Words Have Weight

Part 1

"I guess that's just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you have to give them up." – Lauren Oliver

I can't trust you.

You wanna work? Let's work. You wanna be brothers ..

No, Dean. I wouldn't

Same circumstances. I wouldn't.

The words were said with such certainty that he felt them rip right through him like a blunt knife, tearing at the left pieces of his heart agonizingly slow, with one intent in mind: killing him.

The ache in his chest that he was trying to keep in check ever since the night Kevin was killed right in front of his eyes was spreading through his entire self with a maddening speed, washing over him in a wave after another of grief and pain and betrayal, choking him, crippling him.

He had no idea how long he stood there; staring at the spot his brother occupied before his sickening departure, while the words ricocheted against the kitchen walls endlessly, managing to leave their marks on his wounded soul every single time. He never felt the glass of Whiskey slip from his hand or heard the sound of it crashing against the tile as it hit the floor. All he could see was Sam's back as he turned and walked away. Away from him. And all he could hear was those two words.

The two words that easily managed to trash Dean's whole life, destroyed everything he had ever tried to build, and broke him down in every way possible.

Iwouldn'tIwouldn'tIwouldn'tIwouldn'tIwoudn't.

With an odd feeling of detachment, Dean finally broke his statue-like pose and saw more than felt his right hand come up and press hard at his chest where pain blossomed with vengeance, and took a couple of wavering steps to the side so he could brace his suddenly shaking body against the counter.

Closing his eyes, he tried to take a deep breath to control the raging fire inside him but it seemed to be only increasing. He was partly aware of his harsh breathing and the slow spin of the room on the other side of his firmly shut eyelids but he couldn't do anything about it. He could no longer do anything.

His world was falling apart around the seams, just like his insides felt, and he wasn't strong enough to keep himself from scattering into million little pieces this time. His knees buckled and he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

That was it. The moment he has been dreading his whole life.

The moment when everybody, including Sam—especially Sam—left him behind. Left him to die.

He knew this day would come. Deep down, he had always known Sam would finally get too tired of him and walk away from him, just like Dad, just like he always said he would, just like Dean tried to hang onto his family all his life and onto hope that Sam would come back to him after each time he left.

But he had never thought it would be this hard, this vicious. And he certainly had never thought Sam, of all people, would actually see him this way.

A life time of protection, of taking care and watching over his little brother, of orders, "most important: watch out for Sammy," and promises, "you're my brother, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you," crashed over him. His whole life has been a fucking lie. A lie he had created and stupidity believed.

You fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is; they don't need you. Not like you need them.

Leaving—leaving him behind—has been always his family's lifestyle. But it wasn't his family's fault—wasn't Sam's fault, was it? He finally realized. He was the one who couldn't read between the lines—or didn't want to. He was the one so blinded by his love for his family... for Sam, to actually believe that he would choose to stay while his actions screamed exactly the opposite throughout the years.