Sam was gone. Dean stared at the ground that had swallowed both his brothers and the Angels inhabiting their bodies. He kneeled there unmoving, not believing his eyes. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. His mind was screaming with the unfairness of it all while his chest just burned with pain. He'd sent Bobby home a few hours ago so that he could talk to Castiel, but the Angel hadn't stuck around for long. With his wings and grace back he was moving on to bigger and better things. Dean didn't want him to leave, but couldn't get the words out. How do you tell an Angel that you need him when you're Dean Winchester? The answer is that you don't. You let him leave and deal with all your shit on your own. The first drops of rain splattered his hand and the back of his neck. He knew he should get up, climb in the Impala and drive away, but he couldn't move; could hardly breathe, the pain was too much. It was worse than when he'd watched Sam die the first time. He had nothing to hold onto, no corpse to bury, nothing. Sam was just…gone. Tears streamed silently down his face and he clutched at the grass in front of him, ripping it aside to dig at the ground. Sammy. He had let him down the way only a big brother can. He sobbed clawing at the dirt. His brother, the baby he'd carried out of their burning home, was gone leaving nothing behind except pain. His brother was in hell, trapped there for eternity being ripped apart and violated each day only to find himself whole the next and have it start all over again. He'd beg for death, but it would never come. When he finally came off the racks he would start torturing others and slowly lose his humanity to become that which they hunted; to become one of the only things left in the world that scared Dean Winchester, a Demon.

This was all his fault. He was supposed to protect Sam, but instead he'd let him die. Die and go to the one place he shouldn't be, the one place Dean couldn't follow. He still dreamt about hell and woke up choking back screams of agony and fear. It was the one fate Dean couldn't save him from because he'd made a promise. Sam had looked at him with those large brown eyes of his, the ones that got Dean to cave in every time. He'd do anything for his brother and had proved it time and time again. Then Sam had asked him not to try to find a way to bring him back. He wanted Dean to move on, settle down with Lisa, and be happy. Making the promise had gone against every fiber of his being, but he hadn't been able to say no, not looking into those eyes. All he wanted now was for Sam to come back. He wanted to look up and see his brother standing there with that goofy grin on his face, shrug and say 'Just kidding.', but he knew it would never happen. Sam was gone and Dean would do anything to take his place. Every second Sam was there was a second too long and Dean felt as though his soul was being ripped apart. His whole world was crashing down around him.

It was pouring now, the rain soaking through his clothes to his skin, but he didn't care. The one thing, the one person, in his life that he loved no matter what, that he'd literally given everything, including his life, for, was gone and he wasn't coming back. He screamed in sudden anguish. Why was this happening? Hadn't he lost enough? Hadn't he given enough? Why did it have to be Sam, why did he have to lose his brother? The only family he had left. He'd gone to hell to bring him back to life the first time he'd died and now Sam was there after saving the fucking world. His brother had beaten the devil at his own game and would now burn for all eternity. He screamed until he couldn't anymore and collapsed to the ground, not caring as muddy water splashed over his face to mix with the tears. His entire body was shaking, but Dean couldn't be sure if it was from the cold or something else. He knew he should get up, but he couldn't leave Sam, couldn't leave the spot where he'd sacrificed his life to save a world that would never know what had happened here, never know the man who had given everything for a fate worse than death; so he just laid there. The rain stopped eventually, and his tears dried, but still he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He'd died for Sam and he'd do anything to make that choice again, but he'd promised Sam. When he gave his word he never broke it, except that he had. He promised his father that he wouldn't let anything happen to Sam. Sam was his responsibility, had been since their mother died. He'd raised Sam and himself. Bang up job he'd done. Fresh tears slipped down his cheeks. He'd failed his father, again. Just like before. A tear dripped off his nose to splash on the ground that had become his brother's tomb.

After a while he slowly began to gather himself and climbed shakily to his feet. He would do his best to keep the promise he had made, but he knew that he'd only be able to honor half of it. He wouldn't look for a way to save Sam, but he didn't think he'd ever be happy again. Because as messed up as it sounds, he'd built his world around Sam. Ever since they were kids Dean had been taking care of him and protecting him. Sam had been all he had left in the world besides his car and even the Impala couldn't measure up. He'd give her up in a heartbeat just to see Sam again and sure he had Bobby and maybe even Lisa, but they couldn't fill the ever widening void he had inside. The emptiness that filled his soul. The complete nothingness that had been slowly taking over since facing Famine. He'd been holding it back for so long, but Sam had been the dam. The only thing between Dean and a bullet from his own gun. Now, though, he welcomed the emptiness, let the cold, black void wash over him like a tidal wave. It was better than the pain. It almost felt like an old friend welcoming him home with open arms and he knew. This was where his desires came to die. Everything he'd ever wanted and not acted upon had been pushed here where they slowly slipped away into oblivion leaving him feeling lost and empty, but he could handle those feelings. He'd lived with them his entire life and anything was better than the searing pain from before. Empty was who he was, who he had always been.

