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He was gone. He must be. It's not like he was itching to stay around, certainly not for you. Not anymore anyway.
It's not something you liked to think about but you'd drank the entire bottle of whiskey you had stored away and the moon was staring at you funny. Almost like it was challenging you to feel.
Fuck the moon. Fuck it.
You rolled over on your side, trying to distance yourself from the only enemy you had at the moment.
The moon was just the moon.
The whiskey begged to differ.
He was gone. It wasn't because he had a choice or because he thought it would help if you felt like he had. He just didn't reside in himself anymore.
You remember talking to Sam once before. He told you. He saw it, the darkness that was there. It was going to happen, Dean was going to change and the one thing you didn't count on was that you were going to as well.
It was different. The way it happened. It wasn't something the sun was fimiliar with and you were jealous the sun didn't have to see what you did.
What's today? What's the day? You don't know but it's concerning right now because you want to keep your mind off of the past. Anything is better than there. Dying is better than there.
There once was a time where he'd be here, right where you are, drinking right along with you. He'd tip the bottle back like there was nothing to it. His eyes would find your face and he'd give you that classic 'Dean Winchester' look with a smirk and pass the bottle to you, hoping you don't see whats hiding behind his eyes.
You'd sit in that silence with him, let him take what he wanted from it. He'd talk to you about his life.
He'd talk about how his mother was the light and how she saved him. Sometimes even now.
He'd talk about his father and about how he was the water. How he'd bend and twist and destroy but on some days the water would be silent.
When the water was silent he didn't know what to do.
He never spoke about Sam. A few words would slip out but you knew Sam was fire. He wasn't wrong or bad or needed to be extinguished. He just needed to stay warm but too often he burned.
That was then though and you can't help but think that you dont know who's the light or the water or the fire anymore or who you were to him ever or why the moon is still daring you to go further.
You shouldn't spend so much time thinking about him or trying to write tragedy's about him. You sure as hell can't wax poetic about how he was the righteous man anymore so why does it matter.
You take a small breath in and let it out heavily. When did you stop thinking of him as the righteous man? When did he become less? Did he become less or were you just upset because he knew what he wanted even though he had been warped over time.
It doesn't matter. It never did. It shouldn't have.
This was just another night of you feeling sorry for yourself and the things you had missed out on.
This wasn't just about him.
If you had been different before, not just a warrior of God, a machine, if you had gotten over that sooner and fallen faster then maybe you would've been able to appreciate who he once was.
Maybe, if you had never picked up the whiskey and the drugs when he asked you not to then maybe the moon wouldn't be staring at you now.
Maybe, if he wasn't who he was it'd be easier not to care.
Maybe, if you had been a better friend instead of relying in your faith in the man and taking that as your charge you could've stopped your downward spiral long enough to notice he was drowning to.
You're rambling and it's making you want to vomit. You didn't realize you were muttering your insecurities and thoughts aloud.
It didn't matter anyway you tell yourself as you put the pillow over your face, exhausted.
It's in the shadow of the moon that you realize even though things have changed, you still love him.