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 hated the fucking beach. He'd always hated it. Sand got into places it shouldn't. It was too damn hot. It was no place to wear jeans, and he'd never put on a pair of freakin' shorts. And it was way too hot to be wearing the black t-shirt he had on. The only decent thing about the beach was the chicks. Unfortunately, right at that moment, there was no one under 65, all of whom were ogling him like an early bird special. Not what he was expecting being newly single, he joked to himself, trying to think of something to ease the tension in his mind.
He couldn't stand the beach with an endless passion, but he never had the heart to tell her. The sunny shithole was, ironically, her favorite place. And he would do anything for her, and that wasn't a goddamn exaggeration. Hell, he would have died for her a million times over, because whether he liked it or not, he had fallen for her hard all those years ago. And yeah, there was no denying he thought she was hot the first time he had seen her in that club. Man, she did amazing things with her body that first night and he had definitely taken notice. And that undeniable initial physical attraction led them to spend a lot of time together...and then what they felt for each other had become something else entirely. Somewhere between the fun, sexy hook-ups and working cases together, something had changed between them. Something infinitely more powerful than he could have ever imagined formed.
It started a bond—a true partnership. Respect. Trust. All she had earned. Those were things he only shared with a very select few. But then that L-word came up and scared the everloving shit outta him. And it wasn't the word that scared him as much that he actually felt that way. He needed to protect her. To be there for her in every way possible. Always. That fucking broke him in the best possible way. But it also left him vulnerable, and that was a weakness he couldn't afford in his line of work.
It was something Dean had never looked for, expected, or hell even wanted. And that was honest to god truth. He never wanted something like that because it was not sustainable in their lives for a variety of reasons on all levels. And he had avoided it all like the damn plague. And that was even though she was something he was supposed to hunt, something he was supposed to look at as evil and wrong. But what developed between them happened naturally and didn't care what or who they were or what they did. It branded her to his goddamn soul. That's why it hurt so much when it was all just ripped away—like a part of him was just fucking gone.
Which is why he had driven bleary-eyed all night to get to St. Augustine in a little under sixteen hours.
And why Dean remained in the Impala, the engine still idling in the driveway, his knuckles white on the steering wheel with his head tilted back. He could do this. He needed to do this. Dean reached to cut the engine. Sam stirred in the passenger seat, blinking as his eyes adjusted. As soon as he saw where they were, his younger brother looked like he'd just had a double shot of espresso.
"Dean, why are we stopping here?" Sam asked, his tone cautious like he was treading on thin ice.
Dean didn't respond. He just got out of the car, closing the door behind. His hands fumbled with the keys as he willed his feet up the gravel walkway. Another car door slammed, and Sam deliberately shuffled several paces back.
With a deep breath, Dean's fingers sought and found the key he needed for the front entry...
He swallowed the knot in his throat and opened the door to her house. Let's face it, it was never their house. It was her refuge from all the craziness, the place where she went when she needed to reset. To be honest, he never felt entirely at ease there. She moved into it during one of the worst times of her life— right after the death of her only brother. It was a crypt but full of memories—not all of them bad.
And those few good memories were what was making it infinitely harder.
The last Dean had been there was less than a year ago when it was just the two of them. They were celebrating her beating her human addiction and spent a few days just being together. No kids. No hunting. Just the two of them and...god...
He plodded over to set his keys down on the kitchen table and hesitated.
He could see her teeth dragging over her full lower lip as she slipped the straps of the nightgown off her shoulders. He could hear the breaking of glass as the items crashed onto the floor. He could feel her body against his as he laid her down on the table.
"There wasn't anything priceless there, was there?"
"Probably, but it doesn't matter," she laughed and pulled his mouth down on hers.
If he only knew then what the year would bring—damn, there were so many things Dean would have done differently.
Now the house stood silent. Deserted. Yet he could still see her walk out onto the balcony clear as day. The room was haunted by her memory.
"There's just something I gotta do," Dean said as he opened the back sliding door. "Why don't you just go shower and find a room to crash. We'll bunk here for the night. I've just got something I gotta do alone."
Sam looked at him, eyes full of concern. "Are you sure, Dean? I can keep you company or— "
"Yeah, Sammy, go shower, and then we'll get some grub out, okay," Dean gestured towards a bedroom on the left. "I won't be too long."
