Fights, Camera, Action

Chapter Seventeen

Despite the overwhelming support shown by fans, the news had spread like wildfire, and the articles with the picture in the headline were popping up within hours. Of course, this immediately meant that all of the homophobic people in the world gravitated to Dean's social media to harass him. The number of death threats he'd seen pop up in his comments alone was unreal. Charlie and Sam were raging about this fact, while Dean just felt... empty. He hadn't wanted to come out. Fuck, he hadn't even really known what he was yet. But now everyone knew anyway.

Feeling like the walls were closing in on him, he scrambled for the tv remote, turning on a movie to try to distract himself. Sam kept monitoring the media, but Charlie settled on Dean's side, giving him a reassuring squeeze on the arm as they watched together. When Dean didn't relax, she looked up at him gently and sighed, getting him to glance down at her.

"Dean, I know it feels like shit right now, but you're going to be okay. You're easily one of the strongest people I know. If anybody can do this, you can," she whispered, patting his arm again.

Dean turned to face the tv again quickly, trying to choke back his tears. If Charlie noticed, she didn't let on. He was grateful that she hadn't mentioned it, because he probably would have actually started crying if she had. As it was, he had managed to stave off tears, staring blankly at the tv as a movie whose plot he didn't care for played on, unaware of the situation that it cast its shifting light on.

The three of them sat in relative silence as that movie ended and another began, simply out of things to say. About halfway into the second movie, Dean felt himself start to doze off. Shaking off his drowsiness, he stood and stretched, startled Charlie slightly. Heading to the kitchen, he grabbed a beer for each of them and handed them out as he arrived back to the couch. Dean pretended not to see the sharpness behind Charlie's eyes as she looked at him, instead favoring to open his drink. She was right to be concerned, he knew that. But he didn't want to hear it right then.

Unfortunately for him, she didn't seem to care.

"Dean, how much have you been drinking lately?" She asked, an edge to her voice that he had heard his mother use when asking his father the same question. He hated knowing that she was using that, that she was right to.

"I'm not my dad, Charlie," he bit out, surprised at the venom in his own tone. Sam snapped his eyes up from his phone, glancing between Dean and Charlie in concern.

"I know that, asshole, but that doesn't answer my question," she shot back. Sighing, he ran a hand down his face as he turned to face her.

"Does it fucking matter?" He asked, and her jaw dropped incredulously. Smacking him on the arm, she yanked the bottle away from him.

"Yes, it fucking matters, Dean! That's all I needed to hear to know that you're using it as a coping mechanism again. We told you last time to stop that shit, and I'll tell you again. You keep going down this path, and you'll end up exactly like John," she snapped.

Immediately, silence fell. Dean felt his face harden, saw Charlie immediately realize what she'd done. She started to stutter out an apology, eyes widening, but he didn't give a fuck. Not right then.

"Get out," he whispered. She froze, looking at him as if trying to gauge how serious he was being.

"Dean-" she started, but he had heard enough.

"I said get out!" He screamed, standing up. "Both of you, get the fuck out!"

Scrambling to leave, Charlie looked teary eyed. Dean knew he would feel like an asshole later, but he didn't have it in him to care at the moment. Charlie fled the room, and Dean turned to Sam, raging. He was surprised to find the same expression on Sam's face, burning through him.