Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

Thank you Kas3y for the review and the continued support of 'Phantom Traveler AU!' You get brownie points~

PREPARE FOR SOME MAJOR FEELS *you've been warned*

"I don't think we have to burn everything." John glanced at the motel room door. "Let's move to the car. I don't want him hearing this."

Dean climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala. Sam's seat. He turned to his dad. "What were you saying?"

John took a deep breath to steady himself. "Spirits aren't attached to all their past belongings; they're attached to a single object. If we could find out what object Sam's attached to, we could send him off without burning all our memories with him."

Dean furrowed his brow. "How will we figure that out? Sam doesn't - didn't - exactly tell us what he had an emotional connection with, and he's the sentimental type."

"What happens every time we get close to an object the spirit is attached to on a hunt?" John asked.

Dean thought about it. "Uh, we get thrown across the room?"

"Exactly. Spirits are protective of the object they are attached to, so we just need to let Sam know we are putting him to rest and start picking up his past belongings." John opened the driver's side door. "Let's go."

Dean felt uneasy. He followed his dad back to the motel room, all the while hating that he had to make his brother angry at him.

"Sam? We know you're here, son. Show yourself." John called out as he shut the door.

Spirit Sam appeared at the foot of Dean's bed, flickering in and out. "Now what? You're going to shoot me full of rock salt?"

"No, Sammy, it's not like that!" Dean's voice was full of hurt. He didn't want Sam's last memory of him to be betrayal. "We just want to talk."

Spirit Sam looked suspicious. C'mon Sam, show us what your object is.

Spirit Sam sat down. "What do you have to say? You burned my body; you can't come back from that." He looked off into the distance. "I just want to avenge Jessica."

"Sam." John's voice snapped Spirit Sam back. "You can't kill a demon as a spirit. Only one thing can do that: the gun created by Samuel Colt. You need to let it go, son."

Spirit Sam stopped flickering. A look of pure rage greeted the elder two Winchesters. "Let it go?! It's your refusal to let it go that got all of us into the hunting life in the first place! You seemed to have no problem letting it go after I died, though." There was a gust of wind swirling around in the motel, and the lights were flickering. Every breath was accentuated by a puff of white in the cold air. "It seems like I am the only one who cares about finding the yellow-eyed demon anymore! He wasn't too hard to track down, if you actually tried."

John narrowed his eyes. "Sam." He growled. "Don't you dare-"

"Don't I dare what?! You can't tell me what to do anymore, dad. I'm DEAD. Or are you going to keep shooting me with rock salt until I do what you say?" Spirit Sam waved his hand and the gun John was pulling out of his waistband flew from his hands. "Just like before, when you were dead set on finding my body, you're going to shoot me away to fix your problems. Is that all I am to you? A problem? I'm trying to help, so let me help, damn it!"

"Sam!" Spirit Sam turned his attention to Dean. "I thought you went to heaven. I thought you were finally at peace. Do you know how it makes a big brother feel when his little brother is hurting? You're hurting, Sam. You're hurting and it's my fault. This all started when I was too chicken to go on the plane with you. If you are going to be mad at anyone, it should be me."

Spirit Sam flickered. "Dean. I don't blame you for what happened."

Dean shook his head and sighed. "But you should, Sammy. If I had gone on the plane with you, we could've defeated the demon together. Demons are above our paygrade. You never should've had to do that alone. Let me help you this last time."

Spirit Sam flickered and reappeared next to Dean's nightstand. "It's here."

Dean walked over and opened his nightstand. Inside were the motel's bible and an old pocketknife with the initials S.W.

"Your old pocketknife?" Dean picked it up and looked at Spirit Sam quizzically. "Why?"

Spirit Sam smiled sadly. "It was the first knife you ever gave me. You saved up to get my initials engraved on the side. It means a lot to me."

Dean held back tears. "It means a lot to me, too."

Spirit Sam flickered twice and disappeared from view. Dean knew Sam was still there, the room was still freezing, but Sam was obviously trying to make it easier by not showing himself.

Dean turned to his dad. "Let's give Sam a proper goodbye."

Dean watched the flames swallow up Sam's pocketknife with a heavy heart. He didn't lose his brother once; he lost his brother three times. The third time losing Sam seemed much worse than the other two times. This time, it was official. Sam was not coming back. No deals could be made to save him, no loopholes could be used.

Sam was dead.

Bobby struck a match and threw it onto the pyre. As he watched the flames grow, a lone tear slide down the gruff hunter's cheek. Bobby had known his boys were close, but he didn't realize until too late that one could not live without the other.