'It's nothing, Sammy.' Dean exhales a little, defeatedly. He is subdued, a little less Dean and a lot more depressed stranger. 'I told you. It's just something I go through, off and on. Sometimes, it makes me act a little... a little strange, you know? But it never affects anything important. Never affects hunts.' His lips curl in a strange little half-smile and Sam recoils slightly, wondering to himself who is this person? 'I get through it. Always have, always will.'

That shuttered look is back, that look that is so fucking wrong on his big brother's face and Sam is screaming red-raw inside.

'Please, Dean,' he says quietly. Sam wants to get on his knees and beg and pray that the last few hours haven't happened and maybe, just maybe, if he is good enough and has combed his hair and brushed his teeth and not eaten the last of the Lucky Charms, his ever elusive God will grant this one wish.

'I just want to know how to help. You're not acting –,' he pauses and licks his dry lips nervously. 'You're not acting normal. That thing back there. All that... all that,' his voice shudders as the memory of the sea of blood and his brother's smile burns in his mind. Sam wants to sound forceful and the scared, trembling whisper that worms its way from his lips pisses him off. 'God, Dean, that wasn't in any way normal.'

'I don't know what you want me to say, Sam!'

Sam starts at the sudden heat in his brother's voice. He looks up, worried and guilty and pleading, but Dean - Dean's jaw is clenched tight and there is fire and warning in his eyes. 'I told you I'm fine!'

Sam is tripping to his feet, feeling like a clumsy fourteen-year-old again, and he tries out that calming gesture he learned in that stupid touchy-feely body language class Jess made him sit through. 'Okay, just relax–'

'Just fuckin' drop it, alright? I don't need the fucking carebear bullshit or those fucking hurt puppy dog eyes. You didn't care when you and Dad were yelling the house down every night or when you up and left for Stanford. You don't get to fucking care now. You have no right to!'

Sam is left stunned and wordless at this sudden explosion and it feels like Dean has just sucker-punched him in the gut.

'I deal the way I deal, the way I've always dealt with things, and it's not going to change whenever you decide to waltz back in for a little family reunion. You never said anything before, even when you saw, and I know you fucking saw. Just because you find me sitting in a little blood, you freak and all of a sudden care? Who the fuck do you think you are, Sam?'

The worst bit of it all to Sam, just slightly worse than the words thrown like little poison daggers, is the tiny crack in his brother's voice. Cracks like that fracture and rent and then, before you know it, there are shattered pieces all over the floor, too numerous and too fragile to glue back. A sudden thought comes to Sam's mind, a little white-hot glow sitting among the rest of his muddled thoughts, taunting him. He is going to lose his brother.

The sudden choking silence is overwhelming in the dusty little motel room, as Sam holds his breath, staring, staring, staring at Dean and willing him to see how much he wants to fix everything.

'Fuck this,' Dean eventually mutters, grabbing his jacket from where it sits in a crumpled heap.

Panic rises to the back of Sam's throat at the thought of his brother disappearing into the night, tonight. 'Dean,' He says, too quickly and too loudly. 'Where are you going?'

His brother doesn't answer as he stalks towards the door, boots clomp-clomp-clomping heavily. In later years, Sam will sometimes hear that noise in his sleep, a persistent little nightmare. It will never fail to wake him up, and sometimes, he chokes Dean as he claws the empty air in front of him, trying to pull a shadow back.

Dean pulls the door open, and pauses on the threshold. Sam can't stop shivering and he blames it on the freezing wind blowing in from the open door. He can see the white knuckles on Dean's hand on the door jamb, shaking fist so tightly clenched he is sure the knob will break off and he tries to put everything of himself into the next two words.

'Dean. Please.'

It seems to work and Dean sighs softly and visibly uncoils as little clouds of mist curl in the darkness outside. 'I'm just going to get some air.' He turns back but his eyes are clouded and fixed on the scummy carpeted floor. Sam watches his brother's Adam's apple move as he swallows, frowning at something that Sam can't see. 'Go sleep, Sammy. It's been a long day. I'll be back soon.'

The wavering smile on Dean's face and the quiet click of the door tears Sam's heart to shreds.