Speculative Ending for Season 10. Sprang from a terrible idea that I discussed with DamonsGirl92, watered, and then let grow into something truly tragic. It may not be very original. I've been working my way through the archives and am only to about season 6-fics, so I haven't been reading much current stuff dealing with S9-S10, so I apologize if this is similar to something someone else has already written out there. It was just a crazy dream I had that I allowed to flourish in my terrible little mind. Yes, this is a death fic. Yes, it is sad. But hey, it's Supernatural! What did you expect?

"You always were an idiot. A fool. Your belief that you can make the world a better place, that the world would even want to be a better place, has always been your greatest weakness."

Sam ignored the venomous voice that no longer sounded anything like his brother. He just assured himself that the demon was secured to the floor. Devils trap above, below, every sigil, warding he knew of in place. Iron chains binding Dean to the floor. Knight of hell or not, Dean wasn't going anywhere.

"You really think this is gonna work?" Dean's distorted voice asked. He snorted, rolling his eyes. "This is cute. I like it. Really, Sammy, good job with all the protection crap you've got set up. Ain't none of it going to save you."

"Doesn't have to save me." Sam said, words dragging out of his mouth as if they weighed a thousand pounds apiece. He sat back against the wall, facing Dean who had his head turned and that evil glare fixed on him. Dean. It wasn't Dean. But it was Dean. And it was killing him to see his brother like this. After all this time, after all these months of searching, fighting, trying everything. Sam had him. Had Dean securely bound in the dungeon. And it made him sick. Sam shook his head, his words slow, "Just...needs to...save you."

Not-Dean laughed and shook the chains that bound him. He wasn't getting free. His laughter turned back to hatred as he spoke again, "I don't think, even now, that you know what you're dealing with here, Sammy."

"Don't..." Sam looked up, felt the bite of tears in his eyes. He couldn't...couldn't take it. Bad enough, well, bad enough that his brother was a demon. But to hear him say his name like that...like Dean used to... "Don't call me that."

"Why not, Sammy?" Not-Dean taunted, those inhuman black eyes glittering with mirth. "You said yourself that I was the only one who got to call you that."

"Dean gets to call me that. Not you." Sam let his head fall back against the wall, eyes closing. They were so heavy. He whispered, "Not you."

"You know, I think I always needed this." Not-Dean's voice spoke, his words boring into Sam's head like drops of acid. "Always needed to be this. This is power. This is...everything I was meant to be. I never knew, all those years we spent fighting, that it was what I wanted."

"It isn't what you want." Sam's words were so soft that he barely heard them himself as Dean continued speaking.

"It's the best feeling in the world, Sammy. You had a taste of it. Just a taste, back when you were on the blood kick." Not-Dean's voice was jubilant, "I'm sorry now, really sorry for how I treated you. You were right. I just couldn't see it. Couldn't feel it. Sammy, how did you not...how could you ever stop? This is what we were always..."

Sam sat forward, one hand clenched tightly, the other on the cold ground, holding him up. He shook his head even though it made the room spin and said, "Stop. Stop it, oh please, just stop." His voice broke and he toppled sideways onto his elbow, free hand unfisting and landing against the floor to keep him from face planting. He whispered, "This isn't you, isn't you, Dean. Please."

Not-Dean just laughed. He shouted, "This is me! This is me and you can join me. We can..."

"I'm not...not helping you that way." Sam said, forehead pressed against the floor. When had it gotten so hot in here? Even the floor seemed hot. Burning. Everything. Sweat poured off him, into his eyes, onto the floor. Turn down the heat, please...

"You're not helping me this way, either, Sammy." Not-Dean laughed, looking with disdain at the IV tubing secured to his left arm. "This isn't gonna turn me into a human."

"Worth a try." Sam said, turning his head slightly to look over at Dean. He let himself sink onto his side, arms stretched out in front of him. So tired.

Not-Dean shook his head, making a tsking noise. "Sammy, Sammy. Why do you always have to fight me. About everything."

"Not fighting you. Fixing you."

