Just because I haven't written an SPN fic in ages and upated them in ages and I feel super bad I want to make it up to you all by telling you I haven't forgotten you and this little story just won't go away. I don't normally write Dean centered stories so for that I'm excited/nervous since this is a kind of different fic for me.

It had been 3 months since Sam fell into the hole. 3 months of living hell. Dean sipped his beer as he stared numbly at the tv playing-not paying any attention to it. He spent most friday nights there. The bartender was used to his slurred ramblings about some guy named Sammy being in hell. Whenever he started those rambls he bartender would call Lisa to come pick him up.

This friday was no different.

"It's worse than usual," said the bartender as he wiped a dirty glass. "He keeps on talking about fighting the devil."

She nodded, more than a little afraid of what was happening to Dean. She knew he still felt guilty for not being able to save Sam. How many hours would he spend pouring over his father's journal, trying to find some way to bring Sam back until she reminded him of the promise he made for his brother. He would then talk about how he couldn't sit there and do nothing and act like everything was fine. He just couldn't.

She glanced at Dean. He looked so old there, and so full of saddness. The leather jacket he was wearing smelled of soil and alcholol. She helped him to his feet. He was too out of it to protest.

"Sammy's in hell," he slurred to her as they walked out the door. He stumbled and crashed at a nearby table. The couple glared at them and she mouthed an apology as she guided him towards the door.

"I know," she sighed sadly, brushing hair from her eyes. She hated this routine so much but wasn't sure what to do about it.

"I couldn't save him...Couldn't save Sammy. Sammy's dead because of me." His voice...so full of...agony. Of grief. She hated it when his voice got like that.

It was pointless to say anything. He wouldn't hear anything she said anyway. She just concentrated on getting him into the car and watched as he passed out in it. She bit her lip, worry filling her.

"Come back to me, Dean," she whispered to him as she watched him lean his head against the window. "Come back to me."

Slowly she drove home.

He stood there as she took off his clothes.

"Sammy's dead," he repated. "He's gone. He ain't coming back this time."

"I know," she sighed.

"You want to know why he ain't coming back?"

"Why?" She hung the jacket in the closet.

"Cause God's an dick, that's why. Did you know that backwards God spells Dog? I wonder why that is." He almost fell over and she quickly caught him.

"All right, let's get you in bed." He didn't argue. She pushed him onto the pillows and covered him with the blankets. Sighing she laid down next to him. Waiting until she heard his gentle and reassuring snoring sounds. She could never fall asleep, for some reason, until she heard them.

When he dreamed he dreamed of Sammy. Of Sammy falling into the pit.

"It's going to be okay Dean. It's going to be okay."

He lied. Sammy lied. It was never going to be okay again.

He dreamed of Lucifer torturing Sammy, making him pay for sending him back into the pit. Sammy withering on the ground screaming for the help that would never come. Screaming for Dean.

Dean woke shouting. Lisa quickly turned on the light. Sadly this too was a regular routine.

"It's okay Dean," she whispered as Dean sank back onto the bed. "It's okay."

"No," he said softly, as he turned sideways. "It's not okay. Sammy's in hell, because of me. It's never going to be okay." She knew that when he spoke like that he was speaking out of anger towards himself, not her. But still, it stung.

She closed her eyes, wishing she could help as she watched him lay there, almost frozen- staring at the wall in front of him. Afraid to close his eyes. Afraid of his mind.

She sat there, wondering if Dean was ever going to be able to move on from this. If they were ever going to be normal.

The day was better. Today Ben had a ball game. And Dean always made sure to go to every single one. He didn't care how big his hangover was that day, he would not miss it.

Lisa smiled as she watched him cheer Ben on. No matter what kind of pain he was in Dean would always push it aside and make time for her son. One of her favorite qualities for him. She held his hand. Little did she they know they were being watched.

Sam stood there, watching from afar like he always did. His hair was limp and uncared for. His eyes was heavy with his history. With his solitude. His jacket was torn from the hunt he just got back on. He still needed to redue his stitches. But he wanted to see them, just for a minute. Wanted to see them doing a normal activity.

A tang of sadness swept over him as he realized he'd never be a part of something so normal as he watched Dean and Lisa cheering on Ben. His brother looked so happy, relaxed and carefree. He looked like he was finally moving on from Sam's death. If only Sam knew...

He sighed and nodded, glad to have checked up on him. Glad that they were all right. And slowly he turned to head back towards his life as one. Towards his life as the hunter.

Dean turned his head towards the woods. For some reason he thought he felt a strange but familiar presence.

"What's wrong, honey?" Lisa asked. He smiled at her quickly, focusing his attention back on the game.

"Nothing."

A few minutes later Ben's team one. Chaos had gotten lose. He quickly scoped up Ben, though, and gave him a high five. Briefly he thought of John. It pained him that he had no such memories. Quickly he forced that thought out of his head.

"I want to hang out with my friends," Ben told them.

"All right," Lisa said. "But be back before dark."

As they drove home, smiles still on them Lisa glanced at Dean, unable to put off this nagging thought any longer.

"Are...we okay?" She asked softly and he looked at her, startled. Had he really been that out of it?

"Of course we are, why do you ask?"

She gave a small shrug.

"No reason. Just making sure."

"Oh." He didn't know how to respond to that.

They drove in silence the rest of the way home, tension in the car. She cursed herself for bringing it up.

It was hours later when he helped himself to a cold beer. She walked in with a worried expression on her face, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

"What is it?"

"Look outside."

He did. It was dark.

Worry filled him. Ben.

"Where's Ben?"

"I don't know...He's not back yet."

She watched as he reached for jacket and placed the beer on the table as he headed out the door.

"Dean! Wait! Where are you going?"

"I'm going to look for him." With that he closed the door leaving her alone with her thoughts. Alone with her fears.