Healing?

I don't own Supernatural and I don't want to spoil anyone's fun!

Dean wanted to go out, find a bar, drink till he was drunk enough and get laid. It was his idea of therapy, the way he had always dealt with things. Sam's leaving, Carries rejection, Layla and her illness and now this. He didn't know why this should be any different, why this should be any harder. Hell if he dealt with it in the usual Dean Winchester way then by the next morning they would be up and ready to go, everything back to Winchester normal.

Sam sat on the bed and watched his brother, his movements were awkward, he was still hurting both physically and, although he wouldn't let Sam see it, mentally. He knew what Dean was planning and, although it was against his better judgement, he was going along with it, because he was afraid, afraid to let the only surviving member of his family out of his sight. He swallowed, hard, he didn't want Dean to see how much he was hurting, how pathetically needy he felt. He wished his brother would do something, break down, throw things, curse, swear, cry, but not Dean, no Dean was soldiering on, even though the General was no longer around to see it, no longer around to bark orders, to give guidance, a huge presence in their lives, even when he wasn't actually there. Sam sighed and brushed a hand through his hair, wincing as he felt the bump there where his head had hit the side of the car window, God knows what alcohol was going to do to his headache.

Dean ordered two beers, two shots and downed them, watching Sam do the same. His little brother winced and already looked a little flushed, hell another two or three shots and Sammy would be dancing in the aisles. The bar was full of life, a long way from the hospital, from the accident, hell, Dean could almost forget what had happened, just think that it was him and Sam together on a night out, celebrating the death of some supernatural bastard, ready for the next round. He was already looking out for likely women, hopefully two pretty ones, cos it was about time Sam saw some action. Hell, his geeky brother needed to chill, Dean could virtually see the tension in Sam's shoulders, feel the pain there, he needed to fucking relax, that's what he needed to do.

Sam felt sick and the shot burnt his throat like fire, he had already had too much and the room was starting to rotate, the heat and the laughter too much for his fragile head and stomach. He wanted to cry, to put his head in his arms and weep, but he knew Dean would not allow that, he'd pick Sam up and insist he danced or played pool or did some other random thing. Sam wanted to grieve, he wanted to remember his dad with fondness, he wanted to think of something beyond their fighting, their arguments, their hunting together. He got up slowly, swaying a little and made his way to the exit, he had to have some fresh air or he would throw up, preferably over Dean.

Dean watched as Sam weaved his way out of the bar and he cursed inwardly. He knew where Sam was going, he was off to sit outside the bar and disappear into his own little ball of angst. Hell, Dean was sick of Sam, sick of his moaning, sick of his inner turmoil; sick to the stomach with his inability to let it all go. Dean got up and followed his brother, determined to drag his ass back inside and get him thoroughly wasted.

The sound of sobbing hit him as soon as he staggered into the fresh air. Sam was on his knees outside the bar, his head in his hands, his body shaking with huge, uncontrollable sobs. For a moment Dean stood stock still and he felt a terrible shiver curse down his spine. He hadn't seen Sam ever cry like this, even after Jess, hell he'd seen the tears in Sam's eyes, he'd known that his baby brother was fragile, but he hadn't known quite how near to breaking he was. Dean was suddenly and horribly sober and he knew that his own brand of therapy wasn't working. He realised, from the incredible pain in his own chest, that Sam had finally let it go, he had finally let out all the hurt and angst he had been carrying with him this last year and this was the result. Dean fell to his knees and threw his arms around his sobbing brother, leaning his head against Sam's soft hair and willing his own tears to come.

Sam came to his senses in a shuddering breath, his eyes hurt and his mouth was dry, but more than anything he was aware of his brother, on his knees beside him, weeping silently, covertly, as if he did not want Sam to know or find out just how much he was hurting,

"Dean?" Sam touched his brother and Dean's head came up, showing Sam the raw emotion on his tear stained face

"Sam – it hurts" Dean's voice broke on those three words and Sam shuffled closer, so that he could hold Dean tighter, hoping that his own words would set his brother on the long road to healing

"I know"