Though Sam's jaw ticked, he nodded and yawned as he made his way down the hall.
Dean's fingers mindlessly played with the smooth, cold silver in his pocket as he made his way on the balcony to the beach. It was late afternoon and was still too damn hot and bright. The sand got all over his pants already. He was miserable, and it was pretty good timing.
He pulled the shiny band out of his pocket.
Her bracelet.
He hadn't let anyone know that he had gone back to the burnt remains of the speakeasy the day he found out what actually happened. Even after April's account of what had happened, part of him was convinced that maybe Abby had staged it and had gotten away, running off somewhere. That would have made it somehow more painless. That possibly she was off the wagon again and they'd meet up eventually? Or maybe she ran off, and was still out there somewhere?
He knew around where they performed the ceremony, and it was the center of the fire damage. Sam had mentioned something about Ab's being over by one of the windows not far from the door, so he kept his search to that area. Maybe...just maybe there was something left?
So, he carelessly dug through the debris until he reached the floor level. He sifted through until he came upon three scorched objects that shook him to his core and knocked the air out of his lungs.
Ruby's knife.
A gold wedding band.
A silver bracelet with no clasp.
That was all that was left. No bones. No clothes. Nothing to mourn. Nothing.
But that had to have been where she fell...but with no physical body, his mind started playing scenarios. Maybe she got out on time and planted the items? He could almost dismiss the knife and ring as being positioned, but he couldn't explain away the bracelet. The damn thing had been welded around her wrist and couldn't be removed. Maybe though, she had gone as far so to cut off her hand to cover her tracks, she had fallen with it on her.
He kept the demon blade simply for strategic purposes. It was still a powerful weapon, and he was going to have to use it again to hunt. That was a given. It was strange now to have it on him, knowing that it had been lodged in her heart. The ring he decided to save for April or Dylan or whichever one would want it one day. It had been his mom's after all, which made it an heirloom—probably one of the only things he had of his past to pass on. For now, he put in on a chain and wore it around his neck for safekeeping. The silver talisman bracelet was a whole other story. Even though it was created because she had tried to take her own life, at the time wrapped in her grief, it was the beginning for them.
Dean was not the sentimental type but he regretted not going to her little impromptu memorial. But there had just been no way. He had not been ready. He didn't have the headspace to process it all or be there for his kids in any kind of helpful way. And then when the floor dropped out with the news of what actually happened—
And that is why he decided to go to a bar and get completely hammered on the way home that day.
So he pocketed the bracelet and decided that he should bring her to where she was, at one time, very happy. It was going to end where it began.
He looked out over the ocean, the waves turning into bubbles on the shore. The setting sun behind him, casting shadows from the houses onto the sand. He closed his eyes and just listened. That was why she loved it there. It wasn't the beach scene or the surfing...it was the peace. It was one of the only places that she could clear her head and just be. He never got it before, but he did then. There's no way he could speak. Part of him was hoping he'd feel her jump on his back and say gotcha. It would be a dick move on her part, but man, he would have been so happy to feel her again. But she wasn't there—yet.
Yet. That one little word held so much weight.
Dean and Gwen had been secretly searching through the lore for any way to bring her back. And he meant any, some of which Sam would kick his ass for attempting. They were also taking their retribution. He knew Sam had seen the bloodstains and the bruised knuckles after a day-off. Even though Sam never questioned it, Dean knew his brother suspected something was going on. There was no doubt in his mind. Gwen had figured out who was involved in manipulating his wife, and he would not let that shit stand. She had called him one day out of the blue to come to meet her at a Biggersons two towns over. It had been the first time they had been in the same room since Wisconsin two months earlier.
The bleach blonde vampire focused on her coffee mug, her brow knitted, refusing to look up at him as he sat down at the plastic booth. It was admittedly tough to be around her. They were both stuck in the same crap, and the bulk of her outrage was directed squarely at him. Not that he could blame her for that. He was the one who decided not to go in after Abby. At least Gwen had tried...and she had never given up on Abby. It was clear Gwen was never going to forgive him. But he was sure as hell going to try to earn her respect back.
The waitress appeared and poured him a cup of coffee.
