~Sometimes you need to let it go before the storm can pass~
Reader, Dean, Sam
Warnings: ANGST. Major Angst. Depressed Reader. Talk of Death.
“I want to die.”
You hadn’t meant to say it, especially not to Dean, especially not now, especially not in that way, but he had been pushing and nagging all day and there it was. The truth spilled from your mouth in a viscous wave of half cried words that hung in the air between you and Dean like a smoke signal. Before the last syllable had rolled off of your tongue you already wished you could take it back, but there it was. It was in the open now; everything you’d been hiding from him, from Sam, from yourself.
His mouth opened and closed, his green eyes wide with shock as your confession turned in his mind. He seemed to be digesting it slowly, trying to figure out what you meant. It must have been a joke, he decided, and laughed solemnly.
“That’s not funny, kid. I’ve died. Trust me, it ain’t a picnic.”
You could have ended it then. You could have very easily laughed along with him and played it off as simply one of those things you said when you were tired and stupid. But you were tired and stupid, and you finally felt like you should talk about it. A hundred times that day he’d asked what was wrong, so, now he’d find out.
“It’s not a joke, Dean.” You looked him right in the eye, not a hint of a smile or twinkle of jest on your face. It wasn’t funny. It was the farthest thing from it.