Throwback ficlet to Season 2 because I'm rewatching the show with my brother and felt like I wanted to know what happened between these two episodes.

Characters/Season: Dean, Sam, Bobby/ Season 2 "All Hell Breaks Loose" Tag/coda

Genre: Angst

Rating: T

Warning: Canonical Death

Missing

A Supernatural Fanfic

Dean couldn't think of anything else as he held his dead brother in his arms than the missing piece of a soul that hadn't even been taken yet. (Missing scene between All Hell Breaks Loose Parts 1&2)

Dean couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He couldn't feel the cold or the wet ground under him, he could barely care at that point that he was existing at all. Because in a way, he wasn't existing. Not anymore.

The only thing he knew was Sam. Sam slumped against him, unmoving. Sam's blood seeping from the hole in his back, bleeding both his life and his warmth. Sam's cold face lolling against his neck, the smell of his damp hair against Dean's cheek.

Dean could only clutch his brother tighter, as if that would somehow make him stay. He didn't breathe, so that he could better feel his brother's next breath. A breath that never came. And never came.

Dean gasped out a choked sob, teeth gritting together, as his fingers dug into Sam's coat, and he pulled his brother impossibly closer, feeling the last vestiges of heat seep from Sam's body into his, as Dean's will bled from him like the scarlet strand of his brother's life that covered his hands.

"Sam," he whispered brokenly. "God, please…"

"Dean!"

Footsteps pounding through the mud. Dean could feel that through the ground but it wasn't the pounding he was looking for. Not the pounding of his brother's heart.

He didn't move as Bobby skidded to a halt next to them and crouched down, a hand on Dean's shoulder, another on Sam's as he tried to move the younger brother, see what could be done.

"How is he? Dean, dammit, son, can you let go of him for a second?"

Dean couldn't move, he couldn't look at Bobby, he was still staring at the mud, his gaze trained down Sam's back to the blood and the hole in his back, and Dean's own hands gripping so tightly that his fingers had turned white.

"Dean!"

Bobby slapped him across the face, not hard, just enough to get his attention, and that startled Dean enough that his grip on Sam loosened, allowing the younger brother to slip to one side into Bobby's arms, deadweight, limbs sprawled unnaturally.

Bobby knew the instant he caught Sam in his arms. The older man's shoulders stiffened and his breath stuck in his throat.

"Dammit," he breathed. "Oh hell. Sam…"

He looked up, eyes haunted and met Dean's eyes, seeming to realize which brother really needed the help right now. After all, one was already past saving.

Dean was numb, barely recognizing the gesture when Bobby reached out and cupped his cheek, his hand sliding down to his shoulder, gripping tightly, obviously trying to board up his own emotions. Dean just knelt there, limp, still staring at his dead brother's face.

Sam was dead.

Sam was dead.

Dean's gun was still lying in the mud where he had dropped it. His gaze shifted to it for a long moment until Bobby caught his look and dug his fingers into Dean's shoulder hard enough to hurt.

"Don't you dare," he snarled. "Don't even think of it."

Dean slumped further and Bobby pulled him in to fall against his shoulder for a brief moment before he shook Dean.

"We need to get out of here. Dean, you hearing me? We need to stop that demon!"

Dean couldn't care less.

"Leave us," he said. "I'm done."

Bobby gripped the front of his shirt tightly, shaking him. "Now you listen to me, son. You're not done until I say you are! Now get up, get the car, and we're getting out of here!"

Dean still didn't move. Bobby cursed and gently deposited Sam onto the ground before he stood, grabbing Dean's gun and reaching into the elder brother's pocket for the keys, before he stormed off for the Impala.

Dean stared at Sam the entire time until the Impala's headlights illuminated them. Bobby hopped out and bent to pick up Sam. "Help me with him," he demanded.

Dean was almost reluctant to touch his brother again. He didn't want to be reminded that he was really gone. That he was…

He turned aside quickly as his stomach rebelled and threw up. Bobby cursed again and grabbed the back of Dean's coat so he didn't faceplant, then rubbed his back gently.

"Come on," he murmured. "Let's get in the car."

Dean grabbed his arm and looked up at him frantically as Bobby tried to get him to his feet.

"Don't leave him," he snarled. "Don't leave him here."

Bobby glanced between the brothers, one dead, the other dead in everything but body, and sighed. He let go of Dean and turned back to Sam, simply throwing the limp body over his shoulder. He grunted, but made it happen, moving Sam to the backseat of the Impala. Then he went back for Dean.

The elder brother was just standing there, staring at the mud and Bobby ushered him to the car.

"Come on, son," he said gently.

Dean somehow made it to the car, sitting down as Bobby got behind the wheel. He didn't look in the back, but he could feel the emptiness coming from Sam's corpse. His body was there, but Dean's little brother was gone and he didn't know how to feel because he was just hollow. He had been carved clean and there was nothing left in his chest.

They found an old cabin not too far away and Bobby pulled up in front of it. Dean reluctantly got up and together they slid Sam's body from the backseat and carried him into the place.

There was a filthy mattress in the back room and they laid him down. Dean slumped on the side of the mattress and with shaking hands, arranged his brother's limbs so he looked more comfortable, peaceful. Dean pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and started to wipe some of the blood and mud from Sam. But it reminded him too much of cleaning his little brother's face when he was just a toddler and he folded, his chest heaving as a sob broke out.

Bobby moved over to him and settled a hand on Dean's back, pulling the younger man against his side.

"Why'd it have to be him, Bobby?" Dean whispered. "I wish to god it was me. What the hell am I gonna do?"

Bobby didn't say anything. He knew well enough there weren't words. He just held Dean close and let him work it out.

It was a long time before he left and Dean slumped, moving to a spot where he could face his brother. He didn't know why. He didn't know if it made it worse to see him or not. But he couldn't seem to stand the thought of losing sight of Sam either. As if he were still hoping that at some point Sam would just start breathing again and open his eyes.

He didn't know how long it had been when Bobby came back to him, leaning against the doorway. "Dean, I'm gonna run out for some food. Do you want anything?"

"No," Dean said.

Bobby sighed, and laid a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Just don't do anything stupid," he nearly pleaded.

Dean didn't reply. He just stared at his brother's still face.

When Bobby left, Dean folded over his knees, head in his hands as tears slid down his cheeks.

"What am I supposed to do? Sammy, what am I supposed to do?"

But he knew. He had known all along what he was going to do. Because the only certainty in Dean's life was that there was no life without his brother.

So, as he saw it, he had two options, and he decided to go with the one that would leave his brother alive.

He forced himself up, new determination aiding strength to his limbs, and grabbed the keys to the Impala where Bobby had left them.

It wasn't long before he found a crossroads.

The deal was done. He had a year, and he couldn't care.

The only thing he cared about was when he walked into that cabin and saw Sam standing there, confused and looking all kinds of lost.

Dean stopped, breath catching, almost not sure if he should believe it.

"Sammy," he whispered.

Sam met his eyes and Dean knew it was really him. "Hey," his little brother said in greeting.

Dean was already moving forward and he pulled Sam into his arms, holding him tightly. His brother, alive, warm. He held his breath. Dean could feel the beat of Sam's heart against his chest, the swell of his lungs, his familiar scent that was not tainted by death. Sammy was back, and as Dean held him so tightly he wondered if he could ever let go, he felt himself start to be repaired. The hollowness filled. The piece of him that was missing returned.

He could breathe again.

And he didn't care about the deal, he didn't care about anything. He had his brother back, and that was all that mattered.

It was always the only thing that mattered.