A/N:::: Hey guys! I'm not dead! Sorry for not posting anything for so long, and I'm especially sorry to all of those who are pissed at me for not updating my Narnia or Twilight stories. I promise those stories are NOT dead! I WILL be posting again. I just had to get a short story out for my new obsession, Supernatural. I love this fandom, and I adore these two brothers. I hope you enjoy this quick one-shot.

The story's title is a lyric from "Stairway to Heaven". I'm a pretty massive Led Zeppelin fan, and since the show often uses titles of Zepp songs for their episode titles, I thought it would be appropriate. This story is dedicated to my three SPN sisters: Bess, Tenesha, and Heathyr. Love you girls.

"Shadows Taller Than Our Souls"

It was a nice day.

It seemed a crime. I woke to the sound of birds singing in the light summer air. Of course using the word "woke" implies that I had slept. It was more like the birds stirred me back to reality after five hours of swimming in something different as I lay stone-still on my back. I blinked my eyes; they felt tired, as if I'd been crying all night. I didn't recall crying, and when I touched my cheeks they were bone dry, but perhaps I had at some point.

I slowly sat up, robotically, letting the sunlight stream in through the grimy hotel window. A horrified gasp became trapped in my chest as I turned to the window. Dean had always closed the curtains before we went to bed. He liked to sleep in darkness, so I let him. This was the first time in the week since he was gone that I had not bothered to close the curtains out of habit. I'd left them open... and he hadn't been there to object. A frantic sob escaped my throat as I threw back the covers and dashed to the window. With all the force I could muster, I swept the curtains closed, blocking out the June sunlight as I propped myself up against the wall with trembling shoulders and combed my shaky fingers through my hair. A small crack of light escaped through the curtains, shimmering into the dim room and falling on the floor beside the single bed. It was so strange... requesting one king. But I couldn't stay in a room with an empty bed. I just... couldn't.

The rest of the room was neat. No dirty clothes draped over the furniture. No almost-empty pizza boxes sticking out of the sink. No beer bottles under the bed, winking in the sunlight. It was one of the first things I noticed every morning, right after I noticed the lack of heavy breathing beside me, or the absence of a purposefully obnoxious wake-up call laced with thundering hair-metal music. Each morning it literally took my breath away. It was my time in Mystery Spot all over again. The same thing every morning. Every day. Only this time, there was no Trickster. There was no chance of reversing anything. There was no hope. Only quiet. Aside from the birds.

I noticed their chirping again as I pushed myself away from the wall and walked on wobbly legs towards the bathroom. The sound of the shower would drown them out. It just didn't seem right for them to be singing.

Not on the day when I would be burying my brother.

Hell was thunder.

Pain thundering in your eardrums. Thundering cries of agony sweeping through the air. Hot air reeking of blood thundering with flashes of terrible light all around you. The thunder shook the chains that went through my body, shaking me to what was left of my core.

A horrible face leaned over me as the pain seemed to burn me in half. The demon smiled meniacally as it twisted its wicked tool deeper into my flesh. I swear my screams sounded less and less human every time I heard them escape my mouth. Was it already happening? Was I already becoming something else entirely?

"Entirely," the demon above me hissed, echoing my thoughts. "With each day." It's face was terrible. Not like the human faces it hid behind on Earth, or even like the mass of black smoke that we would see escape from the victims. It was something else... entirely. I tried to come up with a witty comeback, some biting remark to slap that horrible grin off it's ugly face, but nothing came. No cleverness came to me here. I was empty of all forms of who I used to be. Or at least that's how it felt, and that was the worst kind of Hell. Instead I only screamed as the agony blossomed inside me once more.

The creature leered again. I couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman. I squeezed my eyes shut, but as always the images were still there. No rest. No sleep. No dreams. Only torture. Forever. I wasn't sure how long I'd been chained here. It didn't feel like long. Maybe only a few years? A long way to eternity. Somehow each day the pain felt brand new.

With panic I strained my head to look down my torn body at my legs. They were gone. I was seeing only red. The veins in my neck strained against the skin as I leaned my head back in a terrible cry as the demon slowly tore me apart piece by piece. I fought against the blood in my mouth to scream repeatedly. The same word each time. And each time the demon had the same awful reply. I stood corrected- that was the worse kind of Hell.

"SAAAAAAAAM!"

"Is not here."

"SAAAAAAAAAAAAM!"

"Is not here."

"SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!"

"...Is. Not. Here."

I had Bobby pick me up.

The Impala sat sparkling in the parking lot, the blue sky reflecting off its hood. I couldn't drive it. Not yet. Maybe never.

Take care of my wheels. That's what he'd asked of me. I would. Somehow I would. But that didn't mean I had to drive it. The very sight of the car was painful. It was like his silent ghost, mocking me with how empty it was. It was like the bed at the hotel; I couldn't drive it without looking over at the passenger seat and not seeing him leaning against the window asleep, sunglasses on and mouth open.

