Dean remembered the taste of the water his dad had given him
Bitter. Wrong.
Dean remembered looking down at the glass, frowning, before the first wave of pain twisted through his stomach.
He had thought he was becoming ill.
He remembered trying to stand and finding that his legs would not support him. He remembered his hand striking the edge of the table, the glass slipping from his fingers and shattering against the floor.
He had called for his father.
Ezra had been standing close enough to catch him.
But he had not helped.
Dean remembered looking up at him, confused and frightened, unable to understand why the man who had raised him was watching him struggle instead of calling for someone.
He remembered asking what was happening.
And he remembered his father's answer.
"You should have listened."
The words had made no sense to Dean then. They made no sense now, except that he could finally hear the coldness beneath them.
He had tried to reach for Ezra.
