Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

          Dean shouldn't have been there alone. He shouldn't be working alone at all, but he certainly shouldn't have been on this hunt alone. John told him to handle it, it was supposed to be a simple werewolf case. It wasn't supposed to be a pair of them, and he wasn't supposed to find out there was a second by getting jumped after dropping the first one. He'd been careful, he'd done his research, all signs pointed to the usual solo acts. He'd only been able to get enough silver for two bullets, so he only had one to spare, but luckily, he was a helluva shot. It only took one shot to take down the wolf, and after he took the time to make sure it wasn't moving, he turned back to get back to Baby to grab disposal supplies when he heard a furious howl at the same moment pain bloomed across his chest and stomach. He felt the heavy weight of the second wolf land on him as his back hit the ground and he fumbled with his gun, bringing it up and managing to get the second shot off even as it clawed him again.

          He lay dazed under the weight of it for a moment before he shoved it off, looking down to try and assess the damage. He felt ice flood his veins even as he had to fight not to be sick at the sight, and knew he'd be lucky to make it back to the Impala, but he definitely wasn't making it out of this alive. Maybe if he'd had a partner, maybe if he'd refused to take the hunt on solo, but he was alone, no one here to save his ass.

          With shaking hands he dug his phone out of his shredded pocket and then tries to haul himself up. He'd be damned if he died out in the woods where no one would find him. If he was going to die, he needed to make sure they knew he was dead, so Sammy, even if he wanted nothing to do with Dean anymore, could have closure, and inherit Dean's meager belongings. And Baby. Baby was the only real home either of them ever had, and Sam had a right to it. He'd written out a makeshift will in the glove compartment, but if they didn't know he was dead, it wouldn't count.

          He dialed with trembling fingers, and raised his phone to his ear as he stumbled, tree to tree, leaning on them when he could and using his free hand to hold his insides in place. He heard John's voice, and for a split second he felt relieved that he wouldn't die completely alone, before he realized it was just his voicemail, and he couldn't stop the tears that welled up when it beeped. His back hit a tree roughly, using it to hold himself up as he left a final message for his dad. "D-Dad… There… there was two. I'm not… I'm sorry Dad… I'm not making it out of this. I-I love you. I'm sorry I let you down."

          He ended the call and dialed another number. He knew Sam's class schedule, knew he'd be finishing up his last class given it was about 9 pm there and wouldn't answer his phone, and even if he wasn't in class, it was a toss up as to whether or not he'd answer anyway if he knew it was Dean. While it rang he stumbled forward a few more steps, planning how to say goodbye to the little brother he'd raised, the little brother he was never going to see again. He was nearly back to the Impala now, and he stopped against another tree as Sam's voicemail message played. "Sammy, It's.. it's me. I uh… I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry. And I love you… and… And I'm so… so proud of you. I-I'm glad… glad you're happy… and.. And free of…hunting. I shoulda… I shoulda told you before… Shoulda… done a lot of things… but it's too late… G'bye Sammy…"

          It was getting harder to breathe, harder to move, black spots swimming in his vision, but he could see the Impala now. He kept stumbling forward as he dialled one last number, one last person to say goodbye. The one person he knew would answer. The call was picked up on the first ring, and Dean felt relief when that familiar gruff voice came through the phone. "Dean? What's the matter? Need some research? Or need a place to tune up your car?"

          Dean tried not to sob as he finally reached the Impala, falling against it and sinking to the ground. He was struggling to talk now, but he had to, he had to say goodbye to Bobby, had to let him know everything he never said. "B-Bobby… I… I made a mistake… I don- I don't want to die."

          He could almost feel the change and Bobby's voice was gentler and very worried, though he tried to be reassuring when he replied. "It's ok Son, mistakes happen. You ain't gonna die, you hear me? We can get you help, you got pressure on the wound?"

          Dean couldn't help but gasp out a laugh that sent a fresh wave of pain lancing through him, and reminded him how hard it was to get air. His head dropped back against the passenger door with a small 'thunk'. "Enough… to hold… my guts in… made it to… the car. I… finished… the job."

          He knew the moment Bobby understood from the strangled noise he let out and the 'Balls' that came out in a broken voice. "Oh Dean… Son, where- where are you? I'll… I'll come. I'll handle everything."

