There had been no stopping it. No matter what they had done to avoid catastrophe it came anyways. It always came. And Sam had caused it; Dean had been helpless to help. But in the seconds that followed the rising of Lucifer, something happened.
Dean had reached out to Sam, grabbing his shirt he could feel his brothers chest heaving. Sam could feel his brother's muscles clenched with tension. They were both so tired. But in the mere moments Dean could feel what Sam felt, he could hear his thoughts.
Sam was completely and utterly lost. He had sacrificed himself and changed into something else in order to avoid becoming a monster, he had sacrificed who he was because he believed in the end justifying the means. But this wasn't justified. He had been tricked and lied to and used. He felt dirty and ignorant. The guilt was so thick Dean thought he might be drowning in his brother's feelings.
Dean suddenly felt disoriented and dizzy. Sam's thoughts pierced Dean to the core. How had he not understood Sam's desire to be normal? And that the one thing Sam wanted he couldn't have. He would never have it, not because his vines pumped demon blood but because he was a Winchester.
Sam tried hard not to stumble backwards as he was suddenly overwhelmed by Dean's emotions. There was so much pain and anguish within him. Anger bubbled and pooled in the pit of his stomach and Sam could feel it.
It seemed like his big brother, his role model, his superhero who in his eyes had always been untouchable, was suddenly fragile and cracked. And Sam couldn't shake the feeling of his hurt. It wasn't a physical pain that throbbed. The hurt was bone numbing. It was exhausting and persistent. It was the kind of hurt that created age lines and stiff bones like a war veteran might develop.
The two brothers looked at each other. They had literally been threw hell and back, had both died and come back more than their fair share, and were caught smack in the middle of a war against heaven and hell. Their relationship had been shredded and torn and hacked at like a hell hound after a mark.
They stood there, boys who were raised like warriors, before the coming apocalypse with shaky breaths and pounding hearts. They both wondered whether or not they'd have the strength let alone the heart, to load the salt filled shells into worn shotguns and dust off years of grime on the pocket bibles and piles of books.
Dean wondered whether or not it was even worth fighting, for once he thought about just giving up. Maybe the angels had it right and it would be better to just...let go. It would be so easy. He just had to give up, stop fighting.
Sam wondered why he even cared anymore. Why care for something that was already flawed and broken such as people? Maybe the human race gets a second chance what then? Sooner or later they'll forget, people always do, and even then who says they'll even realize they're getting a second chance at life.
But that's not a Winchester's way. Fight until there isn't another breath in your body now that, seemed a bit classier.