A/N: Hey! It's me again. Hope you're not quite bored with my writing yet, 'cause I'm back with a new one-shot fiction as you see. I know we all wanted to know what exactly Sam did after Dean's death. And how he came to decide to bury Dean and what he must have felt and going through. Well, it was bugging me since EVER, and finally I decided to write it myself! Lots of angst on the way.. That's what you get when I'm on the edge. Sorry about that. Prepare a tissue or something!
I didn't use any beta for this story, I was really dying to post it as soon as possible. So, I hope it's good enough to you, guys, and really hope you'll like it :)
*Disclaimer: I Own Nothing But The Plot.
The scream of the searing pain was the first thing that Bobby's mind registered. It was the scream which said that their plan –his and Sam– had gone south. The scream that went on and on, and didn't seem to stop, the hard proof that Lilith had found her way to collect her part of the deal Dean had made a year ago.
It was the proof that Dean was dying.
It didn't take but a split of a second for Sam's own scream to join his brother's. It was hard to tell whether the younger brother's scream was a cry of pain or anguish. Then words started to form, and Bobby could make out a few words like 'stop it' and 'please', that were echoed over and over.
The wary hunter didn't know what exactly the young one was screaming for to stop; for the Hellhounds to stop tearing at his big brother's flesh, for the demon to stop her filthy hounds from mauling Dean to death, for the whole nightmare to stop. Or for his brother's agonizing screams of the unbearable pain that must have been tearing through him, and shaking him to the very core to just stop.
The father in him didn't hesitate to enter the house, to reach his boys and fight side by side next to them. To die with them if he had to. He didn't know how he made it to the house, or how many demons he had to put down to get through the line of the holy water.
It wasn't until the blinding, heated light burst into the room Bobby knew the Winchesters were, that the hunter quickened his pace towards the it, shotgun aimed forward and ready to shoot. The cry that followed told him that the demon was no longer in the same room with the boys.
The minute Bobby reached the damned room entrance; the deafening silence was the first thing that welcomed him. There was no longer screaming, or any glowing light. Sam's hitching breath was the only sound in there. The old hunter took in the sight in front of him; the wooden floor was coated and splashed with the blood of the oldest Winchester. Dean's chest and leg were left torn and shredded in the Hellhound's wake, and his eyes were open and staring lifelessly at the ceiling.
Bobby didn't spare Ruby's host, still body on the floor next to Dean's a second glance. His eyes returned to the younger brother –who didn't seem to notice the old hunter yet– and traced his every move. Sam lowered the knife, chin trembling, and moved closer to his brother. Bobby barely heard the soft 'nonononono' that Sam said like a mantra, like he would wake up of this nightmare if he repeated it enough. Bobby hasn't dared to step in yet. He stood very still, watching the agonizing scene in front of him, and his heart clenched when the younger hunter crouched next to his brother, slipping his hand under Dean's head and raised it very gently –as if he was afraid it would fall off his brother's shoulders any second– uttering Dean's name several times in low, heartbreaking soups and finally allowing the hot tears to run along his cheeks.
The tears in the old hunter's eyes swam, and he too couldn't stop the few drops that escaped from between his eyelids. After a long moment of staring at the two brothers, still trying to sort the fact of the big brother's death in mind, Bobby sniffed and raised a hand to wipe the wetness on his face.
It was then when Sam had finally noticed the man at the room entrance.
If his heart wasn't already breaking, Bobby was sure the look in the youngest Winchester's eyes would be enough to shatter his whole being into pieces. Sam stared at him, his hazel eyes hidden behind waves of tears and pain and disbelief. Still holding his brother's head up, the only thing that came out from Sam's dry mouth was a plea in a low "Bobby!", his voice broke into another soup, looking back at the green eyes that were, not long time ago, shinning with life.
The devastating look the experienced hunter saw in Sam's eyes was a silent plea for help, for reassurance that wasn't possible. It was the look of a four-year old kid, who needed his big brother to be by his side, telling him that everything was going to be okay.
And then Bobby froze.
He didn't know what he should say to the kid. 'That everything is gonna be okay.', 'you're gonna be okay.', 'we knew what was on the stake.', or 'you'll get over it.'? Because he seriously doubted if anything would be okay anymore. He doubted if the younger brother would be able to survive on earth for a whole day without his big brother.
It wasn't any relationship or just a brotherhood that bounded the brothers together. Sam and Dean were all they got left of this world, the only thing they ever had was each other. Sam wasn't just the little brother, who Dean had to take care of and watch out for 'cause Daddy said so, he was Dean's anchor, the gravity that balanced and held him together through life. Sam was simply his only reason to live.
