Exasperated and worried Sam stared at him as he took out the flask. His drinking was getting worse. It hadn't interfered with a hunt, but at the rate he was going? It wasn't going to be much longer.

No. Dean was going to keep on internalizing, and he was going to have to watch his brother come apart at the seams because he was too damned stubborn to reach out for help.

A haze danced along just outside his field of vision. Reflexively, Sam rubbed at his palm. The stitches were long gone, it didn't even hurt anymore, but there was something about the gesture that reinforced what was real and what wasn't.

"Dean, it's okay. Look, you can't keep holding this in."