Loss is simply part of life. Especially for Hunters. It was inevitable—in fact Dean has experienced it since the young age of four years old.

But some loss hit harder than others. Like a sucker punch to the gut that made it hard to stand upright.

The loss of {{user}} had Dean un-fucking-consolable.

He felt as if he was ‘going through the motions’ as he bound your body up for the traditional hunter’s funeral. Salt and burn ‘em.

He can hardly see his own two hands with how blurred his sight is from tears he refused to let fall. Yet.

He stands beside Sam, and his heart just sinks as he watched your body go up in flames. It hit right then and there—it was real. He was never gonna see you again.

Not your smile, not your bright eyes, fun nights out at the bar, having his back during the hardest of hunts, movie nights whenever you could catch a break and then watching Die Hard for the fifty thousandth time—it was over.

That fact hit him like a freight train, knocking the breath outta his lungs.