Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.

Author's note: Okay, this is a sampler- kind of a slow beginning that leads onto chapter one. Kind of. It's very short. Very, very short. Which I in turn apologize for, but this is just a test run to see if I'm awful at writing Daley. Because truth be told- this is my first time at even attempting to try. And as I have planned the story is going to be just a few short chapters, with a character death slipped in. This was posted before it was BETA-ed. So all mistakes are mine, and mine only. I really hope you enjoy it. If not, I could use some constructive criticism.

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"And the bright-eyed choke on ambition. And the old folks circle their graves.
And the young ones are busy destroying their names, and you're still just wasting away.
I sit and watch the screen for a message- some kind of sign that says we're OK
But the screen stays blank till I turn the thing off and wait for my conscience to break."
-Electric President "Insomnia"

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PART ONE:The first time she ever had the guts to ask him was mid December.

He had come home from a hunt, his flesh torn with opposing cuts, and painted with bruises that she didn't feel up to bothering him about. As per usual, the first thing he did was take a shower, which he once told her was because he hated the feeling of having her see him in such a vulnerable state of physicality. She never once displayed her concern when it did come to all the scars that covered opposing sections of his body. She had been explained to that each scar was a different story. A story that was worth the pain just to have a measly little reminder torn into his skin.

Once he exited from the steaming room, he'd immediately walk to the closet, where he'd pull out a raggedy t-shirt that had recently been washed, and a pair of sweatpants. She'd watch him sometimes. Just sit on the bed, and count the number of new bruises that covered his body. Sometimes she'd imagine what had happened during the hunt, and sometimes she'd think about what was going through his mind at that very moment. Was he happy? It was a question that frequently crossed her mind. She could never quite place an exact emotion when it came to the expression on his face, or the glint in his compelling green eyes. And, sadly enough, she'd accepted the fact that maybe she'd never know if he was happy. She'd just have to live with each reassuring whisper he mumbled to her at night.

Pushing her bangs out of her face, Haley stood up from where she had been sitting on the corner of the bed. A strange feeling of fear mingled in her gut, as she attempted to speak. "I- I'm going to the kitchen… Need anything?" Her words were soft, just a couple of notches above a whisper.

She watched as he paused completely, and without even turning his head, he let out a deep breath. "…No." He spoke, his voice ragged, as if he were suffering from a sore throat. "I'm okay." He stated, almost as if he were trying to reassure her, as well as himself.

Haley nodded slightly, before slowly turning and heading towards the kitchen. Every time she asked him that question, she always got the same reply. And for some reason, not once did she ever not bring him anything back. Tonight, she grabbed the plate of freshly made cookies that Brooke had brought by earlier that day, then poured a glass of cold milk, before slowly but steadily heading back into their room only to see that he was already laying in bed, with the remote and a box of bandages in his lap. Smiling slightly she silently placed the milk and chocolate chip cookies by the night stand on his side of the bed, and then headed into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Haley sighed inwardly. The looming silence that surrounded her could have taken the place of a noose around her neck. It wasn't miserable, it just wasn't anywhere near okay.

Cleaning the sink, Haley put her toothbrush in the silver holder, and took a deep breath of air, before returning to see that Dean had finished off a few of Brooke's homemade cookies and the entire glass of milk. A grin tugged at the corner of her lips, for she knew that Dean's appetite hadn't been altered one bit. Running a shaky hand down the side of her pajama pants, she then climbed into bed next to him, and listened to his uneasy breathing. Lying back against the pillow, she sighed as she soon found herself comfortable, yet isolated from the man she loved. Nibbling on her lower lip, she slid down into the covers, and let her eyes study the ceiling with great intent.

It was only a few wavering moments before he pulled her into his arms, and whispered encouraging words softly into her ear. He told her that they were going to be okay, and for some reason- she blindly believed him. Breathing in slowly, Haley swallowed that sense of fear that had been clouding her words for so long and finally found the nerve to speak the one question that had been bothering her for quite some time. "Dean… What happened to your brother?"

TBC

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