The sawed off shotgun slips from Dean's hands and the only sound he hears is that of a solid fist against his jaw. He stumbles backward and his back hits the dense, cold wall of the building. He chances a glance through swollen eyes at his baby brother running toward the monster of the week, tackling him and ridding the world of its existence with one swift shot from his own gun. Sam sits back upright, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Dean slides down the wall to rest up against it, raising bloodied hands to his head in an effort to rid him of the thunder pounding through his skull.
Sam turns his eyesight towards the older Winchester, failing to remember a time when his brother wasn't so broken. His entire form seemed defeated as he slouched even further into himself, a breath escaping from his lips that almost had an air of disappointment. Unfortunately, this sight was no longer an uncommon one for Sam to witness. Dean was now a shell of the man he once was. He was no longer lively, sarcastic and witty. He had lost focus, lost the will to try. Dean begrudgingly ripped a section from his already tattered flannel to wipe the blood from his eyebrow, groaning as he lifts his longing eyes toward the bright, hanging light bulb from the ceiling. Sam sighed and went to his brother's side, patting him on the shoulder and extending a hand to help him back to his feet. Dean accepts the extended hand and leans against Sam for support, retreating from the warehouse to return to the outside world.
An hour later, the boys were stitched and clean, and Dean was nursing a bottle of amber liquid with a distant look in his eye, the sound of your laughter echoing throughout his memory. He leaned back in the metal folding chair adjacent to the sticky, yellow table and ran a hand through his hair. Part of him felt numb. Empty and void. The other part was consistently twisted in knots, a heavy feeling of despair looming over his mind and heart. He lifts the bottle to his lips and enjoys the harsh burn in his chest as the alcohol slides down his throat. It's something, but it isn't enough.
Sam burst through the door of the motel room with a bag of food-truck tacos, the grease leaking through the corner of the brown paper carrier.
"Hey... sorry it took so long, I had to stop by the library one last time before we head out of town."
"Oh, yeah... sure, no problem," was all Dean could manage.
Sam's heart broke at the look in Dean's eyes. Some days he would disguise it, some days he wouldn't even try. Today, the sorrow was written across every fiber of the man's body. He eyed the bottle of bourbon on the table, the cap haphazardly thrown on onto the faux marble top. He was no stranger to this sight, either. Of course, Sam understood. He knew that the last year has been anything but easy for him, but he couldn't continue to see his brother this way.
"Dean... I need to tell you something, okay?"
"What, Sam?" Dean replied sharply, sending a jolt of guilt right to Sam's heart. Dean regretted his tone as soon as the words fell from his lips, seeing the hurt flow through his brother's features almost immediately. Grabbing the bottle once more, Dean crossed his feet at the ankles as he took a swig. Sam bowed his head, contemplating giving up the cause. But he proceeded, as he felt he needed to.
"Dean, I need you to know that I understand. I understand what you're going through. I know you don't want to talk about it, and I'm not pushing, but... but I can't sit by and watch you torture yourself anymore."
Dean knew what he had been doing. It had been almost a year... but the pain was still as deep as ever. He followed the same routine, day after day. Wake up after a night of agitated, nightmare filled sleep and reach to the empty side of the bed, only to feel cold sheets and not the warm body he expected. It would take him a moment or two, but soon he'd realize why you weren't there. He'd lie on his back and contemplate pulling your picture out from under his pillow and taking in your beauty once more. Instead, he'd reach for the half drunk beer on his nightstand, guzzling the lukewarm liquid to wash the acid from his esophagus. He'd brush his teeth before meeting up with Sammy in the bunker kitchen, if for no other reason than to avoid the disappointing look on his brother's face when he smelled the alcohol on his breath. He'd hope, beg, even pray for a case. Something—anything to take his mind off of it all. He'd drive with a locked jaw and unwavering eyes, no longer listening to his music, no longer laughing. He'd throw himself into work, sometimes a bit too much, come home beaten and bruised after an almost blatant attempt to get himself hurt. He'd find comfort in another bottle, staring blankly at the walls of his room until he was overcome by sleep. And Sam—Sam watched it all happen. He thought that allowing Dean his space would give him the opportunity to put it all behind him, to move on with his life. He saw Dean enter a downward spiral and felt helpless, so immensely helpless that he let him wallow in agony for this long thinking maybe, just maybe, he'd wake up one day and have his brother back. He'd waited for that day for so long now, and he couldn't stand it anymore.
Dean stares, waiting for Sam to continue as if he already knows what this conversation will lead to. Although he appreciates his brother's sentiment, he can't force himself to display any emotion for his concern. Sam's downcast eyes met Dean's knowing orbs as he paused, attempting to find the right words. "I know you feel like hell... And I know about the drinking. I know why you're doing it all. But you gotta know that this isn't... this isn't going to make it better." Sam searches Dean's face for any hint at recognition or remorse, but he finds nothing. Beneath his eyes, though, Sam can see the suffering. Deep down, he knows the one thing that will receive some sort of response, and though it breaks him to say it, the words flow from his mouth, "You haven't even been to see her, man."
At that, Dean scoffed. "What am I supposed to say, Sam?!" He pushed his chair back and stood abruptly, the sound of metal screeching piercing the thick tension. "I'm the one that told her to leave! What, do I just walk up and say 'I'm sorry'? That I'm nothing without her? That everything I see reminds me of her? That my life is nothing anymore? What good is that going to do, huh? Tell me." He yelled, his voice cracking slightly. Dean's shoulders dropped and he exhaled loudly. "What—what good is that going to do, Sam?"
