My Immortal by Evanescence.

Flashback to Impala: I need you to love me by Barlow Girl

Prologue

"How I feel inside me… I wish I couldn't feel anything Sammy."

"I'm driving Dean," Sam stated simply. Dean grabbed at the driver's door, but his brother stood in front of him.

"Dude, it's my car. I'm driving," Dean shot back at him. His voice trembled and his lips quivered. He couldn't fool his brother—especially when tears were gathering in his eyes again.

"No," Sam's voice was hard now.

Dean wanted to argue, but he had to step to the side of Sam and clutch the roof of the car to balance himself. He closed his eyes, trying to stop the tears from coming again. Dean had had fits like this before… where he could barely breath the guilt was so strong. But only when Sam wasn't in the room. He didn't need his kid brother getting anymore stressed.

Dean's free hand clenched into a fist—it was so tight that his knuckles were turning white. He took a few deep breaths before opening his eyes again. Sam just stood, staring at his older brother. He'd never seen Dean act like this… ever. "Fine, you can drive," his older brother muttered in defeat. Dean stumbled around the car to the passenger seat. He wanted nothing more than to sit and stare at the sky… at the earth… It wouldn't help any, but he would at least be able to let his mind drift.

Sam looked at his brother and couldn't help but feel wonder. He couldn't imagine the hell Dean had been going through these last few months. He had to carry this guilt with him the moment he had crawled out of his grave. Just the thought of walking around with a burden like that… Sam brushed it off as he slid into the driver's side and took one more look at his brother. "Dean… are you okay?" he asked.

Dean didn't reply. He had no witty response to cover up his emotions. He simply answered, "I don't know."

When they finally drove into a motel, Dean was numb. Somewhere between the states of Georgia and Maryland, he had been able to flick a switch that sent all his emotions into a black, gaping hole. Dean also hadn't moved for the entire trip, afraid that the simplest movement could make all his guilt come flying back.

Sam had chosen the 'Ferrier' motel. Dean didn't move when Sam cut the ignition and opened the door. "Dean, we're here," he informed his brother.

I know. But Dean didn't answer out loud. His mind was still the same, but he felt as if his body was just something he was trapped in. Tell me to get up, Sammy. Please, tell me to move.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was slightly worried. Dean didn't want to move his mouth. He didn't want to breathe. Tell me to move. Shivers ran up his body, he was so exhausted. He wanted to get in bed and curl up there for the next hundred years. He wanted to move. God, please.

"Dean, are you going to move?" Sam asked with irritation. A little smugness sparked in Dean's chest, but the numb fog quickly overtook it. Don't ask me to move. Command me.

"Don't you at least want to get some rest?"

Yes.

"Dean, please move," Sam's voice was full of some emotion that had Dean wanting to beat whoever was making his brother feel that way.

That was enough fuel for him to sit up and open the car door. He didn't speak to his brother, though. Dean didn't want to burden Sam with anything. As he opened the door and the evening air hit his face, he gritted his teeth. He was losing control… losing the numbness. He moved slowly as he stood up and slammed the door of his beloved impala. All he wanted was to get somewhere private where he could be alone. No brother, no angels, no demons… no anything.

He didn't look at his brother they walked to the main office for a key. "Name?" the woman asked.

"Sam Carter and Dean Anderson" Sam replied.

She eyed them from under glasses and cloud of orange hair, "Are you serious?" she asked, smirking.

Sam only stared. Dean was looking blankly at the ground, trying to keep his mind empty. She handed them the key and they exited the office heading up the stairs to room 28. Sam opened the door and stepped aside so Dean could walk in. Dean didn't acknowledge Sam's selflessness, though he did consciously notice it.

He stepped into the motel room and looked up, just out of curiosity. It was a simple motel room, not anything threatening in the entirety of it. That's why Dean couldn't make any sense of the movement beneath his chest. It wasn't physical movement, but it was like his heart was being torn from his body. Dean didn't move for what felt like years… to him anyway.

Sam was looking at his brother intently, but Dean was just staring at the room. His face was void of all emotion. Sam wanted to say something, but before he could get a word out, Dean had fled across the room to the white door that could either be the closet or the bathroom. "Dean?" Sam asked as his brother gripped the doorknob.

His older brother opened the door and reluctantly, it was a closet. It could do… but Dean didn't want to worry Sam. Dean walked across the room to the other white door. He opened it and before stepping in, he said to Sam "I'm going to take a shower."

That comforted Sam slightly. At least Dean was going to carry on with his day-to-day activities. At least he was giving an effort to retain his sanity. Before Sam could look up, Dean had already closed the door behind him. He went to turn on the shower, but found that he didn't really want a shower. He then remembered why he was in the bathroom, even though he'd taken a shower that morning.

A dripping sound came from the faucet of the sink. He looked up just in time to catch a drop falling through the air. Dean suddenly straightened up. He stood with his back stiff, just staring at the faucet. He closed his eyes, trying to being himself back to reality.

Screaming… pain… breathing…

Dean shut his eyes tighter. "Very good my student…." That familiar voice made shivers run up Dean's spine. "I don't even think you have to be a demon, Dean. You already have the talent in you."

