Disclaimer: I do not own the concept or characters from the show "Supernatural." Any other characters not related to the show, The Vampire Diaries or Nightwold series, however, are mine and are not to be used in any other fan fiction. Some concepts were also borrowed or loosely adapted from L.J. Smith's "Nightworld" and "The Vampire Diaries" series. The original stories were developed using SPN episode content up until 02/11/10 and this one may include anything up through 2019. I will not include any spoilers for future episodes of Season 15, though my story took its turn after SPN Season 4. This is the start of a new trilogy. The first trilogy is: "Possession," "Broken," and "Sacrifice," followed with a new trilogy, "Mission," "Prelude," and "Bound." This story takes place where Prelude left off and has the same characters from the first trilogy. I do not own any quotes used in the actual episodes.

Dean was sitting on the dock at sunset, knocking back another cold one. He closed his eyes, taking in the sounds of the water lapping against the rocks and the loons over in the lake shallows. The warmth of the setting sun was in contrast to the cool breeze coming in due East. Peace. Finally.

Even with his eyes shut, he could feel a presence beside him. He didn't need to see to know who it was.

"I was wondering when you were gonna show up," he sighed, opening his eyes and guzzled his beer. He kept his gaze straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

"I was wondering that myself," she replied in a somber tone.

He didn't want to turn and look to his right, not when he finally had found some relaxation. They sat next to each other in awkward silence, watching the sun sink out of view, apparently waiting for the other to break the tension. Dean wanted to be mad at her, and hell, deep down, he was fucking furious with her, but he was just too depressed and exhausted to care. He just missed her too damn much. He could feel his resolve to be bitter, gradually slipping away.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered hoarsely. Dean could make out the remorse in her cracking voice. He finally twisted his head towards her, and it took his breath away, and his chest clench. God, she was more beautiful than he remembered. The warmth of the sun played off her pale skin, illuminating the blueish highlights in her black hair. Her long white dress was grazing the top of the water as she kicked her feet slowly back and forth, creating ripples across the surface.

She kept her eyes down to the water and took a deep inhalation before twisting to look at him, giving him a sad smile. He could feel himself getting more emotional. He desperately wanted to touch her, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Yeah, me too," he admitted. That was at much as he could get out.

"YOU have nothing to be sorry for, Dean. You protected your family—you did what you had to do..."

"Yeah, well, I didn't protect you," he dejectedly returned. "You left on my watch, and I was too wrapped up in everything else going on to see what you were going through—I promised your brother I would take care of you...dammit, you know Sammy, and I could have helped–"

"This wasn't your fight, Winchester. This battle was mine and always meant to end with me. It was my fault that I had a family and got you all involved in this. The only thing you did wrong, you set aside your principles when we first met and thought I was something more than what I am. Our kids are safe from a curse now, and that's all that matters. That makes it worth it." The tone sounded with a mix of regret and resentment, both of which she was entitled.

He knew what she was saying had some truth; Lilith's gone, and their kids would never face her. Ever. That wasn't a bad thing. Regardless the kids were now irreparably damaged by what had happened, just in a different way. Dean knew that pain of losing a mom, and he wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy, and not his kids.

She sighed, and he scolded himself when he realized she could hear what he was thinking. He reached over and instinctively grasped her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, surprised to find it so firm. His chest tightened. She was there.

"Do you forgive me," she whispered.

"For which part; the part where you lied? Or the part where you shanked yourself? Or the part where you bled me," he grumbled and then immediately regretted his choice of words. Shit.

The corner of her lip ticked up, and she chuckled as she wiped a tear away. "I guess I deserve that. Fair is fair."

"No—dammit, those were cheap shots," he groaned. He couldn't deny that deep down, he was still infuriated as hell. She lied to him. He was so sick of all the goddamn lying, not just with her, but with Sam as well. It was driving him insane. And none of that fucking mattered when she was right frickin' there again—finally after so damn long. "Hey, look, I've had worse, and there's barely a scar left there, don't worry about it. It's an occupational hazard, right?"

But she did worry about it, knowing her, she was stewing in it. Dean could hear her starting to break down, and that ripped his damn heart out. He just wished he could go back and figure it all out before—

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she kept repeating as she wept with her head in her hands.

He couldn't take it anymore. He moved closer and wrapped his arms around Abby's trembling form. Dean was bracing himself for her body to be freezing, but, to his surprise, she was warm—maybe even a little warmer than he was used to. She was just as he remembered. She was right there again, and he felt whole. His attempt to keep up her at arms-length, to maintain his anger, was slipping away.

"Babe, no, no," he repeated, trying to console her while stroking her dark hair. "Abs, hey, look at me. Look at me. Hey, we're okay."

Her body still shook as she continued to sob. Everything she had been holding back for so long, all the sadness and regret were coming out.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Dean!"

Screw it. Dean grabbed Abby's face and kissed her, finally feeling something for the first time in months. Her lips were warm and soft, just as he remembered. They kissed sweetly and desperately. My God, he missed her. Pride be damned, he couldn't deny he fucking missed her. More importantly, he needed her.

