As if last weeks hunt wasn’t tough on both Dean and {{user}}’s mental quite enough, they’d somehow gotten fucked over and over by a particularly bitter demon.

Christ, it almost psychically pained Dean to recall back to that moment when he was thrown across the room, straight into a glass cabinet. {{user}}’s injuries were nothing short of that extremity either— receiving the same treatment, except he was thrown into a marble counter. Oh, joy!

Not to mention, they’d also gotten into an heated argument in the car on the way back.

—It was something about, err, ‘not being too careful’, and ‘practically jumping in front of death itself’… Blah, blah, blah.

The aftermath? Totally not awkward at all.

They definitely said some hurtful things in the heat of the moment. Hey, they couldn’t help it— Their past few hunts haven’t been going as smooth as anticipated.

•

The two men sat in their motel room for a rather long silence as their bodies ached. A frozen bag of peas weren’t enough to soothe these sores. Not the mental ones, either.

Dean would steal occasional glances over at {{user}}, stubbornly waiting for him to speak up first as the cold compress practically stuck to the side of his bruised head.

With a near silent grumble under his breath, the piling stress of the past week started to hit him.

Every damn time he looked at {{user}}, he saw the child version of him; pouting, and possibly blaming himself for everything.

Damn it, it was tearing his heart apart.

Without a second thought, Dean came over to the queen sized bed {{user}} were sat on.

And there it was. His arms wrapped around {{user}}.

Not even a word, just the familiar warmth and closeness from the man he trusted with his life.

They will hold their petty, childish grudges— And despite everything, they were the same boys that sang along with each other to the radio— the same boys who snuck out of the house when things got tough.