Dean groaned, the pulsing in his head making it difficult to focus.

"Dean, c'mon, buddy, wake up."

"Dad?" he slurred.

"Yeah, there you go. Nasty head injury you've got there, but I need your help getting us out of this place."

The darkness made it difficult for Dean to focus, but when he did, he groaned again. "Crap, really? What kind of stupid mausoleum is connected to the friggin' sewer system?"

John grimaced. "It's because we got the wrong mausoleum, son. The zombie tricked us."

Dean sat up slowly. "Zombies are smart enough to do that?"

"This one was." John gave Dean a hand. "We should probably make sure you're okay, get you to a hospital."

"Assuming we can get out of here." Dean blinked, putting a hand against the sewer wall to steady himself. "How long have we been down here?"

"No idea. I've been out myself."

Dean swore under his breath. "Sammy has gotta be freaking out."

"Your brother can take care of himself," John said absently, climbing up the ladder and attempting to push up the cover.

"Dad, that's probably blocked. We should try to find another exit. Sewer has to have more exits."

"Good call." John jumped down heavily. "Let's get going."

As they walked through the sewers, Dean couldn't help running through everything that could go wrong.

"Dean, stop."

He came to a standstill, instantly tense and waiting for an attack.

"Not walking. Stop thinking. Sammy is fine."

"Yeah, I know." Dean reached up to grab his amulet in an attempt to convince himself and found it missing. The zombie must have snagged it when they were fighting it. Sam was going to be so mad at him. Dean would have to buy him some ice cream just to avoid the silent treatment for a week.

By the time they reached the surface, Dean was ready to crawl out of his skin—and not just because of the smell.

"Dad, let's go home, first. We have to let Sam know we're okay, check on him."

"Dean, that zombie is going out every night and raiding houses, killing people. We can't leave it. We're closer to the graveyard from here. Plus, the Impala's parked back there."

Dean snarled in impotent rage and stalked forward. "Fine. Let's get this done."


The scene they came to was far different from the one they had left.

"Dad . . ." Dean stared at the burned bodies in the mausoleum. "Are there any other hunters in the area?"

"Actually, yeah. They were going to take it until we came along."

"Did they decide to finish the hunt off?"

"Maybe." John suddenly took off running and swore. "They took the Impala."

"What?"

John swore again, more vehemently.

Urgency was clawing at Dean's insides. "We need to get to Sam," he said.

"Yeah, alright. Let's head out."

An abandoned van was just outside of the graveyard. Unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth, Dean started her up without any fuss, despite the sizable dent in the bumper.

Smoke was rising from somewhere . . . Dean choked on terror and pressed down the accelerator, skidding into the parking lot in front of their smoldering house.

"Sammy! Sammy! Sammy!"

Dean slammed his way through several bystanders before some firemen grabbed him, keeping him from getting to his little brother.

"Sammy!" he screamed.

"I'm sorry, kid. We weren't able to get anyone out."

Dean writhed in their grip, they were wrong, he had to get in there, Sam would be fine, Dean just had to save him.

"Dean, Dean." Dad was there. He would know.

"Dad, we have to get him out," Dean begged.

John's eyes were shining. "It's too late, Dean."

With a shriek, Dean pulled away from the firemen and barreled into their house, coughing through the remnants of smoke and feeling the creaking instability of the floorboards under his feet.

"Sammy!"

Dean came to a halt in the kitchen, bones condemning him on the floor. Dean sobbed aloud.

"Sammy, no," he whimpered. "You can't . . ." A cry of rage, and Dean slammed his fist through the unstable wall.

Only when the firemen dragged him out of the ruins again, did Dean let himself fall into the blackness that had been threatening ever since he woke up in this nightmare.


Dad was next to Dean's bed, hunched over and rubbing his mouth.

"Dad," Dean rasped. "Is—"

"I'm so sorry." John was hunched over. "Sammy's dead."