"Thanks," he half-smiled. Dean looked down at the black sludge looking coffee, reaching across the table for a packet of sugar to stir in.
"Surprised you didn't hit on her."
His eyes shot up to meet Gwen's. "Excuse me? Did I hear you right?"
"Well, you're single now, right? Just figure you'd be all over that by now," she scowled, picking up her coffee and taking a long sip, her eyes never leaving his.
He leaned forward across the table, his brows furrowed. "Is this why you said you wanted me out here? So you can give me crap about her…"
"Abby. Her name was Abby, and the least you could do is have the common decency her name for god sake."
"Dammit, Gwen, I'm trying. I really am."
"Tryin' what," she scoffed. "Why start now? It's too little, too late, Winchester."
"Look, I know you hate me—and you're not the only one. I can't stand myself—"
She looked up, her electric blue eyes staring daggers. "Good."
His eyes narrowed. "So why the hell did you call me?"
"Believe me, I wouldn't have if I didn't need back up. I thought about who I could call to help—and no one else would get it. Cas would have talked me down. Sam would have talked me down. But you wouldn't. So, here we are."
She slid a piece of paper over to him. Dean grabbed it, the page crinkling as he unfolded the notebook paper. It was a list of about twenty names and locations.
"What's this?"
"All of the monsters that gave info on Abby to Lilitu. I'm going to take them out. Me and you, we still have two things in common: we love the kids, and we want to tear the hearts out of the people who did this. I've been at your house taking care of your damn kids for you. But I want retribution. I want vengeance. I know you want that too. And you want redemption. So, you want to try, Dean? Then help me kill the people that took their mom away."
Dean didn't have to say anything. He was in. He folded the list against the edge of the table and ripped it in half. It would be easier for them to do it alone, but they had the same goal. And he wasn't going to be the one to get in her way. He handed her the other half, stating that he'd be in touch, and went on his way. There was no way in hell he was going to deny either of them their payback.
There were way more people involved than he imagined. Lilitu had more associates than he realized outside of the organization itself. He and Gwen took care of about twelve others that had direct involvement. They ranged from vamps, witches, shifters—and hunters. There was satisfaction in seeing the blood spill from the people who sold out his wife. Dean took his time with some of them, especially the ones that he knew had claimed to be her friend, and in the end, betrayed her. Some spat in his face. Some tried to bargain for their lives before he was done- even humans. Yeah, turned out, there were plenty of hunters who got sweet deals for finding out info on Abby unknowingly using Dean. The hard truth was sometimes humans were as bad or worse than the monsters.
One such garbage human was a hunter named Paul Higgins. He'd tracked him down to a bar and knocked Paul's ass out on his way home after the last call. Dean tossed his body in the trunk of the car like the trash he was and drove to an abandoned house outside of Jackson, where Dean proceeded to beat the living shit out of him.
"What, you think this is funny," Dean yelled gruffly, punching the hunter in the jaw. He shook out his hand, his knuckles bruised and battered.
Higgins was tied to a chair, bleeding from the cut above his eyebrow and now his mouth. Dean remembered the asshole as soon as he saw him because the dude had a very punchable face. They'd crossed paths years before when Dean had been in his 20s. He was surprised that the guy was still alive. Though they'd never worked directly together, that was because Dean thought he was an absolute douchebag. Plus, Dean had hustled him at pool once at a bar in Ohio, and that ended up in a fistfight. Dean had won hands down on both counts. That couldn't have been the reason he ratted her out, right?
"You're the one who married a vamp, pal, not me," Higgins laughed, spitting up blood, joining a stream running down his chin. "She got what she deserved."
It was taking everything in him not to kill the dick right there...but he thought he might as well get some intel first. He needed to know how desperate Lilitu was and if his family was somehow still in danger. But what he wanted to do right then was put a bullet into that smiling fuck's head.
"What, Pauly, jealous? Did she turn you down after you hit on her? Because I could see why. Jag offs weren't her type,"
"I wouldn't fuck her if my life depended on it—what do you care? One less vamp is a good thing!"
Dean spun the cylinder on his gun as he circled his hostage like a predator that had his prey. He stopped and pointed the pistol at Higgins's head. "Heh, I know what she did—she got in the way of a case for you, didn't she?"
