A/N: Slight A/U. A oneshot inspired by 9x10, "Road Trip". This one is going to be a tearjerker, be forewarned! And as always, I don't own Supernatural. All credit goes to Kripke and co.

Let Me Go

I stare at my brother, the hurt, anger, sadness penetrating those soulful, hazel eyes, and I can feel my heart shatter, an intense pain piercing my lungs so that I can't breathe. I look calm, at least somewhat, determined, and Sam doesn't know that I am breaking inside. That this overwhelming grief, loss, despair, is threatening to overcome me, not to wash away any transgressions, but to swallow me, leaving to to float aimlessly until eventually I succumb to its fury. I know what I must do, God help me, and it tears me apart to do it, but I have to leave. Because I have failed. Everyone I have ever loved, cared about, was supposed to protect. They are all gone. I have failed.

"Come on, man. Can't you see? I'm... I'm poison, Sam." The words slip through my tongue, caustic, abrasive. And they are all true. "People get close to me, they get killed. Or worse. "You know, I tell myself that I- I... I help more people than I hurt. And I tell myself that I'm... I'm doing it all for the right reasons..." (And we all know what path was made from good intentions.)

I can feel that familiar lump forming beneath my throat as I tell my brother that it would be best I leave. I look up at him, pleading, and that selfish desire for him to stop me, tell me that I'm full of shit and of course he'll never leave, I'm his big brother, overwhelms me. To the point where my brother's next words stab like rusty blades, words almost as horrific as that simple "so?" in that abandoned church, the night the angels fell.

"Go. I'm not gonna stop you."

Just like that. I had hurt my brother so badly that he wants me to leave, likely never wants to even see me again. I long to beg him, plead his forgiveness, but I say nothing. Instead, as Castiel looks on, a look of hurt (and is that sadness?) on his face, I wordlessly turn and head back to the waiting Impala. But before I even reach the sleek car, I hear my brother's voice behind me.

"But don't go thinking that's the problem,cause it's not."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just go." Sam's voice seems defeated, and I can't bear to answer. So I continue to my waiting car, climb in. It hurts to leave him, but it's agony to think of how quickly, how assuredly, he'd let me go. As if I never mattered. Good. It's what you deserve. I don't look in the rear view, unable to even give one last look to my brother. Because if I do, I'll drop everything, forget any plans I have of redemption, and stay with my brother. And I can't. I won't. Sam deserves better.

With Sam and Castiel standing in the distance, I drive away.

XXX

I can't remember how long I've been driving. All I can see is that endless yellow line, the road leading me farther from my brother, my family, the one I had sworn to protect. Day soon fades into night, and I drive on, unwilling to stop for the night. Because to stop driving, to leave this car, to no longer hear the rumble of the engine and the vibrations in the steering wheel, would serve only to remind me of what has just happened. Driving calms me, always has from the moment I first slid behind the wheel. The hum of the motor and the whispers of the wind through open windows, the blast of heavy metal, even the rattle of those Legos in the heater, they soothe me. Distract me. Occasionally my gaze wanders to the empty passenger seat, and Impala or now, I nearly lose it. Sammy should be sitting there, complaining about my taste in music or pouring over some heavy tome in search of our next case. Instead I see an empty spot, and I nearly pull over to the shoulder, just lose my cool right there in the middle of fucking nowhere. But I don't. I just drive on.

I drive until finally exhaustion trumps my desire to avoid rest. I pull into an older motel, vacant save for a battered pick up parked at a room near the building's office. As I walk in, mechanically pay for the night, I feel like yet again I may lose control. By the time I accept the keys and park near my room (mercifully a little ways from the office and the guy who owns the pick-up) I feel like I want to scream, to vent my frustrations and sorrow and self-hatred on the poor man behind the counter. Instead I lock myself in the tiny room (god, it has only one bed. I can't remember the last time I've rented a single bed) and collapse on the rough mattress. It's hard, rough, the blankets worn and somewhat musty with misuse. But I don't care. I sit on the bed, head in my hands, willing myself to just let it go. But I can't. I pick up my Colt 1911, finger the cold metal in trembling hands. Think of how goddamned easy it would be to just end it all. Fuck, Sammy deserved better, after all.

