Fwut… fwut… fwut…
Dean laid on his back in his bed at the bunker, staring as the ceiling fan spun in almost hypnotic circles. Maybe he hoped that the soft fwut of each round it made would put him to sleep, but he was too restless to even think of passing out.
His head felt like it was about to burst with all the new information and emotions that were storming around in there. What happened back at the house with Kelly and Cas… It just kept replaying in his mind like an awful nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. He saw it over and over. The beams of pure white light shooting from Cas's eyes and chest before he collapsed, lifeless, to the ground. Lucifer falling into the rift and pulling Mom with him just as it blinked out of existence. Cas and Mom. Both of them gone. Just like that.
Tears sprung to his eyes, and he blinked hard against them. Getting up out of bed, he started pacing the small room, arms across his chest, fists clenched. He wanted to punch something, rip something apart, kill something. He wanted to yell. He wanted to go on rampage. He wanted to… He wanted to…
He stopped, shock still, when his eyes landed on a picture of Mom that was lying on his nightstand. There was a ache in his heart so intense that he thought for a second he could be having a heart attack. He tore his eyes away and sat down on his bed again, his head in his hands.
Suddenly, there was a quiet knock on his door. Sam. Coming to check on him.
"I'm fine, Sam," he announced tiredly. "I don't want to talk about it."
A long pause filled the silence. Then, just as Dean thought Sam must have left, he spoke.
"I do."
It was soft, faint. But those two words struck Dean. Here he was, sitting alone in his room, when his brother needed him. When Sammy needed him. Slowly, he got up and strode to the door.
Sam looked just about as bad as Dean felt. He looked up at his little brother and sighed. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I just need some time to…" He could feel his a lump forming in his throat. Looking down, he swallowed before continuing. "I need to… process everything before I can talk about it." That was his way of saying, I can't talk talk about it until I can do so without choking up.
Dean looked back up at his brother, his eyes begging Sam to understand, and he knew right away that he'd made a mistake. Even as an adult, Sam's puppy-dog eyes, those damn eyes, never failed to defeat him. The expression on Sam's face was his way of saying, I don't care if you choke up because I'm about to start crying, too. Looking at Sam's eyes, watery with imminent tears, Dean knew that he couldn't go back into his room and shut the door on him.
"Come'ere," he said, his own eyes slightly averted. He wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders and pulled him to him. He could say he hated "chick-flick" moments all he wanted, but right then, he needed this just as much as Sam did. He felt his brother's hands clutching his back and his head pressing against his shoulder as he leaned into the embrace. And at that instant, Dean felt some of the weight lift off his heart. Mom. Cas. It was a massive loss. But he still had his brother; he still had Sam. They would get through it.