Warnings: Character death, spoiler for season 3 finale.

Disclaimer: I own nothing :(

A/N : Been a while since i did a Supernatural so thought i'd do a little song fic for the season 3 finale, eh, not as good as i wanted but i can't seem to write anything lately.

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Is this the moment where I look you in the eye?
Forgive my broken promise that you'll never see me cry

He doesn't know why Lilith's blast does nothing to him, right now he can't even bring himself to care why. He half wishes, as he bends over Dean's bloody and torn body, that it had of worked. That he too could be dead, so he didn't have to think, he didn't have to feel. He wouldn't have to see the site of Dean in front of him, the light in his eyes gone and the smile on his face diminished. Tears cascade down Sam's face and he barely even notices them as he can't tear them from Dean's face. Blood coats his hands as he lays them on Dean's body, desperate even though he knows it is not possible, to feel any sign of life. There is none. Nothing but the stench of blood and the sickening silence behind Sam's sobs.

"Dean." Sam's voice breaks, the force of his tears catching in his throat. "Dean." Sam has never felt pain like this, so raw. He find it does not even compare to the pain of Jessica dying, nor his Father. He loved them yes, but this was Dean. Dean was his brother, his best friend, the only person in the whole world that was constantly there for him no matter what. The only one who consistently risked his life for Sam.

It takes what feels like forever for Sam to look Dean in the face, to stare at his still open eyes. The images of Dean's agony is fresh on Sam's eyes, as is the brutal screams that the hellhound had torn from his brother. The eyes hold no pain now. They held nothing. None of Dean's usual swagger and charm, his humour and the bravado he puts on, used to out on. They are nothing but cold, empty orbs. Lifeless.

Sam wants to be able to stop crying, he wants to be able to take Dean and bury him he should and put him to rest. He wants to be able to do what Dean asked him and let him go, if only so it would not hurt like it did. Instead Sam cries, hands clinging at the fabric of Dean's jacket, his tears mixing with his brothers blood.


And everything, it will surely change, even if I tell you I won't go away today
Will you think that you're all alone
When no one's there to hold your hand?

It could be minutes or it could have been hours, but eventually Bobby comes to find them. Sam does not look up but he knows, knows that by the strangled gasp that leaves Bobby's mouth, that the older man has tears in his eyes as well. He knows how Bobby saw Dean, how he sure both of them. He knows it's like Bobby has just lost a son. The next few hours become a blur to Sam, passing him by without him barely realising. He knows that his hand does not leave Dean's body, not until they reach the site they chose to bury him at. A new wave of pain spiked through Sam at this point. If he had his own way they would not be burying him, because that means leaving him, leaving him alone and cold in the ground. Sam can barely stand the thought.

Bobby wants them to burn him, so that his body can't be used. Sam knows it is what Dean would of wanted, did want, but he can't bring himself to do it. Dena is going to need his body, that is what he tells Bobby. He remembers the conversation he had had with Dean not a couple of weeks before. Neither brother had wanted to have it, though it seemed to hang in the air like an unspoken weight. Dena had been the one to approach the subject, being is usual cavalier self and simply stating it out the blue.

"You have to burn me Sam."

Sam had laughed, looking at Dean like he had grown at extra head. That was until he had seen how serious Dean's face had been, not sense of joke or taunt there. Sam had thought he was going to be sick.

"No." He had refused outright, turning his back on Dean. It was not conversation that Sam ever wanted to have, because that meant admitting there was a chance they weren't going to stop this, and Sam was. He was going to stop the deal going through no matter what it took. Dean, of course, was insistent, playing every card in the book. He did not want his body to be used for something else, for some demon to abuse him like that, to use him against Sam like that. Hell, he had even joked that he didn't want the worms getting at him in the ground.

"I can't." There was no argument about in Sam's mind. He wouldn't and he wouldn't do it. If he burnt Dean, if he got rid of the body, then he really would be gone. The whole time his body was still there then he could get him back. He would still be there, he would be completely gone. Even dead, Sam couldn't fathom the idea that everything about Dean was gone, even if it meant all he had left was a body in the ground. Dean, always good at telling exactly what he was thinking, had knelt in front of him then, a rare sign of compassion.

His voice had been soft when he had spoke, Sam didn't realise until then how much that as well could hurt. "I might be dead but that doesn't mean I'm gone. Body or no body, I'm never going to stop thinking of you, I'm always going to be here." Dean had placed his hand over Sam's heart then and it had broke a little more in his chest at that. No, he would not burn Dean, that was one promise he could not make.

I know he's living in hell every single day
And so I ask oh god is there some way for me to take his place

Sam leaves Bobby at the grave site, ignores the pleas and the shouts that he should come with him, that he shouldn't be alone right now. Deep down Sam knows he is right, but he still does not listen. He arrives at some nameless motel and is barely aware of himself as he lets himself into the room, climbing fully clothed into the shower. The water is cold, he cant bring himself to turn the hot on, yet he doesn't even feel it. Why should he? Dean was in hell, he could stand some cold water.

The first sob that escapes Sam in the small space makes himself jump, the sound harsh against the silence that had settled since the hellhounds had come and left. The next comes and he doesn't even try and stop it, his back slipping down the stall wall as his leg finally give out, the grief settling harder and more stifling by the second. Dean was gone, his brother was really gone. He wasn't going to walk through the door ever again, play his loud music or eat his crappy food. He was never going to hear him laugh or even yell at Sam when he did something stupid.

As the water chilled Sam more and more, he knew even from then, that he was going to do everything in his power to get Dean out. One way or another, he wasn't going to let Dean rot down there. Sam's whole body shook at the imagery of his brother being tortured, broken and beaten until he was just a shell. He couldn't bare it.

He didn't care if it meant trading places, he was getting Dean out.

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