This makes ME sad, and I'm the one who wrote it. Please review. :(

He knew.

Even before Sam skidded to a stop and fell to his knees in the dirt at his brother's side, he knew that there wasn't hope. His mind screamed a million denials, but his heart couldn't lie to him. Dean was dying.

Stone and dirt ground into Sam's knees like broken teeth, tearing his jeans and bloodying his shin, but he didn't notice. How could he notice when he was looking down at a sight he knew would haunt him forever?

Dean's eyes were half-lidded and glazed, fixed in a far-off stare. His chin was painted with bright arterial blood, though Sam could not see any other sign of injury or wound. Dean was so still and pale that Sam felt icy terror wrap its fingers around his chest. When Dean made a little gurgle and spat out a mouthful of blood, Sam's heart leapt into his throat.

"Come on, man, don't do this…" Sam's words were thick and slurry with shock and fear. He grasped Dean's hand, horrified at how cold the flesh already was. Dean's pulse was thready and weak, his skin clammy. "Come on…don't let it end this way."

Dean gave no sign that he even heard Sam's plea. His eyes were set on the sky above the forest clearing in which he lay. His body shuddered as he coughed out another mouthful of blood, his hands clenching convulsively, and he let out a small, weak moan. But his blank face didn't change.

Sam bit down around a scream as two tears slowly trickled down Dean's jaw and into his hair. With a shaking hand, Sam softly smoothed the tears away.

"Please." The word was no more than a whisper, but it was all that Sam could muster around the huge lump that throbbed in his chest. If you die, how am I supposed to build a pyre for you?

How many times had they used fire to send a spirit back to hell? How could he use it now against Dean? Fire…it was so final, too final, like closing a door you could never open again. Could he really stand and watch the flames lick at the body of his only blood, his best friend, the person he loved most?

Dean had always loved the idea of the pyre. Said it was just right for a warrior, to go out in a blaze. Never mind the practicality of it, it was romantic, goddammit.

Sam's breath stopped as Dean gave another quiver. His breaths were coming slower now, wet little hiccups lurching in his chest. A new sheen of tears welled in Dean's eyes, and Sam's followed suit, then Dean blinked. Just once, one small motion, but it was enough for hope to explode in Sam. "Come on, man, I know you're there…please keep fighting, bro. I need you…I love you…please…"

And then, softly, gently, he was gone. There wasn't any ray of light, no soft music to highlight it. There was only the subtle relaxation of his body, the quiet final exhalation. A silent end to a turbulent life.

Then it seemed that every tear that Sam had ever held back, every sob he had ever bitten down on in his life, escaped him all at once. If anyone had been around to hear the sound of his cry, the hair on their necks would have stood at attention, for it was the sound of complete and utter desolation.

Sam dropped his head until it rested on Dean's still chest. The soft orange light of the moon highlighted Dean's features, as though he was already on the pyre, and Sam gave another wail of complete despair.

"Dean…what should I do?"