Suddenly, she started choking, and he pulled away, taking her face between his hands and meeting her eyes.

Abby gasped and coughed, blood seeped from the right corner of her mouth, dripping in a steady trickle.

"Hey, are you alright," Dean asked, fear in his voice. Something was very wrong. He could feel it in his gut.

"I'm so sorry," she sputtered between clenched teeth. She gagged again, more blood spurting out, the crimson in contrast on her pale skin.

He finally looked down and saw her hands wrapped around the knife in her chest. The blood from the wound spread across the silky fabric of her pearl white dress. She gasped and fell with her back on the wooden planks, her body convulsing.

"NO!"

He yanked the blade from her chest and put pressure on the wound, and immediately regretted removing the weapon. Gore pooled under his hands, squeezing between his fingers as he tried stopping the flow. There was too much—

The black color of her eyes shifted to the misty blue-grey of a corpse. Empty.

"It'll be okay," he cried, not sure if he was trying to soothe her or himself. "You're going to be fine." He was lying. From the position and size of the injury, he knew she was a goner. History was repeating itself as it tended to do for the Winchesters.

"Abby! Abs! Please, babe—come on," Dean begged, the tears falling in a steady stream down his cheeks. "Please, don't go!"

He hadn't realized he was shaking her, her head flopping like a ragdoll from side to side, her eyes non-responsive. He looked down and saw the crimson on his hands—her blood.

"ABBY!"

He shot up in bed, soaked in sweat, his heart racing. Worse, his heart was physically hurt. There was a terrible ache in his chest, right where her knife had entered.

"Dean, are you okay," Sam asked with concern, seemingly startled awake by his older brother.

It was a goddamn nightmare. Of course, it had been; but it had felt so damn real. Had Dean been talking in his sleep?

Dean looked around the room, trying to get his bearings. It was just your typical crappy hotel room. He breathed out, trying to steady his mind. He reached over to the nightstand and took a swig of whatever was in his glass tumbler. It burned all the way down. That was alright; whiskey had pretty much been his beverage of choice since she left.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Sammy. Go back to sleep."

"Are you sure," Sam pressed. "Do you wanna talk about–"

"Nah, I'm good, catch a couple more Zs. We've got a long night tonight," Dean yawned.

He could use another fifteen minutes himself, but that wasn't happening. He was now wide awake. What he needed worse than sleep was a drink.

He worried about his brother, but what else was new. Sam knew that Dean had a horrible dream, and he knew from the shouting in his sleep what it was about; Abby. What was more disquieting was that Dean had rarely even mentioned her by name in the month since her death. To hear him screaming it in his sleep was jarring, to say the least.

The truth was Dean was never the best at the grieving process. His go-to move was to move on to something else and occupy his time to avoid thinking. It was unhealthy, but it was how his brother was wired, and he was most certainly a creature of habit.

Sam was still in his process. He was somewhere between depression and acceptance. Dean was stuck in denial and anger, which was where his older brother was going to live for some time. He only wished he could do something more to help his brother. All he could do was support him taking his time and getting through it his way, which involved hitting the road and coming out of his day-long retirement.

After Abby's impromptu service at the cabin in June, Sam had come up from the firepit to find the house empty, the main room destroyed. The windows were punched out, leaving glass all over. The walls had holes throughout the room. Furniture lay busted into pieces. Pictures punched out, the broken glass next to a book on the floor. And, most importantly, no Dean. He had taken off, returning a while later in the Impala, stone-cold drunk. His older brother kept to himself as everyone packed up to leave.

The rest of them packed up the cabin. It took a while. The kids were having a hard time. April was in the worst of it; after all, she had seen what happened. She was quiet and stoic, trying her best not to make any eye-contact or show any emotion—it was clear she didn't want to answer any questions. Dylan was barely holding it together mentally due to the emotional upheaval around him. Jamie was just a kid missing his mom.

After that, they had all driven back home, Sam with Ruby and Gwen and Cas. The kids were with Dean, though he could bet there was nothing but silence all the way home. With Ruby's blessing, Sam decided to stay with his brother. But as soon as Dean crossed the threshold of the house, their home, Sam could see Dean's body tense up. His older brother valiantly tried for a few days to be at home and help his kids. He had tried to the best of his ability. Sam knew it wasn't going to work out when Dean would only sleep on the couch. His brother wouldn't even step a foot near their bedroom at all. Then one day, Dean cracked.

"I can't stay here," Dean admitted, his voice choking up, looking around his house. "I can't, man. I–I've gotta get out of here."

"Okay. Okay. Um, I'll go with you—April and Dyl can stay check in on Ruby and take care of Jamie–"

"No, Sammy, you're not. I'm goin' alone," he declined. "You're going to stay and take care of the kids and take care of Ruby. I've got to do this on my own."

Dean already had his duffle bag packed and was heading out the door. Sam blocked him from leaving.

"Move, Sam."

