deanszepplin
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He feels anger bubbling inside of him, an uncontrollable anger, and he grabs that empty whiskey bottle and throws it at the wall. A deep shout tore its way through his throat as he continues to throw the bottles at the walls, staring at the glass surrounding him. His breath became ragged, lungs constricting and eyes beginning to well.
“Fuck!”
He looks at his hands which won’t stop shaking and he seriously feels like he’s losing his mind, like all of a sudden his soul has detached from his body and is floating around staring at the empty shell of a man he is.
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“So what’s up with- Dude, again?” Sam’s voice rings through the room incredulously.
Dean grunts in response.
“You can’t possibly still be tired. Like, I feel like this should be physically impossible.”
“Tell that to my melatonin levels.”
“How do you know what melatonin is?”
Dean does his best to roll his eyes under the cover of his eyelids. “Jesus, Sam, I’m not an idiot. Will you shut up so I can sleep?”
He hears Sam huff. “Ya know, if you wanted to nap, you could always use that thing you have called a bed.”
“Not the same,” Dean grumbles. His body doesn’t get all loose when he’s laying in his bed watching horror movies. The synapses that slow their firing contentedly seem to be wired to that same invisible bodily response of the outside world, and apparently being in the openness of his family’s space turns his brain into mush. “Now unless someone’s dying, I’m beggin’ you to shut up.”
or the one where the whole family is together, dean finds enough peace to take some naps, and he's not sure he'll ever figure out how to say those three big words to cas
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07 Aug 2022