It's Okay, Really…

Warning: here there be angst, lots of it.

Summary: It's one of his greatest regrets, he saw the look on his son's face and he knows he put it there. He just wants to save him. "It's okay, Daddy, it's okay if you don't love me anymore." Wee!chesters.

I own nothing. Nihil.

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He can't look anymore. He can't look at his son without being reminded of her. He can't look at his hair without smelling her. He can't look at his face without thinking about her. And her can't look at his eyes without seeing her in them.

He can't look at his own son and it hurts.

It hurts so badly because he knows he's being a bad father, hell, he knows the whole world probably knows by now. What sort of parent, let alone father, can't even look at his own kid anymore? He knows he's being a bad father but he can't help it. Not really.

Lies.

He can hear her whisper in his ears sometimes. She tells him that he can still help him, still save him, and he wants to. He really, really does.

But he doesn't know how.

Because how do you save someone you can't look at, let alone help?

He doesn't know.

So instead he discovers a new best friend to make things better. He and his best friend meet after a particular bad night. Turns out, this friend is alcohol. Jack and whiskey and whatever else he happens to find in a bottle drown everything away – the pain, the sorrow, the heartbreak…everything.

Turns out, alcohol is a very good friend.

So instead of comforting a son he knows is hurting, crying and screaming on the inside, he drinks away. Because, that way, maybe, just maybe, he'll stop getting remind of her every time he looks at his son. Just maybe. And maybe, he'll finally be able to look at his son and save him still. Just maybe, but still highly unlikely.

Tonight is no different from any other nights. He still gets drunk and he still comes back in the middle of the night to a 4-year-old boy who stayed up to wait for his daddy. He still sits at the table looking blankly at nothing while trying not to look at his son. He still feels like shit afterwards.

He knows what he looks like right now. Knows what he probably smells like too. He looks like one of those drunken men at the bar, all slouched over a table trying and failing to drink all the sorrows away. To heal the gaping hole still bleeding away inside his chest. And to maybe find a way to look at his son again.

Problem is, he shouldn't be drinking in the first place. This isn't a bar, it's just one of the many motels they've stayed in since the fire. It smells like one, but it's still not a bar. He already feels like a shit father, and from the corner of his eye, he can see Dean taking care of little baby Sammy.

His mood plummets even lower.

He should be doing that.

He should be comforting his sons.

He should be able to look after a baby.

And he should be able to look at him like a father should.

But he can't. From he corner of his eye he can see his son staring at him, asking 'what's wrong'. Well, in his case, not so much see but he can the feel the stare penetrating him, concern radiating his child.

He feels like screaming at the world, at the thing that killed Mary, at the people who think he's crazy, at the sky, at everything. Because every time he looks at his child, he can see a little blond boy one moment and then Mary the next moment.

"Daddy?"

Crap.

Dean's in front of him and he didn't even notice.

"Daddy?"

He tries to answer. He knows he should but he can't.

"Hey Deano."

"Daddy, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean."

He's not. Not really. Not even close.

His little boy is speaking again, but this time much quieter.

"Hey Daddy, do you still love me?"

This time he's silent. He desperately wants to say something but he can't.

He wants to scream out yes and hug his own son. He wants to hold on to Dean and cry and beg for his forgiveness.

He wants to but he can't.

He can't do anything to help.

"It's okay, Daddy, if you don't love me anymore. I don't mind." He says in a voice only a four year old can do.

He can feel his heart shatter into a million pieces.

Out in the distance he can the sound of a soul breaking.

And what's worse?

He can hear Mary crying out in the background for her eldest. For her newly broken son.

He just watched his own son break.

Watched as green eyes shattered. Eyes so similar to hers.

His own flesh and blood.

And it's all his fault and now he can't even do anything about it.

End.

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…Well that was slightly depressing.