Prologue

Fate was always a fickle bitch. I hated her sometimes. Like tonight, for instance. I could see Sam and Dean from my seat, but they hadn't noticed me yet. Hopefully they wouldn't. I wasn't here to spend time with them, I was here watching Dean. Wondering if he'd forgotten about me yet. If he'd moved on. If he was back to his old ways, the old him, the one I hadn't seen in a long, long time. I held my whiskey close, inhaling the woodsy scent, knowing full well it's how Dean's mouth would taste if I got close enough to kiss him.

He loved whiskey.

I loved him, but I couldn't say it. I couldn't get the words past my lips, and I was an idiot for thinking it, but I wished he would tell me if it still mattered. He probably didn't miss me at all. I caught Sam's gaze for a moment and he sadly nodded his head in my direction. I look pathetic. I knew it, could feel the mortification down to my bones. As soon as Dean saw me, I would be wilting from the inside out, wishing like hell I hadn't stuck around for the shame to kick in. I wasn't exactly drunk yet, but I wasn't sober either, and a drunk Marren was much more ballsy than a sober one.

He was wearing my favorite Pink Floyd shirt and I could practically smell the fabric softener he used to wash it. The scent filled my head, made me dizzy, had me white-knuckling my glass. I remembered the way he would hold me, one hand around my waist and the other buried in my hair. He would smile gently against my lips before he would nip my bottom lip, his green eyes hazy.

The memories threatened to assault me right in the middle of the bar if I didn't do my damndest to let them go, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to let him go, but that's what he asked me for. It's what he said he wanted. I didn't trust myself not to reach out for him, to tell him that I love him, that it didn't have to end. I'd been there for him whenever he needed me to, but now, I was nothing but a faded memory. Just the soft notes of a slow song he would never listen to again...

"You look good," I heard. I jerked myself out of my reverie and looked up to see Sam standing close to me. He was smiling, albeit a little sadly. The pity. I hated the fucking pity, and Sam was delivering all of it.

"Thank you. I was just on my way out," I said softly as I threw a twenty onto the table top. I glanced up at Sam who was watching me knowingly. He patted me gently on the back.

"I miss seeing you around. Come by whenever you're free."

"I'll do my best to stop by," I lied. I could tell he knew I was lying. I could tell he wanted to call me out on it, but Sam was always a gentleman, and he wouldn't. Not now. Not after how things ended.

Rain, tears, slamming impala doors. Yelling, anger, betrayal.

I could see the memory of it dancing in his eyes, and I knew that we were on the same page. He hugged me for no longer than three seconds and then released me, his head dipping. I could see he wanted to say something, so I took a deep breath and drank what was left in my glass.

"Just say it, Sammy. You're gonna swallow your tongue."

"He didn't mean it, Marren. Come back. If you come back and just talk to him-," I held up my hand, fighting back a few tears. He didn't mean anything by it, Sammy never did, he just wanted what was best for me and for Dean.

"He don't love me, Sammy boy. He never did. The world ain't ending anymore, and there is nothing keeping us apart. If he wanted me, he'd have found me by now. I know you want him to be happy, and me too, but I'm not the ending that man wants. It's okay, and one day, I'll be okay, too."

Sam watched me silently before he finally nodded and moved slightly so I could get around him. When I did, I was smacked in the face by the sight of Dean close and cozy with a busty blonde. I wasn't his type, not from the start, but seeing him up to his old ways cut me to the core in a way that had me hissing in pain through my teeth. It hurt like hell.

I ducked my head before we could make eye contact, and made my way to the front of the bar. There is no way I could let it go, the way he watched her, the way he leaned in close like he used to do with me. It hurt. Stung like a son of a bitch, but I should have known that things wouldn't work. He'd never been built for the apple pie life, and even though I was more of a blueberry pie girl myself, I could never live up to these women he met in the bars.

I was too real.