7. Support System

I Wish I Was Your Brother

A/N: Thanks to my trusty, dependable, Beta, Ericka Jane.

-SEVEN-

Support System

The tall fellow with the unruly hair who kept visiting Jessica Moore's grave caused me a great deal of concern.

In all the years I'd been caretaker at Celestial Gardens Memorial Park, I had seen the bereaved in many colours, shapes, and sizes and this boy definitely worried me.

I called him the Lonely Mourner. He started showing up at the graveyard – sorry, 'Memorial Park' – right after that young girl was buried. Didn't take a genius to figure out she must have been his lady friend because he came every day with a single red rose, and sat cross legged on the grass as close as possible to her headstone. You know as well as I do that us men don't get too bent out a shape over anything platonic. No, the way he turned up here every day looking so vacant and shattered, I guess it was plenty serious between him and that girl.

Jessica Moore's final resting place was in a small alcove right outside my little Caretaker's office on the lonely, south side of the Park. Through the windows by my desk I had a clear view of everyone who visited her grave, and the few nearby it. A heavy dark tint on the large glass panes allowed me to watch without being observed. If I pulled my windows slightly, I could hear practically everything that was said by anyone who visited the graves in that secluded area.

I generally saw a very different side of people when they came to visit a burial place. In my time, I've seen countless people cry, but some would also talk, laugh and heck, some would even sing – sometimes badly. But the ones that always bothered me were the ones who were all stone-faced and stoic and didn't say a thing.

My Young Friend was one of those.

For at least one week straight he just sat here looking at that headstone, not uttering one single word. And take it from someone who knows, a man who can't find an outlet for his grief is a ticking time bomb.

You see I've been there, hurting so badly you wish you could die and completely unable to find words to express that inner agony. Sad to say, that even if I had managed to find the words there hadn't been anyone there to hear them. So it all stayed bottled up until I couldn't keep it in any longer.

Yes, I've been through grief. I've been through it all alone and it damn near killed me. I hoped with all my heart that this poor soul wasn't alone too, because from where I sat he wasn't going to get over this on his own. If my own terrible experience was anything to go by, any day now, I expected that young man to explode.

As it turns out, I wasn't the only one who was worried 'cause about a week into his period of grieving, someone came after him. The second fellow didn't really bear any great resemblance to My Young Friend, apart from the same pale skin and light brown hair. But there was something about their body language that told me this was his brother. The visitor walked up to My Mourner and squatted down beside him on the grass. And when he started to speak, I quietly opened my window so I could hear what he had to say.

"No offence, little brother, but your hang out spot sucks."

My Mourner didn't even turn around to look at his visitor. "Leave me alone, Dean," was all he said.

"I will," Big Brother said. "As soon as you start acting normal again but right now, you're kinda freaking me out."

"Jess is dead, Dean. What do you want me to do? Pretend like everything's alright?"

"I'm not asking you to do that, Sam."

"Then what do you want?"

"Well for one thing, I'd like to know why you're treating me like I'm the bastard child your best friend and your wife had behind your back."

"It's always about you, isn't it? How youfeel, what youthink is best, what you think I should do. It's always you."

"It's fine if you want to lash out at me, Sam, I get it. I get how hard this is for you but you're starting to lose it, bro and it's scaring me O.K. I can't just sit here and let you go off the deep end like this. Whatever is happening, whatever you're feeling, you gotta let me help you get through this."

Now, My Mourner finally turned around to look at his brother. "Haven't you done enough?" he asked accusingly.

"Meaning what?"

"I wanted to help her, Dean. I was going to get her out. But you came barrelling in and pulled me out before I even had a chance."

"Chance?"Big Brother said incredulously. "The whole damn building was on fire and you wanted 'a chance' to stay in it? Are you really dumb enough to think I would have left you in there?"

"That should have been mychoice!" My Mourner got to his feet and began gesticulating frantically. "What gave you the right to decide for me?"

"There was nothing you could do, Sam." Now Big Brother was standing as well and right up in his little brother's face.

"Because you wouldn't let me go! You dragged me away before I could save her. God damn you, Dean, I begged you to let me go to her and you made me leave her there to die!"

