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Summary
He walks to the edge of the balcony, wrapping his hands around the metal rail until his bones threaten to burst through the skin. He knows that, despite his rapidly approaching sobriety, he looks like a man on the final kick of a bender. Sam’s eyebrows quirk in that familiar expression of concern, while Chuck watches him with a benevolence that makes him want to hurl. The other one doesn’t look at him at all. His head is bowed towards the table as he idly traces the lines of the map with his finger, like he’s pretending he hasn’t even registered Dean’s presence.