Dean Winchester tipped it upside down but it contained nothing to quench his thirst; with a surge of frustration he hurled the bottle as hard as he could into the wall. The glass shattered and shards sprayed everywhere. Dean didn't flinch as little pebbles of the whiskey bottle showered his hair, some settled on the shoulders of his brown leather jacket but the majority surrounded his feet and blanketed the beaten bloody corpse that lay there.

"Damn it." His hoarse voice was barely a whisper in his noisy surroundings. The party was still in full swing throughout the rest of the motel, even though he was sure he'd heard the police warning the other rooms about complaints. No one cared, even the police, they just followed up so they could say they had and by the time it came for them to have to really do something the party will have worn itself out and people will have moved on, even Dean.

Dean staggered backwards, his intoxicated body falling into a beat up little arm chair. Leaning forward, Dean wiped his blood spattered face with the palm of his hand. He frowned as he stared at his hand, it was trembling - since when did he get rattled? Moving his gaze down to the dirty carpeted floor a lump grew in his throat. There was so much blood, he didn't remember there being so much blood, where had it all come from?

Suddenly Dean's stomach clenched. Hauling himself to his feet, he flew into the measly bathroom the rundown motel offered and slammed the door behind him. Now the motel room sat quiet, its peeling walls vibrating with bad music and people could be heard shouting over it. No matter how awful the place had been, Dean had still managed to make it look like it had been worked over by a gang of thugs - even the bed had been broken in two. The sound of the toilet in the bathroom flushing and water then cascading into the sink as Dean rinsed his sweat laden face fell on the corpses dead ears. He made no sound as he emerged; silently he stepped over the broken glass, avoided leaving his footprints in the pools of blood and crouched down beside her; she was beautiful. A strand of her dark hair lay over her eyes and Dean gently moved it away. Jesus, her eyes were still open, looking up at him, their dark brown stare bore into him; he was sure they were laughing at him.

Dean had screwed up; how could he have been so stupid? He knew better than to let his guard down, regardless of thinking the hunt was over; he was better than that, John had taught him better than that. But it wasn't like his head had been in a great space recently and he reasoned that having less than a year to live would do that to you. All he wanted was to have some fun, to throw himself into things - anything - as long as it kept him from dwelling on the fact that he was not only going to die, but he was going to Hell.

Guess he should've known it would go wrong sooner rather than later. After all, he was a Winchester, and tales of Winchesters past never end with happily ever after.

"Damn it!" he cursed again, balling his fist until the circulation threatened to stop, and forcing himself to hold back his rage and frustration before he lost it completely. He gazed down at her, into her deep brown eyes that seemed to have retained some of the sparkle that had attracted Dean to her, even across the crowded parking lot.

She'd been drunk - actually, as Dean recalled - she'd been three-quarters of the way to being the worm in the tequila bottle, a familiar feeling to Dean and something he was well versed in recognising in others, but she'd held it well and had kept him in a level stare as she'd led him into the dank little motel room with its lumpy mattress, peeling wallpaper and God-awful mass-produced prints on the wall. Her voice had slurred as she'd whispered what she was going to do to him in his ear, making his heart miss a beat and his breath catch in his throat, the familiar heat welcomed as it pooled deep in his belly as he listened to her words. Her tongue had licked playfully over her lips as her fingers linked round the large whiskey bottle in his hand and stole it to take a large swig, never once taking those eyes off him.

Dean was tempted to close her dead eyes but when his fingers hovered over them they instead found their way to her full lips. Now they were red with her life's blood but once they had been pink, even after Dean had kissed all her lipstick away - her breath tasting like his whiskey - while her fingers had run through his hair, getting a good grip so she could yank his head back and bite his neck. Dean had hissed at the pain but groaned with desire as her bites slowly turned into nibbles and then soft lingering kisses. Again she had stolen his whiskey but this time hadn't kept it for herself. No - she'd stood on tiptoes and transferred it to his mouth, whilst Dean had run his hands down her back, over her tight rear and lifted her off her feet. She'd played along and wrapped her legs around his waist as he'd swallowed down the whiskey and turned to slam her again the wall, feeling the beat of the music pulsing through her body as it melted into his, the strange sensation over powered by her fingers slipping under his shirt and running over his chest. Suddenly she'd dropped her legs, spun him round in a move that took him by surprise and had him pinned against the wall with a thud. What the… his lips had muttered but they were silenced as she'd fallen to her knees. She'd looked almost innocent as she'd stared up at him, keeping his attention on her pale face, her swollen lips, until suddenly he'd felt her heavy breath on the skin she'd uncovered from his pants.

