[ His night is going weirdly, but he's pretty sure everyone else's is too, so that's kinda comforting. In some ways.

He likes fireworks normally; he'd bought a crapton of them when he was younger, giving Sam a hell of a show and promptly setting a field on fire, but it'd been worth it. Their Dad never would've let them do anything like that, and Dean was all about giving his brother experiences that he wouldn't have had otherwise.

The girl suddenly clutching his chest pulls from darkening thoughts, though they don't entirely fade; a pressure under his sternum bubbles up to his throat, secrets on the tip of his tongue, bitten back as he speaks. ]

Trust me, punishing yourself forever isn't gonna do anyone any good. We all screw up, and I say that as someone who's seen and done a lot of fuckups.