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Dean Winchester hugs baby trees (withgunsdrawn) wrote in wariscoming,

"Good," Dean replied. The way Ben's eyes didn't meet his - or even really make it far from the carpet - didn't go unnoticed. He said he was okay, he said he felt fine, and Dean was fairly sure that wasn't entirely true. Sure, maybe he wasn't having crazy blood cravings, or wanting to rip anyone's throat out, or even feeling physically ill after the whole ordeal, but Ben wasn't okay right now.

Dean didn't linger in the doorway for terribly long before he entered the room, pulling the chair away from the desk and sitting on it backwards. "You wanna tell me what's going on with you, lately? I might not be the smartest guy ever, but I'm not an idiot, kiddo. You're not happy."

He'd noticed before this, of course. Just, he hadn't realized it was this bad. And he didn't know what he was supposed to do to fix it, so he'd done nothing, really. The normal things, of course, and he'd tried to be obviously around, in case Ben felt like telling him what was going on, but he hadn't asked, and he knew, now, that maybe he should have. Or maybe it wouldn't have made a difference, before now.

Winchesters were frickin' stubborn, sometimes. Name or not, Ben was a Winchester. It was stupid to expect anything else.