carryon: (not before everything)
Hakura ([personal profile] carryon) wrote2009-06-11 01:39 pm

(no subject)

"I don't know how you can even look at me," Sam confides one night, alcohol in front of him that he knows he's not going to touch. Doesn't deserve to and wouldn't be able to stop if he started.

"Wasn't you, Sammy." He gets in stubborn, worn response. It's the expected answer, lie; he can still see the blood on his hands as he stares at them. His silence is telling of his lack of agreement, and he watches out of the corner of his eye as Dean finishes his drink with a long swig, sees him reach for his.

He counts it as another failure that he doesn't stop him.
crossroadblues: (hot-wire; desperate; go)

[personal profile] crossroadblues 2009-06-11 06:27 pm (UTC)(link)
He has to wait a minute, lets five go by without thinking too much of it because there's alcohol and it dulls things, makes it that much easier to function, let the time pass. Makes it easier, period.

Of course he remembers. He knows the why and how and what of it so clearly it's like he never left sometimes. Just doesn't let Sam know that part if he can help it, hides it away and drowns it out with music and liquor.

But he remembers the apologies, too. He remembers "sorry" and his brother looking at him like he was gonna break. He remembers thank god it's me and not him.

"It wasn't," he says finally, confirms, against Sam's silent protest.