Dean brushed her hair away from her face again, even though it wasn't obscuring any of the view other than to reveal more blood and a deep gash on her hairline that - had she survived - would've left one hell of a scar. Her hair was soft, he wanted to grip it firmly in his fingers as he had when he'd looked down at the top of her head as she'd worked him to such a high his vision had begun to cloud with fire, only to pull away and grin seductively at him. God she was so hot. She'd stood to meet him level and pulled back playfully as he'd reached for her, her tongue had run over her lips like she'd been savouring the taste of him, that tongue that had only moments before been licking up the side of the hard shaft of muscle she then pushed her pelvis into… that tongue that had flicked over his head and made his hips buck, wanting more. But she'd pulled away and then she hadn't even let him kiss her, angrily he had gripped her by the arms and pushed her backwards, she had giggled at him when she'd twisted away and grabbed the whiskey bottle from the bedside table, pouring the liquid into her mouth. Dean had ripped the bottle from her grasp and pushed her onto the bed; with his jeans around his ankles and his erection fully exposed he had downed a refreshing amount of the throat burning alcohol before returning it to its home on the table and gazing down on her waiting form.

A tear fell from Dean's eye as he gently lifted her limp body and placed it on the broken bed, where it rolled into the middle of the uncomfortable mattress that dipped down through the splintered wood, and came to rest looking sickeningly sexy with her open eyes and deep red lips. Dean pushed the thought violently from his mind as he looked at her like he had right before he'd been throwing himself down on her, kissing the breath from her. He'd kissed her just a little more as she'd moaned into his mouth before trailing kisses down her neck as she'd thrown her head back to gasp for air.

But Dean hadn't stopped there; he'd travelled over the soft skin of her chest, over her collar bone where he had licked a moan of pleasure from her. He'd smiled as he'd continued over her breasts, lifting her top over her head to finally see her tight nipples inviting him to enjoy them, which he'd done with great enthusiasm. He had gripped them in his teeth and been even more aroused by the shiver he'd cause to go through her body when he'd swirled his tongue around them. Her legs had once again wrapped around his waist when he'd ground his pelvis into hers, caressing her breasts with his mouth and hands and her body had responded with want, rolling her hips to enhance the pleasure of the feel of him against her. She'd wanted him - she'd stated as much - gripping his head in her hands and staring seriously into his eyes, practically demanding him to take her then and there. But Dean had only met her eyes; his gaze smouldered with the same want that coursed through her body, and shook his head.

Gently Dean gripped the corner of the bed sheet and drew it over her bloody, naked form, covering up the site he had been so desperate to uncover when he'd moved down her body, keeping his gaze on hers, just as she had done to him.

He had kissed and licked over her belly as he'd slipped her trousers down her legs, taking them and her panties over her feet and kicking them into a forgotten pile on the floor. She'd stared at him, her lips parted as she breathed hotly, all her cocky confidence stripped away when he'd shot her a wink before dipping his head to taste her and - damn, she'd tasted good. She'd been wet and ready for him, sending bursts of flavour into his mouth and over his caressing tongue. Dean had been forced to still her hips firmly in his grasp when the tip of his tongue had run up to and over that little ball of flesh that was out and inviting him to pay a visit. He knew she'd been trying to stifle her moans and that fact had only made him work harder to try and break her… to try and push those moans that she stubbornly refused to release through her wet lips. Dean had sucked her clit into his mouth before quickly flicking his tongue over it; her body had shuddered under his attention and Dean had to try not to grin at her reaction. Slowly he'd drawn one of his hands from her hip, down her leg and pushed two extended fingers inside her all the while his tongue working her clit. Then she had moaned; a long breathy groan escaped those beautiful lips as Dean's fingers stroked her tight, warm, wet insides. Dean's dick had jumped at his success as he's swirled his tongue to lap more juddered sounds from her. Suddenly she'd sat up, catching him unawares and ripping his mouth and hand from her. She'd pushed him back sending him tumbling onto his ass and settled herself to pin his now outstretched legs. Within a second she'd had the condom in her hand, ripping it open and slipping it over him. As soon as he was covered she had impaled herself on him.

