This chapter is a bit shorter, as I didn't want to introduce anything else after what this chapter focused on. This took a lot of thinking and reworking, so hopefully it does the scenario a bit of justice. If it did, let me know, and if it didn't, also let me know ;) Thanks to VegasGranny, Celtic Knot, TXKimsonFan, and DearHart for your reviews! See you all hopefully next weekend after the much anticipated Scooby-Doo episode!

I still don't own Supernatural. If I did, the 'unfortunate' loss of a specific beloved character would have been handled just a bit differently.

Sam had never been an extremely heavy sleeper. Growing up in the life, having to constantly be looking over his shoulder, waiting for a monster to burst through a window at any moment, did that to you after a lifetime. So when he heard some soft noises in the hallway before anyone should be up, Sam was immediately awake. Fully alert, no, but his hand was closed around the grip of the gun under his pillow.

His door slowly opened and light came pouring in. The only thing that kept Sam from pulling out said weapon was Dean's familiar silhouette standing in the doorway. He didn't make a move to come in, he just stood there and watched Sam, as if contemplating something. When Sam's eyes finally opened all the way, Dean shifted from foot to foot.

"Dean?" Sam asked groggily, letting the gun rest under his pillow as he checked the time and reached to turn the lamp on. It was about five, so not as early as Sam had expected, but the previous day had worn him out. It had worn both of them out, and Dean should have still been sleeping. "Everything okay?" He flicked on the light and one glance at his brother told him immediately that no, everything was not okay.

In simple terms, Dean looked like he had seen a ghost. His face was a shade paler than it should have been and he was wearing a confused look on his face that twisted his features in the slightest. "Dean?" Sam tried again, fully swinging his legs out so he could sit on the edge of the bed.

"Didn't want to wake you, Sammy," Dean started quietly and pursed his lips, "but, you know, what you said, and I can't get this damn image out of my head no matter how hard I try-" he cut himself off.

"Hold on, what image?" Sam asked. It was obvious by Dean's state that he was fairly shaken up by the whatever he had seen, or had thought he had seen.

"She won't stop burning," Dean whispered in a tone that had Sam's face dropping in color a few shades.

"Dean…who?" Sam slowly got up from the bed and made his way over to the door, where Dean was watching him, as if weighing how much to say. Sam immediately thought he meant Mom, who else could he be talking about? Maybe a nightmare? Something else entirely? "Was it mom? A nightmare?"

Dean shook his head. "There was a woman with red hair. It was…it was too clear to be a nightmare, Sam. The details were too perfect, too crisp, you know?" He had furrowed his brow, trying to make Sam understand when he did in fact get it, through and through.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. But you gotta give me more than a woman with red hair that won't stop burning," Sam replied, now fully awake. Ever so slowly, he steered Dean towards the bed and he sat down on the edge. Sam sat down on the edge of the bed too, about a foot away, and angled his body so that he could watch Dean. Red hair, that narrowed it down to a few people at least, given it was actually a memory and not something else. "It wasn't Emily, was it?" he asked. He honestly hoped it wasn't, but maybe seeing her had shaken something lose?

Dean shook his head, and Sam gave a slight motion with his hand for Dean to then continue. He opened his mouth but closed it again. He clenched his jaw and looked down at his hands, which were wrung together in his lap. Even in the very, very early morning, Sam could read Dean like an open book. It was the same thing they had just gone over: Dean didn't want to burden him in case it turned out to be a bad memory.

"Dean, I can't help and fill you in and give you context if you don't give me something to go off of," he eventually said, trying to convey that he was understanding of Dean's attempts, but he didn't need protecting.

"What if it just dredges up a whole crap load of bad things for you? What if she isn't even real?" Dean asked and raised his eyes to Sam's.

The younger hunter shrugged slightly. "You and your memories come first. Help me help you," he reminded. If Dean kept all of this in, it would pile up on his shoulders until it crushed him, and then they'd both be screwed. Dean would be in so many pieces that Sam and Cas wouldn't be able to help put him back together.