Higgins smiled and shook his head before meeting Dean's hardened gaze. "She was the case. We were supposed to take her out. Her and her emo brother years back in Chicago. They were on a killing spree—"
Dean ominously chuckled, thinking of Abby and her brother on an actual killing spree. Now, he knew his wife was more than capable of that when she wasn't in her right mind, but if her brother was around, that wouldn't have happened. James would not have allowed that. "Not possible. They were probably hunting the things that were dropping bodies, the same as you."
"That wasn't my intel."
"Well, then you were getting it from the wrong person, Paul."
"They killed my partner—"
"They were the good guys. They were hunters too—"
"My partner was my wife! I watched as your whore of a wife broke her neck!"
Dean stopped moving. No. There was no way that Abby would have done that unless her life was threatened or it was an accident. No. Freaking. Way.
"So, one day last year, I'm working on a case alone, just trying to get myself killed—and this blonde chick comes up to me and asks me if I wanted to get my wife back." There was a desperate waver in the man's voice.
Oh, that old chestnut. "And you said you'd do anything?"
"Wouldn't you?"
No. Dean couldn't deny that, but he wasn't going to let him in on that little tidbit.
"So, you made a deal with this blonde to get your wife back; did this blonde bitch have a name?"
"Hannah."
"Dammit," Dean muttered to himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose. That lying bitch. Of fucking course it was her, he thought to himself. One, if not the worst mistake he ever made in his life was letting her into their lives. And part of him was starting to feel sad for the guy. They weren't really that different. Both of them had been manipulated into doing shit by Hannah and had let them both to their grief. Jesus, had Lilitu's scheming and planning been going on for that long? He lowered the gun. "What did she want to know exactly?"
"She had me track you down so I could track you home. They needed to find her."
He froze. Raw anger shot through his veins, his finger trembling on the trigger. "You were at our house?"
"Dean, it wasn't just your house; she wanted everything. Phone numbers, the kid's schools, what your favorite fast food places were—everything."
It was bad enough that this douche was after Abby but knowing he knew where they lived and had been watching their kids… "How long were you stalking her?"
No answer. Stone cold fury rose in his gut. Dean was so done playing with this dude. Answers or not, this guy was going to die. "HOW. FUCKING. LONG?!"
Dean held the gun to the guy's head and cocked it. His hostage smirked with blood on his teeth.
"Months. I know everything about your family, Dean. I know where your kids go to school. I know which bedroom window belonged to who. And I know about your daughter and son, April and Dylan. I was going to take them out—all of them—but they wouldn't let me. They needed your wife and daughter alive. But your eldest son was fair game. That other car that night you crashed, when your idiot kid swerved into the oncoming traffic, that was no accident. Too bad your boy isn't dead."
Panic rushed through him like ice in his veins as Dean pushed the barrel further against Higgins's forehead, the skin bunching around the metal.
"Worst part of it, they reneged on the deal. I never got my wife back. Hannah never showed up to—"
"Well, she's dead. They killed her too. So you did all of that for nothing."
Higgins looked up at him and arrogantly snickered. "Well, it wasn't for nothing exactly. Your little bitch got what she deserved."
Dean didn't flinch when he pulled the trigger.
He hoped that he'd feel better with every kill, but the truth was it wasn't doing a damn thing. The pain still festered inside like an open wound. Nothing was different. That was the most difficult part for him to swallow, that he should give up on her. That she wasn't coming back. Part of him had opened up to that inevitably...that was until Gwen got a lead about someone who might have escaped purgatory. She was working on it, trying to figure out if there was truth to the rumor. It was a Hail Mary, but there might be a chance. There was a goddamn chance. He had to believe that to carry on. He just had to.
For now, he had cleared the board on the list, and there was just a burden he had to unload. As he stood, he had his reservations because if Abby came back, she might need it. His hands were still fidgeting with the silver band, turning it over and over again in his palm, contemplating if he should go through with it.
He wasn't good at any mushy crap. And the fact was, he was beyond emotions—that well had been tapped dry. Abs deserved a hunter's funeral for kickin' so much ass over the years. But that didn't happen. He figured if he couldn't do that for her, the least he could do was bring a part of her back to her home to be with her parents. All of them now just memories in ash.
