A/N: Excuse any spelling errors or grammar mistakes. The idea of a second chapter was brought to my attention and I decided, why not? Hope you enjoy!

The funeral was a typical hunter funeral, or at least to anyone but John Winchester and his youngest, Sammy. Rather his only. The father couldn't bear more than three minutes of watching as the fire ate hungrily at Dean's body and walked inside, hiding the tears that slid down his face from his sixteen year old. Sam stood there, watching as the flames licked at Dean's white cloth that was wrapped all around his body, like a mummy. The white fabric quickly blackened, crisping around the edges before falling off and slowly drifting to the ground.

His heart burned. His stomach flipped and he felt more acid tickle at the back of his throat, wanting out. He swallowed it down, despite the painful and distasteful sensation it gave, and stared at his brother's body as it burned into nothing more than ash. The fire burned just like the fury Sam had watched dance in Dean's eyes the night he was killed. A couple hours before it happened actually. His gut knotted into an unpleasant ball of guilt as his eyes began to cloud again with tears. It was his fault Dean had stormed out, and it was his fault he had been driving so fast.

Shortly after Sam and his father had left the hospital, John began reiterating what the nurse had previously told Sam over the phone. God, that conversation was absolutely mortifying.

His nerves quaked through his body as he shakily pressed his brother's number into the phone. Baby, Dean's beloved 67' Chevy Impala, was nothing more than a pile of metal and leather as she laid still at the bottom of the cliff, the faintest tint of blood splattering the brown seats and snow around her. Dean wouldn't ever let something so horrible happen to his most stable-relationship partner, so the fact she was laying in a ditch, utterly ruined and broken, made his heart beat that much quicker.

He had just let the first ring sound when another call blocked his initial one. He growled with annoyance, seeing an unknown number, but then the annoyance faded as he realized it could've been Dean calling from a payphone. Or another number. Hell, he didn't really care where Dean could've been calling from, it was the fact he could've been calling that made Sam press Answer.

"Good evening, is this Mr. Winchester?" A polite, feminine asked.

Scruffing his voice up a bit, he nodded, "I am. What's the meaning of this?"

"You're son, Dean, has been in an awful accident. I'm so sorry, sir, but after such a blow and such a long period of time it took before someone found him and brought him in, it's unfortunate to say he died later this evening."

Sam's heart skipped. His fingers numbed as his breathing caught in his throat. His eyes stared down at his shoes, the place they had been the entire conversation, and didn't move. Nothing moved. He just stood there, body beginning to tremble as his eyes refused to blink. They soon began to sting without any blinking and were soon watering in response to the lack of eye movement. He quickly put together a bit of the voice that had fallen flat in his throat the way Dean's heart monitor most likely had, and swallowed, "Let m-me get my father o-on the phone."

The woman on the line began asking questions about Sam's identification and who he was to Dean, but Sam ignored her all the less. He shuffled towards his father who was sitting on his ass and getting ready to, what Sam guessed, tumble down the hill towards the crime-scene. John looked up at him, anger clouding his eyes for a second before it vanished when he took a good look at Sam. He slowly, cautiously, took the phone from Sammy and stood, placing it to his ear as Sam heard the faint sound of that chic's voice. God, it pissed him off so much. Just her voice irritated him. Not because it was high pitched or squeaky, but just because it had been the voice to tell him that Dean was dead.

He walked back towards his father's pick-up and stared at the markings on the side. There was a long gash on the side of the white pick-up and he soon grinned slightly before breaking into a hysterical fit of laughter. His brain was turned off, so everything and anything wasn't being registered as he laughed and laughed. His father was too preoccupied with the phone to really hear his son's guffaws. He doubled over laughing, his body shutting down and his thought ultimately being thrown out a window.

The gash had been given to the car by Dean who accidentally scraped it with Baby when he once tried to back out of a tight parking spot and ended up scraping her side-mirror against their father's new truck. John was beyond furious and Dean stood there, like he always did, head hung low as he quietly protested but his attempts being so minimal that it only angered the father even more. He screamed and screamed, Dean's body language showing pure passiveness as he knew anything he really did would only make matters worse. If Sam were in his shoes, there'd be fists thrown, even if he knew he never had a shot to begin with.

