Dean glanced in his rearview mirror at the young man in the back seat. He stared out the window the remaining traces of betrayed anger like teardrops gathered in his eyes.
"You doing okay, Harry?" he asked.
"Yeah. I mean," he hesitated glancing up at Dean and then back out the window, "No." Dean nodded thinking that was the end of it but Harry continued; "I mean. You roll with a guy so many years, you start to think he's always gonna be next to you. Like, when you're old and you're drinking on the porch, he'll be in that other rocking chair. And then something happens, and you realize that other chair has gone empty." Dean glanced at the seat beside him; a habit he'd been trying to quit ever since its most frequent occupant died. His little brother; the one person who, despite all the fights they'd had with each other and with the monsters they fought, never left his side. The one person he expected to be by his side until the day he died. Dean had always pictured the two of them going out fighting, together, side by side. Never for one day did he think they'd be apart. But there it was just like Harry had said, the empty chair sitting next to him. Dean swallowed back a new bout of tears.
Sam sat on the remnants of his bed. He stared at the smoldered pillow in front of him as his mind raced with a thousand thoughts. He had said what Dean needed to hear. Right? As he thought back to the conversation they'd had days earlier he tried to convince himself he'd done what was right. His mind flew back to the church months ago. He put himself in Dean's place, standing in the doorway of the church watching his brother writhe in pain as he finished the Trials and closed the gates. As he watched the scene in his head he knew what he would've done. Despite what he said, he knew he would've run at his brother and ripped the paper out of his hand. He'd have finished the damn thing himself if that's what it took. Indeed that's how he'd gotten into this whole mess in the first place. No matter what he said, no matter how much he denied it, Sam knew he'd do anything to keep his brother at his side. He felt guilt bubbling inside him, almost as hot as the rage he'd felt before and during the fight. If haunting and fighting wasn't so exhausting, Sam might've destroyed more of the bunker. He heard the door open and he reappeared in the entrance to greet his brother.
"Dean," he said, unsure of how he'd continue but knowing he needed to apologize. But he didn't get the chance. Dean continued walking down the hallway.
"Dean," he said again. Dean still ignored him. Sam stopped and watched his brother disappear into his room, slamming the door behind him. Sam flinched and as he stood there he realized something. He was a ghost.