Dean eyed his mother warily, and Sam, Jess, and Carmen on his right. He loved them all, not wanting to leave them. Not wanting to leave. Period. Then his eyes shifted back to Sam, who was standing closest to him. Yeah, even Sam, although he was such a bitch here (really, really a bitch and not his usual term of endearment). Dean would still love Sam no matter what.
Suddenly he gasped as something flashed in his mind.
But what about Sam there? Will he be all right?
So, that was it. His intent was settled. He had to go back.
"Give me the knife, Dean," Sam said, startling Dean. "Don't do this. Don't you love your mom?"
Dean swallowed, tears brimming in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, very slowly, while he maneuvered the knifepoint in the direction of his stomach.
"Dean." Sam's voice was full of warning. "You don't wanna do this. This is real. Everything here is real. You're not gonna be awake there – wherever there is. You'll just get killed."
"No." Dean struggled to calm down. "Stay back. Don't try to… STAY BACK!"
But Sam was faster. And he was bigger and definitely stronger than the shaky older Winchester. In a split second Sam managed to grab and twist Dean's wrist and knock the knife off his brother's hand, before subduing Dean as he tried to steal it back from Sam, or tried to flee.
"Easy, easy," Sam whispered into Dean's ear as his brother squirmed in his arms. "You're gonna be fine, Dean, I promise."
"Let… go!" Dean grunted. "I'm f-fine, thank you. Now let go of me."
"No. Dean, you're not being yourself. You need help."
Dean growled, his eyes searching frantically around, only to be met by pity coming from his mother, Jess, and Carmen.
Sam kept his tight hold of his brother, gripping Dean's wrists against the man's chest that rose up and down as he breathed heavily.
"You drink, you don't have a decent job, hell, you even snaked my ATM card." Sam shook his head. "It's puzzling me that you didn't wish something for yourself, Dean. You asked for mom to be alive. You wished I was happy. But you never thought about you. Why didn't you want to be a successful businessman or a famous actor, for example?"
Dean froze. Why was Sam saying this to him? That would never even cross his mind. He missed his mother and he was often tortured by his own guilt after dragging Sam all over the country. He himself… he wanted nothing more than what he had become.
"Sam…"
"So, Dean," Sam tightened his clutch. "That's why exactly you need to stay. Why should you go back? Here you have your mom and a happy me. But it won't matter, will it, wherever you get to stay? Whether you'll be happy or not?"
A syringe suddenly appeared in Sam's hand, just like the way his mom, Jess, and Carmen showed up out of the blue in this deserted warehouse.
"What are you doing?" Dean choked. "Sammy?"
"You've never called me Sammy before, Dean," said Sam calmly, lifted the syringe, and jabbed it on the side of Dean's neck.
Dean's breath hitched and he stiffened for no more than two seconds before going utterly limp.
"A rubber room might be able to fix you, Dean," muttered Sam. He looked up and smiled sadly at his mother, Carmen, and his fiancée, who slowly advanced toward both of them.