Dean walked away from her body and moved around the room and as he had done many times and in so many rooms, he wiped away any evidence that he had been there. But he knew - even as he stared at himself in the shards of the shattered mirror - that there was one piece of evidence that he couldn't wipe away. Her.

He knew he was all over her, in her, he knew what he had to do and the thought made his head spin. He remembered her wringing that sensation from his body before, when she'd slowly moved her beautiful body before him. She'd gripped her small hands on his brown leather jacket and used it as leverage to move herself into the perfect rhythm. She had been in charge again and Dean could tell that was the way she liked it. He'd let her have her fun, savoured the feel of her blinding tightness stroking his hardness, unbelievable hot and slick with her lust. With a wicked look in her sparkling eyes she'd reached again for the whiskey; instead of helping herself she had tipped the bottle up over his mouth, forcing him to gulp down the contents. Then she had thirstily lapped up what had escaped his mouth and dribbled down his neck, all the while keeping her perfect rhythm and taking him higher. It was hotter than anything Dean could have imagined and he could barely take any more. A burning fire rose in him and that had been it; Dean had refused to play nice anymore. Roughly he had pulled her mouth from his neck and growled deep in his throat at her when she'd quickly moved in to bite his lip. When she'd gone to pull away again he'd kept her there with a firm hand to the back of her head, he'd pushed his tongue into her mouth and had drowned in ecstasy when hers had run over his. Using his well-formed muscles Dean had lifted her into the air - all the while her expert rhythm had never faltered - and in two strides had her back against the wall. Now it was his turn to keep the momentum going, snapping his hips forward and grinding into her; the feel of her clamping down around him, the deep moan she let out and the expression of bliss on her face had all told him he'd done it to perfection.

Dean stared at the wall. The wall he had held her against. The wall that had crumbled slightly under their aggressive need for one another. God! It hadn't meant to go down like this. Despite the alcohol running through his veins, Dean knew he should be calling Sam, but what could he honestly say to him that wouldn't make Dean feel like a failure in his little brothers eyes? Would Sam look at him different if he knew? No, Sam would understand. Sam always understood.

Absently, Dean hovered his fingers over the cracks in the badly-in-need-of-replacing dry wall and closed his eyes; he could still hear her voice, over and over again, hissing in his ear. Harder!

Of course Dean had complied, but it had been difficult to get the trust he'd needed to really give her what she'd wanted, so he had removed himself from her, dropped her too the ground and looked steadily into her eyes. Her panting breath had made his lips sweat and he'd taken her lips with his, kissing her deeper than he had so far that night. This woman was amazing - never before had he met someone who knew how to play him the way she'd managed to and, he had to admit, he'd loved every second of it. She'd pushed her body against him, his cock slick with her trapped between them, right where neither of them wanted it to be, the hot moistness smearing across their skin. She wants it harder, he had thought, I'll give her harder. With that he had torn her mouth from his and spun her round so her back was to him. He'd slipped his hands around her body, his fingers running lightly over her breast and firmly grasping her hips. He'd seen her smile at him in the reflection of the mirror that was settled on the dressing table. Dean had moved her forward until she was almost bumping against the wood, watching her reflection bite its lip and nod at him, her eyes shining with an excitement that had sent a primal surge through Dean. With one hand he had taken her hip, pulling her against him, with the other he had gripped her hair and pushed her down, over the dressing table. He'd thrust himself inside her and slammed his hips forward as hard as he could. In the mirror he'd watched her mouth form a round 'oh', turning into a lustful grin as she'd gotten used to the feeling of him deep inside her. She liked it rough. The thought flashed through Dean's mind that it must have looked strange - Dean almost fully-dressed standing behind this beautifully stark-naked woman as he'd pounded her harder and harder, her cries no longer restrained. Her fingers had gripped the edge of the mirror and she'd kept her head raised to stare at him as he'd fucked her.

