Disclaimer – I do not own Supernatural

Okay, so I'll still be continuing my other Supernatural fanfiction, but I got the idea for this while re-watching the season 2 finale and I wanted to write it before I forgot.

"Sam look out!"

Pain. That's all there was. White hot pain rising up from his back all over his body.

"NO!"

That was Dean. Sam could recognize the voice anywhere. But he didn't have time to think about that. He was in too much pain. What had happened? Jake had been unconscious! His legs gave out under him. Next thing he knew, Dean was on his knees in front of him, helping keep him up.

It was getting hard to breathe. Sam was smart . . . He knew what was happening. He was dying. After everything they'd gone through, he was going to die from being stabbed of all things.

"Sam!" Dean said sternly. Sam tried to mumble and answer but nothing would come out. He fell forward onto his brother, limp, dead weight. "Whoa, whoa, Sam. Sam! Hey! Come here, let me look at you . . ."

Dean was trying to keep calm, Sam could tell. He felt Dean's hand pat down on his wound, sending another slight jolt of pain, but not enough to make him move. Dean used the voice he used when he was trying to hide something from Sam, "hey, look at me. It's not even that bad. It's not even that bad, alright?"

That was a lie. Sam was dying he could feel it. But he had to hold on . . . for Dean. He had to keep fighting by Dean's side.

"Sammy? Sam! Hey, listen to me. We're gonna patch you up, okay? You're gonna be good as new. I'm gonna take care of you. I'm gonna take care of you. I've got you. That's my job, right? Watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother? Sam? Sam! Sammy!"

And that was it. Sam couldn't hold on anymore. It was a similar feeling to that of when you haven't slept in days and you finally get three seconds of quiet. You try your hardest to stay awake, but your body just takes over. That's what it felt like to let go. Because Sam wasn't actually letting go. He was being ripped away.

And then he watched as his whole body slumped forward onto Dean; dead.

"No," Dean said, his voice layered with a mixture of denial and heartbreak. "No, no, no, no. Oh, God."

Dean pulled the body of his little brother into him and cradled the back of his head. He was crying. Dean was actually crying.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, praying he would hear. But the words didn't come out of his mouth. Not the mouth Dean could see anyway. "Dean, I'm here! I'm right here!"

"Not for long."

Sam did a 180 to come face to face with a man he knew to be a grim reaper. He appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties, with dark hair and a thin layer of stubble. "You're my reaper?"

The man nodded. "Yes. Now, Sam Winchester, it's time for you to come with me."

"No," Sam replied quickly.

"What?" the reaper asked.

"No," Sam repeated. "No, I-I won't go with you. I can't. My brother needs me."

"Your brother will be fine."

"No," Sam insisted. He gestured towards Dean. "Look at him, he's a mess! He needs me!"

"Sam, if you stay here, you will turn into one of the monsters you and your brother are always hunting," the reaper told him. "That's a fact."

Sam shook his head. "No. I won't. I'm not upset that I'm dead. I accept it. But I need to stay . . . for Dean."

The reaper raised his eyebrows. "You're okay with dying? That's a new one."

Sam nodded. "Everyone has to die eventually. But I need to stay. I won't go with you."

"What happens if they burn your bones?" the reaper mentioned wisely. "What will you link yourself to?"

That answer was simple. It'd have to be something of significance that there was no way would ever be thrown away or demolished. "My brother's necklace. I gave it to him when we were kids . . . He never takes it off."

The reaper shrugged. "Alright, I admit that's a smart choice. But you know that your brother won't be able to hear or see you, right? Not at first anyway . . . Most likely not at all."

"He'll know I'm here," Sam insisted. "He'll figure it out."

Just like Sam had when Dean was having an OBE at the hospital ten months before. Dean would have to know. He'd feel something, right? He'd have to, eventually.

The reaper was silent for a moment, waiting. Then, he sighed. "Fine. Become a 'vengeful spirit' as you call them. Not my problem."

And then he the reaper was gone.

Dean was still on the ground next to him, shaking violently with sobs. Sam wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull his big brother into a hug and promise that he was okay.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled again. As if that would somehow bring Sam back.

A few minutes passed before Bobby returned, empty handed.

