He hadn't been missed.

He had been stuck in Purgatory for a year, presumed dead, and yet when he returned all he got from Sam was a half-hearted hug and a story about a dog. Sam hadn't even looked for him. If anything, Sam just seemed annoyed by his return. And since then they've done nothing but fight, just one argument after another, after another. The yelling never ends.

Dean can carry his brother, but his brother doesn't want to be carried. His brother doesn't want anything to do with him.

It used to be that, even when the hunt was hard, dangerous, he and Sam could still share a beer and a laugh together. Sam could fuck with Dean's radio station and Dean could put itching powder in Sam's shorts, and they could both just laugh about it. Their pranks would often escalate and a truce would have to be called, but it was all part of the tradition, part of the ritual. They were bitch and jerk, and they were brothers. They were blood.

They were family.

Dean had thought of Cas as family too, because family don't end with blood. Family is who stands beside you when others leave. Family is trust, and determination, and never leaving someone behind.

But Cas had left Dean behind: in Purgatory, in motels, on the street.

In Lucifer's crypt.

When all was said and done, Dean had been left behind by everyone: his mother, his father, Bobby, Sam and Cas on multiple occasions. No one ever chose him. He was never anyone's first pick because he just wasn't worth it.

And the one person who had never let him down, the one person that had chosen him, was gone. Benny was gone because Dean had let him down. He had left Benny alone, making his life miserable. And now Benny was gone, stuck again in Purgatory.

And it was all Dean's fault.

"Dean, are you ready?"

Dean squared his shoulders and held his head high. "Yeah."

"Come stand beside me."

Dean had made some huge mistakes in his life; he had let people down, hurt them, abandoned them. He had been simply not good enough. But let it never be said that Dean didn't correct his mistakes. He drew a deep breath and walked over to stand beside her.

"Are you sure about this?"

Dean was never sure of anything except his own loneliness and his need to be better, to be enough. No, he wasn't sure at all, but he knew he had to try. "Yes, I'm sure."

Tessa smiled at him gently, sadly. "Then take my hand."

~~*~~

The rustling of bushes and the shuffle of feet alerted him to another's presence. Monsters always attacked either one of two ways: they either slunk around in the shadows, waiting for the right moment; or they came barreling at you face first. This creature was not slinking, skulking; it was not trying to hide its presence, but nor was it announcing itself openly.

He clutched his machete tightly in his hand and waited.

There was an unusual smell on the wind, a foreign smell. Only not really. He knew that scent, but he knew it shouldn't be here.

Couldn't be here.

The bushes and trees to his right rattled and shook; the footsteps were coming closer. The scent of his tracker wafted deeper into his nose, filling his mind with confusion and memory.

He rose silently to his feet, to face the shuddering forest, ready to run or fight.

The low hanging branches parted, were pulled back like a curtain, and his tracker finally stepped out into the open

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Dean smiled and casually hoisted his familiar blade over his shoulder. "Hey Benny."