The life of hunting comes with many hardships. One of the hardest may as well be coming to terms with the fact that you can't always save everybody. The people you failed haunt your memories, and forever will. Dean always says it's best to forget them, and move on. But how could you? He makes it sound easy, burying his own torment deep in his wounded soul.

Sure, you've had to accept people's deaths before, but these people weren't just strangers. Your family was hunters, you've been born and bred to kill monsters. It was supposed to be a simple hunt. Track down a nest of vampires and exterminate them one by one. Things didn't go as planned, and it was quite literally a blood bath. You could do nothing but watch as your loved ones were torn limb from limb and drained alive.

That was nearly a decade ago, when you were still a teenager. Even now, you're riddled with guilt and regret. It was unfair — you survived and they didn't. You truly believe it would've been best if you died along with them. Some days are harder than others, like today. You've been hunting with the Winchesters for a while, and the current case wound you up at a town that was too familiar, the same town that fateful hunt had taken place. You're so lost in thought that you don't hear the rickety hinges of the motel door squeak open.

"Sammy's checkin' out the library. Got us some grub," Dean states, holding up a crumpled, greasy bag of fast food. He sets it down on the little table by the door, shedding himself of his worn leather jacket. His lips purse as he looks at you, eyes immediately darting down to the old photograph you're staring at as you sit on the edge of one of the beds. It doesn't take a genius to know what you're thinking about. You'd told Dean about your past, but no matter how many times he said it wasn't your fault, you didn't believe him.

Dean's steps are cautious as he slowly steps across the stained carpet, and he crouches down in front of you. His larger hands gently take hold of your wrists. "Hey, look at me."