Bobby said nothing as we pulled away from the motel. He'd learned over the past few days to be silent. I stared out the window, watching the Illinois countryside pass me by. The windows were rolled down and I had to admit the wind felt good. I hadn't been out of the room much this past week. It was getting warmer by the day. This was the summer I'd been dreading all year.

Bobby cleared his throat, preparing to speak. I braced myself, waiting for what he had to say before trying to stop him. "Wasn't sure what type of marker you wanted," he said softly. His voice sounded strained, tired.

I didn't look at him. I just continued to stare out the window. "I'll handle it," I whispered. He didn't reply, I didn't risk looking at his face.

"Did you clear the spot I picked?" I finally asked, my voice struggling not to get caught in my throat.

"I did. Looks nice, Sam."

I heard the "but" in his voice, but chose not to question it. He explained it anyway. "But are you sure this is the right way?"

"Don't Bobby," I muttered, but my mutter was resolute. "Not again."

I wasn't looking at him, but I was sure he was nodding in resignation.

"You ever going to tell me why here? Why not Lawrence?"

I didn't answer. I let the wind stream through my fingers as I heard him sigh softly.

"We're going straight to the site, by the way," he told me.

I frowned, and finally turned to face him. It was the first time I'd looked at him since I got in the car. He seemed near tears. A week ago I would have been desperate to comfort him. A week ago that face would have broken my heart. But not now. Now I was always desperate. Always broken. "What do you mean? Why?"

"Ellen's picking up the..." He sucked in a breath. "Ellen's getting' him. She and Jo are going to meet us at the site."

I felt my insides set on fire. "No!" I shouted; Bobby jumped in his seat, but his face lacked surprise. "Just you and me, Bobby. You promised!"

"They called!" he explained, this time being the one to refuse to make eye contact. "They're both torn up about it, Sam. I heard Jo's a wreck. They wanted to see him. It's the first time they've even seen each other since Jo left last year. They came together... just to say goodbye."

"I don't care!" I snapped, then shut my eyes, tried to breathe. I sucked in a gust of summer wind. It smelled like long grass. I was suddenly transported to dirt road, where the crickets were singing and Dean was walking beside me in the heat. We'd just had an argument, something about Dad. The angry words still hung in the air, but I'd been having trouble staying mad at him lately.

You're such a stickler for details, Sammy, he'd said, giving me a small sideways grin. I was still upset, but suddenly this feeling had washed over me. Dad had pulled him back from the dead. I had my brother again.

Laugh with him, a voice had whispered in my head. While there's still time.

So I had.

I released the breath and opened my eyes. Bobby was watching me out of the corner of his eye as he drove down the road. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I am. But I can't... I don't..." I breathed again. "Please call them. Please thank them for... getting him for me. But tell them I can't. Ask them to say goodbye before I get there."

I could see the disappointment in Bobby's face, but it was laced with understanding. He nodded slightly and pulled his phone from his pocket.

I tried not to listen as he made the call. To his explanation, to Ellen's distressed voice, to any of it. Instead I looked hesitantly at the radio, debating whether or not to turn it on.

"I understand," Bobby was saying. "Thank you, Ellen. Just tell Jo that Sam needs-"

I urgently leaned forward and flipped on the music. "Stairway to Heaven" was playing. It was the guitar solo. I flipped it off even more urgently and placed my hands over my ears. I didn't care how stupid it looked. I just pressed my palms against my head, shut my eyes again, letting the wind wash my face, and tried not to wish so desperately that Dean was there to make fun of me.

I was whole again.

A new day had begun. Each day was marked by this beginning, and each one ended with the same nightmarish face leaning greedily over me. I felt the chains binding me shift, tugging painfully at the flesh it ran through as I was turned to face downwards (or what seemed like downwards). I heard movement above me, felt the presence of evil as the demon of the day hovered, preparing to begin the torture. I'd given up begging for mercy. They only drank that in, relished it.

I felt the first lick of fire start running along my spine. Then came my scream, always sounding strange to my ears. I set my jaw and tried to convince myself that it was merely due to the atmosphere, the affects of the other horrible noises around me. I was still me. "i'mdeanwinchesteri'mdeanwinchesteri'mdeanwinchesteri'mdeanwinchester..." I had time to mutter that a few more times before the pain stopped my voice. I didn't have to look at my captor's face when I was facing down like this. But it was no better. Instead I had to see the others. The ones below me. They were all like me, chained to the emptiness, their bloody, grotesque faces flashing in the eerie lightning and fire. They were still clinging to humanity, but their faces showed just show rapidly all that was slipping away. I shut my eyes, their faces remained. I was grateful I didn't have to see my own face. It would destroy me to see what I'd lost in my time here.

A quick jerk and turn of my chains and I was suddenly facing upward again, staring into the face of my torturer. Horror swept over me. I recognized this face. It was Alastair.

