AN: Special thanks to Rosegirl94, OldGirl-NoraArlani, AlxM, Kathy, DearHart, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, EmilyAnneMcGarrett-Winchester and Michelle for their reviews. Michelle: In my experience, guilt is like a pair of sunglasses. It distorts your vision, making the darkness darker and muting the bright spots in your life. It acts as a shield, preventing people from seeing the real you, and still...it can get pretty comfortable when you wear it every day. But, just like glasses, you can take guilt off and put it aside - maybe not forever, maybe not in every circumstance, but it's okay to enjoy the light. Thank you for sharing and know that I'm thinking about you.

This chapter is pretty short and not too much happens, but I promise to update Friday with something that moves the story along a bit more. Thanks everyone.

When he woke up, Sam was groggy, and sore, his eyes swollen and red. He was embarrassed to discover that he had fallen asleep snuggled up to Dean's jacket like a toddler. He sat up and scrubbed a hand down his face and glanced around the room for his brother. Then like a landslide crashing down on him, he remembered. For a brief moment, he'd forgotten that his brother was dead. Horrified, Sam felt his breath catch in his chest. How could he have forgotten? What kind of a terrible person was he? Determined not to cry anymore, Sam rubbed his chest and waited until he had himself under control. What he really wanted to do was go back to sleep and hide from the pain that made it so hard to breathe. Instead, he was going to find Dad and Caleb and figure out what to do next. But first, he needed a quick shower. He smelled, and he'd been in these clothes for more than a day. Could it only have been yesterday when he was at Stanford? It seemed like so much more time had passed, but a quick look at his watch told him it was only mid-afternoon.

Since his bag was still in Brady's car, he had to go outside. He walked out to the parking lot. The misty wet morning had dried out, but it was cold, probably only a few degrees above freezing. There was thin ice skimming some of the puddles. Dad's truck was gone, but Caleb's Mustang was parked in front of the room. Sam pulled his gear from the Range Rover and went back to Caleb's room. He felt a little odd taking advantage of his friend's room, but there was no way he was going to shower in the same room as Dean's body.

Once clean and dry, Sam felt a bit more human. He stood staring at Dean's stuff sitting on the table. Other than the photos, there wasn't really anything he wanted, even that stupid leather jacket. The only possession that meant anything to him was the necklace he'd given to his brother that Christmas so long ago. The little horned pendant had become such a part of Dean that Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Dean without it. It meant a lot that over the years Dean seemed to treasure his small gift. He had regularly replaced the leather cord it was on to make sure it never broke and got lost. Maybe it was silly, but seeing the bronze face on his brother's chest had been a huge source of comfort during some dark times when Sam was growing up. The ugly charm wasn't sitting on the table, so it must still be around his neck. With a strange and sudden urgency, Sam had to get it. It was as if holding the pendant would make Dean a little less gone.

Sam used the key that had been left on the table to slip into the other room. It was oppressively quiet inside and Sam felt the irony. When Dean was alive, he was seldom quiet. When they had been younger, Dean had purposely annoyed Sam with his off key singing, rhythmic burping and any other unnecessary noise he could make - especially if Sam was trying to read. A smile ghosted across Sam's face for a moment before the heavy grief swamped him again. He hesitantly knelt down beside the bed, flipped back the sheet and took a long look at Dean. In all his memories of his big brother, Dean was full of life and energy, nothing like the waxy, rigid shell lying here. The pain rose up in his chest again, but he swallowed it down to settle like a rock in his stomach. With shaking fingers, Sam looked for the thin leather cord, but it wasn't there. He slid the sheet farther down, searching for the little bronze head, but there was only Dean's blood stained shirt. Replacing the sheet, Sam rocked back on his knees and had a terrible thought.

What if Dean had stopped wearing it? What if when he'd left for Stanford, Dean had thrown the little pendant away? A second layer of pain squeezed Sam's heart and tears sprang into his eyes again. He knew that his leaving had hurt his brother, but it hadn't occurred to him that Dean might be so angry that he would stop wearing the little horned face that, to Sam represented their bond as brothers. Still, it was possible, and the idea knocked the air out of his lungs. Standing up, Sam realized that he'd have to ask his father if he wanted an answer. Part of him was afraid to find out the truth, especially now that there was nothing he could do to mend his relationship with Dean. But part of him needed to know. He heard the rumble of an engine outside, so he quickly left the room.

Dad and Caleb pulled up in Dad's truck. He waited while the two older men climbed out. Dad looked tired and drawn and he was moving with an uncharacteristic heaviness. It seemed as if Dad was too weary to look at Sam, his eyes always on the ground. For a fleeting moment Sam felt sorry for his father. As much as he was hurting, he knew that Dad had to be hurting too, but then the familiar anger forced Sam to look away. Dean was dead because of Dad and Sam couldn't forgive that. Caleb looked somber and weary as he stepped down from the cab. He smiled wanly at Sam.

