Author's notes: Tag to *bursts in tears* 12x19 "The Future"
He wakes up and it hurts. Not his head, like it always does after he gets knocked out by an angel. And not his knees, scraped by the little rocks on the ground. Not the side of his face pressed down on the dirt. And not even his pride is hurt enough to dull the constant throbbing pain in his chest. The feeling is almost physical, it take his breath away, screaming inside his head - a constant high pitched sound not quite outside the boundaries of his perceptions.
His first thought is to pray. The name is already on his pressed lips, rolling on his tongue, trying to escape his mouth. He bites it back, hushes it in a groan, getting up on his hands and knees, his ears still ringing.
Hours pass into days, ticking ruthlessly inside of him, and he needs to keep himself busy. So, as Sam proposes a case, Dean is first in line. But when shit hits the fan and there's demons everywhere, the name is on his mind again. His mouth is filled with blood. It drags bitter, metallic taste down his throat, stains his lips red and makes him dizzy. He swings, the knife cuts through flesh as if it's butter and there's more blood.
Sam yells at him, tugs at his sleeve urgently towards the door and he tries to focus, tries to remember why he needs to run instead of staying to fight.
Days pass into nights and the bottle is heavy in his hand, though it's almost empty. Dean walks, swaying down the corridor, past the door of his own room. He is quite buzzed. (Okay, fine. Maybe he's drunk.) It's even better this way. Makes it so easy to pretend that he doesn't know where he's heading.
His hand is faster than his brain, knocking on the door. The sign says fifteen. Mom's room, he registers. Cas' room, his blurred mind presses. Or just a fucking guestroom. Since they both left.