"He got away in the woods," he explained, panting. Then he noticed Dean crying and Sam unconscious in his arms. If Sam were still breathing, Dean wouldn't be wasting time crying, he'd be hauling ass back to the Impala and straight to an ER with or without Bobby. ". . . no."

Dean didn't say anything. He didn't look away from Sam.

Tears began flowing down Bobby's face as he stepped closer to the boy he had thought of as his son. "No, Sam . . . No."

Sam watched the two of them from behind the veil. They both just sat there for a little while, not saying or doing anything. Just crying . . . Crying over him. The one who had gotten them into this mess in the first place. God, could he do anything without screwing up? Even being born resulted in people dying and being sad and vengeful . . . Maybe it was for the best that he was gone now. What use was he doing anyone other than causing more destruction? All he wanted to do was help, but all he ever succeeded in was royally messing up other people's lives. But still, Dean sobbed for him. Then, after what seemed like hours, Bobby stood up and attempted to carry Sam's body away from Dean. But Dean wouldn't let go. Not yet.

"Dean!" Sam called out, tears stinging in his eyes. What was he crying for? They were the ones that had to deal with him being dead . . . At least he could see and hear them. "Cut it out! Please? I'm right here!"

But they still couldn't hear him. Maybe it would take a little longer before he was able to appear to people like other spirits did.

"Dean," Bobby said, his voice shaking. "We ain't gon' stand out here all night. You'll catch a cold. Let's bring Sam inside one a' these buildings . . . Just for now, anyway."

Dean nodded silently and agreed to let Bobby help him carry Sam's body. Sam's spirit followed them as they walked into one of the abandoned houses.

It was hard to tell how much time had passed. Being dead made time different. Sam didn't have to sleep anymore, and Dean wasn't sleeping.

All Dean had done was stand over Sam's body. He hardly moved at all, other than to go and get more booze from his stash.

Sam had tried over and over to talk to Dean or move something . . . Somehow make his presence known. He tried cracking jokes or telling stories. He tried patting Dean on the shoulder and telling him it would be okay. He tried screaming until his voice gave out, but none of it worked. He tried talking about how much he loved being on the road with Dean, even if it wasn't always rainbows and sunshine. He told Dean how much he loved him, and what a great brother he had been. He talked about all the fun times they had had, and all the sad things they had gotten through together. He talked about all the times Dean had looked out for him as a kid, trying to convince Dean that he had done everything and more. But Dean, of course, couldn't hear a word of it. His big brother was a mess and it was his fault. Why hadn't he just finished Jake when he had the chance?

At some point, Bobby came back to the house, holding a bucket of chicken.

"Good thinkin' Bobby . . ." Sam said, though no one could hear him.

"No thanks, I'm fine," Dean told him, refusing the food.

Sam snorted. "You are so far from fine, Man . . . Come on, eat something."

But of course, he wouldn't. Dean Winchester – the great stoic wonder – had finally cracked. And it was because of Sam. Now, of course, the fact that all Dean did any more was stare at his dead brother's corpse probably wasn't helping either . . .

"Dean . . ." Bobby began. "I hate to bring this up, I really do. But don't you think maybe it's time . . . we bury Sam."

Sam blinked. Bury Sam? As in . . . putting his body in the ground, forever? That was a scary thought . . . But maybe Bobby was right. Maybe it was time that Dean let go (of the corpse at least).

"No," Dean replied, his tone steady and final. This wasn't up for debate. Sam had seen that one coming . . . But Dean couldn't just let him rot away on that mattress, could he?

"We could . . . maybe . . ."

"What? Torch his corpse?" Sam froze. He was pretty sure he'd be attached to Dean's necklace but . . . Risking it wasn't something he'd like to do. "Not yet." Good Dean!

Sam looked at Bobby. He was clearly concerned for Dean, as he should be. This was one hell of a manic episode. "I want you to come with me."

Sam nodded in agreement, completely forgetting he couldn't be seen or heard. "He's right, Dean. You need to cut it out."

"I'm not going anywhere," Dean said.

"Come on, Man . . ." Sam looked back and forth between Dean and his body. "I'm gone, you're not."

"Dean, please," Bobby begged.

"Would you cut me some slack?" Dean snapped.

"I just don't want you to be alone, that's all. I gotta admit – I could use your help."

Dean snorted and said nothing.

