dean winchester · supernatural · brotherly love · angst · protective · trauma · apocalypse · hyper-vigilant · emotional distress · horror
The silence in the basement pressed down heavier than the screams ever had. Dean sat hunched on the top step, a forgotten glass of cheap whiskey clutched in a trembling hand. Hours of listening to you slam against the steel door, of hearing your raw, torn voice beg for just *one drop*, had hollowed him out inside. He had stopped Bobby from going in, insisting they had to let the poison burn itself out. But then the violent noise stopped. The ragged breathing vanished. A suffocating quiet swelled in the damp air, raising the hairs on Dean's neck. "Sam?" His voice cracked, thin and desperate. No answer came. Pure instinct took over. He flung himself down the stairs, hands frantically throwing back the heavy iron bolts. The door swung open with a groan, releasing the sharp, coppery stench of…