Chapter Two: I'm walking uphill being turned around and round

The ground was cold, but he couldn't pick himself up.

The grave of the young, female victim needed to be dug. Her still flesh-covered body – not yet even close to being a skeleton – needed to be burned.

The more flesh a dead body had, the more it smelled when it burned. Sam had learned this at age thirteen. Dean had learned it at age four. Nothing sticks out in one's memory like the smell of your mother's burning flesh.

Sometimes Sam imagined that he could remember as well. The smell, the sounds, the fear, the death. The ending. The beginning.

But he'd been a baby. He couldn't remember, no matter how hard he tried, or pretended to. No matter how many times he heard the story, or thought about that night. He'd been only an infant.

But he'd been twenty-two the last time. The second time

He remembered the smell of Jessica's death. The flames. The sound of the fire sizzling her skin.

It's easy to remember the look of horror on her face, and the feelings invoked from it. They were what he expected to remember. What he could never forget.

The smells and the sounds. Those were things that could not be described. The elements he wished he could erase.

Sam knew fire. Knew it inside and out, backwards and forwards.

Fire killed. Fire kept you safe. Fire was everything and fire was nothing. Fire had saved his life so many times – how many spirits had they driven away by burning a corpse? – Fire had taken everything away from him.

He sat on the cold hard ground. Fire would make him warm right now.

Only it probably wouldn't. This kind of cold didn't stem from the biting chill of icy winds. This kind of cold was buried deep inside him.

In a place only his big brother could reach. In a place only two people had ever touched before.

A place that was now wrapped and packaged and ready for sell. He didn't use it anymore. It was just a useless reminder of what once was.

False hope. Cold flames. There was a place inside him where cold flames lived and burned.

"You'll get sick sitting out here all night." Dean's voice came from nowhere, but it did not shock Sam. He knew his brother would come. He always did.

"Does it matter?" Was the younger brother's depressive response.

Did anything matter?

"I thought you were gonna dig up that girl's grave." Dean said instead. Moving forward to take a seat next to Sam.

The tombstone he was leaning against was big enough for both of them. The brothers sat next to each other, sides touching.

It drove a few of the flames away.

"I was." Sam said. "I will."

"The sun's gonna come up soon." They looked simultaneously to the beginnings of pink tingeing the sky. "You can't risk anyone seeing you."

Sam shrugged. Dean was right. Dean was always right.

"I'll do it tomorrow."

"Someone could die tonight." No anger, no disappointment. Just a fact. A reminder

"I'll stick around."

"Patrol?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause. "Why'd you stop here?" Dean jerked his thumb in the direction of the stone they were leaning against. "I think this dude kicked it before dad was born."

Sam smiled lightly. A few more of those cold flamed ebbed away. "I'm not sure." He answered honestly. "Wanted to, I guess."

"Good enough reason for doing anything." Dean shrugged and settled back against the granted again.

"How come we never visit mom's grave?" Sam asked, seemingly at random.

Dean took the question in stride. He really couldn't be startled anymore. "It hurts too much."

"You, or dad?" Sam inquired, turning his head slightly towards his brother. "'Cause we never went when we were kids either."

"We were never in Kansas." Dean reminded. "Not after she died."

"That's a piss poor excuse." Sam informed him. "We should have gone together. At least once."

"Did you?" Dean turned towards his brother as well. "Ever go by yourself?"

"Twice."

Dean nodded.

"You?" Sam countered.

"Three times."

"When?"

"Right after you left for Stanford." That was the easiest to admit. "Right after me and Cassie broke up, and the last night we were in Lawrence. When we saw her spirit."

Sam nodded. That sounded about right.

"What about you?" Dean needed to know.

"I went while we were back in Lawrence too," he admitted. "Second night, while you were asleep."

"When else?"

"Middle of my freshman year at college."

"Why?"

"Because I'd never been before." Sam met his gaze, looking suddenly serious. "Eighteen years of fighting for vengeance for her death, and I'd never even seen her grave. Seemed wrong."

"Dad went every year." Dean told him.

"I had a feeling," Sam admitted. "He always disappeared."

"He said he was on a hunt."

"He was always a sucky liar." Sam smiled. "I never wanted to go with him."

"Me either." Dean agreed. Neither wanted to get into why that was.

The sun was rising faster. The darkness that had hidden them in shadows just minutes before was lifting fast, threatening to expose them. Take away their secret. Their safety.

"You're gonna have to get up soon." Dean started again.

"I don't want to." He sounded very factual. Silently asking his brother to give him a good reason to do such a thing.

"Your butt's gonna go numb."

Sam actually snorted. "That's the best you got?"

