hunting is damn hard. not just physically, but mentally. and its not like you can skip off to a therapist and tell them about the demons that haunt your life. how you and the people you love risk their lives everyday. thats why since you lost bobby, its been weighing really hard on all of you. "its part of the job" he'd tell you if he were here "don't you dare sit on your ass and wail in self pity on my account" you can hear his voice in your head. but he's not here. he's gone. you weren't the only one that found it hard to reach out for help and you wanted to be strong for dean and sam, he was like a father to them too.

you're sat on the porch in the very early hours of the morning, the only time that you could almost face your overwhelming grief without feeling like a burden to anybody. the sound of the porch door gently opening tore you from your thoughts. you wiped the tears from your face as your head snapped up to see dean, trudging his way over to you in his pyjamas, his bed hair still very evident, and his features puffy and swollen from sleep.

"what you doin' up?" his gravelly voice softly spoke, as he sat down beside you, wiping the sleep from his eyes.