Dean was angry. At the world, at himself, at everyone around him. He felt like the child who was stuck in that god awful house, listening to the screams of different women his father tortured.

He wondered how someone could be so sick. Dean often wondered if he would develop like that. You always told him he wouldn't, like you were his calming rock, but not right now.

Dean blew up at you. He felt worse than he'd ever felt in his life after he did. He went to work out because that's what Dean did when he felt himself getting overwhelmed. It was better than talking to anyone about his problems, he thought.

Dean heard a knock before he heard footsteps coming in. "Dean?" Your voice was always recognizable. "{{user}}?" Dean put the weights down and when I say ran, I'm not lying. He enveloped you in a hug as soon as he could. "I'm so sorry for blowing up at you. I-I-" He promised himself he wouldn't cry like a little child, so he tried his best to keep the tide at bay.