Author's Note: Thanks for the awesome reviews, guys! I had a talk with the Easter Bunny and he told me I should give you another update in you Easter baskets, so here we go!

I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!!

Sam saw a familiar scene; not in the way that he'd been there before, but a "seen one, you've seen them all" kind of deal. He and Jess were standing in the middle of the parking lot of the Majestic Court Motel. Looking around, Sam figured the run-down motel didn't see much business, with its cracked pavement, water stained doors, tall weeds surrounding the perimeter, and the blinking VACANCY sign missing the C-A-N. The motel had certainly seen better days.

"Where are we?" Sam asked.

"Just outside of Duluth, Minnesota."

Sam nodded and continued to look around. Finally, about ten yards away, he spotted the Impala. Rushing towards it, he saw that is was missing something—there was no love and tender care put into the classic. The car was covered in numerous rust spots, had a broken passenger back window that was taped shut with a plastic bag, and the interior was ripped in several places. The car had certainly lost its beauty. It was hard for Sam to think of this as his brother's car—there is no way in the world Dean would let his car look like this.

"Are we at the right place?"

Jess nodded. "We are."

"But how? Dean—he would never let the car get this bad. He's ready to kick my ass if I leave as much as a fingerprint on it."

"Let's go inside, Sam. You'll have your answer in there."

Still looking at the car, Sam followed Jess to the door of Room 15. The door would hardly budge and he had to use all of his weight in order to push through it. He immediately wished he hadn't.

To say the room was a mess would be doing it a huge favor. Empty pizza boxes and discarded foil wrappers littered the floor and empty beer bottles took residence on every inch of available tabletops. Drifting his eyes to the side of the bed, Sam saw a few empty bottles of Jack and glancing at the nightstand, he spotted several prescription bottles. The TV was blaring and Sam turned his head to see it was basic cable porn. The door to the bathroom opened and Dean, dressed in a faded pair of jeans, a grimy white tee, with mussed hair, emerged and collapsed onto the bed.

"What the hell?" Sam's horrified gaze stayed on his brother.

"It's been a few months since John died, Sam. Dean hasn't taken it well since he had just gotten John back a few months before his passing. He doesn't have anyone else left now, so he doesn't care."

"So, he just stays here all day?"

"He goes on a few hunts, usually the most dangerous ones. He takes more chances with himself, doesn't care if he gets hurt. He's been hurt so many times, he depends on the alcohol and pain pills to chase away the pain—both physically and mentally."

"Dean doesn't like to take pills. It takes everything I have to force him to take an ibuprofen."

"He's not your Dean, Sam. He doesn't have anyone to look out for so he doesn't care how he goes into battles. It dulls the pain for him so he doesn't have to face the world with a clear mind. He doesn't have it in him anymore."

Sam shook his head not wanting to believe. Dean's childhood had been bad enough, but this? Not even in his nightmares, could Sam place his brother in this situation. His Dean was strong and courageous. But this Dean was a different person entirely—he didn't know this Dean, didn't want to know this Dean.

A sudden knock at the door startled Sam.

Dean groaned as he dug his face deeper into the cheap motel pillow. Maybe if I don't answer, they'll go away…Happy with that thought, Dean closed his eyes but the knock grew more persistent and louder.

"Son of a bitch," he griped, a headache now forming in his foggy brain.

"Dean, open up, boy! I know you're in there," a booming male voice said.

Dean groaned louder. He didn't need this today, didn't need any of his shit. He just wanted everyone to leave him alone, but they seemed to have a hard time grasping that idea.

Once again the knock sounded and Dean practically threw himself off the bed in a fit of anger. He stomped through the mess and jerked the door open. The sudden brightness caught by surprise, causing him to squint. When the hell did the sun come out?

"Didn't you hear me knocking?"

"I was hoping you would just go away." Dean leaned against the doorframe.

Bobby let out an annoyed sigh. "I don't give up that easily. Besides, I knew you were in here. Hell, I could hear that porn you got going on in there a block away."

"I was sleeping."

