Gunpowder and bullets, lead spraying into his chest.
His knees dip, giving out.
Next thing he knows, he's cradled in Sam's arms.
For a couple seconds he thinks, This hurts. God, this hurts, and, I'm dying. And then he remembers Sam is holding him. And he thinks, Keep it together. Don't let Sammy see.
He looks up at his little brother. Just wants Sam to remember everything—the things he can't say. Doesn't want him to be afraid of this. It's okay, Sammy. I'm not going anywhere. I'm fine. We're okay.
Sam's eyes, stricken eyes, spilling over.
Dean can't pretend anymore.