Dean turned to look at the sheets; they were already soaked in her blood where they surrounded her corpse. Dean felt anger roll up into him and he picked up a leg from the broken dressing table and stalked towards the still form. He raised the wooden leg above his head and brought it down on its head. There was a satisfying crack but Dean knew it would take more than that to get what he really wanted. As he raised the table leg again he let out a bellow, not unlike the one he'd let out as he'd come hard and deep inside her, spilling his release out into the condom.

She had been practically screaming when he reached his climax, and yet she'd still held his stare in the mirror. How she hadn't pulled it from its holdings he had no idea, her knuckles white from her grip. Her face flushed as he'd juddered into her and Dean had the sneaking suspicion that she'd been holding back her orgasm in wait of his. Her mouth had fallen open when they'd come together, each letting out their own victory cries. It had been then, as she'd dropped her head forward trying to catch her breath, as Dean had run his hand up her sweat-covered back and leant over to hold her to him; it had been then as he'd tenderly kissed her soft skin and felt her release herself from him so she could turn in his arms to stand with him, safe in his embrace, it had been then that it had burst through the door, letting it swing closed behind it.

She'd flung her gaze up in shock but not in fear; more in anger that her time with Dean had been interrupted. But as her eyes fell over their intruder Dean had seen the fear fill her up. She'd gripped Dean's jacket when he'd spun her behind him protectively. Dean had taken a step towards it, fist swinging to take its head off, but the restraint of his jeans twisted around his ankles tipped Dean and he'd fallen head first at the thing's feet. He'd taken a swift kick to the gut for his trouble but he'd fought it off to pull his trousers up and get to his feet. He'd reached for the thing - what was it Sam had called it? He couldn't remember - but it was too late to stop it from throwing her into the mirror she had been so desperately clinging to. Dean had roared at it, gripped it around the neck and pulled its humanoid body back, throwing it onto the ground.

"Help me?" The small plead had come from behind him but Dean hadn't dared look away from it.

"Bit busy here, just gimme a sec will ya?" he'd thrown over his shoulder just before swinging a kick of his own to repay the one he'd received. The thing had tried to get to its slightly webbed feet but Dean hadn't given it the chance. "I thought I'd killed you already," he'd snarled at it as he'd gripped its head ready to twist it right off its shoulders.

Then he'd seen her, just about to pull the shard of the mirror from her neck.

"NO!" Dean had shouted at her. He'd released his hold on it and ran to her, catching her hand just in time to prevent from her making a fatal mistake. "Don't pull it out, trust me."

She'd nodded slightly in acknowledgement of his words, just before her gorgeous brown eyes had widened in alarm, her focus shifting as Dean had been lifted into the air and thrown onto the bed. The frame had cracked under his weight, snapping in two and knocking the wind from his lungs as he'd hit the ground beneath in a pile of rubble and shredded mattress. Dean's vision had been a blur that he'd tried desperately to clear when he'd heard her screaming. He'd heard a crash that sounded like the dressing table collapsing and he'd regained his sight just in time to see her naked body being dragged through the splinters of wood, her strangled screams biting into his being as her skin snagged on the debris and forced their way under her flesh. But her screams had been completely drowned out to the outside world by the pounding music that still continued to pulse and vibrate throughout the motel.

Dean stopped assaulting the thing, it was a bloody mess but it was still alive.

"You're going to pay for what you did," Dean promised it, his voice low and menacingly vengeful. Amazingly, the thing managed to tip its head to look at Dean before it let its gaze fall over the concealed body of her.

"Take your ugly beady eyes off her!" Dean bellowed and booted the thing in the body. It tried to lift its hand but it was a useless instrument now, ever since Dean had stomped it to oblivion with his heavy steel-capped boot. Ever since it had flashed open the sharp things that Dean could only assume were nails and before Dean could get to her, the thing had taken them and sliced open her stomach like she was just meat they were knives preparing a meal. He'd rolled off the bed and launched himself at the thing - dammit if he could remember what Sam had called it - and they'd collapsed into a pile of tangled limbs while she had staggered to her feet, trying to hold her insides where they should remain. Dean had managed to get to his feet first; he had taken a chair and smashed it over the things head as it rose. It had collapsed against the wall and stayed there, Dean had looked at its bloody hand, its razor like fingernails still extended and dripping with her fluids. Anger and vile hate had boiled up inside him, and with a scream of rage he'd screwed his face up and lifted his foot to bring it down again and again until the things hand was practically non existent. The thing hadn't moved, but Dean had - he'd rushed to her side and held her up against him; his legs had gone weak and they'd both tumbled to the ground. The shard of mirror in her neck hadn't stopping the bleeding that pumped its way around its sharp edges and down her body. She'd tried to say something but it had just come out as a bloody gurgle as the red fluid had trailed from her mouth, painting her lips and dripping morbidly down her chin.