"Something big is going down," Bobby continued. "End of the world big."

"Well then let it end!" Dean shouted.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, anger rising in his unheard voice. How could Dean be doing this? Getting caught up over one loss when the entire world was in danger?

"You don't mean that," Bobby told him.

"You don't think so? Huh? You don't think I've given enough? You don't think I've paid enough? I'm done with it. All of it. And if you know what's good for you, turn around, and get the hell out of here!" Dean yelled. "Go!"

Sam couldn't believe it. Dean was really talking that way to Bobby? Bobby who had always been there for them, like a second father . . .

Dean must have realized what he'd said, too, because after a moment he said in a much quieter voice, "I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry. Please, just go."

Bobby got the message. "You know where I'll be."

And he left Dean alone. Well, Sam was there of course, but they didn't know that. Dean also didn't know that Sam could see as another tear fell down his face.

A little later that day, Dean did something unexpected. He had of course resumed his place sitting next to Sam, looking at his body. Sam had been watching from a few feet away, trying to give his brother some space, but not wanting to go away completely (not that he could even if he wanted).

But then, Dean began to talk. Not to himself, but to Sam. For a moment Sam thought that maybe Dean had figured out Sam was still there . . . But he knew better.

"You know when we were little . . . I mean you couldn't have been more than five . . . You just started asking questions." The corners of his lips turned up a little . . . Almost a smile. "Like how come we didn't have a mom . . . Why do we always have to move around? Where'd Dad go? When he'd take off for days at a time . . . I remember I begged you to quit asking, Sammy, man, you don't wanna know. I just wanted you to be a kid. Just for a little while longer. I always tried to protect you . . . Keep you safe . . . Dad didn't even have to tell me. It was just always my responsibility, you know?

"It's like I had one job . . . I had one job . . . and I screwed it up," Dean's voice cracked.

"Dean . . ." Sam said quietly.

"I blew it . . . And for that I'm sorry." More tears fell down his face. He paused to wipe them away. "I guess that's what I do. Ya know I let down the people I love . . ."

"You didn't let me down, Dean," Sam tried to tell him. "This was my fault . . . all my fault . . ."

"I let Dad down . . . And now I guess I'm just supposed to let you down too . . ." Dean shook his head slightly. "How can I? How am I supposed to live with that? What am I supposed to do?"

"Dean . . ." Sam reached out for his brother, but his arm just drifted right through. Tears formed in his eyes again. "Dean . . . please."

"Sammy . . . God . . ." His voice became stronger, less shaky, "what am I supposed to do?"

He was quiet as he rose up out of his chair, his lower lip still trembling slightly. He kicked away his chair, angry now. "WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?!"

He turned around and walked away from Sam's body. Sam's spirit watched him as he marched out to the car, his footsteps fast and heavy. He got into the Impala and started the engine. Suddenly, Sam wasn't in the house anymore, he was in the passenger's seat next to his brother.

"Guess that proves the necklace theory . . ." Sam mumbled to himself.

Dean began driving as fast as the old car would allow. He seemed even more reckless with his driving than usual.

"Dean," Sam said. "I know you're upset but you need to slow down."

Dean said nothing. Of course, because he couldn't freaking hear him.

"DEAN!" Sam screamed, thinking that maybe if he yelled loud enough, with enough power and emotion in his voice, Dean would hear. Sam had been able to hear him back at the hospital after all . . . "DEAN CAN YOU HEAR ME?! I'M RIGHT HERE! I'M HERE! DEAN! I'M HERE! I'M HERE! I'M HERE! I'M HERE! DEAN! LISTEN TO ME! DEAN!"

He screamed and screamed, but Dean didn't even flinch. All he heard was the sound of the Impala. After a few minutes, he pulled onto a dirt road and stopped the car. He cut the engine and walked around to the trunk.

"Dean? What are you doing?" Sam asked as he followed.

Dean began filling up a small tin box with random items he and Sam had stored in the trunk. Sam looked around and realized where they were. "A crossroads? Dean! No!"

The last item Dean placed in the box was one of his fake IDs. He walked over to where the roads met, dug a small hole, and placed his box inside.

"Dean, cut it out!" Sam yelled.

Dean looked around for the demon. "Come on already . . . Show your face you bitch!"

"Easy Sugar, you'll wake the neighbors."

