The ride wasn't as long as you had thought it would be, or secretly wished for. As the town faded behind you, the road became filled with potholes, huge pieces of the pavement braking off. It was as if this part of town had been forgotten, left alone to fade back into the wilderness, one small piece at a time. Foundations were the only things left showing that buildings had once stood there, a thriving community now only meant for animals or those desperate enough on their way out of town.

You nervously bit your lip as you took in the broken history, the silent and eeire ghosts of a town past saving giving you a horrible sense of what was to come. As Sam continued to drive down the pitted street, swerving left and right to miss the many holes, you thought to what you would see up ahead. Sam had told you that Dean was giving up, that he wanted to say his goodbyes. But you weren't sure what that meant. And he had never really mentioned saying goodbye to you, only Sam. It hurt, just a little, to think that during this emotional time, Dean was pushing you to the side, or completely forgetting about you. You understood the bond between brothers was deep, something that you couldn't, and didn't want to come between. But you wanted Dean to think about you, for at least a moment. Because the two of you had been through so much together, and you loved him so deeply, and it brought a pang to your heart to think you didn't matter enough for a goodbye.

Sam must have noticed how unsettled you felt, with the way your teeth kept tugging at your lip, or the way you kept tapping your finger against the door. He reached over, and placed a comforting hand over yours, even though just minutes ago you had been the one comforting him. "Y/N, you know you can talk to me."

You knew you could, that wasn't the problem. But you didn't want to lay any more on his shoulders, he already had more than enough that he was dealing with. "I know. I'm just worried about what we are heading into." You said, keeping it simple.

"Me too. But at least he is giving us a chance to talk to him." Sam replied, and then the both of you turned silent again.

It wasn't much longer before Sam was slowing the Impala, turning into what didn't seem like much. You could tell at one time there had been a parking lot here, but it was now covered in grass, weeds and dirt. A large sign stood off to the left, proclaiming this to be, or used to be Jaunita's cafe. It was weathered and beaten, and you suspected one large gust and it would topple to the ground.

The cafe wasn't much better. It had a rustic, Mexican feel to it, with the tan stucco shades darker in some spots do the dust and wear. The porch had a red tiled roof, but many of them had slid off, leaving the sense of a mouth missing multiple teeth. The letters on the wall had long since peeled away, their dirty frames the only thing letting you know they had once been hanging and bright.

You didn't like the look, or the feel of the place. It felt wrong, and desperate, and you glanced frantically back at Sam, wondering if he had gotten the directions wrong. He was staring forward, his jaw line determined, his eyes set, but you could tell beneath all of that he was just as nervous as you were.

A lone, non descript gray sedan was in the parking lot, something that you would have never expected Dean to pick. It was the only other source of recent life in this desolate place. The creak of a car door opening broke you out of your perusal, and you turned to see that Sam had gotten out of the car. You joined him, your footsteps heavy and slow, matching your need to see what was inside.

Sam glanced down at you, his face serious and stern. "No matter what we see, or what happens, I need to know you are safe. I want you to stand behind me at all times. And if things turn south, I want you to run. Don't look back, just take the Impala and drive. Drive anywhere, but do not come back for me. Do you understand?"

"Sam, you can't ask that of me!" You started to argue, but the look on his face said there was no way he was going to let you argue about this. He was decided, and there was nothing you could do to change his mind. "Fine, but I don't like it."

"You don't have to like it. But as long as you are safe." Was all he said before he took long steps towards the rotting porch, and you had to struggle to keep up. You knew he had two purposes for walking so fast, one to stop you from arguing, and the second one was to get the surprise over with. 

You followed behind, your eyes taking in everything. From the faded signs still hanging on the walls, to the broken chairs laying along the dirt. The small windows gracing the front were covered in grime and many were broken. "Why did Dean pick this place?" You asked, half to yourself.

"I have no idea." Sam threw over his shoulder, but he never stopped. The front door was wooden, with the beautifully painted scene faded and cracked. Sam pushed it open, and you winced at how loud the creak was. He didn't hold it open for you, but you knew that was because he wanted to stay ahead of you at all times. There was a second door, this one glass, that only had a thin layer of grime covering it, giving the inside of the restaurant a blurry tinge. 

Once Sam opened the door, you followed him in, confused by the wonderful smells of Mexican food that was wafting through the interior of the cafe. The restaurant was bathed in light, from strings hanging around the ceiling, along with neon signs selling various types of beer. Sam had turned to his right, his body tense as he took in the scene in front of him. His large frame blocked the door frame, keeping you caged in the small foyer. Frustrated, you stomped your foot, caught between wanting to see, and just wanting to get it over with.

"Heya Sammy." You heard Dean say from farther inside, and you let out a small sigh of relief, relieved that he hadn't gone through his plan yet.

After his brother spoke, Sam took another step inside, then another, his once large movements now small and precise. Finally free from the small space, you caught up with him, keeping behind him as promised. 

The first thing you noticed was how all the furniture had been left behind. The booths, the tables, the chairs. Even the glasses and plates behind the bar had been forgotten, left to rot away. You saw a table, with a big barrel as the base, loaded with different types of Mexican food. Dean stood next to it, dressed in his very familiar maroon flannel shirt. His arms were crossed, his legs spread a little as he stared his brother down. He looked beaten and down, and you wanted nothing more than to rush over to him, to take him in your arms and let him know everything would be okay. But you stayed put, one step behind Sam, but far enough to the side that you could see around him, and see everything.

"Hi Dean." Sam finally answered, his voice surprisingly calm. As you continued to stare at Dean, you saw movement from the side of the room. Curious, you tilted your gaze, when what you saw made your jaw drop.

Not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself, you took a step closer to Sam, before tapping him on his shoulder. "Not now Y/N." He answered, but you tried again, knowing that he needed to know this.

"What?" He finally asked, his attention, but not his gaze, off of his silent brother. At least for a split second.

"Sam, look over there." You told him, tilting your head so he could see where you meant. His eyes followed your movement, and you saw them widen as he noticed what you had seen.

"Death?" He asked, his voice losing the calm demeanor he had been working so hard to convey.