Dean took another few seconds before he finally sighed, knowing that Sam wouldn't back off now that he had come for help. "We were in this tent, this medieval tent of all things. She was in these red robes and I was wearing freaking chain mail and we were moving little plastic figures around on a battle map. She had red hair and she put a crown on my head and…" he trailed off. Because now it was Sam that had the blank stare on his face.

Of course he knew exactly who Dean was talking about. And it wouldn't be an easy thing to hear about, not on either of their parts.

"Yeah, red hair, medieval, keep going," Sam said, his voice cracking just the slightest. It had happened almost a year ago, but it was still raw, and it probably always would be. This wasn't just something you got over. He needed to know what Dean remembered, and then he could fill in the blanks.

Dean watched him carefully for another moment before he muttered a 'crap' under his breath and shook his head. "She left, and I followed her into this other dark tent. Then this skinny guy, he was holding a book and a sword to her throat and he read from the book…and she went up in flames, Sam," he said, as quietly as he could manage. His eyes held a haunted look that Sam hadn't seen in a long time, not even right after Charlie had died. That look had been anger, fueled by the mark, but this, this was something else.

"And she kept going up. Over and over and over. It's like a replay button. And I couldn't stop it, I couldn't do anything. I couldn't save her," he annunciated. "She obviously meant something to me and I couldn't save her, Sam, what the hell does that mean?" Dean's voice rose in the slightest, but Sam was still reeling over his brother's words.

I couldn't save her. That seemingly simple statement echoed in his mind. Dean couldn't save her in the dream and he hadn't been able to in real life. And Sam…he didn't know what to say. How could he possibly put that whole bloody mess into words?

"Who is she?" Dean's voice was almost desperate, and if Sam weren't in such a state of shock himself, he would've answered right away.

Instead, he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, as if either of those would make it any easier to explain what came next. "Was," he corrected. He didn't need to go into more detail, because Dean leaned back and shook his head again.

"She's gone?" Dean checked, and when Sam nodded slightly in affirmation, he closed his eyes. "Damnit," he muttered. "I shouldn't have said anything, I should have known something bad was tied to it," he said quickly.

"Dean, no, this is exactly what we were talking about-"

"And this is exactly what I didn't want to happen!" Dean cut him off. "My brain, picking out the worst things to give me without context. I'm a demon, Bobby's gone, and now, someone else we know and were probably pretty close to is dead. Again. And you've gotta go through it and explain it and relive it and watch me take it in. I can't keep doing this to you, Sam, I won't, memories be damned." He started to get up to leave the room, hands clenched into fists as if he could fight his way past the demons lurking in his head. He was resorting to his protective mode, and while usually it was helpful, in this case it would hinder whatever sort of healing Sam could help with. And he wasn't about to let Dean push it all away.

"Charlie Bradbury," Sam got out, almost hurriedly, hoping just the name would be enough to stop Dean in his tracks. And it was. Dean paused midway through getting up and looked at Sam, almost guiltily. "Her name was Charlie."

"We met her right after Bobby died, she worked in the tech section of the company run by the monster that killed him. She didn't know her boss was evil, and she helped take him down in the end. Next time we saw her was at the medieval thing, a live action roleplaying get together," Sam said. He was vaguely aware of the fact that Dean was once again seated, but Sam's own focus was on keeping his voice steady.

"Got rid of the threat there, the skinny guy enslaving a fairy. And you two, you had the best time. You got all dressed up and put on a wig and led her forces into battle," he said with a slight, fond smile on his face. In those years where everything seemed to hit the fan, it was definitely one of their better memories, and Sam was glad that at least in some capacity, Dean had part of a good memory…even if it was shrouded in darkness.

"No fire?" Dean asked eventually, trying to put the pieces together.

Sam shook his head ever so slowly. No, no fire, but he knew where the fire came from, and that was a memory that maybe he'd rather not have.

"What-what happened?" Dean continued. He wasn't pressing, he could see all over Sam's face how much he didn't want to, but needed to, go over this with him. If not, Dean's questions would swim around his head without an answer, and that never ended well. Besides, he had come to Sam for help, even if it was turning out exactly how he didn't want.