But I can't. I can't just take the easy way out. With a sigh, put the weapon away, close my eyes. Only for a minute. Just need to rest them.

Instead I fall into a restless sleep. One haunted with dreams of my brother. Hurt, cold, alone.

XXX

My selfish desires almost get the best of me that first week. Every day, I pick up my phone, almost call my brother, beg him to let me come back. I tell myself that it's because he needs me, I need to protect him, we're family. But I can't deny the cold reality: that I miss him, need him. That every goddamned day without my kid brother at my side is Hell. Once I even succeeded in dialling the number, only to disconnect after a few rings. I can't do this to him. I can't. It isn't fair.

I go back to hunting Gadreel, using every ounce of energy to find the sonofabitch who stole my brother from me, stole him from himself. Sam blames himself for Kevin's death, but I know the truth. His blood is on my hands and mine alone. And if I can't protect my brother, the least I can do is pay my penance, to at least try to make it up to him. I will never really truly atone for my sins (...that ain't ever getting clean. I'll burn for that.) but I can at least try to do what is right.

And so, I hunt. I talk to Cas every now and then, just to get an update on how Sam is (because that is something I'll never stop, worrying about my baby brother) but for the most part, I remain secluded, outcast. I am making little progress on that sonofabitch's whereabouts; can't even find that douche Metatron. Days are spent at local libraries, researching, nights drowning my guilt with bottle after bottle of whiskey, tequila, pretty much anything I can get my hands on. I drink until finally I fall into an alcohol induced stupor. And every morning, I wake up,with the mother load of hangovers, and an emptiness I haven't felt since Dad died.

And it starts all over again.

XXX

Two weeks after leaving Sammy behind, it happens.

It turns out that Gadreel is the one who finds me; he's possessing the same poor sonofabitch he was when I'd first called for help months ago. He stands before me, eyes cold, stone faced, and yet somehow managing to look apologetic. The sonofabitch is good, I have to give him that. I had warded every square inch of every single motel I'd stayed in. Holy oil, sigils, you name it, I did it. But there was one place I had never considered protecting.

Gadreel pops into the backseat of the Impala, and I slam on the breaks, startled by the so called angel's sudden appearance. The car skids a little before finally settling on the shoulder of the road, engine still idling. Gadreel watches me, that ever haunting expression on his face, as if waiting for me to strike. And I want to. God knows how much I want to kill the sonofabitch, even if it would ruin the upholstery. But I can't. I just stare at the angel from my rear view, waiting for one of us to strike. We sit in silence for about a minute before Gadreel finally speaks.

"Hello, Dean."

For a horrible moment, I almost laugh to hear those familiar words, coming not from the voice of one of my best friends, but from this stranger. Instead, I reach for the door, needing for the first time to get out of my car. To find my angel blade and gank this sonofabitch once and for all. But I can't. The doors lock shut, and I find myself trapped. Seconds later, my adversary sits shotgun, in the very seat where my brother should be. I can feel slight panic building up, the pressure building, slowly at first, but rising with each second Gadreel sits beside me.

"You know there are no hard feelings, Dean." I arch an eyebrow. No hard feelings? You lied to me, tricked me into letting a "psycho angel" possess my brother, you killed Kevin... but it's ok,right? We're still cool? Jesus Christ.

Gadreel must have seen the expression of disbelief on my face because damned if the angel tries to justify himself. "I have my orders. You of all people should understand the significance."

"You sick sonofa..."

