Alex had heard that death was painful. She had heard it was supposedly the most terrifyingly painful thing in the world but she couldn't have known. All the near death experiences that came as part and parcel of the life she led had given her some idea but the reality of it was different. It was much, much different.

The first few moments as the strike of the knife cut through her skin and into her heart, it hurt her beyond anything she had ever felt before. And yet, it lasted only a moment. The pain was gone as swiftly as it had appeared, and in its wake was left a certain kind of confusion, with some semblance of peace just beyond the horizon.

In memory of all that had come to pass, she sighed as her last breath left her and she reached for the peace that she could almost touch. It was beyond her, she realized as everything around her faded to black.

They'd done what they had set out to do. Cas had rushed a very shaken Claire Novak out of that godforsaken house, away from those creepy goons. Sam and Alex stepped out along with them as Dean remained inside to make sure that Randy and the rest of the motley crew didn't follow them to cause more trouble.

"Sam you got this, right? I'm gonna get Dean. Let's just go home," Alex announced on their way out, watching Cas gently let Claire into the car. Sam nodded his agreement and she stepped back into the house once more.

The sight before her alarmed her. Dean was on his knees, and the man that had attempted to force himself on Claire held a broken beer bottle in his hand. He had obviously crashed it onto Dean's head, if the trail of blood left on his forehead was any indication.

"You don't want to do this," Dean said glancing up at his attacker, watching him get closer. The man did not heed the warning and Alex watched as he tried to kick Dean, but the attempt was blocked. Dean had him tackled and the blade was in his hands. Before she knew it, the throat was slit, and blood gushed out staining Dean's face.

With widened eyes and a terrified heart, Alex gasped, "Dean, no. No." He didn't seem to hear her. One after the other, the men fell victim to Dean's blade right before her eyes. He was on a rampage, and Alex realized that he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop even if he tried. The Mark, she cursed, knowing it was the reason why blood was all he could see.

She knew what needed to be done. She stepped forward, trying to turn Dean around and to take the blade from his murderous hands, to stop him while she still could. He killed the last man before him and turned to her with a roar, his instincts screaming at him to fight, to kill. The blade sank into her chest before it even dawned upon him that she was not an enemy he was supposed to be fighting.

His eyes widened, as the life left hers. She collapsed in his arms, and still in shock, he held her lifeless body in his lap. "Alex," he said staring into her, willing her to wake up, knowing she wouldn't. What have I done? His mind screamed at him, anguish consuming him in a matter of seconds.

When Sam walked in, all he could see was blood. There was so much blood that the room was bathed in it. Men lied dead everywhere. All of them, each and every one of them was dead. In the middle of it all, Dean knelt on the floor holding Alex, with blood gushing from her chest. In one hand, Dean held his blade and with the other he tried to halt the bleeding. She wasn't moving. She wasn't breathing.

"Sam, I…" Dean stuttered. He was shaking, his body feeling the effects of the Mark's high and the complete shock of an unresponsive Alex in his arms. "I killed her…" He looked up at his brother, with confusion and regret. "She's gone. I killed her," he repeated.

Forgetting Sam's presence, Dean dropped the blade and clutched her to his chest. "I'm sorry," he said, tears starting to stream down his face, mingling with the blood of the slain. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chanted an apology she couldn't hear anymore.

Well you only need the light when it's burning low…
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow…

Sam stared at Dean, twirling a glass of whiskey as he sat at the kitchen of the bunker. It's been two months to the day and since that dark night, Sam had watched his brother retreat into himself with each day that passed. Dean's eyes were haunted though he thought to hide it. The light within him, whatever had been left, seemed to have left him. And Sam knew that Dean's thoughts, awake and not, were plagued only by memories of Alex, and her blood on his hands.

Dean could feel his brother's eyes bearing into his back. He would have usually made some comment veiled with sarcasm at Sam, but he lately couldn't seem to care enough to do anything of the sort. The lightness with which he tried to approach life regardless of the dark that surrounded it seemed to be dwindling fast.

