Disclaimer: I don't own supernatural, the Impala, or and demon-summoning devices.

Sunday

Monday

Monday is just like any other day, no different from Saturday, Thursday or Tuesday. I suppose it could be different from Sunday mainly because Sunday is technically the start of a new week. But there is nothing new in my life. Sam is still a pain in the ass, my shotgun is still filled with rock salt and my baby still looks mighty fine.

I guess the only thing that has changed is the motel. The third motel we've stayed at in the last week. Though the first for this week. It's stupid. I need a vacation, to get away from this place, this job. It's enough to drive anyone insane, no matter how stable your life is or isn't.

Sam and I were sitting on our beds trying to find a lead on this demon we found down the road. Sam the computer wizard genius was typing away at his silver laptop. I so badly wanted to smash it up, just to watch his face change from shock to anger within a split second. That would make me laugh no matter how low on coffee I was. Got to hand it to the boy, he knew how to entertain me.

"Dean, are you sure you're ok?" Sam asked in his let's-hug-and-remember-the-good-times voice. It drives me nuts. Touchy-feely that boy is. And he still to this day denies that he's gay. Well, I know the truth no matter how many times he says the word "straight".

"Sammy, I swear to god if you ask me if I'm ok again I will kill you," I growled as I looked back down at my book, which I really had no interest in.

He understood what I was going through, and he thinks it's important to talk about our feelings.

Screw feelings.

Feelings are the reason people screw up, slip up and are endlessly trying to find a way to get back up again. I'm not going down that road like everyone else. I'm hurt, so I'm going to stay in my nice warm cosy shell with nothing but coffee, tacos and a hot model I found on the internet.

"Yeah, alright," Sam mumbled under his breath, trying to cover it with the loud typing and sniffing. He wasn't going to leave it, I could tell. He has that same face he puts on when he's stewing over a question and he desperately wants to ask me. He needs no cue, no 'spit it out', he'll wait for the perfect opportunity to ask it. I don't know when, and I don't really care, but he will.

"You really loved her didn't you?"

"SAM FOR GOD'S SAKE STOP TALKING ABOUT HER. SHE DOESN'T NEED TO BE SPOKEN ABOUT SO DROP IT AND LET ME DO MY JOB." I shouted, shooting up from my bed and slamming the old book we borrowed from library on the floor with a loud thud.

I thought he was going to ask something like… something different. Love has nothing to do with this. It's always about love for him. Just because he's felt it doesn't mean everyone else has, too. I haven't and I refused to. In actual fact I hated her. Loathed her, to say the least. She was a bitch and she left. If he wanted a puppet play with gay music and narration then he had another thing coming.

I grabbed my keys from the table by the door and slammed the door shut after me.

It all started last Sunday.

Sunday

"Dean, I made your favourite," Becky said in her sweet delicate voice. It was like music to my ears whenever she said my name. I gave her a heart warming smile as she placed the plate of tacos before me, taking the seat opposite.

She looked beautiful that night; the long deep blue dress which complemented her pale skin and thin frame perfectly. You wouldn't have guessed she was a hunter just like me and Sam. But that's the way she wanted it. To make sure no one knew about her occupation.

I was startled when she first told me, and then continued with the stories of her early hunts and how she and her father would go on adventures. Dad and I never had adventures, we only had jobs. That was something I was jealous of.

She had a childhood, I had training. But there was something about her which I couldn't describe fully; I could see it, sense it, smell it and longed to feel it, but it was out of my reach. I wanted to jump for it, grab it with both hands but if I did, I would fall and crumble. I wasn't going to take that chance. I don't do crumbling like I don't do shorts. Shorts and I don't match.

"So what's the occasion?" I asked, taking a bite of the taco. The delicious centre warmed me up as soon as I swallowed. They were the best tacos ever.

"I have to tell you something… and I thought this would be the most appropriate way to do it," Becky smiled as she used her knife and fork to eat hers. I could never tempt her in using her hands for the taco job but I didn't push her. I couldn't. She looked too delicate and too fragile to even raise my voice at. Her porcelain skin could crack.

"Ok, shoot."

"Dean, you may want to stop eating first."

I placed my taco down and looked at her with wide eyes. This did not sound good. I thought of ways to prepare myself for the worst but I didn't know how. What could be the worse? She was pregnant? Great. I always wanted to be a dad. A mini-Dean running around would be a dream come true.

"What's on your mind?"

I could see her sigh. A long, painfully close to tears sigh. It broke my heart personally but I stayed in my seat, my expression not changing. I felt like a statue. She definitely wasn't pregnant. If she was, there would be a lot of tears, and a hug. And the allowance of taco consumption.

"Becky?" I asked with an expressionless voice. How was I meant to say her name? In a song? With pink pom poms doing a very poorly rehearsed cheer?

She stayed with her eyes shut and her arms wrapped around her chest.

"I-I, there is something which I must tell you and you cannot speak."

"Umm...ok?" Crap, I spoke but how could I not. She slurred her words and I didn't know what to do. I'm worried and she wasn't exactly leaving me much choice.

"Dean, I'm sorry." She breathed. Her voice was a whisper crawling with hurt, pain and perhaps guilt. She finally opened her eyes and a single tear came running down her cheek. I felt the tears prickle my eyes too. It hurt to see her like this. She's my best friend. The only person I felt a connection with who isn't the same sex and didn't share the same DNA and last name as me.

"You remember the crossroads demon I came across, that one I told you about?" She asked so innocently my eyes widened with a gasp. She didn't, she couldn't. She wouldn't. Would she? My head starting shaking and my head fell into my heads. "I'm so sorry Dean," she cried, and I threw myself from my chair and flew to her, I don't recall my feet touching the floor.

I held her tight to me, her hair in my face as I kissed her neck, my eyes now full of tears like hers.

"Dean, I had to save her. She couldn't leave me like that. She had more of an opportunity than I could ever have," she screamed between sobs. I held her close and spoke sternly.

"Don't you dare underestimate yourself, do you hear me?" I kissed her neck again wanting her just one more day. I needed one more day.

"Dean, I love you."

"I love you, Becky."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too."

She pulled away from me; her tears stained her cheeks and mine her hair. She looked a mess, her once respectful elegance appeared fractured, and something you would see in a horror movie, but she was a beautiful mess.

"How long do you have?" I asked innocently, trying to break the silence. I didn't want her answer I couldn't bear to hear the words I feared the most.

"One hour."

I kissed her once more, passionately on the lips. My love, my best friend would be taken from me forever. There wasn't anything I could do to stop it. I could save her, risk my life for hers but I couldn't do that to Sammy. I couldn't and she wouldn't want me to do it to her either.

It felt like a lifetime we were there, wound up tight together her delicate lips placed on mine. She tugged on me to let go but I couldn't. I swore to myself to never leave her. I wasn't going leave her now. She needed me in this time of need.

"Goodbye, Dean Winchester"

This Sunday isn't something I want to remember.