Title: Into Ashes

Summary: "Come on, you can't…you can't leave me here, alone with Dad. We'll kill each other, you know that." What if Dean had died before the deal could be made? What would John and Sam do without him? IMTOD AU.

Spoilers: Major spoilers in this chapter for In My Time Of Dying, and vague mentions of Faith and The Pilot.

Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing them, promise! I'll return them in mint condition. Well, relatively mint condition… (blinks innocently)

A/N: There is A LOT of angst. I surprised MYSELF with the amount of angst in it, lol! ;) And though this is a multi-chapter fic, it's already complete! (watches everyone fall over in shock) Yes, I know…(blushes) Updates should, Lord willing, only be a few days apart. :)

A/N2: This one is definitely PG-13. Not so much for the content itself, but the subjects it deals with are more intense than any of my other fics. It's meant to be a portrayal of just what might have happened if Dean really had died. I've read quite a few of the IMTOD AU's, and I really enjoyed a number of them, but not many of them really went beyond Dean's death, and I couldn't help thinking, what about after?

Also, please know that I don't write wincest, and I never will. This is very strictly gen.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Darth Mom, the best beta I could ever ask for in a galaxy far, far away, and in any other.

I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know what you think. :)

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Into Ashes

It seemed wrong, Sam thought.

There should have been rain, clouds, something which at least gave the illusion that the world was mourning along with the Winchesters. But instead, the night was beautiful and clear, a soft breeze tempering the heat of the fire, making the flames dance almost merrily.

And Sam hated it.

Fire had taken everything. Everything that mattered.

First his mom, then Jess, and now…

Even in his own mind, Sam couldn't complete the thought. It felt so surreal. He kept thinking that at any moment, he'd wake up in a motel room somewhere to find Dean looking at him from the other bed, feigning annoyance at the sleep he was being deprived of, but concern in his eyes.

He'd badger Sam into telling him about his nightmare, maybe even give-in and allow a chick-flick moment when his little brother finally caved. He'd assure Sam that he was fine, and that he wasn't going anywhere. Then, he'd tease Sam about being a girl, and make him smile and roll his eyes, and everything would be normal again.

Dean would make everything better.

He always did.

But Sam wasn't waking up, and Dean wasn't grumbling at him from across the room.

Instead, the funeral pyre just kept growing, the flames burning brighter as they consumed the one person who meant more to Sam than he could ever say, and he watched, feeling a deep cold the heat from the fire could never touch.

Sam's fist clenched unconsciously at his side, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. The still-healing cuts on his hand protested, but he barely felt anything at all as denial crashed through him.

This couldn't be real. It just couldn't be.

He should turn and walk away, should find out whose brother had just died and tell them how sorry he was, because there was no way that it was Dean, no way that it was his big brother who was gone. It just wasn't possible.

Dean listened to mullet-rock and made bad jokes. Dean flirted with girls and hustled pool. Dean saved people and hunted things. Dean protected him and made him whole.

Dean didn't die.

But, a voice in the back of his mind, a voice he couldn't deny, whispered that no one was invincible, that everything made of flesh and blood had an end, that no one could cheat death forever, even his big brother.

A choked sob broke the silence, and Sam wondered vaguely if it had come from him. But, when he turned, it was his father who was crying…broken, heart-wrenching sobs that shook his whole frame. Gone was the unfeeling, unaffected mask of a soldier, and in its place was the crumbling visage of a man whose world had just been shattered.

Sam felt resentment rise up in him suddenly, bubbling just below the surface, his disbelief rapidly giving way to anger.

What right did John Winchester have to grieve for Dean like that?

He hadn't cared when Dean was alive…hadn't seen him as anything other than an attack-dog, a weapon he could forge and use in his quest for revenge. When Dean had been dying all those months ago from a damaged heart…he hadn't even cared enough to pick up a phone.

And in the hospital, after the semi had hit them…even then, all he'd thought about was the demon. He hadn't done anything for Dean. He hadn't called a soul for help. He hadn't even tried.

What right did he have to act like Dean's death affected him just as deeply as it did Sam? To act like he would be just as lost without him there?

"Dean…" his dad whispered hoarsely, his voice nearly inaudible but strangely loud to Sam's ears.

Hearing his father say Dean's name, so full of pain and loss and love -- Sam almost let all that resentment come spilling out in a tidal wave of raw emotion. But then something deep inside him urged, "Come on…don't do this!" Sam wasn't sure when his brother had spoken those words, but he guessed they could have been from any one of the countless fights Dean had tried to break up.

Dean always hated it when they fought.

And that's when he knew…they couldn't do this, not here, not now.

Dean deserved better.

So, Sam stuffed his anger and bitterness as far down as they would go, forcing them into the depths of his soul. He could still feel them there, under the surface, and knew it was only a matter of time before his control slipped, but he wouldn't let that happen yet. Not tonight.

For Dean.

They stood that way until the pyre had faded into a pile of cooling embers and ash. Sam wasn't sure how many hours had passed, but the sky was growing lighter with the approaching dawn, the first rays of the sun creeping over the horizon.

Sam felt his father's calloused hand come to rest on his shoulder, and stiffened under the touch. His dad didn't seem to notice though, his tear-filled eyes still lingering on the remains of the pyre.

Sam followed his gaze, watching as a soft breeze caught a few of the ashes. He looked for any signs that those ashes had once been his brother, but there was nothing. He watched them disappear into the shadows, not sure what he was supposed to feel…where to start.

His mind kept spinning in an endless cycle of disbelief, anger, and numbness. Grief was there too, somewhere, terrible and all-consuming, but he felt detached from it, like it belonged to someone else. It had to, because if he let those walls crumble, let that pain wash over him, he didn't think it would ever stop.

He'd felt that way after Jess…thought he'd never stop hurting, thought the agony would never dull no matter how much time had passed. And in a way, it hadn't, not completely. He still missed her, sometimes with an intensity that knocked the wind out of him, but…somehow…he'd moved forward with his life. Those wounds had healed, slowly, but healed just the same, leaving only gnarled scars behind.

Dean had done that.

Dean had held him together, given him space when he needed it, pushed him to talk when he'd had to, and just been there.

He'd done what he'd been doing his whole life, letting Sam lean on him, letting him borrow his strength, making him believe that everything would be okay in the end. And Sam had believed that. The part of him that would always be Sammy, the part of him who'd never stopped thinking that his big brother could do anything, could make everything alright, had believed that.

But Dean wasn't there anymore.

He never would be.

And Sam knew nothing would ever be okay again.

TBC

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A/N: As I said, this fic is already complete and the next part should, Lord willing, be up in a couple days. I hope you are enjoying it, and of course, please review and let me know what you thought!

Thanks for reading! Take care and God bless!

Ani-maniac494 :)