          Dean is fighting to keep talking now, but he had to, he had more to say, and he hadn't said goodbye. "Dad…knows… Bobby, I… needed to tell you… I…I always thought… of you like… a dad… wished you were… for real… I-I wanted to… to retire and… work with you… I-I'm sorry… so sorry…"

          Bobby's voice is quieter, softer, and Dean knew that Bobby was choosing to talk him through his last moments, to not let him die completely alone. "I always thought of you as my boy, Dean. I wish you were mine, and I wish you had a better life. I'm proud of the man you became, and I woulda been honored to hire you on, both at the salvage yard, and in the huntin' business."

          Dean looked up at the sky trying to understand why the night was growing darker when there had been enough moonlight to see earlier. The pain didn't bother him anymore, hadn't since he reached the car, and he, like every cliche out there, was freezing, and dimly knew it was from blood loss. He felt like he wasn't getting any air when he tried to breathe in, and when he tried to talk back to Bobby, all he managed was some rough noises. He heard a distant noise that sounded like crying, and then had the fuzzy realization that it was Bobby. Bobby was crying. Dean didn't deserve that. He tried to tell him that, tried to apologize for dying on him, for making Bobby suffer his last moments, but he couldn't manage more than the horrible sound of him fighting for just one more breath, and Bobby shushed him gently. "Easy Dean, it's alright. You don't hafta fight anymore Son. It's ok, it's over."

          With Bobby's blessing, under his gentle reassurance and comfort, Dean Winchester stopped breathing, the world faded out, and he never heard the man who was a better father to him than the one who shared his blood breakdown into helpless sobs. Didn't hear Bobby call his name a few times before he accepted the lack of response as the final sign that Dean was well and truly gone, didn't hear him force himself to end the call so he could start getting everything in order.

          Not long after his world went dark, he opened his eyes again, not to Heaven, not to Hell, but to the same woods he'd been staring down as he bled out. In confusion, he got to his feet, turning around to see what's going on, then looking down to see if he was better. What he saw instead was his own mangled body at his feet and before he could process that, a gentle voice spoke behind him. "It's time to go, Dean. You can't stay here."

          He turned back around and saw a gorgeous young woman with a kind smile holding her hand out to him. Instinctively, he knew what she was. A reaper, come to bring him to the next part. Her voice stayed soft, her hand still offered out as she continued. "This is a bit of a surprise, I know, but your time is up Dean. Come with me."

          Dean stares at the offered hand and starts to reach out to accept it. Dean had been tired for a long time, and he wasn't holding on for much. Death was almost a relief, and the reaper was making it easier for him. He pauses in his reach when he hears a buzz, looking down to see the phone in his limp hand lit up with an incoming call. It was Sam's name on the screen.

          He jerked his hand back, trying desperately to grab for his phone, just wanting to hear Sam's voice one last time, no matter how futile he knew his efforts were. The call rang out to voicemail, and then it buzzed again. And then again. John this time. He looked back at the reaper as the two men he hadn't gotten to speak to frantically blew up his phone, and felt a tear run down his cheek. "I just… I want to see Sam, one last time. I need to make sure he's ok, that… That he and Dad don't fight over whatever passes for my grave. That my will is followed… please?"

          The reaper looks at him and hesitates, before slowly lowering her hand. "We don't do this often, but… I don't think I could get you to go without allowing it, and we want to avoid a restless spirit situation… I can allow you to stay until your funeral rites are completed. When you are either placed in the ground, or have completely become ash, I will come back to take you."

          Dean nods slowly. "I understand, thank you. That's all I wanted."

          The reaper nods a little. "I'll check in on you when I can, until your rites, you will be tied to your body, where it goes, you go, though you should be able to have some range."

          Dean looks down again, watching as the calls from John cut off abruptly, knowing Bobby had to have called him, and then looks up and nods. "Understood."

          The reaper disappears, and then Dean is alone, watching as his phone rings a few more times with frantic calls from Sam before they abruptly cut off. Bobby or Dad would have called him then. He couldn't bear to look at himself anymore, so he sat on the hood, lacing his fingers behind his head and laid back to watch the sky. It was midnight here in Virginia, and Bobby would have nearly a full day's drive ahead of him, or a very short, pricey flight. He had no idea where John was at this point, so it would be a toss up on who got to him first. He watched the sky slowly lighten over the next few hours, the sun rising lazily before he heard another car coming down the nearly empty road he was pulled over on.

