Author's Note: Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews, guys. I know I say that every time, but I really mean it. You really do encourage me to keep writing and keep giving you more.

I am so happy that you were surprised and thrilled that I chose Layla as the thrid guide. I was really apprehensive about that when I first wrote it, but you have really made me feel better about it now, so thank you!

This is a shorter chapter, but I didn't want to cram too much into it. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!

"You see, Sam, the love Dean has given you, the protection he surrounds you with, you get to share that with a special little boy." Layla was smiling up at him.

"So, Jake…he's going to be okay?"

"More than okay. Dean, and with his reluctance, a few firefighters are able to get you and Jake out safely. You managed to stop Jake's bleeding with your first aid, so he just needed a few stitches. And by jumping on him, you saved him from further injury, possibly death."

"I had to do something. I couldn't stand by and watch him get hurt."

"Your heart is always in the right place, Sam."

Sam flashed Layla a half-smile.

"You see, Sam—you and Dean do good everywhere, not just in the supernatural world. You help a lot of people, more than you could possibly ever know. So many people, though they may never admit it, are grateful for the work you and your brother do. But like I said, Sam, it's you and Dean—you two are an incredible team, a driving force."

Sam nodded; he knew what Layla was saying was true. He and Dean were a team, always had been. When Sam left for Stanford, he felt as if half of him were missing, his Dean half. He didn't know if Dean felt the same way he did, but he had to believe he did. Dean somewhat admitted it to him a few months ago when he told him part of the reason he dragged Sam away from college was so they could be a family again.

"Sam, what I'm going to show you next, I want you to prepare yourself, because I can't promise that it's going to be good."

Sam's eyes widened, his heart hammering in his chest. It wasn't going to be good? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why wasn't it going to be good? What was going to happen? He didn't have any time to question it further as he and Layla were brought into another vision.

The hot, quiet June night was too much for Dean Winchester to handle. He didn't like the quiet, in fact, it was almost deafening to the hunter. He wanted to know where his opponent was at all times, not feel like he was lost and alone. But, in truth, the young man was alone. He had been since the day he lost it all—the day he finally lost everything that tethered him to this world.

And he knew who was to blame—the yellow-eyed bastard who haunted every single one of his dreams and his waking moments. The demon had managed to rip away everything from him—his mother, his father, and most of all, his Sammy—and he'd done it in the blink of an eye.

The remaining Winchester had been searching for the demon for the past two years, ever since the day Bobby had given him the ultimatum: waste away and pity himself or get out there and do something. Dean chose the latter and it was a decision he never regretted, not once.

The young man spent every waking hour hunting down the supernatural evils of the world all the while continuing his search for the yellow-eyed demon. He was not about to let someone else go through the same hell he'd had to endure. No one deserved to live a life full of pain and Dean made sure no one did.

He'd managed to save a lot of people and send many creatures straight through the gates of Hell. While Dean felt good about what he's accomplished the past two years, he still felt as if a part of him were missing. He felt as if he were doing this for all of the wrong reasons, instead of having a purpose. He felt as if he needed a purpose to do what he was doing besides revenge. Revenge was an ugly son of a bitch and lately, it was what defined the young demon hunter.

But that revenge also fueled the fire, it made hunger and thirst for more. It made him want to hunt the monster down who was responsible for everything and it made him do it relentlessly. He was finding it hard to see past his anger and Dean channeled that rage on his hunts. Some may say he was ruthless, but Dean didn't see where evil deserved anything better. It was that evil that made his entire life suck, so he was only returning the favor to them.

Two days ago, Dean was blessed with Intel as to the possible whereabouts of the yellow-eyed demon. He'd been in the middle of hunting a poltergeist in Texas, but he'd dropped everything and driven to Kansas—Lawrence, Kansas to be exact. He now thought of it as poetic how the fight was going to end exactly where it started all those years ago. And it was going to end tonight—Dean was going to make sure of that. There was only going to be one victor, and really, he didn't care who would succeed in the end. He just knew it was going to be over and that was all that mattered to the young man.

Dean reached into the back waistband of his jeans and extracted his prize—the one thing that could truly banish the demon to Hell and beyond—the Colt revolver Samuel Colt crafted in 1835 that could kill anything and everything evil under the sun, even nasty yellow-eyed sons of bitches. Dean never knew such a weapon existed until Bobby mentioned something about it three months ago, told Dean where he could find it.

Dean had made his way to Manning, Colorado to see if he could persuade Daniel Elkins, a highly respected vampire hunter, to give it to him. And it took a lot of persuading on his part—a lot—namely, a good chunk of change Dean had been saving up for some time and even then, the grizzled hunter didn't want to give up the Colt. So, Dean resorted to a different kind of persuasion—violence. He'd given Elkins a nice little knock on the head, left the money, and swiped the gun and bullets. He knew Elkins would be pissed when he woke up and noticed the gun missing, but Dean could care less. He had a demon to vanquish and Elkins had the means to do it.

