Dean took another swig of his beer, for a moment just letting his father's words wash over him. It was a relief, a huge, all encompassing relief to hear that he had not been the only one to come out of the experience with scars that were too deep to heal. It was ironic, that he had no scars, no left over knuckles that were crooked or bones that hadn't healed just right, and barring the mark of the hand on his shoulder he had come back as clean as a newborn child. But inside, as each new memory came crashing down on him, another kind of scar, a deeper one, was formed.
He missed the familiar sting of strong alcohol in the back of his throat. It helped to counter the pain of the memories, to make him focus on something other than the wounds he could feel inside. But he had promised Ben that he would come home and that they would hang out, and he wasn't going to break his promise. That was, he had learned, what being a father meant, putting someone else's needs before your own.
"I tried." He said quietly, talking about Jo "to hold on to her, but I couldn't be the man she needed. I couldn't be there for her and look out for and keep her alive since this damned family has a huge fucking target on our backs. I tried, god help me, I tried, but I couldn't do it." He looked away for a long moment, watching the waves crash into the ocean as he tried to compose himself. "I don't know what I'm gonna do, Dad, if this thing doesn't work out, if Ben's not mine."
It was true, Dean had a great family and extended family to lean on, but he had already started to latch on to the idea of having a child-actually, of having Ben as his child, and he didn't know how he'd handle another setback.