This is my first one guys, I'm going to update as often as I can, it's going to be a multichapter one I guess! Dean and Jo everybody from Supernatural. Um, the first chapter will be the saddest, it gets happier don't worry :)
Dean heaved a sigh, and slowly walked towards the small house next to the burnt remains of the roadhouse. His heart thumped. He didn't know why he was here, or what to expect. He knew that Jo and Ellen were dead, he knew that nothing but bittersweet memories would be here, but he came here anyway.
Maybe it was because he needed to feel something, finally, and let his emotions loose. Or maybe it was because he needed a simple reminder of a happier time. A happier place. A happier soul trapped inside his aching, exhausted body. A time where he could suppress love and lust for his work, but look forward to the next time. The next time Ellen would welcome him and his brother in, clap them on the back and pour them a beer. The next time Jo would walk in, swinging her tiny hips and brush her blond locks behind her ear. The next time, he would sit, and make eye contact with her - and that one moment of recognition would send something much stronger than butterflies to his stomach. The next time the four of them, with maybe Bobby and Ash, would just laugh and relax and rejoice over the people they had saved. Dean was looking to remember the time when he had a safe haven, in the midst of the world and its chaos. When he had a family of sorts, where he was loved and respected. Dean missed the old Sam. Dean missed the old Dean. Dean missed Ellen with a serious pang, and Jo with a constant, grinding ache. Most of all, Dean missed the knowledge that they were all there to go home to. That they were all still there. Dean missed all of it, and as he reached the porch of the house next to the roadhouse, he sat on the steps and put his head in his rough hands. He ruffled his hair back, and felt a lump slowly form in his throat. At first he tried to push back the emotions, and fight this urge to cry, but he couldn't. He couldn't stop missing the Harvelles. And he couldn't stop thinking about the emptiness that lay in his stomach, his head, his heart.
What broke Dean down, was when he remembered Jo letting him kiss her. She was dying, and he let his soft, supple lips press against her forehead. And then, those two beautiful pink lips he had been desperate to kiss for so long. It should have been a moment of joy, release and excitement. Instead, he had felt extreme sorrow, and anger at himself. He could have done something earlier, told her he loved her. Kissed her, loved her, talked to her. He could have saved her, if he only acknowledged he loved her. But he left it too late. She died. He lived. But what was this living? How was this pain life?
"It serves me right." Dean whispered to himself. "I was too damn late." His eyes slowly glazed over with tears. He could no longer see, so he blinked, and the first fat tear drop spilled over. "I WAS TOO LATE! I MISSED HER AND NOW SHE'S DEAD!" He screamed, and then something in him broke. So Dean cried. And cried. And cried. He sobbed, shoulders heaving, green eyes streaming, loss pounding at every inch of him. "She's fucking gone and I'm left missing her." He whispered again. He leaned his head back against the door, and carried on crying. He let go of his tight grip on his emotional reins and continued to cry, scream and sob. Strangely, a kind of relief entered his system, he could just accept his loss. He could cry. Sam wasn't here to give him a concerned glance. Bobby wasn't here to punch him and tell him to man up. He was fine, until he remembered that Jo wasn't here to hug him better, either. So he continued to sob in the way that no one had ever seen Dean Winchester sob, and hurt in the way that no one would have imagined Dean Winchester could.