Sam didn't really know when he stopped laughing, but when he did, he soon took into account his numb limbs and cold fingertips. It felt as if his blood circulation had stopped and only did he realize he'd been holding in his breath after he inhaled sharply to see his father whip past the car and into the front seat. John had almost taken off without his youngest in the front seat if it hadn't been for the creak of the door opening cutting the parent from his own mental breakdown.

He really hadn't believed her. It was a fact, not an exaggeration or a figure of speech. He legitimately didn't think that his big brother was dead. And considering what that family saw happen on a daily basis, Sam was more than positive that if Dean somehow did die, even though he can't because in Sam's eyes he walks on water, his badass brother would kick the shit out of the Reaper that came for him and return back to reality. That way, Sam could apologize and that way he'd be able bring Dean back, no matter how screwed up he was, and he'd heal him back to health.

Except something in his gut, deep, deep down in his gut, something felt lost. Missing, and lost. And that feeling still, right now, stuck with him. It lingered in his body, coursing through his veins like blood and infecting every cell of his being until he was nothing more than a big, juicy pile of meat and bones and guilt. Guilt and sorrow and remorse and anger.

He watched the entire four hours of his brother being eaten by the flames before he was nothing more than ash. Nothing except black dust lied in his place and that only sent more pings into his chest as if he was being stabbed repeatedly with knives. That were like mini-samurai swords. His chest felt heavy and his breathing felt like it was being sucked in and out, rather than just flowing like it should be. His body was heaving for oxygen as the reality of the situation kicked him right in the chest. Dean was gone. Forever.

His eyes began to water again as he began to sob. Sob so hard his body was shaking like a leaf in wind and this time there wasn't anyone to hold him, run their long fingers through his hair as they held him close to their chest and cooed soft words. There wasn't anyone that was going to rock him back and forth and hold his head firmly against their shoulder as Sam cried and cried and there wasn't anyone that was going to attempt to help him look on the bright side of things. Even if there was though, Sam knew there wasn't a bright side of things. And there wasn't that someone because that someone was Dean and Dean was dead. And with Dean being dead, Sam came the conclusion there was no bright side.

The fire soon died down, but the boy still sat there, his knees curled into his chest and his eyes dripping of tears. He wasn't crying anymore but his body was still producing tears. Almost as if it were instinct, more and more hot, burning tears stung at his eyes and leaked down his cheeks like a broken faucet.

Something in his chest felt hollow. It felt cold and felt as if nothing was even there. Like someone could blow at his back and it would go right through him. Dean was gone which raised the question how the fuck was Sam supposed to move on. His entire life revolved around Dean. His big brother. His batman. His father, best-friend, bodyguard, relationship-helper, walking diary. Dean was the only person who could calm down Sam, so how the hell was he supposed to live without that? Dean was like a drug. Sam took daily dosages getting more and more comfortable with the feeling of security and love that even though Dean would never admit he shone, shined through. And just like that. They took the drugs away and now Sam was going through such withdrawals that his body was physically shaking and his head had officially turned off. He was done.

A few weeks later, in an attempt to clear his mind of things, John set himself and his youngest up for a case. They drove out of Maine and quickly down South towards Pennsylvania. Sam got chills just being in the same car as his father, and at least when Dean was there he could shotgun with him. Now it was the two men who constantly fought and no referee to pull the two apart when need be. Now it was just chaos and Sam honestly wanted nothing to do with it. He wanted nothing to do with his father, he wanted nothing to do with this stupid truck, he wanted nothing to do with this dumbass life and he certainly didn't want any part in this cursed family. It was clear that the Winchesters were just fucked. Mary was cooked alive on a ceiling, Dean was squashed like a pancake after flying off a damn cliff and Sam was pretty sure one of the two men who sat quietly in the car would be next.

John had found a case in which he believe vamps were taking girls and turning them. Girls ages varying from twelve to twenty-three going missing within the past two months and the only resemblance being their obsession of vampires. It was a fetch and John, if in the right state of mind, would've denied the case, but if he could get his throbbing head off of the whole Dean situation, even if that meant going on a phony case, then he'd do it.