Now they were squaring off, face to face, and even from where I stood the rage was palpable.

It's just the grief talking.I wanted to assure Big Brother. He's got a lot of anger and he's gotta find somewhere to put it.

But the argument was already heating up and Big Brother was losing patience fast.

"There's no nice way to say this Sam, but Jess was as good as dead already."

"No! You were just jealous because you figured if I went and got her, I was saying that maybe I'd rather die saving her than live with you!"

"That's way outta line even for a moron like you. What was I supposed to do, Sam? Leave you there for a live cremation?"

"Sometimes I wish you did!"

Seems like that was the last straw. Big Brother bawled his fist and swung out, hitting My Mourner across the face with enough force to toss his head violently to one side. The blow rocked My Young Friend but he didn't go down. Instead, his hands flew to his face covering the spot where his brother's punch had connected.

Retaliation came real quick. Little Brother hit back, going for Big Brother's stomach. The return punch hit its mark and nearly had Big Brother doubling over. No doubt fuelled by his anger and pain, My Mourner tried to land another blow, this time to his brother's face, but Big Brother caught his arm and spun him around. He pinned My Mourner's arm behind his back and held him in what looked like a very painful position.

I stood there by my window wondering if I'd have to go break up a graveside brawl, but I didn't move. As the father of two boys I knew that sometimes, when the fighting gets physical, you don't intervene right away. Sometimes, a man just has to get some things out of his system, so you let a few punches fly so everyone can blow off a little steam.

I was ready to intervene if blood started to flow, but I soon saw that interference was unnecessary. Little Brother managed to wrench out of the grip but kept his hands to himself. He turned back on his Big Brother gasping heavily but his hands remained at his side.

"You ungrateful bastard," Big Brother spat, shoving My Mourner for good measure. "You can mourn for your girlfriend all you want but don't you ever, ever look me in the face and ask me why I saved your life. I'm your brother, you idiot, what the hell did you expect me to do? You were in a burning house!"

My Young Friend turned away and covered his face with his hands. It's like his legs gave out on him because he dropped down to his knees right on the grass beside his girlfriend's headstone. He sat back against that engraved slab of granite, put his head down on his knees and so help me God, he started crying.

And he didn't just cry, he bawled with loud desperate sobs that only the truly broken-hearted could ever really understand. It's a sound no human being alive can stand to hear.

A short distance away, his brother watched. I'm sure he was downright horrified at the crumbling that was taking place right before him. I wondered if he was tempted to just turn and run, and leave all that howling and despair behind.

Please don't leave.I begged in silent desperation. He needs you now more than he's ever needed anyone in his life.

But if I thought Big Brother was going to hightail it out of the graveyard, then I had another guess coming. He moved quickly towards the headstone and sat beside My Mourner.

He needs you to hold him. I wanted to say. He needs you to hold him, and he doesn't know how to ask because nobody teaches a man how to do that.

Even if no one had taught My Mourner how to ask for what he needed, it seems his Big Brother could hear the silent pleas in all those tears. He gently lifted his little brother's head from his knees and pulled his bawling sibling towards him. My poor, grief-stricken Mourner needed little encouragement to lay his head on his brother's shoulder. The way he seemed to fit right into his big brother's arms told me that this was a place he not only felt comfortable, but also safe. Even though My Young Friend was bigger and taller, he tucked right in to Big Brother's embrace in a way that said he'd never outgrow it.

My Mourner cried and shook so hard, it appeared it was only his brother's arms that were holding him together. Had this breakdown happened on one of the days when My Friend had been by himself then he probably would have fallen apart completely. But lucky for him, his brother was here, and from what I could see there was no way My Mourner was gonna fall to pieces on Big Brother's watch.

Big Brother held on tight and just allowed My Friend to cry out all his anger, frustration, and heartache. Something about the way he did it told me that this wasn't the first time Big Brother had had to issue this kind of emotional first aid. No, by the way he held and stilled his little brother, it seemed that he had plenty of experience in quelling the anxieties of his sibling.

It's always a tricky one when men have to mourn. Lord knows when my first born son Jimmy was taken by a drunk driver before he even saw his eighteenth birthday, my heart all but stopped beating. But as a man, I had to be strong for my wife and the rest of my kids because, that's what fathers and husbands do.

