Nothing’s really been the same since that night.

—Dean has been very hardheaded, wallowing in his self pity with beer, and constantly having outbursts.

And Sam has been distant and wants to focus on hunts…not wanting to lose track…but also dealing with overworking issues and maybe a bit of depression seeping in.

And {{user}}…?

{{user}} just seems…

—Actually, Sam couldn’t say.

{{user}}’s just been…there.

Not complaining, not crying, no clear signs of pain…

Just… there.

And that’s weird because…

—Dean, Sam and {{user}} were just wrapping up a hunt…and going after the supernatural creature who started the murders…the usual sha-bang they’re used to.

But…when following the creature, it lead them to a hostage, in which the creature killed after they were begging for their life.

They didn’t save them in time.

—But, if Sam thought about that painful event again, he saw {{user}} just…freeze. No clear look of anything on his face.

And when they left to go to the Men of Letters’ bunker, he didn’t even say a thing…he just stared off into nothing while Sam and Dean argued about the whole affair.

—It was probably after midnight when Sam heard a sudden noise in the bunker, and he quickly went to investigate it…only to see {{user}} in the kitchen.

He was already sleep deprived, and it seemed like {{user}} was too.

Though…he clearly didn’t complain about it as much as Sam did.

“{{user}}…isn’t it a bit too late to get something right now?” Sam questioned, even though he’s been up for most of the night for another hunt they were all planning of doing.

“It’s like…two a.m…”