"Oh God. Finally" Dean thought to himself as he threw himself on the hard, lumpy, but very welcoming mattress.
Sam and Dean had just gotten back from the Rosevelt Asylum. The car ride back has been awkward. Sam not wanting to day anything to deepen the hurt that he had caused. And Dean, not knowing how to say it was alright. That it wasn't really Sam who shot the rock salt at him. It wasn't Sam who had tried to shoot him with an empty gun. Dean was hurt by his brothers actions. But he understood. It wasn't his brother. Not at all.
The miles of road seemed to disappear as fast as the trees flew by. Both the older and younger Winchesters sat in silence, deep in thought of what had happened.
Dean sat on the mattress, his eyes glaring at the gloomy moonlit room.
"What? So your not gonna say anything?" Sam blurted our before he could stop himself. He quickly regretted it, the way he said it sounded harsh. Not the way he meant it. "Dean, man I just shot you and you have nothing to say to me? No fists to throw? C'mon man. Gimme somthin'." Sam pleaded, a look of desperation appearing in his eyes.
Dean slowly turned; his mind was churning with retorts. But he voiced none of them. He wasn't angry with his little brother, he was disappointed. He was disappointed that his brother, after everything Dean did for him, his brother didn't understand the hurt that was going on inside of him.
Dean's silence pushed Sam over the edge; he couldn't take this any longer. He was sorry, and Dean knew it. He didn't know how the hell he was supposed to fix the problem that he himself had created. He was at a loss of what to do. He needed Dean. Dean was the only one who could help fix the problem. But Sam slowly came to the realization that, for once in his life, Dean was not there to save him.
"I cannot believe you!" Sam spat and his brother. "All you're doing is sitting there! Punch me! Yell at me! I don't give a rats rip. Just do something!"
Dean looked up at his brothers outburst. He looked into Sams big brown eyes, realizing that all Sam would do is worry, and be angry with himself, unless they had a discussion, or Dean said something.
"No chick flick moments. No chick flick moments" Dean kept saying over and over again in his head. "None, no matter what, it isn't needed." Dean opened his mouth to say something to Sam, but he thought for a second, and closed his mouth. A moment passed by, and finally Dean decided that he needed to say something.
Dean took a deep breath and plunged right in. "Look Sam, in the asylum. I know it wasn't you. You were possessed dude. I got it. Don't worry about it." He added, a note of finality entered his voice as he saw Sam open his mouth to counter him.
In Dean's eyes, the conversation was done. Over. Never to be talked about again. Well maybe one day. But that day wouldn't be today, or tomorrow, or hell, even the day after that.
Dean looked at his brother and gave a small nod. He walked toward the bathroom, getting ready for bed, and checking his wounds. Dean called from the bathroom. "Hey Sam." Sam looked up, surprised his brother was talking to him already. "Just to be clear, that was not a chick flick moment." Sam heard the joking tone in his brothers voice, and replied "Jerk." Dean looked out of the bathroom door with a towel on his head, and retorted "Bitch."