"You took on this brand, a curse, called the Mark of Cain, to help you kill a demon. When you…died," he heard Dean suck in a small breath at that, "the Mark took control and gave you a set of black eyes. Cas and I fixed you up, and found a codex with a spell to remove the Mark, and Charlie tried to break the code to be able to read the book."

It all seemed so simple when he explained it like that. None of the ugly background or the blood on their hands or watching Dean turn into something he didn't want to be. Just another solution to another problem. Dean was cursed, and they needed a spell to break it. Yeah, that was simple.

"But…there was this evil, evil family that wanted the book. Charlie sent us the way to crack the code, but they, ah, they caught up with her before we could get to her." Sam left it at that for a moment and grit his teeth. Even years after, it still stung, and it always would. Walking into that torn up motel room and finding her…it still haunted him. And knowing that he was a part of what put her in that position…

"And we burned her?" Dean asked carefully. Sam just nodded back, and the pieces fit together with the fire and the medieval memory. A nightmare wrapped in loss wrapped in the attempt to find a solution to a problem. In short: a mess.

"Did we get the guys that did it to her?"

Sam looked up, surprised by the sudden ounce of protectiveness in Dean's voice. It was a second-nature thing that Sam had learned to pick up on and he nodded. "They weren't a problem after that," he answered, not wanting to go into details on that either. The last of the Stynes had been wiped out by the man who couldn't remember what he had done. The dead bodies he had found in the bunker, the bloodied angel on the floor…

"What was she like?" Dean asked carefully. It was part out of curiosity, part out of the need to understand why exactly she had meant so, so much, and apparently still did.

Sam sighed and the corner of his mouth turned into the slightest smile. "She was a genius, could hack into anything. And she was positive, funny, determined, and…stubborn," he said, "she was always willing to help, no matter what." With that, the smile fell from his face and silence washed over the room.

"We were close to her," Dean said, almost to himself. It wasn't a question, but a statement, something he knew deep down to be true even if his mind couldn't supply the reasons why.

"Like the little sister we never had," Sam replied, a sad smile crossing his face as he did so. And the 'little sister' they'd never see again because a monster had stabbed her and left her bloodied body in a bathtub for them to find. Because they had to burn her on a pyre and watch the white cloth go up in flames to ensure that she'd hopefully never be stuck with more suffering. Because she had helped Dean behind his back and-

"Sammy." It was said quietly, but with just enough force to get Sam away from his thoughts. Sam looked up to find Dean's eyes on him and a light hand on his knee, reminding him both mentally and physically that he was there.

Dean's gaze held an added heaviness that it hadn't before. The fact that he had been the cause of this emotional turmoil and that Sam had willingly submitted to it was evident all over Dean's face.

"Maybe…for now…it's better you don't remember all of it, not at once anyways. Just things like this, you know," Sam got out. If Dean didn't remember some of the loss they had endured, he'd be going around with a bit of a blank spot, but maybe his soul would be lighter. Was it worth it?

Dean was watching him carefully, as if he was weighing the same options in his head.

"It was…it was bad, Dean." He didn't necessarily mean for it to come out, but it slipped past his lips. It had been bad, it had been awful and terrible and messed up and dark and it still hurt. But they never really went through it. Dean went off on his own, got rid of the Stynes, and made a deal with Death, until Sam stopped it. Then Amara came into play, and that took up the majority of their time after. They never really dwelled on the loss too much, or maybe as much as they should have.

It had been overshadowed in the course of events that followed. But this, revisiting it so that Dean could understand, it had taken him right back to when it happened and the issues that never quite got smoothed over. Things they never went through afterwards.

Sam didn't need to say anything else. He looked up, eyes slightly burning, and in Dean's entire posture, he simply saw the understanding. His older brother, minus the memories of the event, was fully able to capture its horror just by how shaken Sam still was because of it.

And maybe it was that understanding, or a need to reassure Sam, or something else entirely, but in the next moment Dean had shifted his position closer to Sam on the bed. Without much awkwardness, he pulled Sam into a hug, which the younger Winchester clung onto. Chick flick moments didn't apply in this scenario, they were entitled to a few.

It was the reconnection they never truly got after Charlie died, and Sam was not about to be the first to break that. They both held on for their own reasons and for a single shared one: the reassurance that the other was and always would be there.