The next couple days were alright. Sam would text Dean frequently, updating him on their progress. They were getting closer, which was both terrifying and exciting at the same time.

Bobby hardly let Dean out of his sight. They kept busy, answering calls and impersonating FBI, Homeland Security, etc. for other hunters. Bobby also put him to work packing rock salt into bullets. Anything to keep him occupied.

Then everything went to hell.

On the third day, Sam sent him a message saying:

Dean. This is it, tonight we're going after the demon.

He'd responded, asking if they needed him at all, even if it was to use him for bait. As expected, Sam replied with a, "Hell no," and told him that no matter what happened, he needed to stay alive and try to be happy.

It sounded way too much like a goodbye.

By the fourth night, they still hadn't heard anything. Dean had called and texted, but received no reply. He sat there on the couch, nervously fidgeting with his phone.

"Dean, you should get some sleep. It's gettin' late." Bobby said, switching off the TV.

"What if something happened to them? What if..."

"Don't do this to yourself, boy."

"I haven't heard anything since yesterday."

"I'm sure they're fine. You'll wake up to a text from Sam in the morning."

Dean doubted that. There was a twisting, sick feeling in his gut. What if they were dead?

"Come on, it's almost midnight. I need my beauty sleep."

He let Bobby lock him in the guest bedroom, but he didn't even try to fall asleep. There was no point. He sent a text every half hour. Fuck it. If Sam was ignoring him, he'd just blow up his phone. And if he wasn't...

No. Dean couldn't deal with that.

12:05 : Sam, please call me

12:35 : Dude I'm serious

1:05 : You gotta be ok man I can't do this without you

1:35 : i dont care how late it is when you get back CALL ME

2:05 : Sammy please

He sighed, glancing at the clock. It was gonna be a long night. He hesitated before texting his dad's phone as well. Their father rarely answered texts, but he might make an exception this time.

Dad Sam isn't answering his phone please call me as soon as you get this

He resisted the urge to throw his phone against the wall. Goddammit, why weren't they answering? Something horrible had happened, he just knew it.

He was gonna be alone.

His family was dead.

He couldn't breathe.

Dean tried to take deep breaths, but the hopelessness overwhelmed him. Suicidal thoughts swarmed his brain, and the only thing he could think of was putting a bullet through his head.

Fuck suicide watch.

He let his fevered gaze sweep over the room, looking for something, anything...

He could always hang himself with his sheets. Not the classiest way to go out, but hell, it was something.

Then he remembered.

A faint memory from years ago.

He was 12, and Sammy was 8. Their father had been on a hunt for almost three weeks, and they were out of food. They called Bobby to pick them up, and they spent the remaining two weeks with him until John returned. In that time, Bobby had let them use this very same guest bedroom.

He told them to make themselves at home, and for Dean that meant making a cache of weapons. When it finally came time for them to leave, he left a single blade under the floorboards near the bed. It was his way of leaving a mark on the place. "Dean Winchester was here."

Every time they stayed with him, Dean took comfort in knowing that no matter what happened, he had a secret weapon hidden, just in case.

Well, the day had finally arrived. This was the 'just in case'.

He'd completely forgotten about it over the years, but as he looked at that spot near the bed, he sighed with relief. That floorboard was still loose. He pried it up, hoping it didn't make too much noise.

There it was. Covered in dust, but still razor sharp. It was a small dagger, nothing fancy. He remembered it being bigger, but it would still do the trick. He hesitated, reaching for his phone.

To Sam, he wrote:

You're probably dead and i can't do this. Not sure if the afterlife exists, but i'll meet u there if it does

To his father:

Dad I'm sorry for giving up. See u soon, you can kick my ass then.

And finally to Bobby, he simply said:

I'm sorry.

He picked up the knife again and pressed it to the inside of his wrist. The sharp edge made a shallow cut, and a thin trickle of blood ran down his arm.

Just then he heard someone fumbling with the lock on the door, and Bobby burst in.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" He'd obviously just woken up, his hair and beard in disarray. He knelt beside the younger man, slowly reaching out. "Dean, hand it over."

"How did you-"

"Got the volume on my phone turned up in cases your daddy called." Bobby explained. "Son, please don't do this." His voice broke, and it was the most emotional he'd ever seen the older man.

"Bobby, they're dead. I just know it."

"But you don't know it! Tell you what, tomorrow we'll drive to the last place Sam texted you from. We'll do some diggin', and we'll find them. I promise you."

Dean still gripped the knife tightly. The blade bit down into his arm further, and he could feel the warm blood pooling around the wound.

"What if they're alive? What if they come back here, and you're the dead one? How do you think that would go, hm? Pretty sure your dad wouldn't be too far behind you. And what about Sammy? You gonna leave him to face the world alone?"

Sam.

Sammy.

If there was any chance he was alive, Dean couldn't do this to him.

And what if the demon had them? What if they were being tortured?

He let the knife fall to the floor with a clatter, and Bobby quickly tossed it out of his reach. He grabbed Dean's wrist with shaking hands, examining the cut. "You'll need a couple stitches." He said softly. He retrieved a first aid kit complete with sutures from underneath the bed and helped Dean to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Bobby." He swallowed hard. "Just...couldn't do it without them."

"Yeah," Bobby gave him a quick hug. "Now sit down, let's fix you up."

He steadied his hands long enough to stitch Dean's wound, and then the two of them just sat together in silence, Bobby's arm draped around Dean's shoulders while the younger man put his head in his hands. His chest felt tight, like he couldn't get enough air.

"Dean, you need to breathe." Bobby reminded gently.

"Can...can you stay with me tonight? I...need help." Admitting that out loud was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but he knew the minute Bobby left him alone, he'd slit his wrists.

"No shit. I'm obviously not gonna leave you alone right now." Bobby said, still having his own minor panic attack. If Dean hadn't texted him...

Neither of them slept that night.