Sometimes it seemed that the only thing that was there for me was the corner store whiskey, which I'd drink practically every night while the whole house was asleep. I'd sit there in the dark and drink myself to a place where it just didn't hurt anymore. And whenever the sadness and misery got so bad I couldn't bear it, I'd lock myself in the bathroom, stand under the shower, and cry.

Guess we men are not supposed to admit this but even once, I would have liked to have had someone there for me when I was crying. Just someone to listen while I tried to convey my inexpressible pain at the loss of one of the brightest lights in my life. It took me a long time to admit it to myself, but when the tears came, what I really wanted was for someone to hold me.

I had been foolish, keeping my pain to myself and ignoring the anger that had built up inside me. Between the liquor and the rage, one day it all just exploded and I ended up lashing out at the very people I had tried so hard to protect. I put them through so much hell, physically and emotionally, that it took years to repair the damage and rebuild the love and trust.

I looked at the devastated young man weeping in my graveyard, and prayed that it would be different for him. I prayed that grief wouldn't destroy his life the way it had almost wrecked mine. Something told me that the critical difference would be that man sitting there holding him, like he'd been doing it since he was born.

Alright, Big Brother. I advised silently as my heart filled with wonder and just the slightest bit of envy. You let him cry. Sometimes, a man just needs to cry.

Then it seems it dawned on My Mourner that he'd been sobbing like a two-year-old and he pulled back from his brother all wet-eyed and red-faced.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't..."

"Don't, Sam. I'm your big brother. Whatever you need, it's okay."

"I know you don't do touchy-feely."

"I'll do whatever you need, whatever makes you feel better."

They sat side-by-side against the gravestone so close it was like they were glued together. My Mourner appeared limp with exhaustion and just let his head fall on his brother's chest. Big Brother kept a supportive arm around him.

Their voices got softer, so much so that I had to struggle to hear the conversation.

"It hurts, Dean. I never thought anything could ever make me feel this bad."

"It's going to get better, Sammy. I promise. I know you don't feel like it will, but it always does."

"I feel like I didn't do enough to save her."

"Sam, I was there. I saw Jess and I saw that fire, and there was nothing you could have done. You have to accept that because I'm not going to let you keep blaming yourself."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"I know you are."

"I didn't mean to blame you. I just don't know what to do with all this anger."

"Believe me, I understand. But it's going to get better. You just need to ride it out. I'm right here with you. If you wanna talk, I'll listen and if you need to scream or to cry, that's O.K. too."

"I can't keep coming here. Every time I see her grave it hits me all over again."

"Then maybe you don't need to come back, not until you can handle it."

"I need to say goodbye now, once and for all. But I feel like I can't leave here until I'm ready to accept that I'll never see Jess again."

"Then stay as long as you need to, Sammy. I'll stay with you."

They stayed for hours and so did I, silently watching and listening. I sat there with them thinking about my own grief and pain and how I had dealt with it in totally unhealthy ways. How different could things have been if I'd had someone to help me cope with the loss? Someone who could have pulled me back from the edge, or picked me up when I fell so far and hard.

After a long while My Mourner looked his brother in the face and said, "I'm ready."

Big Brother stood first and then helped My Young Friend to get to his feet.

My Lonely Mourner probably thought he had the worst of luck with his girlfriend dying. To me, he was darn lucky to have a brother who loved him enough not to care about all the stuff they say we men don't need. Because sometimes even a man needs to cry and better still, he needs someone to hold him when he does. More than that, he needs someone who won't make him feel like he's less of a man for needing to cry.

As I watched My Young Friend slowly walk away from the graveside with his brother's arm around him, I sensed he was making his way back from the edge, and I figured he'd be alright.

No, the dark days weren't over and they probably wouldn't be for a while yet, but lucky for him, he wasn't alone. He had someone who would help him mourn and make sure he was OK when he came out on the other side of all of this pain. He had someone who would let him grieve but would never let him go over the edge.

Lucky for him, he had a brother.

THE END

As always, thanks for reading. And for everyone who requested a chapter with Dean's letter to Sam, please stay tuned...there's still more to come.