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Dean’s fingers tapping on the table to the music pouring from the headphones suddenly stopped.

His face paled as his mouth opened in a silent gasp. For a moment he seemed to forget where he was, transported to another time.

He closed his eyes, now damp, before shaking his head in disbelief.

A tear escaped and he didn’t bother to dry it. The emotional impact was immense and the man could just sit there and feel crushed.

He swallowed, feeling his throat close. His hand groped for his cell phone, his vision blurred by the emotions.

Trembling, he was able to call the number who was the first in his list of contacts after some unsuccessful attempts.

"Sam ..." he said, between painful inspirations, still staring at the news on the computer screen.

"Dean? What happened? What's the problem?" The altered voice told him that something very serious had happened.

"He died." He said with a strangled voice. He repeated, as if to convince himself that it was true. "He died ... Accident ... Yesterday ..."

"Please, calm down, who, Dean, who died?"

"He ..." he replied hoarsely, avoiding saying the name, as if that might make it not true.

The silence on the other side demonstrated that the interlocutor understood who he was and how that fact affected his brother, himself also taken by the shock of unexpected news.

Getting up, Sam said, his voice in a tender, if imperative inflection.

"Stay there. I’m going to see you. Don't leave, do you hear me, Dean?"

The handsome man sitting at the table in the well-furnished office could only shake his head before realizing that Sam couldn’t see him. He mumbled their agreement, barely suppressing a sob.

Dean hung up and rested his face on his hands, allowing himself to finally cry.