"It's ok," Dean had promised. "Don't worry; it's going to be ok." Gently Dean had rocked her as her small hands clung desperately to him. Dean had reluctantly forced his eyes to fall over her stomach and tried not to show his despair at the sight of her flesh gaping open. There had been no way in the world he could have gotten her to a doctor in time to save her; the wounds were too deep and Dean had seen her internal organs threatening to spill out onto filthy, bloody floor.

Dean's gaze had been ripped back to her tearful eyes when her breath had faltered. She'd gasped sharply, a gasp so different from the pleasure-induced gasps he'd drawn from her not too long ago. Dean hadn't held back his tears as he'd held her head, his large palm cupping her cheek.

"I'm so sorry," Dean had whimpered, when she'd smiled up at him he'd let out a loud sob and buried his head in her hair.

"God, I'm sorry."

From across the room the Dean had heard the thing chuckle, it hadn't tried to get up from its slumped position against the wall but it had laughed as it had watched Dean's despair fill the room.

Dean had gently laid her back to the ground before grabbing a shaft of wood from the demolished dressing table, and with a roar filled with hate, frantic desperation and overwhelming sorrow he'd shoved the wood right through the creatures laughing body. He'd pushed with such force that he'd felt as his weapon pierced right through flesh and bone and organ and pinned the thing to the wall; it had flailed for a moment before growing still, its blood pooling under its legs.

Dean had staggered back to where she lay, waiting for him to return. His foot had knocked against the whiskey bottle; it must've been swept off the table in the commotion. Dean had bent and swiped it up; he'd then fallen to his knees at her side. She'd been barely alive as he'd rested her head on his lap and gently poured the liquid into her mouth. She'd tried to swallow but only managed to choke on it. Dean had winced at the pain she'd tried to hide, shushing her gently into silence in ways he'd done to strangers far too many times to recall. Strangers. She was a stranger.

"I don't even know you name," he'd told her sadly.

The beautiful women had somehow managed to raise her hand to his face and smile. Dean's heart broke; she was so brave - so strong - but he'd never get to find out how deep her bravery or strength went. She'd opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to tell him her name, but she never got the chance. Death claimed her then, no dramatic intake of breath, no gurgling of sorrow, she just stopped, dead. Her deep brown eyes fixed on his, her hand falling from his face to land on her blood soaked stomach.

In a moment of panic Dean had stood. She'd rolled off his lap and partially onto her side, her hair falling over her face. He had no idea how long he'd stood there for, covered in blood, empty whiskey bottle gripped tightly in his fist. He'd stared at the ceiling and begged, pleaded with someone, somewhere for it to not be happening.

Now Dean stood over the body of her murderer, the table leg in his grasp dripping with its blood and possibly some brain matter, it was beaten to a pulp and yet, somehow it was still alive.

Dean hadn't even noticed the sounds of the party dying down, hadn't seen the sky beginning to lighten through the flimsy curtains, all he could see was blood. It was behind his eyes, fuelling the rage that coursed through his veins. How dare this thing be so hard to kill when it had taken her life with such ease.

It was Dean's fault; if only he hadn't had to satisfy his lust, if only he had been more focused on the job. She had been an innocent, one of the people he worked so hard to protect, she was the reason - saving people like her was what kept him going. Was he losing his touch? Had he become so detached from the hunt and consumed in his indulgence that he was unable to make a difference anymore? Maybe it was a good thing that he wouldn't be here much longer. Maybe the world would be better off without him.

It moved, through the blood that was smeared all over its face Dean could make out its eyes, staring at him. He could see its broken teeth grinning at him. Without thinking, Dean went to the door, tore it open and made for his car. Soon he had backed it up to the motel room and was searching the trunk. He barely noticed that there was no one about in the early dawn - the party was over and the parking lot was deserted, except for a few parked cars.

