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Sam swallows and feels a rush of dizziness flow through him. He knows it isn't actually happening but the room suddenly seems a whole lot smaller. Like it is closing in on him at a rapid pace, not leaving him a lot of wiggle room. He swallows again as he suffers the onslaught of the silent, brooding, too pissed off to actually articulate one single word stance of his brother. Sam watches his older sibling's body language and it doesn't bode well. At all. Cripes. Dean's chest is heaving. Heaving! God. He is really, really, really, majorly pissed off. And not at some monster or demon or even a psychotic human, no, but at him. At his own brother. Sam just wants to melt away into a puddle on the floor, just to get out of the glare that is directed at him. He thinks it may just happen too, as he can practically feel the heat of rage from his brother's unflinching gaze make its way over through the air to descend upon him where he stands.

Sam waits. For that anger to be unleashed on him. For Dean to go into full-on Rambo mode. For him to scream and yell and spew hateful words in his direction. He watches Dean's eyes glance down quickly before they refocus on the younger brother's face.

Sam tracks his own eyes to what Dean took a moment to glance at and he sighs slightly. Shit. Sam wants to yell out in frustration as he notices; as he realizes where his brother went. He didn't take off to get his fix at some damn bar in this stupid town. No. Dean is holding a tray with two coffees in one hand and a nondescript brown paper bag in the other. Knowing his brother, Sam has no doubt that there are a couple of tasty pastries lurking within.

The younger Winchester has to suppress another sudden urge. To chuckle. Not in hilarity or joy but out of damn irony. Figures. Dean left and picked up some damn breakfast, well, maybe lunch by the looks of the clock, for them to share before heading out. For his baby brother who he knew didn't get much rest. The same brother who just betrayed Dean's ever present personal space rule. Crap. Sam should have known that the one thing he was trying to prevent would just end up coming back and biting him in the ass. Dean is about to clam up. And Sam has brought it on himself.

Sam knows there isn't a damn thing he can do or say to help him escape his brother's wrath. But it hasn't come yet. The silence in the room is deafening. Sam just stands there, unsure of what to make of it. He's been caught. Red handed. His hand in the proverbial cookie jar. It's not the sight of Dean's rigid body language that has him on pins and needles. It's the fact that his big brother hasn't moved. Hasn't spoken. Hasn't done one damn thing. Hasn't moved one damn inch. If he hadn't seen his gaze drift those few moments ago he would think he's been stuck in some kind of trance. He hasn't shut the door. He hasn't even set the coffee down. Sam is pretty sure he hasn't even taken the time to blink. The younger brother quickly concludes that all those factors rolled up into one are probably not a good thing. A silent Dean is always the deadliest kind.

Uncomfortable. Tense. Those two words echo around in Sam's head. Okay, time to get the show on the road already. He can't stand the quiet. Time to face the music. Fess up. Bite the bullet and get the yelling match officially started. It's obvious that Dean is waiting for him to make the first move. When Sam sees a slight raise of his brother's eyebrow he knows that's all the confirmation he needs. After all, Sam is the one with a whole lot of explaining to do. He takes a deep breath and gets ready to tango.

"I know you are pissed Dean and I don't blame you but... it's just... I am worried about you. Don't you see what is going on? You are hiding things from me. You won't admit that you have a problem. But, although I went about it in the worst possible way, and I am sorry for that, I don't think you can deny it anymore."

Sam pauses when he realizes his voice is slowly starting to rise in octave. Sure, he's nervous but he can't stop now. He can't let Dean out of this. Not this time. His brother remains silent so Sam takes in another shaky breath and continues on. Pandora's box is now officially open so let 'er rip.

"I know you are hurting Dean and using this shit to ease the pain but you can't keep going like this. You need help. Booze and pills? You are smarter than that man, you know it's only gonna make whatever you are going through that much worse. You keep this up and you will crash and burn. And you know it."

Okay. It's out. He did it. Sam feels slightly relieved that he made it through that without being interrupted by a blow to the head or something. He keeps his eyes trained on Dean and watches his head tilt a bit to the side, as if he is busy trying to process what just came out of his younger brother's mouth. Great. Sam can't be absolutely sure but he thinks he just heard a growl. A damn growl for cripes sake. Crap. So much for approaching the topic all calm and rational like. It's a safe bet that both those notions have just fluttered their way out that open door.

