The Piercing Steel of Death.
The air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood and the coppery scent of fear. Rain lashed against the corrugated iron roof of the dilapidated warehouse, mimicking the frantic drumming in Dean's chest. He and Sam, backs pressed together, fought with a ferocity born of desperation. The vampires, a snarling pack emboldened by their numbers, pressed in, their eyes burning with predatory hunger. This was it, the final stand. The culmination of a lifetime spent hunting monsters.
Dean swung his machete, a silver flash in the dim light, severing a vampire's head. Another lunged, claws extended, and he dodged, burying the blade deep into its chest. He heard Sam grunt behind him, the whoosh of a blade, and the sickening crack of bone. They were a well-oiled machine, a symphony of violence honed by years of fighting side-by-side.
But the vampires were relentless.
Dean kicked out, sending one sprawling, and turned to check on Sam. He saw him engaged in a brutal struggle with a particularly large vampire, its features twisted into a grotesque mockery of a human face. Sam was strong, but the vampire was stronger, its movements fueled by unnatural power.
Then it happened.
With a sickening speed, the vampire shoved Sam backwards, using its inhuman strength to propel him towards a section of the warehouse wall bristling with rusted rebar. Dean's world seemed to slow to a crawl. Time twisted and warped as he watched, helpless, as his baby brother, his Sammy, was impaled.
The rebar, thick and unforgiving, pierced through Sam's lower abdomen, pinning him against the wall.
Dean froze.
The sound ripped from his throat, a guttural, animalistic cry of pure, unadulterated horror. He saw Sam's eyes widen in shock, then narrow in pain. The vampire, momentarily stunned by its own brutality, staggered back.
Everything else faded. The rain, the other vampires, even the gnawing fear that had been his constant companion for so long – all gone, replaced by the image seared into his mind: Sam, hanging on that rebar, his face contorted in agony.
He surged forward, a roar tearing from his lungs. He didn't even remember grabbing his machete. He just knew he had to kill, to obliterate, to erase the creature that had dared to hurt his brother. He attacked with a savagery that he didn't know he possessed, fueled by a grief so profound it threatened to consume him. He hacked and slashed, driven by instinct, until the vampire lay in a mangled heap, its lifeless eyes staring blankly at the warehouse ceiling.
Only then did he remember Sam.
He rushed to his brother's side. Sam was slumped against the wall, his breathing ragged and shallow. His eyes, usually so bright and full of determination, were glazed with pain. Blood bloomed on his shirt, staining the rusty metal a deeper, crimson red.
"Sammy!" Dean cried, his voice cracking with emotion. He reached out, his hands trembling, and gently touched Sam's cheek. "Hang on, kiddo. I'm gonna get you out of here."
Sam coughed, a weak, rattling sound. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. "Dean..." he gasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Dean..."
"Don't talk, Sammy," Dean pleaded, tears welling in his eyes. "Just save your strength. I'm gonna get you to a hospital." He knew, deep down, that it was a lie. He knew that no hospital could fix this.
Sam's hand found Dean's, his grip weak but firm. "Dean," he repeated, his voice gaining a sliver of strength. "Listen to me."
Dean swallowed hard, forcing down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He knelt beside Sam, his heart shattering into a million pieces. "I'm here, Sammy. I'm right here."
"It's...it's okay," Sam said, his eyes searching Dean's face. "It's okay, Dean."
"No, it's not okay, Sam!" Dean cried, his voice breaking. "It's not okay! I'm gonna get you out of here. You're gonna be fine."
"Dean," Sam said, his voice weakening again. "Don't...don't lie to me."
Dean choked back a sob. He couldn't lie to Sam. Not now. Not ever.
"I..." Dean started, then stopped, unable to find the words. He just looked at Sam, his eyes filled with unspeakable pain and love.
Sam managed a weak smile. "Remember that time...when I was little...and I got lost at the park?"
Dean remembered. Sam, barely three years old, wandering off while Dean chased pigeons. The sheer terror he felt when he couldn't find him. The relief that washed over him when he finally spotted Sam, standing by a swing set, clutching a teddy bear almost as big as himself.
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean said, his voice thick with tears. "I remember."
"You...you found me," Sam said, his breathing becoming more labored. "You always...always found me."
Dean squeezed Sam's hand. "I always will, Sammy. No matter what."
"Thank you, Dean," Sam said, his voice barely audible. "Thank you...for everything."
Tears streamed down Dean's face, blurring his vision. He could feel Sam's life slipping away, draining from him like sand through his fingers.
"I love you, Sammy," Dean sobbed. "I love you so much."
Sam's eyes fluttered closed. His grip on Dean's hand loosened. A faint smile lingered on his lips.
"I...love...you...too...De..."
And then, he was gone.
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the relentless drumming of the rain. Dean stared at Sam's still face, his mind refusing to accept the reality of what had just happened. His baby brother was gone. The one person in the world who truly understood him. The one person he would do anything for. Gone.
He let out a strangled cry, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony. He reached out and touched Sam's face, tracing the familiar lines of his jaw.
"No!" he screamed, his voice raw with grief. "No, Sammy! No!"
He couldn't leave him there, impaled on that monstrous piece of metal. With a strength born of desperation, he grabbed hold of Sam's lifeless body and pulled. The rebar tore free with a sickening, grinding sound.
Sam's limp body fell into his arms.
Dean cradled him close, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down his face like rain. He remembered Sam's first steps, toddling across the room towards him, his little arms outstretched. He remembered Sam's first word: "De." Not Dad, not Mom, but De. He had always been Dean's little brother, and Dean had always been his protector.
He thought of all the hunts they had been on together, all the monsters they had faced, all the sacrifices they had made. He thought of all the times they had argued, all the times they had made up. He thought of all the love they had shared, a bond unbreakable, forged in blood and fire.
And now, it was broken.
He looked down at Sam's face, so peaceful in death. He remembered all the times he had teased Sam, called him "Sasquatch" and "Giraffe." He would give anything to hear Sam's whining retorts about his mullet again, to see his little brother smiling and making fun of him.
Rage erupted within him, a burning, consuming fire. He looked over at the mangled remains of the vampire that had killed Sam. He crawled over to it, ignoring the rain and the blood and the horror of it all. He grabbed the vampire's head and slammed it against the concrete floor again and again, until it was nothing more than a pulpy mess.
"This is for my brother!" he roared, his voice hoarse with grief and fury. "This is for Sammy!"
He collapsed back beside Sam's body, his energy spent, his heart broken. He held Sam close, whispering words of love and grief into his still hair. He stayed there for what felt like an eternity, lost in his sorrow, until the first rays of dawn pierced through the rain-soaked warehouse windows. The rain had stopped.
The world had gone quiet and peaceful. The monsters were gone. The hunters were gone.
Dean was all alone.