Ninety nine days.

Ninety nine days had sluggishly leeched by and still it felt like it was only yesterday she'd been standing in that exact spot.

Fastening her bloodstained shirt around her tiny frame to brace herself from the cold morning breeze, she'd watched Bobby hand Sam the poorly improvised cross.

With brute force and one swift swing of his arms, the youngest and now sole surviving member of the Winchester family had pierced the ground, placing the wooden symbol just a few inches above a rectangle of freshly stirred dirt.

Ninety nine days later and it was still there. Twin logs of woods, hastily nailed together, rose from the once dark patch of earth, which was now covered by a blanket of dried weed.

This was her fifth time here… not counting that morning. It would be her fifth and her last time. She'd promised herself that. She needed to put it behind her.

Amy shuddered and hurriedly shut her eyes when a sudden rush of flashing images charged at her. But even through tightly closed lids she could still see them.

When she'd first woken up to the sound of Michael howling out her name she'd tried to blink herself into remembering how she'd ended up lying on the floor of Bobby's basement. Her right hand felt clammy and it was bathed by some sort of sticky but warm substance.

Her spotty vision had gradually cleared and through the throbbing headache, she'd recognized the sight of blood. With her heart pounding away a furious beat, she'd followed a tortuous trail back to a large pool of rich, dark red liquid.

She'd ignored whatever Michael was wailing at her and had weakly pushed him aside.

When she saw it, when she saw him, something inside her snapped.

It was strange how, now, even three months later, she could vividly recall every second of being possessed. Every inch of that basement, every word and glance, every speck of blood, every single strangled pant of his were burned into her brain, but those four hours after waking up and seeing his lifeless, mangled body… those four hours of her life were lost to her.

There wasn't a fuzzy picture or even a scrambled sound. Of those four hours, she had nothing.

She'd woken up, seen him and the next thing she knew she was standing over a shallow grave; next to it was a closed coffin. She'd noticed she was covered in blood; her hands, sleeves, knees and the front of her shirt.

She remembered thinking she should have been terrified by the spectacle. But she'd felt nothing.

Everything about her demeanour was hollow, as if she'd simply shutdown.

Later, Michael had filled her in on the blanks.

Apparently, upon seeing Dean, she'd gone on autopilot. For twenty minutes she'd performed CPR on him and had only stopped when Michael himself had dragged her out of the basement, kicking and screaming.

After calming down she'd turned completely mute.

According to Michael, Bobby and Sam had argued feverously over the way to dispose of the body. Eventually, Sam had won out and instead of being salted and burned, Dean Winchester was buried.

He was buried here, in the middle of the woods; his grave protectively circled by sleek and tall tree trucks.

None of the three had uttered a word. No fancy sermon, no last words. They'd simply hovered ominously around the patch of dirt.

Afterwards, Bobby had driven her back home and though she'd passed by his house every time she'd come here, all five of them, she'd never stopped to say hello.

After that morning, she never saw Bobby or Sammy again.

With a deep intake of breath she opened her eyes now to spot a single purple flower trying to push its way through the cluttered heap of dry straw. It was pointless. Under the scrutiny of a ruthless August sun, it would surely wither and shrivel back into the ground.

Her gaze fell down to her hands. They held their usual pasty white colouring, no longer tainted by the crimson of his blood.

Fighting off a renewed onslaught of memories she focused on the shiny band, glinting in her finger. Stomach-churning, she took it off and unfastened the silver cord around her neck. She slipped the ring into it and a soft clinking sound rang out as it joined its matching twin. The loops twirling gingerly around the metallic thread for a few seconds and then stopped.

She put the necklace back on and gently tucked it away under the fabric of her sweater.

After ninety nine days and five visits to his grave she looked at the mangy cross one last time and silently said her goodbyes to Dean Winchester.

- The end -

Last note:

Well, there you have - I am really sorry but no backpaddling on this one.

In order to make the story believable I had to stay true to the series story arch.

To all those who stook with this story annd reviewed - thank you so much. It was a blast! ;