A/N : Okay, I'm really really sorry. I needed the catharsis. I wrote this a couple months ago but couldn't find a way to end it, so didn't post it until now. I proof read it just once and I teared up at my own work. Like doing so while writing wasn't enough. So, sorry for any mistakes!

So, yeah. Tissue warning. Heh. Sorry again.

This has no comfort! If you want to cry, then you can read this, but DON'T look for comfort!

If you saw the finale (15x20, Carry On), you know what happens. So. Yeah.

Enjoy? Hehehe and let me know what you think. Whether you want to punch me or want to hug ;)


Sam didn't let Dean go. Not really. Sure he had said the words. Smiled. Cried. Held on. Tried to believe.

Like that would ever work out.

Funny how he should have been numbed to this by now. Death, pain, loss, grief. He wished he was. Numb, that is. Anything was better than this ... this.

One day ago, they had talked about some old case of dad's. Half a day ago, they had investigated it. One hour ago, they had gone over the ambush. Half an hour ago, he had talked De-

... talked him out of using the Ninja stars. Twenty minutes ago they had been kicking ass. A walk in the park to what they had gone through all their lives.

Ten minutes ago he had grinned at - he had grinned, telling him that they better hurry, get the kids to wherever they belonged.

Nine minutes ago, his heart had started beating faster than normal. Adrenaline and fear and fucking terror and the sense of WrongWrongWrong. Eight minutes ago, he had his hands on his phone, emergency services one tap away, too far away.

Seven minutes ago, his hands had come away bloody. Blood that wasn't his' or the vampires or the kids'. Some numb part of him had looked at it and remembered Halloween and corn syrup and pranks and ...

Now ...

Now.

He hadn't let go. Not really. How could he? How the fuck could he?

And just because he was a Winchester, Sam Winchester, he went through the stages of grief and more in record time.

His hands remained steady as he gently pried, pried, his body ... him ... from the piece of rebar. There was a wet squelch and Sam giggled. That sounded funny. And gross. But mostly funny.

He was limp, cold, d-

He laid him on the floor, gently, hands and legs straightened out.

Sam walked out. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he approached the frightened kids crouching near the car. Their car. His car. Their car.

"Hey. It's okay. You're okay. Call for your parents, okay?"

They nodded. Called. Spoke. And Sam found his palm holding the phone again.

They were looking at him strangely. With gratitude, confusion, fear, curiosity.

"That other man, who came with you? Is he okay too, mister?".

Sam stared at them. With a gentle smile and silence he herded them to about five hundred metres away. Hidden from the barn but closer to the road.

Time passed. Maybe it was an hour but it felt like seconds. The kids were climbing in and the parents were hugging him and then they were gone too. Phantoms. Maybe there had been no kids. No parents. No hunt. No vampires.

Maybe there would be no barn and no field and no Impala and Sam would wake up to a ceiling and a familiar bed beneath him with Zeppelin being whistled off tune through the bunker's hall.

He turned away from the road and hummed under his breath, eager to be on his way. God knew they had earned some rest.

The barn loomed like some old age haunted house cheap thrill and he chuckled, shaking his head.

"Ready to go, Dean? I know those pies must have worn off by now."

Of course, there was no answer. He could just imagine the scandalised look on his face, at the mere thought of pies being worn off from a man's body.

He looked up at the prolonged silence and saw Dean on the floor. Lying down, eyes closed.

Who even takes a nap surrounded by dead bodies? Dean, that's who. Sam rolled his eyes.

He made his way over to his brother, dodging the scattered bodies, huffing at his brother's lack of cleanup.

When he was standing over Dean, he nudged him with the toe of his boot. Dean lolled limply without waking up. Sam rolled his eyes again.

"Okay, Dean, but when I leave your ass here, don't come cryin' to me, dude."

Dean slept on. Or, well, pretended to sleep on.

"And I'll take the Impala", Sam finished with a flourish, smirking down at his face.

Dean didn't respond.

"Dean."

Silence.

"De-ee-an."

Silence.

Sam bent down to check his pulse just in case Dean had accidentally died or something.

There was no pulse.

"Dude, you have no pulse. Are you kidding me right now? Is it a ruse to make me clean up the monster mess?"

There was no response. Dean slept on.

"Dean."

"Dean."

"Dean."

"Dean."

"I'm gonna keep doing it until you wake up."

"Dean."

"Dean."

"I'm not kidding, dude."

"Dean."

"Dean."

Slap.

"Fuck you, Dean! You think this is funny?"

Slap.

"Are you trying for an Oscar now?"

Slap.

"Let's just get out of here, Dean! I'll do whatever you want!"

Slap.

Sam shook Dean, fingers tangling on Dean's coat, head lolling against the dirty floor, clumps of dirt and dust clinging to the dirty blonde spikes.

Slap.

I love you so much, my baby brother.

"Fuck you, Dean! FUCK YOU! YOU'RE A FUCKING BASTARD, YOU KNOW THAT?"

Slap.

Sam pulled Dean up, wrapping his arms around Dean. Dean was cold. Sam was warm. Hypothermia? Shock? Didn't matter. It explained why Dean was still asleep. He had to warm Dean up.

"It's okay, Dean. It's okay, I gotcha. Just gotta - gotta warm you up, real quick. Right? Just gotta ... yeah. It's okay. It's okay."

Sam rocked back and forth, Dean's head tucked under his chin, arms laying limp at his side, legs akimbo. Sam's knees sent jolts of pain every time he rocked forth and he could feel a trickle of something warm on them.

"M' knees' bleeding. But it's okay. You'll fix 'em up, right, Dean? Just gotta warm you up."

Time passed and this time the seconds seemed like hours and Dean wasn't getting warm.

"Dean? Why - why aren't you warm? Dean?" Sam could feel his voice cracking. His warm breath coursed over Dean's hair, riffling them gently. His hands were warm where they held Dean. The tears that flowed down his cheeks were almost hot.

"Dean? Dean, please. Why aren't you - Dean? Dean, wake up. Dean? Wake up, please."

He couldn't warm him up alone. He needed someone. He needed -

He needed - he needed what?

Dean. He just needed his big brother to wake up and Dean wasn't waking up. It wasn't fair. Couldn't Dean see that Sam needed him? Why was he being so stubborn?

"Dean. Please. Wake up! I - I'm hurt. You'll wake up if I'm hurt, won't you? Ple - I'm hurt real bad, Dean. Please? Wake up?"

Maybe all he needed was to warm up some more.

Sam lowered Dean to the floor, removed his jacket, spread it over his brother and laid down next to him. He pulled on Dean's arm until he rolled to his side and pulled that arm over his own shoulders. Chest to chest was the best, he chanted to himself, years of training coming to forefront. He tucked his head under Dean's chin and curled up closer.

He could warm Dean up just like this, he reassured himself. It was just a matter of time until his big brother woke up to snark about cuddling little brothers and stinking barns. Just a matter of time.

Sam's tears wet the little bit of floor between them, tapering off as his breaths slowed.

Maybe they could hit the pie fest again on the way back to the bunker, Sam thought to himself. Dean would love that.


A/N : I know it's not much, but I actually kinda abandoned it after getting it out of my system. But oh well, if I'm going down, I'm bringing y'all down with me :)))))) Sorry for the abrupt ending. I wanted Sam to just waver from one emotion to another, not yet fully getting his head round to the fact that De- ahem. Anyways. Let me know what you think.

Bye, for now, before I start crying again.