It's not losing the Harvelles that has brought Dean to the edge it's the question....if the Colt doesn't work then just how does he kill the devil and if he can't....how does he stop his brother from saying yes? Desperate times and all that.

Destiny Cannot Be Changed

The air hangs heavy in the car. Almost as heavy as the cold metal of the gun that rests in my grip or as my heart does in my chest, it's weight dragging my head down and I stare at the gun that I had placed so much faith in. Faith which yet again had proved to be misplaced.

I know now that all my options have been stripped from me. Way I see it now, I only have two left and neither of them are gonna leave me or my brother in a good place. I glare hatefully at the gun. This was suppose to tip the scales in our favour. This was suppose to take out one of our problems.

This time I wasn't supposed to fail him again.

My back throbs as I shift in the passenger seat, trying to ignore the quick, fleeting glances that Sam's throwing my way. Raising my fist to my forehead I fight back the tears that want out, tears of frustration, anger and grief all looking to drown me, the weight of what this means wanting to pull me under. I want to scream to the heavens, with the hope that God wherever he's hiding in all of this can hear the pain and misery that his squabbling children are causing me. I turn the Colt in my hand. Son of a bitch was supposed to die. This was suppose to kill him. This was suppose to finish it. Keep Hell from rising. Keep us from Detroit.

Keep my brother from saying yes.

I resist the urge that is climbing through me to just wind down the window and hurl the Colt out into the night. Instead I slip it into my jacket and rest my weight against the door, head on the cool glass of the window and I give in. I let the tears come. It's not like they can take my brother's opinion of me any lower, right?

Maybe he's right. Maybe I am weak. Maybe it's time to do what I should have done, what seems like an eternity ago at Cold Oak. Maybe it's time to let go. Maybe it's time I make good on all of my father's last request. Finally remove the burden that he placed upon me.

The chilling thoughts form in my head with a calculating detachment as the lights of the car reflect off of the monstrous shapes that lurk in Bobby's yard as we circled in and draw to a halt outside his weather beaten home. He's waiting for us inside. His smile fades as he takes in my brother's solemn face and I can't bring my eyes up to met his because I know that if anyone can see the evil intent that is lurking in my heart then it will be him.

Excusing myself I hide in the bathroom, closing and locking the door, sliding to the floor, letting my feelings vent quietly onto my already damp shirt. Finally, I push myself up, knowing that they'll come looking for me soon. I wet my face, pocket the bottle from the cabinet and avoid looking at the person that I don't recognise anymore in the mirror.

Bobby follows me into the kitchen, concern in his manner and I brush him off, long night I tell him. Go talk to Sam, I'll cook. He gives me the space I crave, but not before he gives me an absolution of blame for the night's events. Seems I may have found my God in this unholy war after all. A small touch to my arm. The love in that one gesture almost breaks my resolve, almost brings me down to my knees to beg his forgiveness for it being this place that I intend to commit my act of treason. Yet it is that touch that makes me push forward. Maybe it's not as big a task as saving the world. Maybe it just about saving him. My one constant in a sea of change. Love, hope, comfort, rest. This man has provided me with all and yet he asks for nothing from me but my friendship and my company. Family without the complications of blood.

The pills are in my hand, clutched tight in the quaking skin on my palm and I can do this. I have to do this. The beer fizzes slowly and I pray that there is enough in it to work but not taste as I turn to my brother and our patriarch, steady my hands and hold out the bottles. My lips toast absent friends even as my brain screams Sam a warning of Greeks bearing gifts.

He tilts the bottle and drinks long and deep from it. He trusts that he is safe here, for what can befall him with his brother and his ally at his side? Dad would have cautioned him about the enemy within but then Sam should really know that lesson anyway. Ruby should have been proof enough that betrayal often comes from those inside the walls.

I see it as he fades, the nod of the head, the slur of his words and for the final time I fulfil my role of brother, helping him to climb the stairs under Bobby's now watchful eyes. My heart clenches as I lay him down, still time to change this it tells my mind but resigning itself that this destiny cannot be changed.

That one brother will destroy the other, and in that moment destroy himself.

The apocalypse is now a personal one as I pull the Colt from it place at my back. It may not kill the angels but it's touch will mean that they can't just bring us back. Without a deal, what's dead will stay dead.

Bobby is calling now, worry, fear and panic all fighting for their place in his voice, his call of my name floating up the stairs, wrapping itself round me, trying to keep me from my task. I resist it's pull and lie down behind my brother, free arm pulling him close like I did when we were little, when the nightmares became to much for him bear. I brush my hands gently through his hair, whispering to him, telling him that I will keep him safe from the nightmares, telling him that he will never have to be afraid again even as I bring the barrel up and tuck it in against his chin.

The retort is loud in the deathly quiet of the room. It's followed though by a wail of anguish and grief that only briefly registers as being my own before I move the blood drenched gun to it's new home against my flesh.

Bobby's cries have stopped, shocked no doubt into silence.

Peace seeps into my bones. I am ready to be judged and found wanting but I have done what I resolved to do right here in this very house.

I have not let my brother turn into a monster, even if it means that I become one instead.

I close my eyes, pull the trigger and wait for Hell to welcome me home.