The rain glossed the empty highway, moonlight streaking across the asphalt, the rain hitting the road with a splash.
All was quiet until the rumble of an engine disturbed the silence as it sped on its way, the interior only just visible in the gloomy night.
The silhouette of a man could be seen in the car, his head bowed, shoulders shaking slightly.
Dean Winchester was the man in the car, his beloved Chevy Impala the only thing offering him protection from the harsh weather outside.
Dean looked at the small illuminated clock on his dashboard. 1.35 Am it read. Dean sighed and pulled over into a small byroad. Finally coming to a stop by a fence and closing his eyes.
He hadn't had any sleep in twenty four hours, and the tiredness had started to set in.
But he couldn't sleep. He wouldn't.
The image of his little brother jumping into hell, Michael in tow, was still being played in his mind. It never stopped replaying in his head. It wouldn't go away-he couldn't stop it.
A now familiar feeling engulfed him and he slumped over the dashboard, his shoulders rising and falling as the sobs shook his body. He hadn't cried like this since Sam had died the first time round, and this time seemed to be worse.
Because he couldn't do anything to bring Sammy back this time.
Sam was his life, his world, and had been since he was born.
He never let anything happen to him, it was his job...his responsibility.
And he had failed.
Dean coughed and cleared his throat, wiping his eyes on his sleeve as he tried to regain some control of his emotions.
He reached into the back seat of the car, and pulled something out that was resting on the seat.
It was just a bog standard, run of the mill revolver, but it was just going to be given a very important job.
Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a bullet. He fiddled with it in his fingers for a while, contemplating what he was going to do.
He had been to hell before. What was to stop him from going again?
He would be with Sam. and that was all that mattered to him.
He put the bullet in his revolver and snapped the case shut, clicking the safety off.
Then he put the gun to his temple.
Just one movement. Just one.
A slight muscle tightening and it would all be over.
His finger hovered over the trigger, gliding on the metal, not tight enough to do anything, but enough to move the metal.
His hand shook as he fought for the courage to do it.
Just as he was about to pull the trigger and end his time on the planet, he glanced to his right, and stopped dead.
There wasn't many times when Sam wouldn't be up riding shotgun next to him in the car, not even when he was younger, but now the chair was empty, the leather seat worn where his little brother would always lean back in it, laptop of his lap, flipping through the internet for the latest hunt.
And now it was empty.
And it always would be.
He yelled and threw his gun back into the back seats, the weapon bouncing off the rear window and slamming back into the seats.
He couldn't do it. He had promised Sam he wouldn't.
But he wanted to so much.
His tears started afresh, and he buried his face in his arms, sobs wracking his bruised body, shoulders shaking as the waves of grief washed over him again and again.
Why was Sam in hell? He thought. He had saved the human race, had sacrificed his life for the benefit of human kind.
But no one would ever know.
How was that fair?
Why couldn't he be brought back, like Castiel had brought him back?
All the why's, 'If's and Butt's would always remain unanswered, Dean knew that, but it still didn't make sense to him.
He jumped slightly as his phone rang. He looked at the caller
LISA, the screen read.
Dean cleared his throat then answered.
'Hey, what's wrong?' he asked thickly.
'Dean, please come home, I'm worried about you' came Lisa's soft reply.
'Home? 'Dean repeated, as if not daring to believe what he had heard.
'Yeah, please come home, Ben wants you to read him a story.'
'Oh. Yeah, sure, I'll be about an hour. Tell him to get comfy and pick a good one!' he chuckled.
'I will. See you soon.'
'Yeah ok' he said, and then hung up.
He sighed as he turned the ignition on.
It seemed ironic, but...Sam had gone, and he had somehow gained a family. It didn't sound right.
Sam should be playing uncle with Ben, playing in the park, annoying Lisa, that sort of thing. Not in a hole.
Dean shook himself as he felt emotion rise to his throat again.
He made a promise to himself, and smiled.
Ben would always know about his 'uncle'.
There was no way that he would ever be forgotten. He'd tell him about all the pranks that they played on each other, all the fun and happy times when they were kids. The camping trips, fishing by the lake, driving in the Impala non stop for 24 hours to see how many states they could get through in that time.
He wouldn't tell him about the bad parts. No one ever need know.
No, Sammy would always be remembered for the good times.
For his geeky little chuckle, his flashy Hollywood smile, and his need and want to do the best he could to save everyone.
That's the Sammy Dean would always remember.
As he drove along the highway, back the way he had come, Dean thought-
Sam may have gone, but there was no way in hell that he would ever be far away from Dean's thoughts and heart.
I hope you enjoyed, I found this very sad to write, but hopefully it will be sadder to read!
Please review, as this is more angsty than my other fics, so please let me know how I did!