I don't own Supernatural, obviously.


If someone told Sam Winchester that four months from now, his brother would be raised from hell, he would have held a gun to their head and demanded how. If they told him that thirty-two days from now he'd be cursed more than he already was, he would have wept. If they told him that two hours from now he'd be burying his brother, he would say he'd be dead along with him.

But no one was there to tell him these things. It was just him, the now dead girl that Ruby had decided to possess, and his brother. And there he sat, lost and deserted in a small house that he had once dreamed about living in with his wife. But that was a different life. A life before the yellow-eyed demon had killed his chance at a happy ending. Yanking him around to play his tune. No matter where he went, the job always seemed to find him. No matter how fast he ran, how well he hid, the monsters would come and steal the ones he loved. His mom. Jess. Dad. And now Dean. All dead, because of him.

Sam had seen enough death in his life to know that the dead never looked peaceful. To know that dying by any supernatural creature was a pain he could never imagine and that it was never quick and always bloody.

Dean wasn't any different. The hellhound had dragged him around like he was its favorite chew toy and the blood speckled on his face did nothing but drag one's gaze back to his eyes. The eyes that Sam had seen laugh and cry and rage and love were now empty of everything that made Dean, Dean. Yet his face was turned towards Sam, like he was still making sure he was okay like he had so many times before.

When there was a chick at the bar that Dean was trying to hook up with, he'd glance over at his brother and wink, his eyes glimmering in the low lighting. When something went wrong, Sam's was the gaze that he met first. Not the vic. Not their father. Sam's. Driving in the car singing to a Led Zeppelin song, he would glance over at Sam, eyes dancing, seeming to know just how off key and horrible he was. Right after their father died, there was a rage in his eyes so fierce that Sam was afraid that even he wouldn't be able to help him heal. When the motels got a little too mundane, a prank war would start and Dean would have a seriousness about him that he only ever got on a hunt. And in those moments the world seemed to light up and Sam thought that maybe this is what heaven would be like. Then that moment would pass and they'd be driving down another country road, on the way to another hunt, to another motel room. Just him and his brother. But the feeling would remain.

And now his brother's gaze was turned toward his one last time and he had never seen the world look so dark.