"Hey, not being able to feel your own ass is an irritating bitch." Dean smiled. "Besides, you should get some sleep, if you're gonna be staying up all night looking for this thing."

"I don't really wanna sleep." His tone remained just as factual.

The bight orange of the sun was dusting the horizon.

"Then go to a bar somewhere and get laid." Was his immediate counter-offer. "God knows you need it."

Sam smiled again. "There you go with that downstairs brain train of thought."

"Hey, that rhymed," Dean teased. "Sammy's a poet and he didn't know it."

"Shut up," Sam smiled. The cold flames were almost gone.

"Seriously man," Dean continued. "You need a beer, or a shot, or something."

"Would you be drunk right now?" Sam inquired. "If our roles were reversed?"

"What's the point of questions like those?"

So that was Dean's real reaction to his destiny-centered inquiries? Sam thought maybe he preferred the sarcasm.

"I mean," he waved his hand slightly. "It's not different. The roles aren't reversed. What's the point in wasting brain cells over it?"

"It stops me from thinking about what's really going on?" Sam sounded like he was guessing. "It's a distraction."

"It keeps you from ever dealing with stuff."

"Maybe that's a good thing." He said. It sure felt good enough when he was ignoring it.

"It's not." Dean said simply. "Not after a certain point in time."

Sam bit his trembling bottom lip. It was getting too real again. Too close.

The cold flames turned to a fierce heat that ate away at his insides. Made him want to cry out in pain and despair.

"I don't want to think about this anymore." Sam said sternly, trying his hardest to keep the tears out of his voice. "Maybe I will find a good bar tonight."

"You should find a good shrink." Dean countered. "Or call dad."

"I hate psychiatrists." Sam said, sounding distasteful. "The last one I was near made me shoot you, remember?"

"Of course I remember." Dean said. "I was thinking along the lines of finding one that was alive this time. You know, just for fun."

Humor was engrained into his brother's personality. Nothing could erase it.

"I don't want to talk to a doctor." Sam said evenly. "And I don't want to talk to dad. I just want to find the monster that…"

"I know." Dean cut off. "But what's gonna happen once you do?"

Sam was silent. Leftover pain turned to ice again.

"Keep hunting." He decided after a moment. "I'll keep hunting."

"That'll kill you eventually." Dean said. "You should try living your life again."

"Hunting is my life."

"No it's not."

"I think we've had this conversation before." He said in desperate need for a distraction.

"It goes around in circles." Dean agreed.

"Dad's still hunting." Sam said suddenly, remembering that he could use that as an argument

"And it keeps on goin'" Dean smiled softly. "Dad doesn't know how else to live."

"Yeah, but the thing that killed mom is gone." Sam argued. "Shouldn't he try and go back to living a regular life?" Why did his brother insist on setting a double standard?

"I think he expected to die in that battle."

"I think we all expected someone to die." Sam countered.

"It's amazing that no one did."

"Yeah," the elder sighed. "We kicked ass."

"Too bad it was all for nothing."

"Don't say that Sammy." Dean requested gently. "I think that's what we were meant to do. Kill that thing before it killed anyone else. Protect people from it."

"I think you were addicted to playing hero." Sam countered, not wanting to address the fire-demon battle memories.

"Maybe so." Dean shrugged. "It was a good way to live."

"Too bad it got you killed."

And then there was silence.

Dean sighed softly after what seemed like a lifelong pause. It was the first time Sam had said the words aloud. "We all knew it was going to happen."

"I wanted to go first." Sam said in a small, scared voice. "I wanted to…not see you die. Ever."

Dean scoffed. "We both know I woulda never let that happen. I spent my whole life protecting you."

"You didn't protect me from the pain of watching you die." Sam turned to Dean, looking suddenly stricken. "Did you ever even think about that?"

"I did." Dean admitted with a frown. "I was selfish."

"Damn straight."

"Does that mean you still have issues with me?" He asked shortly.

"Of course I still have issues!" Sam exclaimed, then calmer, "Why?"

"The sun's almost all the way up."

"You have to go." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah." He nodded.

Sam wouldn't ask. He didn't want to understand.

Dean stood, shaking the stiffness out of his limbs, brushing the dust off his clothes. He looked down at his little brother, but Sam would not meet his eyes.

"Dude…" Dean trailed off. "Seriously. Go to a bar or something. You're starting to look pathetic."

Sam's chuckle was watery. "Thanks for that, man."

A brief pause. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"I guess." Sam shrugged. "I don't really have a choice in the matter."

He would never understand that his was the only choice that actually mattered.

"You know, I hate saying goodbye."

It didn't matter which brother said it.

It was an absolute truth for both.

TBC...

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