"It might do something, Dean. If that's what you need to say to her, you need to say it." Sam responded quietly. "Like I said, I understand. There are a lot of things that I've let go unsaid over the years and... and I know that you're burying this stuff. It's not like you're the only one who is hurting here, man... I miss her too, I do. And—and I know you blame yourself for her leaving, but... I think you should go see her. Tell her whatever you need to tell her."
Silence flows heavy within the four walls for a few moments, until Dean's posture stiffened and he made his way to the door. Grabbing his keys and jacket, he whispered, "I can't."
The door slammed and a moment later, the impala's engine roars to life. Sam hangs his head in his hands as he listens to her fade down the street. He stands and pulls back the musty, green curtains to glance out the grimy window at the random small town they happened to be in. He views the lights of the small main street, leaning his weight on his forearm. He eventually retreated to one of the two beds in the small room, the tattered comforter and smell of cheap detergent eventually soothing him into a restless sleep.
He wakes the next morning to Dean gently shaking his shoulders. "Sam... wake up."
"Yeah? What is it, Dean?" Sam says rubbing his eyes sleepily as he swings his long legs over the edge of the bed.
Dean lowers himself onto his own mattress, resting his elbows on his knees, sighing. "I'm... uh... I'm going to take the day off. There's something I've gotta do, but... I was wondering if you'd come with me?" he says, eyes shifting slightly.
Sam recognizes a small glimmer of light in his brother's presence this morning that he hadn't seen in quite a while and he feels a spark of hope, "...Of course, Dean."
Seven quiet hours later, the boys parked the impala under a shaded tree and emerge into the cool, brisk air. Dean walks around the front end of his baby and stops his brother. "Sam, wait... I need to say something, alright?"
"Okay... sure." Sam says, resting against the doorframe.
"Look... I know I'm not doing okay. I know I'm not. I haven't been okay since she left. And—and I need to apologize to you for that. I've taken it out on you and put you in danger because I can't deal with this... this pain." Dean's breaths became ragged and his words began to shake. His eyes let go of a year's worth of unshed tears. "But... how I feel... this, inside me... I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing."
Sam's jaw clenched and his eyes move to the ground. It takes all his power to hold back his own tears as he reaches his hand to his brother's shoulder. He pulls him in a grips him tight, slapping Dean's back to signify his understanding.
"Well... look I'm right here if you need me, okay?"
Dean nods as he pulls away from his brother's embrace. With heavy legs, he makes his way up the concrete steps and through the gate. Fallen leaves crunch beneath his boots as he walks through the grass, his limbs hanging like concrete as he pulls himself across the lawn. He continues to recite his speech in his mind as he makes his way to you, half expecting you to run up and greet him enthusiastically.
"Y/n... hey. I know it's been a while and I hate to just show up like this..." he begins, concentrating his eye line to the laces on his boots. His resolve cracks and the words begin to tumble without pause, "but I can't go another day without talking to you, Y/n. I know I've got no right to say this, but I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I was so blind to what we had and I should have never sent you away. I should have never told you to leave. I thought I was protecting you—protecting you from all of this crap. I didn't want to see you get hurt. I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt. I thought you leaving would be the best way..." His eyes close tightly as the tears begin to stream and he inhales sharply, the weight of his words and decisions crushing down on his soul. "You've gotta understand, this life... this life that Sam and I lead is dangerous. I know you knew that. You were with us too long not to have." he laughed somberly, a memory of your words of comfort coursing through his brain. "I dream about you every night, ya know... the times we would just drive through the mountains or across a state and you—you'd take out that old camera of yours and take hundreds of pictures. You'd beg me to take the day off and pull over at the first sight of water, a lake, a beach, it didn't matter. I wish I would have. God, Y/n, how I wish I would have. I should've spent that time with you. I should've given you what you asked for, what you needed. But you just gave to me. You let me listen to my same five albums over and over. And I can't even listen to those songs anymore... they've got too much of you in them, sweetheart." He ran a hand down his face to catch the tears as he takes a breath. It feels like a weight is lying on his throat as he tries to explain himself. "I should've told you everything. I should've told you how much I loved you every chance that I got. I had so many opportunities and... and I know it's too late... but you have to know this, okay. I want you to know how sorry I am for that. I would take it all back if I could. If I could only have one more day, or even just an hour. I'd do anything to take it all back. If I could just rearrange the hands of time, I'd make it up to you. I swear I would. I'd do anything to have you back, Y/n. Even if only for a minute, I'd pay any price to be where you are, because I can't stand being anywhere without you. I miss you, Y/n. I can't be here without you. I'll never forget you, sweetheart.... loosing you—loosing you is going to take a lifetime for me." He choked. He glances up to the sky momentarily, whispering "Please." silently praying to God or anyone who will listen to take the pain away, to rid him of this merciless ache that flows through him. When he receives no response, he hangs his head. With tears flowing down his cheeks he slowly falls to his knees in the grass, the damp soil seeping into his jeans. He places a bouquet of wildflowers on the ground in front of him, at the base of your headstone. Placing his lips to the cold granite, he breathes, "I miss you, Y/n."
A cool mist surrounds you as you witness Dean, the man you loved until the day you passed, crumble into his words of longing and sorrow. Hollow tears shed from your eyes as you feel a warm hand on your shoulder.
Chuck's blue eyes stare into you as he asks, "What do you say, Y/n... are you ready to go back now?"
