Eyelids pried open with pupils so large and so alarmed that the black almost strangled out all the hazel. Sweat trickles down in rivulets as Sam's body hummed with the rush of dying. All around him he could hear voices, or so he thought. He focused harder, finding ebony clouds battling like Titans in an overcrowded sky. Thunder rumbled deep, moaning with a thousand demonic voices on the wind, singing the same refrain from earlier. The lightning was sharp, forking and slashing across the hostile sky. Suddenly, the heavens opened, lamenting and keening with Sam.
Loud thumps pounded against his rib cage as his heart forced blood through his body, only to seep from the open hole in his stomach. His blood drained, red warmth sinking into the cracks of the pavement and leaving him cold. The pain rode on waves and waves through him. He looked down to opening he knew was there even thought he appeared to still be surprised Dean's hand did this to him. Death's fingers enticed more blood from the wound and he could feel the life seeping from him. .
Sam focused trying to find an image, the slightest inkling of Dean's presence, but he was alone. It's amazing what runs through your head when death approaches. Everyone assumed life flashes, and Sam would love the opportunity to relive good moments. But, they were too few to count and recollect. All he ever had in life was pain. Pain, bruises, death, and scars that he covered up with his high ideals and words, while holding onto Dean as an anchor. Now, even that was taken from him, long before it was due and in a way that was worse than death in Sam's eyes.
He scooted several inches, ignoring the pain, cold, and numbness that crept along his spine. Shallow breaths panted from him as he focused on the choices he made in his life. If he had changed one thing would it have mattered? If he stayed with John and Dean instead of Stanford, would they all be safe now? One small step in another direction might have changed everything. He can't be sure at the moment because moments change and so do the choices you make.
He was dying. But if he could just focus on one thing, perhaps he could escape Death herself. He knew better. There was no escaping death now and she always found her mark eventually. She might have let him slip when Dean made that deal, but not now. He forced his breath to slow as evenly as possible, but they were still shallow. He hated to hear the weak wheezing that escaped his mouth. He knew he hadn't much time left, mere moments at best. Would he recognize his last moment? Or would he slip away before he realized? Would there be peace for him at last? Perhaps death was like sleeping and he would feel nothing, ever again. The idea terrified him, sending a struggle to his cold body.
"Dammit" He mouthed more than said. He'd meant to go out on a bang, not slowly like this. He didn't want to go out quietly and alone with still so much left unsaid and undone. He'd always thought he'd die saving somebody else in a no choice situation.
His fingers found the gaping hole in stomach and pressed down to hold back the spreading pool of crimson. As he lay on the street, he could feel the blood seeping in between his fingers. The scenery washed with blood as the rain poured upon him, coating the area with diluted blood. He swore he could hear the rapid, thready pulse within him growing ever weaker.
The silence and darkness was suffocating. The world was completely still besides the storm and falling rain patter. His body twisted, lying there limply. The warmth crept over his hands with a searing pain invading his chest. He found himself crying from swollen eyes. A senseless act, knowing the tears would not bring Dean back or help with the pain. Yet, he needed some release from it all- some way to protest his dying body and the lost of his sibling. Angry tears coursed down his cheeks. It hurt so much. It hurt that a world never gave them any breaks. It hurt that he had trusted a world and had faith it would all be okay. He hated that he had faith that goodness would triumph over the evil they faced day in and day out. Now no one here when he needed someone. He had saved countless others, but no one was here to save him.
He was alone, cold, dying and miserable. The long-forgotten feelings churned around him like a cyclone. No matter how his subconscious tried to escape the pain and loneliness, he couldn't. Before he could stuff the emotions back into the far reaches of oblivion, a memory broke from the fortress of his mind and blazed before him: Dean! His mind grew foggy and he knew he was dying. It wasn't what he expected. It was cold and cruel, taking him when he least wanted it, when his brother needed him.
Remembering, it all came, painfully, gushing back. Pure agony stabbed a blade in him, mauling his spirit with daggers of red-hot pain. He couldn't think Dean. Not now. He needed his anger to get him out of this mess. It made him powerful. With a half-strangled sob, the memories came rushing back, a tide of sorrow. His anger flared up. A furnace of darkness flamed within him and built into a hellish inferno. He pushed away from the grogginess within him, keeping himself alive. He sometimes felt he was born of a fury that even he did not fully understand. What good was all this anger, if it couldn't save his family?
He tried to upright himself, but he only managed to move his head a few inches. But it was just enough to see an approaching car. Headlights struck against Sam's opened eyes. He tried to move, but couldn't. The pain in his gut stole all of his energy away. He licked at his lips to call out, recognizing the sleekness of the Impala immediately. The dryness in his throat made no sound, but the car stopped inches from him. His voice made no sounds, other than groans and shallow breath pants when the car chugged in front of him. He breathed heavily through his mouth, letting his anger keep him from the brink. When and if the possessed Dean exited the car, he would make sure his brother wasn't some demon's pawn- no matter what it took. If no one else would save them, then he would with his dying breath.
The car door screeched as it opened, and a shadowed figure poured from the driver side door. The silhouette of a man loomed close to Sam and hunched over the fallen hero. Sam tired to form a fist before a voice said, "Hold on Sammy. I'll take care of you."