On the other hand, Dean was Sam's protector, mother, father, teacher and best friend. They were each other's strength, each other's weakness and each other's safety. They were the two sides of the same coin.
A moment later, Bobby was crouching to his knees, next to Sam and next to Dean's still form. He didn't even know when or how he got there in the first place; all he knew then was that Sam's emotions and the sense of loss were the only things controlling the distressed man. He was acting irrationally, and his mind was going sideways.
In a pure act of desperation, Sam was performing a CBR on his already dead brother. Between every compression on Dean's torn chest, was a wet blow of breath inside Dean's mouth, followed by a stream of no and Dean, please!
It wasn't until Sam started to pound his fest into his brother's chest –shouting his name and begging him not to do this to him– that Bobby started to move. He held Sam's broad shoulders gently, but firmly from behind, and pulled him back and away from his too still brother. Sam acted instinctively and shrugged his friend's hold on him effectively, before he straddled his brother's waste and tried the CBR from a different angle, maybe there was still hope… just maybe.
After long, worthless several minutes of trying to knock some sense in the mind of the kid, who didn't appear to be listening to any of his friend's words, Bobby couldn't take it anymore. He launched forward, holding Sam's big hands in the tightest grip he could master and barked at the young hunter to look at him.
"Look at me, DAMMIT!" Bobby shook him, still grabbing Sam's wrests tightly. Sam went still. He didn't move for a long moment. He just stared at those lifeless eyes that were staring very far away behind Sam, and at nothing.
"It's over, son." Bobby whispered softly, fighting his own emotions. He didn't dare to say it. He couldn't. It would be so real, and none of them would be able to handle the truth right now. Even though it was lying just beneath their joined fists.
"It's over," He repeated, this time rewarded by a head shake of the young man and a new stream of hot tears.
"No!" Sam said through gritted teeth, and shook his head several times. "No, he can't!"
It was Bobby's turn to shake his head; he couldn't imagine the pain that was not only consuming the kid, but also dragging him into the abyss of denial. But he still couldn't let him do this to himself.
"It's time to get out of here, Sam." Bobby said gently, lowering his head to try and catch Sam's eyes. Realization finally seemed to sink into the Kid's mind, and he was nodding almost hysterically, biting hard on his lower lip and slicing it open.
Bobby hesitated before he let go of Sam's hand slowly, watching as the young man got off his brother and crouched back next to him the same way he had been before. Sam's eyes came up for just a second catching his friend's eyes before going back to his brother's. He drew a lungful of air into his exhausted lungs and exhaled slowly, drinking in the sight of his brother's green eyes for the last time, before he reached Dean's forehead with a shaking hand, and let it move lower to cross the last bridge to the truth, and closed his protector's eyes forever.
Sam closed his eyes in the same time he allowed the fact of his brother's death to let itself known, and let out a few hard soups. He held Dean's hand in his tightly and squeezed it, and was almost shocked when it didn't squeeze his hand back. Sam felt another gentle hand squeezing his shoulder and he opened his eyes, nodding to his friend.
Bobby understood the nod that was a permission to start moving. He reached slowly as to help Sam carrying his brother when the youngest Winchester held out a hand for him to stop. He wouldn't allow anyone to touch his brother but himself. No one would take care of Dean but him.
Bobby nodded his understanding and stood stiffly, he crossed the room and picked up the knife and his shotgun and waited for Sam in the doorway. It didn't cross his mind to check on the terrorized family that owned that damned house, wherever they were. He didn't think about the body of the blond girl that lay in the middle of the room. He simply wasn't ready to clean up their mess or cover their tracks this time, he just couldn't care less.
The family friend watched as the younger brother tucked his jacket around his big brother's upper body carefully –as if he was afraid to cause his brother any extra pain– before he slowly and very gently carried Dean up in his arms, despite how heavy he was. Dean's head rested on Sam's chest and his arms dangled lifelessly from under Sam's, now blood stained, wide jacket.
Sam nodded at Bobby that he was ready, and the old man didn't need to be told twice. He led the way, making sure no one came in their pass and they emerged from the cursed house.
Few minutes later they made it to where they parked the cars earlier without any trouble. Bobby didn't know where the demons that were surrounding the house when they first came here were, and he didn't bother to spend long time thinking about it. Sam headed to the impala, Dean's good girl, and Bobby hurried to open the backseat door. Refusing any help with carrying his brother, Sam lay Dean in the backseat, entering after him, and took Dean's head into his lap without saying a word.
Bobby understood the gesture and knew what he should do next; he brought his duffel bag from his truck, and returned to the impala and slipped behind the wheel.
