Chapter Text
The drive back to the bunker was a long one.
"I can't trust you."
Dean cranked up the radio as soon as they hit the freeway, trying to drown out the awkward silence. Sam didn't complain, and Dean didn't ask.
"Everything that has ever gone wrong between us has been because we're family."
When they finally pulled into the bunker's garage, Dean felt like the tense atmosphere was suffocating him. He and Sam parted ways to their respective rooms as quickly as possible.
"So what, we're not family now?"
Dean laid on top of his covers for what seemed like hours, blocking out his own destructive thoughts with rock music. His arm burned where the Mark had burrowed into his skin.
"I'm saying you want to work? Let's work."
Eventually the burning on his arm became overwhelming and he rolled out of bed, leaving his headphones on his dresser. Dean made his way to the bathroom and leaned over the sink, peering at himself in the mirror. He ran his hand over the scruff on his jaw. Dean knew he should shave, but he couldn't bring himself to care much about his appearance. The bags under his eyes were testimony to that.
"If you want to be brothers..."
Dean found himself in the kitchen with an all-too-tempting bottle of jack. He eyed his laptop sitting innocently on the kitchen table. If his broth--if Sam asked, he could say he stayed up doing research or something. For now, he just wanted to feel numb.