Dean didn't usually go to bobby for much other than help with cases, let alone talking about emotions. He let it get to him, again. Dean didn't usually fall in love, it wasn't his style.
"pick em' up and drop em'" he remembered one of his dads other friends say "that way there are no distractions or emotional attachments."
He usually left that soppy, emotion, one-in-a-life-time, love crap to Sam. He knew Sam would find another, he knew he would find another, and he hated that. Falling in love, for it to only go crashing down again. It was stupid, it was reckless and no matter how many times he would ever be advised against it, everything would still fall into place. It was just something about her, she didn't ave the best body, or the prettiest face, it was her personality that made him want to sell his soul for her, dance around the room and right stupid poems and songs. Even a book, something they had agreed to make and swore not to read until the last page.
"so, you wanted to show me something?" bobby asked gently, Dean could tell he really had no idea how to comfort him if he didn't know the story, he also knew Sam was sleeping and he wouldn't be able to tell it without looking like a baby in a leather jacket. He handed over the book, not saying a word, but Bobby probably knew if he so much as folded the page, Dean would rip his lungs out. Dean picked up his glass of whiskey, though he suspected he would need something much stronger; while Bobby took the leather bound book in his hand and opened it to the first page.
"Let the torture begin."