"That would be a terrible sight to see..." he lolled with delight, his smile twisting in bizarre and impossible ways, curling beneath dead, dark eyes. "I knew you had potential Dean. Already you're inventing new means of torture. Always the creative one. You have promise."

"No," I choked out. I wasn't sure what I meant, but it was all I could muster. Alastair's grin widened, his teeth like needles, and I watched in horror as those dark, dead eyes began to expand. They grew out from his face, like black saucers, the terrible light of Hell bouncing from their surface. Finally they were big enough to show my face, reflected in their blackness. I screamed in terror, shutting my eyes, but of course it did nothing.

I saw me.

I saw my face.

The humanity had been singed from my eyes. They looked just as dark and dead as Alastair's... not black yet, but just as empty. My skin was like layers of raw meat hanging from my bones. My teeth were caked with black blood and foam. I wasn't Dean Winchester. I was a monster.

I cried out, my screams thundering through the chaotic vastness of The Pit as Alastair's eyes slowly shrank back into his grinning head. "You're right," he cooed. "You're not Dean anymore. What you do down here is not at all connected to who you were on Earth. Let go, Dean. This can all end. I'll let you off the rack. We'll put another soul in your place. One who truly deserves to be here. Let go, Dean."

I felt my whole insides shaking. A thousand images flashed behind my eyes, but I couldn't see any of them clearly. I tried to bring my mother's face into my memory. My father's. Sam's. Nothing. It was like trying to remember a dream you had years ago. I felt a whimper escape my lips.

"Well?" Alastair asked slowly, eyes begging greedily.

"...No." It was weak, but it was clear. It was all I could do.

"No?"

I shook my head, grimacing against the pain as Alastair dug his knife deeper. "Never."

His smile only deepened as he shook his head in return. "The song remains the same for you, does it Dean?"

The song remains the same? That made my head buzz. The hell around me flickered for a moment, and I saw a shiny black comet speeding down a stretch of gray. Led Zeppelin was pounding in the air for a brief moment. I felt a slight smile reach my lips, "'The Song Remains the Same'," I sputtered through the fluid gathering in my mouth. "Recorded 1972, released with "Houses of the Holy" in seventy-threeeeeeee," the last word turned into a squeal as the knife reached my deepest core. I clenched my jaw, "i'mdeanwinchesteri'mdeanwinchesteri'mdeanwinchesteri'mdeanwinchester..."

"For now," that terrible creature above me spoke. "But not forever."

We pulled off the road and onto the grass at the site.

My heart was pounding in my chest as I looked out over the green, wild landscape. I couldn't see the gaping hole in the ground from here, but I knew it was there, hidden by the long grass. Ellen and Jo were still there, watching us pull up with scared faces washed out in the bright sunlight.

Bobby put the car into gear. "I'm sure they're leavin', Sam," he told me. "Ellen doesn't always remember how fast I drive. She'll go. She said she would."

I heard the panic in his voice, but I wasn't even paying the two women any attention. My thoughts were on what stood between them. I could hardly see it from here, but the top of the pine box just managed to peek above the greenery. My heart stopped hammering, and instead just...stopped. I was running through an argument we'd had in New Jersey about a month ago.

You can't get yourself killed trying to stop this! he'd yelled at me.

This is my fault! I'd exclaimed. You're going to Hell because of me! I'll do anything it takes to stop this, Dean!

He'd looked at me strangely, his mind seeming to reach back into a different time. Would you have let me die to bring back Dad? His death was my fault, Sammy. Does that mean I should have killed myself to save him?

Dean...

Yes or no?
No. I took a deep breath. I just wish...

What?
I wish to hell you'd never come and got me. At Standford. Left me there. It all never would have happened. And nothing would ever have to hurt like this.

I slammed the motel door behind me after that.

"Sam?" Bobby spoke.

I swallowed the anvil in my throat and managed a nod. Ellen and Jo turned their eyes from mine and glanced down at the space between them. I watched as Jo covered her mouth with a trembling hand and bent down to touch the edge of the box. For a fleeting moment my hear ached for someone other than myself. I wanted to apologize to her. Tell her I'm sorry Dean never realized what was right in front of him. Sorry he didn't even know she loved him. Sorry she had to fall for someone like my brother. Ellen wrapped an arm around her daughter's shoulder and the two of them slowly walked back towards us, towards the road. They didn't stop at our car though; they just glanced quickly into my window before continuing to their van. They slammed the back hatch shut and slid into the car. I didn't watch them drive away; I only listened as the tires crunched down on the gravel.

"Are you ready?" Bobby asked me. I turned to look at him. He was crying. He hadn't even reached the grave yet, and there were already tears streaming down his cheeks, getting caught in his beard. I couldn't blame him, but this was only going to make everything more unbearable.

I sort of nodded. It was a lie.

