Dean watched with numb horror as Sam left the room, his brother's back stiff, his face hard.
He'd done this. This was all his fault.
Because he was a coward – a yellow bellied coward. So much of one he'd bared his soul just so Sam would no longer expect anything from him. So he could quit. So he wouldn't be made to try just so he could fail spectacularly. Because he knew he would fail. Was certain of it. Had never been so sure of anything this strongly in his entire life. But now at least he wouldn't have to see it happen. It was done.
Dean stared at the blank wall before him seeing nothing. The weight he felt since awakening heavier than before.
He would never forget the look on Sam's face though. A look he'd fought his whole life never to put there, yet had today brought it about on purpose for his brother's and his own benefit. Because if Sammy knew everything up front, then he would be hurt less later. But the knife of disappointment and disgust in his eyes still buried themselves deep. Dean's family was his world. And with John Winchester dead, Sam was all the blood kin he had left. There was Bobby, too, of course, but soon he would want nothing to do with Dean either.
There was just nothing left. He could give no more.
His father had died to save him. He'd been the first to be tested and he'd not broken. Sam had died because Dean hadn't done his job. And though he'd found a way to fix that, in the end he'd just made everything so much worse. He'd caved in to Alistair's torture. He'd tormented others in his place and by so doing had given the demons access to the seals.
Then there was Pamela. Strong, beautiful and in trying to help Dean she'd been made blind. And like naïve fools they kept asking her to help them again and again despite their parts in her deformity. And for that she'd been murdered.
But worse than all of them combined was Sam. His brother had killed a demon. Something no human as far as he knew had ever been able to do before. Sam had continued using his weirdo powers until he seemed more and yet less than human. And it was only because of Dean that he'd worked at making his YED given powers stronger. Over the last few months he'd seen Sam staring at him when he thought Dean wasn't looking. He'd seen the worry, the pity, the uncertainty Dean would be able to pull his own weight.
Something Sam had gotten a belly full of when Dean had been contaminated by the ghost virus, fear filling him at seeing his own shadow. Shame of those days and how he'd acted covered him even now. Especially at the fact that when he got spooked, he ran and left Sam alone to deal with the ghost all by himself instead of standing by him. His brother could have been killed! Yet he'd not spared him a thought, his terror making him hightail it out of there, every man for himself. And that fear was nothing to what he felt anymore.
Did his father know what he'd done? Was he even now cursing Dean from wherever he went after he escaped from Hell? Did he know his older son wasn't even half the man he'd been despite how hard Dean had tried to emulate him all his life? Did his disappointment fill him until he wished he'd never traded his life for his in the first place?
He stared down at his hands and saw them blur as tears filled his eyes and spilled unchecked down his face. He felt a sob scrambling up his throat but he held it down by sheer force of will. He was just so blasted weak!
He wanted to die. They should have just let him die.
Dean stared around him wondering if there was an easy way to do it. If there was some quick fix to send him where he belonged.
He stared at the needle in his arm. He could try to push some air into his IV, give himself heart failure. That way Sam would just think it'd been his time to go. He wouldn't go and put on more guilt baggage as if he'd had anything to do with what had happened.
He turned to reach for the bag and the insert nozzle, but it was too far back. He stretched to reach for it and pain shot through him, his abused ribs screaming at the treatment.
Panting, he dropped back into place, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible to give his ribs relief. The ache roller over him in waves making him dizzy.
He was too feeble, his body too battered. If he was going to do something he was going to have to wait. This he wouldn't fail at. This he'd follow through. Rid the world of his useless carcass. But he'd have to wait until he got better to pull it off.
Problem was Castiel would be back. Sam would be back. They were both stubborn, they might decide not to believe what he'd told them. So they'd come back to demand things from him, ask him for things he could not give. They would try to stop him if they knew what he was up to. He would just have to wait them out. Because eventually they would have no choice but to finally realized he was serious, that he couldn't do what they wanted. Then they would leave him. They would leave him and never want to see him again. And then he could take care of things…permanently.
For them to desert him was no less than he deserved. Yet the thought of it sent cold shivers of fear shooting through him.
Dean grabbed the railing beside him and shook it until it rattled despite the pain it injected through his ribs and his bruised arm.
He didn't want that. He wasn't sure he could handle living through it and holding to his resolve! There must be something he could do. Something he could try to get rid of himself before they ditched him. Save himself from at least that one bit of pain. Yet just as surely as he knew he couldn't face down Armageddon, he was only too aware that at the moment there was nothing to be done. Nothing at all.
And that hurt most of all.