3 Years Ago: Dean
Within his clenched fist, the dead grass crumbled. He couldn't even feel the blades scratch against his skin. For all he knew, he was dead too. Castiel had healed his swollen face, which should have taken away the physical pain. But it didn't. Not even close. There was a hole in his stomach that burned worse than hellfire. And it wasn't the kind of burn that scorched the skin, it was the kind that enveloped your soul in a world of hurt. The kind that would scar, and even though he wouldn't always be able to feel it, it would always be there.
They were both gone.
Sammy, little Sammy, was gone. His little brother, the biggest pain in his ass that used to tug at his sleeve and annoy the crap out of him-hell, still did-was in the one place where he'd always tried to protect him from. He was somewhere in the pit, trapped in his own body as Lucifer took him over.
He was gone. And Dean wasn't going to be able to make a deal to bring him back this time. He was too deep in it.
His eyes shut together tightly, willing this nightmare to go away. How was he going to survive losing his baby brother again? And on top of that, losing Ryan? His best friend, his partner in crime. The only girl he'd ever met that didn't wuss out when the going got tough. The girl who fought by his side. The girl he'd loved for nearly ten years. Gone. Dead.
He pressed two fingers into the bridge of his nose, the reality of it all crashing into him with the weight of a freight train. It seemed almost impossible to cry, because if he were to cry, he could have sworn he wouldn't be able to stop. Besides his flaky angel friend, he was completely alone. And being alone didn't suit well with him. It never had.