Bobby pushed past Dean and entered the room. Dean rolled his eyes and shut the door behind them. Oh yeah, this was going to be good…

"You look like shit, Dean, not to mention this room."

"What are you doing here, Bobby?" He walked over to the mini-fridge and pulled out a beer, not offering Bobby one. He popped the top and took a long swig before looking over at the older hunter.

"I came to see about you."

"What about me?"

"You refused to answer your damn phone. I thought something might have happened to you."

Dean flashed Bobby a sardonic smile. "As you can see, I'm still among the living." He crossed over to the nightstand and grabbed one of the pill bottles without looking at the label. Dropping a couple in his hand, he tossed them back and chased them down with a healthy swig of beer.

"Barely," Bobby commented, watching his every move.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You're hardly even standing, boy. Look at this place—it's a wonder you haven't caught an infection from all the crap rotting in here." Bobby walked over to the nightstand and picked up a few of the bottles. "Lortab…Vicodin…Percocet. Those are some hard hitters you're dealing with, Dean, not to mention the fact you're taking them with alcohol."

"What are you, my keeper?"

"Someone needs to be."

"Yeah, well I don't remember asking you." Dean took a final swig of the beer and tossed the bottle on the floor.

He really had no idea why Bobby bothered to show up. After all, Dean had only met the hunter/junk yard owner right before John died even though his dad said he'd known him since before Dean was born, so who was he to judge? As far as Dean was concerned, he had no use for Bobby and didn't intend to. He wished the older man would take the hint and leave him the hell alone.

"Look at you, Dean. You're falling apart and you refuse to let anyone help you."

"Because I don't need any help."

"Yeah, I can clearly see you have things under control."

"That's right, I do. So why don't you get the hell out of here."

Bobby refused to budge. "You think your daddy would want you to live like this?"

Dean felt red-hot anger coursing through him as he leapt off the bed and landed a solid right hook against Bobby's jaw. Bobby barely flinched, bringing his own fist up to land a punch on Dean's jaw. In his inebriated state, Dean didn't take the punch well and fell to the floor against the nightstand, causing beer and pill bottles to rain down on him.

He brought up a hand to his lip, feeling warm blood. He wiped it away stubbornly and rose to his feet, glaring at Bobby. "You don't know a damn thing about my dad," he growled.

Bobby ignored him as he grabbed a washcloth and filled it up with ice from the small ice bucket. He wadded it up and held it out to Dean. Dean kept his glare on Bobby then moved it to the washcloth. Bobby thrust it forward and the young hunter grabbed it angrily and held it to his lip.

"I know a lot more about your daddy than you do."

"That isn't my fault."

"I never said it was."

Dean watched the older man with narrowed eyes as he tended to his lip. Bobby grabbed one of the linoleum chairs and brought it over to Dean's bed. Sitting down, he let out a long sigh.

"Dean, I'm not here to be your daddy or your best friend. I'm here as a favor to John. He told me if anything happened to him, he wanted me to look out for you."

"When did he tell you that?" Dean asked, feeling some of his anger ebbing away.

"After you were taken from him when you were a kid, he fought tooth and nail to get you back, did everything in his power. He worried you wouldn't be safe. After he lost your mama and Sammy, he wanted to do everything not to lose you."

"But he did," Dean said.

Bobby shook his head. "Your daddy always watched out for you. After every hunt, he would come back to Kansas to check on you, make sure you were safe and taken care of. He did that until about a few years ago, when he was getting closer to the demon. He thought you would be safer if he didn't come near you again. He didn't want the demon to take any more away from him, he refused to lose you to him."

"And the damn demon got him instead."

"It did," Bobby nodded. "Before that, I promised John I would look out for you, Dean, and I don't break promises."

"I'm too messed up, Bobby. I don't want to pull you down with me."

"Don't worry about me."

"I appreciate what you're doing, Bobby, I do, but I can't deal with it, with everything. It's just too painful to go on everyday, knowing what I've lost—I lost my mom, barely even got the chance to know my baby brother, and then my dad was ripped away from me as soon as I found him again. If anyone gets close to me, Bobby, they'll go away, too. I can't do that again."

