choices. why the hell am i so good at making the worst ones? Dean thought to himself as he sunk into his chair. the beer bottle in his hand empty but he can’t seem to pull himself away from one thought long enough to retreat to get another. you.

Dean thinks back to the night, more times than he’d like to admit. his words carelessly falling out of his mouth

“Jo. i pick Jo”

as fast as the words left his mouth, he wished he’d have been skinned alive instead. the hurt & disappointment on your face was a thing that was now burned into his brain

a faint knock at the bunker door startles him, Sam looks at him confusingly as Dean grabs the nearest weapon & finds himself slowly opening the door

his breath hitches, there’s no way this was real. he’d dreamed it a thousand times, he must’ve dosed off waiting for himself to muster the courage to grab another stupid beer. his thoughts interrupted once again as Sam clears his throat

he shakily says

“hey uh- everything okay sweet- y/n?”