Keep Me In Your Memory

Disclaimer: Don't own anything Supernatural except what I bought on merchandise sites. I also have no part of Linkin Park or their songs, one of which is used here.

A/N: This is my first fic ever and I don't claim to be a writer in any sense, so any mistakes are a result of the Canadian educational system and the very early morning hour. If you'd like to review I'd appreciate it, but I lurk too, so I understand :)

Bobby lurched into the foyez of the the nice suburban house where he'd heard the tortured screaming of both Sam and Dean, only to find that he wished he could still hear the screams.

Sam knelt on the flooring quietly keening over his brothers empty body. Ruby's possibly just as empty host laying prone on the floor next to them, like a puppet's strings suddenly cut, deadened orbs strangely looking on to the brothers plight. Bobby broke from the statue he'd made of himself and came up behind Sam, kneeling carefully as to not startle him. Hesitating, his hands just an inch from reaching Sam's shoulders, he closed his eyes against the sudden burn in his eyes, biting his lip to keep the tears at bay for just a moment longer. He had to them all out of here. Sam's shoulders shook beneath his palms, but otherwise didn't react to the warmth.

"Son, we gotta get out of here," Bobby gently said.

"Bobby...Dean..." Sam's broken attemps at speech tore at Bobby's heart.

"I know, son, we won't leave him behind. But we hafta go. I don't think any demons are left outside, but we can't risk this family anymore. Better us-" Sam whipped his head around, eyes flashing cold.

"Better us?! Than them?" he hissed. Sam clutched at Dean's body, trying to get it a little closer still, to keep its warmth.

"Damnit, Sam, don't be so friggin' literal! You know I don't mean it that way, but your brother wouldn't want anymore people hurt! Isn't that what your daddy spent all that time teaching you?! What Dean taught you? We are getting out of here, now."

Sam's face crumbled for only a moment, he swallowed and with a voice still thick with emotion, said, "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Help me, Bobby." Bobby helped Sam bring Dean to his feet, so that Sam could heft Dean into his arms. Bobby opened the front door and watched Sam start to carry his brother to the Impala, no demon in sight.

Sam walked on, not even noticing the weight of his brother. Bobby brought up the rear after a moment of ensuring that the house's occupants were okay. Traumatized, but okay.

Just one foot in front of the other, Sam thought. I've got to stop having birthdays. Birthday's suck big time. Big effing happy birthday to me. Sam shook his head to clear it, frustrated with his thinking. He lived without Dean before in the Trickster's reality, he needed to draw on whatever he had found then, if just for a little while...until he got Dean back. He promised Dean no deals. That was fine with Sam. He wasn't going to offer any.

Bobby and Sam wrapped a blanket around Dean, as if he were only cold and tucked him on the back bench of the Impala. Dean asked Sam to take care of his wheels, that meant even from his own body's life blood dripping on the leather upolstry. They drove awhile, Bobby leading in his car, to an abandoned house that Sam didn't question him about outside of town. The kind of place that everyone in town has no idea is right there but knows a story about a friend of a friend of a friend who saw this thing this one time in this spooky place out by the Girl Guide camp ground and was never seen again. The kind of place that Sam woke up in one year ago really, really confused.

They brought in what supplies were in the car, and a few that Bobby thought that Sam may need from his own. Bobby shook his head. The brothers were so different. One seemingly lighthearted, one weighted by thought. One went to school, one went to the school of rock. Taller, shorter. Brunette, blond. Brash, cautious. Light, dark. Good- He stopped that thought right there. There would be no stepping into a stream of conscienceness Freudian slip in his brain. No, sir. He watched Sam mirror his brother's actions a year ago, when the positions were reversed, laying Dean on what could loosely be called a mattress and pulling a chair close to fall in. His back bowed forward and Sam coolly steepled his fingers, resting his chin on his index fingers. Bobby's brows drew together, concerned at Sam's deveation from the re-enactment of last year's events.

"Sam, I should, uh, go get a few things if we're gonna hole up here for a few hours. I'll be back in a flash," Bobby paused by the door, half turning back. "Unless you want me to stay?"

Sam said nothing. It took all of his considerable mental strength to hold together the indifference that his memory recognized from the Trickster's reality. The determined logic that if he just could start a plan, he could just think about that and he wouldn't have to think that Dean's corpse- his body- the human vessel...Sam didn't even hear the door close and Bobby's car pull away. He didn't even hear the deep growl under his breathing, distracted as he was by trying to not think of Dean's soulless body in front of him as Dean's soulless, unanimated corpse, until the raging, primal, gut-wrenching, head splitting, howling scream tore from his throat in a fit of tear streaked, red-faced agony. He swept his arms wide knocking down anything in his path, ripping his knuckles to dripping shreads against the decaying wood of the house, putting holes into doors and walls, shoving over anything, destroying everything that he could because the one thing he wanted to destroy he couldn't and the emptiness in his soul felt so deep he couldn't remember anything good, anything happy or joyous about his life.

And that's when Sam Winchester suddenly stopped, and collapsed to the ground in a messy tangle of long legs, his body mirroring that of his brothers not inches away.

Sam drifted. He thought he heard music and recognized the tune, but it faded in and out like dreams do before he could get a real grip on it. Like a movie he and Dean had seen once, a screen came to him from far off and came closer. He felt strangely detached from the images that he was seeing in front of him. He focused his attention immediately when Dean appeared looking as he did when he was much younger, not even a teenager, laughing happily as he ground Sam's face into the carpet of the run down motel room.

"Dean, quit it!" Sam's voice was muffled.

"Make me, Short-stuff," Dean gleefully retorted. For a moment, Sam stilled, then blasted out a blind attack sending out a fist into Dean's stomach. Whipping up his arms, he broke his brother's hold on him and rolled, kicking out his legs before Dean could rebalance. When Dean blinked again he saw Sam sitting on his chest looking satisfied.

