(This is basically my idea for a fic. Um, I'm kind of inspired by both Buffy and Angel, but I'm not trying to copy either show, okay? For the record. Um, if you guys like, send me reviews with ideas, or this is all you're going to get. Basically, the title is the important part. It's not a "death fic" I promise.)


It's been a year since that day. Bobby promised …well he made me promise to stay away from the crossroads unless he was there, too. So we both agreed to meet up on the anniversary. I can remember that day with the utmost clarity. More so than anything else, ever. I mean, it is the day I lost my brother. The last remnant of my family. Finding myself waxing slightly poetic and certainly overly emotional, I push the thoughts away, sitting in the Impala. I'd visited Bobby, and we'd washed and waxed Dean's baby together. Make her nice and shiny so that when we went to visit…when we went to remember my brother, if he could watch at all, he'd be able to know I was taking care of the Impala. Like hell I wouldn't. It's the only thing I have left from my father and brother. Other than a lot of bad memories and broken dreams. Isn't that a song? Broken Dreams? Something like that. It doesn't matter.

Bobby's truck pulled up, the engine sputtering a little before Bobby switched the machine off, removing the key and heaving himself out of the old pickup. Walking to the Impala, he lightly tapped on the glass, waking up Sam.

"It's almost time," he says quietly. Not that they're really waiting for anything. Just remembering.

Damn those boys. That last day was rough. Dean and Sam were over at my place. Figured it wouldn't kill any of us to have a normal sit down meal like a real family. And for that day, we were. Other than Dean didn't sleep the night before –in fact he's the one who made breakfast. I underestimated the boy, considering I figured he wouldn't be able to cook anything. Well, he might call it 'Cajun style' like John did when he burned the food, but it didn't count. Either way we ate good. I don't think Dean kept anything down, Sam, either, but they did their best. Watched the game, Dean's team won. Bitched about how he should have betted, before realizing there wasn't going to be any use for money where he was going. Voluntarily. Damnit John, I hope you're happy. I hope this is what you wanted for your boys, because this is what you did to them. You broke them, you broke them both. Hell, you just about killed your oldest the day his mother died, too! God the boy wouldn't speak in more than one syllable answers for over a year. Would it have killed you to love them? Because your indifference sure as hell killed them. Then again, it's not my place to speak ill of the dead. But John's out of hell and the guilt doesn't run as thick. Dean wanted to be at the crossroads, he knew that either way, the hell hounds were coming for him. Not the demon, not Lucifer himself, the hell hounds. That's what they do, no matter you resisting them or not. They come for you. He didn't go stand in the middle, he sat in the car until we could all hear the barking. He just didn't want the car scratched. Saw him hug his brother, pull him in tight. I could see the tears on both their faces. Coming out of the Impala, he held up his hands –like Jesus or somethin', I swear, and said somethin', I dunno what, but he came over to my truck. We'd said our goodbyes but he seemed to need something.

I got out of my truck. "Bobby, promise you'll make sure Sam takes care of himself. Please…" I'm sure John's said much the same to his son before, but all the same, "Dean, you don't even have to ask, son. You'n Sam, you're family. And when you're a hunter, family is everything." He nodded, and I forced a smile. Damn my eyes, watering. Dean doesn't need that. "Please, don't let him try to bring me back," Dean adds, his eyes filling with tears. "Last…last thing we need is a huge circle of Winchesters dying and coming back over and over," he told me with a pathetic chuckle. "How long can you be self sacrificing before there's no self left?" I don't know which of us said that, or if one of us even did. I just know I pulled him into a hug. "Damnit Dean…" And that's it. He pulls his shoulders back, chin up, and flashes Sam that arrogant smile he must have learned from his father. Damnit John. I love this young man in front of me, for all he's the biggest idjit I've ever met. Other'n his father, o'course. Flashing that cocky smart ass grin at me, he just walks casually into the crossroads, all but beckoning the hounds on him. They don't tear him up, nothing. One minute he's standing there, and the next he's gone. Nothing. Not even a shoe. Sometimes there's a shoe, like for some sort of dramatic flair, I guess. Hell, not even footprints. I leave enough in the loose gravel and dirt, Sammy, too. He was out of the car, and I had to hold him back, keep him from the spot. If he goes to it, I'll lose him just like we just lost Dean. I've lost enough. Sam, has, too. He doesn't need to lose himself.