          Dean heard the car slow, and knew he'd been spotted, getting up and coming around to see a state trooper pulling over behind the Impala and getting out to look around, clearly thinking there was an impaired or distressed driver. He saw the poor man find his mutilated body and jump back in horror before racing back to his car for his radio. It wasn't how Dean expected to be found, but he guessed things were in motion now.

Chapter Text

          When Bobby saw Dean's name flash on his screen, he expected Dean to need a hand, or a bed to crash in. Ever since Sam lit on out of there and off to school, Dean hadn't been fully himself, quieter and tired, and Bobby had taken the chance to pull the young man under his wing, to give him a soft place to land when he needed it. And every time Dean stayed with him, he thrived. He'd let himself start believing that maybe he'd get the boy to settle down and take a job with him so he could fix all that so-called parenting John had handed out. But when Dean answered him, he sounded rough. Terrified and in agony. Near about sobbed that he didn't want to die.

          Bobby spent that call in numb shock, talking his boy through his death, too fearful to hear those last moments, but knowing his boy deserved better than Bobby letting him die completely alone without even a familiar voice in his ear to ease the passing. So he forced himself to toughen up, shoved the pain as far to the side as he could and offered soothing comforts and reassurances until he couldn't hear that ragged, gasping, sucking noise that had to be lungs that were ripped open trying desperately to keep going. When the silence dragged on longer than it had any other time he'd thought Dean had stopped breathing, he broke, just couldn't hold back anymore and he sobbed, calling his name, and getting nothing but silence in return. It felt like his hand was frozen, locked around his phone, but eventually he forced himself to press the button and end the call. He had work to do, and it started with making sure that ass John knew, and finding a gentle way to break it to Sam.

          He called John first, because from what he could make out, John knew where the hell Dean was. The first couple tries, all he got was a busy signal, and he figured John was finally trying to reach out to Dean. Well, too little too late. On the third try, it actually started ringing, only for John to pick it up before it completed one full ring, tone harsh and demanding. "Bobby? Have you talked to Dean? I got a message and he sounded bad, and now he's not picking up. Do yo-"

          "He's dead, John." The abruptness of the words, and bluntness of his tone was probably uncalled for, but, well, Bobby and John had never gotten along, and Bobby wasn't feeling the most forgiving right now. John's voice seemed impossible small when he finally replied.

          "Dead? Bobby, I don't… I don't understand. What do you mean he's dead?" Bobby shook his head and tried to take some of the harshness out of his tone.

          "You said you got a message? Well, when he couldn't reach you, he called me. Poor boy was probably hurting and terrified and just didn't want to be alone. Told me he di-..." Bobby had to pause and collect himself, muscling through the rest, even as the tears kept coming. "Told me he didn't want to die. Told him to keep pressure, and he said he was, but only enough to hold everything in. Kept trying to talk but he could barely make noise, so I… I talked to him until he didn't make another sound. He's gone, John.

          John let out a broken wail, trying to deny the truth, but Bobby refused to let him, forced him to accept that Dean died, alone, on a hunt John sent him on, forced him to give up the location, and then he nodded, promising he'd fly down, borrow a friend in the area's tow truck, and bring the Impala back to the salvage yard for them to handle, help John pack up Dean's motel room, and make arrangements to have his body released for a proper send off. He didn't feel any better when he finally hung up with John, but he at least had a task to do. While he dropped into his computer chair to arrange a last minute flight, he dialled a number he'd left alone for well over a year out of respect, waiting through another round of busy signals until his call finally went through.

          "Bobby? Bobby, Dean called me, he sounded bad. He's not answering! He always answers!" Sam Winchester's frantic voice came over the line and Bobby felt another stabbing pain at the thought that in his last moments, Dean reached out to his little brother, and didn't get through. His voice was far more gentle, kinder, and sadder than when he spoke with John.

          "Sam, Sam, I need you to listen to me. Your Dad, he… he sent Dean on a solo hunt. Something went wrong and… he's gone Sam. Dean is dead."

          "What? NO! NO! He can't be dead! Bobby, it's DEAN, he can't… he can't be gone…" Sam's voice broke on a sob, and Bobby heard someone in the background, a girl, saying something in a soothing tone. Bobby took a breath. 

