"Dean, we can't give up now. The world needs us more than ever," Sam argued, pleading with his brother to be reasonable and not throw in the towel despite all of the losses they had suffered recently. "We've got to do this. She would want you to do this."

"Don't tell me what she would want." Dean paused, part of him knowing that Sam was right. But he couldn't face it. "It was one thing when we lost Cas to the Mark. I wanted to stop then. I wanted to call it. They were already winning back then. But after Grace..." Dean turned, leaning against the doorframe. Sam could tell he was trying his best not to cry, but it was a losing battle. It was always a losing battle when one of them brought up Grace, even after months. When he spoke again, his voice had utterly shattered. "I'm done, Sammy. Grace is gone because we didn't stop soon enough. I watched Cas kill her. I saw my best friend turn into a monster. I saw him do it. You weren't there. Every night when I go to sleep, I can see it. I can feel the blood dripping down my arms. I can feel her dying. If I had gotten there earlier, or if I had... If I could've brought myself to stop Cas earlier, if I had taken the Mark.=, maybe... No matter how much... no matter how much I drink, or what I take, I can still see it. I wish you could figure out how to completely knock me out like she did. How do you not get it?! She was your best friend, practically your sister. She - I remember what you were like after we lost Eileen. We have to stop."

"What happened to going out swinging?"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to maintain what was left of his composure. "Truth is, Sammy, I don't think - no, I know I'm not strong enough to swing anymore." Before Sam could respond, he left the kitchen, locking himself away in his room like he had done so often since Grace's death.

He lay back on the bed, staring at the lines in the ceiling. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see it. Cas had spiraled after he took on the Mark. But he never thought Cas would get this out of control. He was like a rabid dog, turning on someone he had known and cared about for years. Turning on his family. He had snapped, seemingly out of nowhere. Grace just happened to be in the way.

No matter how much he drank, or what spell he tried, every time he went to sleep, Dean could still see it. When they had lost the kids, the image of Jack disintegrating them had been burned into his mind. But this was so much worse. He had held her as she took her last breath, promising that she was going to be okay. He had felt the life leave her body, changing things forever. There was no going back from there, or so it seemed. Sam had pulled him back from half a dozen deals with angels, demons, Death, whatever entity he could find that may have been able to bring Grace back. He'd stopped him from trying all sorts of dangerous magic. But now the two of them were truly alone, and he was done. Done with the fighting, done with the endless onslaught of monsters. They hardly saved people any more. Not like they used to. The monsters were winning. It had been a good run, but it was over.

Part of him wanted to fight until he couldn't, fight until one of them took him out. But he had been so tired lately. He'd hardly wanted to get out of bed. Some days he hadn't managed to drag himself out of bed until the late afternoon, lying awake but being unable to move, nearly paralyzed by the weight of everything they had lost. Every phone call brought more bad news, and the entire world seemed too heavy, too intense, too much, all of the time. How was he supposed to chase that death wish if he hardly felt like getting out of bed?

The pillows no longer smelled like her, but he had adamantly refused to wash them. It was up to Sam to force him to, to break into his room when he was out stocking up on more alcohol, just so he could do laundry. Sam had to force him to do a lot. He would patiently sit and wait while his brother ate, Dean's once-ravenous appetite nearly gone. He would make sure he got outside, even if it was just for a quick walk. He kept the bunker running alone when the phones were ringing off the hook and he could have really used the help.

Dean eventually rolled over, the glossy photo on Grace's side of the bed catching his eye. It had been taken in another lifetime, when the two of them were out on a hunt. They'd met up with Bobby and Rufus to take down a vampire nest. Or was it a werewolf den? Bobby had a polaroid camera with him, so Grace forced him to take a picture of her and Dean sitting on the roof of the Impala. They were so young, and so in love. He couldn't quite tell if they were beaming at the camera or at each other. Now Dean hardly recognized them, hardly felt like the same person.

As he turned the photo over in his hands, he studied her handwriting, thinking of the notes she used to leave for him around the bunker.

Dean & I, 2001. Lake Sammamish, WA.

She had drawn a heart next to her caption, the same heart she would draw on the notebooks she would slide across the table when she was showing him her research, on sticky notes left on mirrors, on messages she would leave for him when she was running out and he was asleep. He stared numbly, wishing beyond anything that he could have her back. But she had to stay dead. It was better that way, at least for her. At least she didn't have to see what the world had become, overrun with monsters that were getting better and better at hunting down their prey. At least she didn't have to see what he had become.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, setting the photo back where Grace had left it. Absentmindedly playing with his wedding ring, he thought of how quiet the bunker had become without her and Cas, without Eileen, without the others stopping by. He had hardly ever taken the ring off before, but now it stayed on no matter what. Hers hung around his neck, one last keepsake that he would never let go of. "Gracie, I'm sorry."

A Few Months Later

"I'm going on this hunt with or without you. Somebody has to handle this, and there's no one else in the area." Sam's voice carried in from the hall, Dean paying no attention. His brother stepped into the room, a bag full of clothes and hunting supplies slung over his shoulder. "Dude. What are you doing?"

Dean sat at the war room table, staring at a candle that was slowly burning down into a cupcake. Sam could immediately tell that he'd been drinking. Noting the bottle in his hand, Sam corrected himself. Heavily. He'd been drinking heavily.

Without turning to look at him, Dean gave a simple answer. There was lead in his hollow voice, a heaviness that took Sam by surprise. "Today's her birthday. You didn't remember, did you? How could you? I mean, you were back to hunting what, two weeks after she…" His voice caught in his throat. He had only said the words once, when Sam found him drunk out of his mind the night of the funeral. "Two weeks after."

"I'm sorry," Sam offered. "I'm not saying you should try to forget about her. I miss her all the time. She was my best friend since kindergarten, Dean. We grew up together, at least when you and I were in town. But this one's close. It's not worth asking Bobby or Jody to drive when we can go. Do this for her. She would want you to keep fighting, wouldn't she?"

"She wouldn't want us to fight a losing battle, and we're losing big time, Sammy. When was the last time we actually saved someone?" The candle had finally burned down, the flame dying in a melted pool of wax and icing. "It was definitely before her."

Sam sighed, confessing that, "It's been a while. But she wouldn't want you to give up. She wouldn't want you to spend all of your time laying around the bunker, trying not to think about her and failing miserably. C'mon, you need some air."

Grace paced around the room, constantly checking her phone. She had no way to communicate with any of them. Sam and Eileen weren't answering their phones. Neither was Chuck, for that matter. And there was no reception in Purgatory. She was thinking about getting a snack when the rift rippled, Dean and Cas tumbling through.

"Got it," Dean smiled, holding up a grotesque blossom. Grace gave him a hug, Dean kissing the top of her head. "See? No big deal. It only took us a few hours. Now let's go trap that bastard."

"Are they still in the same place?" Cas asked, dusting himself off.

"Haven't moved an inch," Grace confirmed as the three of them headed for the car. "We can make it in an hour and a half if we speed all the way and don't hit any lights."

"Done."