A/N: WARNING: This chapter contains attempted suicide.
"Maybe you should go to bed," Castiel began, reaching out a hand towards Dean.
Dean pulled back, and only ended up toppling towards Sam. Sam caught him and righted him before Dean could feel any anger at having to be helped.
"And then what?" he asked, voice low, broken.
"I don't know," Castiel answered.
"And what about you?" Dean asked, nodding towards Sam. "Any words of hope, or that go-lucky encouragement?"
Sam just shook his head, one side of his mouth pulling down in apology.
Dean shuffled off to bed.
"I should go stay with him," Castiel reasoned once Dean's door slammed shut.
Sam pat his best friend on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry. I got this."
"Thank you."
"Yeah, no problem."
Sam went to follow his brother, and Castiel added, "And Sam, we need to talk. After…"
Sam furrowed his brow. "Is everything okay? Well, I mean…"
"This situation has got me thinking, and there are things we've left unsaid. All of us. I just want to make sure that you — both of you — know where I stand, how I feel…"
"Yeah. Yeah, Cas, we can do that."
Castiel gave him a nod, and then they went their separate directions. Why did it hurt so much? Why did it hurt separating from his friend? Did some part of Sam know that their time was limited, that their actions were all for nought? Were they?
He didn't know.
Clattering and swears came from Dean's room. Sam hurried down the hall, and knocked on Dean's door.
A sob met Sam's ears as an answer, and, something sharp and painful tugging at his stomach, Sam barged in.
Dean was holding his Colt MK-IV with the engraved, silver pearl grip. Tears wet his face, and his thumb was reaching to thumb back the safety.
The air was punched out of Sam.
"Dean?"
"Go away," Dean told him. "I don't want you to see this."
Barely daring to breathe, sure he had forgotten how to, Sam took a step forward, hands out in a calming, placating gesture.
"Dean, there won't be anything to see. I won't let you do this."
"And whose decision is that?" Dean asked. He gestured at Sam with his free hand. "Yours?" He pointed upwards. A tear fell. "His?"
"It can be yours," Sam said. "All yours. Look, Dean, this isn't you."
Sam kept stepping forward, keeping his motions even and slow. One wrong move, and— no. No, don't think about it.
"I don't know who Dean is," Dean answered, words strange, yet clearly hurting as they came from him.
"Well, we can find out together, okay? We can find out together."
"What if we can't?"
Sam stepped forward. Dean seemed too distraught to really notice. Or maybe there was a part of him crying out for help, and that was the part of him that didn't move.
Another step.
Dean inhaled sharply, and shuffled back. Not much, but enough to show Sam that he was losing his grip on him. Dean's lips trembled, tears falling fast as he put the pistol under his chin. Sam's world became nothing but that image, his chest aching. He wanted to scream, to grab hold of Dean and force him to stay in this world. He wanted to carry him through this hurt, and find his own salvation through the deed.
"I know—I know you think it was all God. Maybe you're right. Okay? Maybe you're right. But do you know what I know, Dean?" Sam was shaking. His vision blurred with unshed tears. "I know that I don't want to lose my big brother. That feeling — it's all mine. And your pain? No one else is feeling that, Dean. That's yours. God can—can create it, but he doesn't know it. Not really. He doesn't know you like I do. He doesn't know what any of this feels like. You do, Dean. You do. And if you need someone to hang onto" — Sam held out his hand — "I'm right here."
"Is it real?" Dean asked, voice a near-whisper.
"Come on," Sam said. "Take my hand. Feel it. It's real."
"Sammy, I…"
"You never let me down," Sam said. "Even when you did things that hurt me, things that seemed unforgivable. You did it — all of it — for me. Just do one last thing for me," Sam told him. "Just one last thing, if you can't do it for yourself.
"You've been there for me. And here I am for you. Don't let me down, Dean. You won't let me down."
Dean inhaled sharply, and lowered the pistol to the floor in a swift movement.
The safety had never been pulled back.
Sam reached out, and grabbed the gun, emptying the magazine. Bullets pinged softly onto the floor.
Sam slid the gun aside, and he reached for his brother.
"You're okay," Sam told him. "You're okay."
Dean didn't hold him, seeming like life had been sucked out of him. But he breathed. And his heart beat.
Eventually, his brother reached up, and just clung weakly to his shoulders. His forehead pressed against him.
"I'm sorry, Sammy."
"It's okay," Sam assured him.
Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it never would be.
But Sam couldn't think like that in this moment. In this moment he just had to realize that he had Dean, and that his brother couldn't do this alone.
None of us can, Sam realized.
Sam prayed to Castiel, and by the time Sam got Dean into bed, Cas was ready to watch over him.
They just nodded in recognition as they passed each other — Castiel entering, and Sam leaving.
Pain. There was just pain on Castiel's face, and pain emanating from Dean.
Sam wanted to end that pain, but not Dean's way. He couldn't do it Dean's way, and God's way would never lead to that. The only tether connected to all of this was what was holding them down: God.
Sam didn't know how, or if it was even possible, but he decided, right then and there, that he was going to end God.