"So you depend on Jose and Jack to make you feel better?"

"It kills the pain."

"It will kill you, Dean. If you're so intent on dying, don't you want it to be out there, doing something?"

"Like what?"

"Hunt the son of a bitch that killed your family. Get out there and hunt the things that are responsible for the death and destruction in the world. Get out there and save some lives."

"I have been doing that."

"Not very well. You pick and choose what you do now, mostly opting for the most dangerous. You go in half-assed and you come out crawling. You have Winchester blood in you, for God's sakes—prove it."

Dean got up from the bed and grabbed another beer out of the fridge. Bobby watched him and shrugged. "The way I figure it, you have two choices—you can sit in here and slowly waste away, or you can get out there and do something."

Bobby stood up, but didn't get an answer from Dean. He clapped him on the back and silently made his way out of the room. Dean took a swig of the beer, contemplating what Bobby said to him.

It was so much easier to turn to the alcohol and medication—they were a quick fix remedy, but when he thought about it, they only dulled the pain for a few hours and then he was hurting again. But he could do what Bobby said—be out there, doing something about it. Seek out revenge and hunt the bastard that destroyed his family, his life.

Dean took a deep breath, trying to quell the battle going on in his head. He didn't like to be conflicted. Looking at the bottle in his hand, he felt anger rushing through him once more. Letting out a roaring yell, he flung the bottle against the wall, watching with mild satisfaction as it shattered into hundreds of little brown pieces.

"What do you think?" Jess asked. They were now standing in the parking lot of the motel.

"I'm not sure what to make of it."

"That's understandable, Sam. Where Dean is now, he's going down a dark path and he's not sure where to turn. If you were with him, his decision would be so much easier, he'd know what to do. He would fight for his life, your life. He wouldn't give up as easily as he has."

"Why does everything seem to be my fault? 'If I was there, Dean would do this. If I was there, this never would have happened to Dean'."

"No one's trying to put the weight of the world on your shoulders, Sam. You do a good enough job of that on your own."

Sam sighed. How could he not carry that weigh around with him? Everywhere he turned, someone else was depending on him and it was almost all he could take. He carried the weight of the Yellow-Eyed Demon with him everywhere he went knowing because of him and his stupid "gift," he was partly responsible for the damn thing destroying his family. But most of the weight he carried involved Dean—what if he let his brother down? What if he couldn't get to him in time? What if Dean died because of something he did?

"What happens to Dean now?"

"He listens to Bobby. He goes in search of the demon and it becomes an obsession for him. He becomes consumed in his search and killing any other creature that brings about death."

"He becomes my dad."

"Even more so," Jess answered. "Dean can't see past his vengeance, so he throws all he has into tracking the demon down."

"Does he find him?"

"I can't spoil the big finish for you."

"Let me guess—that's for my future guide to show me?"

"You got it."

"So, I guess you're through with me," Sam said softly.

Jess smiled sadly. "I'm sorry."

Sam nodded but more than anything he didn't want to watch her go. Though he knew it wasn't real, he'd just gotten her back and he couldn't stand to watch her walk away from him. She was supposed to do that; she was supposed to stay here with him. Sam felt as if his heart was breaking all over again, like it had done the night he watched her die.

"I know this is hard, Sam."

Sam looked at her, tears in his eyes. "It wasn't supposed to be hard, Jess. Some part of me was telling me I could watch you leave me again, but I can't. I can't stand to watch you walk away from me. I want more time with you."

Jess pressed her hand to the side of his face. "I know you do, Sam, and I wish I didn't have to leave. But this is the way it has to be, you know this."

Sam swallowed hard. "I know."

Jess smiled, a solitary tear streaming down her face. "Don't worry, Sam. We'll meet again some day and we can be together, forever. You just have to know that I'm watching over you…always."

Sam nodded and leaned down to kiss her softly. "I know you are. I've always known that."

"Be strong, Sam. Let love guide your heart. It will always lead you where you need to go." She kissed him one more time and vanished before he could say anymore.

Sam stood in the parking lot, letting the tears come down.