Disclaimer: Why did I ever get into doing witty ways of saying no?

A/N: Alright people, there's a warning that goes with this story, but a different kind of warning. And the warning is not really a warning, it's more of a... well, I dunno what it is. Either way, here it is: keep reading no matter what. Haha, in other words, some of you may want to stop once you start, but, trust me, and don't. Read to the end and I promise you won't be disappointed. I was having some fun with this story, and was dipping my toes into theoretical waters as I did it. This story is also a request story that I got... though I'm not going to say which one because that would kindda give stuff away, but I'm sure you can figure it out by the end. Haha, ok, I'll shut-up-- here it is!!

Title: Just Another Night ( --of which I have no idea why I called it that, haha)
Genre: (takes deep breath) Angsty, angsty, angsty, angsty... wow, that word has lost all meaning. But it is VERY angsty, and kindda tradegy...
Summary: There's not much to say to this... what happens when Dean faces what he fears?

Just Another Night

Dean looked around him. There wasn't very many people there; some people around Sam's age, and a few adults. It was the person to Dean's right that shocked him when he first arrived. John Winchester was like the elusive firefly that you try and catch when you're six years old on a warm summer evening. For the man to show himself in public in the middle of the day was something second glance worthy. Then again, Dean, in the back of his mind, expected no less.

It was Sammy's funeral.

"When--" Dean choked on his words and didn't dare look at his father, "When do you want to--"

Full sentences weren't something the older brother could manage as the priest at the front began to drone on. He was the only brother now.

John took a moment to compose himself, and even so his voice quivered as he spoke, "We'll get rid of the body tonight."

No words could escape Dean as silent tears fell down his face. Instead he stared straight a head and looked some more at the people. A lady to the right sobbed into a man's black jacket, and Dean thought he recognized the couple as Jessica's parents. The plot was set near the stone which read 'Mary Winchester', and Dean cringed as he pictured having to dig up the spot later that night. There was much controversy as to whether to burn Sam's body before, but John had smartly pointed out that many of the guests would want to see Sam to say goodbye. Also if they left it to the coroner, it might not be done correctly.

It was then that Dean felt grateful that the bastard spirit that attacked Sam had left his face untouched. Dean didn't even realize that his Sammy was hurt at first...

"This son of a bitch won't let up!" Dean had yelled towards Sam, "Watch it though Sam; it had some sort of blade in it's hand."

Dean looked over to see Sam half laying on the ground, his hand over his stomach. The kid had been knocked hard against the wall, and as Dean poised his shotgun around the room, waiting for the evil to show itself again, the elder brother figured Sam needed just a moment to catch his breath.

"Alright princess, break's up," Dean joked, ready to move to the next room.

Sam stared over at Dean, an expression unreadable on his face.

"Sam," Dean paused, "Hey, are you ok?"

"D-Dean," Sam uttered out the single word, and Dean's blood ran cold when he noticed a small trickle of blood coming out of the corner of his mouth.

"Oh God," Dean made it over to his little brother in two quick steps, "Sam!"

Sam's lips quivered, and his mouth opened to make a sound, but nothing came out.

"Sammy," Dean moved the hand that was covering his brothers stomach, and saw a large slice; blood coming out thickly, "Oh God no…"

"D-D-Dean… I-I--" more and more blood flowed freely from the deep wound on Sam's stomach and now his mouth.

"Shh, shh--" Dean's voice shook as he quickly took off his outer shirt, "It's ok Sammy, it'll be ok, don't try to talk right now."

Dean quickly folded up his shirt and pressed it against the wound; Sam didn't even flinch. The elder brother's hands shook as he looked around; cussing himself for leaving the phone in the car.

"D-D-De--" Sam's gasping breath, and ashen skin weren't a good sign.

"Shh Sammy," Dean stroked some sweat laden hair from his little brothers forehead, "It's ok. Everything will be ok."

The words were far from the truth as Dean looked down at the completely blood soaked shirt which he'd feebly tried to stop the bleeding with. Dean knew he had to get help, but the heart wrenching thought that his baby brother would be gone by the time he came back stopped him from doing this.

Sam's eyes were slowing beginning to close, "D-De-Dean…"

Although no tears ran down Sam's face, they came down Dean's as he continued to hold the cloth in place with one hand, and stroke his brother's forehead with the other, "Yeah?"

Sam's eyes looked at Dean one last pleading moment, "I-It's s-s-so c-cold…"

No response would be heard as the youngest Winchester closed his eyes for the last time, and all Dean could do was hold him…

And now Dean stood by the gravesite of his only brother; his Dad mere feet away and all of the people that loved Sam around the last memory of him. They would all leave soon to a small church off the highway; someone Dean didn't even know made up a lunch for even more people he didn't know. Dean didn't care though; he wasn't going to be there.

Dean barely noticed then, as the coffin was slowly lowered into the ground, and a hand was placed on his shoulder.

"Son?" John spoke up and Dean turned to face him, "Are you going to come? Pastor Jim will be there along with Caleb and Bobby. They want to see you."

Dean shook his head as he turned his attention back to people slowly pouring dirt over his brother, "No."

"Alright," John didn't want to push the matter, "I'll meet you back here tonight at just after eleven."

If someone had asked Dean what happened in the eight hours he sat in the small cemetery, he wouldn't have been able to tell them. The young man shifted back and forth from talking to his little brother and Mom to sitting in the car for over an hour at a time listening to music. By the time his Dad showed up in his large, dark truck, the night had long since fallen.

"Dean?" John walked over to where his now only son was crouched by the fresh grave, "Dean… how are you doing?"