Dean pulled a machete from its sheath and stalked back into the disaster of a room. He didn't pause as he stormed over to the thing, swung the sharp blade and in that one swift movement severed its head clean off. Blood spurted up the wall as its face smashed to the floor. Its head bounced and rolled, landing at Dean's feet. Now the eyes that looked at him were dead. Now the teeth that grinned at him were stuck in their sneer, unmoving, un-laughing.

Dean let out a harsh, unsteady breath. He felt sick, and his body shook so hard he almost lost his grip on his weapon. The familiar disgusting rush of killing something purely evil swept over his soul; it filled him up and settled itself in that hollow, empty place in his heart as it usually did. Nothing else gave him that sort of chilling satisfaction, not even being with a woman. She'd come close, so close to ending his search for something that beats it all; something else to soak his soul in before it no longer belonged to him. But his inane search had cost her life. His selfish need to lose himself in something resulted in her death. How could he ever forgive himself? How many more people would he have to sacrifice to find his peace?

Mentally Dean shook himself out of his slump and focused on the issue at hand. Ever so carefully, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the trunk of his car. He laid her down as gently as he could, wincing when he had to bend her legs in what would've been a very uncomfortable position for a live person. As quickly as he could, he did the same with the body of her murderer, silently apologising to her for having to share the space with it.

Ten minutes later and Dean was shovelling dirt in the middle of an out of the way wood. He'd taken the Impala as far into the trees as it would go, certain that no one could see them from the road. With each thrust of the shovel he felt like he was digging his own grave. Would Sammy do this for him when his time came? Better his grave than Sam's.

Soon he had two shallow graves dug. He gently placed her body in the deeper of the two; she was still mostly wrapped in the bed sheet, her face obscured, but in his mind Dean could see her sparkling brown eyes smiling at him. Next he'd thrown the creatures body into the other grave and he'd covered them both in salt and petrol. Dean didn't think salting the creature would do anything but he figured it would hate the idea of being purified so he did it anyway.

Normally when Dean threw the flaming matches onto the bodies he had a witty remark of good riddance, but this morning he didn't have the heart to think of anything. He just watched grimly as the body of the creature slowly burned to ashes. Then it was her turn. Dean lit the matches and held them over her gas and salt-soaked body. The matches burnt down while Dean stared at her, he didn't let go until they scorched his fingers and forced him to drop them. As her body erupted in flames Dean could feel the heat burning his heart.

He watched as the sheet surrounding her burnt away, it had fallen loose from her body when he'd placed her in her grave. The sight of the gouges in her stomach sent a sharp pain to Dean's own gut; he clenched his jaw against the sensation and let it pass. Silently he watched her skin melt away through the flames; her muscles and organs burn to nothing. The strong breeze took the smoke and stench of her burning corpse away deeper into the woods.

She deserved better than this; she should have a proper burial, surrounded by the people she loved and those that loved her. Not un-ceremonially burnt with only a near-stranger to witness. No one would ever know what happened to her - she would simply join the long lists of missing persons that existed in every state.

"I'm sorry," Dean said gruffly, his voice cracking with suppressed emotion.

Suddenly music played from inside Dean's jacket. It took him a moment to register the sound, but when it reached his ears he numbly pulled his cell from his pocket.

"Dean?" It was Sam, he sounded frantic. Had he found the room covered in blood? Would Dean have to tell him what happened?

"Yeah." Dean tried to make his reply sound normal.

"Dean, where are you? We've got a problem," Sam told him urgently; there was fear in his voice. Dean cleared his throat.

"What's up Sam?" Dean's eyes stung from the heat of the flames.

"It's not dead, we didn't kill it. And it's got our scent…"

"I know," Dean said deadpan.

"Huh?" Sam stopped his rant, confused. "What do you mean you know?"

"I already killed it, for real this time." Dean looked over to where it was still burning to nothing.

"You did? Are you OK? What happened?" Sam bombarded Dean with questions.

"I did. I am. And it's dead, that's all that matters. But room five is in a bit of a state. Gonna have to clean it up before we leave town." Dean answered each question in turn, but he didn't want to tell Sam what had actually happened. There was still that fear that Sam would look at him different, or that Sam would in someway blame himself for not making sure it was properly dead first time round. Or maybe worse than that, Sam would understand, would look at him in sympathy and try to make him feel better. Dean couldn't handle that, he needed to punish himself, he needed to feel the guilt, he needed to mourn for her and be held accountable.

