I know I posted two smut fics in one day and all you lovely people are all so happy.

That's why I'm about to post this. Written to Deconstructing Gods by Blaqk Audio.

His brother had died more than once. Each time, he had come back. So why did it hurt so much worse this time?

Dean knew the answer, even if he didn't want to. It was because this time, Sam wasn't coming back. He could feel it.

It had been a week. A week since the last hunt. Since Dean had yelled, "Watch out!" Since Sam hadn't turned fast enough. Since he had watched the blade slide into his brother's stomach. It had been a week since Dean had held his baby brother and watched the light leave his eyes. He sat there for hours, holding the body that had once been his brother. Now it was nothing. He had lost his only constant. His family. Sam had been the last one. Now he had no one. He was truly alone. It hurt so bad he honestly wasn't sure how he was still alive. It felt like someone had down his heart out and poured acid into his chest. Death would be a relief. He wished for death with every passing second.

A week of laying on a motel bed, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. A week of no food, because nothing would stay down. Not that he had an appetite anyway. A week of being as drunk as he could get. He gave up on beer and moved to hard liquor, but he never could get drunk enough to forget Sam's face as he died. A week of being alone with his thoughts. A week of realizing that no one calling meant no one cared, no one cared that Sammy was dead, that Dean was alone, that nothing was worth it anymore. A week of making plans and going over every detail in his mind.

It had been the longest week of his life. Even Hell's version of time was nothing compared to this. Every second was an hour, every minute was a year, time filled with nothing but burning agony. Sam was the only reason he kept going. The only reason he stayed strong. And that reason was gone.

He had known the moment the life had left Sam's body that it wouldn't be long before he followed. Walking to the bathroom took more effort than anything in his life. He slid down against the wall, knife in hand. He wasn't crying. There was no reason to cry. The pain would be gone soon.

There was no hesitation as he placed the knife against his wrist and pressed down. One draw of the blade and blood ran down his arm. Here he was, committing suicide in a crappy motel room. How pathetic. It almost made him smile. He dragged the knife along his other wrist. Blood flowed down his arms as he watched his life slip away. Thank god the whole life flashing before your eyes thing was a lie. He didn't want to see his miserable life again. His shirt and boxers were wet with blood, and his vision was growing dark around the edges. The agony was slowly leaving him as Sam appeared in the bathroom.

"Sammy?"

His brother smiled sadly. "Wasn't excepting to see you so soon."

"I couldn't do it, Sammy."

"I know." Sam held out his hand. "C'mon, let's go."

"Go where?" Dean looked at him in confusion.

Sam smiled at him. "Home. Come on. Mom and Dad are waiting."

Dean took his brothers hand and pulled himself to his feet. The bloodstained motel bathroom was almost gone. He took a breath and followed his little brother away from the land of the living.