          "I know, Sam, I do. But he's gone. I was on the phone with him for those last breaths, he wasn't alone, but he's gone. I'm buying you a ticket, get on the plane, don't even bother packing, and we should meet at the airport, and we'll go together to- to pick him up and make his final arrangements with John. Email still the same?" At Sam's dazed confirmation, Bobby sent him the ticket details to print out, and promised to see him at the airport in Virginia.

          John's phone rang a few hours after he missed Dean's call and after he'd finally gotten off the phone with Bobby,with an unknown number. He wasn't a foolish man, he knew what the call was. Dean had been found, they'd checked his phone, and now he was being asked to come and identify his son's body. He picked up the phone with a quiet greeting. "This is John Winchester."

          "Hello, Mr. Winchester. I'm Officer Keys from Appomattox, Va. I was giving you a call beca-" The overly gentle tone felt like sandpaper on John's raw nerves, and he cut the man off.

          "I know why you're calling. My son called me after he was attacked by an animal. I got on the road as soon as he told me. I know… I know it was bad. From your call, I can assume he didn't make it?" The officer was surprised at the flat tone of his voice, but recovered quickly. 

          "Y-Yes Sir. This number was listed as 'Dad' in the contact list of the phone we recovered from the body." John nods a little bit

          "I understand. Tell me where to go, and I should be there in half an hour. He was pulled over on a drive when it happened, did you recover his car?" He heard the officer rustling papers as he checked everything before they confirmed the Impala was sitting in an impound lot, it hadn't been processed as it was clearly an animal attack, and the body hadn't been in it, and John relaxed slightly. At least Dean hadn't screwed up badly enough to expose the arsenal in the trunk. He got the location of the morgue and hung up, pressing his foot harder to the gas. If he knew Bobby, he'd try and arrange for Sam to come, and after what he'd just learned about his younger son, he couldn't risk this kind of emotional outburst being the trigger for what the demon had done to him. He needed to put Dean to rest before Sam saw him, and then Bobby and Sam could deal with cleaning up Dean's mess, and maybe he'd let Bobby keep the car for a price. Not like Dean would have had any kind of will, so ownership would revert back to him.

          When Sam got off the phone with Bobby, he just sat there for a long moment, completely numb and struggling to process what he'd just been told. He didn't know how long he sat there, staring off into space before Jess lightly put her hand on his shoulder, startling him out of it. "Sam? Are you ok? I heard you say that your brother, Dean, was-"

          Sam looked up at her, and then threw his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder for a moment before he took a shaky breath and stood, grabbing his laptop. "My brother's dead. Uncle Bobby sent me a ticket to go help make arrangements, have a funeral-" His voice broke. "Looks like my flight leaves in an hour."

          He grabbed his messenger bag and crammed his laptop and charger in, along with his phone, wallet, and a jacket after he printed his ticket. "Can you drive me to the airport? Please Jess, I-"
Jess stops him with another gentle hand on the shoulder. "Sam, of course I'll drive you. Get your shoes, and get in the car."

          Sam really had memory of the drive to the airport, boarding his flight, or actually flying, it was like his body did all of that, and his brain just shut off until he saw Bobby, looking exhausted and absolutely wrecked, waiting outside of the gate. He ran to Bobby, who caught him in a rough, crushing hug, like he needed to reassure himself that Sam at least was still alive. When they pulled apart, Sam just clung to Bobby, gripping at his shirt and Bobby's hands stayed on his shoulders. "It's almost an hour's drive, and we'll have to stop for food. John was nearby, he's going to beat us there, he'll tell us where to pick up the car, he'll take De-" Bobby's voice broke and Sam's hands tightened on his shirt. "He'll take Dean's body, get him in his truck if he can, and then we'll bring 'im home, boy. I got a buddy meeting us, he towed his usual ride here so we can use the tow truck to get the car outta wherever they put it. Blue hat, blue shirt, big old tow and salvage logo."