The walk to that coffin would be the longest distance I ever traveled. It was what Dean would call "A Montey Python Moment". If you've ever seen their Holy Grail movie, it's the scene when Sir Lancelot keeps running to the castle but somehow never gets any closer until he's actually there. It was one of the five DVDs Dean owned and carried with him. Lost count of how many times he'd pop that into my laptop at the motels. "I'll watch Empire Strikes Back next time," he'd grumble at me when I'd roll my eyes. "You Star Wars geek." Big words coming from the guy who thought he was Han Solo.

And just like in Montey Python, I was suddenly there, standing beside my brother's coffin. I couldn't believe it; he could have been sleeping. The last time I'd seen him, his clothes and body were ripped to shreds, soaked with blood. Now he was completely patched up, dressed in fresh clothes, his face cleaned and his eyes shut softly. The only sign of the nightmare that had transpired a week before were the few scratches on his cheek and on the hands that now lay gently on his chest. The light flickering through the leaves of the trees made small shadows dance across his face, and suddenly I didn't mind that it was so nice out today. Dean was always happiest when it was sunny. He said it made his car look nicer. I knew there was more to it than that.

I finally noticed Bobby's stifled sobs as he stood beside me, staring down at the open coffin like a man looking down into his own grave. So much of me wanted to reach out to him, do something, but I couldn't. I stuffed my hands into my pockets. The glinting metal of the shovels beside the grave caught my eye, and I felt my heart throb. Once I picked one up, that was truly the end.

"Do..." Bobby choked and tried again, wiping a thick finger beneath his red nose. "Do you have anything you want to say, Sam?"

I swallowed another anvil. Was he kidding? There were a million things I wanted to say. A lifetime of things. Thank you for pulling me from that fire. Thank you for always leaving me the last of the good sugary cereal. Thank you for pretending to like Friends when I know you really hated it. Thanks for finally telling me the truth about Dad, about this life, and thanks for being brave enough to hide it from me for so long before that. Thanks for taking all of Dad's baggage while I stayed in somewhat blissful ignorance as a little kid. Thanks for beating up that bully when I was in fourth grade, and then thanks for taking the time to teach me how to properly beat up the next one. Thanks for not hating me when I left for Stanford, and thanks for coming back to get me all those years later. Thanks for somehow tricking me into staying with you all that time. Thanks for always taking care of me. Thanks for saving my life. And damn you for leaving me here.

But I couldn't say any of it.

"No," I choked out.

Bobby nodded. "I want to, Sam," he said hoarsely, and then the tears came streaming again. "But God help me, I just can't."
I nodded, not taking my eyes off my brother, and placing a hand on Bobby's shoulder. "It's okay, Bobby. I understand."

Bobby wiped his sleeve over his eyes and then reached into his pocket. "I have something for you." I turned to watch as he pulled out a thickly folded piece of paper. "Your brother gave me this a couple weeks ago. Said to hand it to you when the time came. I'm sorry I didn't get it to you sooner. I guess I wasn't sure just what the best time was."
I took the note from his hand and unfolded it. It was a piece of stationary from a Jersey motel we stayed in a few weeks back. His usual terrible handwriting looked even worse in this letter, which was mostly short sentences that had been scratched out.

Sammy.

I'm not too sure what to say. I know you're upset with me. I wish I had …. Don't think that just because...

I would do it again, you know. Come and get you. At Standford. If I had the chance. Every time. Every time.

I'm sorry. I really am. You know I am.

I just wanted to... I didn't want to leave without saying...

Here:

Beneath that word was a small package taped to the wrinkled paper. A wad of the newspaper funnies. With shaking hands and shallow breath, I pulled it from the tape and unfolded the crudely wrapped item. Dean's necklace dropped into my palm and sparkled in the sunlight. I was sure Dean had been very specific to Bobby about how to wrap it. The memory of Dean's small voice echoed in my head. Thank you Sam. I love it.

A strong breeze blew through the grave site, and I heard an eagle cry out as it soared overhead. I looked up as it vanished into the glare of the sun. The funny thing was that it never seemed to reappear. Dean's necklace suddenly felt as if it was burning hot in my palm, so I slipped it over my head. Another gust of wind blew, and unfolded a tiny corner of the motel stationary. I saw the final two words written there in small letters. They were crossed out, but I knew he'd meant them anyway.

Love you.

I was quickly losing all concept of time.

I no longer had any clue how long I had been in Hell. I only knew it was just beginning. Each day I spent there, each year, brought me no closer to the end than I was the day or the year before. No closer than when I'd first begun. I waited for my torturer to arrive, to begin to tear me to shreds, just like every other day. My body was whole, held still by the chains, and ready for the knife. As I waited I wondered how old Sam must be by now. Was he still alive? I had to believe he was. The alternative was too much for me to bear. I'd take that knife a million times over as long as my brother kept breathing. Was he still hunting? Was he now a gray, grizzly, hardened hunter like Bobby had been? I desperately hoped not. I tried to imagine him in a nice house, with a freshly mowed lawn and stupid lawn decorations that a pretty wife picked out. A smart girl. A girl with honest eyes and a gentle voice. Long brown hair. Don't know why I saw it that way, but I did. I'm sure he was still affected by my death. I knew he'd stay up late some nights, having a beer on my behalf and staring out at the quiet street in front of his house. Maybe he'd have my Impala parked out front. He'd better.

