Dean blinked his eyes open and sat up. Rubbing a hand over his face he sighed. It had been almost two weeks since the incident, two weeks since he carried Holly back into her apartment, wrapped her in blankets and made her hot tea. He'd then spent hours explaining the Mark of Cain; what it was, how he got it, how he thought he had it under control. Now he prayed every day that things would improve. That night in the park, while he held Holly in the pouring rain as she fell apart, he began to remember why he never let himself love before. He was always too afraid that he would put someone in danger, that it would destroy the one he loved. Now that was a horror coming true. Holly was so withdrawn that he was terrified he would never see her beautiful smile again. It broke his heart to see her forcing a smile and telling everyone she was fine, when clearly she was not. For the first time in two weeks he had stayed at Holly's apartment. It had been the most time they had spent together as well. He hadn't slept much at all, lying on the couch and staring at the ceiling. The night before it broke his heart when he watched Holly disappear into her bedroom silently, locking the door behind her. Lost in his thoughts he was surprised when he heard Holly moving about the kitchen.
"Morning," he said softly as he walked into the kitchen.
"Morning," Holly whispered as she picked up her cup of coffee and slid past Dean quickly. She sat on the couch and sipped on her coffee. At times she thought she was been silly and overreacting to the whole situation. Then she would remember the callous look on Dean's face, the way he put that blade to her throat, the soulless, black eyes that had looked right through her. The thought made her shiver and she hugged her jumper closer to her. Dean sat at the opposite end of the couch, his fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. She had foolishly thought that Dean would not take her up on the offer to stay the night, but he did. Holly went about her normal routine, acting as if Dean was not sitting restlessly on the couch. By midday Dean couldn't take it any more. Holly was in the bedroom putting away a pile of clean laundry when he walked in.
"Can we please talk?" Dean asked, stepping over to sit on the end of the bed.
"About?" Holly's response was short.
"Anything...What can I do to make things better?" it was the same question he had been asking her repeatedly.
"Like I said, Dean, I don't think you can make it better," Holly refused to look at Dean, instead she continued to fold clothes and put them away.
"Holly, I miss you," Dean sighed the truth. He missed everything about her. Their late night conversations about nothing in particular, the way she would smile, her laugh, little things she did;he missed it all. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold her close, he wanted to kiss her, even if it was just once.
"I think you should go,"Holly muttered. Her back was turned but she heard Dean stand up. She didn't turn around, she couldn't. The tears in her eyes threatened to spill down her cheeks if she did. She listened to his footsteps and then the door closed with a gentle thud. Only then did she sit on the bed, her voice a whisper "I miss you too,"
Dean sat on the edge of his bed, a glass in one hand, the bottle in the other. He sipped at the whiskey, letting it roll down it throat as he tried to drown out the pain he felt. Despite acting like such a tough guy he came to realise very quickly over the past two weeks that the act only lasts for so long. He placed the bottle on the bedside table and reached out to pick up the thick, tattered journal that was his fathers. He flipped open the front cover and picked up the photo he had placed there.
"How'd you do it, Dad?" he asked to the silence of the room as he stared at the picture of his mother and father, smiles on their faces, love in their eyes. He finished off the drink in his hand, the glass connecting with the bedside table with just a little too much force. He hadn't realised that a single tear had rolled down his cheek. A knock on his bedroom door had him quickly stashing the photo back into the journal. He wiped his face and cleared his throat.
"Dean?" Sam asked from the other side of the door.
"Yeah," Dean managed to get out. When Sam walked in the first thing he spotted was the nearly empty bottle of whiskey. He looked to his brother, concern plastered on his face.
"Are you ok?" Sam asked as he sat next to Dean even though he already knew the answer.
"Fine," Dean responded but he knew he wasn't fine, he knew that Sam was all too aware he wasn't fine. Sam gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze before he left the room. He'd seen Dean drink before, and it got worse when things were bad, but this was out of control. Dean had no sooner arrived back at the bunker and he was drinking, he hadn't stopped since, and it was now nearing eight o'clock. He sat down at the table and pulled out his phone.
"Hello?"
"Holly, it's Sam," he said.
"What do you want?" Holly snapped.
"Just hear me out...It's Dean, he's not coping...He regrets everything, he hates himself for what he did. He's drunk nearly a whole bottle of whiskey since he got back from your place. I know your angry with him, I know what he did was wrong and I understand that you are traumatised from it...But please just give him a chance, let him say what he needs to say to you..." Sam's voice was soft and pleading.
"I... I'll think about it," Holly whispered.
"Thank you," Sam hung up and breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't much but it was a start. He knew he couldn't change what happened, he knew he couldn't make either of them feel better but if he could get one of them to budge it was a step in the right direction. He opened his laptop and started to browse the news articles, searching for something of interest that might help Dean get back into the swing of things. Hours passed and Sam realised that Holly was not coming. He closed his laptop and went to bed, hoping Dean would be ok.
