A/N: Here's a one shot I wrote awhile ago, about the Vietnam Memorial in D.C. Thanks to A/N: Here's a one shot I wrote awhile ago, about the Vietnam Memorial in D.C. Thanks to needneverbehopeless for betaing. Please review!

A Memorial Remembrance

On the few occasions that Dean slept on the road, he tried his best to stay awake enough to know when something was wrong. If the car was hit, or shots were fired, or even if his dad just whispered his name, Dean was able to snap awake and immediately be at attention.

Sam had just left for college over a week ago, and Dean hadn't slept since. Every time he tried to close his eyes, the argument between his father and brother had echoed in his mind, followed by the loud slam of the motel door as Sam left them—and the hunt—for good. But Dean managed to slip into unconsciousness as he and his dad headed towards a job in North Carolina, sharing the front of the Impala for the first time in years, having left Dad's truck in Sioux Falls. Again, Dean dreamed about Sam, hearing him yell at their father, seeing flames as he thought of what could happen to his brother alone out there. He was surprised he could even feel the car moving when he was that deep asleep, but as the Impala sharply jutted off the main road, Dean jerked awake in his seat, imaginary flames still burning through his mind.

John glanced at him from the driver's seat, looking guilty. "You all right, son?" "Yeah," Dean managed, rubbing his eyes. "We almost there?"

His father turned his head back to the road in front of them. "Couple hours. Thought we'd make a quick stop, though." Fully awake now, Dean frowned at his father. "Stop? But don't we have to be in Carolina by—"

"It'll be quick," his dad repeated. "I gotta show you something." Dean was still confused, but he knew better than to argue. He settled back into his seat and closed his eyes, knowing he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. After five minutes of trying, he opened his eyes again and just focused on the blurry road before them.

Twenty minutes later, John Winchester was standing next to his son in front of the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C. Both men had their hands in the pockets of their jackets—both John's jackets, as Dean had started wearing his father's more and more.

"These your friends?" Dean asked casually, the first thing said between the two of them since they'd arrived.

John nodded. "Some of 'em were. Died in combat, obviously."

Dean stared straight ahead at the long, glassy rock, thousands of names carved into it. "There's no memorial for the ones that lived?" John shook his head, smirking. "That'd be nice, wouldn't it?" Dean nodded slowly. "How come you never showed us this before? When we had Sammy?" John didn't answer for so long that Dean glanced at him and started to repeat the question.

"I heard you," John said gruffly, cutting him off. He hesitated for just a moment longer before replying. "Wasn't convenient. Don't spend much time on the East Coast, you know that. Not many jobs way out here that're worth the drive"

Dean nodded in agreement, and John knew that Dean was aware that wasn't the real reason, but fortunately his son didn't press the issue.

"Thanks for showing me this, Dad," Dean said softly.

John just nodded, and he spent the next hour or so just staring at the names of his fallen friends, with his falling son standing close by.

That night, John and Dean toasted to the veterans of Vietnam—both dead and alive—and then moved on to their hunt, seemingly putting the whole trip behind them, forgotten.

But Dean would never forget.

The car was fixed. The body was burned. Bobby's house was far behind them, and Sam and Dean were on the road again.

"There's a job in Northern Virginia I think we should check out," Sam reported from the passenger seat, map spread out in front of him. "Rumors about a cursed farmhouse—might be a poltergeist, or even—"

"That's near Washington, isn't it?" Dean interrupted, the first thing he'd said in hours.

Sam looked over at his brother in surprise. "D.C.? Uh, yeah, I think so. Why?"

Dean just nodded and focused on the road.

A few hours later, Dean was dragging Sam through the streets of Washington, taking the exact same path his father took him through so many years ago. Sam protested the entire way there, having no idea where his brother was taking him, but immediately quieted when Dean stopped in front of a low glass wall.

"Is this…?" Sam began softly.

Dean nodded. "Vietnam Memorial. Don't bother looking for Dad—it's only the ones who died in combat." "I know." Sam paused and looked over at his brother, who was staring at the wall with his hands stuck in the pockets of his jacket—Dad's jacket, Sam remembered. "How do you know all this?"

"Dad took me here a while back," Dean replied softly. "Right after you left for Stanford." Sam nodded, deciding it would probably be better not to ask questions. He turned back to the memorial and stared at the endless list of names.

The Winchester brothers were silent for a good twenty minutes, before Dean finally spoke.

"You know, we're really lucky… that Dad's name's not on here." Sam chuckled. "Yeah, really. If it were, we wouldn't even be alive." Dean looked down. "Mom might be."

Neither of them really spoke after that. The sun went down over Washington, D.C., and the brothers just stood there—watching, waiting, and wondering, two silhouettes, facing a memorial only containing 58,000 of the 2.6 billion names it should.

THE END

A/N: Hope you liked it! Please review! for betaing. Please review!