It has been more than an hour since they had left the town –where all the devastating night events had started– in the impala's rearview. For the whole time, there had been no sound in the car but Sam's wet sniffs and occasional soups, and the soft roar of the impala that sounded almost mournful.
Bobby had, long time ago, driven this car, but this time something felt different. As he manhandled the impala down the main road, he almost felt like the car didn't want to obey because it hadn't recognized the man behind the wheel as its owner, as if it was moving against its well towards the place where its owner would be buried, or cremated for that matter.
It was almost as if the impala grieved Dean's death.
The hunter's thoughts were interrupted when he felt a movement behind him in the backseat. He glanced at the rearview to find Sam washing away as much blood as possible from his brother's face and chest, using his own jacket and a bottle of water.
Bobby turned his attention to the rode, and sighed heavily as his heart broke all over again. He wondered one more time what would the kid do after they were done with the small funeral rituals that were waiting ahead for them. To tell the truth, he himself didn't know what he would do.
He couldn't help but get back with his memory to the time when he first met John and knew his eldest son. He watched the boy grow up in front of his eyes. He watched him take care of his brother, and take care of his father as well. He watched him take care of everybody he had ever loved or cared about, even Bobby himself, without complaining or asking for anything in exchange.
Bobby always considered Sam and Dean as his own sons, not just his friend's sons. His house was always opened for them whenever John had some job to get done and needed someone to watch out for his boys. He always grumbled and complained about John leaving the kids on his watch, but he secretly liked it.
The connection that gathered the boys was something else; something unique, and scary in the same time. He always wondered what one of them would do if something happened to the other. Not wishing to know one bit, he still had lived enough to see it coming himself. He had lived enough to discover the horrifying truth of what the big brother had done to bring his little one back from the dead. He lived enough to sit and watch the big brother paying the price. And he might as well live enough to see what the younger brother would do, or how he would cope. If he coped.
Shaking his head and pulling himself from the dark hole of the saddening past to the devastating present, Bobby glanced once again at the brothers in the backseat through the rearview and let few tears drop from his tired eyes.
He lost track on time. He didn't know how long they had been driving, or where they were heading until he saw the sign that said they were now in Illinois instead of Indiana.
Looking down at his brother's head in his lap, Sam found out that he has been stroking his brother's spiky hair for a long time that his hand started to feel numb. His other hand traced Dean's upper body until it rested on his heart. It was no longer beating. Sam knew, but for once in his goddamned life he wished he was wrong. He let his balm linger there for a long time; maybe it would catch a beat. Maybe they were mistaken and his brother was still alive. Maybe the miracle he has been praying for ever since they had left the house would happen anytime soon.
Dean's body was starting to get cold, and Sam couldn't help but notice and shiver few times in return. He moved himself closer to his brother's too still form and held onto him even tighter.
The young man couldn't think of any other time he needed his father so bad. Dad always knew what to do, he thought. If only he was here…
Sam closed his eyes, trying to force his mind to focus… to think. He was the one who got them into this mess in the first place. He was the reason Dean had made the deal, and he was the reason that Dean died, and he was the reason that his big brother was probably being tortured right about freaking now.
He shook his head as the hot sensation behind his eyes forced new tears out from his closed eyelids and clenched the torn cloth on Dean's unmoving chest as an anchor unconsciously. He would bring his brother back. He had to. If Dean could do it, then he damn as well could do it too.
He wouldn't just sit on his thumbs and watch the hungry flames of the fire chipping at Dean's vulnerable form and wipe away the proof that he had ever existed, forever. He wouldn't let a filthy grave hide his brother's body from the eyes of the whole world until it rot, and there would be nothing left but a pack of unrecognizable bones.
No. He wouldn't.
There were two strong hands holding him up all of the sudden, but not Dean's strong ones, he knew. Sam opened his eyes and was welcomed by his friend's bloodshot eyes; they were filled with a mixture of pure sadness, exhaustion and… Panic? There was a voice, probably Bobby's voice, but he couldn't make anything useful out of the words that were being said. He felt as if he was swimming, or rather drowning under very thick water, and to be honest with himself, he liked the soothing sensation the water provided. He even welcomed its greedy hands that wanted so badly to take him under.
But his body was shaking, or maybe someone was shaking him? For a moment Sam didn't know where he was, or who was the one yelling at him to open his eyes. 'Where's Dean?' He heard someone saying. After a moment, he discovered that it was him.
His eyes felt like they weighed a ton, and he was surprised that he was able to finally open them, not that he remembered when he shut them in the first place. Something was happening, someone was harmed. He needed to focus, he needed to see who was yelling and tell him to shut the hell up.
