Is this the moment where I look you in the eye?
Forgive my broken promise that you'll never see me cry
And everything, it will surely change even if I tell you I won't go away today
Will you think that you're all alone
When no one's there to hold your hand?
And all you know seems so far away and everything is temporary rest your head
I'm permanent
I know he's living in hell every single day
And so I ask oh god is there some way for me to take his place
And when they say it's all touch and go I wish I could make it go away
But still you say
Will you think that you're all alone when no one's there to hold your hand?
When all you know seems so far away and everything is temporary, rest your head
I'm permanent
I'm permanent
Is this the moment where I look you in the eye?
Forgive my promise that you'll never see me cry
David Cook
Permanent
Dean Winchester opened his eyes and knew that God hadn't answered his prayers. He was still alive.
He remained still while the sun rose higher in the sky to shine brightly through the windows. The light hurt his blood shot eyes. Blocks of bright gold and white shimmered and warmed his skin through his pant legs as he lay where he had slept, on the floor. He'd more than likely passed out, dead drunk, and, in the throes of yet another nightmare, he had probably rolled off of the bed. Whatever.
It didn't matter. He would have gladly traded the hard wood floor of one of Bobby Singer's spare bedrooms for the freshly turned earth in which he had buried her just a week before. He'd have changed places with her in a split second because she deserved to be alive, not dead for reasons he couldn't understand.
Dean didn't want to but he took in a deep breath anyway. He lamented the fact that his breathing wouldn't cease on command anymore than his heart would stop beating just because he wanted it to. Bobby had said it would get better but the young hunter couldn't see the light at the end of his tortured tunnel. It was too soon...or maybe it was just too late.
Getting up off of the floor Dean saw the empty whiskey bottle and the state of his room. He had trashed it yet again and now, in the remorseful stage of another hangover, he hoped he'd kept the damage outside of the room and within his family to a minimum.
Walking up to the window he pulled back the curtain and looked resentfully at the beautiful blue sky and cursed God for rubbing salt into his wounds. There should only be dark clouds and cold rain - forever. As he watched the sun travel higher in the sky it glinted off of the Impala's hood and he remembered how she had loved that car, had driven it the way it was meant to be driven, lead footed, with classic rock blaring from the speakers and damn the price of the gas it guzzled. God, he would miss her.
He'd miss her hands, cool on his neck on a hot day as he leaned into the engine compartment fiddling with the plug wires or the carburetor while she watched over his shoulder. He'd miss shouting out to her to turn down the damn music so she could at least hear him when he told her to bump the key so he could set the timing. And after she'd turned down the music, she'd reminded him that he wouldn't need her after his son was born. She knew he would be a mechanic, just like his father and his grandfather before him, and not a hunter, even though they ran in both families.
Their son would be a regular kid who lived in a nice little house with a yard where he would chase after baseballs and a goofy Golden Retriever named Sammy. She was also sure he would grow up to be as handsome and as kind and considerate as his daddy and that the two of them together were strong enough to keep him safe and sound. They would all live happily ever after.
Dean barked out a harsh bitter laugh. No one is safe, he whispered, and for the first time in his life he truly believed it. Nobody was safe. He now knew that no spell, no hex bag, no amulet, no prayer, no panic room, no gun, no knife, no amount of money, no amount of medical training, nothing in heaven or on earth could keep you safe or save you and he effortlessly slipped back into the anger phase of the grieving process.
He turned away before he could punch out another window and looked down at his hands. He flexed his fingers painfully. They were cut, bruised and battered and he hoped he hadn't taken his anger out on Sam or on Bobby. They were only trying to help but he wanted neither tired expressions of condolence, no matter how well intended, nor pity. He just wanted the pain to stop and the guilt to go away. And he wanted answers to his questions.
Why had she died? Why hadn't they known she was in danger? Why had they just said it was normal and dismissed his concerns and fears so cavalierly? Why had he had to kiss her one last time before putting her in a hole in the ground and covering her with six feet of cold, wet earth? He also wanted to know why her and not him?
Bobby Singer sat in an old rocking chair recently retrieved from the attic. His movements back and forth comforted the infant he held in his arms and looking down he dipped his head and planted a kiss on the dark, downy hair that covered the baby's head.
Sam laughed softly when he came into the room and caught him. "Busted, Bobby."
Bobby looked up with a scowl and asked in a loud stage whisper, "What'd ya' think? I eat 'em for breakfast?"
Startled, the baby's eyes opened then closed, once, twice, three times as he drifted back to sleep.
Sam came up to stand behind the two of them and as he stared down at the bundle in Bobby's arms he smiled in wonder. In his wildest dreams he never though he'd ever see another Winchester son - or daughter for that matter. He thought the Winchester and Campbell lines would probably both end with him and his brother and he was right - until a certain blue-eyed blonde had come into their lives.
John Winchester, at one time so sure that he would kill the yellow eyed demon and that their lives would return to normal, had told his boys that when they headed out on their own to take 'someone from home'. Take a girl from the same place you were from, willing to go in the same direction you were going. It was something his own father had told him when he'd enlisted in the Army and, when he'd come back, John had taken Mary Campbell, a girl from his hometown, as his wife. They had started their new life and it had been a happy life...for a while.
Dean Winchester had finally found his 'someone from home' in a bar in Cincinnati, Ohio, not far from Union, Kentucky and, although she was not from Lawrence, Kansas - or from Kansas at all - she was a hunter just like him. She had been his savior, pulling him from the edge of the abyss as surely as Castiel had pulled him from the pit. He would never forget his time spent in hell but she helped him realize that it was okay to forgive. To forgive others and, above all, to forgive himself. In the following months she'd made a home for him and plans for their future together and Dean had finally started to allow himself to be happy.
However, in a matter of hours his girl was gone, along with his joy, his hopes, his dreams, and she would have hated it with all her heart to see him back where she had first found him...balanced on the edge of the abyss.
But for now there was no reaching Dean so Sam and Bobby, together, took on the daunting task of caring for the son while the father raged against heaven and hell.