Sam had run to Bobby's back door at the crash of breaking glass, getting there in time to see the crowbar take its first bite into the Impala's trunk lid. The sight of Dean laying into his car—the same car he'd been lovingly putting back together for a week now—hit Sam like a brick between the eyes. He stood watching as Dean whaled away, then finally tossed the bar to the dirt. The whole scene had that slow-motion quality instilled by horror and helplessness, and Sam suspects the whole thing didn't last as long as it seemed to.
But now Sam's been watching Dean stand there for at least ten minutes and he can't look away even though he really feels like he should, like he's seeing something he shouldn't be, something naked and raw and private. There's an odd feeling rising into his throat that feels as much like panic as anything else. He can't decide whether he needs to cry or if he wants to laugh hysterically.
He does neither. Just watches Dean for some sign, some spreading crack in his brittle veneer that will tell him how this thing's going to play out.
Dean's not even breathing very hard and he really doesn't even look angry, just stands there sweating in the midday sun, the muscles in his throat working. Sam knows—has always known—to look in Dean's eyes for the truth. He also knows that sometimes he sees what he wants to when he looks, what he thinks should be there. But it's not just the distance that keeps him from seeing clearly this time.
He wants Dean to deal, and if pounding the shit out of something is the way he does it, Sam's got no problem with that. But there's no release evident in the way he looks right now, no relief of the pressure inside him.
Dad slipped way so quietly, literally when they weren't looking. Sam thinks about how sometimes a small-caliber bullet can do more damage inside a human body than a larger one, ricocheting off bone internally with no place to go, until there's nothing left untouched. And he wishes to hell that analogy hadn't occurred to him right now.
Family business. Those were Dean's words. They've echoed in his mind for more than a year and whatever happens, Sam's in it to the end. They're going to find the evil that started this whole thing and put an end to it, but right now they've got their hands full just getting themselves together. It's just him and Dean, and he needs Dean to be…well, he just needs him.
Sam feels Bobby's presence behind his left shoulder. They both watch Dean. Sam waits for Bobby to speak, but he's not surprised when he doesn't say anything right away. Bobby's never been shy about reading them the riot act but when there's nothing to be said, Bobby Singer says it better than anybody.
Finally Bobby takes a long breath and lets it out through his lips.
"You need to watch him," he says gruffly.
Sam closes his burning eyes for a long second. When he opens them again, Dean's gone back to the workbench.
"I always do, Bobby. I always do."