I wrote an evil thing and now I'm ashamed. I'm sorry. And I don't own Supernatural, otherwise this might actually happen...

Goodnight Sammy

Dean stands over the bed, tears forming in his eyes. He won't let them fall, though, not when he's with Sam.

Today's the day. The day that it all comes to an end, just not how it should. Not here in this crappy Kansas hospital room, and definitely not now.

He knows Cas will be there for him after, but for the moment, Dean's boyfriend has excused himself, sensing Dean's need to be alone with his brother – to say goodbye.

Dammit, it's not supposed to be like this.

It was dark, and Dean should've been asleep, but it was so loud. Rubbing his eyes, he crawled out of bed and grabbed his sippy cup, making his way towards the noise coming from Sammy's nursery. What was going on?

He stopped in the doorway, sippy cup tumbling to the floor.

"DADDY!"

Sam looks so calm, so peaceful. Someone had even finally cut his hair. Dean supposes someone, at least, wanted his brother to look nice.

The stranger was hurting Mommy, Dean could tell. She was standing defiantly over the crib, blocking the man, even as she was crying and pressing a hand to the red spot on her stomach. Mommy kicked the man, and his cigarette went flying across the room.

"Dean," his father yelled, running down the hallway. "Dean, what's wrong?"

"Daddy, he's hurting Mommy," Dean explained, pointing through the open door. His dad evaluated the scene, and even as a toddler, Dean could see his father fighting the impulse to charge in as fight, blindly and stupidly.

"Okay, Dean, I need you to be a big boy. I'm going to help Mommy, but you have to get Sammy out of here, no matter what. Just get Sammy out."

Terrified, Dean nodded.

It was years later that Dean really learned who he was, this deranged monster that tore his family apart.

He was a kidnapper. A religious fanatic that thought the Winchesters were corrupting their younger son. Leading him into a life of sin.

As if killing Mary Winchester wasn't.

John charged in, taking the man by surprise. In their struggle, neither man noticed Dean sneak past and get Sammy out of the crib. If his mother did, she was too weak to say anything, in a crumpled heap on the ground. He managed to get to the doorway before he heard the bad man cackle. He looked back just in time to see the man slit his mother's throat before turning and smiling wickedly at Dean.

And then Dean began to run.

It's his fault. It was always his fault. Not the stranger's; his. Dean's.

He made it down the stairs, somehow. The man was really close behind them, until Daddy pulled him back. It gave Dean just enough time to get outside. Just enough time to trip over the doorstep.

Sammy went flying, landing in the grass. Mostly. There were a few pebbles right where he lay, and one of them was directly beneath his head.

No one blames him, Dean knows that – but he also knows it's still his fault.

Smoke was pouring out the door. The discarded cigarette must have caught Sammy's rug on fire, but Dean's too busy trying to calm his baby brother to think about that. There was no blood anywhere, and he didn't seem hurt, so why wouldn't he stop crying?

It's his fault they're in this position now.

John came bursting through the dense smoke – finally – and took Sam.

"Dean, what happened? Are you okay?"

"Daddy, I – I tripped," Dean admitted, tears welling in his eyes. "I dropped – he hit his head."

"Hey, it's alright, buddy," his father assured him, running a comforting hand through Dean's hair. "Sammy's gonna be fine. I swear to Mommy, he will be fine."

It wasn't until after he found out that Sam might not be fine that Dean realized that his mother wasn't coming back.

Dean thought it was a good thing when Sammy finally stopped wailing, wrapped in their father's arms. It was a relief when he fell asleep.

But then he didn't wake up.

He's been here ever since. The lunatic got the death penalty, sure, but that didn't wake Sam up, did it?

John Winchester never once entertained the thought of putting his younger son out of any potential misery – You never give up on family, he'd say, and go back to telling the comatose figure fantastic, fantastical stories about villains and heroes and monsters and Hunters – but John Winchester is gone now.

Dean kept up the stories for a while, until dark, heavy reality crushed his imagination. His friend Chuck offered to continue on, becoming a bestselling author in the process, and write stories about Dean and Sam, Hunters extraordinaire, brothers that fight against the supernatural. He came up with a story when their father died – How else will you tell him? – and introduced Cas as an angel – Trust me, that's how he'd see anyone that makes you so happy – and gave Sammy a life. A wonderful, adventurous life. A life he'll never have.

So now Dean brings Chuck's books with him and sits in a hospital and reads to his baby brother, who has grown up without ever knowing it.

But it's time to end the story, and Dean knows it. He just refused to recognize it until Chuck suggested maybe it was time for Supernatural to come to an end. Cas had to keep him from pummeling his friend – You can't give up on Sam, he'd yelled. You can't give up on family! Chuck had just smiled sadly and handed Dean a stack of paper – the last Supernatural manuscript.

He's almost done with it, his voice raw, from use as well as crying, but he refuses to stop, even to take a drink. He flips the page to find the final chapter staring up at him. In a split-second, Dean makes a decision. He tears up the final pages and lets the scraps fall to the floor.

Cas is in the doorway, standing sentinel – Dean doesn't know how long he's been there – and Sam's doctor is standing by the life support machine. It's wrong, Dean thinks, that there are only three souls to witness the most tragic moment in history. But maybe he can make it a little better.

"How about you finish it, Sam?" he suggests, a single tear falling from his eye. "You come up with the ending. Just do me a favor, alright, Sam? Just make it a good one. A happy one."

He squeezes his brother's hand one last time.

"Goodnight, Sammy," Dean whispers.

And he nods for the doctor to turn off the life support.

Send me hate below; I totally deserve it.