"Hey Sam, got some grub if you're hungry?" he said lightly shaking a large paper bag. Sam didn't think he'd ever feel hungry again, but he nodded and followed the two men to Caleb's room. If he was going to ask about Dean's necklace, this would be the best time to do so.

xxxxxxx

John sat staring at the burger sitting in front of him. The thought of eating frankly made his stomach churn, but he knew his body needed the fuel if he was going to get through the rest of this horrible day. Picking up the burger, he forced himself to take a bite and chew. The food in his mouth tasted like paste and he had to take a sip of his coffee to choke it down. Caleb was eating his own meal with his normal enthusiasm. The hunter had an appetite that rivaled Dean's. John swallowed hard. Every time he thought about Dean, it was as if his throat tightened and he couldn't breathe. He shot a quick glance at Sam. With his long fingers, Sam was picking the bits of chicken from his wrap sandwich. His hair was ridiculously long and hid his face from John, but it was just as well since he didn't think he could look Sam in the eye.

He and Caleb had spent most of the day building a pyre and in a few short hours, he was going to burn the body of his first born son. Putting down his burger, John lunged to his feet and made his way to the small bathroom. He could feel the sting of tears, but he refused to cry. He wanted to vomit, but he compelled his body to obey. Instead, he splashed some cool water on his face, watching blankly as it dripped from his chin into the sink. After a minute, he wiped his face on a bleach scented towel and got himself together, then went back to the table. He desperately wanted a beer, or 12, chased by the couple of bottles of whiskey he had stashed in his truck, but he couldn't bear to see Sam's look of disgust, so he just sat and stared unfocused out the dirty window.

"Dad?," Sam said hesitantly. Reluctantly, John turned his head in Sam's direction, but still unable to look at his son. Sam seemed to take that as acknowledgement because he cleared his throat.

"Do you have Dean's pendant?" Sam's voice shook a little with an odd combination of defiance and desperation. It made him sound like he had when he was a teenager. John risked a glance at Sam and saw how still his boy was. With one hand, Sam was holding his soda with a casual nonchalance, but the other hand was gripping the edge of the little table so hard his fingertips were white.

"No, I don't have it." John answered simply. The bronze face was such a part of Dean that he honestly had forgotten that it could come off. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Dean without it. Sam set his cup down and clasped both his hands in his lap.

"Was he still wearing it?" John frowned, thrown by how unsteady Sam sounded. Why would he ask that? Then, with a flash of insight, John realized what Sam had to be thinking - that Dean had stopped wearing the ugly thing because he was mad or hurt at his brother. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Sure, Dean had been crushed when Sam left, but he would never have taken that damn charm off. John struggled to find words to reassure his son, but although he opened his mouth, he couldn't think of a single thing to say. Caleb had been eating fries and watching their exchange, but then he swallowed and spoke up.

"Are you talking about that weird horned thingy? Dean never took that off." Caleb chuckled. "In fact, a couple of weeks ago he was telling me about this really hot redheaded waitress and…" Caleb glanced over at John and apparently had second thoughts about the story he was telling. "Uh, anyway, the boyfriend she failed to tell him about came home and Dean had to make a quick getaway out the second story window. He told me that he ended up having to circle the block in nothing but his boxers and that little bronze charm so that he could sneak back in and get his clothes." The younger hunter was laughing harder now, and John was happy to see Sam smile faintly too. Dean had avidly told that story more than once over the last few weeks, exaggerating the misadventure a little more each time for effect. It made John almost smile himself to think about it.

John walked through his pre-hunt memories. They seemed to be from a hundred years ago. And to be honest, he had been more concerned with checking his weapons and reviewing their research to look at what Dean had been wearing. But he remembered Dean tucking the amulet down his t-shirt before they had gotten out of the truck.

"Uh, I'm pretty sure he had it on when we left last night. It must have fallen off at the warehouse."

Although some of the tension had eased out of Sam's shoulders, the mood in the small room gradually grew more stifling. Caleb was done eating and was leaning back in his chair, yawning. John had taken another few bites of his burger, but it was cold and tasteless now and he gave it up as a lost cause. Sam had picked apart his sandwich and sat there fiddling with the wrapper. Suddenly John had to get out of the room and get some fresh air. He tossed the remains of his food into the garbage can and not trusting himself to say anything, walked outside.

This time of year, it got dark early, and the sun was low in the sky as he leaned against the rough brick of the motel. The fading light bouncing off the Impala caught John's eye, but be resolutely ignored it. It hurt too much to look at it. Dean had loved that car so much. If Sam wanted it, then it was his because there was no way John could drive it again. When he had bought it as a young man, he'd had an engagement ring in his pocket and a beautiful woman who loved him. But now, Mary was dead, their first born son was dead, and John, well in many ways he felt dead too. The car represented nothing but loss to him now.

John dragged a hand down his stubbled face. He felt a million years old, every muscle and bone aching with pain and grief. It had been 20 years since Mary had died, but it sometimes felt twice that long. The hunting life was hard, brutal and unforgiving, but at least he'd had his boys. But now he didn't and someone had to pay. John wasn't sure how, but he was going to keep fighting, after all he had little left to lose. He swore that he would spend the rest of his sorry life tracking down every last evil son of a bitch out there and get revenge for his family.

His dark vow, did nothing to lift his grief, but it did give him a sense of purpose. He pushed away from the wall and went to his truck. It was time to prepare Dean's body so that they could burn it and say their final goodbyes. Pulling some narrow rope and a newly purchased white sheet from his truck, John felt the heaviness of the last 20 years weigh down on him. As a soldier and then a hunter, John had seen too much horror to believe in happy endings. But, maybe, if there really was a Heaven, Dean would be with Mary.