He also came to the conclusion he really didn't want to associate with parents and their loss or dead children because he could envy them on such a level that it pained him so damn deeply his throat tightened. So, instead, he drove and drove and didn't stop until he was directly at what he thought was the vampirems best. No interrogation did the families and no fake ID badges. Simple in and out, kill the bastard a and move on.

Sam still was extremely oblivious to everything around him and it felt to him that hours passed like minutes. His father's words went in and out of his ears the entire ride there and he still couldn't pay too much attention to really anything as the majority of his focus was put on the fact there was no Dean. He was still trying to mentally glue back the pieces of himself that shattered like Baby's windows when he soon realized that John was placing a machete in his hands.

"We're goin' in. Keep quiet and whatever you do, don't do anythin' until the first kill."

Sam shook his head in order to keep the queasiness from gurgling up his throat and clouding his vision and nodded. He followed the man into the warehouse and soon enough was greeted with the metallic smell of blood and a bunch of hammocks hanging from the ceiling. Eight bodies, one for every hammock, occupied the majority of the room in the small warehouse, the other portion of it being corpses that had been sucked dry and some barely alive but sleeping girls that were obviously being fed on.

John hacked first, the vampire screaming out in pain as her head dropped from her neck. The others jolted awake, including some of the girls who were asleep, and they bared their fangs. Soon enough, two vamps went for John while two went for Sam, the other three heading elsewhere. There was screaming and chopping and the sound of heads hitting the ground, the sounds soon mixing together and messing with his hearing. He swung his arm, but his head began to spin as he stumbled backwards. He cut the female who bared her teeth, the male next to her lunging forward. Sam quickly dodged the attack but was knocked over when the female, who he had cut, shoved him over. The male who was on the ground due to tripping over his feet after missing Sam, quickly pinned the sixteen year old to the ground and smiled mischievously.

The female grinned over the male's shoulder, "He's definitely got the looks, and the youth. We could use someone like him in the nest. Seeing as the majority of us were chopped down," she shot an angered look at Sam who tugged against the male's grip.

"Go to Hell." Sam snapped, shaking profusely.

She clicked her tongue with a smirk, "Actually, we can't. We go to a little place called Purgatory, but you'll find all about that after Jason here turns ya." She laughed.

Sam growled and spat at the vamp, who's name was apparently Jason. Jason quickly removed his hands from Sam's wrists to wipe off the disgusting saliva when he doubled over in pain and grabbed his groin. Sam had kicked him where the sun don't shine and Jason was rolling on the ground, clutching his parts so tightly a small grin found its way to Sam's face. The female snapped, her menacing look vanishing and being replaced with a fury laced with frustrated one.

One of the males that was attacking John, hearing Jason's cry, quickly ran over to assist the female. Sam, being distracted, didn't see that the male had come over and was surprised to feel a fist connect with his face. The two men, one monster and the other not, began throwing punches left and right, feet swinging and fancy footwork to dodge blows being utilized extremely precisely. By the time Sam managed to his machete though and cut off the dick's head, the male had gotten tons of blows on him and he could feel his consciousness fading in and out.

The female who stood on the sidelines for a while as she watched the two go at it snarled seeing her friend beheaded. She leapt at Sam, her nails clawing at his face as he was pushed backwards into the wall. John's grunts were being heard over the snarls and whines from the vamps and girls as Sam tried desperately to get the bitch off of him. His head was hazy and fuzzy and it took every ounce of being in his body not to pass out right then and there. She caught him, her fingers tracing up his neck and wrapping around it as she gave a small squeeze. "You know, I was going to change ya. But now I'm thinking I could go for a little snack."

She extended her teeth, and when Sam let out a wail for help, she growled, "No one's going to save y-"

"Sammy!"

His mind clouded, the voice becoming nothing but a mere whisper as he slouched against her grip. The female turned, dropping the unconscious body of Sam Winchester to the ground and spinning around just in time to see the sliver glare of a machete come swinging down and decapitating her.

"Sammy, hey, hey, wake up!" He shook Sam's shoulders, his breathing catching in his throat as he moved the boy's head side to side for any markings. Sam's eyes fluttered slightly but remained closed, "Sam, come on. I got you, Sammy, just open your damn eyes," he growled, his voice coming out in pants of exhaustion and worry.

