Hey guys!!!

This here story is a SFTCOL(AR)S prompt from Lyra for Round Four of the Secret Summer exchanges. I really, sincerely hope she likes it… Either that or it's thirteen pages of crap…(pardon the language…)

Thanks goes to Faye Dartmouth for putting up with my stubborn streak and taking the time to beta this story… Her comments and suggestions were wonderful and made this story better… Thanks!

Anyway, on with the story… Enjoy!


When Angels Fly Away:

'I'll make a soldier's decision to fly away,
Load my gun, paint my face, call me misery,
I can see the sky light up and the ground explode,
Got my sights locked in I can see you breathe,
Then I watched you fall and somebody scream,
It's the saddest thing when angels fly away...'
-When Angels Fly Away by Cold


"He's still in v-fib," a doctor stated, looking from Dean's monitor back to the man lying so still on the bed. "Again," the man's voice was steady, not at all like any other person in the room.

"C'mon son, you can do it, just hold on." John Winchester's voice was barely more than a whisper, not meant to be heard by anyone but the man speaking the words. But his son heard him, he heard the soft statement, and found himself wishing for the same thing.

Sam Winchester watched in horror as his brother, his hero, arched off the table as electricity coursed through him. When his body went lax again, and the monitor wailed, Sam found himself praying, asking for help from anyone willing to give it. Dean couldn't die...

His world could not die!

When his brother again arched off the table for a moment and went limp once more, Sam
found his heart breaking. There was still a high pitched 'BEEP,' coming from the monitor, and the doctor that had been working on Dean shook his head, and looked at the clock.

Time of death, 12:29 pm...

Sam felt his stomach drop, and with it his legs buckled, unable to support his grieving body any longer. The dam broke, and tears ran from his emotion ridden eyes in floods. Dean! His mind was calling for the one thing that could heal it, the one thing that would never be able to, the one thing that could never come.

Pulling his knees to his chest, Sam sobbed, blocking out the world around him. Nothing mattered to him, the only thing that had, now dead and gone. He hugged the long appendages to himself tighter, and ducked his head into the small crease between his knees.


There was nothing left, nothing worth a damn in the world any longer. Dean had been his home, his life, and without him, Sam was nothing. He was the youngest Winchester child, now the only; a younger brother, now alone, a hunting partner, now a loner. He couldn't do this without his brother; there was no way.

When Sam felt a touch to his shoulder, he instinctively lashed out against it. Pushing the person away, Sam raised his head from between his knees and looked at his father who was now holding his wayward fist in both hands, crouched beside him. The older man's eyes held a look of knowing, and forgetting everything else, Sam latched onto the only family he had left.


John Winchester watched as his oldest son died. Watched as Dean failed to be
resuscitated, and his heart broke watching as the doctors gave up hope and called the time of death.

"No Dean, god no please," the heart worn plea wrenched itself from the oldest Winchester's lips as he watched the doctors standing over his eldest son called his time of death.

It felt as if his heart were being ripped in two, then torn again and again as the seconds wore on, and his son's heart no longer beat. The flat line on the monitor seemed to be mocking him as he prayed for all the world that the scene in front of him wasn't real, that Dean wasn't dead. But even as he prayed, he knew that Dean was gone, that his oldest was never going to open his eyes again.

He watched as Sam fell to the floor, distraught and already grieving over the loss of his brother. Tears ran from his own eyes as he watched them fall from Sam's, and he knelt before his now only son left, trying to give him anything to help him, though his own pain threatened to consume him.

God Dean… Why? Too young, you were too damn young to die!

When he put his hand on Sam's shoulder though, the man instinctively took a blind swing at him. Grabbing the fist in both hands, he gave it a tug, forcing his son to look at him. When the saddened eyes turned to him, he suddenly found himself with an arm full of grieving Sam.

"He's gone," the muffled voice shook him, and John held Sam tighter.

Without ever having the chance to really live. You grew up too fast.

"I know. God, I know." John breathed, resting his cheek on Sam's head and closing his eyes.

"Dad," Sam whispered, the sobs shaking his lanky frame harder. "He's not coming back," Sam's voice was as shaky as the rest of him, and all John could do was nod. "I can't do this without him, Dad."