"All you're doing is killing yourself." Not-Dean shook his head dismissively, "We've been down here for hours. And you still think your precious little human blood is going to change me. Guess you're wrong. Because I'm still me. And I'm not changing. I'll kill myself for real before I let you turn me into anything I'm not. Guess we're just going to be stuck down here forever. I'll be bored, but you'll be dead."

"Don't care." Sam said, eyes blinking slowly. The room seemed dark. Darker than usual. And so cold. He wasn't sure if he was shivering, wasn't sure of anything. He heard his brother's voice, still shouting at him. Awful words. Awful things that Dean would never have said, never have thought. Sam pressed his hands against his ears, eyes closed tight. Don't listen to him. It isn't Dean. But it will be... It will be.

Dean felt heavy. Ten thousand pounds of heavy. And it wasn't like ten thousand pounds of heavy was sitting on him. It was him. He couldn't move. His eyes were closed. Unless it was just dark...no, he experimented, his eyelids just weighed a hundred pounds. Apiece. He couldn't...couldn't remember...

Anything.

Forcing his eyelids to move, up, down, up down, he tried to get his eyeballs to work. Visualize. See. Yeah, that's it, oh good, ceiling. Devil's trap? What? Dean stared at it. Why? He couldn't think. Tried to shift. Heavy. All over. He got his head up off the ground enough to look down at his body. Chained. Heavy duty, not for human chains. Frowning, he let his head thunk back on the ground. Ow. Hard ground. He rolled his head to the right.

Dungeon.

It hit him immediately where he was. But why? So heavy. He let his eyes close again and his mind began to work, sluggishly at first, then with blinding, and terrible speed.

Abbadon.

Cain.

Gadreel.

Metatron.

Names ran through his mind, faces blurring. Names. Faces. But not the one he wanted to see.

Mark of Cain.

Metatron.

Kevin.

Abbadon dead.

Dead?

Killed her? He killed her? Remembered the power. Remembered feeling invincible. Angry. Powerful. Then remembered a terrible stabbing sensation. Through his chest.

Metatron.

Killed him? Dying. Dying? Dead...and...darkness.

"No!" Dean frantically fought at the chains that bound him, the memories sending him into a panic. No, no, no...a bad dream. All a dream.

Crowley.

Crowley.

What? Dean shook his head back and forth, eyes tightly closed as if that could keep the memories out of his head. Crowley had been there... had been there when he'd...

Come back from the dead.

"No, no, no..." Dean whispered, still shaking his head. "It wasn't real, wasn't real."

He felt the coldness of the floor through his clothes. The room was dim and chilly. Just like a dungeon was supposed to be. Why? Why was he here? Everything was cold and confusing and he hurt and felt alive and why was that a surprise? He was alive.

Dean was glad he was lying down on the ground. Because his head was spinning too fast and his mind was remembering and he didn't want to remember it. Didn't want to remember what had happened, what he'd become...

A demon.

"No!" Dean whispered, tears in his eyes fighting to fall down his cheeks. But he shoved the thought, the memories aside and tried to remember something a little more useful. Like why he was lying in the dungeon bound with chains and why was he remembering everything and everyone except for

"Sammy?" His voice broke with emotion as he tried again to move. But the chains, and whoever had put them on him had done a danged good job of securing them, held him in place. Dean shook more of the cobwebs from his brain and looked to his right again, down to the door beyond his feet, and finally to his left. Dean felt the breath, the life, the hope, the everything of him die. No. No. No. "Sammy?"

This time the tears did fall from his eyes as she strained against the chains. He couldn't move. Nothing but his hand, and he couldn't even move that very far. Because something heavy was holding it down. Sam's ice cold hand was over his and Dean felt his breaking heart skip a beat.

"Sammy!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing hollowly in the dungeon. Sam didn't move. He was slumped on his side, arms outstretched toward Dean, his left hand clinging to Dean's left hand as they lay on the cold hard ground together. Dean lifted his head, tried to see, tried to assess what was wrong... He saw the tubing. The tubing filled with blood.

Sam's blood.

And the tubing was connected to his arm.