Sam's eyes opened slightly and were greeted with the sight of another pair staring back. It took a moment for his mind to adjust who they belonged to, he thought it may've been a vamp's, and shook his head softly, "D-De?" He whispered calling the man in front of him by the name he called him when they were children, "y-you-"

Dean clutched the sixteen year old close to his chest and shook his head, digging his head into the nape of Sam's neck and breathing in deeply, "Thank God, you're okay. Sammy, you should've called for help sooner!" Dean growled, pulling Sam away from him accusingly, only to ease almost immediately to see Sam crying, "Sammy?"

"Dean!" He cried, his arms shooting around Dean's neck and pulling his older brother to him. He pressed them together, not being able to get close enough, and absorbed his heat. God, he hadn't associated Dean with heat in weeks, unless you count him burning in the fire which in that case... Regardless, Sam held his brother tightly, squeezing so hard it worried Dean. Sam had too though. To make sure this was real. To make sure Dean was real and that this was his De, his batman, his best friend and his big brother. "I-I-" His breathing hitched as he began to cry harder into Dean's shoulder.

Dean held Sam's head to his shoulder with a hand to Sam's hair and his other arm looped around Sam's body as his younger brother's arms practically strangled him into placing his head on Sammy's shoulder. Sam's head buried into Dean's chest, something Sam hadn't done in what seemed like ions. Dean rubbed Sam's back as he tried to calm himself down, but more tears falling and falling.

Dean, alive and breathing with his pendant around his neck and cropped, sand-colored hair, was right in front of him. He couldn't stop himself from trying to regulate his breathing and ultimately begin to hyperventilate.

"I-I thought- y-you and B-Baby-"

"What about Baby?" Dean asked quickly, as if he was genuinely nervous, "What happened to her?" He quickly dismissed those questions with a wave of a hand, "Sammy, why are you cry-"

Sam's bottom lip quivered as he pulled away slightly from Dean and let his tears roll down his cheeks, "You st-stormed out ," He cut in, ignoring Dean's last question, "a-and g-got into a ca-car accident an-and died a-and- and-" Sam began to cry again, his throat burning and nose beginning to run. His head began to pound once more due to the beating he received and also based on the amount of emotional distress being thrown onto his shoulders.

"Sammy, I'm right here. Breathe, baby brother, breathe. I got you, I always got you, remember?" He rocked Sam slightly like he did when Sam was a toddler and was hysterical, the way he was now, "There ain't no me if there ain't no you, okay, so I'm not leaving." He cooed softly, his voice low and gentle as he hugged his brother tighter, Sam's arms squeezing as tightly as they could, "I'm right here, Sammy."

"B-But," Sam coughed, him turning into an emotional wreck that was choking on his own sobs, "y-you di-ed! I-I wa-watched y-you b-burn, D-De!" Sam protested, his words barely coming out in audible sentences.

"Sammy," Dean replied softly, pushing his brother away gently, "you fell asleep in the car on the way here. We just came from a hunt in Maine, remember? You were exhausted and have been asleep for a good sixteen hours..." He reached out and wiped some of Sam's shaggy hair from his forehead smiling lightly, "We're in Pennsylvania, for that vamp nest I told you about right before you passed out. We just got here and you woke up. Bobby had already told us the location of the nest, so we came straight to the nest. I told Dad to keep you in the damn car cuz' I knew you'd be too tired to fight..." Dean's eyes flashed with anger for a second before he sighed deeply with frustration, "The old man never listens, and by the time I had grabbed my machete he was leading you in the nest."

"B-But," He wheezed, what Dean said to be a dream seeming all too real, "yo-you di-died Dean! I-I saw you-your bod-body and ev-everything!"

Dean pulled his brother back into his arms and closed his eyes tightly, "Sammy, I'm right here. I've always been right here, and I ain't going anywhere, okay? You're stuck with me."

Sam cried harder nodding into his brother's shoulder and squeezing his neck, so, so glad it wasn't real, "Ok-Okay."

Dean nodded gently, his breathing easing as his brother calmed down and was soon actually asleep in his arms. He couldn't pick Sammy up anymore, so instead he kept Sam where he was, his body practically curled into his older brother, "I got you, Sammy." Dean whispered gently, even though Sam wouldn't wake up or hear him considering he was a heavy sleeper. "Always."