Dean was so distraught. He should cry. Actually, that's what he wanted more than anything right now, was to just wail out his goddamn emotions and feel better already. He thought if he could get physical sound and saltwater to leave his body, then the sorrow and despair would, too.
So he tried to cry. He really did. He hugged his pillow tight, screwed up his face into a mask of anguish, and brought to his mind all the thoughts and images he had been avoiding. He was almost there. Soon his eyes would well up and he would be off. But he couldn't do it. He was certainly sad enough, it just wouldn't come out. He tried to control his pain, to push it upwards and outwards, through tears. But it was stuck. Deep inside him, it seemed all his feelings of negativity only desired to remain inside his tight chest and throat, and fester there, never to be released.