For as much as Roger has shut out the world again, he's had a lot of trouble leaving Dean out with the rest. It's hard to see Neil without wanting to fucking talk about all of the fucked up shit he feels for him, so Roger's been keeping a little distance. Although, he reminds himself, he can't get that much, since Neil, Dean, and himself seem to have built their schedules around being constantly around one-another. Except when Dean has one of his six-thousand responsibilities, like watching Cori or playing house with Faye. In fact, sometimes Roger wonders frequently if he's just getting in the way of Dean's growing family.
But then that's you all over, isn't it, that evil little voice persists, forever in the way.
It's not like Dean's life is perfect, though. Losing Sam threw Dean at the bottle in a way that was just too damn familiar. Losing Mark had almost killed him, Brian just as much so, and losing April would quite literally kill him any day now. The big difference is Roger's death came in careless use of needles, not at the bottom of an ever-refilling bottle.
He's in Dean's doorway now, and he's been there for a second, staring at the back of Dean's head. Is he going to have to say something to make up for all of cumulative silence? He has no words for Dean, nothing without a melody, anyway.
"Hey," Roger begins quietly, shifting his weight a touch before he speaks to try and assuage any startled reaction he might get from his silent creeping. He nods toward the guitar, "you're getting damn good." He hopes it's enough. He hopes he never had any reason to feel bad in the first place.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-03-28 04:57 pm (UTC)But then that's you all over, isn't it, that evil little voice persists, forever in the way.
It's not like Dean's life is perfect, though. Losing Sam threw Dean at the bottle in a way that was just too damn familiar. Losing Mark had almost killed him, Brian just as much so, and losing April would quite literally kill him any day now. The big difference is Roger's death came in careless use of needles, not at the bottom of an ever-refilling bottle.
He's in Dean's doorway now, and he's been there for a second, staring at the back of Dean's head. Is he going to have to say something to make up for all of cumulative silence? He has no words for Dean, nothing without a melody, anyway.
"Hey," Roger begins quietly, shifting his weight a touch before he speaks to try and assuage any startled reaction he might get from his silent creeping. He nods toward the guitar, "you're getting damn good." He hopes it's enough. He hopes he never had any reason to feel bad in the first place.