Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin...

Dean had no sooner arrived at the front door of Andrea's house when he knew something was wrong. Very wrong. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, cold fear coiling inside him until he thought he was going to be sick, but he couldn't afford such weakness. Not here, not now.

It was dark when Dean arrived. Andrea's car was parked in the driveway, like it always was this time of night. She and Lucas should be fast asleep, but something felt wrong.

The first thing Dean noticed was the lack of lights in the house. Though nighttime, Andrea always kept the porch light on, not only to discourage burglars, but just in case Dean happened to make an unexpected visit. It was a sign of welcome, a beacon in the night drawing him home, but not tonight. Dean thought maybe it was because he'd told her goodbye, saying he wouldn't be back, but like most people, Andrea was a creature of habit. He wasn't sure how long he'd been gone exactly, but he had a feeling it hadn't been long enough for her to forget him already.

The second thing he noticed was that the front door wasn't locked. Andrea never went to bed with the door unlocked. Ever. He'd taught her how to take precautions, and she knew better than that. Something was definitely wrong.

Dean pushed the door open and made his way quietly into the house, pausing a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark, the only light that of moonlight shining in through the windows. At first glance, nothing seemed amiss, other than the lack of light. The house was dark and quiet. Andrea and Lucas might very well be safe asleep upstairs, and his worries were for naught. He hoped he was wrong, but his gut feeling had never been wrong before.

It wasn't until Dean reached the kitchen that he realized his fears had been well founded. There on the floor were two bodies lying close together, their fingers almost touching as if they'd reached for each other with their last dying breaths.

"Oh, no," Dean muttered, his stomach lurching sickeningly, the taste of bile rising in his throat. "God, please, no," he groaned as he crouched on the floor to take a closer look. Both deaths appeared to have been quick and painless, their necks broken at such an angle that they'd have felt little pain, an almost instantaneous death, but that small fact gave Dean little comfort.

"No, no, no," he cried, scooping Andrea up in his arms, even as her head flopped lifelessly to one side. He cradled her in his arms, holding her cold body close, as though he could wish her back to life with his warm embrace. "Andie, please," he pleaded, grief-stricken tears clogging his throat and making it hard to breath. "Please?" he whispered, voice hoarse with pain and sorrow.

"I'm so sorry," he continued, tears streaming down his face, his heart feeling like it had been shattered into a million tiny pieces, just like the broken decanter of brandy. He buried his face in her hair, cradling her head against his chest, as he buckled under the heavy weight of guilt and grief, feeling to blame for her death and the death of her son. They were both gone, and it was all his fault.

If only he'd let her go all those years ago. If only he hadn't come back. If only he hadn't kept seeing her. If only he hadn't fallen in love with her. If only, if only' But all the if onlys in the world weren't going to bring her back. She was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it but hold her close and cry.

For the first time in his life, Dean finally understood what his father had felt when Mary had died, what it was that had kept him going, kept him searching all those years for the demon who'd been responsible for her death. Dean's heart filled with hatred and despair. He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached before letting out a wail of grief and rage. There was no hope left. Nothing left to do, nothing left to live for. The brightest light in his life had been snuffed out. Two innocent lives lost all because they'd made the mistake of loving him.

Dean sat there on the floor for a long while, rocking her back and forth in his arms, whispering to her brokenly through sobbing breaths. "It's okay, baby. I'll be with you soon. Promise."

The house was gone. Andrea and Lucas were gone. Dean looked around to get his bearings. He was in an alley somewhere. It could have been anywhere. It was still dark, but he got the feeling he wasn't in Wisconsin anymore.

"Cas! What the hell! Take me back there. Now!" Dean demanded, green eyes flashing with anger as he faced the angel, who was the closest thing he had to a best friend.

"No," the angel replied. "I can't let you do this. Not like this. You need to come home. You need to think. Your family is worried. I am worried."

"You're worried," Dean chuckled mirthlessly at the irony of the angel's statement. "If you're so goddamned worried, then you know why I have to do this. This is my fault, Cas, and this is my destiny. I started it, and I'm the only one who can stop it. You know it, they know it, I know it. Don't you see?" Dean asked, spreading his arms, letting the angel see the desperation in him, the heartache, the hopelessness. "I can't let any more innocent people die because of me. I won't."

"I did not pull you from Perdition for this. I did not rebel for this," Cas replied, his own eyes flashing with anger. "You are not the only one who's suffered or the only one who's to blame, and until you understand that, you're not going anywhere. You aren't making the decisions. You aren't in charge. This isn't your decision to make."

"The hell it isn't!" Dean retorted, but before he could say another word, he found himself knocked to the ground.

The fist came out of nowhere, crashing against Dean's cheek as hard as a rock, splitting his face open deep enough to gush blood. He lost his balance and stumbled backwards against a brick wall, a second fist connecting with his chin sending him stumbling to the ground, tasting his own blood. "Cas, please," Dean muttered, looking up at the angel with pain-filled eyes. "Try and understand?"

"I understand that you're giving up," Cas replied, picking Dean up by his jacket, his face a mask of rage.

Dean had never seen him so angry before, and his eyes widened in fear, face to face with the fury of the angel's wrath.

"I will not let you give up," Cas said through clenched teeth, as he threw Dean up against the brick wall, jarring him into near unconsciousness. The angel picked him up one last time and threw him clear across the alley, metal rattling as Dean crashed into a chain link fence and fell to his knees, spitting blood.

Dean looked up at him from the ground, dazed, all the rage going out of him, feeling empty and alone and bereft. "Just do it," he said, as if tempting the angel to finish the job, to put him out of his misery once and for all, but the angel only stood there, his expression softening as he looked down on Dean, anger turning to empathy at last.

The angel uncurled his fists, hands relaxing at his sides as he stepped closer to the one being he felt more kinship with than anyone he'd ever known, angel or human. "No, there's been enough pain for one day." He reached out and pressed two fingers against Dean's forehead, and everything went black.