No longer Sam's POV
Machines once beeping steadily now lay still, their screens black, cords trailing uselessly like fallen soldiers in the aftermath of a lost war. The white sheet was still pulled over Dean's chest, up to his neck—his face too still, too pale. The doctors had long left, whispers of apologies lingering in the air like dust motes in sunlight.
But Sam hadn't moved. Not a muscle.
He sat frozen in the chair by the bed, his body hunched forward, one hand resting limply over Dean's. It was cold. That kind of cold that seeps into your bones—not just skin-deep, but soul-deep. The kind that makes you question if you'll ever feel warm again.
He didn't cry at first. He just stared.
His brother.
His only constant in this nightmare of a life.
Gone.
His voice cracked, hoarse from silence and shock.
"Dean…"
He reached out, brushing a thumb gently over Dean's cheekbone, the way he remembered their mom doing in the few home videos they ever had. His touch trembled. "You were… just right there, man. You were fighting. You were supposed to be okay."
He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat burning like fire. "And what was the last thing I said to you? That I didn't trust you? That we weren't really brothers anymore?"
His breath hitched. "God, Dean… I didn't mean it. I didn't. I was just angry. Hurt. And scared, and I—I pushed you away."
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the bed.
"I pushed you away," he whispered.
And that's when the tears came. Not the kind you can fight, or the kind that fall quiet and steady—they came crashing out of him, body-shaking sobs that cracked through his ribs like lightning. His shoulders heaved. His hand gripped Dean's tighter like it could somehow pull him back.
"You weren't supposed to leave me like this…"
His voice was wrecked. "Not like this. Not now."
Time passed, but Sam didn't notice. Could've been ten minutes. Could've been hours.
Nurses came in once, gently tried to talk him into letting go. He didn't even acknowledge them. They exchanged helpless glances and left him be. They understood that kind of grief. The unmovable kind.
Finally, his voice rasped out again, barely audible.
"You told me once, back when I was gonna jump into the Cage… you said if the roles were reversed, you'd do the same. That you'd stop me."
A faint, broken smile twisted his lips.
"And you did. Every damn time. You pulled me back. Again and again."
His smile vanished.
"So why the hell can't I do the same for you?"
He stared down at Dean's still face. "You saved me. From everything. From Lucifer. From the trials. From myself."
A pause.
"I don't know how to be me without you."
The quiet returned, but it wasn't peaceful. It was suffocating. The kind of quiet that wraps around your lungs and squeezes. The kind that makes you forget how to breathe.
And still, Sam stayed there.
A broken brother in a broken world, holding the hand of the only person who ever made him feel whole.
What do you think ?