sam froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. His eyes widened, and I could see the guilt already creeping in. Dean wasn't looking at him, though. He was staring down at his plate, like he was talking more to himself than to any of us.

"And then Dad basically walked out of my life, too," Dean continued, his voice bitter. "I've always been scared it was my fault."

A heavy silence settled over the room. Sam's face had gone pale, and I could see the pain in his eyes. Dean had never said it out loud before—how much Sam leaving had hurt him. We all knew it had, but hearing it now, years later, with so much between them, it struck deep.

Dean swallowed hard, and his hand trembled slightly as he set his fork down. "Honestly," he said quietly, "I've been struggling with the eating stuff, and the self-inflicted pain, since the day of that fight."

Everyone around the table stiffened. I knew Dean had been fighting those demons for a long time, but hearing him say it—knowing that it had started so long ago—it made my heart ache for the boy. For the man who never stopped trying to be strong, even when he was breaking apart inside.

"When Sam went to Hell..." Dean's voice cracked, and he had to take a deep breath before continuing. "When Sam went to Hell, I completely fell apart."

I clenched my fists under the table, feeling my stomach twist in knots. I remembered that time all too well, the haunted look in Dean's eyes, the way he had pushed everyone away, including me.

"That was my first attempt to take my own life," Dean confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "But Bobby talked me down from the edge of a bridge."

Sam's fork clattered against his plate as he dropped it, his eyes wide in shock. He turned to look at me, disbelief and horror etched across his face. Birch reached out and grabbed Dean's hand, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Dean's gaze shifted to me then, his face drawn, the lines of exhaustion clear. "But then I threw myself into trying to get Sam back," he continued, his voice steadier now, but laced with sorrow. "I wasn't eating or sleeping, and the self-inflicted pain got ten times worse. I was even able to hide it from you, Bobby, back then."