This was incredibly fierce. And the cost to Dean of what he does is something I want to know more about.
He needed to be still. Dean's discipline can be such a scary thing.
He's pretty simply put together, that guy. This might sound terrible, but I have to agree. That doesn't make Dean simple; it just means that he's whittled away everything but what he needs.
It hadn't made it past all of the superficial layers he wore to keep the rain off. The flimsiness of this cloaking is very upsetting.
"You don't know me," Dean said, and he did what John had taught him for years: scramble his thoughts into chaos and think underneath them. YES! I wrote something very similar; I'm so glad we agree on this!
He saw the hand waver from Sam's head a little, and knew he'd gambled right; he imagined killing himself and made it seem attractive and shoved everything insane he could back down the pike. If it wanted to be him, it could have all the things no one wanted first. Oh, DEAN.
Sam was every bright and healthy thing his mind didn't have room for right then, Sam would clear his head, Sam would make him incapable of destruction. He's so determined to sully himself only.
Dean wasn't Dean again until Sam finally got through enough to make him understand that the gun was empty. His faith in his own humanity lies in his brother. That's so lovely and just WRONG.
Dean would border on feral with his inability to be inside a building. He couldn't be enclosed, he couldn't have anything above him. He wouldn't come anywhere near Sam during those times, eyes flat, back turned, motions stiff whether he was injured or not. Sam had found himself wondering what kinds of things they were doing and what kind of damage it was inflicting on Dean. Oh, amen. It's necessity that drives him past what he can take.
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He needed to be still. Dean's discipline can be such a scary thing.
He's pretty simply put together, that guy. This might sound terrible, but I have to agree. That doesn't make Dean simple; it just means that he's whittled away everything but what he needs.
It hadn't made it past all of the superficial layers he wore to keep the rain off. The flimsiness of this cloaking is very upsetting.
"You don't know me," Dean said, and he did what John had taught him for years: scramble his thoughts into chaos and think underneath them. YES! I wrote something very similar; I'm so glad we agree on this!
He saw the hand waver from Sam's head a little, and knew he'd gambled right; he imagined killing himself and made it seem attractive and shoved everything insane he could back down the pike. If it wanted to be him, it could have all the things no one wanted first. Oh, DEAN.
Sam was every bright and healthy thing his mind didn't have room for right then, Sam would clear his head, Sam would make him incapable of destruction. He's so determined to sully himself only.
Dean wasn't Dean again until Sam finally got through enough to make him understand that the gun was empty. His faith in his own humanity lies in his brother. That's so lovely and just WRONG.
Dean would border on feral with his inability to be inside a building. He couldn't be enclosed, he couldn't have anything above him. He wouldn't come anywhere near Sam during those times, eyes flat, back turned, motions stiff whether he was injured or not.
Sam had found himself wondering what kinds of things they were doing and what kind of damage it was inflicting on Dean. Oh, amen. It's necessity that drives him past what he can take.