Sam. He couldn't be, he . . . Dean gulped.

Dad was leaning over him. "Dean, breathe. Breathe."

Dean croaked, "How did this happen?"

"Report says that Sam was trying to make dinner. Kitchen fire started, and Sam couldn't get out."

His choked sob was half a laugh. "Everything we've been through and this . . ."

"It could've been the thing that killed Mary," John muttered.

"No, Dad. We both know that's just an excuse." Dean looked up at the ceiling, empty with nothing left inside. "Sam is dead."

On the way to Lawrence, Sam's jar of ashes remained clutched in Dean's lap. The truck Dad had stolen was unfamiliar and uncomfortable, but they hadn't had an opportunity to hunt down the Impala and the jerks who had stolen her.

John flicked on the radio.

Just as fast, Dean turned it off.

"Sam liked that song," he mumbled as explanation.

The closer they got to Lawrence, the more tense Dad got. Dean was pretty far gone into his own head, but at least he was still able to read his own father.

"Dad, let me drive," he muttered, voice unexplainably hoarse. John acquiesced without complaint, which told Dean how much his Dad was really hurting.

"We'll bury him next to Mary," Dad said unexpectedly.

"Of course," Dean responded dully. None of it mattered, any more. None of it.

The funeral was short. Some guys that knew Dad from . . . from before were there. A couple hunters. Also a woman—Dad had whispered that she was psychic—who kept staring at Dean.

"I'm so sorry," she told him after Sam's ashes were buried.

"Everyone's sorry," Dean said dully. "None of it matters."

The woman's eyes were liquid. "It will get better."

"I don't see how."

When everyone had left, Dean was able to sit next to the gravestone, by himself.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he said. "I should have been there. I never should have left you alone, I'm so sorry, I can't even . . . I'm so sorry."

Dean clutched at the fresh dirt, wishing he could bury himself next to Sam. Maybe a suitable punishment, that. Buried alive, screaming without oxygen like Sam probably was.

The woman appeared at Dean's side. "C'mon, kiddo. You're going to be alright. Come with me."


Dean ended up staying with Missouri for a week. During that time, his dad researched, looking for the Impala, but there was nothing.

"Dad, you might have to give this up," Dean sighed. "The car's probably long gone." He rubbed his face, looking around Missouri's living room with dull eyes.

"The Impala's gone. All of my research, and—"

"So?" Dean asked impatiently. "What does that matter?"

"What does it matter? Don't you remember how your mother died?" John stood. "Our revenge is everything."

"Dad!" Dean jerked his father back by the shoulders. "Are you listening to yourself? Your son just died and you're thinking about the thing that killed Mom?"

"How do we know that the same thing didn't kill Sam?"

"Dad." Dean softened his voice. "Dad, you saw the reports. It was a house fire. An accident started in the kitchen. Nothing like before. And it's our fault."

John reared back and Dean continued ruthlessly, his own words ripping away at himself.

"Dean—" John started again weakly.

"Dad." Dean was tall enough to stand eye-to-eye with his father, but somehow at the moment, he seemed taller. "We left him alone. It was our fault. He died because we were too caught up in the hunt. The hunt killed It's our fault. It's my . . . it's my fault."

"Dean, son, hey—"

Dean realized too late that he was crying in front of his father, and rubbed at his face in an attempt to pretend he wasn't.

Strong arms encircled him. "I'm sorry, Dean, we'll stop, okay, you're right, I'm sorry."

In sixteen years, Dean had never heard his father apologize.

"What are we going to do?" Dean asked.

John sat down heavily. "We could start over. Get jobs. If we're not hunting—"

"No more hunting," he muttered. "For Sam. He deserved better, and we both know that."

John took a deep breath. "No more hunting."


A/N: It was ridiculously difficult for me to write a part without any Sam. I kept accidentally writing his name and then having to delete it, no joke. Still not sure I went the right route with this story, keeping the two of them alive, but, well, too late *shrug*