I don't know if I can either…

John squeezed Sam all the tighter, knowing that nothing he could say would get through to his youngest at the moment. He just hoped that holding him would be enough for the time being, that just being there for his son would help.


It had been a week since Dean died, and nothing was right with the remaining Winchesters. They had burned Dean's body the day after he had died. Since first breaking down, Sam had been stoic, not letting any of his emotions show. That day had been no different. Sam had stood and watched the flames as they ate at Dean's body, not flinching or letting his mask slip, remaining almost impassive through the whole thing.


The flames engulfed the mummified body of his brother, and Sam watched, never showing emotion as the yellow and orange demons took what was left of his heart away. He stood there, his father crying silently beside him, and watched as his brother became ashes.

When the flames sputtered and died, Sam looked over to his father, to find the man looking at him in awe and horror.

"Sam," the edge of wariness surprised the youngest Winchester, but all he did was stare at his father. "C'mon Sammy," the man said after a moment, hand reaching for his son, his face still wary, the tone was more concerned than anything.

"I can't." The words slipped from him before he could stop them, and he inwardly cringed at the brokenness of them. "Not without him." His father flinched and turned away, but Sam caught the hurt on the man's face before he could hide it.

Not really blaming the man, Sam did nothing; gave the man nothing, not a word, not a smile; and turned away. He took one last look at where Dean had lain and walked away.


He had been quiet since then, answering questions with a one word answer, or merely grunting in acknowledgement of something. Dean would have been happy that Sam had been quiet for once, but Dean wasn't there, and John was getting worried about his youngest.

His actions had been reckless and almost uncaring since Dean had passed, and John was afraid that he would get himself killed or hurt. John wished to anything that his oldest had survived, but the yellow-eyed bastard that he had tried to make a deal with, had gone back on his word, and had let Dean die anyway. Dean would've known what to do about Sam, and John didn't have a clue.


John couldn't believe that Sam had become so attached to Gordon in the few hours that they had known the man. The fact that his son had taken a swing at him after he had come back from talking to Gordon hadn't even fully registered in the man's mind yet.

He could remember every detail of Sam's profile from the, "You don't get to talk about him, not now, not ever! You weren't there, how the hell could you know what he wanted?" To the angry glint in his eyes as he pulled back his fist and let John have it.

When John had looked into his youngest son's eyes after he had killed the vampire, he had been surprised and a little scared to say the least. The eyes had been almost blank, not a hint of remorse held in them, only something akin to sickly pride shown.

He looked up to see Sam walk through the door of the motel, nothing showing on his face, no clear emotion, just…nothing. "Sam," he started, his voice placating and warning at the same time.

The younger hunter had looked at him in surprise, as if not knowing he had been there. "Huh?"

"Sam,we need to talk. What you've been doing lately. You need to talk to me, or

someone," when he started to protest, John cut him off, knowing that if he didn't get this out now, he never would. "Sam, you act like you have no feelings. The way you killed that vampire tonight, it's like you actually enjoyed it. Listen, they're not all evil, not everything is something to-"

"What part of 'vampires' don't you understand dad?" Sam asked, looking for all the world, confused that his father didn't see things the way he did. "If it's supernatural, we kill it. End of story. That's our job." With that and a shake of his head, Sam had turned back around and walked out of the room, slamming the door on his way out.


Dean's death had hit both of them hard, and while John was taking the time and properly dealing with it, Sam had become obsessed with hunting. He had cut himself off from anything and everything that would distract him from taking out the demon, including John, leaving the elder man to watch his only son remaining, destroy himself.


"Sam," John sighed, looking at the younger hunter in something akin to confusion and concern, an expression that had been almost constant since Dean had died. "Why don't you want to go back?"

"I," Sam paused, really thinking over the question his father presented him with. "I really don't know," he finished softly.

"You don't know?" The incredulousness was clearly displayed in John's voice. "I thought that, once the demon was dead and everything was over, you were going to take off, head back to Stanford."

"I was," Sam said, fiddling with the frayed edges of his shirt. "I'm just… I'm having second thoughts." He finished lamely.

John looked at him and raised his eyebrows. "Really."

"Yeah, I think Dean would've wanted me to stick to the job."

"Since when did you give a damn what Dean wanted? You spent half your life running away from everything Dean did." The eldest Winchester winced at his own words, knowing it had to hurt Sam all the more.

