The trouble was that Sam believed it. With every fiber of his being, he thought that he was somehow going to get Dean out of the deal. They had been through rough times before, through jobs that seemed impossible and times when he nearly gave up, but Dean had always been the one to drag his ass to safety and he would be damned if he let his big brother down the one time he needed him. That was why, as the hours ticked closer and closer to Dean's own personal apocalypse, Sam never really let it sink in. He worried, of course, there were so many logistics to figure out, so many different plans to save Dean that it was hard to settle on just one, but that worry had never turned to the raw, ragged pain that would really come with the loss of his brother. Fear was healthy for Sam, because as long as it was present there was still something that could happen that would be worse. If Dean were dead, really and truly dead, the worst thing possible would have happened and fear would change to hopelessness.

He believed it the entire time, even as he traveled to find the bitch of a demon who held Dean's contract. He believed it so sincerely that he was prepared to stab a child, to maul an innocent girl in the arms of her mother if it meant that the thing that meant to rob him of his brother was gone too. Even when the hellhounds began to chase them, he didn't really think that it was over. There would be some loophole, or Bobby would come fully armed, or Sam himself would stumble upon the solution. Never did he really think that Dean was going to die.

Ruby being possessed by Lilith had been a minor shock, but that was nothing compared to being forced to stand helpless as creatures that he couldn't even see ripped his brother to shreds before his eyes. It hurt to see that, yes, it hurt a lot, but each agonized cry that Dean made meant that he still lived, and as long as Dean was still alive and wasn't shouldering down in hell, he hadn't given up on his promise.

It was only when the dust had settled and Ruby was laying dead next to his brother that he realized that Dean was too still. He was covered in blood and he looked to be d—

No. Sam thought. No, I had a goddamned year to get him out of that deal. I've promised him so many times, I've looked him in the eyes and told him that he wasn't going to hell. This can't be happening. He can't be…

Sam hadn't been hunting with his brother for as long as he had to not know when someone was dead though, and his brother was most assuredly dead. He felt the hot burn of tears as he sank down onto the floor next to his older brother, pulling Dean close and beginning to sob. Dean would have made some wiseassed crack, were he still here. Still really here, and able to think and feel instead of just laying there with that look of fearful resignation on his face. He would have called Sam 'Samantha' or told him to stop being such a bitch, and they would have laughed. God, how Sam would have loved to laugh at a joke at his own expense instead of crying over his fallen brother.

Bobby finally busted in, skidding to a halt as he saw the grizzly scene before him. Son of a bitch, he thought Sammy shouldn't be seeing this. Hellhounds are never gentle but this…this is excessive

"Sam, come on, son." He rested a hand on top of the younger brother's shaggy brown hair, swallowing the lump in his throat before continuing. "He's gone."

"No!" The fierceness that Sam answered him with left him reeling, as though he had been slapped. It was the same tone Bobby remembered hearing exactly a year ago when he urged Dean to bury Sam, to eat, to do anything that smelled halfway normal and didn't leave Bobby worried about suicide missions. One thing was for certain, Winchester men couldn't say 'I love you' to one another, but they sure as hell could go off half cocked into situations to save the people they cared about, and if that wasn't love…

"Sam, he wouldn't have wanted—"

"Won't want," Sam insisted. "He's fine, Bobby, we're going to get him to a hospital and…" Hearing the tense silence, Sam glared tearfully at the older man. "I promised him, I swore that I wouldn't let him go to hell. I didn't lie to him. Bobby, I couldn't have lied to him." Sam's fingers felt at Dean's neck, knowing he'd feel a pulse, a weak one, but a pulse. He just knew that one had to be there, that somehow he'd get some sort of second chance to fulfill his promise, that he wouldn't let Dean down the one time that he really needed him.

There wasn't one.

"No!" He cried, clutching Dean's body harder as though the force of his will could bring his brother back again. "NO, Dean! DEAN!"

Bobby had only heard cries like that once before, the night that Dean watched his younger brother die. They were raw, dangerous, like the sorts of cries that you'd expect from an animal that was being tortured in the most painful way imaginable. Brothers were supposed to be close, anyone knew that, but these two were like mirror images, one lacking in something and the other having it in such an excess that it could be shared. Perhaps it was due to their unconventional upbringing, but Bobby always imagined that Dean probably was more of a father figure to Sam than John ever had been. The poor boy was losing both father and brother tonight, and on top of that, he had to know the details about where they both were, he had to be wondering if every hellish thing that they had ever destroyed, that Sam would ever destroy if he found the bravery to proceed with the life he and his brother had shared, would be waiting for him.

And then the something inside of Sam broke, something very human.

What was left was cold, and with a single minded purpose—he had to get Dean back.

He wasn't about to rush out to sell his soul, but there were other ways, more dangerous ways. While he had broken his promise to Dean, this wasn't about just keeping his word anymore, it was about protecting his brother in any way that he could. He couldn't keep him from going to hell anymore, but he could make sure that the time that Dean spent there was minimal, that he was home in a matter of hours, sooner if he could arrange it.

"I need you to watch over him." Sam told Bobby darkly. "Make sure that no one hurts him more, that nothing happens to his body. I'm getting him back, Bobby."

Resisting the urge to swear violently, Bobby shook his head. There was one Winchester alive, and Bobby was going to make sure that he stayed that way. "Sammy, I don't think…" One determined look from Sam Winchester stopped Bobby from saying what he had been about to say. He recognized the look because Sam came from a long and growing line of Winchester men eager to rush off unprepared and yet they were too bullheaded to see reason.

John.

Dean.

Damn it, was he going to have to arrange Sam's funeral now as well?

"I wish you would wait, let us think of some plan."

Sam brushed off Bobby's concern. "For every minute that I 'plan' he suffers there, Bobby." Sam gazed tearfully down into Dean's blank green eyes. For a moment he almost thought he heard his brother's panicked voice calling out for him. "I have to stop it."

Damned Winchesters. Bobby nodded, watching as Sam disappeared through the door. He'd find a way to make sure that nothing happened to Dean's body, and then he'd hunt Sam down to save his sorry ass. These boys were family, and family didn't end with blood.

"Shit,"he muttered, looking at the mess, and hoping that he could finish quickly here to go pitch in and help Sam. No doubt the boy was going to need his help quickly, going off on a suicide mission with only his anger and pain and a stupid knife to combat the bitch. "Shit shit shit."