what he had, prompt for @citrusjava, Dean and the first days after Sam left for Stanford, mature, ~1k words
A truck horn blared on the freeway outside the motel, followed by the angry beep-beep of a smaller carâs horn, and Dean scrunched his face up against the noise, his whole body hurting. Traffic went on, wheels thumping against pavement, the rumble of bad mufflers and squealing brakes that needed replaced. Dean rolled to the shady side of the bed and burrowed his head under a pillow.
It wasnât too long until there wasnât a shady side of the bed.
The flimsy curtains were drawn and didnât offer much resistance to the morning sunlight. Deanâs head throbbed in time with his pulse. His whole body throbbed. He needed to piss and his mouth felt like dried scraped shit, so he stumbled out of bed to the bathroom.
Gulping palmfuls of tepid water from his hand, Dean splashed some over his face, ran his fingers back through his hair. His eyes were red-rimmed in the mirror.
There was an AP Chemistry textbook open on the wobbly table in the living space. Dean wasnât going to return that to the school that it belonged to. Kicking his way through a pile of dirty laundry on the floor, almost half of it was Samâs. The canvas jacket slung over the back of a chair was, and the sawed off and Taurus sitting in a pile of cleaned weapons spread out the counter surface.
Well, he probably wasnât going to need guns in Stanford. Could probably do better for himself than the second hand clothes on the floor that was the best Dean scrape together with what little he had to offer.
It was really fucking quiet in the motel room after the shouting match between Dad and Sam last night. Dean could still hear it echoing around. And his own silence, unable to take a stand. He wanted to back his Dad up because he always did and because he needed Sam to stay, but Sam was right about a lot of things he didnât want to think about.
Dean picked up the chemistry book and threw it against the wall hard enough to put a hole in the drywall. Then he picked up the empty bottle of Wild Turkey and threw it because breaking glass was a lot more satisfying than throwing Samâs books.
The whiskey wasnât really Deanâs. He liked having a beer now and then, but the whiskey, that was Dadâs.
The next thing he picked up was the lamp, because why not, but it didnât feel that good to hear it break against the wall. Dean kicked the bed askew, stomped through the room. He didnât really have a say in the matter. Sam did what he wanted and when he made up his mind he wouldnât change. And Dad wouldnât be found if he didnât want to be, itâd probably be a few days before he got in touch with Dean.
So there was time to kill and a whole lot of nothing in his chest to fill.
