A/N: Um… yeah. Again, no reason behind this at all. It's way depressing, so I must warn you.

Warning: Character death. AU (obviously). There might be language… I don't remember. Drabble.

Disclaimer: yadayadayada. We all know the drill. The poem is by Robert Frost.


In Neglect

They leave us so to the way we took,
As two in whom them were proved mistaken,
That we sit sometimes in the wayside nook,
With michievous, vagrant, seraphic look,
And try if we cannot feel forsaken.


They were wrong about us, brother.

Their ignorance lost them the war.


Their childhood burned and their father's heart blew away like ashes in the wind.

There was no happy ending after this.


They were wrong about us, brother.

When they let you live, they doomed themselves.


Dean was the go to man. The perfect soldier. He never questioned, only acted.

Sam was the reluctant hero. He questioned every task and never threw himself into the hunt unless it was Dean's life on the line.

If Dean was the prize, Sam fought harder.

So John used that to his advantage.

Dean was always the bait.

Sam was always on look out.

He made the mistake of switching roles one night and a witch almost stole his baby boy away because Dean grew restless and his trigger finger just wasn't fast enough.

Dean was a soldier, but the fear of accidentally harming his brother overrode everything he did.

Sam didn't think that hard. He was a 'now now now' kind of guy while Dean was a 'what after?' type of guy.


They were wrong about you, brother.

They thought you were nothing.

And that fallacy brought them to their knees.


Sam left without a goodbye and Dean drowned his sorrows in tequila and a girl named Alison. Or maybe it was Alyssa?

John drove to Lawrence and begged for Mary's forgiveness.

Dean was still the bait, but his 'what after?' attitude left with Sammy.


Two years without a word.

Two years of tearing his heart out at night and finding it whole again in the morning.

Two years of hanging up and unmailed letters.

Two years without Sam.

And here he was, outside his brother's door.


"They were wrong, Dean." Sam sobbed, holding his brother close. "You were everything."


The final showdown.

John was gone. The colt was gone and they had no weapons other than Sam's mind.

The demon sunk his claws into Dean's soft stomach and Sam screamed.


They'd told him he needed a trigger. Ellen and Ash. They knew he could master his gifts.

Jo was too busy pursuing Dean to care about Sam's freaky mind powers.


"Promise you'll come back." She whispered, rejoicing in the feel of his rough hands on her cheeks. "Promise me this isn't goodbye." She placed her hands over his and looked into his jade eyes with her brown ones.

"I don't do goodbyes." He whispered and kissed her forehead.

He turned and walked away, never once looking back to see the tears streaming down her face.


Sam ran his hand over Dean's hair. "Oh god… Dean."

He'd found the trigger.

It was Dean.

The minute the demon tore into his brother, Sam's knees buckled under the intensity of the headache that tore through his head.

He'd screamed and then the world had gone red, followed quickly by heavy black.

When he awoke, it was over and Dean was cold in his arms.


"Are you as stupid as you look, boy?" The demon laughed, taunting Dean. "You're just a pretty face, isn't that right?"

Sam swallowed back bile as the demon ran gentle fingers along Dean's jaw.

"John was the warrior and Sam is the one with the gifts. What do you have?" Dean didn't humor him with an answer.

"So when my good friend God handed out talents you were the one left neglected, huh?" The demon asked. "Left your soul forsaken? You walk this earth for your brother. What will happen to you when he becomes mine?"

Dean leaned forward so his face was only inches from the demon's.

"You. Can kiss. My ass. Sam will never be yours."

The demon smirked and Dean smirked back.

"I'm not afraid of you, anymore."

"Then you are as stupid as you look."


He was wrong about you, Dean.

But that doesn't really matter now, does it?


Sam's 'now now now!' attitude left with Dean.

And there was no after with him.


Sam burned Dean's body at midnight.

The fight was over and Sam was empty.

He went back to the roadhouse, gave Jo Dean's favorite knife. He ignored her sobs, Ellen's apologies, and then drove the Impala until he ran out of gas in the middle of an empty backwoods road.

"What good are these gifts," he spit out the word as though it were poison on his tongue, "if they couldn't even save you?"

"I'm sorry." He sobbed, dropping to his knees next to his brother's beloved car. "I'm so, sorry, Dean. I should… I should have saved you."

His grief quickly twisted to anger and he found his fists ached, and were bloody. His gaze flicked to the innocent door of the Impala, dented and smeared with his blood.

"You selfish, bastard. Come back! You were stronger than that, you dickhead! I know you are! You shouldn't have even been there! I told you not to come! It was my fight, mine! You shouldn't have been a fucking casualty of a war you had nothing to do with!"

But he knew that wasn't true.

Dean had been as much a part of the war as Sam and John.

"Dean… please… I don't know where to go from here."

The night sky was all too quiet.

Sam sniffled, wiped his eyes with his bloody hand, tears mingling with blood, leaving crimson streaks behind on his cheeks, and stood.

He took out his bag from the car, locked it and started his long walk back to… somewhere without Dean.


Their childhood burned and their father's heart blew away like ashes in the wind.

They spent their life on a quest for revenge.

Their father fell first. Traded himself for his son because he knew his son meant more… and living without him was just not an option.

The trade went to waste though, when the oldest brother played martyr for the last time and bled to death when the demon finally succeeded in stealing his heart.

There was nothing left after that. Not a thing for the youngest to hold on to. He tried to keep going because he knew that's what his brother would have wanted.

But from the moment the very first flame ate away at his mother—his childhood, his future—there was to be no happy ending after that.


And try if we cannot feel forsaken.

End.

Told you it was depressing.