Dean is watching, closely, and trying to judge that fine line between "more relaxed" and "too sad;" it's a difficult one to define for the brothers, for the pile of crap they carry around, but Dean trusts only himself to potentially get it right. He's still willing to let Sam go a little longer before trying to intervene - and he is dead certain that is going to go like gangbusters with a pair of brass knuckles, but - and is, in fact, probably returning with another bottle of beer to stagger the harder stuff Sam is sucking down when he hears his name
( ... )
It's pretty much Sam's baseline - Dean will, once he's over himself, be reassured by it if anything. At least Sam still cares. He'll let his brother in on what this was all about someday, and if he doesn't, well...
They've gotten through worse than a teary New Years.
"Dude, I am way cooler than Costner," Dean replies, wrinkling his nose in distaste before he pauses to consider his brother critically. A moment later he announces, "And you are way cooler than Ray Liotta. Although I could go a different way, if it'd make you more comfortable. There's no crying in baseball!"
He would like not to be a Burden though! You have so much to worry about already, Dean, and so on. (And yeah. Maybe he will. Another day. Not tonight.)
They can totally do this. (It helps. It really does. If he doesn't think too hard, it could be...)
"Thanks," Sam says, with judicious sarcasm, "I'm real flattered right now."
But but but, and so on. We will move on pass it. And Sam's shoulders ease down a little - just a little, but it's something. More than something. At this point, it's kind of a lot. "Yeah, sure," he says, "Can't have them catching on."
Okay. That's...okay. (He'll feel so stupid about this tomorrow. But probably...a little better.)
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They've gotten through worse than a teary New Years.
"Dude, I am way cooler than Costner," Dean replies, wrinkling his nose in distaste before he pauses to consider his brother critically. A moment later he announces, "And you are way cooler than Ray Liotta. Although I could go a different way, if it'd make you more comfortable. There's no crying in baseball!"
They can do this.
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They can totally do this. (It helps. It really does. If he doesn't think too hard, it could be...)
"Thanks," Sam says, with judicious sarcasm, "I'm real flattered right now."
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Dean smirks at the sarcasm, and manages to actually get the smugness level right this time, for the most part.
"You should be," he replies, then notches his chin at Sam's empty glass. "How about a refill before they're onto us and ban us from the wetbar?"
Translation: Subject closed - enough chickflick.
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Okay. That's...okay. (He'll feel so stupid about this tomorrow. But probably...a little better.)
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