- He’s writhing on the floor in extreme pain.
- Dean, fighting back tears, pulls out his gun.
- He says “I guess Dad was right…about you having to killing me.”
- Dean shakes his head, forcing a chuckle.
- Sam laughs painfully, says “Jerk.”
Because so many feelings.
Dean had always been taught to keep a firm grip on his gun, but never too tight, oh no, because when he held it when he was seven years old and the recoil had sprained his wrist he had learned his lesson. But now he was holding his weapon with white knuckles, arm almost shaking with the effort. His throat was closed up and he couldn’t see straight.
“Do it.” Sam whispered from where he kneeled before him, eyes wide and wet, one hand fisted in Dean’s leather jacket, “Dean… please.”
Dean swallowed, and he realized what was keeping him from breathing. It was terror. He blinked, biting the inside of his cheek so hard blood trickled into his mouth. Never had he been so scared: not when his father had been missing, not when he had stood up against Azazel, not when the Apocalypse was looming over their heads and Lucifer had been the threat that ripped them apart.
A dry bark of laughter escaped him. Who was he kidding? Lucifer was still a very real threat. Hell, he was the only threat.
“Dean…” Sam moans, the torment etched into his face almost enough to make Dean want to turn away and retch onto the floor.
Instead, he shook his head and yelled, “Shut up, Sam! I’m not doing this, there’s another way, there’s-“
“Dean.” Sam said, more calmly now, “Not this time.” The fist in his jacket tightened further and Dean’s grip on his gun mirrored the action, “There isn’t, you know it. Please.” He pulled on Dean’s coat, forcing his older brother to turn back to him.
Eyes closed, bottom lip trembling in either anger or anguish, Dean let loose a soft noise that wasn’t quite a sob, “You make me do this,” He opened his eyes, bright green now red rimmed with the promise of tears, “You do this and I’m following. I’ll be right behind you.” He didn’t know if this was a threat or a promise, but Sam visibly relaxed, even giving his brother a small grin.
“I know, Dean.” And like that, Sam wasn’t scared anymore. The lines that had permanently carved themselves into his face relaxed. Throwing a glance to the gun that shook in Dean’s hand, Sam soothingly ran a hand along the outside of Dean’s thigh, “I know.” He repeated and Dean had to fight to keep from falling to the floor alongside his brother.
Raising the gun to point at Sam’s head- didn’t want to miss, had to kill him with one shot god please don’t let him miss and cause his brother pain- it hit him that he was going to shoot his brother. It was fitting, in a macabre, gut wrenching sort of way. All those sons of bitches out there who tried so hard to get their claws on the both of them were beaten to the punch by none other than themselves. No one could take out the Winchesters but each other. He wanted to laugh, but if he did Dean was afraid it would come out as a sob and he had to be strong for his brother right now. He had to be strong for Sammy, do what his dad had always taught him. Protect his brother.
As if Sam could hear his thoughts, and Dean was pretty confident that he could by now, the younger Winchester tilted his head and said humorlessly, “I guess dad was right… about you having to kill me.”
Dean didn’t know if that was Sam’s attempt at lightening the mood but it was the thing that finally sent him crashing to his knees before Sam, one hand still holding his gun and the other fisted in Sam’s jacket, face practically buried in his brother’s shoulder. Sam hugged him back, and Dean felt warmth and reassurance in Sam’s arms. This was the end. The end of the Winchesters, and they were going out with a couple of gunshots in a warehouse, a hunter having been called earlier to come and burn their bodies who was too far away to actually do anything to stop them.
They had nothing but each other, Dean realized. Bobby was gone, Cas too. Ellen, Jo, their father, Lisa, Ben, hell, Dean could even find it in himself to mourn Rufus. They were alone. Finally, truly alone.
Pushing his brother back, Dean looked hard into Sam’s eyes, “If this is what you want.” He said, jaw clenching, “Then you can have it, Sammy. I’ll give it to you.” He had to swallow to try and get rid of that lump of panic that still tightened his throat and blurred his vision; he wanted his last thought of Sam to be clear and unblemished.
Sam seemed to realize this and placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, the other coming to reach for Dean’s elbow to bring the gun back up to rest on his temple. The cool metal tingled against his forehead and Sam relaxed against it. “You need some help there?” He said softly to his brother.
“Shut up, Bitch.” Dean said, knowing the blurred vision was no longer from panic but from the tears that tracked themselves down his cheek that he didn’t bother to wipe away. No point now.
“Yeah.” Sam whispered, “Jerk.”
Bang. Click. Bang.