Late night. A finished hunt. Perfect time to lose sleep over stupid thoughts.

Dean was lying on his bed, facing the ceiling, his head a total mess. His arms were folded across his chest as he tried to chase the thoughts away. But he could only try for so long.

"Son of a bitch…" He murmured, shutting his eyes for a small second before reopening them as if it would do him any good.

So many things he wanted to say. So many things he wanted to do. So many people... And yet here he was...