But most days I hoped he'd be happy. I hoped he had kids. I hoped he was living as best he could.

This image in my mind certainly beat the reality around me. The countless souls who were suspended in their private prisons around me, screaming for mercy, for their loved ones, for revenge. They deserve to be here, Alastair had told me. They aren't like you. These people are trash. Horny, blasphemous, murderous, greedy. They sacrificed their lives for no one. Hop off that rack, Dean. Show those sinners the punishment they deserve. You spent your whole life destroying the wicked, the monsters. Do it once more.

I felt my jaw clamp shut. My eyes welled up with tears. I didn't know who these souls were or why they were here. I didn't care. I would never leave this rack. I watched as one human soul swept close to me, limbs stretched out between the chains. She caught my eye, and for a moment I almost felt a flicker of hope. Her face was like mine... covered in scars and blood and the terror in her eyes erasing her of almost all humanity. But I could have sworn I recognized it. I tried to imagine her face with no blood, no burned flesh, no mind-numbing horror. Instead I tried to remember it in the dim, soft light of an abandoned house, with soft tresses of brown hair falling around her cheeks and painted lips curled in a stunned smile as I walked uneasily down the stairs in a stiff suit.

I never thought I'd be so happy at the thought of seeing her again.

"Bela?" I called through the chaos around us.

There was no change in her face, only that blank expression of horror as she stared into my face. I shuddered at the thought of what I must look like to her.

"It's Dean!" I screamed. "Dean!" I wanted so badly for her to respond. I wanted so much to ave that split second of human contact. But she only continued to stare. "Please remember!" My voice was hurting my throat as I screamed.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. It wasn't a yell like mine, but somehow I heard it anyway. It didn't sound like her voice, that irritatingly velvety-smooth British accent. God, it didn't even sound human. "You were right," she spoke through a mouth of bile.

"About what?"

"You said you'd see me here," she whispered.

"Bela..."

Then she was gone. The chains pulled her away from me so quickly that I watched her neck snap with the impact. She was less than a pinpoint in the distance just a split-second later. I screamed. I screamed until my throat was raw. I screamed until I forgot why I was screaming. I screamed until I felt the demon's knife in my side, and then I screamed again.

Night had fallen; the crickets were noisy here.

Dean would like that. Bobby had gone; I'd asked him to hours ago, and after lingering hesitantly as long as he could, he finally did. By the light of the stars and the small glow of my cellphone, I managed to hammer the last nail into the wood of my brother's marker. It was a simple enough task, but my arms and hands still felt sore and weak. I had a feeling it had nothing to do with today's physical labor.

I was breathing heavily when it was finished, and backed away from the grave to sit on a fallen log a few feet away. It was simple, but it was just how I'd pictured it. A crudely-formed cross of wood at the head of the mound of fresh soil, sticking out from the waving blades of grass painted in the pale blue glow of the night. The wind sounded nice. I hugged my knees to my chest and looked in silence for a long time at what was left of Dean. I wasn't used to him being this quiet. I took a shaky breath.

"Hey Dean," I spoke in a soft, harsh voice. It was the first time I'd spoken since Bobby'd left hours ago, and even before then I hadn't said much. "Sorry I've been so quiet," I whispered. "It was always kind of your job to fill the silence, you know?" Another painful swallow of air. I looked around me, at the swaying pines, the waving grass, and the sea of stars. "I hope you like the spot. I know you'll kill me for not salting and burning... but man, I just couldn't. Somehow that goodbye just seems even more... impossible. Besides, it's pretty gorgeous here. Do you remember the spot? You were sixteen?"

The mound of earth was silent. I sighed and leaned my head back, letting the glittering stars fill my eyes. I remembered.

Dad had taken us to Pontiac, Illinois on a hunt. There'd been rumors of a vampire nest not far off, and he'd been checking the local taverns for any news on rowdy, nocturnal groups of patrons. He was between bar visits when he got lost on some back road late one night...

"I'll only be a minute," Dad told us, putting the Impala in park on the side of the road. "Just gonna call Uncle Bobby real quick. Wait here."

I moaned and leaned my head back against the backseat as he swung the door open. He hadn't had a chance to find us a motel yet, so at each bar Dad would lock us in the Impala, within sight of the taverns' few windows, and duck inside for at least a half an hour at a time while Dean and I sat quietly in the back.

"It's late Dad!" I whined before he had a chance to shut the door. "Can't we do this tomorrow night?"