"I'm not letting you leave like this. I'm not letting you drive out there by yourself on some hunting suicide mission, Dean! And don't tell me that's not what you think because I know you. And I know you grew up with a father that tried this... Look, if you need to get out of here, I get it, but you're taking someone with you, either me or April or Dyl–"

Dean shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, saying flat out that taking either of the kids was out of the question; Sam understood why. They were in the shit of it too, and they reminded him of her, especially April.

"Fine," Dean relented. "Dammit, fine! If you're coming with me, grab your shit and let's go. There, happy?!"

Dean's mind was in a dark place, and Sam knew he was full of guilt for what had happened just a week ago. It was almost easier for his older brother when he thought Abby had been an actual honest-to-God monster; it meant it justified her end. Initially, they had thought someone had stabbed her and not that she had done it to herself. It was hard for everyone to stomach, but it was not until they got back, and April got her bearings they discovered what exactly happened. They eavesdropped on her talking with Dylan alone in her room, going over the sequence of events with her twin brother—the truth more horrifying than they could imagine.

"Dyl, she exorcised Lilith from me. Lilith took over me. I was in the back seat. I could see everything, hear everything and do absolutely nothing to stop it—and then, I started choking and coughed her out. There was this whole plume of smoke, and it went into Mom; she pulled it into herself. I've never seen that before. I mean, I heard a rumor that Sam was able to, but that was when he went dark. And then, she just–she said she loved me, tell Dad I'm sorry, and then just," April stopped, rubbing her face with her hands, as they said crossed-legged on her bed. "She had given the demon blade to one of the main chick vamps that were part of that cult. Mom had a plan, Dyl. She had sigils on her that she carved into her skin—I'm guessing for binding? And she was chanting in a language I've never heard before. After Lilith had been in her, the sigils glowed and were only visible when she chanted. And—and when Mom stabbed herself, there was like a flash from the blade that burned through her body. And then she dropped. I tried to get her body out; I thought maybe there was something Dad could figure out—but there was no time. Wes made me leave. But it's clear this is how she had planned it; she was going to end it this way. Lilith is gone and isn't coming back."

"Yeah, but so is Mom," Dylan lamented. "I can kinda understand why she lied to us, right? We're the kids, and we're vamps, we could have stopped, in theory. But Dad—honestly, I can't believe she'd do that to him. After all the crap they've been through together over the years, why wouldn't she have just let him in on it? Maybe we could have helped her. Dad could have helped her. Sam could have helped her."

"From what she wrote in the journal, she didn't want any of us involved. She thought it was too dangerous for Sam and Dean to know; apparently, we were all in danger of becoming collateral damage. She said it was her fight, not theirs and that it began long before them. It must have killed her to lie to Dad."

"I didn't pick up on anything like that from her," Dylan revealed. "No emotions like that at all. She must have been blocking all of us psychically for what months? She must have been fucking exhausted."

Hearing all of that straight from his kids did something to his brother. Now Dean was on a mission to get back to work and take on as many hunts as they could do. They've hunted ghosts in San Diego. They've killed ghouls in Spokane, werewolves in Boise, shifters in Topeka, cursed objects in Lexington. His brother was taking any case he could. They were running on fumes and lousy gas station hot dogs. Dean wouldn't sleep; he was getting an hour or two at a time tops until he was inevitably shooting up in bed jolted awake from a dream. Sam knew every time his brother finally got some rest; he was having a nightmare about her. As much as Dean had avoided saying Abby's name, he was shouting it every night after waking up in a cold sweat. It was those nightmares that were making him drink even more than usual. Sam was finding empty bottles that Dean had been discreetly trying to throw out. There were times where Dean said he was going to do some research, and Sam would find him at some seedy bar, drinking with his demons.

The lack of sleep was making him reckless. Sam found himself having to bail Dean out many situations. He wondered if Dean was purposely putting himself in those scenarios on hunts, but he couldn't believe he'd do that knowing he had kids waiting for him. Then again, he was not in his right mind. Dean had become obsessive. They'd hunt, and then he'd immediately be scanning for something else as soon as they made it back to the hotel. They were currently on week six and had driven back and forth across the country a couple of times. Sam even caught Dean with blood on his clothes and bruised knuckles that Sam couldn't account for during the missions. Again, he was told not to worry, but it was clear Dean was running some sort of hunt of his own on the side. Currently, Sam was working out a map that would consist of cases to get them closer to home, just in case Ruby needed him.

Ruby. She was very understanding when it came to this situation. Hell, even after everything, she and Abby had become friends—true sisters-in-law. After all, they both dealt with both their crap for many years, commiserating together. She was grieving the loss of one of the only real friends she had while in a very emotional state herself. But now, she made it clear she wanted him home. She asked him to come home, and for once, she was putting her foot down. Sam didn't want to push her good graces. He was mentally and emotionally exhausted—and conflicted. He didn't want to abandon his brother; he couldn't and wouldn't do that. However, there was a part of him deep down that was telling him, for once, he had to think about himself and his wife—and he should go home.