This is a small oneshot, taken from my other story Silence and Sorrow because I thought it could easily stand alone.

Sam is burying Dean. Major angst...

Sam threw his spade down into the mud, hands bleeding and blistered; soaked to the skin in rain and plastered in mud.

Yet, what did he care? He couldn't feel a thing.

And now it was finished; a hole in the ground like any other.

He clambered out, ignoring how his back seared in pain, angrily sweeping his muck filled hair out of his face.

He paused out of habit, waiting for a wise crack about how no one took a fed seriously with a haircut like that; wishing for a Sammy-you-look-like-a-damn-girl joke. He laughed bitterly, collapsing into hysterical sobs; of course it never came, there would never be another damn joke. Choking, his knees gave way into cold, soaking mud; his hands fisting into thick peaty soil, shameless tears flowing like the rain that shouldn't ever cease and yelling hoarsely along with the storm until he didn't know – didn't want to know – whether he was still screaming or if it was just the world grieving with him.

Steadily rain blurred into everything, into his skin, into his eyes, his voice, clothes and he fell limp in the dirt... why didn't he just wash away with the rain too?

His body grew cold and stiff, but slowly he blinked open his eyes, knowing deep down that he had to finish this as much as it killed him, he'd promised Bobby he'd be able to do it if he did it alone.

Clearing his face, he sat up; accidently glimpsing something across from the pit that made him ache in every inch of his body. He turned away, biting back tears but eventually his eyes betrayed him, unable to draw away from the crude six foot something box that he'd managed to avoid the whole time he'd been digging, sodden and rigid and foreign.

He inched slowly forward; painfully aware of what was inside but powerless to stop himself crawling nearer and nearer, his heart stifling in his chest as his hands brushed against rough wood and Sam's hands began to work mechanically, almost against his will; pulling the un-nailed lid off the coffin and bringing him into view.

Sam fell weakly against the sides, crying out in agony as Dean lay motionless, still frozen in horror; cold and pale; his wounds covered by an old flannel shirt Bobby must have dressed him in. Uncontrollably, Sam reached out, stroking his brother's face, his skin like rubber and dotted with flecks of dark congealed blood and raindrops; hazel-green eyes glazed and staring back unseeingly.

A thin cord was pressed into Dean's skin, running around his neck and disappearing under his t-shirt. Sam's fingers held it and tugged the dark rope lightly, pulling the necklace out and laying it on his brother's still chest; tracing the wooden pendant and feeling its cold hardness closed in the palm of his hand.

Carefully Sam reached behind Dean's neck, unclasping the cord and placing it round his own and down his shirt, Dean's throat strangely bare as the cold wood warmed to Sam's skin. He stroked the necklace numbly, the rope familiar even after so many years. It had been one distant Christmas and a present intended for John, instead given to his brother and now with him; painfully obvious and heavy with memories.

Sam shuddered and glanced back at Dean; he looked so old and so young, trapped and free in his last moments of pain... he couldn't bear it – gently placing his two fingers on Dean's eyelids, he closed them for the last time. Sam cracked suddenly; breaking into frenzied tears that splashed onto his brother's petrified face and his eyes blurred, obscuring Dean into a hazy smudge – he could just be sleeping, his chest rising and falling peacefully, he was just sleeping, he had to be...

Hope you enjoyed the sadness...

(For anyone who is a fan of wincest, then you may like to read Silence and Sorrow too)

Rose xxx