"Dean, no –" Sam reached automatically, wanting to pull Dean close – to wrap around him and just hold on – show him, God, that he was worth so much more than the lackadaisical, faltering attentions of a man who'd given up. Given in.
Dean flinched away from his hand – took a step backward and then another, visibly shoving every emotion – every reaction – down behind iron bars – locked doors. "Your John Winchester, Sam. Your Dean. Not me. Not – mine. It's – it's okay."
I teared up. I did. you are killing me here. Seriously. So good.
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Dean flinched away from his hand – took a step backward and then another, visibly shoving every emotion – every reaction – down behind iron bars – locked doors. "Your John Winchester, Sam. Your Dean. Not me. Not – mine. It's – it's okay."
I teared up. I did. you are killing me here. Seriously. So good.