"You're alive," the relief was evident in his voice. The looks on everyone's faces followed the same suit, and though I was soaked in blood (mostly my own), I smiled.

"Barely," it came out more as a cough. My legs began to shake, unable to support my own weight. I reached out for support, and he drew me into his body, dragging me over to a cheap cot nearby and laying me down gently.

The springs groaned under my weight. The shirt was soon cut from my body and a towel was pressed against the wound on my side. Swallowing hard, I stiffened, letting the pain travel through my body in a grim silence. I remained this way as they stitched me up the best they could.

Bobby poured me a drink once they were finished. With the support of Cas, I sat up and drained the contents within seconds.

"So," Sam started. "What happened?"

I motioned for another drink before turning to Sam. His hair was a tousled mess along with giant bags under his eyes; he was worried. It made him look older than he actually was. Maybe even as old as I was.

"We lost," I said, grabbing the glass back from Bobby. "And I died."

There was a brief pause. "You died?" Sam repeated.

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you be back in the pit? Don't they have some kind of reward out for you?"

I nodded, taking a long drink. "I was there for a bit, but someone pulled me out."

Everyone, including myself, immediately looked at Cas, who appeared to be focused on something far away. It took him a second to realize everyone was staring at him. He blinked. "What?"

"You didn't yank him out?" Bobby asked.

Cas shook his head. "I don't have enough power to heal Dean right now, much less pull him out of hell."

"So if it wasn't you," Sam said. "Then who was it?"

"You got me," I said, shaking my head. "But that doesn't matter right now. What does matter is that we screwed up."

"It was one showdown, Dean," Bobby said, drinking from his own glass. "You'll get another chance."

"But that bastard—"

"Bobby's right," Sam said, cutting me off, urgency clear in his voice. "We will get another chance."

I was shaking my head before Sam could finish. Were they really that blind? A chance to gank a demon like that beyond rare; it was a job John couldn't finish. An opportunity for face-to-face combat happens once in a lifetime, yet here we were, sitting on our asses.

"Are you kidding me right now?" I said. "Because you can't be serious. I can't just sit here and wait, Sammy."

"Something is bound is happen soon," he said.

"Since when do we sit back and wait, Sam? We never do that because it never works!"

"Dean, calm down," Cas said.

"You calm down, Cas," I yelled. "You're all idiots if you think—"

Something cold plunged into my stomach, and the searing pain started again. It was Cas who was holding the blade while the others stood around him, unsurprised. Cas removed the weapon and wiped the blood onto my jeans, a disgusted look clear in his eyes.

My hand clutched the wound as my brain tried to process what had occurred. I was dimly aware of blood running down my forearm, but most of my concentration was spent trying to understand. It all came down to one thing, and it hurt more than the physical pain.

Betrayal.

"You're the real monster, Dean," Sam said, confirming what I had always denied.

It was true; I had always been the real monster from the start by dragging Sam into this and many others along the way. The body count was immeasurable, but it all fell upon my shoulders. From Ellen to Jo, to Dad and even Sam. It was all on me, no one else.

And as my vision faded to black, I smiled, because I could no longer harm anyone, and no one would dare bring me back. I was the monster, after all.

I woke up, covered in a cold sweat. Glancing at Sam, who was fast asleep on the other bed, I sat up and found my flask. And drained it.

Whatever it took to get through another day as a monster.