This chapter has direct dialog from the final episode, 'Carry On'.
Sam didn't eat that night. Every time he thought about food it made him nauseous. He poured some food in Miracle's bowl but she ignored it. It seemed she wasn't in the mood for food either. After everything that had happened that day, all Sam wanted to do was go to bed. Not only was he physically exhausted, but emotionally as well. He thought that maybe he could escape into unconsciousness for a while and not have to deal with any of it.
Sam made his way down the hall toward his bedroom, but froze in front of Dean's door. He didn't want to go in there. Not now, while the emotions were so raw. But his hand seemed to move without his permission, reaching for the knob and turning it. He pushed it open and it creaked loudly on it's hinges. The light was off and all he could see were shadows. Again, without permission, his hand rose up and flipped on the light. Sam had walked into vamp nests that didn't fill him with as much dread as this small bedroom did.
He slowly walked into the middle of the room and looked around. Dean had made the bunker his home from the very beginning. 'Nesting' was what Dean had called it. Sam had had a harder time settling in. He had never had a home and he never felt quite at ease staying in one place for very long. Dean had decorated the room in a very alpha male style. Guns on the wall and knives everywhere. His collection of vintage skin magazines in a box on the shelf next to his bed. Sam walked over to the night stand and picked up the picture of a four year old Dean and their mother that was leaning up against the lamp. He sat down on the bed heavily, holding the picture close to his heart. He was all alone now. Every member of his family that he knew of was dead.
"You have family, Sammy." Sam looked up and saw Dean sitting at his desk. His back was to Sam and he was staring at the wall. "Family don't end with blood." Sam chuckled humorlessly, staring down at the picture in his hand.
"But it doesn't start there either", Sam whispered, finishing the familiar phrase. "There's family, Dean, and then there's you. Dean spun around in his chair and grinned a wide, Cheshire Cat grin.
"They broke the mold when they made me, Sammy."
"Don't I know it, Dean. Don't I know it", Sam murmured, staring down at his feet. The room suddenly became filled with an awkward silence and Sam laid back on Dean's bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"What's the matter, Sammy?, Dean whispered. Sam rolled over on his side, facing away from the Dean that his mind had conjured up out of grief. Dean sighed and Sam heard the chair squeaking as he stood up. "Come on, Man! I can't help you if you won't talk to me!" Sam could hear his voice move closer to the bed.
"I'm just tired, Dean. Really, really tired." Sam pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, hugging himself. He didn't hear from Dean again and he looked over his shoulder, but Dean was gone. He didn't know how long he laid there, staring at the wall, before he eventually drifted off.
"Alright! Let's go get those kids, get 'em outta here", Sam said, putting his machete back in it's sheath.
"Sam... I don't... Mmmm...", Dean stammered, standing against a beam with a panicked look on his face. "I don't think I'm going anywhere"
"What?", Sam barked. "What are you talking about?" Sam walked quickly to his brother, looking for injuries.
"There's something in my... Something in my back. It feels like it's right through me." Dean started to breathe hard. Sam reached around behind him and when he pulled his hand back, it was covered in blood. Dean groaned in pain. "Oh, God!"
"Alright. Um... Hold on. Okay. Uh, I got you", Sam stuttered in a panic. He tried to pull Dean off of whatever had impaled him and Dean shoved him back.
"No, no, no, no, no. Don't... Don't... Don't move me. Don't move me. It feels like this thing's holding me together right now!" Dean was panting hard with his eyes closed and his head lowered. "Just give me... Just give me a minute."
"Yeah. Um... alright", Sam was looking around frantically. "I'll call for help. I'll get the first-aid kit." He pulled out his phone and started to walk off to get the kit.
"Sam, Sam! Sam... Stay wi... Stay with me. Can you stay with me, please?" The fear in Dean's eyes terrified Sam. And he rushed back to his brother.
"OK. Yeah.", Sam whispered. Dean calmed considerably.
"OK. OK. Uh... right. Alright. Listen to me. Um... " Dean looked up at Sam with a determined look on his face. "You get those boys and you get them someplace safe, alright?" Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. NO! He wasn't going to let his brother die!
"Dean... WE are gonna get them somewhere safe!", Sam said, motioning with his hand to himself and Dean.
"No!", Dean growled, shaking his head. "You knew it was always gonna end like this for me. It was supposed to end like this, right?" Sam stared at his brother in horror. Dean was giving up. "I mean, look at us. Saving people, hunting things... It's what we do."
"No, no. Stop, OK?!", Sam yelled. "Just... Just stop!"
"It's OK. It's OK", Dean whispered, trying to comfort his baby brother. "It's good. It's good. We had one hell of a ride, man."
"I will find a way, OK? I-I will find another way!", Sam was in a state of shock and thought, like all the other times, he could bring Dean back from the dead.
"No, man. No. No. No, no, no, no.", Dean barked, trying to get through to Sam. " No bringing me back, okay? You know... You know that always ends bad." Sam began to sob and a tear broke lose from Dean's eye.
"Dean..
"OK", Dean breathed. His face was turning pale and his lower lip began to tremble.
"P-please!", Sam pleaded. The plea turned into a scream as Sam bolted upright in the bed. He looked around the room panting and sweating. It took him a moment to remember where he was and what was happening. He groaned and ran a shaking hand down his face. He rolled over, dropped his feet on the floor, and bowed his head between his legs like he was going to be sick. And if someone had asked him, he might have said that he was. He looked over at the clock next to the bed and it shown in big red numbers 1:23am. Sam sighed and stood up. He was done sleeping tonight.
Sam walked out into the war room and went to the decanter of whiskey on the little rolling tea cart that stood against the wall. He poured himself a double and started to move toward the big map table with his glass. He thought twice, did an about face, and grabbed the decanter before moving toward the table again. He slumped down in the nearest chair and downed the whole glass in one large gulp, slamming the glass down on the table.
"What are you doing, Sammy?", Dean growled, exasperated. He sat directly across from Sam, leaning over with his arms on the table. Sam shot Dean a dirty look and poured himself another double, downing it just like the first. He looked up at Dean with blurry eyes and poured another. "Are you trying to kill yourself?!"
"Maybe.", Sam muttered, staring down at the glass, before slamming it back. Sam lifted the decanter shakily and tried to fill his glass again, spilling half of it on the table.
"SAM! STOP!", Dean bellowed.
"Why?", Sam snarled low. His hand reached for his drink and missed. His knuckles hit the glass, sending it skittering across the table and onto the floor, shattering into a million pieces. Dean looked down at the mess on the floor and then back up at Sam.
"You finished?", Dean growled.
"No, I...I'mm juss gonna get 'nother glassss", Sam slurred, wobbling to his feet. The room began to spin and he grabbed for the edge of the table, missed, and face planted on the cold concrete floor. The last thing he heard before passing out was Dean's voice in his head.
"You never were a drinker, were you Sammy?"