no subject

[ Dean wants to say it. He can't do this, he doesn't know how, he fucked it all up, he knows. But it's as if the words are pressurized in his skull, can't figure out how to shake themselves to freedom when they're shoved too hard up against the edges. It's unendingly frustrating, his own silence a cavernous thing, and most of the time he despises it enough in the face of others that he simply walks away. But he's here, and he wants to speak, and so all he can do is stay. ]

I'm not staying there.

[ It's a start, even if it begs a hundred more questions. Still, Dean up and folds his arms over his chest defensively, preparing himself for whatever is about to come. ]