Author's Note:This is my first ever Supernatural fic, so be kind :D This is an ansty one-shot, sort of a reflection crossing into AU. Towards the end, it's supposed to be like Dean making a deal with Death or becoming his apprentice and bringning back all his loved ones in return. It could be made into a full-length fic, or someone can take the idea and make a multi-chapter fic, just let me know if you're interested enjoy!

Rating: T

Warning: Angst, mentions of blood and violence, canon character death, slight AU towards the end, maybe some DeanxJo hints :P

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, but I wish I owned Dean ;D

Summary: Even before she hugs her mother, tackles Ash, smiles at Bobby, shakes hands with John, nods to Sam, she feels his absence and the emptiness in her chest. "We've been looking for days, but…it says here Dean Winchester never existed."

In one moment, her breaths are raspy and pained, blood gurgling in her throat and leaving her body through rough gashes and despite the stubborn, idiotic determination to save her and the whole world in one go, she sees the aching agony in his green eyes, the unshed tears on her mothers face, and knows. Warmth blooms over her clammy skin when he kisses her forehead, steals the first kiss she ever gives, when familiar hands that guided her, taught her, loved her, clasps over her own, and she doesn't regret this because she's not alone and never will be.

In the next, she is pulled from somewhere filled with shimmering light and false love and is standing in a dirty barn, gaze locked on him and the guilt on his face tells her enough.

His eyes are still green, impossibly bright, forest green, but they shine with regrets and drown in despair. She tries to save him, salvage his soul with one look, but her words are warped by the god that dragged her down into the place between heaven and hell, and for the first time in a while, she feels frustrated, useless. Being used like a toy, she wants to be angry, wants to curse and break free, but the anger can't manifest in this form and it's so frustrating that she wants to scream. Her blood can't boil, her head can't throb, and her fists can't clench, but still seeing him, even with his broken sorrow, she doesn't feel hopeless.

She's sent away again, and there's an ache deep in her soul that isn't hers – or maybe it is, she isn't sure, but it doesn't matter anyway.

She knows it isn't her will that drives her to turn on the stove, to break the salt line, to steal his lighter, but she doesn't imagine the pain or the love in his gaze even as she does all this. There's no protest, just reassurance that he knows, he knows she doesn't want to do this, that it's okay, and if tears could well in her eyes, they would.

The resignation and brokenness that weighs him down sickens her because this isn't the man she knows, the one that challenged God, tried to kill the devil with the intent to save his brother instead of the world, died and burned and lived and died again for his family, and she hopes with her entire being that he can stand up again, because even if she isn't there to help him up, he needs to stay strong – when he is strong, the world is too.

She feels a pull again, this time taking her away from him and his guilt. She wants to stay, but she has no will in a world she doesn't belong to anymore, and she prays.

When she wakes up again, she feels the familiar weight of life and humanity, the beating of her heart, the pulsing of her blood, and knows, just like she knew all along, that he saved them again. Gratitude and despair war in her chest until she hears her mothers voice, rough and soft with emotion, smells the warm musk of Bobby's house, and her chest bursts with happiness. Silently, she wonders if waking from the dead always felt this way since she doesn't know death as intimately as the Winchester brothers, and her breath catches. Something wrong makes Bobby's voice waver and crack, and she opens her eyes to sunlight touching her face – it's nothing compared to his kiss – and finds that her face is wet with tears.

Even before she hugs her mother, tackles Ash, smiles at Bobby, shakes hands with John, nods to Sam, she feels the emptiness in her chest. She wants an explanation, everyone does, and the pained horror that crosses their faces hurts as much as his absence, maybe more. The truth rings in her ears even before the words are said, the color draining from her world, her heart cracking and shattering, and it hurts.

Her chest feels hollow, but she knows that it was because of him that she could breath warm, dusty air, that she was not resurrected in a place where hellfire and sulfur burned life away from everything. She knows he did it, she knows why, she doesn't know how, and it just makes her hands tremble more and the tears harder to keep unshed.

"We've been looking for days, but…it says here Dean Winchester never existed."

Author's Note: I love Supernatural and can't wait for season 8 :DD Hope you guys liked this one-shot! Sorry if Jo seems a little OOC, she was busy being dead XD I love her so much, I wish she came back! Faves and reviews are greatly appreciated!