Disclaimer... I do not own Supernatural
Sam's first death, (god, in how many shows can we say this) weighed especially heavily on me, probably because it was our first major death apart from John. Anyways, the pain in Dean's eyes always haunted me and i wanted to write Sam's death through his POV cause i'm a mean person. Please review if you like it, and if you didn't, review anyways with constructive criticism.
Sam is too heavy in his arms, and his eyes are wide. The blood is slippery and fever-hot, and god, so much of it. It coats Dean's palm, filling every crease in his hand and getting under his nails. Sammy is floppy and too tall and too skinny, and Dean cradles him as he sags, murmuring an endless litany of considered and discarded hope.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. Dean always figured that when they went, it would be together, it would be their time, and they'd be glad to go. Leaning against the Impala, maybe, bleeding out quietly, just watching the stars. Or blaze-of-glory style, a final fight, going done under a pile of demons or some monster too big to win against. Not this ugly, gory nightmare. Sam, terrified, eyes fluttering shut as his heart slows, and mud soaks the knees of their jeans. God, Sammy. Dean redoubled his grip on his brother, fisting his hands into the rough material of Sam's jacket.
Dean could almost feel the life fleeing under his fingers, in every beat of Sam's failing heart and every hitch of his struggling breath. When they had got to that god-forsaken ghost town, he saw Sam limping towards him. Beat up- but alive, his face breaking into that sunshine-from-behind-the-clouds grin as he saw his big brother. And then. The man, holding that small rusty knife, plunging it into Sam's back with a sick sound, and twisting. It was such a small thing, that corroded strip of metal. So inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. But it was taking his brother from him.
Dean suddenly notices the stars twinkling coldly above them, casting a harsh light on the scene and making the blood on his hands look black. He knew it was over. The second he took hold of Sam's falling, lanky frame, he knew. Sam wasn't gonna make it back from this one.
So he held his brother tightly and murmured in his ear meaningless reassurances in the hopes that Sammy would be a little less scared as he died. "Sam", he managed to choke out as Sam's head dropped forwards onto Dean's shoulder.
It was heavy, and still warm, and it reminded him of watching TV on the couch with Sam as a kid, Sam eventually dropping off, his head dropping onto Dean's shoulder as his breathing slowed before sleep.
Sam wasn't going to wake up from this sleep. Dean covered the ugly wound with his hand as if he could press the blood back into Sam's body and heal the wound with sheer willpower. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, rocking back on his heels to hold Sammy more securely. He stared into the hazel eyes that still held a foggy light, and watched Sammy as the light went out and he died in Dean's arms.
He could see his brother walking towards him, cradling his arm, a look of such relief on his face. "Dean!" he called. Like a prayer, like a curse.
Dean closed his eyes. "SAM" he screamed.