Moving stealthily through the old factory, Dean began to wonder if maybe he should have considered bringing backup. It wouldn't have been such a bad idea, that way he could have at least had someone covering his back. But then again, that wasn't Dean—he didn't put people in harm's way if he could help it. Bobby even offered to join him, but Dean declined—he wasn't about to let Bobby sacrifice himself for his battle, his mess. This was something Dean had to do on his own, for his family.

Still, Dean would love it if he'd had someone to banter with, calm his nerves. He wasn't stupid—he was scared shitless and why shouldn't he be? He'd heard countless stories what the demon was capable of, been witness to what it had done to him mom and baby brother. It was a sight that never gave his eyes a reprieve.

Holding the gun tightly in one hand and his flashlight in the other, Dean weaved his way through the huge steel cannery machinery and the rows upon rows of boxes that were stacked several feet high. He knew from the info he got from Bobby the Kitty Korral Canning factory had been abandoned for several years. What better place to set up a base of operations, he thought wryly.

Hearing a sound off to his right, Dean held his breath and took cover behind one of the machines, his gun at the ready. It felt heavy in his grip, but not as heavy as the air that was surrounding him. He felt as if he couldn't breathe and knew this was it. This is what I've been waiting for. Come on you fugly yellow-eyed freak…

"Are you lost, son?"

Dean looked sharply to his right to see a heavy-set middle-aged man with close cropped auburn hair slowly approaching. The man was dressed in a light blue security guard uniform with navy pants and appeared to have kind blue eyes. But Dean knew better—he knew the demon could possess anyone, take on different personas with the drop of a hat. He wasn't about to be played the fool, not for a second.

"I'm not lost."

The man scratched his head, his other hand resting lightly on his nightstick. "This place has been closed for years. You wanna tell me what business you have for being here?"

Dean cocked his head. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

The guard's eyes flashed angrily. "You think this is a game, son? You're trespassing on private property—I could have your ass tossed in jail."

Dean shrugged and raised the Colt up. "How about we cut the shit and get this over with already?"

The guard smiled—a cold, calculating smile as his eyes turned from blue to a golden-yellow. "Dean Winchester—I was wondering when you would figure it out."

"No offense, but a monkey could figure it out. You oughta work on that act of yours a little more."

"I'll keep that in mind for future reference."

Dean smiled his own cold smile. "There isn't going to be a future reference." He cocked the gun, which only caused the demon to laugh, adding more fuel to the hunter's anger. "Something funny to you?"

"Are you really that naïve, Dean, thinking you can use that gun on me?"

"This isn't just any gun. You think I haven't been doing my homework on you, picking up where my dad left off?"

"Your daddy, yes…the great John Winchester." If it was at all possible, the demon's smile grew wider. "You know, I really expected more of a fight from him especially from all the talk I heard about him. As I seem to recall, he died screaming. Pathetic, if you ask me."

Dean stiffened at the demon's condescending tone. "You son of a bitch," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Oh, did I hit a sore spot?"

"You don't get to talk about him like that."

"Why not, Dean? Because you say so?" The demon laughed again as he saw Dean begin to visibly shake. "Tell me, Dean…how was it growing up all alone, without your family? How did it feel to lose everything you ever loved? How did it feel to lose your father right after you found him again?"

"Shut up!"

"Another sore spot, huh?"

Dean's grip tightened on the Colt. "I'm sending your ass straight back to Hell."

The demon nodded towards the gun. "With your little toy gun there? I thought you said you've done your homework, Dean. If so, then you would know that gun would never work on me."

"You think so? Maybe you haven't heard the news. This isn't some ordinary gun; it will send you and all your little friends straight into oblivion. Samuel Colt made sure of that."

Dean felt a moment of satisfaction as the demon's smile finally faltered. But just as quickly, he recovered and the smile was back. "So, it does exist. Here I thought it was just a legend."

"That's what you get for thinking."

"It would appear so." The demon let out a long sigh and cocked his head to study Dean. "So, you have the gun. You don't think I'm just going to stand here and let you shoot me, do you?"

"I hope you don't plan on making it that easy for me. It would be a let down and let's be honest, after all I've heard about you, I've been looking forward to a good fight."

"You're not as stupid as all of the other hunters, Dean. I guess I have no choice but to oblige your request."

Dean smiled—finally, the moment he'd been looking forward to for twenty years, twenty years since this freak began to systematically take away his life. At this moment, Dean felt vindicated, even if he didn't come out of this fight alive. He felt vindicated for his mom, dad and little brother all taken from him way too soon. Dean wasn't doing this for himself; he was doing it for the people and love he'd lost.

The shock barely registered on his face as he went flying through the air, crashing through the stacks of boxes. He didn't know how, but somehow he'd managed to maintain his grip on the Colt, even as he landed hard on the floor. Shakily pulling himself up to his feet, he was just standing up straight when the demon appeared in front of him, smirking.