Sam is unnerved. And unsettled. He can't shake the feeling of doom that is coursing through him. Like when you know something bad is going to happen but you just don't know when. Sam's pulse starts to race and he compulsively rubs his sweaty hands along the fabric of his jeans. He just wants his brother to do something. Anything to get this dance party started.

"Come on Dean. Please. Say something. Hell, throw something. Yell. Anything. Just, please. No matter how pissed off you are at me right now you can't avoid this forever. You... we need to talk about this."

"Sorry Sam. Kinda hard to talk when you have a knife jammed into your back."

It comes out low and quiet but Sam detects the anger and disappointment that resides in his brother's words. Okay, at least he is talking. That's a start.

"Okay, right, I totally deserved that. But, I am worried. You are all over the place lately. I don't know what you are going to do next. I thought.. Dean, I was sure you took off to... to..."

"To where Sam? Huh? INTO MY DAMN DUFFEL BAG?"

Sam can't help but scoff at that.

The younger brother realizes a bit too late that he should have tried harder to keep from making that noise. Huh. Sam isn't sure he has ever seen that particular hue of red displayed on Dean's face before. No. Wait. Scratch that. The colour seems to be changing, evolving right before his eyes. Damn it. His brother's face now seems to be sporting a dangerous shade that is quickly approaching purple. Double crap. Purple? Well, that just can not mean a brotherly hug is on the horizon. More like a well placed fist to the face.

"The bar Dean. I thought... I thought you went to the bar."

Sam waits for the inevitable. For the coffee to go flying and for Dean to charge at him, fists revved up and ready to go. But again, it just doesn't happen. The colour slowly diminishes from Dean's face and a shiver crawls its way up the length of Sam's spine. Dean is looking at him but his eyes are unreadable. Empty. He watches Dean slowly shake his head and finally move to put his parcels down on the counter. Sam's eyes remain fixed on his brother as he rests his hands on the ledge, as if it is suddenly the only thing that is keeping him upright and grounded.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Poor, misguided, doesn't know what the frick he is talking about Sammy. Always trying to save me. And never knowing how. You have no idea do you? How could you I guess. You just... you just couldn't do it. Couldn't let me have one little moment of peace. Of happiness. No, of course not. What the hell was I thinking? I don't deserve happiness. No matter what I do or say. No matter how many people I help or save it's just never enough. I'm not worthy of that one emotion. Not ever. But, that's okay, I just had a little lapse you know? Just had one moment where I thought I could escape the torment for a minute. But I should have known better. It's my own damn fault you know? I'll never...forget it... it doesn't matter..."

Sam can't tell whether Dean is directing his words at him or just mumbling away to himself. Either way those words sting. A lot. Like a knife through his heart. He suddenly feels the need to rush over to Dean. To grab hold of him and never let go. Sam can see how much he is hurting. He can see it in the way he has his eyes clenched shut. In the way the grip he has on the counter has made his knuckles go white. The way he continues to shake his head. He can hear it in his voice. The pain. The anguish. The guilt and worthlessness that consumes him.

The youngest Winchester takes this as a sign. That maybe his brother is ready to talk. Well, maybe not ready, but Sam is encouraged at how easily Dean seems to be rambling on right now. Maybe this is as good of a chance as he is going to get. To get him to open up. When Dean is vulnerable. Sam takes one step towards his brother but halts his progress when Dean turns to face him. Whatever moment of weakness Sam had just been privy to, it is now gone. Dean no longer looks fragile or on the verge of breaking into pieces onto the floor. The look Sam sees now is fury. He unconsciously takes another tentative step. Only this time, he steps back.

"You know, I never thought I asked for much in this life. Some laughs. Some hot chicks. Some fun. I mean, that's not bad right? But, the one thing that I hang on to, above all that other crap, the thing that gets me through the day is something else. Trust Sam. That's the name of the game in this pathetic, messed up, wasteland existence called life. And you? You just continually test my trust in you. And fail. Time and time again. I mean come on bro, I can't even leave my personal shit in your general vicinity without that trust being broken? You just can't help yourself. So tell me, if I can't trust you with the contents of my damn bag then how can I trust you enough to tell you about the hell I have seen?"

