Two Alone
Dean won't look up, or speak. He doesn't even blink, just continues to stare down at the same spot on the tabletop, throat working.
Sam himself is hurting plenty – is aching inside – but he knows what's just happened here and, even worse, what's to come next if he doesn't act now. "Dean…"
His big brother leans away, gives the slightest shake of his head. It's a combination Sam's grown quite familiar with over the years. It means don't and not yet.
Back off.
It means Dean won't offer comfort, or accept it. It's the exact response Sam was expecting, but he still has to try.
The bunker's never felt so big, or empty. Quiet. Sam swallows, feeling suddenly more alone than he has in years. "Dean, man – "
Strike two; he won't see three.
Dean draws away from the table and turns, without a word or glance spared his brother's direction.
His heavy steps echo, travel back down the hall to the library, each one an individual stab that causes Sam to flinch.
And when his brother shuts himself away in his room, the slam of that door rocks Sam harder than that of the one his mother's just exited.