That's why he was so proud of Sam. The kid knew what he wanted and didn't let anyone stand in the way of his dreams. He questioned authority and had always been their Dad's favorite. Dean was just a soldier. Soldiers survived. Dean shook his head and walked to the Impala. He didn't know where he was going to go, but it couldn't be Bobby's. He couldn't face the man who had become like a father to him, God knew Bobby treated him like a son more than John Winchester ever had. He'd also gotten the man killed, sure Caz had fixed him with his new Angel mojo, but it still didn't change what had happened. He also knew that if he saw Bobby he'd break down again. Dean Winchester didn't break down. He suppressed all his feelings to the back of his mind. He put on a mask every day. A mask of witty retorts and snarky comments, fake smiles and false bravado. He showed his emotions to no one and never let them see his true self. Maybe that's why Caz had left. He frowned climbing into the driver's seat. No, Caz left because his family was calling him home. Dean looked around the Impala. She was the closest thing he had to a home. The only constant in his life, which was sad if one thought about it, but she was there for him and now she was the only thing he had left that really meant anything. She started up with a comforting roar as he turned the key. He slowly reversed out of the cemetery and didn't look back. He couldn't, otherwise he'd never be able to leave. He didn't know where he was going, nor did he care.

The music stayed off. He wasn't in the mood for what Sam always referred to as 'the greatest hits of mullet rock'. The thought almost made him smile. Almost. Mostly it just caused him to miss his brother more. That sweet, melancholy man who had been the only constant companion he had besides the Impala for the past five years. They had been through so much and for it to all end like this was more than Dean's fragile heart could bear, so he repressed it; like he did with everything. He drove for days without stopping for anything except gas, not caring where he was going, just driving. Taking all unfamiliar roads. When he finally did stop it was because he'd almost run off the road three times. It was a motel that looked well kept called The Comfy Cottage. He really had no idea where he was, not the state or city, the outskirts of a town. He didn't know what day of the week it was, or even the date. All he knew about the time was that it was late, and that was only because the sun was hanging low in the sky, just on the verge of setting. He parked and turned to his right to tell Sam to get the bags from the trunk, but the words died in his throat. The passenger seat was barren except for a couple of empty bottles of whiskey. The alcohol had been numbing his pain, but it came back full force staring at the leather seat where his brother should have been sitting. Angry tears burned his eyes and he climbed from the car, walking to the trunk. After popping it open he grabbed his duffle bag then walked into the motel's lobby to check in. He was going to drink himself into oblivion and sleep like the dead for as long as possible, then he'd figure out where he was going to go. He didn't want to dream that night, and even if he did he wouldn't remember them, which was what he wanted because he already knew what they'd be about. Sam.

The only person he saw in the lobby was an elderly woman sitting behind the counter knitting some god-awful purple monstrosity. She set it aside and looked up at him with a sweet, grandmotherly smile that quickly faded as her blue eyes took in his appearance. He hadn't showered or shaved since before losing Sam so he knew he was a mess. His bag was clutched loosely in his left hand and he knew he probably looked and smelled like a drunk, but he didn't really care, which seemed to be quickly becoming the theme of his life. "How may I help you young man?" She asked cautiously. Dean met her gaze wearily and caught sight of his reflection in a mirror over her shoulder. He looked worse than he thought. Not eating had hollowed out his cheeks and the rest of him looked weary and gaunt not to mention still covered in mud. He sighed.

"I need a room."

"How many beds?"

"Two-" He closed his eyes in pain. "One, a double if you've got it."

"We do. It's 30 dollars a night cash or credit, and the first night is paid up front." He nodded digging some money out of his pocket and handing over a twenty and a ten. She handed him a key. "You'll be in Suite 4 which is on your right as you walk out, and I just need you to sign the guest register." He took the key from a softly shaking hand and at first he thought it was from just being old, but after he signed a fake name in the book he looked up to see the fear in her eyes.

"Thanks." He whispered turning and trudging out.