Her Misery… His Tragedy

Dean was standing in the kitchen at Herd. He stared at the pan in the pancakes, which he wanted to make for breakfast. He had heard the cry of terror. He knew that they would be there right away, with him, that they would ask for an explanation. He did not have the slightest idea what to say. He stared at the pan. The grease splashed to the sides. He heard the doorways sound as if noiseless. He raised his head. Sam came running into the kitchen. Dean saw the shocked eyes of his brother. Sam stared at him. Sam could see it. As he stood there, bent over the hearth, his hands on the work surface, his eyes lowered, his brows lifted. Sam could see it … His brother knew it already. Dean raised his head. His eyes reflected all his emotions. Grief, anger, disappointment … guilt. Sam could not tell why, but Dean was blamed for something. It smelled burnt. Behind Sam, Ashley came running into the kitchen. She hurried without a stop around the kitchen block, which stood in the middle of the room, and Dean fell sobbingly around his neck. He closed his arms around her and pressed her tightly to him. Sam turned the stove off and put his arms around Akshley and his brother. He felt Ashley’s trembling, he could hear her sobbing. He stroked her back comfortingly. Dean had buried his face in Ashleys hair. He too was crying. Quiet still. None of the three knew how long they were standing there. Dean eventually departed from the embrace and left the kitchen. Sam and Ashley stayed alone. Ashley looked at Sam for a moment with her swollen eyes before he closed his arms around her and gently pressed her down. He ran her tenderly over her hair and spoke calmly to her.

Dean had left. On the terrace behind the house. He was sitting on one of the garden chairs, his face buried in his hands. He thought about the last few months. He could not understand. Had she been the one who had told him he could talk to her about everything?

He had pushed her into her room, grinning. She defended herself … but only half-heartedly: “Damn Dean again. Leave the crap! I have to…”
He had interrupted her, turned her over and closed her lips with his.
“You … do not have to.”
But their protest had brought nothing. He had just lifted them up and put them on the bed. As he leaned over her, the protest finally stopped. She took his face between her hands and pulled it down to her: “You’re a dirty Mistkerl Dean Winchester.”
“I’ve heard more,” he grinned, closing the gap between them.

Cara had laid her head on his shoulder and ran his fingertips over the tattoo on his chest. She had her eyes closed, but she still noticed how thoughtful Dean looked out the window. Light snowflakes fell. Maybe the last for this year. She opened the eyes and sat up a bit: “Hey. Everything okay?”
Dean turned his head confused to his girlfriend, looked at her briefly and then shook his head: “Yes, everything okay.”
He drove her over the stifled hair and she put her head back on his upper arm. He stroked her hair and looked outside again. Cara put his arm over his chest and watched him for a while. His eyes were directed into the distance at a point which she could not pursue. She watched his pensive facial features, which were petrified. She raised her hand and ran with her fingertips in circular movements over his chest. He barely got anything from it. He looked out the window at the falling snowflakes. He did not even notice how Cara began to kiss his shoulder and as she walked on with her lips. When she had reached his earlobe and he still did not show any reaction, she sat up again: “Get me first from the research and then ignore me. Damn something is wrong with you. ”
Dean looked at her confused, then sighed, “I’m sorry. Is okay.”
“Nothing is okay.”
She leaned toward him until her faces were only a few inches apart: “Baby …”
He turned his head away: “Please do not look at me like that!”
She grinned, “Oh, yes! I know this look makes you small. ”
She turned his face back to him, “I know you do not like to talk, and … I do not, but … we … wherever we should be … I’m here, I listen to you.”
He smiled weakly. He knew that in reality it was much more difficult than she was now telling. He nodded, “Okay! If you say that.”
“I’m serious. You do not have to deal with everything alone Dean. ”
He found this statement paradoxically from her mouth, but he knew she meant it well. He laid a hand on her cheek, “Okay.”
They closed the gap between themselves and clung together again.

Dean narrowed his eyes tightly until he got a headache to drive the memory out of his head. It was over! She had gone, had left him. Dean wanted to hate her, he wanted to be angry. But he could not. Not yet!

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