Chapter Eight
"Dean, please don't do this. I'm Sammy, I'm your brother. I need you to stay here with me. Why are you doing this?"
"Why? Why am I doing this? Because I deserve to die, I want to die. I failed. I let my brother die. Sammy was my responsibility, and I failed him. I let him die."
"Dean, you didn't fail. I'm Sammy, I'm your brother. Look at me, don't you recognize me? Please don't do this, don't make me watch you die." Sam pleaded with his brother.
"You're not my brother. Sammy was only a baby; he never got the chance to grow up. I let him die, I failed. He died in my arms." Dean stated adamantly.
"Dean, Sammy didn't die! I'm Sammy, I grew up. Look at me!" Sam yelled.
Sam was frantic. How was he going to break through to his brother? This nightmare, or whatever it was, had wound itself tightly into Dean's mind and was distorting the facts. Sam was furious his dad wasn't here when they needed him. He was desperate to reach his brother.
"Dean, if Sammy died as a baby then you would be four years old, right? Look in the mirror, how old are you? How old are you?" Sam shouted.
Dean's mind was cloudy from all the conflicting voices battling in his head. He was so tired and he just didn't want to think anymore. The voice telling him to do it, to join Sammy, was strong and urged him on. He pressed the knife back into his throat and felt the warm, wet blood spread onto his hands. He brought his bloody hands down and looked at them.
They were stained with human blood. He was a hunter, but he didn't kill humans; he had never before had human blood on his hands. This was wrong. This went against everything he believed in. He was a fighter, he was strong, and he didn't give up; yet he couldn't fight these urges, they were so powerful, so forceful, so convincing.
"Dean, look in the mirror. You're sixteen, Sammy is twelve. I'm Sammy. I'm your brother. Look in the mirror!"
The words echoed in his mind as he walked to the mirror by the front door and took a long look. At first, he did see a four year old boy: sad, scared, but determined. He stood staring at the image until it morphed into a sixteen year old boy, blood running down his neck and soaking the front of his t-shirt. The image only lasted a second before he once again saw a four year old, but that was enough.
"Dean, please don't make me watch you die. I can't bear to watch you die." Sammy could no longer hold back his tears as he watched his brother slipping away from him.
Dean looked at Sam's tears and he felt his brother's anguish. Tears came to his own eyes as he remembered his pain as he watched his mom die; he would never put his brother through that pain. He would never wish that pain on anyone. He dropped the knife and shook at the thought of what he had almost done.
"Sammy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Sam felt himself breathing again; he hadn't even realized he was holding his breath until now. He felt such overwhelming relief that Dean had overcome his deadly thoughts. He knew they had narrowly avoided disaster and he was eternally grateful for his brother's strength and resilience.
Dean trembled when he considered what had almost happened. He experienced his greatest distress when he realized he had almost killed himself violently right in front of his brother. He would never subject his brother to that kind of anguish.
He started toward Sam to release him when a sharp pain stabbed like a dagger in his mind. He grabbed his head and collapsed to the floor in agony. He felt his head was going to explode, the noise was deafening and the pain overcame his thoughts. Whatever was doing this to him was not going to release him so easily. It couldn't control his actions, but it could render him helpless.