Spoiler for 'No Exit'

Dean does it right this time.

He looks down at his shoes and toes the dirt.

"It…'s got nothin' to do with us."

He turns for the car, cause like Hell he's going in to let Ellen rip off his balls.

And Sammy gives a sympathetic smile.

You were getting too close to her anyway.

He doesn't say.

He climbs into the car, pats Dean's thigh.

"It has nothing to do with us," Sammy repeats and that's all.

They drive in their usual silence of breathing and classic rock, letting bad acid trip lyrics do all the talking.

We're not like Dad.

He doesn't say.

Two hours later Dean is going forty miles over the speed limit and massaging his temple.

Sammy reaches out and gives him a sympathetic touch.

Running hard fingers over the nape of his brother's neck.

They used to be so soft.

I changed for you.

He doesn't say.

As Dean turns and stares, taking his eyes far from the road.

Sammy invites him in sympathetically.

Dean pulls to the shoulder.

Grabs him by the face and they crash together painfully.

Sammy's mouth holds that lingering acerbic affection of coffee.

I'm the only one you need.

He doesn't say.

When Dean laughs at himself, hating himself, pulls away to drive again.

For hours until Sammy reaches out, touching his forearm.

Straining from gripping the steering wheel, like an anchor, for hours.

"Let's stop, we can spring for a hotel," he murmurs sympathetically.

I'm the only one who can help you.

He doesn't say.

And Dean has him in his arms before the door is even all the way shut.

"Why." He says, without question, or petulance, or defeat, or despair, he just says.

Sam kisses him sympathetically.

"Because…it was dad."

I'm glad he's dead.

He doesn't say.

Because it isn't true.

Or, not entirely.

"It's got nothin' to do with us."

Dean helplessly asserts.

Sammy agrees, sympathetically.

Standard Disclaimers