"I'm on it," Sam assured him. "Where are you?"

"Getting rid of the body - thing made one hell of a mess, Sam." Dean worried for Sam being in the motel room alone - what if he was caught cleaning up Dean's mess? "I'll be back as soon as I can." With that Dean hung up - he couldn't bear to talk to Sammy any longer. He needed to get himself together before he had to face his trusting little brother.

Dean was itching to get going by the time the bodies had finally burnt themselves out and yet he found it hard to tear his eyes away from her ashes. He gulped down the lump that grew in his throat as he shovelled the first clump of earth into her grave, and each following shovel full felt like a punch in the chest when his heart leapt.

"I'll always remember you." Dean promised her once he was done patting the earth down over her remains. With a heavy heart he turned his attention to the second grave, roughly he shovelled earth into it, working his muscles to the full and feeling his anger fill his soul.

Dean flung his shovel back into the trunk of the Impala and slammed in closed, then he rubbed the shiny black paint in an apology.

"Our secret ok, baby?" he said grimly to his car. Dean forced himself not to look back at the unnoticeable graves; he hated that she had to be buried with only her killer to keep her company. He wished… he wished a lot of things. He wished he hadn't gotten her involved in the first place, he wished he didn't have his DNA all over her so she could've have a proper burial, he wished…he wished he knew her name. He could give her a name. Something to remember her by - but then again, as it ticked over in his brain, he found that he couldn't. What if what he chose she'd hate, he wouldn't dare insult her like that. No, she would remain nameless; she would remain in his memory as her, the one with the beautiful sparkle in her eyes.

Dean slipped into the Impala and drove away, careful not to leave too much of an imprint of tyres, even though he wanted nothing more than to put his foot down and spin the wheels, letting out his emotion in a violent burst of burning rubber.

Dean swung open the motel door and stopped dead.

"What the…" Did he have the right room? It was spotless, no sign of any blood, no sign of a struggle. But then he noticed the hasty and shoddy repairs that had gone on. A lot of the furniture was missing; a piece of wood was under the bed, holding the middle up.

"There you are." Sam emerged from the bathroom, he was wiping his hands on a piece of cloth, his sleeves rolled up and a worn out look in his face. "You look like Hell."

"Wow Sam, if you ever retire from hunting you could always get a career as a cleaner." Dean tried to smile in his usual cocky manner but knew he didn't pull it off successfully.

"Are you OK?" Sam ignored Dean's attempt at humour, he was more concerned with the drained, exhausted look on Dean's face.

"I'm fine Sam. You ready to go?" Dean moved out of the way so Sam could pass him in the doorway.

"Erm, yeah." Sam frowned at Dean but he went to Impala's passenger side before having second thoughts. "You want me to drive? You look like you didn't get much sleep."

"No, I'll take first turn, you get some sleep. Look's like you need it yourself." Dean stared back into the now clean room. Sam really had done an excellent job at covering Dean's tracks for him and he'd never be able to tell him how much it meant to him.

"You sure? I don't mind." Although Dean was trying to hide it, Sam could tell there was something up.

Dean pulled the motel door closed, being careful not to leave any fingerprints on it, and shut out the sight of that fatal room forever, although he knew it would be imprinted on his mind for a long time to come. Except in his mind, it wouldn't be the nice clean scene that Sam left behind but the room covered in blood, broken furniture with dead bodies lying on the ground that he'd left earlier.

In answer to Sam's question, Dean went to the driver's side and opened the door.

"So how'd you kill it?" Sam questioned.

Dean shrugged at him. "Pinned it to the wall, hacked off its head, burnt it to a crisp." Without another word, Dean climbed into the car and started the engine.

"Uh huh," Sam nodded. He knew what ever it was Dean would only tell him if he wanted, and only in his own time. Until then, Sam would just have to be there for him.

As Sam folded himself into the car, Dean could tell he knew something was up but he was leaving it be.

"Thanks Sammy," Dean told him before clarifying, "you know - for taking care of the room for me."

"Anytime." Sam took the hidden meaning and smiled gently as they pulled away.

The End.