"Still managed to hold onto your gun, I see." The demon jerked his head to the left and Dean once again became airborne, this time losing his grip on the gun as he crashed into a wall. He felt pain racing through his body as his head connected solidly with the hard concrete and then warm blood oozing down his face from the laceration beneath his hairline. He looked over to see the gun was lying several yards away from him.

"I've got to tell you, Dean, I expected a lot more from you, as well, especially with all that rage you've built up inside of you. You're just making it too easy for me, I'm not even enjoying myself. Sad, really."

"Maybe if you didn't use your demonic mojo and fought like a man, it would be a different story."

The demon nodded at Dean, amused. "You want a fair fight? What the hell…I'm feeling generous today."

Dean pushed himself up off the floor, bringing his body to a fighter's stance. His mind didn't even entertain the fact this was an innocent man he was about to lay into. The guard didn't ask to become possessed, he was just an unfortunate bystander. But Dean couldn't think about that, couldn't let the humanity of it get in the way. All he could think about was this was the thing who'd destroyed his life and he needed to be punished.

The demon waggled his fingers as if inviting Dean to take a free shot at him. Dean wasn't one to disappoint so he aimed a well executed right hook against the demon's jaw. His head jerked back and when he turned to face Dean again, blood was flowing from his busted lip. The demon threw a punch of his own, which Dean deftly sidestepped, and using his leg, the hunter swept the demon's legs right from under him. The demon fell hard and Dean was pretty sure he heard the demon's head hit the floor.

Straddling the demon, Dean delivered punch after angry punch to his face, smiling in morbid satisfaction as he saw more blood and signs swelling and bruising. The victory was short-lived as the demon reached up a hand and grabbing Dean's throat, he tossed him across the floor. Dean landed hard on his right shoulder and felt it pop out of place. Wincing and biting back a cry, because he wasn't about to give the bastard the satisfaction, he began to pull himself up. The demon kicked him in the stomach before he could get up on one knee, and he was back down for the count again. The demon then repeatedly started to kick him and Dean who was trying his damnedest to keep himself covered, was pretty sure he heard a couple of ribs crack from the assault.

"What's the matter, Dean? Can't keep up?" the demon mocked.

"You bastard." Dean gritted his teeth and caught sight of the Colt now lying only eight feet away. He turned on his stomach and started to crawl towards it. The demon saw his intention and just as Dean was reaching for it, he got there first and plucked it off the ground. He smiled at Dean as the young man looked on in horror.

"I find myself tiring of this fight, young one. You're looking like a dog that needs to be put down. And if anything, I don't like to see an animal suffer." He jerked his head and Dean felt himself sliding across the floor and crashing into the concrete wall once more. He then felt his body lifting in the air and he was pinned to the wall by an invisible force. He tried to fight it, but the force held strong. Through a haze of pain, he saw the demon slowly approach him, stroking the gun tenderly.

"You're so intent on seeing this gun work, how about I show you." He aimed the gun at Dean's chest. "The Winchester legacy comes to an end…"

Sam felt his body screaming as he was jerked away from the factory. Dean…oh, God, what happened to Dean? He reached for Layla and gripped her firmly by her arms. "No, wait! You have to tell me what happens! What happens to Dean?"

"You know what happens, Sam. Turn around."

Sam did as he was told and found himself standing in the middle of a cemetery. A light drizzle had begun to fall and the gray sky seemed to mimic what he was feeling inside when he looked down and saw the headstone before him. "No," he whispered.

He fell to his knees and started to pull at the grass. When he saw that wasn't helping him any, he rubbed his hand over the smooth, polished granite. "Dean…" Tears stung his eyes as he read the headstone: Dean Winchester—January 2, 1979-June 8, 2004.

"I'm sorry you had to see this, Sam."

Sam nodded numbly, feeling the tears flowing down his cheeks. He knew this wasn't real, in his mind he knew that. But seeing this right now made it feel so real, like it had really happened. How could Dean, his big brother, the greatest man he'd ever known, be dead? Why did he have to go after the damn demon? Why did he have to sacrifice himself for some stupid vendetta? Why couldn't he have just moved on?

"It was because of you, Sam."

"What?" Sam looked sharply at Layla, his hazel eyes blazing through the tears.

"He died doing what he thought was right for you, for his family. He couldn't allow your deaths to go without some sort of retribution. If he died fighting the demon, he was okay with that, he could deal with that. It meant he was going to be reunited with you once again."

"That's stupid."

"Wouldn't you have done the same if you were in his place?" Layla challenged.

Sam didn't even have to think about that. Yes, he would sacrifice himself if it meant staying with his brother. He would get revenge for Dean, kill for Dean, no matter what the price may be in the end. That was his love for his brother—his undying, devoted love for the man who'd raised him since birth and into the man he was today, been his mentor, and his best friend.

"You would do the same thing as Dean. Like we've been telling you, Sam, this could have been Dean if you were never a part of his life. But you are and that's what matters. Dean is okay because he has you, he has a greater purpose in the world. Taking yourself away from him, Sam, it wouldn't be good for him, he wouldn't last long."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll show you."