Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine.

It was dark outside, and Dean Winchester was exhausted. His ribs were bruised from their last job, and his jaw hurt from where Sammy'd taken a swing at him the night before. In short, things were shitty and he just wanted to finish his beer and get some shut eye before he had to get up and do it all over again.

"Dean." Sam drew his attention. Dean glanced at his brother, who was pulling on his coat next to the door. "I'm gonna get some food. You want anything?" He asked.

"Nah, man, I'm good." Dean answered, still in that awkward getting-over-a-fight stage. Sam frowned but shrugged.

"Okay." He let it go, closing the door softly behind him. Dean watched him walk by through the window, headed for the diner next door.

Dean sighed. Sammy shouldn't have all that weight on those big-ass shoulders of his. The apocalypse, the demon blood… the kid should be in law school, married to Jessica not in some run down hotel room with his drunk brother, still recovering from his own addiction.

It was Dean's fault. All of it. He pulled Sam back in when they all thought he'd gotten out. Truth be told, he could have found John without Sam. One simple phone call from John saying "Dean, don't look for me. That's an order." And that would have been that. He'd have left it alone and they'd have found some other way to kill old Yellow Eyes.

Sometimes Dean wondered if he hadn't done it intentionally, if maybe he hadn't wanted to doom Sam to the kind of life he was already living just so he could comfort himself by knowing that someone else was living it too. If knowing Sam was so miserable wouldn't make him less miserable himself.

The truth was, Dean was miserable. To the world he was righteous, cocky, resourceful. Dean Winchester could MacGyver himself out of any scrape Heaven or Hell could throw at him, but in the few precious moments every now and then where he was alone in the crummy hotel room, he let it get to him. Sam, John's death, his destiny. Jo.

He took a long draw on his beer at that thought. If she was popping up in his mind now, there was no chance of sleep anywhere in the near future, no matter how much alcohol he drank. He tried not to think of her, because of the terrible things in his life, that he had seen, losing Joanna Beth Harville was the single hardest moment he had survived. Hell had nothing on seeing her like that, torn to bits, blood burbling out like a stream, Ellen holding her hand and watching her baby slip away, all of them knowing it was inevitable. Knowing that was his fault, too.

"Dean." Her voice brought him out of his staring contest with the wall. His head snapped toward it, the beer slipping from his fingers with a dull thunk as it hit the floor, the foamy brew gushing out. Dean ignored it, the breath leaving his lungs with a woosh. "Aren't you happy to see me?" She asked, shrugging one shoulder in that innocent way, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She smirked at him, one hand on her hip. "Never thought I'd see that day where Dean Winchester was struck speechless."

"Jo?" He asked, his voice low with disbelief. She was more beautiful than he remembered. Of course, he'd never seen her in a dress, with make up on, having done anything to her hair. Not that all that mattered so much to Dean, but this Jo before him, in her white sun dress, hair falling down in soft curls, was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been pale and sweaty and in pain. She'd been terrified and hurt, dying in an effort to save him.

"It's me." She confirmed, her cajoling demeanor slipping away as she crossed the room in three small, graceful steps to take his face in her hands, careful of his bruised jaw. She tilted his face up to her, searching his face seriously. "It's not your fault. John, Sam, the apocalypse. What happened to me."

"How did you – " Dean asked, but she pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"Kiss me, Dean. Kiss me like it was our last night together." When she asked him, the words weren't desperate or melodramatic. They were full of love and understanding and hurt and a need which Dean responded to unquestioningly. He surged up, meeting her lips with a hard kiss, one hand going to the back of her neck. They sank down together, her hair tickling his face as his hands explored her, running down her back as her hand ran through his hair.

"Jo." He whispered, all thoughts of guilt completely erased as he took her in, smoothing back her hair to look into her eyes. She grinned impishly at him again, her eyes crinkling happily.

"We gonna talk all night?" She asked playfully, running her hands over his chest. He hisses when she grazed his bruised ribs, but then her hands were around his neck and she was alive and in his arms and kissing him.

"Are you an angel?" He asked softly.

"I'm just a girl." She answered just as softly. "And you're just a man." She leaned back until she was sitting up, one knee on either side of him as she straddled his hips. Dean's heartrate hitched up the second her hands went for the sleeves of her dress, and he about had a heart attack when she pulled the whole dress down past her belly button before bringing one of his hands up to cup her breast. "We've got one night Dean. Make it count."

Dean's mouth was completely dry. If Ellen were alive, she would kill him. But for the life of him, Dean couldn't help himself. She was there, and he was there, and after everything all he wanted was to lose himself in her, to take comfort in the arms of the only woman who could ever truly love him. His other hand went to her side, pulling her back down to him, and she came willingly, this time pressing kisses and soft nibbles to his uninjured jaw.

She was just nibbling his earlobe when Sam burst in, shotgun drawn and seated comfortable at his hip. She sat up, mouth open, about to scream when a burst from Sam's 12 gauge hit home in the middle of her chest, knocking her backward off the bed, her body as limp as a rag doll.

"SAM!" Dean bellowed, horrified and enraged.

"Dean, it wasn't her. It wasn't Lisa." Sam crossed the room in three massive strides, turning to get her back in sight then noticing the blonde hair instead of the dark locks he'd been expecting. "Oh."

"What the hell are you doing, man?" Dean asked, already rolling off the bed and pulling Jo in his arms, tears coming unbidden to his eyes. He kept her hair covering her face, exploring the wound lightly with his fingertips as she sucked in slow, rasping breaths. He wouldn't watch her die again. He couldn't. It would break his heart.

"It's not her, Dean. That's a succubus." Sam explained gently. "They disguise themselves as the woman you love then feed on your uh, guy stuff."

"It's Jo." Dean's voice left no room for argument. He cradled her close, his hand pulling her dress up to cover her wound, pressing it hard to her chest to stop the blood oozing out.

"Dean, it's not." Sam said just as gently as the creature in Dean's arms gave a final rattling breath and went still.

"Jo. Jo, stay with me." Dean commanded, shaking her. "C'mon, Jo."

"Jo's dead, Dean." Sam knelt next to them, taking in Dean's hurt, haunted eyes. "Let her go."

Dean's jaw flexed once, but he turned away from Sam, gently carding her hair from her face. She still looked like Jo, just asleep. He cradled her cheek, feeling its warmth. He kissed her forehead, then her lips, not bothering to hide his tears from her. She'd always seen right through him anyway.

"Let's go, Sam." He said lowly, keeping his voice steady. Sam, who had turned away to give him some privacy, turned back to look at his older brother, a puzzled look on his face.

"But –"

"No but. Job's over. Case closed." Dean wiped his eyes surreptitiously then laid the body down with more gentleness than Sam had ever seen from his brother. "Let's go."

"We can stay a little while, bury it, leave in the morning –" Sam offered.

"No, Sam, we can't. We have to go." Dean's voice broke as he stood, looking down at Sam. "We have a job to do."