The Records of Dean Winchester and Elena Gilbert

Logomachy

Logomachy |lōˈgäməkē|

            noun

            An argument about words.

[Editor's Note]: If there were not such painful sections to come, I would say this is my least favorite. I hate writing about their sorrow, their unhappiness, and that is all this section is. While there were many more fights that this section does not mention, I felt these were some of the worst arguments between them and does well to show the development of their fighting. Of course by now you know the problems they faced—Dean's protectiveness, Elena's desires for the future, their age gap—but I believe it would not do them justice if I did not touch on their fighting. It did, after all, consume their final moments together as a couple. This was their spiral to the end.

December 21st, 2018

            "Morning," Dean grumbles, trudging into the kitchen. Elena doesn't look up, her eyes on the coffee cup in her hand. She'd been sitting there for quite some time, struggling to find the courage to rise from the kitchen table.

            Dean passes her without a second glance, dipping his head into the fridge and withdrawing a rather large bottle of whiskey. Elena looks up in time to see him pour it into a mug and cover it up with coffee.

            He takes a swig, frowns, and spills more whiskey into the cup.

            "Don't you think it's a little early, Dean?" Elena narrows her eyes at him as he crosses the kitchen and falls into the seat across from her.

            "No," he snaps, taking a drink. Elena sighs, looking back at her own cup. "Are you mad at me or something?"

            "Or something," Elena whispers, propping her chin up on her hand as she sloshes the coffee around. The grounds were separating from the liquid, causing a layer of grime to cover the warm drink.

            "You planning on speaking your mind?" Dean gulps his drink greedily, causing Elena to sigh.

[Editor's Note]: I think it is important to point out at this time that Dean did have a drinking problem. Truthfully, they all did. But it was never a problem for them, and I do not think it was a problem in this moment. Elena was just upset and Dean happened to be on a bit of a bender—though, of course, both were caused by the same incident.

            "You've been acting strange," Elena admits, "ever since I got hurt."

            Dean makes a sound in the back of his throat similar to that of an injured animal. Elena looks up abruptly, a frown already on her face.

            "You're still hurt," Dean corrects, his eyes dancing to one of the visible bandages. Elena sits back in the chair, his comment clearly coming from a darker place than she was prepared for. "You don't understand."

            "Then explain it to me," Elena pleads, finally releasing the safety net of her coffee cup and reaching out for him. Dean flinches, jerking his hands away from her and nearly spilling his drink. Elena freezes, then slowly moves her hands back to her mug.

            "There's nothing to explain," Dean snaps, his eyes darkening to a dangerous shade of green. Elena can do nothing but stare as Dean retreats back into his angry shell. "You got hurt because I failed."

            "You didn't fail—"

            "Do you remember what you told me when you asked to start hunting?" Dean's face is still hard, stone-like, but his eyes soften. Elena lets out a surprised breath, her mind suddenly drawing a blank. She shakes her head, unable to speak. "You told me it was because you hated being in the bunker without me. Because you missed me."