[He has and he hasn't realized any of that; it's occurred to him, of course, but this is the part no one seems to be able to wrap their heads around, or one of them anyway. This is not the first time Dean has been forced through an entire other life he was convinced was his until whatever was jerking the strings - Alistair, Zachariah, the Admiral - pulled him out of it and let him remember who he is. Who he isn't. What he lost and what he never had. Hell was about torture, yes, but it wasn't all physical.
The worst of it was never physical, though that was bad enough.
So yes, he knows that Stiles is not his brother; he knows that his brother is worse than dead and not here; he knows that he is still a failure of epic proportions. But he latches on anyway because he is weak, he was always weak, and he needs this - he needs his brother - more than he needs air, and he is the one thing Dean cannot have. He is the one person Dean wanted to save and the only person he can't. So he holds onto Stiles and he tries to press it into his memory like putty over newsprint because any moment now, any moment Stiles won't fit that puzzle piece anymore. Any moment now everything will shake back out where it's supposed to be, and Dean doesn't know if he can do that again. So he just hangs on, bruisingly tight, like if he can just do this one thing he won't have to be that person again, he won't have to be alone.
But everything shakes back out. The throbbing pain in his hand tethers him to this broken shamble of a person that he still is, always has been, must be - and he remembers with no small amount of guilt that his brother is Sam. His brother is a captive of Lucifer, his brother is probably burned out, his brother is unreachable, his brother is gone and it's his fault. His grip loosens. He steps back, and does not let his eyes focus because he has no idea what he'll do to whatever - whoever - they focus on.
He has to push his voice through his teeth because he has absolutely no idea what to do now.]
no subject
The worst of it was never physical, though that was bad enough.
So yes, he knows that Stiles is not his brother; he knows that his brother is worse than dead and not here; he knows that he is still a failure of epic proportions. But he latches on anyway because he is weak, he was always weak, and he needs this - he needs his brother - more than he needs air, and he is the one thing Dean cannot have. He is the one person Dean wanted to save and the only person he can't. So he holds onto Stiles and he tries to press it into his memory like putty over newsprint because any moment now, any moment Stiles won't fit that puzzle piece anymore. Any moment now everything will shake back out where it's supposed to be, and Dean doesn't know if he can do that again. So he just hangs on, bruisingly tight, like if he can just do this one thing he won't have to be that person again, he won't have to be alone.
But everything shakes back out. The throbbing pain in his hand tethers him to this broken shamble of a person that he still is, always has been, must be - and he remembers with no small amount of guilt that his brother is Sam. His brother is a captive of Lucifer, his brother is probably burned out, his brother is unreachable, his brother is gone and it's his fault. His grip loosens. He steps back, and does not let his eyes focus because he has no idea what he'll do to whatever - whoever - they focus on.
He has to push his voice through his teeth because he has absolutely no idea what to do now.]
No. We're not.