Another kinda short one, but I also like this one. Thank you to AltoOwl, ebonywarrior85, and qteallex for reviewing! You guys are awesome!


Dean's trying to pretend that Sam is sleeping. Sam had fallen asleep against him, exhausted from the Yellow-Eyed Demon toying with him and the other "Special Children," and now Dean is trying to get him somewhere else. Somewhere Sammy can fall asleep safely, where Dean can watch over him in case he has a nightmare. Fighting for your life against supernatural beings and kids with frightening abilities is mentally and physically draining, and Dean knows firsthand the types of dreams that can occur after a hunt gone wrong. And when Sammy wakes up—because he will wake up—Dean will prepare him a greasy breakfast that they can share before tracking down that Jake fellow and the Yellow-Eyed Demon. They're so close, and now all they need to do is follow the trail that will lead them to vengeance for their mother and father's deaths. Then they can give up the hunt. Sam can go back to school, Dean can stay with Bobby and help out at the Salvage Yard, maybe go on a few small-scale hunts in his free time. Their lives can be normal, all because Sam is sleeping.

All of this is so convincing when Dean thinks about it, and he's trying to block out reality with his wonderfully fabricated dream, but blood is leaking through a freaking gap in Sam's back and he isn't breathing and he has no pulse and his baby brother is dead and there's nothing he can do about it.

Driving away from the cursed town that Sam had been abducted to and heading for Sioux Falls, Dean can feel Bobby staring at him. The whole drive is tense, and Dean's white-knuckling his steering wheel, as if worried the car will float away just as his brother has. Sam is laying—asleep—in the back seat and Dean is driving, afraid what he might do if he doesn't have something to take his mind off of the current situation. However, the Impala's rumble is anything but soothing at the moment, and Bobby's judgmental glances are making him want to scream or punch something.

But he does neither.

He stays silent, because he's angry. He's ruined. He's stunned. His life is over. He can't go on. So he's staying silent.

Why talk when there's nothing to say?

They drive for ten hours straight, no stop. Dean's vaguely aware of Bobby requesting a short break, but Dean won't have it. They won't stop until they reach their destination. Finally, they pull into the gravel drive of a ramshackle little hut just outside of Sioux Falls. Bobby sends a questioning look at Dean, asking without words why they didn't go to his house, but Dean doesn't move. Bobby sighs heavily and heads out, starting to unload Sam from the back. Dean watches numbly as the older hunter struggles with the young man's weight by himself—he's in no way a small man—but doesn't leave the safety of the car. His hands are trembling, and he can feel the frustrated tears welling up in his eyes. He's nearing an emotional breakdown, and he can't go inside in this state. He lets the fat tears fall without even the slightest resistance. He doesn't normally allow himself to cry, but he's been holding in all of his feelings to too long now, and the dam is breaking. All of the pent-up emotions that have been eating up at him for years now are spilling out—and he freakin' deserves it. Everyone he's ever loved is dead. Gone. They've left him, and he can only imagine why.

Is it because he's a disappointment? Because he wasn't good enough? Mom left him at four years old because she didn't love him as much as he thought she did. He sure loved her, but she had left him. He was a failure even back then. Dad left him over twenty years later in a stupid deal that he phad saved Dean's life. Dean should be dead, but his Dad had chosen to leave him instead of letting Dean lave him. Now Sam's leaving him. His own brother. The person he's cared for since he was a six-month-old, whiny baby. What has he ever done? Where has he let his family down? He's only done everything for the sake of family. He's never let them down, so why did they all leave him?

He's too trapped inside his mind to notice Bobby coming back to the car. The grizzled hunter opens Dean's door and, seeing him crying, pulls him into a tight hug. Dean doesn't return the gesture, only stiffens and continues to silently sob. He doesn't deserve Bobby's affection right now. He's done something wrong, so why should someone be treating him well? Sam is dead because he's a bad brother, because he failed in his job as his little brother's protector. Dad is dead because he's a bad son. Mom is dead because he chose to save Sammy over her. Now it seems that effort was in vain.

Sam is gone, and he's not coming back.

He finds himself inside at some point, staring somberly at Sam's body. He's positioned like he's sleeping, which only further angers Dean. The fact that someone so dead can look so at peace is absolutely terrible. He clutches the door jamb too tightly, breaths coming out in shallow gasps as the truth really hits him for the first time since Sam had gotten stabbed. Sam's really dead. He's not sleeping. He's gone.

"I'm gonna grab something to eat," Bobby whispers. "Be back soon."

Dean doesn't even nod, just stares blankly at the corpse laying limply on that ragged, filthy mattress that just happens to be here. He knows that whatever Bobby brings back, he won't be eating. Why would he let himself enjoy that pleasure when his baby brother is sitting right in front of him, dead?

He's been standing in the same position for a few hours now, but time flies when you're trapping yourself with guilt and self-loathing. Bobby returns with two burgers in a greasy paper bag and a six-pack of Budweiser. Not really Dean's favorite, but it will suffice. Though if he had any say, he would opt for something a lot stronger than beer. He can't get wasted off of that stuff anymore. He grabs a beer and takes a long gulp, disregarding his favorite food sitting right under his nose—and it smells pretty good. However, he can't stomach anything right now. He sips a second time from his bottle. Except for booze, that is.

