Dean lost himself for a while, lost everything and became empty. When he finally came back to himself, the sun was high in the afternoon sky and Sam was still staring sightlessly at the treetops.

Dean realized, distantly, that he would have to move eventually. But his body was like heavy, cold stone, and somehow the message to get up got lost between his brain and his legs. Part of him still thought he might die there, but the truth was it was more of a hope than a reality. God had fucked him over and left him alive, the survivor – a role that was never meant to be his.

Had he died as well, it wouldn't have been nearly so bad. Two brothers, going out fighting in a blaze of glory – it wasn't nearly so good as Sam being alive, but it was oh, so much better than Sam dead, and he bereft and alone.

Anything was better than that…

A sudden snap and rustle behind him made his heart seize in panic and he twisted, trying to find the source without relinquishing his hold on his brother. He caught a flash of red flannel and a shocked face.

"Hey, man, are you guys alright?"

A hiker, he realized; no threat to him, and therefore of no concern. He turned back to Sam, the strange numbness rolling in like a tide.

"Hey," the hiker repeated, moving closer. "Is that… blood?"

The stranger stepped around the tree, blanching as he saw Sam.

"Oh, Jesus. Fuck. Oh, fuck, man," he stammered, his eyes locked on Sam's chest, his unblinking eyes.

"He's- he's dead…"

Dean felt a surge of fury ignite his bones, and he glared at the hiker with such hatred and pain that the man stumbled backwards. Looking senseless with fear and horror, he turned and ran through the woods, crashing through branches and undergrowth.

Dean was glad he was gone. It was always better with just him and Sam.

They didn't need anyone else.

But the hiker must have called 911, because soon more people came; a Sheriff, paramedics. A coroner. They surrounded him, speaking, but Dean couldn't hear what they were saying to him. Wouldn't hear it.

They wanted to take Sam. Wanted to take his brother.

One of the paramedics reached out towards Sam's neck with a gloved hand, and Dean growled at him deep in his throat. A voice filtered in through the ocean that seemed to surround his brian.

"…need to let him go, son. Come on."

The Sheriff stepped towards him, hand outstretched placatingly.

Let him go…

"No!"

Dean clutched at his brother's cold body, shrinking back against the tree trunk. He saw the Sheriff motion to a paramedic, and then hands were on him, pulling him away from Sam.

"Sam," he screamed, "Sammy!"

A sharp, penetrating pain in his arm, and hot weakness flowed through him like a poison. His suddenly nerveless fingers slipped from Sam's shirt and he moaned at the loss of contact, head lolling back. The trees tilted around him until he was looking at sky.

He blinked heavily, and when he opened his eyes again, Sam was staring down at him.

Hope flared so strongly in him that he whimpered, struggling to keep his eyes open. Sam's face was close to his, his eyes clear and wide and locked firmly onto Dean's. Sunlight filtered through the edges of his hair, making it glow slightly. In fact, Sam himself seemed to glow, Dean's sluggish mind offering up the correct word – luminous…

"S'mmy," he slurred, pleading.

Sam stared at him with grief in his eyes, his mouth opening and moving but no sound coming out. He shook his head mournfully at Dean, pulling back slightly.

The distance allowed Dean to focus on the large, white wings that unfurled behind Sam, incandescent feathers ruffling gently in the breeze.

"No…" he moaned, understanding.

Sam's mouth moved again, and Dean realized fuzzily that Sam was trying to say I'm sorry. Then his brother's image leaned in, wings sweeping forward to encase him in radiant unconsciousness.