When Sam found Dean, he didn't see his brother hurriedly digging through the trunk for supplies. Yeah, the trunk was open, but Dean didn't seem too bothered by it. His head was bowed, face hidden by his hands. Surprised (though he shouldn't have been, all things considered), Sam fell to an abrupt halt a little ways behind him. It was obvious that Sam wasn't the only one feeling useless right now. He knew his brother too well. Dean had a serious attachment to their mom. It wasn't because he loved her more, it was because he could actually remember her in ways that Sam couldn't. Dean didn't talk about it much - he never had - but that didn't mean that Sam didn't know. Losing her when he was so young, having all those warm memories yanked away...only to be here, facing the same damned thing that had dragged her away from Dean to begin with. Sam understood. Dean couldn't lose her again. He would never be able to live with himself if he did.
Sam ran a hand over his shadowed jaw, uncertainty finding him. What was he supposed to say? That they were gonna be fine? That Mom was going to be fine? Sam didn't even know if they were all going to walk out of this alive. Mom, sure (though how alive and for how long?), but all of them? Dad? Dean? Quietly, Sam stepped in closer, a hand finding it's way to his older brother's shoulder. "We're gonna get her out of here, Dean," Sam said gently, forcing himself to keep a level head in Dean's presence. Dean was always the strong one. For as long as he could remember, that was how things had been. The going got tough and Dean just dealt with it. He kept up the morale, he made sure that Sam was all right, and he kept on going right to the bitter end. For both their sakes. It was Sam's turn to return the favor. He had to if they were gonna go at this thing strong. "We're gonna find her, we're gonna get her out, and then we're gonna deal with that son of a bitch. Okay?"
[ooc: OKAY, HE WAS VERY EXPRESSIVE. I CAN'T HELP IT.]