I've posted this other places but i'ts my first post on here. It's a very short fic. based on the show 'Supernatural' and set after Devils Trap - so theres a warning to those who've yet to see the full season.

Anyway, all reviews and costructive critisism welcome. This is all there is - like i said, it's very short, but I hope you enjoy.

The ususal disclaimer applies - if I owned Supernatural, well I wouldnt be here. And if i was making a profit from this i'd be able to afford a social life.

IN THE END

It's been a week since dad died. Two months since the accident. Now I stand here with Dean, my older brother. I tried to sort this out by myself. I tried to arrange the funeral, the place, everything by myself. Dean wouldn't let me. Kept interfering. But that's the most I've got from him.

I've cried. I broke down. I've grieved and I'm not past it yet. I know it will take time. Even when I was in Stanford I still worried about Dean and dad. I still sat there, my mind sometimes wondering in lectures, wondering if they we're alright.

But Dean? He hasn't given in yet. I think a part of him believes he can do something to fix it. He can't, but I really don't want to sit him down and tell him to move on. No, I can't. I just can't face that.

We're standing in the graveyard, dad's coffin 6ft below us. The priest is saying things that no one ever listens to. I glance over at Dean. He's standing next to me. He hasn't cried. Not since…well, he just hasn't cried at all. The accident put dad into a coma. Dean was close to death. Too close. I couldn't loose them both. I finally understood why Dean called me selfish for wanting revenge. Having to bury the only two people left in me life would have killed me, and I had never thought about that, but Dean had. So, yeah, I understand now.

I keep calling it an 'accident' there was no accident. I wish it was. That way, I could call it fate. I think Dean would have adjusted better if it was. He would have broke down by now, and be on the path to moving on. But it wasn't an accident. It was murder. Whenever I say 'accident' around Dean he snaps at me, tells me it wasn't a goddamn accident and it was murder. And every time that happens I see something new in Dean. He never cared about vengeance. He just wanted to be a family. But now? I don't know anymore. He doesn't speak much, hardly at all.

I tried convincing him to see a shrink. He needs to talk to someone, and he won't talk to me. If he doesn't show his emotions, if he doesn't break down soon it's going to kill him. He's letting it build up. I hate it. He doesn't sleep anymore. I don't think he's slept in a while…

The priest just messed up some Latin. I think about correcting him, thinking what dad would say if I did. I think he'd laugh, be proud of me remembering the Latin lessons. I think about it…but I don't. I let the priest continue.

Dean seems calm. Well, calm for the situation. He's standing next to me, staring at the coffin. I wish he'd say something. I wish he'd storm off. I just wish he'd do something. Eventually, this is going to kill him. He needs to face it – dads gone.

Last night we were in a motel close to the funeral home. We'll probably move out tonight. I'm leaving that to Dean to decide. But last night, when Dean thought I was asleep, I heard him get up. I haven't slept much since the 'accident' anyway, Dean doesn't realise though. I think he's oblivious to the world right now. But I heard him get up and go outside. I got out of bed and leaned next to the door, the thin walls let the sound pass through. He was on the phone. Asking people how he could bring dad back. Damn, that scared me. I wanted to go outside, tell him dads gone, tell him its over. But I couldn't. I went back to bed, pulled the covers over my head. I hid from reality like Dean keeps hiding from it.

The priest asks us if we want to say anything. I want to. I do. But I can feel the tears burn in the corner of my eyes. I take a deep breath, but I just can't say everything I want to. "I'm sorry, dad," is all I can say before I shake my head. I can't continue. I feel the tears running down my cheek and I wipe them away. I'm not done grieving. But I don't want to cry.

I look back at Dean. I can see what he's thinking. I know him to well. He's not dead. He doesn't say anything, do anything, or make any effort to speak. The priest moves on, he knows Dean doesn't want to face this. Talking about dad would be facing it. He's hiding from it.

The funeral ends. Dad's buried. It's over. I know I'm never going back to school. I'm not leaving Dean, not ever. I can't.

Dean still hasn't said anything by the time we get back to the motel. He goes to the bathroom and locks the door. Locks himself away from the world. I wish he wouldn't do that. But he won't talk to me. He won't talk to anyone. Dad's friends, other Hunters have all been phoning, but Dean hasn't talked to anyone. If anyone rings his mobile he hangs up, or just doesn't answer.

"Dean," I shout, well, try to: I'm still choked up. I just want to get out of that motel. "I'm going out," I tell him. I'm going to a bar. I'm going to go forget the world like Dean does. I can't face it right now. Give me time and I'll try to talk to him. Just not now.

He didn't answer, but I went out anyway. I didn't drink much, though I stayed out a while. I couldn't get dad of my mind. But I couldn't get Dean of my mind either. I needed to talk to him. I needed to help him. He's my older brother, he's looked after me all my life, now it's my turn.

I get a cab back to the motel, its night now, but I know he isn't there. The cars gone. For a moment I panic, wondering if he finally has broke, if he finally snapped. I wasn't there. I should have been there.

But then I know. I just know. I get back in the cab and go to the graveyard. The cab driver tells me it's shut, its past 9 so it will be shut. I don't care. I know he's there.

I pay for the cab and get out. I see the car parked at the gates. I have no idea how long he's been here. I just hope to God he hasn't done anything stupid.

I hop the fence, something I've grown used to doing. And make my way to dad's grave. I see Dean there; he's sitting at the base of the headstone. He finally broke. He's hugging his knees into his chest, keeping his head down. I knew it would happen. I just hate seeing my older brother upset. I don't think I ever have. Not like this.

I sit closely next to him, pulling my knees up a bit. He knows I'm there but he doesn't say anything, doesn't look at me. He's just staring at the ground, the newly dug earth where dad was laid to rest a few hours ago.

"I'm sorry, Dean," I say quietly. I know he's crying, but he's quiet. He's always been quiet. That's just the way he is.