Sam and Dean turned to see the crossroads demon waiting for them, a smug grin plastered on her face. Her eyes flashed red for a second.

"Dean, listen to me!" Sam yelled. "Stop this! Cut it out!"

"Dean . . . it is so so good to see you," the demon said. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but she began talking again before he could. "No, I mean it . . . look at you. Gone and got your family killed, all alone in the world—"

"—don't listen to her, Dean. Demons lie," Sam said.

"—it's too sweet." She walked around him. "Excuse me, you're going to have to give me a moment . . . Sometimes you've gotta stop and smell the roses."

"I should send you straight back to hell," Dean said.

"Yes!" Sam agreed.

"Oh you should . . . but you won't," the demon told him. She was very close to his face. "And I know why."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Following in Daddy's footsteps; you wanna make a deal. Little Sammy back from the dead and . . . let me guess you're offering up your own soul?"

"There are a hundred other demons that'd love to get their hands on it," Dean said smartly.

"Dean this is crazy!" Sam exclaimed. "You don't have your head on straight, Man!"

"And it's all yours," Dean continued. "All you gotta do is bring Sam back and give me ten years . . . Ten years, and then you come for me."

"Dean!" Sam yelled again. "No! I don't want you to! Do you hear me!? Leave me dead!"

"You must be joking."

Dean paused. "It's the same deal you give everybody else."

"You're not everybody else!" Sam said at the exact same time the demon did. Only she didn't shout it.

"Why would I wanna give you anything?" she asked. "Keep your gutter soul . . . It's too tarnished anyway."

"Nine years."

"Dean!" Sam protested.

"No."

"Eight."

"You keep going, I'll keep saying no."

"Okay five years. Five years, and my bill comes due. That's my last offer—five years or no deal."

"Dean this is ridiculous!" Sam yelled, exasperated.

The demon leaned in closer, about to kiss him, but then at the last second, "then no deal."

"Fine," Dean agreed.

"Good!" Sam exclaimed. "No deal!"

"Fine." The demon began to walk away. "Make sure you bury Sam before he starts stinking up the joint."

"Oh you bitch," Sam said. He could have sworn she knew that he was there . . .

Dean swallowed. "Wait."

"No!"

"It's a fire sale and everything must go," the demon whispered. She was talking to Sam, wasn't she?

"You bitch keep your hands off my brother," Sam demanded. She knew. She knew Sam was there. That's why she was pushing Dean . . . Because she knew she could. And she knew she could do it while pissing Sam off as well. Demons were the worst . . . Sam had never been one to hate a certain kind of monster or evil thing as an entire race because of the rare occasions like Madison when they were actually good but . . . Demons he hated. Demons he hated no matter what.

"What do I have to do?" Dean asked.

"First of all, quit groveling. Needy guys are such a turnoff." She sighed. " Look... Look, I shouldn't be doing this. I could get in a lot of trouble. But what can I say? I got a blind spot for you, Dean. You're like a... puppy. You're just too fun to play with. I'll do it."

"NO!" Sam yelled. He walked up to Dean and shouted in his face. "DEAN LISTEN TO ME!"

"You'll bring him back?" Dean asked.

"I will. And because I'm such a saint, I'll give you one year. And one year only. But here's the thing. If you try and welch or weasel your way out, then the deal is off. Sam drops dead. He's back to rotten meat in no time. So... it's a better deal than your dad ever got. What do you say?"

Sam tried to grab Dean by his shirt. Tried to shake him around until he came to his senses. But of course, that wouldn't work.

Dean grabbed the demon and kissed her, sealing the deal.

"NO!" Sam yelled. A bright light began glowing around him. He could feel himself dying again . . . But in reverse. It was the same feelings but all backwards. Instead of feeling the life drain out of him, he could feel it slowly go back in. Instead of the pain in his back getting number and number, it began to hurt more and more. No, no, no, Dean, NO!

Sam's eyes flew open. He sat up, looking around. Where the hell was he?

"Dean?" he tried to call, his voice hoarse. His throat was dry, like he hadn't had water in a while.

"Dean?" he called again, his voice louder. "Bobby?"

When he tried to stand, a sharp pain shot through his body. Oh, right . . . He had been stabbed. But then what had happened? And where was everyone?