Dean stood up and cleared his throat, "I'm doing ok. You have the stuff?"

John held up two shovels in one hand and the two got to work. It took not even half an hour to get all of the dirt out of the way and reveal the top of the coffin. A dirt crushed rose that was thrown in by Sam's old friend Rebecca sat limply on top. Dean paused a moment.

"Do you want me to?" John questioned on the opening of the coffin.

Wordlessly Dean nodded, and Dean was grateful as his Dad made no comment to the weakness Dean was showing. A moment later the Winchester's found themselves looking down at the familiar face of Samuel Winchester. Dean choked back a sob; Sam looked so peaceful-- as if he were sleeping.

Sam was never one to wear formal, and complained when he was forced to. Jeans and a button down white shirt was what adorned the corpse now, and for nearly a minute the two just stared.

"We should--" Dean started, but again found himself unable to finish his sentence.

"I have the salt and gasoline," John spoke softly, "Do you have--"

"Matches," Dean pulled out a small pack from his pocket.

John climbed out of the shallow grave and extended a hand to Dean. Dean gratefully took the support for his emotionally and physically exhausted body, and again found himself standing, staring at his little brother for what he knew would be the last time. It was John who started the ritual, sprinkling salt and gasoline onto the body while muttering Latin under his breath. Dean wanted nothing to do with any of it, and gladly let his Dad do the work.

"Ok Dean," John nodded, "Light it."

Dean found his lower lip trembling as he took out the matches.

"Goodbye Sammy," his hoarse voice came out and, closing his eyes, Dean threw in the lit match book.

He didn't have to see to feel the heat from the burning body that was once his brother. When he opened his eyes, however, the sight looking back at him was not what he expected.

John was staring intently at Dean, a cold look on his face.

"Dad?" Dean took a step back, "What's wrong?"

A smile washed through John's face, and his eyes flashed yellow.

"No," Dean gasped.

"Guess what Dean," John's voice shook demonically, "You're next."

"No!" Dean screamed out…

"No--!" Dean gasped and struggled to get his bearings.

Everything was dark, and Dean felt sweat pour down his face as his heart pounded furiously in his chest. Something was twisted around him, and in the struggle to figure out where he was and what was happening Dean felt himself slide off something and thump hard to the ground.

"Dean…" a tired sounding voice rung out and a second later a light came on.

Dean looked around frantically and saw he was laying in between two beds; sheets and part of a blanket wrapped around him. He looked up suddenly and saw Sam staring questionably at him.

"Sammy!" Dean cried out struggling to get to his feet.

The task proved difficult to the sweat soaked brother, and by the time he'd successfully gotten to his feet, Sam was already sitting up in bed, fully awake. Dean stood, staring, letting the blanket drop to reveal his pajama bottoms.

'Don't move, don't move, don't move!' Dean urged himself, sure that if he even breathed the wrong way that Sam would disappear.

Sam noticed the distressed look on his brothers face, and immediately got to his own feet, "Dean, are you ok?"

"S-Sam--" Dean put his hand out towards Sam.

"Dude--" Sam forced a smile to lighten the mood, "What's going on?"

"Oh my God," Dean slumped onto the bed, his hands covering his face, "It was just a dream…"

"Dean?" Sam sat on his own bed, directly across from his brother, "What happened?"

Dean looked up at his brothers tired face and smiled, "Damn it's good to see you Sammy."

"Ok now you're really scaring me," Sam arched an eyebrow, "Not three hours ago you were pissed at me for getting you onion rings instead of fries, and now you're happy to see me? I would love to know what kind of dream causes that."

"No you don't," Dean shook his head, his insides still shaking, "Trust me Sammy, you don't."

Sam got up and walked to the mini fridge in the corner of the room, "Ok, I'll let you get away with calling me Sammy one more time before I start calling you Deany."

Dean laughed, and continued to watch his brother. Somehow the sight of the six foot four, messy haired man he'd called his brother all his life was one of the best sights in the world. His brother was alive, none of what he'd dreamed was real. Suddenly he understood how Sam would feel when he got one of his visions.

"Here," Sam handed Dean a bottle of water and a bottle of sleeping pills, "That should help."

"Oh come on Sammy, I'm not going to take these," Dean complained, "I mean, what if something came to attack your ass tonight; I don't want to sleep through it."

Sam smiled, "Dean, I'm fine. Ok? I don't know what happened in your dream--"

"And I'm not going to tell you," Dean put in.

"Alright," Sam knew better than to argue, "But man, if you want to talk about it ever…"

Dean shook his head, "Sam, I'm all right. I'll be all right. I promise-- as long as I can keep your sorry ass from picking the short straw, then I'll be ok."

Sam smiled, "And how do you plan on doing that?"

Dean shrugged as he took a large gulp of water, "I'll just take all the straws."

Sam laughed and picked up Dean's blanket and sheets from the floor, "Listen Dean, it's only two thirty. Think you'll be able to get back to sleep ok?"

"Yes," Dean stared playfully at Sam, "But only if you sing me a lullaby."

Sam glared at his older brother as he got back into his bed comfortably. Dean took a deep, serious breath, his heart rate was almost back to normal, and hearing Sam joke around with him was something he never knew he'd miss. Sam was right in the fact that Dean would never be able to stop him completely from getting hurt.

But that wouldn't stop him from trying.

The older brother took another last drink water and pulled the covers back up over him as he lay down, "Good night Sammy."

Sam leaned over and turned off the light; the words echoing in the still room, "Good night Deany."

The End