Dean drew his gun slowly, looking at is as he held it in his hands. He looked down at his brother's bloodstained face and clothing. A savagly murdered man lay in the corner of the room.

Do it, please." Tears streamed down Sam's face as he pleaded with his brother. Dean's chin trembled and he shook his head slowly

"Sam, please don't ask me to do this." Sam had handcuffed himself to the pipe of the heater and was kneeling on the floor of the hotel room; he pleaded again.

"Dean, you'll be next if you don't, please just get it over with." Dean felt like he could die right then and there as he looked upon his only brother. "Please," Sam tried to say but it only came out in a harsh whisper. Dean raised his gun and aimed it at Sam's forehead, his hand shook. Sam smiled a little and closed his eyes.

"Look at me," Dean said; tears rolled down his face. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at his brother. Dean's voice shook. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you." The sentance ended in a sob and a gunshot went off.
Dean sat up in bed screaming. The hotel room was dark except for a few moon rays coming through a slit in the curtain. Dean's entire body shook right down to it's very core. His heart raced and his breathing was heavy. Dean sat on the side of the bed and put his feet on the ground. He ran his hands through his hair and sat there looking at the ground. Dean had had nightmares about the night he killed his brother, ever since it happened months earlier.
"It should've been you," he thought to himself. "You did killed him, and he's not coming back."

Dean finally stood up, walked to the sink and splashed water on his face and neck. He looked up at himself in the mirror. Rage brewed inside Dean with every second that his reflection stared back at him. His image taunted him with remorse until his rage overcame him and he punched the mirror, breaking it. Dean walked away from the sink, pulling a piece of glass out of his knuckle as he went. He didn't care that his hand was bleeding. "You deserve it." Dean thought to himself. He pulled his old leather jacket off the hotel chair, gathered his things, and returned his room-key to the office. Dean started up the Impala and pulled out of the parking-lot, he didn't know where he was headed but didn't really care either. The clock on the radio read 2:17 A.M. Dean drove until sunrise when he pulled over at coffee shop in Kentucky. He took a seat by the window.

"Hi what can I get you?" asked an attractive brunette.

"Black coffee," said Dean not giving the waitress a second look. He looked out the window for a few minutes until the waitress brought him his coffee. Dean took a sip and stared at the empty seat across from him. "Sammy," someone called. Dean woke up from his stooper and looked around startled. A little boy ran by the table Dean was sitting at and back to his beckoning mother. Dean watched the little boy for a few seconds then looked away. He took out his cell-phone; hoping to find some distraction he scrolled through his stored numbers. Patricia, Polly, Rebecca, Sally, Sam...Dean's thumb hovered over the "Delete" button. Dean stared at the name; "Sam".

"Son of a b itch," he mumbled. He put the phone back in his pocket, took another sip of his coffee and stood up from the table. Dean tossed a "5" on the table and walked out of the cafe to his car. Dean started The Impala and headed towards the only place he thought he had any chance of feeling better at; The Roadhouse.