Sam bites the inside of his cheek, willing himself to just let the words roll off his back. He'll put up with the twisted rant of his brother's. He won't fall for the bait. Won't get into an argument about trust of all things. He knows Dean. And he knows his brother is pulling out all the stops to throw the topic neatly away from himself and land it into Sam's lap. But the younger of the two won't cave to it. He knows beyond a doubt that Dean trusts him. He is just searching for some excuse to clam up. He wants Sam to think that the only reason he refuses to discuss his time in Hell is not because he doesn't want to, but because of Sam. Nice try bro but your younger brother is not buying the pile of shit that you are so desperately trying to sell him.

"Nothing to say huh? Well, I guess that just proves my point. Is this what you call help Sam? Well, let me make this perfectly clear even for someone who seems to live in a fantasy world full of rainbows and unicorns. I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP! There isn't going to be a happy ending here Sam so just let me do what I need to in order to survive! Save the speeches and the puppy dog looks and the idea that you can fix me the hell alone. You can't. There is nothing you can do. I am as fine as I will ever be. I am dealing with it. Like I always do. Alone. So just save your rose coloured view of the world for the orphans and the naive. I can't take it anymore."

Sam is still sorting through the fractured information that just spewed out from his brother when Dean moves. Fast. He heads right towards him and Sam readies himself for the punch. And he will take it. Because his brother is not right. He is off. And if he needs to throw a few punches then so be it. If that is what it will take to keep him talking, to keep him in the same room as him, then it is a small price to pay.

Dean is right in his face but instead of taking a swing at him he brushes right past. In the moment it takes Sam's brain to register the goal of that particular move, it's too late. Dean has maneuvered his way by his brother to the nightstand. He has grabbed the keys and Sam knows he is on the verge of storming out of the motel room. Which is exactly what Sam has been trying to avoid this entire time.

As Dean walks past him going the other way, keys firmly in his grasp, Sam darts out his hand and grabs hold of his brother's arm. This time he isn't expecting it so when he is rewarded with a left hook to his jaw Sam reels from the surprise and sting of it. He loses his grip and balance and ends up slamming into the damn nightstand. His vision blurs briefly and he can feel an instant headache start to worm its way into his head. He looks up towards his brother and can see the scowl on his face. Not good.

"Sorry Sam but even you have to admit you deserved it. Big time. I need some space. Some time away. Away from you. And stop looking at me all concerned, I think I have earned some time off after your little episode of 'when big brothers go bad'. Oh yeah, by the way, help yourself, I brought you a coffee and some fricken pie! God. I was feeling so good when I got back here Sam. Man, I haven't felt that good in ages. And just look what it got me. Nothing! Just another damn speech about how off the rails I am. Another lecture in a constant stream of lectures. Another let down. Damn it! Why did you have to go poking your nose where it doesn't belong? Why couldn't you just leave it alone? For one damn day? You just keep poking and prodding and getting in my face. I just... I hope your little scavenger hunt was worth it man."

"Dean. Wait. Please, I'm sorry. Just don't leave. Let's talk about this. Please."

Sam cringes at the sigh that escapes Dean just then. He is really going to lose it. And soon.

"You just don't get it Sam! Talking is the absolute last thing I want to do. I'm through. I'm done. And don't follow me because I am so far beyond talking to or looking at your damn face right now. I need to cool off before I decide to kick your backstabbing ass into next week. Don't worry, I'll be back, but not until I'm damn good and ready!"

And with that Sam watches Dean walk out the door and slam it so hard that the putrid pictures on the walls of that shitty room reverberate from the shock. Sam slowly straightens up from the position he had taken against the wall, lowers himself to the bed and sighs. He reaches up to his temples and tries to massage away the pounding that throbs in his head. He hears the rumble of the Impala's engine come to life in the distance and the squeal of her tires as Dean races away from him. From the truth. It's no mystery where his brother will end up. If Dean hadn't been thinking of running away to that damn pub before, Sam is sure that is where the car will lead him now.

And that is where Sam will find him, whether he wants to be found or not.

TBC.. And yes, in the next chapter Dean FINALLY makes it to the bar! YAY! :)