Just the two of them. Really, in all the world, they were the only thing the other can rely on. Every once in a while they'd get botched info on a hunt, and the bullets would bounce off, or the carefully planned ritual would crap out, and they'd only have their wits and fast feet to kill the damn thing. One would figure it out first, and scream across to the other "It's a no go dude, Sonofabitch is immune to silver" and the other would shove their gun in the back of their jeans and reach for the canteen of holy water.
It had always been like that between them. A seamless dance between two well trained professionals. Between people so tied up in the other it's sometimes hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. Where one will be shocked briefly in the shower to discover that a well known scar is missing, only to remember a moment later that it's on his brothers forearm, not his own. Where giving to the other isn't really like giving at all, because when you get right down to the grit of it, it all comes back to you in the end.
So why was it that when ones heart stops beating, the others doesn't fade out too? How is it possible to be kneeling in the center of a muddy road with your arms desperately clutching the body of the man who is half of your soul? Shouldn't you be dead too?
How can I live now? Knowing you are dead? How is it even possible?
What am I supposed to do now?