Damn it, Sam.

                                    

                                          
/\
Forgive me Father for I have sinned.
                          
Anyways, some sad shit.



                          
"Damn it, Dean, you're all I have left! You can't do this to us, don't quit now."
                          
"Leave me alone, Sam. I don't care right now. You shouldn't either."
                          
"I do, Dean. Please just get up, you're my brother and I love y-"
                          
"SAM! I SAID LEAVE ME ALONE! Jesus, do you need me to babysit you for one little hunt? Do you know how long I was on the road alone? Did you care about how I felt then? No! You shouldn't care now! " Dean's voice cracked and Sam heard another blade flick open.
                          
"Dean-!"
                          
"Go!"
                          
"I won't go until you do," Sam stubbornly replied.
                          
He wasn't expecting the gun shoved against his neck and his brother's green eyes turned grey glaring at him.
                          
"Go, or I put this bullet in you!"
                          
Sam's eyes shone with tears.
                          
"You gonna kill me Dean? Wrap everything up in one night?"
                          
He didn't see an ounce of hesitation in his brother, and when the pistol clicked a bullet into the chamber, Sam backed off.
                          
No point dying tonight. No way to save Dean if he died.
                          
And so Sam went, and that was how he ended up here, pressed against a wall by a demon intent on killing him.
                          
The angel blade rested against his stomach, and the black demon's eyes flicked away to reveal the almost yellow eyes of the girl the demon had.
                          
Sam stared at them in defiance. 
Surely he could escape this. This was no problem. 
                          
Until the blade was run through his stomach, not all the way, but enough that he would likely bleed out in ten minutes or so. At least, judging by the depth.
                          
Sam gasped, tears streaking down his cheeks as he held his wound. He slowly slid down the wall, the demon giggling and flitting away.
                          
Dean, I need... Dean...
                          
He was about to reach for his phone when it buzzed with his brother's ringtone. His pocket lit up.
                          
He smiled weakly as he picked up, but his thoughts returned to how he had left Dean.
                          
"Dean, are you alright!? Where are you!?" His voice was watery and strained, but his attempt to straighten it worked.
                          
"Sammy... Sammy I'm sorry..." Dean's cry perked Sam up and he immediately put his wounds behind him.
                          
"Where are you? Are you safe?"
                          
"I'm fine, I'm safe, Sam..." he whispered. 
                          
"Good, good. Okay."
                          
"Where are you? I'm coming!"
                          
"Dean, the demon escaped. There's nothing more here."
                          
"...You let it get away?"
                          
Sam cringed at the disappointed tone his brother had, although it was so slim and barely there.
                          
"Well, uh, it let itself get away."
His wound gave a particularly painful throb, and he bent over silently in pain.
                          
"Sammy?"
                          
"Dean, can I ask you something?" 
                          
"Yes, Sam." Dean sounded like an exhausted but amused mother somewhat. 
                          
"Do you remember that time we had a prank war?"
                          
Dean laughed at the randomness, and over the line Sam could tell he smiled. 
                          
"Yeah, I do. Why?"
                          
"And what about that time," Sam looked at the blood pooling on the concrete. "I super glued that beer bottle to your hand?"
                          
"Yes, Sam."
                          
"We should have a prank war someday again..."
                          
"Sammy, why the whole 'remember that?' speach? Where are you!?"
                          
"On my way... Just... Are you okay?"
                          
"No, but I'm not... psychotic. Anymore."
                          
There was a long pause, of blood and tears for Sam. His side hurt, but it was going kind of numb.
                          
One last question burned in his mind.
                          
"What would you have done if you'd pulled the trigger?"
                          
Dean thought. Hard 
"Realize what I'd done and kill myself slowly."
                          
Sam laughed, nervously, and started to drift.
                          
"Dee..."
                          
"Alright, enough silence, Sammy? Where are you?" 
But Sam didn't have the energy to do anything but sob a little. 
                          
SAMMY!?" He heard the phone screech, but his head was light and his will was low.
                          
"No... Dee..." And then Sammy drifted off to sleep.

                          
Dean drove to the location he tracked Sam's phone to, pushing Baby to nearly 90 miles an hour, before grabbing his pistol and stapling out of the Impala.
                          
Perhaps he's just knocked out, fell asleep from something. Surely, surely he's not...
                          
But Dean only stared, resigned, at Sam's pool of blood and limp carcass on the wall.
                          
The blade had long since removed and his brother was long gone.
                          
Dean didn't ...break. He was already broken, pieces of himself laying here and there inside him.
                          
This was disintegrating. Even the broken pieces that had threatened to kill Sam were no longer anything without him.
                          
Because broken or not Dean was there.
                          
Sam gone was taking away his last light. 
His baby brother, the one he had practically been another mom to.
                          
Dean didn't break as he cradled his dead baby brother in his freshly cut arms, Dean didn't break as he finally let himself wail into the night.
                          
Dean didn't break as he burned Sam all by himself.
                          
Dean didn't break when all this happened.
                          
It was when he was forced to see his gun pressed to Sam's head half an hour before he died, when he was forced to see the red at the edge of his vision, the tears in Sam's eyes as he told Dean to do it.
                          
In Dean's dreams sometimes Sam would smile psychoticly and whisper, "Do it. I dare you to do it. You have to do it."
                          
And as Dean tried to take the gun away it would still fire and he would watch his brother drop. 
                          
Sometimes he would watch his brother from his old spot on the wall, blood slipping from his eyes as he laughed in that soulless way he used to laugh.
                          
"The cracks just never stop spreading, do they Dean? If you had come with me I might be saved. We might have saved that poor girl. She was 14, Dean."

                          
Dean awoke in the Impala three weeks later to his brother sitting right next to him.
                          
His eyebrows came together in confusion and loss.
                          
Sam touched Dean's forehead, and smiled.
                          
"Damn it, Sammy." Dean whispered, and the phantom dissapeared. 
                          
______________________<_>___
K that was short and not very good but walla bada boom I was bored.
                          
See ya later!
                          
-Child of the Cranberries