"No, son. It's gotta be tonight." He slammed the door without another word. I watched as he spread a map over the hood of the car, shining his flashlight over the lines and words as he dialed his cellphone. I released a dramatic sigh and thew my head back again against the headrest. Without a single word or gesture of complaint, Dean, who was allowed to sit shotgun while Dad was nearby, propped his feet up on the dash and shined his flashlight on the pages of his Hotrod magazine.

"This sucks," I mumbled, crossing my arms and staring out the window. "I could use some fresh air."

"Roll down the window," Dean muttered distantly, not taking his eyes off the magazine.

That wasn't what I meant, and he knew it, but I did it anyway, grumbling the whole time. The sounds and smells of the countryside night instantly flooded the car. Singing crickets and a chilly early autumn wind tumbled into my window as I breathed in heavily. Dean lifted his head from his reading.

"That does sound nice..." he admitted, rolling down his own window. We could barely hear Dad's voice over the chorus of bugs. My brother turned in his seat to look at me. I'm not sure why; he didn't say anything, or even make an obnoxious face as he'd been known to do. He just... looked.

He stuck his head out his window. "Hey Pops, can we stretch our legs a minute?"

"No Dean."

"Dad. I'm sixteen. Lemme walk in the friggin' meadow. It's no big deal. We'll be five minutes. I'll keep an eye on Sammy. You know I always do."

I watched Dad's heavy shoulders heave in slight exhaustion. He had resumed his conversation with Uncle Bobby, but he nodded in resignation.

"Yahtzee," Dean chuckled, swinging his door open as I did the same enthusiastically.

We stepped out into the field, letting the long grass sweep through our legs as we strolled side by side towards a nearby stand of pine trees. We didn't really say anything, a few pointless remarks here and there. Mostly we were just quiet. Both of us tired.

It wasn't until we reached the trees that we said anything of any importance.

"Oh shit!" Dean snapped, stepping quickly to one side, bumping into me.

"Hey!" I objected. I immediately regretted my outburst; it made me sound like a whiny kid.

"Almost stepped on a dead thing," Dean explained, stopping to look down at the small mass of fur hidden in the tall weeds and grass.

I frowned. "What is it?"

We both crouched down. "A rabbit," he replied, nudging it with a stick. "Doesn't look like a predator's work. Maybe it got hit by a car and only made it this far."

I looked down at the dead creature. Its long brown ears were limp on the leafy ground and its paws spread out in front of it. The rabbit's eyes were like perfect black marbles, but all the life had escaped them.

"'That's no ordinary rabbit'," Dean chuckled with a crappy British accent, quoting Montey Python again.

"Shut up, Dean," I snapped, feeling my throat close up.

He turned to look at me with a frown. I thought he was going to toss a punch at my shoulder, but instead he just dropped the stick he'd been holding. "You okay? You sound upset."

I raked a hand through my hair and nodded. "I'm fine," I answered. "Just a bit... sick of death, I guess. Sick of things dying alone."

"Well you know what they say, Sammy. We all die alone."

"I know," I nodded, standing up as Dean followed suit. "I'm just tired of it. I don't like to think of it lying here alone in pain and everything. I know it's stupid, so you don't have to tell me."

He looked back down at the rabbit and shook his head. "I'm not sayin' anything." He cast me a sidelong glance. "I mean... maybe it... maybe it was just old, Sammy. Maybe it just came out here to lie down and die. I mean, look around you," he gazed up at the points of the pines, piercing the starry sky. "This ain't a bad place at all to rest, right? Nice quiet place, just you and the stars? His death might have been real easy."

I smiled a bit to myself, still looking at the rabbit. I appreciated his effort. I did.

"Wanna bury it?" he asked me suddenly. I snapped my head up to look at him.

"What? Why?"
He shrugged. "Seems like a good final step, I guess. As long as we're being all sentimental about it." He watched me carefully for a reaction. "I mean, we could salt and burn it, but I'm kinda sick of that, aren't you?"
I laughed and nodded. Dean went to the car to get the shovels.

Not long after that we were done. There was a soft mound of dirt beneath the trees now, marked with a crude cross made of two tree branches and duck tape. I sat on a rock with Dean standing beside me, staring down at our work.

"Good," Dean chuckled, "Because I wanted to dig just one more grave this week."

I snorted gently and drew swirls in the dirt with a stick.

"Have anything to say?" he asked me.

I shook my head. "Nah. I'm not that sentimental. You?"

"Nah."

We just watched the grave quietly for a while after that. I think we may have been sort of sleeping at one point. Then Dad's voice called us to the car from several yards away, but for a moment we both ignored it.

"I love you, Dean," I muttered before I even realized I was doing it. It caught me by surprise, as did the fact that I didn't regret it. I didn't turn to see him, but out of the corner of my eye I watched him nervously stuff his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and bunch up his shoulders like he does on the rare occasion when he doesn't know what to say. I waited, and Dad called again, so I stood.

We looked one last time at our tiny grave, and Dean said quietly, uneasily, "I know that, man... I know... Me too."

