This stupid room was quickly starting to get on his last nerve. It was boring, and cold, and echoed kind of funny (which was giving him a headache, the dull thuds on the metal walls whenever he’d shift around on the cot reverberating around and around, the fan in the ceiling making these high thin sounds that added to the overall noise, the way any voices within the room carried and carried and swung back on themselves to become louder), and boring (yeah, boring enough to be listed twice). At least Sam had finally uncuffed him from the cot, even if he was still locked in - his wrist had been starting to feel kind of stiff and sore from being trapped in the same position for so long.
...not that he wasn’t already pretty sore. Between Castiel and Sam, he felt like he was bright purple all over, one giant bruise. Or, okay, maybe he was exaggerating (yeah, definitely) but it did really suck. Especially when he was just trying to help, they just clearly didn’t understand what he was trying to accomplish, doing all this. It wasn’t like any of them had come up with a better plan - all he’d heard so far was stick together, we’ll find something and sure, ordinarily that wouldn’t even need to be said, he’d be all over that plan, but this?
This was the only thing that made sense.
Except apparently the only thing that made sense to him was the one thing his entire family disagreed with him about. He’d wondered, earlier, if this was how Sam had felt, going to college even though no one had approved (Dean had been happy for him, he had, school was a good thing, he just hadn’t wanted him to be gone, it wasn’t safe for him to be off on his own). It probably wasn’t the same, but it was the closest he’d managed to come to his own outright rebellion and it wasn’t nearly as liberating as he’d expected.
Mostly because he was locked in the freaking panic room.
The door opening, and Dad’s figure moving inside the room made him sit up from the lazy sprawl he’d adopted, rubbing at one of his eyes blearily as the older man stared at him, something that felt like frustration coiling tightly with the faint guilt he was feeling - he hadn’t wanted everyone to catch him and have all this crap to deal with. Better a quick send-off than this, some kind of prolonged dramatic ordeal.
>"Dean... Are you done yet?"
“Done with this damn room, that’s for sure,” a quick rap on the wall with the knuckles of one hand, setting off that heavy metallic bong sound and shooting his father a look that was completely unapologetic. “You bring any beers with you?”