"Since he died, okay?" Scrubbing his hand over his face and through his hair, Sam sighed, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.


A month had passed, and Sam hadn't gotten any better. If it was possible, the young hunter seemed to have immersed himself even deeper in hunting. His answers were occasionally more than one word, but the monotonous tone behind them hadn't changed.

While Sam's newfound skill in hunting had gotten rid of many demons and ghosts, it had also gotten him a broken hand. His reckless behavior on a case had let a dead girl get the better of him, finally snapping Sam a little out of his obsession.


So maybe shooting a zombie and making them angry was a bad thing.

Sam ran from Angela, trying to lead her back to her grave where his father was ready and waiting to bury the woman for good. Not really paying attention to where the zombie was behind him, and more worried about getting her to the grave, Sam didn't hear her catch up to him until it was too late.

The air left his lungs as Angela jumped on him and pushed him down to the ground. As he landed, he felt his wrist snap back and heard a sickening crack. He felt the weight lift off his back and looked up to see his father there. Giving the man a small smile for the first time since Dean's death, Sam used his good hand and pushed himself to his feet.

After they had buried Angela for good, he had told his father that he thought the woman had broken his wrist, and he could almost hear Dean's, "You're just too fragile. We'll get it looked at later." He felt his heart twist at the thought and looked over to his father, trying to ignore the painful clenching in his chest.

The man looked concerned and Sam could see his father go into "over protective" mode, while studying his wrist. The man had dragged Sam to a hospital, and gotten it set and plastered, and then had dragged him back to the truck, promising that they would talk later.

Fifty miles down the highway, they did talk, something Sam hadn't been very happy about.

"Dad, you bring Dean's death up one more time, I swear…" Sam's voice had held a distinctive edge that made his father cringe.

"Please, Sam, it's killing you. Please. We've already lost Dean, we've lost your mother, and now I'm gonna lose you too. Dammit! I can't,Sammy, I can't lose you too!" The man's heart felt plea had torn something in Sam, and he nodded carefully, knowing that his father was right.

"I hear you, okay? I'm being an ass and I'm sorry. I'll be more careful, I promise, just let me deal with this how I can."

"Okay, just don't-" his father cut himself off and sighed before continuing, "just don't take away the one thing I have left."

Sam had nodded, knowing that his father needed him to. His 'one thing' had already been taken away, but he could do this for his father…

For now.


While Sam was still bound and determined to find and kill the demon, he was a little more careful in his methods. He had taken the time lately to make sure all ends were checked and everything was ready before he went in to do a case, and for that John had been happy.

It may have taken a broken hand and a heart to heart to do it, but John was glad to have his son back, even if he was worse for wear.


'I can't be home tonight, I'll make it back its alright,
No one could ever love me half as good as you,
Got a badge for my scars just the other day,
Wore it proud for the sake of my sanity,
I could see the flames burn bright from the windin road,
Like a haunting page from our history,
Watched a young girl cry and her mother scream,
Its the saddest thing when angels fly away...'

They found the demon in a little town just outside of Boulder, Colorado. The yellow eyed bastard had been waiting for Sam to come to him, after having sent him debilitating visions on and off for three days straight. Sam had been in constant pain, and John had been worried out of his mind for his youngest.

So when they first saw the demon standing in a small clearing just outside a small cabin, John had been stretched to his limit, while Sam had been wary and pissed. The demon had been wearing the body of a middle aged man who would have seemed nice if it hadn't been for the yellow glaze to his eyes.

When it had sauntered over to the truck, its attention focused solely on Sam, the youngest Winchester had met the stare head on, while John snarled at the yellow eyed filth.

"Hey there, Sammy!" The grin seemed out of place on the demon's face, and Sam had shuddered in disgust. "What'cha been up to?"

"None of your god damn business," John and Sam said at the same time. The demon turned to look at John, who glared back at him.

"Why, John, I'm surprised at the language," the man's eyes flashed, and his lips quirked in a grin. "Of course it's my business, little Sammy here-" at the look John gave him, the demon seemed to draw back and laughed. "Oh he doesn't know. Oh this is too good."

"Shut your mouth. You have no right to talk to him or me. You have no right to even think about him." John's voice held menace and spite.

