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The building was empty. Most of its old equipment had probably been gutted and sent overseas a few years ago with all the town's jobs, and what was left was broken down and rusty, a tetanus shot waiting to happen. Sam and Dean worked quietly as they checked it all. It was clear what had happened in most of the rooms — there was blood dried in splashes on the walls and ceilings, and a closet full of silver implements Sam didn't recognize, but which made Dean clench his jaw, and one room with an incinerator in the corner, and a wide swath of footprints through the layer of dirt on the floor.
They didn't find anything alive, though, and when the next wing of the building only turned up graffiti, empty bottles, and used condoms, Dean lowered his gun, then rolled his shoulders a few times. "Let's get out of here, man."
"We've still got his phone tracked," Sam said a few miles down the road, and glanced over at Dean. "We can keep an eye on him, until Gwen figures it out."
Dean snorted and shook his head, and Sam asked, "What?"
"I give it a week tops before she ditches him," Dean said. "I don't think her figuring out is going to be a big problem in the long run."
"You think?" Sam frowned.
Dean nodded. "Oh yeah. She was chafing even before the demon stuff came out."
"Huh." Sam turned back to his window.
Dean turned towards Sam, then sighed and looked back at the road. "They don't do family the way we do, man," he repeated, quieter this time. "Not many people'd stick around with the douche who was working with demons behind their back."
That was the sort of comment that would've hurt before, and Sam remembered being filled with guilt and old anger when Dean had said things like that. He had to keep himself from shrugging about it now.
"Is that one of the things you want me to tell you?" he asked instead. "Because I don't know how I'm supposed to know if I'm reading people wrong if I can't tell I'm doing it in the first place."
Dean rubbed at his mouth with one hand. "Run everything by me, then, for people we deal with," he said. "Bobby, Cas, all the Campbell crew. Anyone we're working with on a job. Me. Hell, especially me. You just tell me shit, alright?"
Sam sucked at the inside of his cheek and nodded.
He kept thinking that, maybe if something was big enough, he'd feel it, but it hadn't worked yet. He hadn't even been mad at Samuel — sure, Sam recognized that they'd been fucked over, and badly enough to deserve a gun in the face, but it'd been intellectual, just like always. Lowering the gun felt just like raising it had: nothing.
They drove on for a while, and Sam tried to figure out how to ask what he thought he needed to. It wouldn't be awkward for him at least, but he could remember the times he'd brought up the topic before. Those hadn't been fun conversations, and he guessed Dean still wouldn't like talking about it. But Dean also said he wanted Sam to ask, so Sam shrugged, and took a breath.
"Do you remember how we," he started, and then stopped. He knew better than to just out and say it. "Those last few months," he said instead. "When we were — you and me. You remember that?"
Dean snorted and shook his head slowly, not glancing away from the road. "Hard to forget, man."
"If I want that back, is that just something else I can't tell the difference about?" Sam asked.
Dean did look at him then, staring at Sam with his mouth hanging open for a moment, and then he shook his head and pulled over. A car passed them, going the other direction, and Sam saw Dean's cheeks were pink.
"You're saying you want it back?" Dean repeated, eyebrows high. "Like, emotionally you miss —" He paused for just a moment and then kept going. "Miss it, like having feelings about it?"
"Sort of." Sam shrugged, and watched Dean while he spoke. He would have looked away if they'd talked about this while they'd still been fucking, but he didn't need to now. It was sort of interesting, the way Dean tried to clench his jaw hard enough that the rest of his face wouldn't move. "It's like — I know there are things I used to need that I don't any more, and I'm pretty sure I'd like to have them back, once we get my soul fixed." He didn't say if; he still knew better than to say if to Dean right now. "And I think I'd like that back, too, only, I don't know, maybe I'm reading things wrong again." He shrugged. "Maybe I was reading them wrong in the first place."
Dean closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, but he shook his head. "So you're what, just telling me this and leaving it at that?"
"You told me to tell you," Sam said. He turned and looked out the windshield. He could still see Dean, in his peripheral vision, and he watched him flatten his hands over his face, and rub his palms over his cheeks.
"Yeah," Dean said eventually. "I did."
"I'm not saying I expect anything, " Sam said. "I just thought you should know."
"Jesus christ," Dean said, and scrubbed at his face one more time before putting his hands on the wheel again. "We're settling this shit with Crowley as soon as we can. I do not like being the one with the better social graces." He started driving again, and when they passed under a streetlight, Sam saw his face was still red.
"Tell me about it," Sam said. Dean didn't say anything else, and so Sam didn't either. He just kept watching the road.