❝ I look and feel like absolute shit. ❞
it’s true. she can vouch for one of those things. not the feelings, because nobody ever really knows how the great dean winchester feels, but she knows that he looks like shit. he looks like he hasn’t slept in days or showered in just as long. normally, she’d tug him inside and fix him up. today? after what he’s told her? she’s really, really struggling to give a fuck.
jane knows that they were never going to be one of the great love stories, but she didn’t know just how far out of his way dean was prepared to go to avoid it from happening. the drinking and the drugs feel like an occupational hazard, and she’s prepared to forgive those. the girls... if she doesn’t hear about them, she can pretend they’re not real. she’s always been good at blocking things out and pretending.
how does she go about blocking out the fact that her boyfriend is having a BABY with some groupie whore?
if the timing were different, jane could have learned to forgive. maybe they could have gone out as some weird, messed-up family, ryan and max holding onto her hands, some anonymous baby strapped to his chest. even if it is his own damn fault, it’s unfortunate for dean that this comes along while she’s still riding the wave of their loss. it feels like some kind of sick joke. dean winchester will be a father, but only to one kid, and not to hers. jane can’t help but think he’ll be happier this way, anyway. it keeps crossing her mind that maybe he didn’t want this with her after all, and her loss was actually a blessing for him.
and yet here he is, saying that he feels like shit? she wants to say oh, honey. try being me.
“---yeah, you look awful.”
over the past few days, she’s cried and avoided every call or text anyone has tried to send her. her curtains have stayed shut, because she knows there are always cameras just beyond the gates waiting to capture her image. if she looks off, even for a second, they’ll play the same old song of the heartbroken jane wyndham, alone, tragic, oh-so-stupid and oh-so-sad. and yet now none of that seems to matter. now, she has absolutely no qualms about letting dean stay on her damn doorstep so he can suffer.
her forehead crinkles and she lifts her focus from the floor, eyes fixing on his. “look, I... I don’t know even why you’re here,” she says, arms folded as she leans against the door frame. “and this is gonna sound selfish, okay? real selfish, but I just... I don’t care. I can’t. see, I don’t know if you realised, ‘cause, y’know, you left for rehab first chance you got, but I lost a kid. our kid. and that hurt. I don’t expect you to GET it, ‘cause I know you didn’t want it in the first place, but-- it hurt me. and you weren’t really here. and now, suddenly, you... you’re fine. you lose one kid, you get a replacement. you get a replacement through FUCKING someone else, dean. you see how that sounds? our baby dies, and the first thing you do is fuck someone. and you come here talking about how you feel like shit? y’know who else probably feels like shit? that poor girl you just HAD to stick your condomless dick into. I’ll bet she’s feeling rough right now. last thing anybody wants is to be having a kid with someone who is totally emotionally unavailable. I mean, what’s happening now is hard for me, but THAT prospect is so fucking TRAGIC that it almost makes me grateful.
--so if you’re here looking for sympathy, honey, i suggest you get the FUCK off my porch.”