No, she wasn't dead. When were they ever permanently dead? He wasn't going to accept it. This was just a gesture of respect. It was just a symbol of the past. He'd get her a new one when she came back.
Dean dug a hole with his foot in the sand and buried the bracelet, feeling a morbid sense of finality he didn't expect. He tried to swallow, but the grief choked him, burning behind his eyes. All he could think about was why didn't she just tell him? Even if she had said something before she bit him in that dungeon, they could have fought, and if they lost, go down swinging...together. Isn't that what they had promised each other? No matter what...they were supposed to be in it together. That's what got to him the most, she had hidden it for so long alone. Abs shouldn't have had to do it on her own. He shoved his hands in pockets and shuffled back to the house, feeling as though he could turn around at any step to get the wristband. But it wasn't about him, It was about her.
And that wasn't the end for them. No way. He was going to make sure of that.
To his surprise, Sam was on the balcony, leaning his elbows against the railing. Had he been standing and watching the entire time? His brother had that Sam puppy-dog look on his face. Yep, he had been. As Dean stepped onto the balcony, Sam handed him one of the open El Sols in his hand as they stood watching the ocean.
They remained silent. Watching. Listening. Remembering.
Ghosts, the place was full of 'em.
The tension was thick in the air, so thick you could cut it with a knife. Dean could tell Sam still wanted to ask him about what he'd been doing on the side, why his knuckles were bruised, and all of that crap. He still wasn't going to answer either. And Dean wanted to tell Sam about what he was up to by coming back to Florida. But, he wasn't sure how to bring it up in a way where Sam wouldn't get preachy and irritatingly annoying.
His brother finally broke the awkward silence. "To Abby," he toasted, raising the beer.
Dean shut his eyes at her name but did raise his bottle before pounding it back.
He stood with his little brother, peeling the label off his bottle before it finally all came out in a rush.
"It's not fair, Sammy."
"Is it ever fair," Sam asked with a hint of dark humor in his tone.
"After all we've done, fucking everything goes to hell on us every single time. Every. Single. Time. How many people have we saved, Sam? Hundreds? Thousands? The whole damn world? And we can't save one that means something to us? Mom? Dad? Jo? Ellen?—and—," Dean said, bitterness in his tone as he smashed the beer bottle on the balcony, surprising his brother. "I can't, Sam! Not this time!"
"What choice do we have, Dean? She's gone."
"If I would have known—"
"Yeah, well, we didn't," Sam said gruffly, his irritation on what she did thick in his tone. "Don't forget, she kept from all of us. So, it's not just you with the chip on their shoulder."
"I just keep lookin' back, and now I can see the signs, ya know. And—and I— Did you know when we went out to the bar that last night when I thought we were good, she was super wasted, which is not something she would typically do. She was funny and adorable, just lettin' loose and having a good time. But I knew that she was doing it to keep her mind off something. I knew somethin' was eatin' at her, so I pulled her aside. Man, I begged her to tell me if something was goin' on with her. I just had a feelin' in my gut that something was off with her, Sammy. She was actin' too carefree, but she was still on edge. I could feel it, and I knew. I knew and she—the funny thing is she was actually tellin' me the truth for once. Guess I just didn't ask the right questions, huh?"
Dean silently recalled that last night. They were together leaning against Baby outside of the bar, gazing at the stars. At one point, he had glanced over to her and had asked himself how he had gotten so damn lucky. She was something he thought couldn't exist; someone in the life who understood their jobs, who could hold her own, and stood by unconditionally. His chest started feeling the familiar tightness that he recently couldn't shake. It was like something was coiled around his ribs, never letting him get a full breath.
"Dean, I know I don't have the exact kind of experience you have with her—"
"I know you loved her too," Dean admitted, looking over at his younger brother. Sam's shoulder pulled as he shook his head softly. There was no denying the history or how their three lives were all forever interwoven.
"I hate seeing you like this. I hate that you are going through this. And I don't know what to do or how to make it better...when Jess died, it messed me up for a long time. You know that. You saw me. So I get it. The lack of sleep. And then when you can sleep, it's just nightmares. The mood swings. The drinking. Look, I blamed myself for Jess, but I see you going back and forth with the blame with Abby. But one day—"
Dean's laugh was full of sharp bitterness as he shook his head.
