"Dean, you were right." Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and sniffed.
"About what?" the elder wiped grease off on an equally dirty rag.
"About me and Dad. I'm sorry that the last time I was with him I tried to pick a fight. I'm sorry that I spent most of my life fighting with him, I mean for all I know he died, thinking I hated him." He took in a shaky breath and looked at his brother, hoping for a 'no, he didn't'. But Dean just stared. He continued.
"So you're right. What I'm doing right now it is too little; it's too late." He forced back the tears. "I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as Hell. And I'm not alright, not at all." He swallowed thickly and blinked. "But neither are you, that much I know." He stared straight into Dean's hazel eyes without recognizing even a flicker of emotion. "I'll let you get back to your work." He sighed and turned, wiping his eyes.
Dean watched his brother walk away, defeated. He noticed himself in a window on a nearby car.
'Look at you. You son of a bitch. Sam needs you and you're just pushing him away. Hell, you need him just as much. Your entire life you've looked after him; your entire life you've spent, being a soldier; being obedient. But they don't need you. The Demon confirmed that much. Dad's gone and Sammy doesn't need you.' Dean slammed the crowbar he was holding into the window; shattering his reflection. 'That felt good.' He turned to the Impala.
'Fuck!' his mind screamed as he smashed the piece of metal into the hood, destroying his hard work; his life.
Smash. 'It can't be fixed'
Bang. 'They don't need you.'
Clang. 'Mom's dead, and she isn't coming back.'
Bam. 'Look after Sammy.'
Bash. 'Why?' With each thought he hit the car harder until the crowbar slipped out of his hands.
Dean took deep breaths, trying to ease the shaking of his body. Lifting his head, he felt his control beginning to slip as he choked on his emotions. His lower lip began to tremble when he noticed a tall, lanky frame in front of him.
"Hey." Sam stared solemnly at his brother, having seen the outburst. Dean bowed his head and attempted to calm down once more. "Dean." Sam took a cautious step towards him. He gently laid his hand on Dean's neck and massaged it; surprised he didn't flinch away.
"I'm so tired, Sammy." He whispered, his voice thick with tears he knew he wouldn't shed.
Sam stopped rubbing the tense muscles but kept his hand rested there. "Let's go inside then; get some sleep." He offered.
Dean shook his head. "Not like that. I'm just…" he cleared his throat. "I-" he couldn't continue without avoiding without avoiding tears so he fell silent.
Sam returned to rubbing circles in Dean's neck with his thumb. There was nothing he could say to help his brother. But there was something he could do. He could stand with him. For him.
Dean couldn't stand it any more; the grief was choking him. He gagged and felt his breakfast make a second appearance. Sam grabbed his shoulders and he hunched forward, heaving and gasping for air.
As soon as he gained control of his gag reflexes, he wiped the tears off his cheeks and Sam pulled him back. Dean collapsed against him, too exhausted to resist.
Sam wrapped his arms securely around Dean's waist and rested them on his abdomen.
"Sammy." Dean's head lolled to one side and Sam stuck his shoulder out for Dean to lay on. He felt a tear slide down his cheek and put his head atop his brother's hair.
"Dean." His voice was muffled in the elder's hair. Dean grunted in response as his eyes fluttered shut. "We're going to be ok, right?" he cringed at the desperation in his voice.
'No. I'm never going to be ok again. But I'll do my best to make sure that you are.'
"Yeah, Sammy. We're gonna be alright." He put his hands over Sam's and squeezed. "Now stop snotting all over my hair."