My Winchester

Everybody's Been There

Everybody was quiet. For weeks, they were just quiet. Except for me.

My emotions would lash out a lot of the time. I'd accidentally snap at one of the boys or sometimes strangers while we were working. I was always quick to apologize though.

The boys were letting me hunt my heart out. Or at least, Sam was. Dean complained on every hunt how he shouldn't let me do this. Sammy would stick up for me, having a private word with Dean to make him shut up. We had killed five creatures in the past week and a half, and Dean never failed to ask for a break after every trip.

I didn't suck. It was nice to have a blade in my hand, to save some families from going through everything that was going on in my head. I felt like a hole had been ripped from my heart, shred and torn to pieces. I listened to music a lot, even if Dean was playing the exact same song in the car. Something about the music echoing right into my ear made it feel like I was still just some stupid high school girl.

I thought about leaving. I thought about going to college, doing what my parents had wanted for me. I couldn't though, not with my family's murderer on the loose.

Crowley was right too; he wiped out almost half of my town. All of my friends, my bosses from places I worked, the little old librarian that I would help out sometimes, my favorite mechanic, they were all dead. Anyone that I knew or loved was dead.

It hurt like hell too.

I mean, what was I going to do? Go back to some school and pretend that I was just born without a family?

Whenever I would think about leaving, I would think of the tattoos between my shoulder blade. One of four.

These boys were part of my life now, and running away wouldn't help me forget them.

We just got home from a hunt a couple of hours ago, and I was getting tired of living in Dean's room. I was currently standing in the next bedroom over, digging and shifting boxes out of the way.

I was almost done when Dean came through the door.

"Oh, hey," he said, that sympathy entering his voice. "What're you doing?"

"Cleaning out my room," I state simply.

"Your room? What happened to staying in my room?" He asks, digging through a box.

"We always said we'd clean a room out for me, Dean. I can't be in your way forever. You need your bed back."

He doesn't say anything else but instead helps me move boxes out into other rooms.

***

Dean tried cracking a joke or two, but it was as if Carmen didn't even hear him. It was like she was either obsessively in the moment, ready to hunt and risk her life, or she was lost in a different world. There was no in between. Eventually, Dean gave up and left the room to turn on the stereo on in his own bedroom.

She seemed giddier when he returned, like the music helped her mind ease. He turned it up as loud as well, knowing that this was how he liked his own music when he was in a mess. Within a few hours, the place looked good. It was simple, and definitely not the average girl's bedroom, but she seemed to like it enough. 

"So," Dean started, sitting on the edge of her bed. He wanted to help. "Look, Carmen.." he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know you're going through a rough time. I've been there, we all have." Dean gets nervous as she glances over to him.

"Dean," she mumbles, leaning back against the bed.

"I'm just saying that if you need somebody to talk to-"