Under a blood red sky

After getting Ellen back to where she needed to be, Dean headed back to the room.

He couldn't tell anyone, Ellen said. Couldn't tell anyone who she was. Not the people who mattered, at least. Not Sam. Not Bobby.

Not Jo.

Ellen was his kid. His and Jo's, and he couldn't tell Jo.

It was already eating him. So naturally, the answer was to shut down, and drink. It was the Winchester way, made popular by John, the tradition carried on proudly by Dean, over and over. And over.

Jo hadn't been awake. And Dean'd got up in the morning and out the door without talking to her.

Tonight, he shut the door to the motel room and put a new, unopened bottle of whiskey on the table. He had another one in his hand that was already open. Only the liquor in the neck had been drunk, however. Dean never drove when he was drunk, and he'd had to get back. He'd headed home by way of the West York liquor store.

He'd been out all day, thinking about things. About everything that was at risk. His life, Jo's life. Ellen's life. Mary's life. Sam's probably, too. What else? The town? It had to be something huge.

He hadn't tried to get Cas just yet. He was too mad.

Dean was hoping that Jo wasn't going to be here until he passed out. He was really hoping. Because he couldn't tell her. What would she think? That Ellen was a girl he was interested in? If he didn't say anything, she might. He wasn't going to not help Ellen or not spend time with her.

And Cas had SUCH a tongue lashing coming.

When the bathroom door opened, Dean shut his eyes, opened the bottle, and took a drink.