"Sam!" Another shook ran through him, "Sam, can you hear me, kid?"
He could finally understand the words that he soon realized were directed at him, and a law "yeah," slipped out from his mouth without even feeling it.
"You with me now, son?" Bobby's frantic tone and tight grip drew his attention, and he looked towards where the sound was coming from and found that Bobby was crouching and leaning towards him through the open backseat door. When did the car stop moving?
"What happened?" He asked, looking up at Bobby. He finally knew that his friend's hold was the only thing keeping him from tipping forward and having a nosedive into the backseat.
"You almost caused your old man a heart attack here, boy!" Bobby breathed, still not letting go of Sam's shoulders.
"What?" Sam asked, still feeling a bit fuzzy and unfocused.
"I think… I think you passed out." Bobby clarified slowly, starting to feel lightheaded himself.
"Why would I…" Without the need to finish his question, the events of the night and Dean's screams slammed back home. Every second of the longest night in his life came rushing in waves and he was horrified to look at his side and find what he knew he would find. Dean's cold corps.
Sam latched at Bobby's arms and pushed the old man away, jumping from the backseat and retched violently on the dirt of the rodeside. His chest heaving, Sam spit out the taste of the vomit in his mouth and fell back on his haunches, new stream of tears finding its way along his pale face. He accepted the bottle of water the hunter offered and drank few sips before giving it back to him.
"Any better?" He heard Bobby asking in that sympathetic tone that made his stomach flip again, but he fought the urge to get on his hands and knees and empty his already empty stomach.
"I'm fine." Sam nodded at last. He made it to stand up and found Bobby's hand supporting him just in time. He got back into the car, claiming his position back and took Dean's head in his lap once again.
"I'm good," He reassured his friend, who still lingered into the open door, a concerned expression painted all over his face. Bobby nodded and stepped back before he closed the door and walked around the hood and back to his own position.
The car didn't move right away, instead Sam looked up and found Bobby staring at him through the rearview.
"Seriously, Bobby, I'm fine!" He pressed. "We're good to move." Bobby shook his head and Sam knew it wasn't the answer that Bobby was looking for.
"Where to?" Bobby asked after a long moment of silence, hating himself for having to ask, and not acting like the father he felt he was, and take care of Sam, and take care of everything. But he wasn't left with many choices. It was Sam's decision to make, and he knew better than to push his luck with a devastated Winchester.
Sam nodded, biting on his cheeks from the inside as the moment he feared finally came. Lawrence was the first place that came to his mind, it was on the tip of his tong but he swallowed it back. Should they head to Lawrence, their hometown, where everything had started? Or to Greenville, Illinois, and to that graveyard where their mother's headstone stood?
Sorting through his options, knowing that Dean didn't need a permanent place to be buried at –because Sam was going to bring him back no matter that cost him– he nodded to himself, knowing the sooner they moved the better for Dean's sake.
"Find the nearest abandoned field." Sam whispered, catching Bobby's gaze into the rearview to make sure the old man heard him. "The faster we move the better," He choked out.
"Alright," Not quite understanding Sam's intention, Bobby still nodded anyway. He didn't seem convinced, but he didn't seem able to argue either. And for that, Sam was thankful.
Half an hour later, Bobby had found the abandoned field they were looking for. He didn't push Sam for any farther information; the kid had passed out on him not long time ago, and was in a pretty bad shape that Bobby didn't want to make the things harder for him.
It was after Bobby had gotten out of the car and waited for Sam to give the permission for the next move, when the kid asked if Bobby could give him ten minutes. The wary hunter hesitated at first, not trusting the mental state of the boy at that moment, before he nodded solemnly and walked away from the impala, and into the field, giving the young man the space he needed.
From where he stood he could see Sam moving back and forth from the backseat to the trunk of the Impala, holding what looked like clothes in each time. After a good fifteen minutes, Bobby noticed Sam's movement cease until the kid stood still and looked skywards at the creeping dawn, and looked like he was praying. The old man decided that it was the time to get back to the car and begin with their next move.
Clearing his throat, Bobby tried his best not to startle the young man as he approached him. First thing he noticed was the almost peaceful look on the big brother's clean face, and his new clean clothes. That must was what Sam wanted as much amount of privacy as they can get for. The family friend smiled brokenly, and nodded to himself. Those two would always take care of each other, even after death, he should've known better.
Sam gave the hunter a nod of acknowledgment, sniffing, before he made his way to the trunk. Bobby followed suit and stood next to Sam in front of the opened trunk.
