Though the water kept falling down, Dean could clearly tell when the tears started to fall. She was right. What business did he have to preach to her on how to deal with losing her entire family when he had barely survived losing his father, and hadn't talked for months after losing his mother? He knew that feeling, of just wanting to sleep and not wake up...not to die, necessarily, just not to have to face the terrible truth that was there waiting in the real and now and logical.
He was already partially wet from the spraying water, but Dean stepped into the shower. His shoes felt slippery on the wet floor of the shower, but he didn't care. He pushed her into the shower with the sheer size of his body and pinned her against the wall, the frigid water spraying over them both.
Fuck...that is cold.
"Listen." He said, voice low and ragged. "Just listen. I'm not happy with myself. I'm not proud. I know that I have no idea what you're going through, but the fact that I don't know what's exactly you're going through doesn't change anything. I recognize a mistake when I see it. I can tell when someone's shoving me away, whether it's for my own good or theirs. I'm not going to let you. I love you. If you wake up tomorrow and find out that you're back in your bed where you came from, I'm coming for you...but do you really want to remember wanting to get drunk more than be with us in the mean time?"