"Sammy!" Dean cried, fighting desperately to get to his brother through the throng of demons surrounding him in all directions. The damned things just refused to die! No matter how many of them he gutted, there were always more, dashing at him with an almost animalistic fervour. Demons weren't usually like this. They were psychotic, bloodthirsty sons of bitches, yes, but they were also sarcastic and deliberate, taking pleasure in the pain they inflicted, savouring it, bit by bit. These things surrounding him, surrounding them, had the hellish black eyes of demonic possession, but they lacked the finesse or deliberation of most demons Dean had encountered before. They were more like wild animals in a frenzy, attacking in packs, baying for blood, going in straight for the kill.
One of the many demons attacking his brother, overwhelming him with their sheer numbers, had just stabbed him in the back with a jagged, rusty old knife – fucking coward! Sam let out an agonized howl of surprise and pain, before crumpling to the ground like so much dead weight. Not satisfied with having overpowered the hunter, the demon continued to twist the knife in deeper, drawing moans of pure agony for Sam, who could no longer gather the energy even to scream.
Dean roared, slicing through the demons like a man possessed, fighting tooth and nail to get to his fallen brother. He could not let this happen; would not allow Sammy to die like this, right before his eyes, writhing in pain, his life snuffed out slowly, torturously by some sadistic spawn of hell.
By the time he reached Sam's prone body, the numbers of the demonic horde had diminished significantly, most having been killed during Dean's frenzied dash to reach his brother while the others escaped into the night, or smoked out to find better meat-suits, leaving the injured ones behind to bleed out on the forest floor.
Dispatching the last remaining stragglers with a few efficient strokes of his blade, Dean finally let the knife drop out from between his slack fingers, dropping down to his knees beside Sam, who was lying in a pool of his own blood, his skin clammy and deathly pale from the blood loss.
Sam's breaths were coming in shallow gasps, as more of the precious liquid seeped out from the wound at his back, soaking the worn fabric of his shirt. He twitched slightly, trying to look at his brother, his body writhing in renewed agony from the movement.
"Don't move, Sammy," Dean exclaimed hurriedly, putting a gentle hand under his brother's head to ease his movements. "I'll get you outta here before you know it. You'll be just fine, little bro!" he said, forcing a tight smile onto his face, voice hitching with choked sobs.
"D-Dean," Sam gasped, his voice pained, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. He reached out and grasped the other's outstretched hand with surprising strength, forcing Dean to look him in the eye. "D-Don't do anything s-stupid. Do you hear me? Y-You have to move on. You have to!" he finished with a final pained gasp, wide eyes gazing at his brother with genuine concern, even through his own pain.
"Sammy no! You'll be just fine! You'll see. I'll-I'll..." Dean trailed off, running his fingers through his brother's damp hair, trying in vain to comfort the man whom he couldn't help but think of as a little boy still, as his little brother, his to protect, his responsibility. Even as the words left his mouth, he knew he couldn't do it, he couldn't save Sam. Not this time. Not anymore.
They'd been waylaid in the middle of the forest by this frenzied horde of demons, taken completely by surprise. The Impala had been nearly destroyed. It was a miracle – and the result of decades of ruthless training – that either of them had escaped alive from the attack. 'Dammit!' Dean cursed himself internally. He should have expected this, should have known that son of a bitch Crowley wouldn't let an attack on his stronghold go unanswered. They should never have let that bastard escape in the first place. They should've killed him once and for all when they had the chance, instead of making useless deals and bargains, which never ended up the way they were supposed to anyway. He should've killed him.
But instead he had fallen for Crowley's sweet-talking, his fucking mind games, again and again. Crowley had promised he could bring Dad back, could release him from the pits of Hell in return for their help in defeating Lilith, so that he could take her place at the helm of Hell.
He had been a fool, an utter idiot to put his faith in a demon, of all things! As if that bastard Azazel had not been enough of a lesson. Even dead, the thought of that yellow-eyed piece of shit who had killed their mother made Dean's blood boil.
Even though Crowley had broken his promise after Lilith's death (big surprise there), their attack on the Gates of Hell had helped release John Winchester's soul. Even though he was still dead, at least his soul was now in Heaven, where it belonged.
What it had also done was raze a large chunk of Crowley's demonic hordes, and throw Hell into chaos. They had almost managed to gut Crowley himself, but the slippery bastard had escaped from between their fingers at the last moment, when Sam and Dean had been distracted by the sight of their father's soul appearing before them.
And now, of course he was out for their blood! Of course Crowley wanted revenge on the Winchesters for throwing his reign into chaos even before it had properly begun! How could Dean have expected otherwise? How could he not have known what was going to happen? How could he have let this happen to Sam? To the only family he had left on earth? What would Dad say if he knew Dean had let him down again? That he had let some demon scum get to Sammy, his brother, his only responsibility! Without the Impala, there was no way to get Sammy out of this godforsaken forest. And even if he could somehow manage that, the wound was too deep. It would be too late by the time they got to a hospital. Dean knew all this, understood it logically, but even so, in his heart of hearts, he could not bring himself to give up on his little brother, to accept the fact that Sam was as good as dead.
