Sam froze as Dean turned the knife around, pointing the dull tip into his stomach–Between his upper ribs; where it would no doubt kill him if he could actually shove it in. It wasn't supposed to be possible–But if there was anyone who could do it, Sam knew it was Dean.

The worry that had been growing all night, spiked. His brother was crazy. There was obviously something wrong with him. All his talk about ghosts and monsters and. . . Djinn? Whatever that was.

Dean was crazy, and that was dangerous. He was going to hut himself. Possibly kill himself.

Sam put his hands up in a surrendering gesture. "Dean, please, calm down. We can talk about this."

Dean shook his head, and Sam was shocked to see tears glistening in his older brother's bright green eyes. "Sam, you don't understand."

"Try me." Sam snarled, panic making him angry.

"I–I. . . You wouldn't believe me. I can't. I'm sorry, Sam. I have to get–To get back."

Sam's eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "Get back? What are you talking about?"

He'd been away for a while, not really keeping in touch with his brother; but as far as he knew, Dean hadn't left the city. What was he going on about, getting back? Getting back to what? "Dean?!"

Dean smiled slightly, shifting his grip on the butter-knife. "Back to you, Sam."

He pulled the knife outward slightly, allowing Sam to breathe for the first time since this started. "De–"

And then Dean plunged the knife in with all his strength.

It was like slow motion to Sam, as the metal stabbed through Dean's jacket and shirt–And then through Dean.

Sam could only watch in shock as Dean's eyes widened in an almost surprised expression.

Then, Sam watched as his brother fell to his knees, blood leaking through his hands and down his front.

And his frozen, trance-like state, broke in that second.

Sam launched himself forward, just managing to catch his brother's shoulders before he face-planted.

Both on their knees, facing each other. Dean's green eyes were so full of. . . Sam couldn't place it. It was something he'd never seen before in his normal, apple-pie life. But then, he'd never looked that deeply into his brother's eyes. Until now, when Dean was so close to slipping away. He searched deeper into those eyes, and saw it was unimaginable depths of guilt, pain, fear, anger. None of which the brother he knew ever showed signs of. But this wasn't something that just happened. Clearly it had built up over the years. And he felt horrible for never having noticed before.

Though, Sam was realizing, this was not the brother he'd grown up with. Something had changed while Sam was away.

And could that partially be his fault for leaving in the first place? Despite the fact that they never had been close, he always knew that Dean looked out for him. And looking back, he realized that it had broken Dean's heart when he left for Stanford. He ignored the signs then, but Dean had been a little different whenever he came to visit. Less cheerful, less alive. But just subtly enough that no one but Sam noticed. And he didn't pay any attention to it.

Even as they stared into each other's souls, Dean's eyes slid closed. His head fell forward, chin resting on his chest, and blood spilled out of his partially open mouth.

"No. Dean." Sam tightened his grip on his brother's shoulders as Dean's body tried to fall to the floor.

He slowly shifted around, allowing Dean to slump across his lap.

His hands trembled, hovering over his brother, over the knife embedded in his rib cage. "Dean. . . What do I do?"

Sam was shaking. His whole body; every part of his being.

He couldn't process what was happening.

They were in an abandoned warehouse, miles from town. . . Dean had gone full out crazy, and stabbed himself.

Sam almost slapped himself. His phone.

He stretched one arm across Dean's chest to prevent him from rolling off his legs, and reached into his pocket with the other–Just before the horrifying reality smashed into him full force.

Dean, in his craziness, had thrown Sam's cell out of the Impala's window.

"You idiot!" he snapped at his brother. "Why did you do that?!"

Dean gurgled, blood erupting out of his mouth, and Sam realized that he probably couldn't breathe.

Immediately he–as gently as possible–dragged his brother up so Dean's chin was resting on his shoulder.

His shirt was instantly soaked through with the warm liquid that was choking his brother, while also signaling that death was near.

Sam wrapped both arms around his brother's chest and back, wary of the knife.

He was panicking, freaking out, had no idea what to do. But all he could do was sit and hold his brother.

Dean jerked against him. "Sammy. . . 'M comin'. . ." he mumbled.

Sam somehow knew that the words weren't meant for him. There was something he didn't know. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was his brother, dying in his arms. It struck him that this was the first time they'd really hugged in years. And it was under such terrible circumstances.

He was suddenly hit with the blinding realization of how bad a brother he'd been.

Why now? Now when it's too late to make things right?

He wasn't kidding himself. He knew Dean was going to die. He knew there was no saving his brother.

Why?

He clutched his big brother closer, eyes squeezed shut, tears threatening once again. Dean's breaths were shallow and raspy against him; each one sending a shudder through his dying body.

"Dean, I–" Sam sucked in a painful gasp of air. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I–I don't deserve you. Never did. But i love you, okay? I love you, man. Don't leave me. Come back, please."

Dean's breath hitched, and his hand tangled in Sam's t-shirt. "'M not leavin'. . . 'M comin'. . . Back. . . Sammy. . ." he sighed out and relaxed further into Sam's embrace.

Sam held his breath as he waited for his brother's inhale.

But it didn't come.

His leg was rapidly being stained red, but that was the only movement between them. The blood moving down his leg, down his back. . . Out of Dean.

He held on for a long time. Time seemed frozen.

As his heartbeat thudded in his chest, pounding against Dean's lifeless body, Sam started to feel guilty. More so than before.

Was this somehow his fault?

Dean had been acting weird since he came home, and Sam had only called him out on it; not tried to help him. Had his behavior, built up over the years, and finally messed up this last time, the final straw. . . Had he somehow driven his brother to kill himself?

That thought shattered his already cracked heart. Now that he'd thought it, he knew he'd never forget. He'd be able to get over his brother's death, as he had his father's. . . But with the knowledge that it had been partially his fault? Never.

He should have been more supportive. He should have known something was wrong when his brother tried to hug him when he arrived. Dean had given up trying to hug him when he was twelve years old. He'd given up on calling him Sammy when he was twelve years old. And now all of a sudden? It was a clear signal that something wasn't right. And he'd ignored it, other than to rudely call his brother out.

Now look what it had lead to. Dean was dead. He'd killed himself.

And Sam could not help but blame himself.

After an eternity, Sam grit his teeth and tried to gently lower his brother on the ground; but his dead weight caused him to simply flop back.

Sam winced. "Sorry."

He leaned forward, intending to stand, when his eyes fell on Dean's. They'd been so full earlier. Full of every emotion possible. So expressive, so alive; even through the clear emotional agony he'd been in.

Now they were lifeless. Empty.

Sam hadn't understood what it was that had made them so vibrant before. Because he'd never cared enough to find out. To learn about his brother. And now he never would.