"No, no...This-its not supposed to happen like this...C'mon Sammy...C'mon, you can do this...Just keep breathing...Just, hold on a little bit longer...We'll get you all better-." Dean's words slurred together, his eyes bloodshot and wet.
Sammy couldn't go like this... Cas was gonna fix everything. Cas and Bobby. They could help right? Dean kept trying to convince himself of that one fact. He thought that repeating those words over and over again would somehow bring his brother back to life.
Deep down he knew, though. He knew Sammy was gone and he couldn't do anything about it. Dean had failed- failed John, failed Bobby, failed Sam, failed Ellen, failed himself. He had had one important job to do his whole life. One, not two, not three-one. He had promised John that he could do it. Promised that he'd take care of Sam, and what did he do? He got him killed.
Dean snapped his head down to look at Sam when he heard a groan. Sams eyes glassed over, drawing back into his pale, bloody face. The younger Winchesters head fell back against the seat.
Dean slammed on the brakes of the Impala and let out a scream, grabbing his baby brother in his arms, "Cmon, no Sammy, no..." Dean began shaking Sam's shoulders, his calloused hands getting soaked in the other man's blood. "No, no, no..." Deans shoulders were shaking as he pulled out his phone.
'Not Sammy...Not tonight..'
"What is it, son?" Bobbys question hung in the air for a moment before Dean answered,
"S-sammy-" Dean cursed himself quietly for stuttering. He clenched his teeth, trying not to cry. He couldn't cry in front of Bobby.
"What's wrong." Bobby's voice was laced with fear.
Dean looked outside as a light rain began to fall, gradually getting heavier and drowning the contents outside. He stared at the trees, the empty lot, the run-down warehouse. It all just sat there drinking in the silence, completely unknowing of the pain, the anger, the guilt Dean felt.
Dean faltered before answering Bobby, "We...We lost him. He's," His eyes shut, holding in the tears, "He's gone." The other end of the phone went silent. Dean could imagine Bobby sitting at his desk in his old leather chair.
"What do you mean he's 'gone'?" Both men knew that Bobby was well aware of what Dean meant, but neither of them could accept the facts.
Dean gritted his teeth and looked at the dashboard; Sammy and his initials carved into the thick leather, he looked at the army man jammed into the vent and he broke. He rested his head against the wheel, letting his salty tears stain his face. The phone slid out of his hand and clicked off, landing on the floor.