While the demon's attention had been on him, Sam had grabbed the Colt from the back of his jeans and aimed at the man's chest, cocked and at the ready. Before the demon could reply, John saw his youngest tense and pull the trigger, and watched in satisfaction as the demon's eyes widened, and then it dropped.

"Good riddance, you old bastard."


Sam sat on the edge of the motel issue bed, a gun in his hands, contemplating. The demon had died that day, two months after his brother had died from complications, from wounds that the demon had given him. He should have felt better, now that the demon was gone, but he couldn't see where anything was different.

The demon was gone, but that didn't bring Dean back.

That didn't make the black hole that had been eating at Sam, any smaller.

That didn't do anything, but ensure that no other family ended up like Sam's.

It didn't matter.

Sam was starting to get that nothing mattered anymore. He was starting to realize that

since Dean had died, nothing had been worth anything. He was starting to figure out that without his big brother to show him the way, Sam didn't know what to do, where to turn.

He was starting to realize that without Dean he was nothing.

And if he was nothing, why was he here?

Why was he here, and Dean not?

What kind of logic was that? Kill the perfect soldier, and let the malformed wanna-be live.

Sam didn't see the sense.

Sitting on the edge of a bed with a gun cocked and at the ready in his hands. He couldn't figure out why if Dean died, that he should live, and if he couldn't figure out why, then what was the sense of living? If there was no reason, really no one to live for, then why was he there at all?

Sam sighed, and brought the gun up to his chest. He was happy that his father had volunteered to get dinner from the crappy diner down the street, and wouldn't have to see

Sam take his own life.

His father hadn't seen that Sam was hurting enough to do something drastic.

Dean would have seen that Sam needed him.

Dean wasn't there to see it.

Dean. Wasn't. There.

And Sam couldn't live with that. He couldn't live without his brother there with him. He couldn't live without the teasing, without the banter. He even missed the protective glances and remarks that Dean made on a hunt without thinking.

He missed Dean, and there was nothing and no one that could make that go away. No matter how hard he tried to fill the void with hunting and with his father, the empty blackness held strong. It had even started to eat away at his soul, nipping and ripping away.

He knew Dean wouldn't want him to live like this.

Hell, this wasn't really living at all, was it?

Dean would either be mad or disappointed that Sam wasn't fighting this harder.

Sam could almost hear the calm, measured tone of his brother. "Sam, you need to let this go. It wasn't your fault, and you can do this without me, you just have to try."

But that was the thing wasn't it? Sam had been trying. He had been trying so damn hard for the past two months, but nothing had been helping, and Sam knew that even though Dean thought he could... Sam knew he couldn't live without his brother.

It just wasn't possible...

Which led Sam back to the situation at hand. The gun in his hand was cocked and ready, and Sam was ready, but... something wasn't right.

It was almost as if the gun was too easy. Almost as if it wouldn't cause as much pain as Sam felt he deserved, and that just wouldn't do. Would it?

Carefully, Sam un-cocked the gun, and laid it down on the bed. He leaned over and reached under his pillow, where he had been keeping Dean's hunting knife in every motel they had stayed at since he had died. Feeling the familiar hilt, Sam pulled the knife out, the light catching on the gleaming metal surface.

He held the knife up to his face for closer inspection and smiled when he knew that it was the perfect tool to carry out his plan. He stood from the bed and walked over to the opposite wall, sliding down until his butt reached the floor. He ran his thumb across the blade, hissing when the sharp blade drew a stream of blood.

Reaching in his pocket, Sam found the cell phone his father had bought him after the crash, claiming that they needed some way to keep in touch, since both Sam's laptop and phone had been totaled in the crash. Typing in the words on the phone felt foreign but good at the same time, and Sam's lips quirked into a small sad smile.

I'm Sorry...


John had just walked out of the diner when he knew something was wrong. He had felt a sense of foreboding all day, and it had kicked into overdrive when the eldest Winchester
walked toward the truck.

Something was wrong with Sam.

John didn't know how he knew, but he did. When his cell-phone vibrated moments later as he was driving down the road, John grabbed the small device and opened it. What he saw made his heart stop cold.

'I'm Sorry...'