Only know you love her when you let her go…

Sometimes it felt like Alex was the only light in his life, and he had lost it. You didn't lose it, you bastard, his own mind screamed at him angrily. You snuffed it out. She was the good in his life, and he had always loved her in some way or the other. He realized with an inward misery that he had never gotten around to telling her how much. And now…it was too late.

Staring at the bottom of your glass,
Hoping one day you'll make a dream last…

But dreams come slow and they go so fast…

He stared into his almost empty glass of whiskey and poured another. It was easier to ignore the pain when his mind was occupied with a hunt. It was easier to not feel the burden of the Mark when he was focused on saving some poor innocent life. Yet on days like this, cooped up in the bunker with Sam who was perusing his laptop for some kind of cure, Dean couldn't deal with it. He expected to calm his nerves with this vile liquid but it only burnt his throat. He took another swig, hoping it would burn his soul.

He'd deserve it if it did.

"I'm going out," Dean announced, gulping down the remainder of his drink. Sam looked up from where he sat, questioningly but said nothing. "I need to get some air, clear my head," Dean said in way of explanation, and without waiting for his brother's response, he hit the road in the Impala.

He had no idea where to go, except maybe to another bar, but even that seemed pointless right now. Nothing he could do would be able to bring her back.

He thought of Cas, and how he'd asked him to heal her. Cas had only looked at him in that solemn way of his. What was unsaid was that it was far too late. She was long, long gone, beyond saving and beyond reach.

He'd even thought of Crowley, and making a deal or something but Sam had yelled at him saying, "Alex would kill you herself before any hellhound could if you do something stupid as that!" He was right. That was no way to bring her back. That wouldn't be what she'd want.

She didn't want to die either, Dean, the voice in his head reminded him. He revved up the engine. Maybe he could outrun his guilt. Maybe not. He would try.

You see her when you close your eyes…

The memories of her just wouldn't let him be. She was there in his dreams, laughing at something, enveloping him in her happiness. She was there when his mind wandered. He wished there was a way he could just talk to her, and tell her how he felt – how horribly sorry he felt.

He could get someone to conduct a séance. Any mediocre psychic could get it done. But as much as he wanted to talk to her in some way, he was also terrified. What could he say after what he'd done? 'Sorry' would just be a mere word, and words could rarely heal the tragedy he'd made his life to be. 'Sorry' could not bring her back.

Maybe one day you'll understand why,
Everything you touch surely dies…

Dean parked on the side of the road, and leaned his head back on the seat. I am cursed, he thought miserably. Ever since he'd turned four, all he had experience in his life was death. Everyone he loved, every single one of them, had died or he'd lost them in some way. I am cursed, he repeated to himself thinking that maybe the Mark was his punishment for all the things he destroyed simply by existing. Maybe getting Alex killed was the last straw. There was no going back now…there was no cure for this disease.

Staring at the ceiling in the dark,
Same old empty feeling in your heart…

The Impala felt slightly chilly, and Dean wondered if it was him feeling the coldness seep through from within. He felt so cold, so empty, as of late. He fiddled with the heating system of the car but found nothing wrong with it.

'Cause love comes slow and it goes so fast…

Maybe he shouldn't have loved her. He'd tried to keep it in, make sure no one knew, but somehow Alex had probably felt it. The way she had looked at him, with all that love and hope, he had wanted to run into her arms and just lose himself in her. He hadn't, and he felt both regret and gladness about the fact.

He shouldn't have loved her at all. If he hadn't, maybe she'd still be alive. Maybe he should have let her go when he had the chance, making sure she lived a long healthy life. But he'd been one selfish bastard. When Sam had asked her to stick around and help them figure out a cure for the Mark, instead of telling her to leave as he should have, he'd held his tongue.

He shouldn't have loved her at all, but he had and now he only felt despair. The guilt seemed to consume him from within.

He closed his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Alex. I just can't do this anymore. I can't do this without you."

Well you see her when you fall asleep…

"I forgive you, Dean," he heard her say, and his eyes snapped right open.

There she was, sitting in the passenger seat, dressed as she always was. "Is this real? Am I dreaming?" Dean stuttered in confusion. What in the world was going on?

"It's real," she told him. Her body flickered, disappearing and appearing once more. "As real as it could be," she added with a sad smile.

She was a ghost, and she was in his car. "But how?"