"I should've told you that more," I muttered now, staring at my brother's grave, so similar to the rabbit's that we had created on this very piece of land so many years ago. "But you knew," I mumbled, feeling my eyes growing heavy. I think I was finally starting to drift off. "I know you knew anyway..."

Today's torture seemed especially long.

Alastair had quite the knack for prolonging the pain, so the days when he had the knife were always the worst. I hardly heard the words he was speaking; my head was filled with thundering, white, hot agony.

"You should be glad it's me," he smiled, his burning breath against my face. "There are plenty of other demons down here who loathe you enough to cut into you in ways you cannot imagine. Me? I don't hate you, Dean. I see something in you. Something no less than extraordinary. That's why I've taken such an interest in you."
On Earth, when I was alive, I would have been able to come up with several possible zingers by now. But in The Pit... I had nothing. His words just bashed against me like waves against rocks, and I was helpless to stop myself from slowly but surely start eroding.

"SAAAAAAAAAAAAM!" I screamed. I knew he couldn't hear me. I knew he wouldn't come. But sometimes, when the pain was too great for me to think, it was the only thing that my mind could generate.

Alastair shook his head. "Always calling him. Always. The sooner you let go, Dean, the sooner this will all get better for you. You know your brother has let go. Of you." I pushed through the burning white in my head to better understand him, turning to meet his terrifying eyes.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, trying to sound as defiant as I possibly could.

"Sam has moved on. It's what you would want him to do. He knew better than you, that as soon as he cut the strings of all those painful memories, he could truly live his life. Reach his potential. Why can't you do the same?"

"Reach his potential?" I echoed.

"Hone his skills. Master his gifts. With you gone, little Sammy can walk his destined path with no obstruction. No big brother telling him to stop, holding him back." He leaned closer, his nasty mouth curling in a wicked grin. "It's quite beautiful what you did, Dean. You gave your brother his life back, and now you've given him the freedom to see our plans through. So many owe you so much, Dean. Thank you."

I felt panic welling in my chest, hot tears stinging my eyes. "Shut up," I spat, though it really only sounded sad and pathetic.

"I'm just trying to help you," he urged, jabbing the knife into my ribs. I swallowed a scream, and it came out like a gasp and a gurgle. "Can't you let me? Your brother has let you go. Let him go! Take hold of your destiny! You know you feel it... feel yourself slipping away. The longer you stay on this rack, the more of yourself will burn away to ash and dust. Soon I will have nothing left to carve but an empty meat-suit. And you will be completely... gone. Dean Winchester will be nothing but a name on a grave, a few police files, and somewhere deep deep in the recesses of Sam's mind. You will be only smoke and terror. You'll just be another constant scream down here. Hop off that rack! Take hold of yourself again! Let a more deserving soul wither away to nothing!"

His reeking face was mere centimeters from mine, his sharp, gnarled nose almost poking my eye as he twisted his knife deeper. I inhaled a sharp, uneven breath and choked on my scream again. I shut my eyes, and this time... it did go away. Just for an instant, but it happened nonetheless. There was no way I could miss it after seeing with open eyes for so many years.

It was a quick flash of a misty road, a blur of shimmering black, music in the wind... and Sammy. My brother. Not evil, not completely empty. And playing my music. It was his way of not forgetting me. Of not letting go.

I opened my eyes, staring back with fire into Alastair's face as he awaited my answer.

"You...liar," I spat.

"Excuse me?" he frowned.

I struggled to speak, my entire, broken body shaking as the words fought against my own suppressed screams and the blood in my mouth. "You can...take your... offer. And... stick it... where the sun... shines! You lying... fugly... bastard." And then I smiled. I swear to God, I smiled.

And I swear to God I saw fear in Alastair's eyes.

Then he was gone. There was no retort, no further torture, no malicious grin. He was just gone, and I was alone.

I felt the tears and breaks in my body slowly mend, and soon I was whole again... or as whole as I could be. I dangled there in the thundering chaos of Hell, feeling more human than I'd felt in a very long time. Years. Maybe a decade.

Hoping against hope, I shut my eyes again. To my sheer disbelief, the image returned again. More clearly this time. It was early morning, a light fog rising from the gray country road that cut through the swaying pines. My gorgeous car was cutting through the mist, not as fast as I'd drive her, but fast enough to keep her satisfied. The windows were rolled down, and the summer breeze made Sam's hair all crazy, which always made him seem younger. Despite his better judgment, he cracked open a beer and took a long swig. There were tear stains on his face, but he managed a slight smile. It seemed to take him by surprise. Led Zeppelin was playing on the radio. One of my favorite songs.

I was dreaming. For the first time in forever.

If my days could end like this... then maybe forever would be all right after all...

I woke up in a soft, blue light.