Lighting seemed to spark in his brain as he realized. Realized what Sam had been trying to...had done. He'd used his blood to cure Dean.

And he was cured. He could feel it. Feel the difference in his blood, in his bones, in his core. He wasn't a demon anymore.

"Sammy?" Dean couldn't tell if his brother was even still alive. And how...how could he be? No, please no... "Sammy, come on, man, please... talk to me! Don't be...don't be gone..."

Dean squeezed his brother's cold hand, shaking it and struggling with the chains until he fell back breathless. He wasn't going anywhere. Shifting his fingers, Dean finally was able to feel a pulse. Barely. It was barely there. Like the blood was just dripping through Sam's veins like the last drops of beer in the last bottle on a hot day when you wanted it to never end. Like he was empty.

Like he was dying.

"Sam." Dean's voice dropped to a whisper. He stared at his brother's face, thinking about the past few months. What had it been like for Sam? Dean didn't want to think about it; he remembered enough from his side to know it must have been hell all over again. "I'm so sorry, Sam."

"Dean?"

Dean thought his ears and eyes were deceiving him, but they weren't. Sam's voice had been less than a whisper and his eyes were barely open, but he was staring at Dean with a hopeful expression. Like he didn't quite believe what he himself was seeing.

"Sammy. Hey." Dean grinned; suddenly anything was possible. "It's me."

"Hey." Sam smiled. "You're here."

"Right here, Sammy. Sorry it took me so long to get back to you." He squeezed his brother's hand again, panicking when Sam's eyes slid closed. Suddenly, everything looked impossible again. He was trapped. He couldn't get free and Sam... "Sam, you have to get me out of here so we can take care of you. You are not looking so good, little brother."

"I'm glad I got to see you." Sam said, his breathing irregular and eyes glassy.

Dean squeezed his hand again. Hard. "I know, I know, hard to keep your eyes off something so good lookin', but man, we gotta get you to a doctor. I think you..."

Sam's hand tightened around Dean's for a brief second and he whispered, "I missed you. I had to... whatever it took. Couldn't...couldn't leave you like that."

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Dean nodded, "I know, Sam. I know. Thanks. Thanks for not giving up on me even... But Sam, we..." Dean couldn't force any more words out because he just knew. Knew that there wasn't time for a doctor. Not even if Sam had the strength to get Dean out of the chains. There wasn't time for anything more. And suddenly, he was fine with that. Dean shifted as far to his side as he could and rubbed Sam's hand, not even caring if he looked like a complete sissy as he stopped fighting the tears. He said, "It's ok, Sammy. We're safe. We're safe and everything's going to be fine now."

Sam smiled, "Come find me, ok?"

Dean nodded, forcing the words out, "I always do, don't I?" He watched as Sam nodded slowly, then let his eyes slide closed. Dean shook his brother's hand desperately and said, "Sammy, I'm coming with you this time. And I'm going to find you. It's all going to be ok. I promise. I'm coming."

There was nothing worse in the world than watching the life fade from someone's eyes. To feel them go slack, lifeless. To know you were alone. And Dean had already done this a time or two. So he was an expert on the brutal pain that shredded his heart. But this time it was different. This time they were going to go together. Not right away, of course. Because he was going to take the slow boat to Heaven this time. A week? Dean wasn't sure how long he was going to last without food or water; Sammy would have known, of course. Would have listed off all the unfortunate symptoms of dehydration that Dean had to look forward to and he had to admit, he wasn't going to miss hearing all of that. Dean knew he could probably call Cas. Get ahold of him and get out of the dungeon. But that wasn't going to bring Sam back. And this time, this time, Dean was ok with that.

Because this time was different.

This time he wasn't going to make a deal with a demon or with an angel to save his brother. This time they were safe. In the Bunker. In the dungeon. Where no one, human, angel, or demon, could get to them. Dean closed his eyes, hand still holding onto Sam's. He felt a sense of peace drift over him. This time, this time they could go together.

And together always had been what they'd done best anyway.

Let me know if you liked it. Or hated it. Because I know I'm evil and I hate myself for writing something so sad. ;) Thank you for reading!