[ And lord, it's not like they don't deserve it, even if blacking out isn't a real kind of sleep, something that counts in quite the same way. Not that Dean cares; he's convinced he's slept more here in the past few weeks than he has in years, not that it's at all restful. It's nightmare fueled and full of tortured attempts to keep everyone's deaths from slipping through his fingers but he tells himself it's sleep because at least his head is against the pillow for most of it. And so maybe blacking out counts for even more because it'll just be the darkness, the full release of consciousness where nothing can come slinking its way into the depths to hurt and fray and rip them to shreds.
But at least she laughs and that counts for something, right? It means this conversation is supposed to be hurting less, even if Dean still aches somewhere identifiable but he's been aching for days and he just can't shake free. It's a perpetual bruise on his soul from where he's ripped himself away from Cas, from where he's silently pointed out the things he cannot have, and he's doing everything in his power to ignore it, even now. To cling to the necessity of humor because it's all he's ever had. ]
Keep saying that and maybe they will.
[ Because isn't that how life always works? Tell yourself enough times that something'll never happen and it'll pop up eventually, smack you in the face and laugh. But maybe they won't, maybe she's right and he's got nothing of anything to give that doesn't suck, but at least he isn't pouring himself another shot. Yet. Instead angling the bottle in his hand and looking at the remains of the tequila, wondering if it somehow evaporated in their midst. ] But hey, if not- you got more than enough people here to make up for it.
[ He snorts though, because he knows that's bullshit. Knows it doesn't count. ] Even if it's like fuckin MTV around here, I don't know where the hell all these teenagers are comin' from.
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this....... is a good question
Date: 2016-08-07 01:15 pm (UTC)But at least she laughs and that counts for something, right? It means this conversation is supposed to be hurting less, even if Dean still aches somewhere identifiable but he's been aching for days and he just can't shake free. It's a perpetual bruise on his soul from where he's ripped himself away from Cas, from where he's silently pointed out the things he cannot have, and he's doing everything in his power to ignore it, even now. To cling to the necessity of humor because it's all he's ever had. ]
Keep saying that and maybe they will.
[ Because isn't that how life always works? Tell yourself enough times that something'll never happen and it'll pop up eventually, smack you in the face and laugh. But maybe they won't, maybe she's right and he's got nothing of anything to give that doesn't suck, but at least he isn't pouring himself another shot. Yet. Instead angling the bottle in his hand and looking at the remains of the tequila, wondering if it somehow evaporated in their midst. ] But hey, if not- you got more than enough people here to make up for it.
[ He snorts though, because he knows that's bullshit. Knows it doesn't count. ] Even if it's like fuckin MTV around here, I don't know where the hell all these teenagers are comin' from.