The door to the bunker was hanging off its hinges. It splintered, wood kicked in, right above the doorknob.

"Sam?"

No response. Lights were off. Red light flickered on and off.

Blood trailed down the staircase.

"SAM?!"

Still nothing. A gust of wind from the open door blew some papers across the floor. Books were thrown haphazardly.

The library had been destroyed, in every sense of the word. Tables overturned, lamps smashed, glass shattered. How much of this was from the last fight?

Dean was kneeling in the middle of the room, staring into dead space. Blood spattered across his lips and cheeks. The demon blade was hanging limply from his hand. Dean looked up. His mouth grew into a smile that didn't meet his emotionless eyes.

"Heya, Cas."

"Dean," Cas said carefully. "Where's Sam?"

Someone's foot, encased in a large, familiar boot, stuck out from behind a bookcase.

Dean shifted his head slowly to the side and stared at the angel.

"How should I know?" Dean straightened up. His eyes were dimming, turning black.

Cas backed up, hands grappling for his knife.

"Am I my brother's keeper?"

Dean lunged at Cas with the knife in his hand, screaming animally.