He stands vigil over Sam's corpse for two days. For two days, he lives off of beer and the overpowering self-hatred that comes with knowing that your brother is dead because you were too slow. Bobby comes and goes, trying to make conversation with Dean, but the latter never speaks a word. Until Sam's birthday.

He barely realizes that it's Sam's birthday. Would have been his twenty-third. Dean drinks to that.

Bobby enters with a bucket of fried chicken. He's been trying different foods these past few days, trying to find something that Dean would even look at, but he hasn't been successful. The only hit he's made is the beer he's been bringing over. As usual, Bobby announces his entrance with a, "Dean? Brought you this back." The old man holds up the bucket of KFC, which makes Dean's nose twitch at the unwelcome smell.

He clears his dry and rough throat before answering solemnly, "No thanks, I'm fine."

Bobby stops his movements, that much Dean can tell without turning around, but continues on as if nothing had happened. "You should eat something," he says.

Dean wonders briefly what the point of talking is if his opinions aren't even considered. "I said I'm fine," he reiterates, turning to Bobby—away from Sam. He goes to the old, wooden table to grab his drink, taking a hearty swallow from it. He savers the tingling liquid traveling down his throat and the nice buzz it gives his thoughts. He's not exactly cloudy yet, but he can feel himself getting there.

Dean can see the lump bob in Bobby's neck. He wants to say something, but he's hesitating. Dean almost wants to grab the man and yell at him to spit it out. "Dean," he begins, voice cautious, "I hate to bring this up, I really do, but don't you think it's time...to bury Sam?"

Dean's head swivels sideways. He glares at Bobby through suddenly-moist eyes. What does he think he's saying? "No," he replies gruffly, turning away from his surrogate father and taking a seat.

"Well we could...maybe..."

"What?" Dean interrupts, anger levels rising with every word he's spitting out. "Torch his corpse?" Bobby purses his lips and Dean shakes his head. "No," he repeats. "Not yet."

Bobby leans forward, stance now bordering on threatening. "I want you to come with me," he states firmly, an order he's been trying to give every time he's been over here. Every time Dean hasn't answered. He knows Bobby wants to take him back to his house, maybe chat about their feelings or hold a proper ceremony for Sam.

That's the last thing Dean wants right now: for his brother to be gone forever.

"I'm not going anywhere," Dean says.

Bobby sighs in exasperation. "Dean, please—"

"Would you cut me some slack?" he begs, voice rising in anger. He can tell that if Bobby pushes him any further, he'll blow.

"I just don't think you should be alone, that's all," Bobby continues. "I gotta admit, I could use your help."

Dean clenches his jaw. Why would he want to help hunt right now when his baby brother is sitting in the other room dead?

"Something big is going down," Bobby says. "End of the world—"

"Well then let it end!" Dean yells, looking at his uncle in hate. How can he possibly stand there and think that Dean wants to hunt? He didn't just lose his last family member.

Bobby's head shakes slowly. "You don't mean that...," he whispers.

Dean stands up, knocking over his chair in the process. "You don't think so?" he asks, voice a deadly whisper. "Huh? You don't think I've given enough? You don't think I've payed enough?" He subtly nods his head over to where Sam is. "I'm done with it," he confesses. "All of it." He takes a shakey breath, then says softly, "If you know what's good for you then turn around and get the hell out of here."

It's the most words he's spoken in days, and when Bobby doesn't move, he shoves the old hunter backwards. "GO!" he screams.

Bobby looks at him in hurt and betrayal, and Dean realizes his mistake. "I'm sorry," he mutters brokenly. "I'm sorry. Please just go."

Bobby's face is drawn up with sorrow, but he obliges to Dean's wishes. "You know where I'll be," he eventually says, then leaves the shack.

Dean tries to steady his breathing. He's so angry, so deep in despair, and his voice hurts. He doesn't want to speak. A single tear rolls down his face when he glances back to Sam's body. He just wants to die.

The beer he's been working on is downed in a few minutes, and Dean finds himself sitting down, looking at Sam. His lips are parched and his throat is dry, but he eventually spits out some words.

He doesn't know exactly what he's saying, only that he's pouring his heart out, and it hurts. He talks about being Sam's sworn protector and how he'd always taken care of him when he was a little rug-rat, but now he's screwed that up. His only meaning in life, and now its gone.

He rambles for a while without stopping before the breathless sobs overtake him and he can't go on.

The only reason he's talking is because he knows that if he doesn't, he'll never speak a word again.

Once the tears subside, a thought flashes through his mind. A deadly, suicidal thought.

A thought that just might save Sam's life.


It's late where I live, and I didn't feel like checking this over, so apologies for any mistakes. Let me know if there's anything that's absolutely screwed up.

I hope you enjoyed it, and I'd love you if you reviewed!