I didn't know what was going on with Sam. I didn't know why he walked away from me whenever I tried to talk to him. Whenever I tried to even just be in the same room with him. As soon as he saw me, even if I wasn't even trying to talk to him, whenever he saw me, as soon as he saw me, he went the other way.

They said, Dean and Mary and Cas, they all said I should just wait and let Sam come to me when he was ready, and I tried, I did, but – Sam's the person I've been closest to right from the beginning. Right from that first day he was right there with me. I didn't want to wait. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted him to talk to me.

But then, I don't know, he couldn't walk away I guess. In the bedroom hallway. I tried to talk to him. I wanted to talk to him but he was shouting. Not at me. It didn't seem to be at me. Then he just sat down on the floor. Like he just gave up. Dean came and got him to stand up and told me I should go wait somewhere else because Sam needed to get some rest.

I didn't want to. I didn't want to go wait somewhere else. I wanted to stay with Sam. Stay near him. I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to know that he was okay and what was going on.

It was my father. I figured out that much from hearing what was said when I wasn't in a room. Sam was upset because of my father. But he was dead now so why was Sam upset now when he hadn't been upset all the while my father was alive? I needed to know. I wanted to know.

Dean told me again to wait somewhere else and he'd come talk to me. He didn't say when he'd come talk to me. I thought maybe when Sam was resting. Maybe.

I didn't want to hear or overhear what Cas and Mary might be saying about what was happening with Sam, so I went to the little room Dean had set up for them, for him and Sam, to watch TV.

There was no TV in there now. It was cursed. I guess. Dean explained it to me but I didn't quite follow what he was telling me. I just nodded like I understood and thought I'd ask Sam. Whenever he was ready to talk to me.

We'd been home almost two full days. I thought he'd be ready by now. But, no. Dean must be right. Sam must need to rest. It couldn't be just that he didn't want to talk to me. That he would never want to talk to me. Because of my father.

I sat in one of the chairs. The one farthest from the door. Sam told me once, or maybe more than once, that Dean always takes the bed closest to the door. So I thought he would probably take the chair closest to the door, too. So I sat in the chair I thought must be Sam's chair. It seemed the only way to be close to him right now. I sat in the chair and I waited for Dean.

But I would've rather been waiting for Sam.

It wasn't that I thought Dean couldn't or wouldn't explain things to me. I just – Sam was just – I just really wanted Sam to talk to me. I wanted him to want to talk to me.

Dean did finally come in. I suppose it wasn't too long after. It felt long but I don't think it was. I think it just felt that way. He stood in the doorway and asked, "Are you okay?" He didn't come into the room and I thought maybe, when he said he'd talk to me, maybe that was all he meant. Maybe when he knew whether or not I was okay, he'd go back to Sam.

"Is Sam okay?"

"He's –" It took Dean several seconds to answer. "No, he's not. He will be. But right now, no."

"Is it – I know it's my father, but is it something – did I do something wrong? Is that why Sam doesn't even want to see me?"

"No, you didn't do anything wrong. Sam – this has been part of our lives, a big part of his life, for his whole life. To have it finally be over –"

Right in the middle of talking to me, Dean stopped talking to me. He was looking at me then he was looking at the floor then he wiped his hand over his face.

"It's 'over' because my father's dead," I said.

"Yeah. And that's part of it, too, probably. The effect it's having on you. Look –" Dean came into the room. He sat in his chair, on the edge, not back like he was planning on staying. He turned his chair so that it faced me and sat at the edge of it. "There's a lot of working parts to this, most of them you don't know about."

"I know Sam was in hell with my father. I know that was – bad."

"Yeah, it was bad. It was so bad that Sam will never tell me how bad it was. Sam's not mad at you, Jack. All right? You didn't do anything. He's not talking to Mom or to Cas, either. He's barely talking to me. He's just – you know, he's exhausted. And sometimes you can get so exhausted you can't sleep. He just needs to sleep."

"Will he talk to me then? After he sleeps?"

I wanted Dean to say 'yes'. I wanted him to say that as soon as Sam got some sleep, got some rest, that yes, Sam would talk to me. Of course he would.

But Dean sighed as though he didn't like the question. Or maybe because he knew I wasn't going to like the answer.

"He's just got to process what happened. You know? Not just what happened with…your father…dying, but everything. His whole life. He'll talk to you when he's ready. Okay? I promise. I'm gonna go check on Sam." He stood up and pushed his chair back in place. "He'll talk to you when he's ready."

I wondered how long it would be for Sam to be ready.

TBC