Dean doesn't hear the second, thoughts stuck on the first and skipping like a scratched and busted record. The fuck you makes it all the way out of his mouth this time, not in words but in stupid, pained little grunts timed to his every exhale. Don't care, yeah right. Might as well ask him to lay down and die, and even so, there are heavy days when Dean almost thinks he would if it could just be that simple.

But it isn't, and his fingers curl, knuckles striking hard against the wall even as his hips never miss a beat.