          Sam nods, relieved to have a task, something he can focus on, looking around wildly for a moment before he reluctantly uncurls his hands from Bobby's shirt, takes a breath, and slowly looks around again. He spots an older man matching the description looking around, and he nudges Bobby, pointing that way. Bobby confirms it's him, moving that way, hand firmly clamped on Sam's upper arm, not letting him move from Bobby's side. "Jimmy, thank god you made it. I'm sorry to ask it of you but-"

          Bobby gets cut off with a firm head shake. "Bobby, not only do I owe you one, but you're my friend, and this is about your family. Just worry about getting your boy and his car home and settled, and I'll come get it from the tow yard when you give me the details. It won't be a problem" 

          A set of keys is pressed into his hand, and the man, Jimmy, walked them out to where he'd parked, making sure they're settled, before he takes off in the other car, leaving them alone. They drove in silence for awhile before they stopped for food, Sam hesitating, before ordering a bacon cheeseburger, and trying not to burst into tears as he stared down at Dean's favorite food. Bobby patted his shoulder roughly, and Sam took a shaky breath. "I can't… Bobby, I can't do it. What if… I have to see him. I need to know there was no way we could have saved him if we just got here sooner."

          Bobby looked him over and nods slowly, eyeing Sam like he knew that he almost said, like he knew Sam thought for a moment that there could be a way to bring Dean back. "If you'd rather, I can tell John we'll meet him at the morgue together, make sure you get all of his effects first, let you see hi- him, maybe help take him out of there if you're up to it."

          Sam is quick to agree, and Bobby fishes out his phone to call John, taking the call outside. Sam watched him through the door, growing worried as he watched Bobby get angry able to tell by the end of the phone call that Bobby was shouting based on how he looked. When Bobby came storming back in, he gestures roughly for Sam to pack up, throwing down enough bills to cover the cost. "C'mon Son, we need to move fast before your damn fool father does something worse."

          Sam hurries to clean his mouth and follow after Bobby, asking what the hell he meant by that, but Bobby didn't answer until they were back in the truck when Bobby snarled as he turned it over, "John's got it in his thick skull that it's better all around if he went ahead and brought Dean somewhere private and burned him. He's getting supplies now, but if we hurry, we can stop him lighting the damn pyre until we actually get to say our goodbyes."

          The rest of the drive there, around a half hour, Bobby cursed the morgue for giving John the right just because he was in Dean's phone as his father, cursed John for thinking he knew better, and for thinking he had any right to decide how Dean should be sent to rest, until they pulled up to a secluded, forest lined field just as John tossed a match onto a haphazard pile of wood with a long cardboard box on it.

Chapter Text

          Sam doesn't stop to think, he sees the flare up of the obviously gasoline soaked pile, and he wrenches the door open before the truck is fully stopped, leaping out and racing over with a shout of denial. He aims for John, angry, hurt, distressed, and wanting to hurt him instead. Before he could grab John, Bobby caught him, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him back so he could swing, decking John in the face with all the force and momentum he could muster. "YOU STUPID SELF RIGHTEOUS BASTARD! HOW DARE YOU!"

          John went down hard, clutching his face as Bobby screamed at him, and carried on trying to beat the tar out of him, and Sam turned his attention to the half-assed pyre John had made for Dean, starting to try and put them out as tears welled up again. As he moved to reach through the flames to pull the box off the pile,he felt a sudden icy breeze and then all of a sudden the fire went entirely out. All three men froze, barely daring to breathe before they stared at the pile. It's silent and still for a long moment before a slightly charred piece of wood launches itself off the heap. 

          And then another.

          And another.

          Several more pieces follow suit, though they fall shorter and shorter each time like whatever is causing it is running out of steam. After a long moment of nothing flying, Sam glances around, cautiously asking, "Dean? A-Are you there? Was that you?"

          John had gotten to his feet after wood stopped flying and he rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid Sam, your brother knows better than to become one of the things we hun-"

          He's cut off by Sam's hand colliding with his face, the nose Bobby shattered offering no resistance and allowing Sam's blow to deal far more damage to the bones surrounding it. As John fell on his ass again, Sam felt something cold pass through him, like something tried to shove him back but couldn't touch him and he stopped short.

          Dean, unable to stomach the thought of possibly seeing his mangled body again, had taken to pacing the small morgue where he was being kept, watching people working, and staring at the front door, which was about as far as he could get for the moment. The reaper hadn't been kidding when she said he was tethered. The smell of morgues had always made his skin crawl, he hated seeing mutilated corpses, or autopsied corpses, or random organs, and if it weren't for his focus on seeing Sam again, he'd go insane at being forcibly locked in this building. Weirdly, he could tell that they'd cleaned him up, made him roughly presentable, but that they'd not felt the need to investigate his death. The sight of John's truck pulling into the parking lot was a relief to Dean, and he rushed as close to the door as he could.