The message was clear on the screen, Sam's name below it. He had known something had been wrong with his baby boy, and yet he had ignored the feeling, hoping he was wrong and that it would go away, only to find it almost engulfing him.

Since they had killed the demon two days earlier, Sam had seemed to deflate. His reason to keep going, gone. All he had wanted since Dean had died, had been to find and kill the demon, and now that they had done that, there was nothing left.


"Dad," Sam whispered, the sobs shaking his lanky frame harder. "He's not coming back," Sam's voice was as shaky as the rest of him, and all John could do was nod. "I can't do this without him, Dad."


Sam had nothing left to live for.

John cursed himself for not noticing sooner and pushed the gas pedal down harder, hoping beyond hope that he would get to Sam before he did something stupid. He couldn't lose Sam after he had just lost Dean. With one son he had something to live for, something to fight for and be strong for.

With none, he had just as much reason to end it as Sam did.

He had always been jealous of the bond his boys had shared, until it came down to the time that one lost the other. When that had happened, when Sam had lost Dean, it had destroyed his youngest son. It had left him with nothing.

Left him to sink into depression's waiting arms.

Dean's death had been Sam's end, just as Sam's would have been Dean's.

John just couldn't believe he had seen it sooner. He couldn't believe that he had been so blind to his youngest son's needs, and yet he hadn't really had a clue as to what Sam had been thinking. Now he just had to hope that he got there before Sam did something stupid that he couldn't take back.


Now wasn't this just irony? Using the thing that Dean had used to protect him since he had been little, to now take his own life.

Sam let out a sad laugh that turned into a sob as he thought about his brother, and all the things that Dean had done for him over the years. What Dean would think of him now.

At the moment Sam couldn't bring himself to think about his brother without feeling the doubts about what he was doing. He couldn't think about Dean without remembering the life Dean had once told him that he wanted. Dean had loved being a hunter, but even he wanted to meet a woman sometime, and not really settle down, but feel loved.

But that life was something Dean would never had, and Sam really couldn't find a reason to explain why he had lived and his big brother had died. Sam had been a curse to everyone around him, everyone that loved him; but Dean had saved people, he had made a big difference in the world...

...and yet he had been the one to die.

Sam had tried and tried, and yet he couldn't find the reason.

Because there is none.

The bitter thought made Sam shudder, and clutch the knife harder. He looked down at the sleek curve of the knife and wondered what it would feel like when he drew it up his wrist. An almost overwhelming urge made Sam hold out his wrist to see.

Placing the blade on his wrist, Sam had just started to push down when the door flew open. the motion startled him, and he jerked, hissing as the knife sliced an inch and a half gash on his wrist.

"Sam!" The yell was filled with fear, sending another flinch through Sam. He didn't look up, not really caring that his father was there now. When the knife was forcefully pulled from his grasp and thrown across the room however, Sam's gaze was drawn to where it rested on the other side of the room.

A firm calloused hand gripped his chin and forced it upward, making Sam look his father in thee eyes. "What were you-" John cut off his own question as he saw the lost, almost blank look in Sam's eyes. "Sam," John breathed, and grabbed his son.

Sam didn't resist the hug, sinking into his father's arms, and yet he didn't return the embrace, not really knowing how to, or how to do anything at the moment. "He's gone," Sam whispered, not really knowing if he was talking about the demon or Dean.


"He's gone," the broken whisper tore at John and he looked down at Sam. The man curled into him wasn't the son he had raised, and regret tore at him. He wished that he had seen his son's breakdown coming sooner, that he had encouraged him to talk more.

Wished that he had been there more…

"I know Sammy," John stroked Sam's hair, tightening the grip on his son. "It's gonna be okay," John whispered, pulling Sam tighter to him, not knowing exactly what to do, just knowing that he had to comfort his son at the moment, that Sam needed him. "It'll be okay."

For the first time in his life, John was sure the statement was the truth. The road would be tough, and he would have to keep a closer watch on Sam, but they could get through Dean's death and what came with it.

They could do this as long as they did it together.

'I can't be home tonight, I'll make it back its alright,
No one could ever love me half as good as you,
If you can't be strong tonight, love makes you sad its alright,
No one could ever worry half as good as you.'



A/N: So I hope you all liked this story… Let me know…

Take care and review often,