They stand with Bobby as his wife's body is cremated for the second time. The thought that a body would ever need such a thing briefly crossed Dean's mind, but was quickly filed away in the place his subconscious created to keep some semblance of sanity.
On this late afternoon Dean Winchester was thinking a lot of things that could be filed there. The fear of being in a battle that will end the wrong way no matter what he does. The concern he felt for Bobby as he watched him sink further into a depressive sinkhole dug by the freaking Angel of Death-the look of utter defeat the older hunter wore as the flames from the funeral pyre reflected off his face. This was so wrong in so many ways, and Dean was at a total loss of how to stop this whole Apocalypse crap from annihilating the few people he considered family.
Bobby's words-the message his wife relayed from Death to her husband before she begged to be killed to prevent her from becoming a monster again-were playing over and over in his head. The message was clear-Sam was to say yes, or those he loved would suffer. The list was getting shorter at least (file that under sarcasm in the face of ridiculous stress), but of course Sam would have to continue to say no. At least Dean prayed to whatever would listen that his brother would still say no. A person could only handle so much before they gave in to the horror-he should know. Dean had seen the look pass over Sam's face when Bobby spoke, but Sam had not discussed it further. In respect to Bobby's mourning, Dean let it slid for the moment. This was something he would speak to Sam about later that evening...there were not going to be any more secrets between them now. They couldn't risk them.
Sam was sick of fire. Fire had done nothing of value for him. Fire had taken so much of his life and gave nothing in return. It followed him and haunted his dreams. He could not get the smell out of his nose and knew he would need to take a shower as soon as he could to prevent the replay of fires past when he attempted sleep.
But first he had to support his friend. The closest thing he and his brother had to a father living (and sometime even dead) that they ever had. It wasn't easy, actually harder than he imagined it would be, to stand in Bobby's circle of grief and not succumb to it himself.
Then Bobby told them why Death had picked a town in the middle of absolutely no where to play his zombie magic trick. Sam's knees almost buckled, and his stomach gave the slightest lurch before he locked it down. For the love of God, this was his fault. It wasn't enough to be the person responsible for releasing the biggest bad thing of all creation and start the end of the world. Now he was the reason Bobby was forced to put a bullet into his wife's head.
Let's not forget the fact that the sheriff had to loose her son again, and her husband to the monster her son became. The fact that the little boy craved human flesh was of little consolation to Sam as he replayed the scene at the house. He felt right about going back in there to spare the sheriff the horror of putting a gun to the forehead of her son-but the image of killing a child (a monster zombie child he tried to repeat over and over to make it alright) was not something he was going to forget any time soon. Not until some new ungodly event occurred to take the spotlight from the memories of a dead child (monster...) covered in it's fathers entrails. So not right, and it was all his fault.
He could feel Dean's eyes on him, and knew his brother was concerned. This may have bothered him a few months ago, but now it felt right. Dean was concerned for Sam, as much as Sam was for him, and they may not always know how to express it, but they both knew it was there. They would talk later-they would have to-and Sam would tell Dean what was causing the barely contained emotional breakdown. Dean would explain to Sam that it was not his fault-that they were playing games with the devil (fallen angel technically) and that above all he had to keep saying "NO".
Sam would listen...he would feel the hand on his shoulder as his older brother provided the reassurance only an older brother could. He would promise Dean again that his head was still in the game. And he would try to believe it. Sam knew to do anything less would be willing the darkness to take over. No matter how tired he got, the battle would not be lost due to any weakness on his part. His brother would give whatever strength he could spare, and Sam for once would take it. For Dean...for Bobby...even for himself.