John's words were impregnated in his mind, he kept pushing them back, away, behind, tried to make the point of it useless but his weakness couldn't help him, Dean wasn't any better than his dad, alcohol got a way on him too, he thought going out to a bar would make him more of a man, hooking up with random girls, nothing serious.

His so well programated mindset was set on a careful, rough check every once he was alone since he met you, another man. Dean spent more time thinking about you than in hunts or his misfortuned life, he is sure smart and it didn't take him too long to realize the wrong he did, just for finding you, meeting you on accident.

Dean made you his best friend because he stated a friend would make him feel that way, disposed and naturally calm, and the moment Sam sneakily suggested something else he lost his temper, not only his father's words but everyone else's began to take awareness from the back of his mind, nagging on him how bad seen all of it was, when it was just a feeling that had been doing wonders to his mind.

But anything that stays too much feeds him to the point of eventually blowing up, to feel, and to be aware hadn't done him so much great. Sure, Dean is smart and skillful, but that didn't apply to emotions, unfortunately.

All Dean felt lately was you, in such complex manners that it disgusts him how much he can think of another man in that way, in a –I want to take care of him– way, or a –I won't admit anything, but I also don't want him dating anyone else.– He had to suppress or erease that urge of having you all for himself, beer helped sometimes, it made him remember less stressful things, that or getting his mind in a hunt, while drunk or sleep deprived.

Alcohol was it all, shattered glasses, his restless and rough breaths skimming over your head. He pinned you down on the wooden floor, the harder the better. There wasn't an idea of what was going on through that part between your eyes. All you saw was a drunk friend, asking for help in an upset fashion.