"Enough." Gadreel pulls a white slip of paper from his pocket and I feel sick to my stomach. I've seen that paper before. A slip just like it was dropped on Kevin's body after he killed Kevin. And I have a pretty good feeling I know what name is printed on it this time. My hunter's instincts beg me to fight back, even though I am trapped in my own car with a homicidal warrior of Heaven. Another part of me resigns to my fate. It's what I deserve after all. I bring nothing but death and despair to those I love, and no amount of lies stating otherwise is going to change that fact. I can actually understand Cas' desperate need to remain in Purgatory now.

I must do penance for my transgressions.

One thing keeps me from letting the bastard kill me, at least not without a fight: Sam. He's pissed at me, more than likely never wants to see me again. But if my name is on Metatron's hit list, than you can bet your ass his is too. And that is never going to happen. Not if I can help it. And if I can't get that dick angel, then the next best thing would be to get his messenger.

I have to fight. I have to go down swinging.

It is the Winchester way, after all.

I'm on the attack in a second, throwing punches I know will have no effect, in an effort to somehow reach for the angel blade tucked in Gadreel's coat. The angel, unamused, reaches for the weapon first. I know I'm done for when I see fingers brush against steel; when I feel the agony of blade in my abdomen; when I see him drop that goddamned piece of paper on my lap before vanishing. I sit there, alone again, blood stained hands grasping the open wound, vision blurred by tears. I'm alone. I'm dying, and I'm alone. It was a fear I'd had since those lonely years while Sam was at Stanford, Dad out after the demon who'd killed our mother. I long to have Sam at my side, comforting me with reassuring lies, holding my hand, keeping away the chill before death reaches for me with greedy tendrils. It hurts knowing that I'll never see my brother again, that I'm going to die with him hating me.

"S'mmy." I long to close my eyes, to just let it go, but I can't. I know it's foolish, but I can't die until I see my brother one last time. And I know that will never happen. Leaving only one to call, one who may not be able to take me to my brother, but who could at least comfort me in my final minutes.

"Cas."

It's weak, and I'm uncertain that the angel will even hear me with his only just recently restored grace. But I need to at least try. And it works. A familiar pair of blue eyes and a new, shorter tan trench coat are in the seat beside me. He looks down at me; I see sorrow in his sapphire irises. "Dean." he says sorrowfully, reaching a hand to touch me, heal me. Instead, I grasp it weakly, shaking my head. I can't let him wipe the slate clean, not this time. Not after I have caused so much hurt,so much death. I try to speak, to say a proper goodbye to my best friend; there is so much I want to say. I realize that I never properly thanked him for pulling me from Hell; for saving our asses more times than I can count. For giving up so much: his freedom, his grace, even his life for two mere humans.

"Dean," Cas says again, and god, there's emotion in his eyes. He looks so human, I realize, despite the fact that he once more is a celestial being. He grieves. I finally close my eyes, unable to look Castiel in the eye. Instead, I once more to speak.

"No... let it go."

"Dean, I can't. You're my friend. Sam needs you."

"...deserve this."

Weaker now. I can feel the beat of my heart as it slows, the pain gone. Not much longer now. I open my eyes one final time, smile faintly. Death is just a breath away, but somehow, as I grasp at the fabric of that stupid trench coat, I manage to whisper my last words...

Tell Sammy I'm sorry.

XXX

Sam sits in the library at the bunker, leafing through one of many thick, ancient volumes. He hadn't been surprised when Cas just disappeared without a word. Dean, he thinks rather bitterly. Probably trying to convince the angel that he wants back in. Not yet, Sam thinks to himself. Let him stew over this one for a while. He had fucked up on a colossal scale this time. Not because of his efforts to save his life, not because of his fear that death seems to curse him. Dean lied to him. Again. And he's not sure if he can ever get over that.

Sam snaps the text close and rubs his aching temples just as Cas zaps back into the room. Startled, Sam looks up at the angel. He looks anguished, as if he were...well, like he's grieving. The thought is unsettling to Sam.

"Cas, you ok? What's wrong?"

The angel doesn't speak at first. But one look says it all. Sam feels his knees give beneath him as Cas sets a familiar slip of paper on the table.

"Sam. I'm so sorry..."