"Dean,"his brother called his name cautiously. "You've been in here since after dinner…it's almost midnight."
The older Winchester ignored him and grabbed the bottle of whiskey sitting on the nightstand next to him. He brought it to his lips and took a long pull from it as he set one photo down only to pick up another and stare at it, a nostalgic smile ghosting across his face. His calloused thumb traced across the glossy paper for only a second before the the peaceful moment was gone and he flicked it away from himself and took another swallow of his alcohol.
"So it is," he finally responded, his tone dull and emotionless as he lifted his gaze, letting it glance around the room.
"You should get some sleep. Or something to eat. I know you haven't eaten today."
"I'm fine," he brushed off Sam's concerns, his fingers wrapping around the bane of his existence and his saving grace crammed into one small leather bound journal.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Dean."
"Doing what?"
"This!" Sam motioned to their surroundings. "Locking yourself away in her room, staring at pictures, reading her journal, drinking yourself into oblivion. It's been six months, Dean. This isn't going to bring her back and it sure as Hell isn't anything she would have wanted for you."
The now empty bottle left his hands and missed coming into contact with his younger brother's head by a mere fraction of an inch; shattering into thousands of tiny shards as it hit the wall behind him. His temper flared, fueled by the whiskey coursing through his system. His face turned red, his breathing became erratic, his hands balled into fists, and the black of his pupils nearly overtook the jaded color of his irises as he shoved himself off the bed; the journal falling forgotten onto the blankets.
"Don't talk about her like that!" he roared, shoving Sam into the door frame. "Don't you ever talk about her like that again or I'll kill you."
"You aren't the only one who lost her. You aren't the only one in mourning. The rest of us just choose not to hole up in a room she hardly ever used for anything other than to store her things as a way to cope with it," was Sam's only reply as he knocked Dean's fisted hands off of his shirt before turning and walking away, leaving him once again alone with his grief.
Long fingers wrapped around the journal again as he allowed himself to fall back down onto the bed, his back propped against the wall. The book immediately fell open, the pages worn and frayed from the amount of times it had been repeatedly opened and closed. He could recite the entire thing by heart but he still read every page; every sentence; every word. He needed to feel close to her somehow. He needed to feel like she was still there. His green eyes traced over her handwriting; his throat already raw and aching.
January 13th
I met the Winchesters today. I needed some help on a hunt and they were in the area so Ellen sent them my way. She's right. They're good people. Even if Dean hits on everything with two legs and a vagina.
March 31st
Crossed paths with Dean and Sam again. They were on the hunt for their dad. I haven't heard much. Helped them out the best I could, though. Dean is still the biggest pervert I've ever met. For whatever reason, all the cute ones are.
May 7th
Helped Sam and Dean with a vamp nest today. Their dad was with them. I'm glad they were able to find him. Dean and I made dinner plans for later. For once he didn't try jumping right into bed with me. We'll see how long this lasts. I don't want to be too hopeful.
May 31st
Dean called. They were in a bad wreck and John sold his soul to save him. He's really torn up. I'm leaving here tomorrow to meet up with them. I can't offer much but I still want to be there. For him and Sam both.
September 18th
Sam keeps having these headaches and premonitions. Dean's worried. He told me what John said before he died. Who the Hell puts that onto their kid's shoulders?
October 20th
Sam called. Dean went off on his own to fight a djinn and hasn't come back. I'm leaving to go help him.
October 21st
Dean told me what he saw while the djinn had him under. He wants a normal life more than he cares to admit. Just like the rest of us. I'm glad he confided in me. At least he's opening up to someone. He needs to do so more often. He keeps so much to himself because he doesn't want to burden anyone else.
May 23rd
Sam went missing. Dean called and asked if I would help find him. I'm leaving now. Yellow Eyes is behind it. We all know it. It's time to find that son of a bitch and do whatever it takes to get rid of him.
May 31st
Dean sold his soul to save Sam. Why does it feel like I can't breathe?
August 28th
Dean showed up at my motel room tonight. Sam's off doing something and he didn't want to be alone. I let him talk about everything until he finally fell asleep. The thought of losing him is terrifying. When did I get so attached?
May 31st
Bobby called. I feel like I'm going to die. Dean's gone. We couldn't save him.
July 19th
Fuck you Dean Winchester. Fuck you for blowing into my life, getting me attached, and then leaving me here alone to deal with losing you. Nothing has ever hurt so bad.
July 25th
I've been running on autopilot since I heard. I miss him so fucking much.
August 12th
I called his phone even though I knew he wouldn't answer. I just needed to hear his voice again.
September 20th
He's back. I don't know how. I don't know why. He's back though.
September 22nd
I drove through the night and half the day to get to him. I don't know what I expected but when I stepped out of my car and he grabbed me into the tightest hug I've ever gotten, everything in my life fell back into place.
October 1st
He won't talk about Hell. He's keeping it all bottled up and to be honest, I can't say that I blame him. I let him know that I'm here if he changes his mind and I'm here if he doesn't. His smile touched his eyes for the first time since he came back.
October 3rd
He asked me to come with him and Sam today. I wasn't stupid enough to refuse.
December 25th
Forty years. He spent 40 years in Hell; 30 of them being tortured and 10 of them doing the torturing. He hates himself for breaking. It isn't his fault. I know I'll never make him see that but I wanted to help him forget for a few hours. I did what I could for a Christmas dinner seeing as we're in a motel. I almost forgot the pie. He smiled tonight. One of those rare smiles that reach every part of him; that light up his entire face. Mission accomplished.
January 1st
I got my New Years kiss. It was perfect. I'm the only thing keeping him grounded, he said before kissing me hard enough to give a romance novel hunk a run for his money. No one's ever kissed me like that before. Like I was their world; their reason for living. I honestly don't think anyone ever could again.
March 26th
I'm in love with him. I'm in love with Dean Winchester.
The enraged yell escaped him before he could stop it and he flung the book across the room and threw himself off the bed. He ripped the blankets from the mattress and hurled them away before grabbing the metal of the frame and flipping the piece of furniture. His arms cleared the tops of the nightstand; its contents clattering loudly as it hit the cement floor. The dresser was next, ripped away from the wall and crashing into the ground.
"No!" he roared, trying to yank himself away from his brother who had suddenly appeared behind him, pinning his arms to his sides and stopping his assault on the inanimate objects.
"Dean, stop! You're destroying her stuff!"
The fight left him just as suddenly as it had hit him. Sam let him go and he dropped to his knees, his arms rested on his thighs and his knuckles brushed the floor as he hung his head. His shoulders shook; his body wracked with the harsh and silent sobs that he'd tried so hard to stave off. He'd never felt so defeated in his life. He'd been to Hell and back but nothing had ever hurt as bad as losing her.
"Daddy?"
His head shot up at the small and quiet voice coming from the doorway and his stomach lurched into his throat as he looked over to the source. He took in the sight: the dirty blonde hair that stuck out every which way, the tired green eyes, the little hand that was raising up to rub at them as it still held onto the stuffed dog, the little nightgown covered in Harry Potter characters that Charlie had given as a gift.
"AJ, you should be in bed," he managed to croak out, using the palms of his hands to wipe away the tears that were still falling as he forced himself to stand and cross the room before kneeling in front of her, and brushing a stray piece of hair off of her face. "I'm okay."
"I miss her too, Daddy," his five year old, THEIR five year old, the only living link he still had to her, offered before wrapping her little arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.