Tears had turned into sobs and sobs had turned into a sound between a whine and a silent scream quite a while ago. His palms the only place that offered him any sort of comfort, just void, no other thoughts or voices except from the one voice he wanted to break free from.
The red thread had been broken. Then why was the voice still there? Why didn't his ugly cries make him run off? Or the sound created when the breaths he sucked in got caught by the lump in the middle of his throat? What about the continuous raspy scream that escaped from his lungs? "Listen, Dean-" 'Go away.', was what he originally wanted to say, the words already forming in his brain when all he could really do was to let out a deep, shaky grunt. Some sound of...discomfort. A sound of agony and pain. Then suddenly, his knees gave in, longing for someone to hold him now, hands sinking down, feeling oddly light, mouth just open, not putting any effort in blocking his agony, even if his lungs hurt, his eyes were burning and his lips were all wet. Hands hovering over the body before closing them into fists, gritting his teeth.
His brain wasn't really keen on registering anything else instead of pain signals running through his whole body, from head to toe, every part of him hurt. Yes, Dean wasn't really known for letting anyone know about his real feeling, his real thoughts and assumptions. Yes, he could mostly be found in his own little world, stuck in there but loving it but no, he didn't know what else to do instead of just sitting there, probably sweating through his whole shirt and drooling on his whole lap. 'You're not just my echo, Dean, so whatever you do, do not follow him.' Another wail just ebbing out of his mouth, not knowing what to do next, where to go or how to feel. He had never really thought about it but...What were you supposed to do when someone dies? Just...grieve?
This time a louder sob crawled it's hard way up his throat and almost made him choke on it at the sounds of other people entering the room. His feet starting to hurt from the odd position they were in, just like his hips, his jaw feeling tight from all of the cries, hands cramping from the time they have spent all clenched up around nothing but air. Empty, useless space filled in by the voice in his head that told him to do the next right thing. 'Take a deep breath, your body needs you to take care of it right now. Get up slowly, take your time.' So he took his time to actually dry his lips with the sleeve of his shirt, making it appear wine red. He took his time to plant his palms on the floor before pressing up from his hurting feet.
'Try not to scream anymore, Dean, trust me, it'll make it easier for both of you.' Instead he let out a sound that signalized he would burst out in tears again, almost making himself nauseous, his whole face quivering, surpressing another scream because truth to be told, he had really scared himself even more when screaming earlier. Dean heard his spine crack a few times when he finally managed to stand up straight (except his shoulders rounding forward), even heard his ankle cracking silently and pressed his eyelids together, trying to control his shaky breaths. The next right thing. Take one step at a time. His feet actually began moving forward, rolling through his foot from his heel to his toes before taking another step towards the door, the people who probably knew what was going on already.
Take a step...step again. It was really all he could do.
The next right thing.