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Purgatory certainly wasn't getting any five-star reviews from Dean; he felt raw and exhausted, still wired from adrenaline and out of place in his own skin. Like the dull gray of endless trees had somehow followed him back into the normal world. Maybe calling it normal was a stretch though, because in a normal world he and Sam would have upturned heaven and hell for each other (literally).
But Dean came back to a world where Sam didn't look for him. Didn't even try. And that stung something awful.
A part of Dean felt betrayed, wanted to yell at Sam for being selfish, wanted to throw punches and feel the solid flesh under his fists. But he had been fighting for too damn long, and another, more pathetic part of him was terrified of pushing Sam away for good. Because Sam was all he had. Who was he even without Sam?
The problem was that the anger wouldn't budge. After everything they'd been through together, after all the years of trusting Sam with his life - the fact that he could disappear and his brother would just move on so easily made him taste bile. He would never have given up on finding Sammy, ever.
And yet, he didn't feel like he had any right to demand explanations or apologies. Dean was the more codependent one, he was the one with the messed up head, and if Sam took the opportunity to live a normal life without him, how could Dean hold it against him?
It was eating him alive, swinging from fury to despair, and back again. He wanted to beg Sam to tell him he misunderstood, that he wasn't that easy to replace. Then he felt disgusted at that impulse, determined to keep what was left of his pride.
The silence in the Impala was suffocating.
Back when they were kids, Sammy would hold onto him so tight, like the world would end if a single molecule of air got between them. Dean could tousle the kid's hair and promise things would be okay, and his little brother would look at him like he hung the moon. But somewhere along the line, Dean became just a loose canon. A burden. Something to be forgotten about like a last year's Walmart receipt in an old jacket.
Dean didn't think very highly of himself, but knowing that Sam just shrugged off his disappearance was driving him up the wall. Bleeding heart Sam, who risked his life for strangers, didn't bother to try and get his brother back. It had to mean Dean was the problem, that he was worth less then any of those civvies, and what really hurt was how true that felt.
Sure, he could go off, let his temper make him say something he'd regret, and then Sam might decide he was better off with Amelia or whatever her name was. And as humiliating as swallowing his resentment was, having Sam walk out on him again would be worse. After Flagstaff, and Stanford, and so many other close calls, Dean didn't think his abandonment issues could handle another round of feeling like dirt at the bottom of a shoe.
So he kept his mouth shut.
Went through the motions of pretending at normal, as if his entire life wasn't tilted at its axis. He'd chew off his own tongue before he had a conversation about his stupid feelings.
Next to him, Sam shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat. Dragged back into the shitshow that was the hunting life. Even he wasn't trying to start a heart-to-heart, so that was probably for the best. Dean grit his teeth and turned up the music, maybe just to get a pissy comment about it. He got none.
The road ahead seemed as gray and hopeless as the forests of Purgatory.