Not expecting what Sam must have decided, Bobby saw him pulling out a pair of shovels and a hammer before he slammed the trunk door shut. He tossed one to Bobby who stared at him. Reaching a hand out, but not to take the offered shovel, the old man rested his hand on the young one's shoulder and tried to form the words as gently and carefully as he could.
"We should burn him, Sam." He whispered in spite of himself.
"No," Sam said firmly; trying to appear in control of his emotions more than he really was. "No, we won't."
"Sam," Bobby shook his head sympathetically before Sam cut whatever he was about to say.
"I said no," He repeated, shrugging off Bobby's gentle hand. "Dean will need a body to come to when I bring him back." With that Sam walked past his shocked friend and headed towards the field to start digging his brother's grave with his own hands.
A while later, Sam was hardly keeping his emotions at pay, shutting out the whole word, and blanked his mind to focus on the job in hands like his father and brother had always taught him. He was done digging up Dean's grave and waited for Bobby to return with the coffin he headed to town earlier to get. After everything was set and done –still refusing any assistance with taking care of his brother– Sam carried Dean to the hole which he would, temporary, rest inside. He promised.
The young man jumped into the cheap, wooden coffin Bobby had managed to get, and finally let Bobby help him to lay Dean inside. All the time the suffocated silence was the only thing keeping their company. Sam hesitated and didn't come out from the grave right away. For a second, all he wanted to do was to retrieve his brother from this obnoxious thing and run far, far away where no one could find them anymore.
He cursed himself uncountable times for coming to do this and bury his own brother. He didn't know where he got the guts from, the only thing that was keeping him from lying right next to Dean and asking Bobby to cover them both up with dirt, was the determination of bringing his brother back.
After all, the Winchesters have always been on top of the hell-most-wanted list, and he doubted if there was any demon that would refuse to bargain when he offered his soul on a sliver plate.
Leaning forward, Sam's chin quivered as he put a soft kiss on his brother's forehead as a reassurance that he would be back, and that he wouldn't leave him alone inside this hole but for the shortest while possible. He wished he could hear Dean complaining about the girl Sam was turning into for one more time, more than anything in the world. But, he knew he wouldn't. Not now, anyway.
Sam, still leaning down, dug into his new clean jacket and retrieved his brother's favorite lighter and stuffed it into Dean's clean jeans pocket, whispering "you'll need this," before his hand came up to Dean's chest and carefully pulled the amulet off his brother's neck and put it around his own neck.
Finally finding the courage to get out of the grave, he saw Bobby leaning in turn; to reach any part of Dean's body, and squeezed his, now cold, shoulder.
Sam sniffed, wiping the fresh tears away from his face, before he stared at Dean's face, which was lighted by the tender rays of the rising sun. Dean looked as if he was asleep and Sam's heart broke at how his brother's face couldn't look any more peaceful in his sleep. Only that his brother wasn't sleeping, and was far away from being at any kind of peace.
Despite his determination to do whatever it might take to bring his brother back and save him from the hell he threw himself into for Sam's sake, Sam couldn't help but trying to drink in every detail of Dean's features and memorize them on the fear of not being able to see him ever again.
Not having the heart to, but not daring to let anyone but himself to do the final job, Sam put the last piece of Dean's coffin on, covering it up, and chocked "I'll see you soon, Dean." before he started to cover his brother's coffin with dirt with his friend's help.
Sam hammered a wooden cross he had prepared earlier above Dean's grave, marking the place where his only family lay beneath. The hammer slipped from Sam's hand, and his heart ached and throbbed painfully, like it never did before in his life, not at the night the love of his love had burnt, not at the night they had to burn their father, nothing.
He wished to die where he was standing, once and for all, and not coming to face this world alone without his brother at his side. He wished he had died the night Jake had stabbed him and not having to live this moment. He wished he had never been born.
The pain forced Sam to his knees, and he started to soup uncontrollably, feeling the ache spreading everywhere in his body, he supported himself on the ground with both hands, feeling himself starting to slip away, and cried... hard. He didn't care if Bobby was watching him, or that his dad would have been ashamed of the hunter he was who was crying now like a baby. He didn't care about anything in the whole goddamned world.
He was a little brother, who lost his big brother, and the only family he had ever known.
A/N: Don't say I didn't warn you! I just want to thank my awesome family -SPN FAMILY- for their support and encouraging words that me write this story in just three days. Nancy, Rana (aka Folka), Rana (aka Roka) .. You're the best
And thanks to everyone who spent their time to read this story, thank you so much. Review would be REALLY appreciated, let me know what you think of the story, any advices, any criticism.. Just shoot :)