Dean still smiles. He still laughs. Even in the face of the Apocalypse. Even after losing everyone he held dear. Even after Sam said "yes".

But not for me. He won't smile for me. I don't know how to make him laugh. Not anymore.

Perhaps it's because I finally perfected the art of sarcasm. Perhaps I utilize the skill too often.

Maybe I'm becoming a joke he's heard too many times. Yes, a joke. I think I'm funny. Women think I'm funny too. They haven't heard my joke too often. I don't know how many times I've told the joke. I don't remember most of them.

I think I forget to tell the punchline. My comedic timing must be off when I make myself forget. Maybe that's why Dean hates me now.

He never looks me in the eye anymore.

I think he hates me.

I don't understand how he can still smile. After losing everything. Even so, I wish he would for me.

But when we're alone, the light leaves his eyes. Sometimes he talks to me about Bobby. He never mentions Sam, but Sam is there in the set of his jaw and the steel of his eye. I don't understand why he talks to me about the things that cause him such pain when he hates me so much.

I never know what to say when he talks about things like that. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, he will allow me to offer the smallest comfort in the brush of fingertips across his shoulders. If I'm not lucky, he will push me away. He will leave me to seek comfort elsewhere. Usually with a woman.

I wish, more than anything, that Dean still had someone left to love. If he had that, his hatred of me might be the slightest bit more bearable.

Dean is sending me to my death today. He doesn't know that I know. I'm not afraid. I'm going to make myself forget. I don't want to remember Dean and his hatred. When the punchline comes this time, maybe he'll finally laugh at my joke.