A/N: This is my first Supernatural fic. I'm actually still kinda new to the fandom so I hope you can forgive me if this sucks or seems OOC. This is pre-Wincest. I'm trying my hand at exploring more of Dean's aloneness thing because I like it.
I of course do not own the characters. They belong to their respected creator.
Comments are always welcome :)
1.
Dean never liked being alone. Hated the silence. Made him sick to his stomach. He blasted music in the Impala, had the TV on for background in the hotel. Radio on when he was sleeping so he had some semblance of being with someone.
When Sam was still young and Dean never had to worry about being alone. He was always there. Whether he was sitting on the couch watching cartoons, or doing his homework at the small table in their hotel room's dingy kitchen Dean wasn't alone.
Then Sam started school and suddenly Dean found himself alone again when their father went out on hunts. Those seven hours every day were hell for Dean. No amount of background noise, or music could make the feeling of total solitude cease gnawing at him.
And then Sam left for college. And Dean found himself even more alone even when he was with his father because while John was physically there, mentally he was already off hatching new plans to catch the demon that killed their mother, so Dean found comfort in the arms of strangers.
Men and Women he picked up in bars. He didn't care as long as he wasn't alone.
It was one night over Christmas break he had the break down. Sam had come 'home', if you could call the motel they were in home. And not two hours later John and Sam were at each other's throats. Fighting, spewing insults. John was the first to storm out to the bar. The door bounced on it's hinges.
Sam was the second to leave. Grabbed his jacket and shut the door behind him mumbling something about a walk and Dean was alone. He watched TV, listened to the radio and waited. Waited for John to come back drunk out of his mind, or Sam to return from his walk.
Minutes turned into hours and slowly Dean began curling in on himself. Knees drawn to his chest, eyes squeezed shut, breath slow.
He wasn't sure what time he heard the door open, someone's jacket clatter against the rickety wooden chair at the half broken table.
"Dean?"
Sam's voice broke through the barrier Dean had created. He heard his soft footfalls and suddenly felt fingers in his hair. Soft, soothing.
He cracked open his eyes and saw Sam looking at him with those warm brown orbs. They were filled with concern but also relief.
And for some reason Dean found that hole in his chest suddenly filled. He didn't feel as alone as he felt when Sam was looking at him. His fingers in his hair. He felt warm.
