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Dean’s footsteps pounded against the parking lot ground as he ran from from the building. His body was tense with the preparation for it, then the sounds of explosions began on cue, the combustion of the bombs, the roar of the fire, and the sounds of glass windows shattering. He felt the heat on his back as he sprinted away.
Dean met Sam by the Impala, resting his hands on the hood and panting. “Holy shit. That was awesome. Did you see that?” he laughed. A building full of monsters up in flames. Now that was a satisfying conclusion.
“Y-yeah,” Sam mumbled.
Dean wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “We should have done this way sooner. Here on out, we’re only blowing up monsters.”
“Dean,” Sam’s voice was soft.
Something in his tone left Dean with a sinking feeling and he turned to his brother. Sam was holding his hands over his jacket protectively. “I- I think I got hit.”
“Where?”
Sam opened his jacket and there it was, a massive shard of glass lodged through his flannel and into his stomach. He let out a whimper and shut his eyes. Dean could see the sweat dripping down his face, the way he pulled his lips back in a tight grimace, the pain written there. Dean cursed.
Sam’s knees buckled and Dean caught him beneath his armpit and lowered him to the cracked ground. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you. Hold on,” he positioned Sam on his back and knelt beside him, hands hovering above the glass, unsure where to put them If he removed it, Sam would surely bleed out. His shaking hands fumbled to his pocket to locate his phone, but he was stopped by Sam weakly reaching for his arm.
“Dean,” he croaked, “It’s too late.”
“No,” Dean tried to argue, but somewhere beneath the wall of denial, he knew what it was true. Even if the ambulance was here in minutes, there was nothing they could do. Dean had seen wounds like this before, he’d watched people die this way, but not Sam. Never Sam. “Stay with me. I’ve got you,” he grasped Sam’s forearms, as if anchoring his soul to Earth.
Sam’s teeth chattered as he tried to form words. “Thank you for- for everything.”
“You’re gonna be fine. We’ve gone through worse than this,” Dean knew it was a lie. Anything worse than this had resulted in their deaths. “I can’t lose you.”
“You’re gonna keep li- living.”
“Shhh.”
Sam tried to shake his head, but it was barely a twitch. “I love you. You’re my big brother,” his voice grew quieter so that Dean had to lean in to listen.
“Sammy…”
“I want you to be happy. Keep going. I don’t know what I’d have done without you,” Sam shuddered. Blood dribbled from his lips down his chin.
“Please,” Dean choked, unable to continue. Please don’t go.
Sam mumbled something, but then his hand fell from Dean’s arm and onto the concrete. His body went limp and Dean knew it was over. “Sam! Sammy!” Dean clutched the fabric of his shirt, crying for him to live, but his eyes were lifeless and his jaw slack and Sam wasn’t there anymore. Dean ripped the glass from his stomach and threw it aside, sliding his arms beneath Sam’s shoulders and pulling him close. The blood from Sam’s wound soaked through Dean’s shirt and wetted his skin beneath the fabric. Dean held his brother and wept, muttering his name over and over. This was wrong, so wrong. Dean was meant to die first. He couldn’t go on without his little brother and that dying speech should have been his. Sam wanted him to move on, but he couldn’t do that. He was hollow, half of him missing, bled out on the floor. Dean sat there until the sun came up and his tears ran out and all that was left was his empty shell, like his soul had died with Sam.