It was very early morning, and I was laying on the chilly ground beside my brother's grave. My eyes felt exhausted as soon as I opened them; this time I did remember crying through the night. At least I'd slept some, though. Better than I had all week. I imagine it had something to do with the fact that I knew that Dean was finally sleeping close by again. But unless I planned on camping out here forever, I'd have to learn to fall asleep alone. I winched at the thought. Forever was such a horrifying word.

I grunted as I pushed my sore body off the damp earth. Through the morning mist I could see a dark shape beside the road not far away. It was the Impala. Bobby and Ellen must have dropped by with the car overnight, giving me a way to get back. But I wasn't going back. Not to them, at least. I couldn't. Not yet. Bobby hadn't realized that last night, when he got in his car and I offered that small wave before he pulled away, I was waving goodbye. I hoped he would understand.

I looked one more time at the grave: the wooden cross and the mound of earth. I was terrified to walk away, terrified of leaving my brother. But then I turned to look at the Impala, parked beneath the early sun, its black paint reflecting the dancing blades of grass around it. All of the sudden it seemed like Dean was more there than he was here. It made it easier to leave. Not easy. But easier.

When I reached the car, I pulled back the lid to the gas cap, where we'd always hidden the key when we needed to. It was there. Bobby knew us too well. I unlocked the door and swung it open, listening to the familiar sound of the heavy metal. But I didn't get in; I just stood there beside the open door, looking into the interior. It's either drive her or call Bobby, the voice in my head pointed out. I nodded to myself, anxiously furrowing my brow as I slowly slid behind the wheel. I was holding my breath the whole time, so I finally inhaled unevenly when I was fully seated, and it hurt my chest. God, the inside of the car seemed so silent... so empty. Just as I knew it would. I chewed my tongue as I fought against sprinting out of the car. I looked down at the floor of the car and noticed the yellow wrapper from a bacon cheeseburger still crumpled by my feet.

Suddenly the tears came exploding from my eyes, sobs bursting from my mouth. I fought to stop them, but it was useless. I threw my arms over the steering wheel, practically hugging the car to my chest, and buried my face into my sleeves. This was impossible. Just impossible. I let my arms muffle my cries until there were none left to muffle, and then continued to rest my face into my arms as I hugged the wheel.

"Hey."

I jerked my head up, looking beside me into Dean's face as he rested one arm out the window and grinned at me. I knew he wasn't really there, but it felt like it. It really did. I was right, he truly was a part of this car. Or maybe he was more a part of me.

"You gonna start the engine, Chewbacca? Or you plan on letting Texas come to us?"
I remembered this conversation. It was about two years old.

I tried to smile, watching him as he waited with that jackass expression he has. "Yeah. I'm just tired, I guess."

"You're arm still keeping you up?" he asked, looking down at my cast.

When I looked at my arm now, it wasn't there. But I pretended it was. "Nah. Not anymore. I don't even feel anything."

"That's what she said," he snickered, raising his eyebrows and rolling up his sleeves.

I tried to smile again.

He frowned. "You all right, Sammy? Looks like someone pressed your Worry Button."

Now I frowned. "What's my Worry Button?"

His brow furrowed deeper, as if he couldn't believe I didn't already know. "Well it's that goofy thing you got right there," he said, pointing to the small mole I had on the side of my nose. I went cross-eyed trying to look at it, and Dean's frown became a smile. He reached out and poked it.

"Boop!" he laughed, and just when he leaned back against the window, into the sunlight, I didn't see him anymore.

I reached for the door handle and slammed it shut, the sound making a crow take off into the air. Without thinking too hard about it, I started the car. It rumbled beneath my feet and I sucked in another sharp gust of air as I put her into gear and pulled onto the road. I watched the wooden cross in the rear view mirror until it was swallowed by the grass, and then until the grass was swallowed by the dip in the road. I rolled down my window and let the cool wind dry the moisture off my cheeks. Hesitantly, I reached out to flip on the radio. "Stairway to Heaven" started up again. This time, I left it on.

I reached for the cooler we kept under the seat, and yanked it up onto the seat beside me. The beers inside were no longer cold, but I cracked one open anyway. Illegal, I know. But Dean would do it. And I didn't care if a cop tried to pull me over. I wasn't stopping this car.

I watched the morning mist part for me as I drove the Impala over the gray pavement. Summer bugs were calling out from the grass; I could just hear them over Robert Plant's voice and Jimmy Page's guitar. I would have turned them down to hear it better, but I just couldn't. Not yet. He liked it loud.

I reached up with the hand holding the beer and touched the small mole beside my nose. I actually chuckled softly; it shocked the hell out of me. "Worry button," I muttered, shaking my head. I took a long swig of beer, letting it soothe my sore throat, and smile softly.

I passed another eagle sitting up in the pines. Or maybe it was that same one. I swear its eyes followed me as I sped past. I almost pointed it out to Dean, but remembered just in time that the seat beside me was empty. Instead I just took another sip of beer as Dean's necklace burned once more against my chest.

Or maybe it was just my imagination.