Don't say that… please…

"It's nothing to ashamed of. You're in your true home. Be happy about it."

And he had been happy, for those ten years…

Dean's very soul twisted with something that made the guilt feel like heaven. You're disgusting. Uriel had said.

He can't know…

I'm an angel, smartass. I know everything. And I know what you did in hell. How can you live with yourself, defiling an angel with the darkness of your soul? Chuckles had asked with a smirk across his face.

I… didn't…

Didn't what? Mate with a girl, who only saw that pretty face? Who figured that you were good, even after all that torture you put those all those souls through?

"I never did anything…" but it wasn't enough. Tears spilled out of his eyes like waterfalls. I ruined Anna…

Dean screamed with his mouth closed. He wanted to drown; he wanted Cas to throw freaking lightning at his face. Dean wanted to die… he wanted to be punished again. He deserved it.

All the screams… Dean fell to his knees… Anna's breathe in his face… he clutched his head in his hands… Cas's sorrowful look… his eyes blurred, blocking off all his vision… Sam's face of shock… something like gasping hit his ears. There was no one with him… the door was closed…

It was Dean… he was… sobbing.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He didn't know who it was to. Maybe it was to Cas, for constantly insulting and shouting at him. Or maybe his brotherly instincts were kicking in… he couldn't protect Sammy from the truth of their life… and now he was turning into a stranger that Dean didn't even know. But it was Anna's face that was in the back of his mind.

It wasn't angry… or sad… more peaceful—surprisingly enough. It looked so familiar to him. His mind created a scene for Dean that distracted him for a few seconds…

Dean and Anna were sitting in the impala. They were rather comfortable, even if they were constantly slipping on the leather of the seats.

Anna was leaning into Dean's chest staring out the window, into the night sky. Dean was looking through the windshield, his eyes staring blankly out into the night. All the while, Dean absentmindedly stroked Anna's arm with his hand.

He brushed his fingers along her arm like a paintbrush on the wall. "I've never felt something like that," Anna commented.

"What?" Dean asked, smiling.

"Your hand…" she trailed off. Dean looked to what she was talking about. He automatically stopped, thinking it was making her uncomfortable.

"No. Don't stop. It feels… nice," her cheek moved against his chest. She was smiling. Dean laughed as he continued to stoke her arm. They sat there for a little bit longer before Anna spoke up again. "Is this how I'm supposed to be feeling?" she asked.

"How do you feel?" Dean asked her.

"Like… I don't know… let's just say that with every other man I've been with, it's never been quite like this," she replied.

That made Dean's mind start working. "Is that in a good or a bad way?" he wondered.

She giggled against his chest, "In a good way. I just feel… I feel like I have nothing to worry about. I mean… every time I'm… with a man, I usually get up five seconds after it's over, worrying about what was going to happen tomorrow," she explained.

Dean waited for her to continue.

"But… with you… I mean… I'm still worrying about tomorrow. I mean, God only knows how much I would give just to stay here"—she put emphasis on the last word—"but, I don't really want to leave… not earth, I mean. It's just… I don't know."

Dean had stopped stroking her arm. He was sitting, frozen beneath Anna's body. He wasn't shocked because he was afraid of her feeling that way. Hell… it was completely different for him too. But… "I don't bother you?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Anna rolled over on top of him so she could look at him, face-to-face. Her face was serious as she asked, "What do you mean?"

Dean felt guilty for ruining Anna's peace. For God's sake, the girl was going to be killed by two of her own kind, and Dean had the nerve to bother her. "I… I…" but he couldn't speak. It meant talking about the one thing that hit his very core, and he wasn't ready.

She crawled off of Dean and sat beside him on the seat. "Are you asking me if what you did in hell sickens me?" she asked her voice hard.

Dean just stared at her, asking the question again. His green eyes met her brown eyes with pleading—begging her to answer his question.

She leaned into his ear and breathed, "No."

The beautiful memory brought some comfort to Dean. He hadn't taken his shower yet. He had slumped against the wall and was on the floor, letting his mind drift.

"But everything I did…" he spoke the words of the memory.

"You did it out of desperation. No one else in the Heaven, Earth, or Hell could've held out for that long."

"That's the point. I should've held out longer. At least I wouldn't be…"

"Be what? Dean, you're a good man. The fact that you are feeling guilty means you have a soul."

"Then what about in the pit? You know how much… joy I got out of it. Where was my soul then?" he asked.

"If it's anything I've learned while I was human, a conscience doesn't come into play until someone is done committing the act. That's what a conscience is for."

Dean shook his head. "It's not the same."

"Yes it is," her voice was as clear as a bell.

Dean looked up, but he didn't see the beautiful auburn-haired woman standing before him. "Anna?"

He felt a light brush on his cheek, as some force brushed away a tear rolling down his face. "I never said I was going to leave you."

"You should. After I betrayed you?" Dean asked.

"Dean, I understand. You did it for Sam," she reassured.

Dean shook his head as he whispered, "I'm sorry."

He felt a soft force cradle his head, like warm palms touching his face. "I said this before, and I'll say it again," she said, "I forgive you."