          Despite knowing John couldn't see him, it hurt that John simply walked by him with no reaction, and up to the desk, trying to be charming as he asked about 'collecting his son's body'. The receptionist starts asking about funeral homes and options, and Dean watches John shake his head, and couldn't help a spike of hurt as he realized John had no intention of paying for Dean to be cremated properly. John explains that their religion dictated a natural burial in a family cemetery, no embalming, no casket, just a shroud. The receptionist kindly gives him the forms to fill out, letting him know that after he makes the identification, 'the body' would be released to him in a simple cardboard casket like they might use for cremation, to allow him to transport 'it' discretely and easily. The forms were turned back in and John was taken away, led to a little viewing room.

          Despite not wanting to see himself, Dean did want to see how John handled it, so he followed, settling so his back is to himself, and he was staring at John. He saw John's face tighten, and his jaw set when he took in the sight of his son's body, but not a sign of tears. A bit of pain, definite anger, but Dean couldn't tell if there was any regret or sorrow there. "That's him, that's my boy."

          The worker with him shakes their head slightly, and spoke in a tone that said they were a little too jaded and calloused from a job like this to be as sympathetic and kind as you should be in a job like this. "Sorry, Sir, protocol is for you to verbally identify him by name if you could?"

          John swallows, giving them a hard look. "That is Dean Winchester, my son. Is that good enough for you?"

          The worker marked something down on the forms clipped neatly to their clipboard, nodding and offering to step out if John needed a minute, but he shook his head. "I'd rather you get my son ready to be taken home. And if you can't get his clothes back on him, you could at least cover him decently so we can wrap him later."

          Dean felt a wave of anger wash over him at John's harsh callousness, it felt like energy welling up inside of him, making hims feel a little more awake and alive. The feeling didn't last long, Dean felt himself deflate a little as John strode out of the room to go bring the truck into position. A few moments later, John was handed a few papers and a sealed paper bag with everything in Dean's possession at the moment of his death, as a few men rolled a cart out with a long lidded box, sliding it off the cart and into the bed of the truck smoothly. Dean noticed there were already two gas cans in back, but no wood or anything else. After the men went back into the building, John's phone rang, and he sighed when he saw who it was, so Dean leaned in closer, paying attention to how the phone call went. He could only hear John's side of the conversation, but it was enough to hurt.

          "Bobby, you don't normally call. You held up or something? Cause I don't want to pay extra for the Impala to sit in impound." Bobby. Bobby was calling, was on his way here to say goodbye, and to take care of Baby.

          "Oh, you and Sam stopped for lunch? You could have just hit a drive through-"John cut off like he was interrupted, but Dean only focuses on the fact that apparently Sam was with Bobby.

          "What do you mean you decided to change the plan and meet at the morgue?" If Dean knew John, he knew John was irritated with Bobby over the change, though he was saved from wondering if John was going to simply wait in the parking lot with his body when John snapped, "Well it's a little late for that, I'm already here!" 

          "No, Bobby, actually, the plan is that Sam doesn't need to be subjected to the state Dean's in, so I'm collecting him now, and I'm going to handle it all myself," Dean froze, horror washing over him when he realized John intended to not allow Sam any real closure at all, and John, oblivious to his son's distress, carried on, getting angrier,"because he's my son, Bobby, not yours, and you don't get a say in what happens with his body!"

          "No, I'm taking him to the only secluded spot I know around here. You can bring Sam by after, just pick up the damn car, will ya?" Dean tries to grab John, to grab the phone, to tell Bobby to stop John, but passes right through him.

          "Former hunter down here named Jimmy Williams, I told him there was a couple dead werewolves the cops might sniff out, so he told me where to get rid of 'em, and I stopped by to set the fire on my way to pick up the body. I can give you his number, ask him where yourself." John rolls his eyes, like he thinks Bobby's being ridiculous as Dean watches in disbelief and frustration.

          "Oh, you already have it? Fine! He's working anyway, so he won't answer before I'm done, I'm sure." John sounded smug as he informed Bobby of this 'fact', and then snaps his phone shut, opening the door and tossing the phone in the center console as he muttered, "Self-important bastard."