"Unfinished business," she shrugged. "I had to see you, Dean. I had to see you one last time." Dean waited, unable to say a word, urging her to go on. "It's not your fault, love," she told him, "It wasn't your fault. It was just an accident."

He reached out to touch her hand but his fingers passed right through her.

But never to touch and never to keep…

"I killed you," he reminded her.

"You didn't mean to."

"And that makes it okay?" he shouted at her without meaning to. "It's not okay, Alex! You're freaking dead, for god's sake!"

'Cause you loved her too much…

And you dived too deep…

She only looked at him, sadly smiling, and urging him to understand, but knowing he wouldn't.

"I should have let you go when I had the chance," he sighed. "I shouldn't have loved you. I was selfish. I was a selfish bastard."

"Let me go now, Dean," she told him. She laid a hand on his cheek, and the cold enveloped him once more. He couldn't feel her touch but he closed his eyes anyway.

"How am I supposed to do that?" he asked.

"Let go of this guilt. It's not yours to carry. I forgive you," she told him. "Let me go, baby."

"How are you not mad at me, Alex? I got you killed!" he exclaimed. "You were my responsibility and I let you down, just like every goddamn thing in my messed up life. I let you down too." One single tear escaped his eye.

Her eyes rested on the F-shaped scar on his arm. "The Mark did it, not you," she reminded him. "You have to keep looking for a cure, Dean. Don't ever give up. There has to be a way. Don't you dare lose hope, Dean Winchester!" she said gently laughing at her own attempt to sound commanding. "Promise me, Dean. Promise me you won't give up."

"Alex…" he trailed off not knowing how to say that there was no way to escape this curse. There was no cure. There was no salvation.

She shushed him. "Promise me," she insisted, staring into his eyes.

Well you only need the light when it's burning low…
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow…

Even in death, even if it was he who caused the end of her life, here she was, trying to save him. Here she was being the light of his life, urging him to never give up. How was he supposed to resist her anything when she looked at him like that?

"It's my one last dying wish," she chuckled. Then sobering up she said, "Promise me, baby, that you will always keep fighting."

"I promise," he told her solemnly, not knowing if he believed in it himself.

She laughed gently. "Try again. Maybe this time, say it like you mean it?"

She was a joy to watch, but he knew they didn't have a lot of time. "I promise," he said with conviction, willing himself to believe as much as she did.

Only know you love her when you let her go…

"It's time, Dean. My time here is up," she reminded him, leaning in gently. "I love you," she whispered her goodbye.

It was the first time she ever said it to him. He wanted to grab her and kiss her but it was too late. She wouldn't feel it anymore.

And you let her go…

"I'm sorry, Alex," he told her once more. No matter how many times he said it, it just wouldn't be enough.

She shushed him again. "I forgive you, Dean. It's time you forgave yourself. Don't you want me to find peace?"

He nodded, silently telling her that it was all he ever wanted, even if it was not supposed to be like this.

And you let her go…

She leaned in, and gently laid a kiss on his lips. It was just a feathery touch of coldness and yet in some level, he still felt it.

The image of her was starting to fade away. "Goodbye, Dean."

Will you let her go?

"I'll see you on the other side, Alex," he told her, trying to muster up a smile even as tears welled in his eye.

She smiled. "Not anytime soon, I hope." Then she stared into his eyes as the white light enveloped her in its brightness. "I'll wait for you up there. I'll see you once again," she promised with her last words, and then she was gone.

Dean sat alone in his car, and whispered, "I love you too." He let the tears fall free. "I love you too, baby."

One moment was all it took. Everything changes in the blink of an eye. One moment is enough for your whole world to change. In a matter of seconds, you could lose everything.

Even when the struggle seemed too hard and it felt like the darkness within him would win, he held on to his promise to her. He never stopped fighting. He never gave up. He held on to the hope that she believed in so vehemently on his behalf.

Thought of her no longer destroyed him, but he tried to forgive himself just as she had asked him to. Thought of her pushed him through to do the good he was meant to do in anyway he could.

He knew he would see her again, sooner than later. He wanted to be worthy of her love when he finally did.

With that determination in mind, he fought through life and the demons within.