"Don't, Sam. Don't try to tell me when it's gonna get better, or when I'm gonna find solace or any of that hippie-dippie bull," Dean countered, rage on his tongue. "Because I know that when she had Jamie, she talked a lot of craziness about seein' her family and Mom and Dad in some Other Side Heaven crap, but that had to just be head-games, Sam. And yeah, maybe, just maybe I wouldn't be like this if I knew she was truly at peace somewhere. Maybe. But, we know where vamps go, and it's not good. She did what she did to save my kid. If I would have offed myself, hopefully—maybe, I would have ended up upstairs. But Abby? She did it knowing her end was a one-way bus ticket to purgatory."
Sam's wide eyes shifted to the floor, gulping his emotion down. Yeah, he knew.
"Screw this, Sammy! I'm sick of letting everyone yank our chains. Screw the angels. Screw the demons. Screw the reapers."
His brother stiffened next to him, his mouth set in a tight line. "Dean—what are you saying?"
Time to reveal his other reason for taking the long drive to the East coast. "She said that her mom looked into a lot of ancient supernatural lore back in the day. And we know that whatever Abs did at the ceremony was old and powerful. She clearly found that spell in something of her mom's. I know Abby kept a lot of her mom's stuff. We find something, and we get her back."
Sam put a hand to his forehead, scrutinizing his brother with raised eyebrows. "Holy shit. You can't be serious? Didn't we all agree, after the last time, that we weren't going to do any more deals; when we're gone, we're gone? You know how this stuff always comes to bite us in the ass—"
Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm willing to take the risk—"
"And what about the rest of us? You know damn well how, when these things go sideways, which they always do, we're not the only ones directly hurt…"
"And again, I'm willing to take the risk, Sam."
"Dean, you can't possibly be that selfish…"
"Then, you don't know me or remember the lengths I went to bring your ass back."
"Yeah, and you got sent to Hell and only got out by a goddamn miracle—"
"And when I was down there, you two were up here doing god knows what to bring me back, right? Yeah, Sammy, she told me some of it over the years. Let me tell you, some of the shit she tried had cut deep. But she was that desperate...
"I was there, Dean, I remember. We were both desperate and did things we wouldn't ever do under normal circumstances—and I remember the fallout. There has never been a time that either of us had done something like this where there weren't repercussions."
"Then you know what I would do to get her. I would knock on the damn gates of Heaven and Hell for her. I would do fucking anything for her. Lie. Steal. Beg. Barter. Hell, I would kill for her. Anything. I would make any deal I could to bring her back. And yeah, I mean any deal."
Sam threw his hands up before they thumped back to his sides. "And have you? Is that what you've been doing on your own? Trying to make stupid deals?"
"Yeah, I've tried, Sam and I have no shame in that. The Crossroads won't make deals like that without other head honchos involved and they are too nervous to ask that for a Winchester. They don't want that kind of crap from upper-level demons. So yeah, I'm elbow-deep in a lot of other shit that you would not be happy about and I'm not going to get into with you."
"You're insane, Dean."
"Yeah, maybe I am. Do you know, when I was in Hell and got down off the rack, they would play mind games when you did the torturing—sometimes they'd look like you...and sometimes they'd look like her. That's what's been playing in my head, Sam," Dean shut his eyes, the images flashing behind his lids. "Over and over again. Her in pain and screaming and trapped. And that's purgatory—"
"But, you still can't think this a good idea?"
Dean met his brother's gaze dead on. "If after Jess died...if you knew she wasn't at peace, and if you knew in your gut there was a way to get her back, you're telling me you wouldn't have tried?"
A muscle worked in Sam's jaw as his eyes dropped to the floor, his hands in his pockets. Yeah, bringing that up might have been a low blow, but it had to be said because Dean knew Sam would have hands down.
"Look, I'm not asking you to be part of this—"
"Good, Dean, because I think you can't be really serious about any of this."
"I've never been more serious," Dean declared, turning to face his brother, his eyes resolute. "Don't you think we've suffered enough for more than one lifetime? Don't you think she suffered enough? If I have to march my happy ass straight into purgatory myself, I will. I'm getting her back, Sam, come hell or high water."