"Not bad, Sammy," Dean was slightly surprised. That wasn't in Sam's usual repetoire of flailing elbows and knees.

"Saw you do it, I didn't know if it would work," Sam revealed. "That was cool."

Dean's eyes widened. "You learned that from watching me and Dad?"

Sam's pride faltered for a second. "Yeah...was that bad? I know you guys don't want me around when you're doing that stuff, but, Dean, I wanted to see what you and Dad were doing. You were wrestling, it looked like fun. Is Dad showing you that stuff so you can be a superhero like him?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Cause I want to be like you, Dean. I could be your side kick, like Batman and Robin!"

"Well, you're already a pain in my ass, and you get into trouble like Robin. I guess I could show you a few things, you're so easy to bring down its not even funny."

"Cool!" And then Sammy found himself facedown again.

"Try it again, Squirt," Dean said smuggly.

Sam the onlooker, remembered that. He always remembered that when he and Dean sparred, when he'd asked for the training to begin. He'd asked for it. He sometimes wondered what life would have been like if he'd hadn't. Like when Dad rode him so hard over the training, telling him if Dean could do it then he should be able to as well. 10 miles to run. Bullseye the blade target. Shoot the center of mass, make the kill shot, even in the dark. Incapacitate, decapitate, congegate, salt, burn, listen, research, follow - don't deviate. He did it all for Dean, to make him proud and he did it well. In Dean's words, he did it awesome.

That was never the problem. Ever. The problem is that Sam saw things. In the research of a hunt, in the theories of Sun Tao, strategies, incantations, life. He saw other ways for things to be done and other paths to follow. Contradicted his father at the not right times, even when Dad was right, just to make him listen. Lots of angry words, leaving for college. See how well that turned out...Sam's pallor returned as he thought about his empty body passed out, next to his brothers. Damnit, Dean...

The tune hovering at the edge cleared the fog and a lyric came to him; "..when you're feeling empty.."

Empty. Empty. Resenting his life...Dean...

And don't resent me

And when you're feeling empty

Keep me in your memory

Leave out all the rest. Leave out all the rest.

He now knew that Dad had spoken with Dean. Dean had given the full play back a while ago. Dad had told him things that a dad should tell their son all the time. Things that there just hadn't been time to tell Sam. Dean had wondered why suddenly Sam had turned back into the 8 year old that wanted to fight and do what his father wanted. Sam had gone through his Dad's cell phone, the one he'd had on him when he died. As soon as he'd gotten the impossible password decoded, the phone had been set to play mp3's with a song already highlighted and playing when he brought it up to his ear.

I dreamed I was missing

You were so scared

But no one would listen

'Cause no one else cared

After my dreaming

I woke with this fear

What am I leaving

When I'm done here

So if you're asking me

I want your to know

When my time comes

Forget the wrong that I've done

Help me leave behind some

Reasons to be missed

And don't resent me

And when you're feeling empty

Keep me in you memory

Leave out all the rest. Leave out all the rest.

Don't be afraid

I've taken my beating

I've shared what I made

I'm strong on the surface

Not all the way through

I've never been perfect

But neither have you

So if you're asking me

I want you to know

When my time comes

Forget the wrong that I've done

Help me leave behind some

Reasons to be missed

And don't resent me

And when you're feeling empty

Keep me in your memory

Leave out all the rest. Leave out all the rest.

Forgetting all the hurt inside

You've learned to hide so well

Pretending someone else can come

And save me from myself

I can't be who you are

And then the phone went to the voicemails and there was Ellen telling Dad that she could help. He had stood stock still for what seemed like hours running the song in his head. Letting it permiate him like the blood in his veins, filling himself up. He'd given a small smile to himself and went to go and find Dean.

Here, he let it fill him up again. Needed it to fill him up again. Wanted it to.

Sitting on Dad's knee, looking up at him and catching the rare smile. The hugs though far in between, were strong, steady, full of relief and desperation all at once. The three of them caught a ball game once. Sam was even sure that he'd seen Dad out of the corner of his eye at one of his soccer games. All through his life, Sam looked back and saw it without the haze of anger or defiance, and saw so much more than he thought there had been. So much more love.

Thoughts came of Dean. Rocking him. Playing games. The high fives and secret handshakes. The very few, very quiety whispered stories of Mom, told hushed like she might be there listening. Sneaking into movies, training with eachother. Hanging out, laughing. Driving in the Impala, singing. It was easier with Dean. He didn't resent him at all. He couldn't. He was who he was because of Dean. And Dad.

Sam came awake all at once, blinking at the sight of his brother's body. He stood calmly and looked around. Bobby had left a couple gallons of water, probably blessed, just inside the door. Sam picked them up and found a cloth and went over to Dean and cleaned him up as best he could. The wounds on Dean were messy and numerous and the one on his shoulder deep, but nothing that couldn't be sutchered, stitched, wrapped or taped.

When he'd finished redressing Dean, he sat down beside him and layed his hand on his brother's chest, the pendant he'd given Dean when he was eight was still warm.

Remember what Dad taught you, what I taught you...

The demon hissed in the Devil's Trap, holy water running down like acid across its chest. The man's body and soul might be saved, Sam couldn't see anything damaging to the body. Research books piled the table in the room, Dad's journal somewhere in the mix. Sam had been busy, he was on a deadline, pardon the pun. He leaned down and looked, mearly looked, into the demon's black eyes. The demon saw something intangible there. Whether it was what stopped Lillith or not he didn't know, but they all knew that there was something to be afraid from the remaining Winchester now.

"I have a few questions. And you're going to tell me the answers."

The End.