          Dean found himself settling into the passenger seat of the truck as John tossed everything he'd been handed into the backseat and took off. John switched on some music, mostly the same songs Dean always had on in the Impala, the only way he felt like he was close to John most of the time, and Dean listened quietly for a good portion of the drive. Eventually, John pulled over at a construction site that seemed empty given it was Saturday now. Dean watched, somewhat in shock, as John stole a couple bags of gravel, scrap wood, and a stack of two by fours, loading them onto the bed of the truck, taking great care not to damage the truck, but not being as careful with Dean's box. He felt that same wave of energized anger as before wash over him, not noticing the contents of the cab of the truck, everything John'd had to remove from the bed to avoid raising suspicion, start rattling, though it passed just as quickly as it came, and Dean slumped tiredly against the seat. The rest of the drive was short, John taking them back to the forest where Dean was killed, pulling up to a clearing not too far from the road, meaning anyone driving by would see the smoke, but it seemed John didn't particularly care. There was the sooty remnants of another pyre smoking lightly on the other edge of the clearing, and from the bloody drag marks and the small container that, when Dean went over to investigate, held the remains of two silver bullets, Dean could only assume this is where John had cleaned up before anyone found the two werewolf bodies and tied them back to Dean.

          "You know, I know you hate spending money on us, but this is ridiculous." Dean knew his words were literally falling on deaf ears, but he carried on, needing to get it out as he watched John roughly heap wood over the gravel he poured out to keep the fire contained. "You won't even spend money to lay me to rest properly? I mean how much did that gas cost you, maybe twenty bucks? Or did you steal that too? Do I really mean that little to you that you won't even do this with some care?"

          That same energized rage started building, low for now, but it was growing, and Dean was so busy yelling at John he failed to notice the sound of an engine approaching until a tow truck burst into the clearing just as John lit the match and dropped it onto the pile. Dean felt like he'd just been sucker punched, grabbing his stomach and dropping to his knees for a moment, and when he looked up, he saw Sammy racing toward them. 

          They made it.

          He watched Bobby hold Sam back and punch John himself, screaming at him as he beat him into the dirt and started forcing himself back onto his feet. He took a few, labored steps toward Sam as he turned his attention to the half-assed pyre John had made, starting to try and put the flames out, and Dean could see tears shining in his eyes. That rage that had been building seemed suddenly to burst, and Dean barely registered the pain he was in, moving fast toward Sam. Sam was grabbing onto the cardboard box just as the corners seemed to be catching and Dean wanted the flames gone, not for his own sake, but because it was going to hurt Sam, and then they were. Dean stares at the pile in shock for a moment as all three living men in the room froze. Dean looked back at John cowering from Bobby, then at Sam, and then at what his own father had deemed good enough as a 'goodbye' and gave into the rage again, wishing he could throw the whole damn thing at John, make him hurt more than Bobby had, and a slightly charred piece of wood launches itself off the heap. 

          And then another.

          And another.

          After he starts, he can't stop for awhile, just launching everything he could at John, they fall shorter and shorter each time as he runs out of steam, the buzz of energy fading even though the rage is still there, burning. After a long moment of nothing flying, Sam glances around, cautiously asking, "Dean? A-Are you there? Was that you?"

          John had gotten to his feet after wood stopped flying and he rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid Sam, your brother knows better than to become one of the things we hun-"

          He's cut off by Sam's hand colliding with his face before Dean could even try and muster the energy to go after him again. After Sam's punch knocks John solidly onto his ass, Dean tries to shove him back, knowing if Sam loses his control now, he could kill John without hesitation, and knowing his brother would hate to be a murder, but he simply passed through Sam. Sam froze like he'd felt it and looked around again, locking eyes with Bobby for a moment.

          "Dean." Dean whirled around at the firm, but kind voice, finding the pretty reaper standing by the wood pile. She held her hand out again.

          "Dean, you need to go now." Dean shook his head quickly, taking a step back from her.

          "No, no, you promised. I'm not ash or buried, and Sam doesn't have anything I wanted him to have."

          "I'm sorry, Dean. I did promise, but I underestimated the amount of rage you've been holding back. If you stay much longer, you're going to turn into a vengeful spirit, one of the things you hunt. It's highly unusual for a soul who hasn't denied moving on to be able to do the things you've already managed." Dean stopped short in his slow retreat, a bit of fear washing over him, and he looked over at his family, then back to her. He looks at her outstretched hand, lifting his own up.