lovefromthehero:

          [ heavy breaths rip through dean’s chest, as if trying to break free, but that constant weight sits on him still. he doesn’t cry, face contorted with emotion, pressed into the fluff of his pillow. he’s sure he won’t be getting any sleep tonight, body a line of tension with his hand pressed beneath the pillow, fingers grazing the familiar tears and folds of his mother’s picture. ]

          [ sometimes the days get tough. sometimes he can’t hide it as well. he knows sam knew something was up, will probably call him on it tomorrow, but how the fuck can sam expect to understand? he didn’t have the relationship with their parents that dean did, and he doesn’t— doesn’t know. about what john said to him at the hospital. ]

          [ his mom would know what to do, would know the right thing to do, if she was here. ]

        the halls are quiet, as she moves down them, and the only sound that penetrates the buzzing silence around her ears is the brush of her bare feet on the carpet. tonight, she’s been tossing, and turning, trying to find a comfortable harbor in her mind. trying to sleep. to just forget. to be at peace.

         but she’s not as oblivious as she wishes she could be. she sees. she feels. she knows dean’s hurting, and what she wants is to fix it. from experience, she knows that pain like that doesn’t just go away. nothing she says, or does is going to make it stop.

           doesn’t mean she won’t try. she is her father’s daughter. she has too much determination, and she puts it toward all the wrong things. her hand lingers on the knob of the spare bedroom door. she waits. listening to the in breathe, and creak. finally, she finds some steel within herself to twist, and peer inside.