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It was meant to be a simple hunt. Go in, inspect the house, put the bags in the wall to remove the hex, and protect the family. That was the plan. What wasn’t the plan was the little girl being convinced you were hurting her imaginary friend. That she would run from her mom and brother on the front lawn, get into the house, and have the angry spirit slam her into the wall. You tried to save her, did everything you could to keep her from getting hurt. But you were too late, she didn’t make it. You held her limp body, searching for a pulse that wasn’t there. Your throat started to tighten as the realization she was gone set in. You worked hard to finish putting the bags in the walls, knowing you did everything right when the house was silent. You ran back through the house to the girl’s small body, praying that she would suddenly be fine. That it was magic making her lay limply on the ground and not that she was gone.
Her mother was the first to come into the house. You saw her face twist with panic as she took in the sight of you holding her daughter’s hand, looking for a pulse once again. You managed to keep your voice steady as you informed her of what happened. That her daughter was gone, and how sorry you were. You were shocked that the mother told you it wasn’t your fault as she cried. You stayed to comfort her as best you could, but you didn’t know how to. You couldn’t get past the guilt that weighed heavy in your chest.
Eventually, the mom told you that you didn’t need to stay. That she and her son would be okay. You said your goodbyes and got into your old truck. You made the drive back to the bunker with tears escaping occasionally and your hands trembling. The day on the road gave your mind plenty of time to replay the hunt over and over again. You tried to come up with some way you could have saved that little girl, but nothing seemed like it could have worked. Finally pulling into the bunker’s garage, you slammed the truck door harder than you usually would. The tears you tried so hard to fight off couldn’t be avoided any longer.
You cried as you walked down the halls of the bunker, stumbling your way to your room. You dropped your duffel at the foot of your bed and deftly undid your boot laces. You toed the boot off, kicking it in the direction of your closet. You harshly wiped the tears off your cheeks, trying to breathe between your sobs. Your breaths were ragged gasps as you tried to breathe. You unsteadily walked to the bathroom, turning on the shower. You removed your clothes with shaky hands before stepping into the steamy spray of water. You harshly scrubbed your skin clean, wanting to do everything possible to remove any lingering signs of the hunt from you.
You made sure to scrub away the dirt and grime from your body. Scrubbing over your skin repeatedly until you felt like nothing remained of the hunt. You slowly calmed down in the shower. Sobs turning into nothing more than the occasional hiccup, your tears eventually dried up until no more fell from your lashes. All too soon the warm spray of water turned cold and you had to step out. You wrapped a towel around yourself before going back into your room. You opened your dresser and pulled on a pair of sweatpants before turning to Dean’s side of the closet and grabbing an old band tee to pull on as well.
You tried to relax, turning on the television and sitting on the bed. You busied your hands with brushing your hair, getting all the knots out that formed from washing it. Once all the knots were gone, you started braiding your hair while blankly staring at the colors on the screen. But no matter what you did, all your mind could focus on was that little girl. You just wanted to be able to focus on anything else. Not knowing any other way to silence your racing mind all alone, you walked to the kitchen. You had promised Dean you wouldn’t solve your problems this way any more, but you were desperate.
You pulled a glass down and opened the bottle of whiskey. You carried the bottle while walking back to your room, drinking the glass as you walked. You had glass after glass until your eyes felt heavy. It got harder to keep your eyes open until you stopped fighting it. You allowed the alcohol in your system to lull you to sleep. You were grateful that you dreamlessly slept.
When you awoke the familiar pounding was present in the back of your head. You tried to remember what happened, and regretted it immediately when the hunt came back. You made your way back to the kitchen once again, grabbing another bottle of whiskey. Skipping the glass this time, you took a long drink from the bottle. You drank your feelings away, laying on the couch in the library. You spent the day there, wallowing in your regret. You found the more you drank, the less your head hurt. Soon, you couldn’t keep your eyes open again and slept on the couch.
You were half asleep when you heard the bunker’s door clang closed. You heard the sound of Sam and Dean’s voices, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying. Your mind was sluggish. No matter how hard you tried to wake up, your eyes were too heavy to open. You felt a warm touch against your cheek, a calloused thumb stroking against it. As your mind went further toward sleep, you felt arms slide under you before lifting.
With a groan, you blinked your eyes open. Your head was pounding and your mouth felt dry. You were in your bed, propped up by pillows. As you lifted a hand to rub your eye Dean walked into the room.
“You’re up,” Dean sounded relieved. He was carrying a bottle and a glass of water. He set the glass down on the nightstand before opening the bottle. He tipped out two little white pills before offering you them. “I figured you’d need Tylenol for the headache.”
“Thank you,” you croaked out.
You took the little pills and dropped them into your mouth. Dean held the glass to your lips and tilted it so you could slowly drink. You easily downed half the glass before he pulled it away.
“Easy,” Dean cautioned. “We don’t want you getting sick.”
“I’m sorry,” you spoke clearly this time.
“I know,” he gently spoke. “I don’t like it, but I understand why you do it. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Bad hunt. It was a little girl, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I just wanted to stop focusing on it.”
“Sweetheart,” Dean sighed out.
“I know, I shouldn’t have done that. But you two were gone, and I didn’t want to interrupt. I knew I shouldn’t have–”
“That’s not what I was going to say,” Dean quickly kissed the top of your head. “I was going to say that I’m sorry that happened. But don’t ever feel like you can’t call me. I am always here for you. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
You nodded slightly, looking up at Dean. You grabbed his hand and gave it an appreciative squeeze.