Dean was jerked out from the bitter depths of his own thoughts by the sudden movement before him. Sam was thrashing now, fighting to draw breath, his movements pained and jerky. Even as Dean dove forward to support his brother, to hold him up in his arms, to do something to relieve his suffering – a rasping, gurgling sound escaped Sam's throat, blood pouring out of his mouth, until finally, with one last painful gasp, Sam's body stilled. His eyes rolled up, the quick, shallow rise and fall of his breast ceased once and for all and all signs life left his body as if they'd never been.
Dean just sat there, on his knees on the dirty forest floor, the fallen branches and sharp rocks digging into his skin through the fabric of his jeans, leaving scratches and cuts that he barely noticed. His arms were wrapped tightly around his brother's prone body, holding him up, his deathly stillness mirroring that of the man in his arms, save for the sudden, violent shivers that ran down his spine every now and then. A few tears occasionally trickled down his wide, unseeing eyes, leaving wet tracks along his grime-covered face, before falling off his chin onto the forest floor, unnoticed.
To Dean, it was as if time itself had come to a stop. His muscles were frozen in place, he couldn't bring his body to move. He felt as though his blood had frozen in his veins. Even drawing breath seemed like a belated afterthought. He supposed this was what it felt like to be in shock, but he couldn't be sure. He had been too little to understand much when his mother had died, and he'd been injured and unconscious when he lost his father. Sam though, Sammy was all that he had left on this earth, his only family. Protecting him, keeping him safe and by his side had been Dean's only mission in life, his greatest task, his most important achievement.
And now Sam was gone, and Dean didn't know what else he had to live for, anymore. What did you live for, when all that you cared for was taken away from you, one by one? What was the point of life when the most important thing in your life had been snatched away, lost forever?
He would've made a deal for his brother's life without a second thought, like he had done once before, if he thought that any crossroads demon would respond to his summons. But this was Crowley's doing, his demons had killed Sam. That Dean was still alive was bad enough. What demon would risk its life by going against the King of Hell and offering to bring Sam back, in return for Dean's tattered, broken soul? And he had nothing else to offer for his brother's life. Besides, the Winchesters were too notorious, after their attack on the Gate of Hell. Even one's soul wouldn't be temptation enough to give the other another chance at life, another chance to storm Hell to rescue his brother once again, as they had tried to rescue their father.
All these thoughts ran through Dean's mind even as he sat on the forest floor in a daze, unseeingly looking at the maze of trees in front of him, his brother's body in his arms. All the logic, all the knowledge and reason in the world couldn't convince him that Sam was truly gone. That there was really nothing Dean could do to save his baby brother this time. The stubborn, unreasonable hope in the pit of his stomach simply refused to die, refused to accept his brother's fate. Even now, he expected to see Sam open his eyes, to say his name any moment. He closed his eyes, envisioning his brother alive and well again. Not a dead weight in his arms but healthy and walking, climbing into the Impala beside him, laughing at something Dean had said, his expressive eyes twinkling with humour and mischief.
Tears trickled past Dean's closed eyelids even as the vision started to fade, but he refused to open his eyes. He couldn't face the world anymore. Couldn't face reality, and see his brother's corpse lying in his arms. Suddenly, the world seemed too much. Everything seemed too much and he squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, almost making himself dizzy with the effort, in an illogical but desperate bid to make the world fade away, to make everything disappear and to disappear with it, once and for all, never to wake up again.
"Please. Someone. Save him," he whispered hopelessly, his eyes still determinedly shut and his voice choked with tears. "I'll do anything. ANYTHING! Just please, bring him back..." he prayed desperately to no one in particular, for he didn't know anyone who would listen.
Had his eyes not been shut so tightly, the fierce, all-consuming light that pierced through his scrunched eyelids would have blinded Dean. As it was, the force of it pushed him back onto his heels, instinctively gathering Sam's body closer to his chest, even though the latter didn't need his protection anymore.
Surprised, Dean's eyes flew open, looking around himself for the source of the sudden illumination. Not because he was afraid, Dean was beyond fear at this point; but because for some strange reason, the tiny ray of hope that had taken up residence at the pit of his stomach and stubbornly refused to leave even when all hope seemed lost, had suddenly blossomed into a full-blown fire inside his chest, warming him from the inside out, seeming to warm even Sam's cold body with its unrelenting heat and intensity.
The blinding light that he had sensed through his closed eyelids was now gone, leaving a faint, dilute illumination at the distance, like the light of a rather weak lamp, silhouetting two strange figures in the middle of the forest with what appeared to be...wings!
– X –