where do you think you're going (dean winchester)

1993

fandom: supernatural

tw: ptsd, self harm (ish), anxiety, panic attack, trauma, self-hatred, mild blood/injury

set: 1993

category: gen

summary: After a close call in their last hunt, Bobby is left to try to repair the damage done to fourteen-year-old Dean by the weight of more responsibility and blame than any person was meant to bear.

word count: 4819

notes: I high-key hate this, but i really wanted to write the part after 1996, and i knew if i didn't get this one done now, i probably never would. So here we are. It is what it is, but I apologize in advance.

Dean swore there wasn't any oxygen in the Impala.

It wasn't just because of the displeasure radiating from his father, the way he glared through the front windshield only because glaring at Dean wasn't practical for driving purposes. Sure, the tension in the car was deeply tangible, making the air feel thick and heavy.

But it was more than that.

He felt like he couldn't breathe.

He'd felt like that ever since their last hunt.

And he didn't even really know why.

In fact, he didn't even really remember what happened.

He knew he screwed up. He knew it almost got to Sammy.

He could see shadowy shapes, read blurry words.

He felt like he knew what had happened, yet he couldn't... he couldn't grasp it. Think about it.

Everytime he tried, it was like something short-circuited in his brain, sparks flew, and then he was thinking about how he didn't feel like he could breathe, how it was because of more than just his father's anger with him, how he'd felt like this ever since the last hunt, how he'd screwed up, but he couldn't grasp the memory, and then the explosion happened again, and the cycle was repeated.

He knew it was a self-destructive thought pattern. He knew he was drowning in water he could stand in, that if he would just put his feet down... pull himself out of it... everything would be fine. But he didn't. He couldn't. He was stuck, gasping for air and wishing everything would just stop.

His dad hadn't told them where they were going, but Dean knew and he was sure Sammy did too.

Hunts which ended in John screaming at his older son for ten minutes before ordering them into the car and saying nothing else the whole drive only led to one place.

As they passed through a familiar arch, that destination was confirmed.

Dean knew they were here because he'd screwed up and his father didn't want to have to look at him. He knew he should be ashamed, and he was. But deep down, he also felt a little relief. A little feeling of comfort that didn't exist in hotel rooms and bad diners.

They parked, and Dean and Sam climbed out. By the time they shut their respective doors, John was already storming around the car to pull their duffle from the trunk and throw it in Dean's direction.

The boy caught it deftly and turned in the direction of the house, his little brother close behind and his father stomping ahead.

They were just climbing the front steps as he pounded his arrival into the door and shoved his way inside. It swung back on its hinges, Dean catching it a second before it hit Sam, who had his face shoved in a kid's chapter book his brother had picked up for him at a gas station the week before.